Latest Posts by maboiisuga - Page 5

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] 🔞 MASTERLIST

He says he can make you understand his way of love, that he can help you awaken desires you never knew you had. You give him seven days to prove it.

Tags/Warnings: Smutshot!, porn with a lot of plot basically, corruption kink?, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements (Dom/Sub dynamics, kink exploration, bondage, blindfolding, impact play, wax play, orgasm control, Subspace, consensual limit breaking, others), angst, hurt & comfort, trauma, romance, fluff, more specific tags on each chapter

There is no taglist for this fic!

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Main Chapters:

Intro

Day 1: Safeword, Dom/Sub, Wax play, Shibari

Day 2: Fellatio, Sensual Dom, Bondage

Day 3: ???

Day 4: ???

Day 5: ???

Day 6: ???

Day 7: ???

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Side content:

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Yoongi Drabble 1 (NSFW, fluff)

Yoongi Drabble 2 (aftercare)

???

never going back again - 02

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

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

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

prev part masterlist next part

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

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

What you did all day,

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

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

"What are you doing in here?"

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

"I thought you were good at cooking"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let you what"

"Cook, I'll make dinner"

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

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

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

"They don't feed you at work?"

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

"Did your mum cook?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So what are you making?"

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

"French toast?"

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

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

"Well, it smells great"

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

"You can't be serious"

"What'd I do?"

"That's like a cup of syrup"

"So?"

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

"What if they already have"

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

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

You make a small huh? in response,

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

"I just assumed"

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

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

“Healing, thanks to you, still tender”

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

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

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

“Sorry”

“Doesn’t hurt”

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

“That should do”

“Thank you”

“It’s nothing”

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

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

"You trying to kick me out?"

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

"There isn't"

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

"Right"

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

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

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

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

"You scared me"

"You were having a nightmare"

"Yeah, they happen sometimes"

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

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

"Simon"

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

"Will you stay, it's just"

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

"Please"

"Of course"

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

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

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

"Do you have something in your pocket?"

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

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

"It's fine"

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

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

"Thank you"

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the kettle?”

“Top left cabinet”

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

“Thanks”

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

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yep, just making tea”

“Okay, bags are in the lower cupboard”

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

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

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

“Are you any good at fixing things?”

“Depends, what needs fixing”

“The shutters outside, they’re falling apart”

“I could give them a look”

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

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

“I think you’re his new favourite”

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

“Strange”

“He’s not strange”

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

“Well get used to it”

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

“The shutters”

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

“I’ll get right on it then”

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

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

“Beer”

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

“Cheers, love one”

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

“Must be hot with the mask”

“Get used to it”

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

“How’s it looking”

“Great”

“So you’re almost done”

“Huh?” His eyes pull back to yours,

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

“Yeah, nearly there”

“Great, I’ll be inside”

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

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

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

He nods, standing from the table to move toward the shower, closing the door behind him before turning it on. You blow out a long breath, bracing your hands against the table before turning your head at the sound of him wincing,

“You alright?” You call

“Yeah, just sore”

“Well hurry up, I’ll check your stitches”

You sit impatiently as he showers, nervously tidying the kitchen as you wait, your chest fluttering as you hear the shower turn off.

“Figured it’s easier if I just put my shirt on later”

He must be doing this on purpose, once again your eyes roam his form, his sweat replaced by dripping water as his freshly cleaned skin draws your attention,

“Sure, easier”

He sits on the couch, leaning back and positioning his arm against the top to allow you a better view to his stitches, to your surprise they’re doing well, no inflammation or bleeding, they look good.

“S’good, should be able to take them out soon”

“Great”

“Might leave a scar”

“Adds to the collection”

You pass your gaze over the skin of his chest, littered with scars, some small and others long, some old and some new.

“I’m fine”

“I know you are”

“It only hurts a little, when it happens”

“And someone did this to you”

“A few people”

“How many is a few?” You stare at him with rounded eyes,

“Nothing you need to worry about”

You soften your gaze, standing from the couch,

“I guess we should sleep now” His eyes follow your movements, he shifts in his spot trying to get comfortable,

“Simon, would you- nevermind”

“What do you need?”

“I felt bad waking you last night and I was thinking maybe, if we slept in the same bed I wouldn’t have any, you know”

“Yeah, I’d like that- you not having nightmares” He fumbles over his last words, trying to keep himself together at the prospect of once again having you close.

“Okay” You walk nervously toward your room, the simple action now feeling foreign as he trails behind you, “I’ll keep the lights off if you want”

He nods, closing the door behind him as you get into the bed, shuffling around a little before finding comfort in your position, you turn to your side but keep your eyes on him as he reaches to tug his mask off, your mind trying to piece together what he might look like behind the sharp lines of his shadowed face.

He sets himself beside you, moving an apprehensive arm under your pillow, making sure you were okay with it. You push back against him, your body perfectly slotting in front of his as his other arm settles around your waist, you hold it with your fingers, your thumb rubbing against the skin as you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

You’re asleep in no time, the warmth of the air combined with the comfort of Simon behind you lulling you into a dream while he stays up, his arms tucked against you, it was the most comfortable he’d been in years, maybe ever and be didn’t dare move, his body freezing everytime you moved a leg against him or squeezed his forearm lightly, they were like subconscious reminders that you wanted him there and it warmed his heart, melting against you as he tucked his nose against the nape of your neck, your hair brushing against his skin.

He wakes to an empty bed and a weight on his chest, opening his heavy eyes to the sight of Goliath,

“Good morning kitty”

He runs a hand across his back, smiling lightly as he purrs against his touch before he jumps off, startled by the sounds from the house. Simon quickly realizes that he’s not wearing a mask, it’s light out, and you’re not there, a small panic setting into his nerves as he stands.

He tugs on his mask and a shirt before leaving the room, pressing his side against the frame as he watches you move around the kitchen, steeping some tea while you clean up.

“Mornin”

You turn around with a wide smile, “Sleep well?” You ask, leaning against the counter,

“Best in years” He’s being honest, something about you was so comfortable, safe, he wanted to stay forever, if this was what life had in store for him then he’d accept it with open arms.

“Good, cause I think I found that wire you needed”

His heart sinks in an instant, “You did?”

“I think so, was tucked back in the drawer”

“Oh, I’ll see if it’s the right one then”

You smile, turning back to the kettle that had begun whistling as Simon panics, it was too soon, he wanted more time, he needed to figure out a way to stay longer, something good that would keep him here at least a few more days.

“The bathrooms got mold in it” It was the best he could come up with, he hated lying to you.

“Huh?” You turn with your brows furrowed,

“The bathroom, noticed it last night, I can’t fix it if you’d like”

“Are you sure, I didn’t see any”

“Easy to miss sometimes, it’s just near the drain, shouldn’t take more than a day to clean up”

“Yeah sure, just let me know what you need”

He nods, fighting back a smile of success behind his mask, excusing himself from your direct line of sight before internally celebrating, before stopping to think to himself,

Now I’ve gotta figure out how to retile a shower.

just hit 12k

thank you so much<3<3<3

and sorry for being so quiet these last weeks

◇ Cry for me

gojo satoru x female reader

genre: smut, angst

Gojo is not the type to love so easily. Every falling tear you spill he revels in like a moth to a flame. What did you have to do for him to stay? Easy. Just cry for him even harder. | MDNI 18+

word count: 1.4k

warnings: yandere!gojo, sadistic gojo, degradation, dacryphilia, dub/con, smut, rough sex, dumbification, not for the lighthearted, he’s mean oof, he has a god complex, you have an inferiority complex

im back everyone, please enjoy what rots my infected brain <3

“Go on..” he urges in a lulling whisper.

“Cry for me.”

He wanted to laugh in your face as your wails and whines wisp into the air- his favorite sound to hear out of you.

Gojo couldn’t help but admire just how beautiful you looked when you cried.

It fueled his stomach to spit such vile and callous words while pounding your sensitive pussy, watching the tears bubble up beneath your wet lashes as you latch onto him even harder to match his vicious thrusts.

Carnal instinct takes over to jackrabbit your aching hole with sharp plunges as your face becomes wet on your flush cheeks.

He holds a harsh grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his sweet and cold eyes. “Are you shy? Don’t look away from me..” He gasps out, his heavy breaths constricted from the sensation of fucking your soft plush body.

His words convey a playful tease but is laced with threat. You’re too fucked full to feel his energy shift to something more sinister. Your eyes feel heavy and your mind feels high. Feeling him slide in and out as you focus on his snow-white hair rustle against his pale sheen forehead.

Moaning and writhing beneath him, you’re entranced by his lean and milky body arch and maneuver in such an obscene manner that pleases you infinitely. The glimpse of his back muscles constricting and relaxing as he pushes forward another hard thrust leaves you aching.

Each pump into your soaking pussy has meaning.

He grips onto the soft, fragile flesh of your neck, sending shivers up your spine from the dominance of his touch.

Your vision is drunkenly hazy. His mouth is moving and you can barely make out the muffled words from his soft lips.

Look at you moan baby..

You gotta like this, don’t you?

C’mon, tell me sweetheart..

He liked you so much he just wanted to practically hurt you. Watching you mewl to stop while still begging for more as he bullies your insides was like pretending to throw a ball for an eager dog. You both loved every second of it.

It was so good he almost convinced you he actually loved you - loved by thee Satoru Gojo.

Gojo Satoru was not the type to love or be loved so easily.

He was a white rose with thorns. It irked him why you always seemed to not get the hint you were supposed to keep away.

Months of trying to redirect you away from his path, you still always ended up following his pace. His red flags looked green if you were infactuated enough.

Your fingers are pricked and you bled and bled trying to get a firm grip on the stem, no matter how much it hurt.

Can anyone really blame you for following him like a lost puppy?

Everyone knew a man like him belonged in the middle of a marble museum. He’s always been the main attraction. The center of an exhibit of a series of the most exquisite, bodily sculptures there is. He was the type to be guarded by red velvet rope, so tempting to be touched and admired by anyone who looked, but never touched. Tempting to run your finger through the cold and hard ridges of his abdomen and muscle that was attentively carved.

Satoru Gojo is a man that was carefully crafted by god himself.

A type of man rumored to have some of god’s power as well.

To think someone so divine as him would settle down after he got his fill was a joke. Did you think you were special?

Yet with every pump to your leaking hole you started to doubt if your uncertainty was warranted.

Gojo pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach, wasting no time as he pushed himself right back into your pussy with a gasp, squeezing his shaft from tip to base so good it makes him lightheaded. He grips the base root of your hair, keeping you flat down, the perfect position to keep fuck how he wants, how he needs.

Your eyes are lidded, a euphoric buzz down your body as your tears soak into the pillow..

“Look at your pretty pussy cry for me, too, baby..”

Gojo shuffles his hand to grip onto your lower pelvic, pushing and massaging your sensitive area. “Does it feel good right here, hm? Does it?” You flinch from the sudden arousel, fueling the claps of your skin and squelch of both your sex. You whine feeling yourself drip down your thigh to the white sheets below as you lazily try to push his hand away.

“Don’t you feel pathetic, sweetheart? How easy you make this?” He whispers against the shell of your ear, panting. “Does it feel good to be used like this? Like a fucking fleshlight?”

The sounds of his pelvis hitting your ass echos against the walls of the room, the sound bouncing back into your ears just as aggressively as he’s fucking you.

“Are you gonna be my good baby and hold all my cum in like one, too?”

“Mhm.. I wanna take all of it-“ You mumble, forcing yourself to sound coherent, face still laced with tears.

Tilting your head to the side you wanted to look at him. You wanted to see how he made you feel what you are feeling. How every light touch of his sent shivers down your back and every raspy word made your tummy flutter.

You could shed down that power into tiny fragments from one sensual look and didn’t even know.

He couldn’t let himself fall apart like this.

You yelp as he pushes your head back into the fluffy pillow before you can see past his shoulder. His force and sudden demeanor to not just make you moan, but to make you scream.

He revels in it.

Your pillow soaking in every teardrop and moan, muffled to try and hide your eager desperation. Your ass pushing back on his hard cock, both of your arousel building at the base.

His restricted moans vibrate down your sheen body. Gojo bends his arm to grip your neck, the light sensation of his abs hits your back with his carnal digs to kiss your cervix and give it a sweet gift.

“I want it, please, I want it.” You breathe. Your stream of tears roll down to his hand, and he found it erotic.

“Should I finish, huh? You want my cum, baby?” He prods. “You want me to cum right here?”

God, for your subservient nature there was no other place meant for you. You let this happen to yourself, and he never had a problem letting himself be a little selfish.

“Yeah, you’re gonna take all of it. It’s the least you could do..” Through your encased ecstasy you can hear Gojo’s brief repeated mumbles of just how much you owe him this.

Such a compromising position you were in yet you’re the one still begging.

Gojo couldn’t stop himself from wanting to send himself over the edge. He basked in that euphoric feeling of rapture with every drop of his cum pushed into your pussy, letting his hips roll back in for safe measure.

Little drips of your cum mixed with his seeps out the corners of your hole.

Lifting his weight off your back, you roll to the side in exhaustion. Catching your breath, you feel a sudden clasp on your hand.

He softly guides your fingers down to where your cum is mixed, letting the soft pads run through your slippery folds. Such a lewd position he puts you in. You can feel where his cum runs down your thigh.

Gasping, Gojo pushes your fingers into yourself. “What do you say?” He murmurs softly. His face can be read as expressionless, but his words are condescending.

For a second, you wonder how many more tears you have to spill until he realizes they are more than what he thinks.

Did you have to bottle them up in a jar as a gift for him to see you will give everything you have for his assurance and love?

It is a rocky climb up the pedestal of which he is the center of.

All you wanted was to be by his side.

He watches you carefully for your next choice of words, following the last stray tear tumbling down your flushed cheek.

“Thank you.”

These past couple months have been so rough for me mentally, i struggled to write but im glad I was able to finish this :)

This was inspired by twice’s cry for me who I recently saw on tour and they were amazing.

Ok love you guys hopefully I can finish Dabi, sorry for the absence, I will work harder!

Please like, follow and reblog ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

Incel Bakugou please :( him kidnapping darling and forcing her to be his slut because it’s the only thing she’s good for :(

I incorporated another ask I received about a Ghostface Bakugou into this, so enjoy~

BNHA ! FIC

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: yandere, prank calling, breaking and entering, threats

tip-jar: Kofi

STRANGER

The time was a little after midnight. And you, despite being heavy-eyed and blinking, were still lying stomach-down, sprawled out on the couch.

Some dumb show about some dumb dysfunctional family was playing low on the TV in front of you – not much to your interest, it appeared, or at least not enough to cop your full attention – but enough to act as somewhat pleasing white noise, you didn’t mind letting lull you to sleep.

You were beginning to drool on the pillow your head lay resting on and looked to be struggling between the indecision of getting up to brush your teeth and the more tempting pleasant thought of simply sleeping right there, without the chores of getting ready for bed.

Your arm was mindlessly dangling towards the ground where the remote had slipped to some time ago, along with your phone that suddenly – just when it looked like you were about to fully nod off – started to ring.

Startled, you flinched at the sheer chimes buzzing loud beneath you. Waking by it as though it were the sound of an alarm going off, only it visibly wasn’t yet morning from the looks of the dark outside.

You groaned then, both out of ire and relief – happy it was still nighttime as you were still tired, yet reluctant to have to speak to someone for much of the same reason. 

Hesitating for a small moment, thinking it was just a friend with some silly emergency – you were tempted to ignore it before guilt got in the way – where with a pinch between your brows and a big yawn, you swiped to answer it nonetheless.

Clicking speakerphone, you had your eyes still fully closed while croaking out a groggy and slightly bothered, “Hello?”

You expected to hear drunken cries and the muted thumps of base and beat and club chatter or something like it – all in all, at least a whiney girlish voice belonging to a friend – but none of the sorts was at the other end of the line.

“Hello.” It said, much awake compared to you in a voice dark and raspy – audibly altered by some type of scrambler, yet still clearly male.

Still, you didn’t really have the sensibility to think much of it just yet. 

“Who’s this?” You asked.

“Who’s this?” He asked back, making your brows further scrunch. 

“You’re the one calling?” You replied in askance, dragging your head from the pillow to peek down at the phone on the floor, viewing the caller ID – which gave you next to nothing aside from letting you know that your caller was unknown.

“You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine~” He offered then, and your suspicions of it being a prank call only solidified.

And although the corner of your mouth quirked upward by the sentiment, it was unfortunately just a bit late for you to be bothering with. “I’m a little too sleepy to humor pranks right now- I’m sorry. Try again later- bye~” You managed to muster through a yawn, hanging up and thinking that was the end of it.

Only, it didn’t take long for the phone to ring again.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” The same voice asked through the phone.

The thought of simply hanging up again crossed your mind, but at the same time, you didn’t really see the harm in talking with the man. After all, you were awake now anyway – and besides, given he was using a voice-scrambler, it wasn’t so unlikely that it was someone you knew.

And with that, you figured you’d humor them, if only for a little while before brushing your teeth. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

“No~” It answered – still in that very altered voice that made it impossible to place.

“Well, my mother taught me better~” You joked with a tiny laugh, thinking the entire thing was kind of exciting now that you were sobering up – your mind slowly waking up and starting to spin. Not knowing exactly who was on the other end – whether it was a coworker or friend, or someone else entirely. You couldn't quite figure out who would bother to do such a thing in the dead of night – to you, of all people.

“Oh, come on~ aren’t you tired of being a goody-two-shoes?” He flirted back, and you giggled a little louder while picking the phone up from the floor.

“Fine then, Mr. Stranger~” You whispered slowly and coyly, rolling over to lay on your back instead before continuing. “What did you wanna talk to me about?” 

A dark chuckle came back through the phone, making your stomach purr in turn before he spoke again. “What are you wearing?”

You paused at that – cheeks heating with teeth sinking deep into your lip. “Hm…” Looking down at your drab pajama, you didn’t exactly feel inclined to be truthful. “Sexy lingerie~” You tried instead, trying to keep from laughing while putting on your best mock-sultry voice.

“I don’t like liars.” The man answered. “I know you’re wearing pajamas.”

You pouted. “Okay, fine- you caught me.” 

“Still sexy, though.” He added, making you giggle again.

“And you’re a little creepy, Mr. Stranger.” You stated with a tease, biting your lip with a smile while looking at the phone for his reply.

Only his answer wasn’t very nice. “You’re the one whoring around with an unknown man on the phone, slut.”

Your eyes widened before abruptly hanging up.

His voice had changed, and immediately the whole conversation didn’t feel very fun anymore. Suddenly mean-spirited, it soured into something that made you feel all in all rather stupid for even amusing in the first place.

But again… it only took a few seconds for the phone to ring a third time. 

“Don’t hang up on me.” The same voice demanded.

And while feeling bored of the game, you sighed with a huff and asked him nonetheless, “What do you want?”

“I told you already, I want to know your name~” He said, his playful tone of voice back again – only this time, you weren’t at all charmed by it anymore.

“Why do you want to know my name?” You bit out sourly. Unsure why you were still on the phone and even more unsure why you even bothered picking up yet again at all.

“Well… ‘cause…” He began slowly with a pause, and your brows only sunk lower with his antics, finding yourself properly pissed until he uttered the next line – only now in a deeply unsettling whisper. “I want to know who I’m looking at.”

You went cold, with a chill running sharply down your spine. 

Sitting up slowly, you held the phone tightly in your grip while looking at all the windows viewing the darkness outside.

“Oh~ you look cute when you’re scared~” He continued, and you jumped to your feet and stomped to the first window, drawing the curtains one after the other one until none remained.

“Quit calling.” You finished, hanging up for what you really wished would be the last time.

Seconds later, the phone rang again despite your wish. Only this time, you let it ring – deliberating whether you ought to call the police or simply ignore it until it stopped. 

You went to check if the outer door was locked before padding back to the couch, listening to the phone finish ringing before beginning anew.

You figured he’d stop after a while, but minutes passed without a break until you finally picked up – not out of fear, but anger.

“I told you not to hang up on me!” He yelled, and you sneered.

“Listen, asshole-”

“No, you listen, you stupid bitch-” He interrupted. “If you hang up on me again, I’ll wring your little neck ‘til your eyes pop-”

You gaped at his threats but weren’t about to let yourself be bullied either. “If you don’t stop calling, the next call will be to the police!”

“Tch-” He scoffed before laughter spilled through the speaker. Louder and louder until it stopped with the next utterance. “Stupid pigs won’t make it in time.”

There was a crash of glass somewhere in the house, and you flinched while withholding a scream. 

Fear hit you like a flash, robbing you of breath before your instinct took you towards the door. 

Rushing, wide-eyed and goosefleshed, you swallowed thickly while trying to think. With your phone gripped tight in one hand, you tried pushing in the numbers to the police – while at the same time struggling with the lock to the door, shaking the knob with no fruition until finally pushing it open.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, viewing the empty house that now suddenly seemed much darker than before – ears going deaf with the rush of blood in your head, pumping thick from the panicked beating of your heart. 

Taking a rushed springy step without yet facing forward, you had your mind set on running to the neighbors, only – instead of bursting out into the open street, you were sent back into the house – stumbling until you hit the floor with a wince. 

Your phone slipped from your hand – not only crashing to the ground as hard as you did but smashing into a broken mess as well – now utterly useless.

A dark-cloaked figure stood at the threshold, taking up the entire frame.

“Silly bitch.” He said nonchalantly, stepping inside – shoulders broad and boots heavy with his face covered by a white mask. Then he laughed, raising a large knife that made you scurry back. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to let strangers inside the house?”

tip-jar: Kofi

Part 2 coming soon...

The am can not come faster because I need elaboration on Isagi reading fanfic over your shoulder and just fingering you

all the things you're thinking of | i. yoichi

✮ tags ; fem + afab!reader, established relationship, aged-up characters (they're in their early twenties), teasing, fingering, doggy-style, isagi is the slightest bit mean, reader like. masturbates in bed next to isagi but not indepth, mention of rough sex, the petname beautiful

✮ wc ; 3k (idk either)

✮ a/n ; isagi...hicc...sniff...i want ur dick so bad... wuh

✮ synopsis ; isagi thinks the porn comics you read on your phone are too interesting to ignore.

Isagi thinks your hobbies are cute.

He can't really follow along with them, though he does try his best. When Nagi comes over and the two of you have in-depth conversations about powers systems or scaling - most of it goes in one ear and out the other. He knows what things you like. Well enough, at least, to buy things for you overseas.

But he can't tell studios apart, and he doesn't know why you hate that one cat villager on your island so much apart from the fact he doesn't fit the vibe. All the same, he still follows along with you. He clumsily joins you when you watch things together and he's picked up a handful of series from your roster to talk about when it comes up in conversation.

Most of all, Isagi knows you like to read.

You never tell him what you're reading. He catches glimpses. You and Niko share interests in webcomics. But he knows there's other things that you're not too keen on sharing. And maybe he's too nosy for his own good, but you're always seem so glued to the screen. Always scrambling to put it away, ask him about his work.

It's cute, really. Whatever it is, he's not going to judge you.

Finding out you're reading graphically sexual content, however, does something to him he isn't all the way sure how to explain.

He knows it now. The face you make, though he doesn't think you know you're making it. You hide it well, it's almost impossible for him to gauge - except your breath hitches just a little and you fold in on yourself. You're engaged and sometimes, you chew the inside of your mouth before it gets to the end.

You always go back to talking to him like it's nothing. You'd probably insist it's nothing too. It's just something you like to look at from time to time.

But you read it so often. He'll wake up and catch you when you're not sleeping soundly next to him, eyes on the screen and legs held so tight together. You get tense. You toss and turn like you're debating it.

You've only ever masturbated about it once that Isagi knows. Did it quietly with your teeth in a pillow - a broken sigh leaving your mouth with relief. You washed your hands and went straight to sleep. Isagi stared at the ceiling with the worst hard-on he's ever had to endure in his life.

He's never brought it up to you because he's sure you'll be embarrassed. Until now, he didn't want to make you feel humiliated. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and he's not so inconsiderate to make you feel that.

But, it's been a busy week and he's pent up. You look cute laying in your shared bed, with your hair put up and your skin clean- phone away from him so he can't see the screen. He should be a little nicer to you about this.

Knowing that doesn't stop him. He stares at you from the doorway.

You put your phone down and he has to stop himself from smiling.

"Oh," Your voice is heavy with lust but it softens immediately "You ready for bed?"

"Mm," He yawns, coming around towards you. Lifting the sheets, he slides in bed next to you, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist with a deep sigh "Not feeling very tired today."

"Really? Practice normally sucks up all your energy."

He presses his nose to your neck and kisses the skin on your nape. "I got out of running the last round of drills 'cause I scored a bunch during practice matches."

You reach around behind him, softly petting his hair "Yeah? Good job, baby."

He could just initiate like this. You wouldn't turn him away. He feels bad for what he wants - particularly that he's wanting to humiliate you a bit.

Still. Just a little teasing shouldn't hurt.

"You can keep reading, you know." Isagi offers, forcing himself to relax "I don't mind."

You stiffen. Stutter as you open your mouth to say something.

"O-oh uh, no, it's fine."

"You sure? I don't wanna interrupt to you," He acts sincere. It's unkind to be like this towards you. "Plus, I'm curious what you're always reading."

"...It's nothing interesting." You assure. He hums.

"You always look so invested though." He pouts a little to cement it in. The heat crawls up your skin, and you squirm and Isagi can't help but goad you "Makes me curious. Is it something you can't show me?"

You freeze completely. He tightens the arm around your waist.

"Did I get that right?"

You seem like you catch on. Isagi has to keep himself form smiling as you squirm, turning just barely to look at him.

"Yoichi." You say, stern and shy and oh-so cute "Why're you..."

"I can't be curious?"

"Yoichi," You say again, whisper all soft and sweet. It's music to his ears, a tinge of embarrassment wrapped up neatly in a silent plea "When'd you find out?"

"That you read porn? A while ago." He tells you. You let out a noise of indignance, even try to crawl away. You fuss, and it's so lovely Isagi has a hard time controlling himself. He catches you before you can run away "I didn't say it was bad."

"It's embarassing. You should've pretend not to know."

"But it piqued my interest," He insists, whispering against the shell of your ear "Doesn't it bother you being left out to dry?"

"It's just fun to read, okay. Don't do this to me."

"Then you can keep reading it," He hums as slips an arm underneath you "Keep reading it."

"You're scheming."

"A little."

You pout, and turn your head to look at him. Isagi offers nothing but a pleasant grin. He kisses your temple first, then reaches to kiss your cheek - turns your head to kiss you soft and tender.

"Keep reading. I'll read with you."

Isagi nudges you and you sigh, but you pick up your phone. He sits quietly, chin over your shoulder - comfortably spooning you as you pick your phone back up and shuffle through Safari. You open up a website and do some scrolling before pulling up whatever you were just reading.

You're aware of him. Every few minutes, you'll glance at him over your shoulder but he keeps his eyes glued to your phone. It's a smut comic this time - not a story. It doesn't start as just porn, there's something going on in the plot that Isagi pays attention too.

It gets there though. Isagi watches as it plays out, looking at your expression in the white reflection of your phone. You're fixed to it. He laughs to himself. You were so shy a minute ago, but you're sucked in. The girl in the comics is getting groped. So he hums, sliding his palm against your hips before reaching up under your shirt.

He slides both hands under you as he touches you - fingers reaching up to squeeze the fat of your tits. They're soft and warm, and you react to him but not enough to stop reading. He rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger, listening to you whimper. You're still focused on it, almost even more than you were a minute ago.

But you look like you're seconds away from having your eyes crossed - so Isagi doesn't bother moving on. He likes the way you feel in his hands. Round curves that fit so perfectly for him. He squeezes and pushes them together, pinching. You whine pleasantly, scrolling a little slower than before.

"Yoichi," You huff, rubbing your cheek against the sheets "C'mon."

"You want more? We're not there yet, though?"

You keep reading instead of protesting, and he follows in pace. Mimics what happens on screen by letting his hand past the waistband of your shorts. He slides his fingers against and through your folds - rubs gently around where you need to be touched until you're pushing back into him. You still haven't fixed your mouth to whine, still being diligent.

You both read as it happens. The girl in the story gets teased, so Isagi teases you.

"You're soaking wet," He says, unscripted and sincere "Didn't know you were so lewd."

"I'm not. You're touching me, so obviously"

"You'd be wet even if I wasn't touching you though, right?" He hums, a smugness even he can hear as he toys with you "Is this what you like reading? He's being so forceful."

"I-it's other stuff too. I read other, hnggh."

Ah, he's being mean isn't he? He can't help it though. Your eyes are fluttery, and you react so well. He lets his middle finger slide along your clit, rubbing soft and slow and delicate. He takes you apart with ease and you succumb to it even easier. He doesn't get to do this often. Catch you off guard and overwhelm you so easily. You don't waver like this almost ever.

But he kind of wishes you did. You look so good when you're like this. Embarrassed and on edge and needy. He likes to the way you can't help it.

"Don't hold it in, you can be honest with me." He insists, because some part of him really is curious "What other stuff? You read lovey-dovey stuff too?"

You don't reply. He shakes his head.

"I'll stop if you don't tell me."

"You're being awful."

He would say sorry but he doesn't mean it. He sucks on your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he rubs your clit - just barely there. Not enough to get you where you want, but enough to make you want more.

"Tell me."

So you yield "T-that stuff too. Doesn't matter, I just—"

"You just like seeing cute girls get fucked and thinking about it being you?"

"You're saying too much." You warn, but it doesn't feel meaningful. You say it through a broken moan, a sweet little plea. His dick is twitching so hard it almost hurts. You're insides are soft and melty and your voice is thick and you're so fucking cute. "It's not l-like that."

"It's okay if it is," He offers, not really listening. You're still holding the phone but you're eyes are closed "But you should tell me, hm? I'm your boyfriend, it's what I'm good for."

"Why're you bein' like this?" You sound sniffly. He's a terrible guy. Really. He grins.

"I think you're cute. It's nothing bad." He insists, thoughtfully. He rubs your clit a little harder, a little more sharp and you open your mouth wide and shake "You get turned on all by yourself, so I'm punishing you? Something like that."

"You're so cunning."

"You like that about me."

He smiles when you smile begrudgingly.

"Only sometimes."

"Keep reading. I'm interested in the story."

He's not lying completely. But he's more interested in the fact you get so into it. You listen well when he touches you and he rewards you for your compliance. He'll stop if you're too unfocused and you're too needy to do that to yourself. So you try to go slow enough so it seems like you're reading, but your hand keeps trembling when you hold the phone.

You're wound tight, and Isagi wonders if you might cry like this. A part of him wants to see if he can make you. He shouldn't do that though. He should be kind the whole way through.

He slips his hand down lower, middle finger prodding at your entrance. They're moving onto penetration in the comic you're reading, plenty of lewd and well-shaded shots mixed with different sounds typed out. You're getting all doe-eyed again, almost voracious as you consume. He lets his middle finger slip inside of you slow, pushing in so he reaches the base of his knuckle before pulling back out.

When you're loose like that, he gives you another. This much he's used to. He knows how much he needs to prep you before he can fuck you, but today he's taking his time. Stretching you out slowly and carefully, deliberately as you watch with anticipation.

Two fingers deep, he curls his fingers up and caresses slowly. They're doing it from behind on the screen. Isagi hums.

"Should we do it like that? From behind?"

"Hngh, I d-dont know. I dunno."

"She's liking it. You like being fucked like that too, right?"

"Yoichi,"

It's not nice. He keeps reminding himself. But he can't help but fuck his fingers into you deeper, just like this. You're gripping your phone so tight but he almost wants to slip just so he can tease you about it. So horny you can't control yourself, can you? You can't even think straight. Can't keep it together enough to do something so simple.

It's not like Isagi is particular to needless bullying. Unless he's playing soccer, he's always a good guy. A nice boyfriend if nothing else. It's not something he even has to try at.

But watching you like this makes him wonder if maybe he's less of a good guy than he though. Each little reaction he pulls out of you makes him want to tease you more. You'd look cute getting fucked face-down, too. Anything you do endears him so much he can't stand it.

Your pussy, soft and supple, is almost begging for him. He likes that you can get like that.

"Is that you what you want? You have to tell me, okay? I can't read your mind. That'd be nice."

"Stop talking and do it already."

"Do what?"

"Fuck me."

He grins, really feeling sorry as he pulls his fingers away from you.

"Yeah, yeah. Took too long right? My bad. C'mon. Bend over for me,"

Watching you listen is cute too. Your shirt is half up as you position yourself, rolling over on your stomach before pushing up on your knees - arms out in front of you and perched over your perfectly. Isagi thinks it's a miracle only possible through some higher power to be dating you. It's driving him insane, the soft arch of your back and the curve of your ass - skin peeking through the bottom of your shorts. Soft tits pushed into the mattress below you, cheek against the pillow.

He swallows, positioning himself behind you before pulling your ass to his pelvis. You shudder.

"You make me so hard." He says, earnest.

"You're really turned on by this?"

He laughs, rutting into you as he holds your hips. The view of your ass like this is almost too much.

"Most guys would be turned on by this. It's cute."

"You're extra annoying today." You say. Isagi leans over to kiss you as gently as he can before you really get angry at him.

"Sorry. Maybe I'm hanging out with Bachira too much."

You don't exchange any more words. Isagi slides your shorts off just enough to get access, slipping his fingers to make sure you're still loose. He spits into the palm of his hand, rubbing his shaft until it's wet before grabbing hold you by your hips. He lets the tip rest against your folds before pushing in so slowly.

No matter how many times you do this, this part always makes him want to cum right away. Pushing into something so soft and so pliant makes his brain feel like it'll pour right out of him. He shudders, nails digging into your hips as you swallow his cock so eagerly. He groans, resting his head on your shoulder.

"So wet. Ngh, so tight. You're so sexy."

"You've teased me enough today. Fuck me or I'm gonna get mad."

"Anything for you my love."

Per your request, he pulls out in one swift motion before forcing himself back in. You groan as you fall forward, face buried in the sheets. He can feel how close you are like this. It's warm inside you. He steadies himself by holding you before setting a pace - a little faster and a little deeper than usual. After all the teasing he thinks he owes you this much and you take him so well, he's mesmerized.

The way you stretch around him, the soft drag of his tip against your walls. "This what you wanted?" He says, adding a little venom to his voice just to mess with you "Wanted me to fuck you nice and deep?"

You whimper his name and he feels his spine tingle, adrenaline rushing through his whole body. It feels like you're made for him like this, your whole body reacting to his. He reaches around your waist, fingers teasing your clit. That makes you cry out, ragged with need.

"That's it, there you go. Isn't it nice getting what you want? Instead of letting your head fill with it all day."

"Uh-uh, uh - 's good. Feels good, Yoichi."

Your response almost makes him stumble. He lets out a huff of air through his teeth.

"Unfair."

You laugh lightly, peeking at him over your shoulder as he fucks you.

"You started it."

Something in his chest squeezes as he bends over you, focusing all of his energy into fucking you just how you need. He can feel your insides start to tremble, a grin breaking out on his face.

"Need you to cum for me. Cum for me, beautiful, c'mon."

The warning comes out spliced before you push all the way back on Isagi and cum. He can feel you pulse around his cock and he only gets a few thrusts in before joining you. He paints your insides white, leaving himself buried as he fucks you through your high and the two of you fall flat on the bed

He pulls out softly, before you turn back down and lay next to him like before. You face him this time, grabbing his face in your hands and kissing him hard. It catches him by surprised.

"I'm forgiving you this time because it was hot but if you ever embarrass me like that again, I'll kill you."

He laughs, returning the gesture.

"No promises."

KUNIIII<3

brooooo kuni's so fine omllll

Omgggg ur bringing kuroko no basket back!!!! Amazing as always

┌─ “ ! „ WHEN YOU ASK

tw. yandere, dubcon, threats, coercion, some degradation, dom/sub themes, humiliation, noncon voyeurism, former bullying mention, threesome-ish, crying, knife, choking wordcount. 5.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by another amazing person ♡ thank you so much for the commission!! i hope you like this one and it lives up to your expectation and i !! ahHH i just always get nervous writing charas i haven't before but I had a blast! mwUah i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again thankies to rhi for being best beta hehe

akashi seijuro x fem!reader

See, if someone asked, Mibuchi could say that he’s friends with you.

It wouldn’t be an outright lie -you’ve been in the same classes since middle school, he’s seen how you act around your friends and wave everyone goodbye with a smile- but maybe it isn’t exactly the truth either. Safer to say, Mibuchi knows of you. Would even call you an acquaintance of sorts, and he’s pretty sure you guys were sort of friendly when you were twelve and he sat next you in class for a good couple months — he might even have walked you home at some point.

You could have been friends, if he’d been a little less busy with basketball practice in middle and high school, a little less busy with the team. Because really, he’d have had every opportunity to. You were in the cheer squad for a couple years, and he’s pretty sure you were one of the girls who helped collect funds for the Rakuzan bus rides from and to tournaments- and you always seemed pleasant, kind. If he hadn’t been so focused on his sport career, he might’ve even had a bit of a crush on you.

Not that he plans on making up for it now, but it’s not hard to see or admit that you’re pretty stunning, you were back then— and you definitely are today. Perfectly manicured nails and beautifully glossy hair that makes you look full and warm and modelesque all at once. You shine. It’s hard not to notice someone like you whenever he sees you at their matches. He knows he’s not the only one. College jocks are hardly the picture of self restraint, and if you think signed athletes are any different, you’d be wrong. But all of that doesn’t really matter, because you don’t sit in the stands for him.

The redhead that he has spent the past few years playing alongside is lucky to call you more than friends. He respects Akashi. There’s almost no way around it when you play on a team alongside the guy, that pure, unfiltered resolve he has, and the steely brute force it sometimes takes the form of. Akashi wouldn’t exactly have it any other way too, and though that might get annoying if he were anyone else, Mibuchi isn’t arrogant enough to acknowledge that the guy plays best when he knows people he respects have his back. That type of world-class talent doesn’t come around a lot.

The redhead that has you sitting looking pretty in the stands is the same boy that’d shove you to the concrete in grade 2. The one he saw yank your pigtails and put glue in your backpack, isn’t he? The one who started the talk that you’d kissed a teacher under the bleachers, and stood by when Hayama stuck his hand up your skirt? Yeah, it’s probably because you aren’t friends that he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that kids grow up, and he respects the Captain.

So it’s because he respects Akashi that he finds himself in this situation, isn’t it?

You’re tiny. Well, everyone is sort of ‘tiny’ compared to most professional basketballers… but leaning against the concrete pillar with your perfect outfit and your arms wrapped around yourself, not a hair out of place - it is more vibes than actual appearance that makes you seem small. Compact, tiny, quiet, if he didn’t know any better, he’d liken you to a skittish little animal. You’re waiting, eyes scanning everyone briefly as they stream out. It’s sort of lonely looking, though. His head reminds him it isn't really his problem, but hey, it feels weird to pretend to not see you too.

And he supposes you are kinda friendly, right? As his long legs carry him through the sliding doors of the training center, he plops a sucker between his lips, glances over his shoulder and - makes the executive choice to walk up to you. If only to entertain you a little while Akashi takes his time running through the coaches’ comments, like he usually does. You blank when you notice him walk up, before doing a quick double take at the doors, and he takes the sort of deer-in-headlights look as a question on your end. “Akashi’s probably going to be a little bit longer, if I had to guess.”

“Oh. I see.” You let out a nervous little laugh, and wring your hands together, and he takes a brief second to look at you. Sure, he hasn’t exactly been very chatty when you’ve strolled in during practices with forgotten bento boxes, or when you sit at the very front row during matches with your perfectly presented exterior and a nervous glitter in your eyes, or even when it seems you’ve been dragged along to the teams events— but from what he knows of you… in the past, you’re not the shy little bunny standing before him now. It almost makes him a little self-conscious. Is it him that’s making you hesitate, or are you just… different now? People do change, after all. Still, it doesn’t seem… like change.

“I’m… Mibuchi, I was in the same class as you a lot growing up.” He finds himself explaining, in case you forgot. He wouldn’t exactly blame you if you did. If you managed to forgive and forget for Akashi, you could’ve forgotten most other things.

But you pause, and then your face softens into a slow smile. “I remember you, Reo-kun. We were desk mates in Ms. Tanaka’s class. You were always nice to me.” Right, with your high ponytail and cute bangs and your flowery frilly shirts. Thinking about it harder, he definitely did have somewhat of a crush on you back then. “It’s nice to get to talk to you again, it’s been so long.”

“You still like basketball, huh?” he asks, and you laugh and look at the floor, before nodding.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to meet his again. “Yes, I guess so. Don’t have much of a choice.” It lingers when your voice goes a little more quiet. Right. Because, your boyfriend’s a pro-athlete. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the games! It’s really nice to get swept up in the excitement of it from time to time.” You sound light, breezy … but almost mournful too. It’s somewhere in your eyes, your long lashes unable to hide the deepness of it. “Honestly, I can’t wait for the season to start again.” Another beat passes, before you seem to snap out of it, and refocus on him. “You’re still playing too.”

Whatever tension crept up in his shoulders doesn’t loosen when he grins. “Almost fifteen years now, can’t let that streak go to waste.” He sucks on the lollipop for a long moment, before tilting his head. “Besides, pretty sure Akashi wouldn’t let me.”

It cracks your carefully crafted expression. For a split second -surprising both himself and you, it seems, because then your smile is picture perfect again. The same perfect smile you give everyone when they say ‘hi’ and Akashi laces his hand with yours. Or when you blow back a kiss across the field. And see, he isn’t too concerned with people’s reactions, usually. But it’s so sudden that it feels … weird. Everything suddenly feels weird. You never wear Akashi’s jerseys, even when he stuffs them into your hand before matches. Not that you have to… it’s just, you used to be cheer captain. It seems like something you’d want to do.

That sits weirdly. 

“You’re definitely right about that,” you agree, but the light of it doesn’t reach your eyes. Before he can think about it, the electronic doors slide open behind him— and as if you’re burned, you take a few steps away and into a new line of sight. “‘Juro, you’re back!”

“Why aren’t you waiting in the car, stupid?” is the first thing that comes out, reaching for you like you’re a lost child, as his mismatched eyes find Mibuchi. His face is perfectly blank of emotion as it always seems to be. “You guys were talking?”

Instantly, your eyes shoot up to his, and you seem to cling a little harder. “No! N-no, just… Mibuchi was waiting with me. We’re done.” You fiddle with the chain of your necklace when your boyfriend stays quiet and stares you down, searching for … a lie? An explanation? Whatever it is makes Mibuchi feel like he shouldn’t be watching. But he can’t pull away from the scene. His teammate eventually leans down to kiss you long and deep, and your shoulders drop a tad bit. Not enough to look relaxed.

“Hm.” If Akashi notices, he doesn’t mention it, and instead brushes his lips along your temple. “We should get home then. You look a little tired.” You don’t agree, but your feet start moving robotically upon the prompt, and the noiret takes that as the only clue he’s gonna get that the conversation is over.

“See you two next… practice,” he starts to say as you two walk off, but quiets down as you turn over your shoulder to look at him. There’s something off about your eyes. At least, he swears— there is. It makes him feel like he’s crazy. Because your pretty smile is right there, and you’re wrapping your perfectly manicured fingers around Akashi’s bicep.

The look doesn’t fade when Akashi simply nods, and ushers you along with a hand that lands in the dip of your spine. “Sure.”

+

The next time he sees you isn’t at practice. It takes him aback a little, putting the weights he was curling down to straighten up for a better view. You’re looking around like a lost puppy, and the reflection on the large glass panes boxing him off hides most of you from view, but sure enough- it’s you. Just you, once more, rubbing your hands along your arms as you wait in line for something.

It isn’t his business. It really isn’t, but- you didn’t show up to any of their matches or practices the last two weeks. Is it so strange that he’s sort of glad to see you alive and well? Not that he’d ever think badly of Akashi, but you’d been in such a bad mood when you left, and it just… didn’t seem right. He takes his water bottle to toss it onto his bag, before jogging on over out of the gates and around the corner right when you slip out of view. A few people walk around him, and he catches a brief look of your face as you hesitantly slip a card into the ATM.

Your hands are shaking. They’re shaking, and your lip is screwed between your teeth and… if it wasn’t you, he’d think you were doing something nefarious. “Hey,” he softly breathes as he walks up, and your jumpy squeak only makes him more uncomfortable.

Your eyes are so wide when you turn around. “Mibuchi! —Oh, Reo… it’s you.” The device behind you beeps. “Sorry, I,” your pretty face paints on a smile as you take out the money and slide it neatly into your purse, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me.” There’s a moment of silence as he scans you up and down, and that horrible feeling drops back into his gut. He can’t help it, it’s laced in the air between you two, it’s on his tongue, it’s in your eyes when you blink up at him. “Reo? Are you- okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he nods, wiping his hands on his gym shorts. Is— should he say something? Is there something to say? It’s not like he can just … ask if you’re being treated badly. Hell- he’s been friends with Akashi since high school- he trusts the guy! There’s absolutely no reason he should be thinking like this. “You look beautiful,” he ends up blurting out, unable to think of anything else to say. “Me and the guys missed you at practice.”

“O-oh,” you giggle, and shake your head. “I was just a bit… busy at home, that’s all. I hoped Seijuro would’ve told you guys not to expect me.” Either you’re a really good actor, or some of your nerves slide off of you when you look up at him, and this time, he believes the smile. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you what he’s like, he isn’t really the talking type.” There’s a certain fondness in your eyes when you shrug. “You know, Seijuro bought me a ring five weeks into dating, when we were in high school. Said he knew what he wanted, and that he’d make me the happiest wife on the planet if I agreed.” You giggle. “At sixteen years old, he was already that way. I thought it was really romantic back then, his smittenness.”

This he remembers. Akashi talked about it in the locker room once, knowing you’d be cheering in the stands, he’s pretty sure he even showed off the ring despite the ridicule. Did you still wear Akashi’s jerseys back then? He can’t for the life of him figure out why he cares to remember so bad. Your tongue swipes out to brush your lips. “We’re a long ways out from high school now, huh?” Mibuchi’s hand twitches by his side as he watches the smile die out, but what the hell can he say. He wasn’t there for either of you, not really. If something did happen, would he even know?

His eyes sink down your face ever so briefly to your throat when you look off. There’s a mark purple and red where a necklace would have sat, bruised all around, and though faded- he stops smiling.

“What’s that?!” 

You jerk away with an uncomfortable glance, and a shake of your head. Fuck, he wants you to say something. He wants you to tell him some stupid story about a rash or a tumble, to tell him to fuck off and leave you be, because it isn’t his business- but you don’t. Maybe he does consider you a friend. “Hey, if- you ever need anything,” need help, he wants to say, but the word doesn’t make it out of his mouth. “You just have to ask, you know?” He doesn’t exactly expect you to drop everything and beg for aid in the middle of Kyoto, but the pristine calm that washes over you is almost eerie.

Your eyes find his. “Well— I- I want to visit my mom.” The tremble in your voice is soft, but it’s there, squeezing your fingers a little tighter. “Can you drop me off at the nearest train station? Seijuro’s off on a little business trip today, and he’s got his car. I don’t really… want to wait until he’s back.” A nagging little voice in the back of his head tells him not to get involved.

But the voice isn’t loud enough. “Of course, yeah.”

+

Akashi’s passes are bad today. He’s been on edge seemingly all practice, wiping sweat off the back of his neck as he talks to the manager- and Mibuchi doesn’t feel entirely comfortable just walking up to him. They don’t have the friendship they did in high school, and though he still appreciates the guy, there’s a space there that wasn’t there before. As if on cue, the redhead’s eyes flick up and meet his, differently colored eyes scanning him up and down, and Mibuchi looks away. He doesn’t want to seem too interested in your business, he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t want him to be either— but he can’t exactly pretend not to be curious anymore. It’s basically leaking out of him onto the polished floor.

Did you get home okay after? Did you and Akashi talk? Did you fight? 

The first hour results in a record of missed 3 pointers and shitty teamwork, so clearly the tension isn’t just in his head. Even their stern watcher of a coach eventually grits his teeth. “All of you, I want you to regroup before the end of the night, or I’ll have you dribbling until your arms fall off.” Everyone straightens out and gives a quick ‘yes, coach’. His eyes then slide to the Captain, and he crosses his arms. “Akashi, take a rest, you’re all over the place today.”

“You almost elbowed me in the face earlier, dude,” the shooting guard softly mumbles upon the prompt, and it’s barely a second before Akashi’s nose to nose with the man, his fist wound in the sweaty jersey by his throat. Everyone freezes up, and even the long-time coach is caught off guard by the sudden flare of anger. But Akashi doesn’t falter, and hisses out his words.

“Stay out of my fucking way then. This is my court, and you’re on my team. You serve me.”

The gruff older man stands up to separate the two with a short bark of the Captain’s name, as those devilish mismatched eyes flick up. “Akashi! Bench, now. You pull a stunt like that again and you’ll remain there.” It’s like there’s a black cloud over the entire gym that makes them hold their breath, until every so slowly, the fist unfurls and drops. The redhead doesn’t say another word, but his brows are just as furrowed as he steps back, and looks around. Those fiery eyes pass over Mibuchi just briefly, and he swears they stare a little longer than they should. “Now line up, you shitty little brats!”

“Yes, coach!”

Shoes squeak on the floor as they line up, and Mibuchi lingers on the interaction a bit longer. The shorter man catches the ball tossed at him, and slowly straightens up as he clicks his tongue. “Yes, coach.” He can’t shake the glare or the thinly laced impatience in his voice.

+

It displays almost three on the blinking alarm clock when the rattling at his door wakes him. There’s an impatient knock, and then another few ones about twenty seconds later that have him throwing the covers off. The house is as he left it for the night when he drags himself towards the entrance and waits for a moment longer, before a tiny sniffle catches him entirely off guard. It’s a woman. His tired mind still instantly comes upon you, and he unlocks the door when a hand again meets the wood.

The apartment light doesn’t fail him. It is you, though there’s a darkness under your eyes -smudged mascara- and your hands are bound before you, as you’re basically held up by your neck and you’re pushed into the doorway. Mibuchi stumbles as his hands land on your arms to stop your fall, and for a brief moment, everything seems okay.

Until the door is closed behind the three of you and the person who pushed glares with an anger that he can feel burn his skin. Akashi. The normally quiet, demanding Captain doesn’t have much of his usual restraint when he picks you back up by your arm and holds you out as if you’re a stolen toy— and he sneers as the hiss of his voice cuts. “You think I’m fucking stupid? I saw you looking at her all of last season’s practices. But she doesn’t actually want you, does she? She tried her very fucking best to run off, to no avail.” He briefly glares down at you when you whimper, and shake your head against the gag in your mouth. “Don’t pout, slut, you deserve to be punished. Don’t you think?”

You’re crying. Hard, a desperate, trashing cry that’s making his hairs stand upright. And he doesn’t think you could ever look ugly, but you’re definitely crying like you want the ground to swallow you up whole, and like the action of struggling this hard is causing you pain. “No, I don’t wanna.”

The entire scene doesn’t make any sense. Why are you — why is Akashi here? It fries his brain the longer he thinks, and his hands slowly slide off of your arms to take a tiny step back. “Captain…,” Mibuchi starts, reaching out to hold your hand. Akashi should let go of you. You’re hurt.

The movement has Akashi’s irises back on his teammate with fire, eyes wide and accusatory. “Move.” He takes you by your collar and drags you like you’re a kitten, before shouldering Mibuchi out of his own doorway to deposit you on the cold floor. It knocks him out of his daze enough to at least process the situation. This can’t be his former friend pulling something like this— but it’s playing out right before him. What the fuck? “I had to spend the entirety of yesterday driving up to Tokyo because of the stupid shit my flighty little wife pulled,” Akashi’s voice is tighter now, calmer, but not any less vicious as he watches you.

“Maybe if you get on your knees and beg my forgiveness, I won’t let everyone know what a fucking whore you are.” Through the gag, your muffled, pitched voice sounds out in the openness of his apartment. You look so pitiful, and Akashi’s not letting up as he grips your face to pull it only about an inch away from his own. “Apologize. You are mine. Doesn’t matter how far you run, you’re always going to be mine.” A thumb brushes along your cheeks to get rid of the silvery tracks. “I love you. You know I do.”

“You should let go of her,” his own voice comes before he has time to think it over. This situation is absurd, and he isn’t willing to just stand by to watch you get treated this way— at least, that’s until the other man turns to him and the brief moment of kindness is replaced by a darkness that flashes over his face.

The redhead’s hand disappears into his pocket, glaring at him from his elevated position in the baren light of the room. “Shut your fucking mouth, Mibuchi.” There’s not a sliver of familiarity left when he clicks his tongue, and like he’s the one who’s disgusted, narrows his eyes. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.” The tense silence is only made more pressing by the way you give him those fearful eyes, shaking your head ‘no’ as the man before him steps a bit closer. “I am not here to ask your opinion… I’m here to punish her.” As he points in your direction, his hand comes out of his pocket with a knife, glittering brilliantly even in the dark, and is then aimed towards him. Your pinched crying starts up again when he pulls your head up by your hair, and Akashi raises an eyebrow.

“You think you’re the first with notions of heroism? This brat runs like it’s a hobby. You’re not special.” His eyes burn. “If I hear you talk to me again, I’ll hurt her,” he breathes, deathly serious as he turns to you, “and if you don’t obey, I’ll hurt him, okay? I know you don’t want that, baby doll.” When you wildly shake your head again, he kneels down by your side, and Mibuchi can’t do anything but watch as the spit-filled gag is pulled down your chin and Akashi cups your cheek to kiss you ever so softly. “I know, I know, it’s okay. You were being friendly, hm? You’d never use our friend here for your own protection. But you still let me find you, and now you get punished, you know that.”

“Seijuro, I’m sorry, please,” your voice barely sounds like you. It’s hoarser, desperate, and cracking with tears as wetness and snot runs on your face— “please let’s just go home. We don’t have to make up here, I won’t- I won’t run again, I promise.” Akashi stills for a second too long to pretend to be indifferent. But he still hardens up, and simply turns over his shoulder to look at the noiret with a cold look.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“N- ‘Juro- no,” you start struggling again through your tears, and he wants to help you. “Please anything but this, I beg you! Seijuro!” Your poor wrists look rubbed raw because of the fabric, and be it the dejected look in your eyes or the sound of your cries ringing through his house -it sparks another surge of adrenaline in him. But the Captain doesn’t repeat himself, and the words ring through his skull. I’ll hurt her. “I’ll be your good girl-” you start, before dissolving into a mess of cries when the redhead wraps an arm around your belly and pulls you up onto your feet against him. You go soft and quiet when your face is against his chest, and Akashi presses the sharp blade of the knife into your neck.

“Well?”

“It’s to the left.” Mibuchi has no other choice, does he? He has no way of knowing if the man before him would actually hurt you— he doesn’t even know the person standing before him now. As he trails his eyes over the two of you in both worry and stress, the glitter of the ring on your finger doesn’t miss him. You really did get married, didn’t you? Was it always like this? He can’t imagine you’d have stayed as long as you have if it was… but then again, he clearly doesn’t know anything about Akashi. He doesn’t know anything about you either, from the looks of things.

“Come along,” Akashi says, leading the way to the abandoned bedroom with too steady a step. If he wasn’t so worried about getting you hurt -or worse- he could probably make a run for his phone charging on the kitchen counter. But by the time police got here, it’d be too late. So instead he just slowly, carefully follows behind as you’re deposited on the messed up sheets of his own bed, and stands in the doorway with baited breath. As Akashi slowly starts to undo each button of your silky pyjamas, a horrible feeling settles in his stomach, and he clears his voice. There’s no way it can be what he thinks it is. The stretch of skin revealed to him is littered with fresh hickeys, and Mibuchi looks away.

Not quick enough, clearly, because you pull up a sniffled breath and let out a little whine when Akashi hums. “Always make me embarrass you like this.” The soft lilt to his tone is almost gentle, if he wasn’t threatening you with a knife a minute earlier. “Crying like a baby until you get what you want, hm?” The ruffling of clothes is enough to have heat come up onto Mibuchi’s face, resolutely boring his eyes into the doorframe instead of you. Akashi can’t be serious. He clears his voice, and the Captain sighs. “So how long have you been in love with my wife?”

“Huh?” He looks up to see the way you’re holding the undone shirt to your chest and barely keeping your modesty, and Akashi giving him a blank look. “I- I’m not-”

“Sure you are. Just look at her.” He apraises you from his spot beside the bed, and runs his long fingers along your jaw and shoulder with a little breath. “She’s absolutely perfect. Aren’t you, baby? My beautiful little doll.” The kiss he lays onto your lips is genuinely soft, and loving, and a cold spike comes to Mibuchi’s spine at the sight of you melting into the touch despite everything. “Always perfect for me…” Akashi whispers, and then straightens up. “That’s exactly why I can’t let you go.”

He turns over his shoulder briefly to look at Mibuchi, and then sighs. “You should take a seat. I’m going to remind my little whore wife exactly who she belongs to- you sit and be quiet, understand?”

He can’t bring himself to answer verbally, but at the pleading look in your eyes -the one currently eating him up as much as it is sending hot flares down his body- he slowly takes the farthest corner of the bed and sits. Your eyes don’t manage to make it to his as Akashi unclasps your arms from around you and peels the last of your soft top off. His eyes flick down instinctively, he can’t help it, and makes his mouth a little more dry. You’re - beautiful, embarrassment coloring your cheeks and ears and chest with obvious humiliation that only makes the redhead hum. “You’re so pretty.” His rough palm comes under your face to grab it and force it to turn. “Look at Mibuchi, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“N-no,” you whimper, but bite your lip hard, and your chest rises and falls rapidly.

“You don’t like being watched?”

“You know I don’t,” your voice comes out soft, but there’s an edge there that only makes Akashi’s mouth twitch, as he forces you to uncross your legs. He starts work there too, peeling off your shorts down beautiful smooth thighs. The noiret tries to stop himself from watching so intently, he truly does, because it’s clear you hate every second that he stares. But — fuck, your little whimpers are making his heart race. He’s just a guy, and the stress, and flood of adrenaline is betraying him now. Once your shorts and panties are off, Akashi just watches for a moment, and you take a deep breath. “You can’t bully into it, Seijuro.”

He barely reacts. Brushes his rough thumbs along your tits and over your nipples, and pushes you back on the bed. “Shhh. We’re having a moment, baby. I didn’t want to do this, you know?” Akashi speaks like he’s cherishing you with his lips hovering yours, nudging your one thigh apart to make room for his hand as he runs two fingers along your slit. “But you make me. You’re just a stupid, dumb girl acting out because you want to be reminded of who you belong to, hm?” You shiver, and he spits onto his hand to start grinding his rough palm against your pussy as you close your eyes.

“No. No, I don-”

“No? You did this with Aomine,” he sighs, working two of his thick fingers inside you and you wiggle and hide your face into your shoulder, “and you did this with Kise too. But you’re still here. You just like getting your pussy fucked hard when you make me mad. Say it.”

“Ah- Seijuro, I-” His fingers curl in you, and your back lifts off the bed as your mouth opens into a silent moan. “Ah, ah— I like getting my pussy- fucked h-hard,” your voice is barely a whimper, but it’s quiet in the room save for everyone’s labored breathing as the slick sound of your pussy gets messier and louder. As you’re curling your hips onto his hand and resisting the urge to really fuck yourself onto his fingers, he pulls his shirt over his head and reveals the hard on covered by flimsy basketball shorts— and you let out a squeak. “Seijuro, ‘juro, I feel- mh-” You can’t even string a proper sentence together as he grunts, and traps your poor clit against the fleshy part of his palm.

“You should apologize for using Mibuchi,” Akashi softly says, a faint little grin on his lips that shows the glee in his eyes even more. “Go on.”

“But I— I didn’t use- ah, ahh-fuck.” Your wetness is glistening every time Akashi pulls his hand back and forces long fingers back in you- and you stuff the fabric of the gag back between your lips just to bite it hard as your tits are squeezed and he pinches your clit until your thighs shake. Then you cry, and open teary eyes to the man still frozen at the end of the bed. He doesn’t want you to look. To notice the shame pooling in his gut. “‘M sorry for using you.” Your snively look is too much.

Akashi hikes one of your thighs to your chest as he pulls his cock out and only shakes his head a little in disbelief, before lining up and pushing the drooling, red head in one hard pump inside. You whine out, and he licks his teeth as he grabs your throat and squeezes. “Needy fucking bitch. If you want to get your cunt fucked harder, you- should-” Each thrust slaps hard against your skin and hikes you further up, tits bouncing as your hands grab his forearms. “learn- to ask. Now Mibuchi will have to fuck his fist thinking of you, hm? Your- ugh- fault.”

His cock grinds deep inside your belly, hitting that spot good enough that you can’t open your eyes. Your ring glitters like your slicked pussy does, and the silvery tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you shake your head and sob, biting down on your puffy lips hard and clinging on. You look sorry. But with each thrust and squelch of your pussy taking Akashi as deep as you can, that look gets a little more faded. Maybe you're good at forgiving and forgetting.

You certainly look it.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

aoba johsai, one darling

.word count. 2.7k

.warnings. yandere, polyamory, swearing, degrading, manipulation, some explicit mentions, threats, dubcon-ish? .author’s note. some headcanons right now since i’m not great writing yanderes yet! i hope you enjoy it though, and hopefully i’ll be able to write full fics for our favorite obsessive boys some time soon. characters are all aged up, they are first-, second and third years in college!

↦ The instigator is most likely Hanamaki. You could be their new manager or a particularly enthusiastic part of the cheer squad, the point is they notice you. The type of overwhelming warmth and energy you bring to the team is refreshing, since you care about encouraging every single one of them just as much as their fan-favorite Captain.

↦ So while Iwa is most likely the one to bring you up in casual locker room conversation, Hanamaki is the one who makes it his mission to return that affection.

↦ Makki is charming and kind, so it’s no wonder you’re glad to spend time talking to the handsome man a class up. He takes time between classes to come see you, chatting about anything and everything.

Keep reading

My Hero Academia Masterlist

🤍=SFW   💛/💜=NSFW   🖤=Dark Content

Pro Heroes

Takami Keigo (Hawks)

💛 Phantom Limbs

💛 Turning Tables

Usagiyama Rumi (Miruko)

💛 Slow and Steady (Wins the Race)

Villains

Todoroki Touya

Nothing yet

Quarter Quell IV

Yandere Jungkook, Hunger Games AU

Warnings; Gore, death, yandere behavior, killing, strong language, literally kids murdering other kids, male on female violence (special trigger warning: in this series, there are moments where male tributes will overpower and hurt female tributes.  These scenes can be particularly triggering to women who have suffered abuse from men so please reconsider if you can handle this reading.)

Special trigger warning:  FOR MY MUSLIM READERS, THIS IS IS NOT RAMADAN SAFE!!!  In fact, I advise you to stay away from my blog as asks can reference my writing and also contain strong language, but please feel free to come back after your spiritual reflection is over.

PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE

Additional reading:  Tribute Catalog

Word Count; 14.5k 

The Hunger Games typically include a feast each year.  Feasts are used to bring the remaining tributes together if the Gamemakers think the game is getting boring or slow.  Often when food is scarce in the arena, or some tributes need vital equipment, the Gamemakers will invite the tributes to a banquet at a well-known place, such as the Cornucopia, to induce another bloodbath.  

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Happy Iwa day! Can you please create a ‘waking up with Iwa’ drabble?

Thank you!

... dont blame me for taking this fluff and turning it into smut tho hfygusdgfd sorry sorry i am only wholesome in asks but not in writing

tw yandere, somnophilia, hate-fucking, possession, noncon

You've haven't gotten used to the achy, sore feeling of having your poor pussy stretched and abused for hours when he starts bothering you during naps too. When your brief moments of sleep get interrupted by a slow few pets along your hairline, your sides, along the curve of your ass. It'd be romantic if it was anyone else, if you didn't wish you could blink his face out of existence.

Iwaizumi's roughed up fingers toy along your slit with spit-strung lines that still leave your thighs all sticky, when you barely manage to pull yourself back into consciousness. The room is never how you left it. He can't stop himself from cleaning up in the pretense of love and care, and apart from angering you -you could help if he didn't insist on fucking you until you passed out- it at least serves as some sort of sense to tell the time.

As you try to push yourself up onto one arm, Iwaizumi grunts softly, before breathing your name. You hate how he says that too. You can tell that his first instinct is to push you back down, but instead he just dips his digit in and out of your awfully sore hole. You notice that the room is clean. The fresh sheet smell is nice, and you bury yourself deeper into them.

"Morning, doll."

You choose to ignore the wistful longing in his tone, and jerk as he strokes a particularly sore spot. "Aw, Iwaizumi, that hurts." He doesn't stop, and you swear a slight glint of enjoyment even passes over his face when his fingertips curl deeper inside you. "Aw, aw, that hurts!"

"Hm, someone's still sore from before, huh." You nod, and try to reach behind you a little to dig your nails into his forearm- but he presses your wrist to your back with a pleased hum. "Well, maybe you deserve that, doll." Tears spring into your eyes, and you glare. God, you hate him. Even if he hadn't stolen you away from your family and locked you up in his fancy prison, even if he hadn't raped you and embarrassed you and hurt you- you'd hate him.

It lingers on the tip of your tongue when he pulls his fingers out of your wet, because of his spit and the motions only, pussy and slots them between his plush lips. Olive eyes find yours as your mouth opens, and maybe he knows you, because one brow lifts. I hate you. I hate you, you think, and bite your lip hard, but it doesn't come out of your mouth. Your body refuses, and you tear up more. Last time you said it left you choking on his cock for long enough to have you gagging your throat raw.

But your tongue still brushes your teeth, and you whimper when he rolls you over. "I-"

"You love me." He pats an impatient hand against your thigh, and you lift it to make room for his narrow hips and thick thighs. "You love," he kisses your leg, "me. This gives you meaning. You're right where you need to be." Of course his cock is already hard. Of course the flushes head is leaking a bead of precum, he can't ever help himself. "My doll. My little puppet."

He lines up, and his mouth corners twitch up a little when your lip is bitten painfully tight between your teeth. You cry out a little noise at the sting, the hurt, the already raw flesh getting overabused from the second he slides in-- shudders above you like he likes it. It hurts. It really really hurts, and yet, your cunt squeezes around him as wetness automatically lubes up his thick cock. "You love this, pretty girl. If you don't yet, you will."

big bro iwa who’s in love with making out with his lil sister’s pussy <3

tw incest, hajime nii is a service dom, oral <33

"S-sit shtill," he's slurring into your skin, pulling you down closer with an almost painful grip on your ass. But how can you? It's physically impossible not to squirm when big brother's got his mouth locked like a vice around your clit and all the sucking and wetness coating his chin is enough to have your thighs shaking.

"Niichan, niichan, nii~chan! I'm gonna pass ouw~ t." You're whining loudly, you know you are, but- everything's hazy and your fingers are threading through his full head of hair and you can't stop yourself from sweating and rocking back against his mouth until the friction on your puffy bud becomes too damn much.

If you could open your eyes for longer than a second, you'd be able to see the intensity in Hajime's eyes, and the absolute adoration as he watches every twitch of your brow, or how you force your own finger between your teeth to shut yourself up. You'd be able to see how his hips twitch and smear precum all over the blankets while he buries himself between your legs with a low grunt. "Pass out then," he eventually breathes, letting even the puffs tingle your clit, "I'm not done."

He loves you, you know? Loves laying you down on his bed like this whenever you come over and watching you squirm to get away. But your voice breaks as you let out a desperate squeak, and your back curls off the bed with shuddering thighs. Hajime's tongue rubs over your clit again, before his fingers scissor you open further and more wetness dribbles out of your pretty pussy.

If you're not driving him crazy up the wall, you'd be doing it to someone else. A thought makes his brows furrow, as he watches you, watches the tear tracks wobble down your heated cheeks and your body twitch every time his tongue leaves the nub with a flick. "You know- uhh, ugh- why I'm doing this?"

"Mhm, a sister's pussy is for big brother," you softly mewl, and also shake, and your hands fiddle with the strands of his hair you can read.

"Not that," Hajime nii grunts, curling his fingers deeper inside you and opening wide as his tongue goes to fuck into the drooling hole with a low groan. You taste so fucking good. He'd really stay down here for hours if he could, and it ticks him off that you start getting too overstimulated and fussy after just two orgasms. "Why am I mad?"

Your whining makes way for a beat of silence, though your pussy clenches and sucks his tongue like you never want to let him go. You might pretend to be any better off than him, but you're just as twisted. A real brother fucker, getting the sheets this drenched. It almost distracts him from your little "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." You try to right yourself onto an elbow and lift yourself from the bed, but he gets up and yanks your waist along with him so you fall back, and his biceps bulge as your legs hook over his shoulder. The sucking of your little clit has your eyelids fluttering so hard you look like you're gone. "You don't know what you're doing. Why even try to touch yourself, stupid shitty sister. This is my pussy. Mine."

"'m sorry~" you whine, and your tone says it all. You're going to cum, again, and soak his face like he wants, needs you to. Long days of work only feel earned when he can sink his fat cock into that hot, little clutch. Why don't you get that. "Ah, ah, niichan. Wan'it, wan- mh-agh, gonna cum Hajime nii~" So cute. So pretty. Your pussy's clenching against his mouth, so hot and soft on his tongue, so needy-

He lets you ride yourself against his mouth until you start wiggling, and then he clamps his lips around that little bud and sucks, hard. Until you're cumming all over him, and he places patient kisses onto your hooded nub until you stop shaking and crying. "How many times do I have to tell you? If your body feels weird, what do you do?"

"Wake up- Haj' niichan. Niichan will fix 't."

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ because its iwa day!!! if you have any drabble requests for him today, i'll answer as much of them as i can! so ♡♡ i invITE the iwa thirst!!

─── 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy

notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3

summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR

itoshi sae knows you like him.

you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?

of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.

even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.

throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.

maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

“when the time comes, just say yes.”

CAN Y'ALL HELP ME FIND THIS FANFICTION???

its a yandere bakugo x reader, plot is he's basically kidnapped reader and one day when he's out she realizes she misses him and Stockholm syndrome basically kicks in, something happens and then aizawa finds her and is trying to get her out of the house when bakugo comes back and while aizawa is distracted reader hits him with a vase and knocks him out and reader and bakugo run away together.

Idk if the writer deleted it but I cannot find it for the life of me 😭‼️

Love Galore

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x f!reader x bokuto koutsro

chapter summary: an introspective view of the story's events from the beginning — through the eyes of Akaashi Keiji

wc: 19.2k+ [jfc i really am so sorry]

a/n: thank you to those that have stuck by me and this story, despite my hiatus. i truly appreciate every single person that's ever read a single word of LG, or left lovely messages/comments, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much. i worked on this chapter, little by little every day, and i promise i never stopped thinking about you guys. i kept thinking it was done, but apparently i had a lot to say haha. this still isn't the end, but please enjoy the chapter, i've worked really hard on it and i hope you like it :) your love and support mean the world to me, xoxo

Masterlist

chapter 14 ✧ souffle pancakes

Akaashi doesn’t say much, but he sees it all. 

It was a habit that he’s had for as long as he could remember, practically born with. Practically second nature, it seems, for him to keep a keen and sharp eye on his surroundings, making mental notes until it’s all piled up and cluttered into his brain. He’s been called many things in his short life. Observant. Perspective. Attentive. Psychic. Genius. Creepy. 

Akaashi prefers to just be called Keiji. 

Most of the time, he thinks it’s a blessing.  

When he was younger, he’d impress all the old ladies in his neighborhood with his mindless comments.

Have you lost weight?

That’s a new jacket isn’t it, oba-san?

Oh, that must be a different perfume you’re wearing today.

Comments that sounded adorable coming from a child, when all the others in his age range could barely notice if they were even wearing matching shoes. 

Sometimes, he’s thankful. It was what got him so far in the sport he loved, after all. His ability to see things others usually just brush to the side — how an opponent grits his teeth and flexes his jaw right before he jumps up for the spike, or the directions their eyes tend to flicker to right before they pass the ball. How the twitch of their lip meant anger and annoyance, or the restless running around the court showing impatience. 

Akaashi sees it all – each bit of information sorted into the compartments in his mind, saving it for when he needs to make his move. This wasn’t something inherent – it was a skill he only learned with time, through trials and errors until his mind became a well-oiled machine. Eventually, it’d become difficult for anyone to escape the sharpness of Akaashi’s eyes, and it’s a skill he’s always used to his own benefit. 

If that player’s angry, it will be easy to bait him. If he’s impatient, then it’s just a matter of time before he makes a mistake. And Akaashi will be right there waiting. 

It was easily applicable outside of the court as well.

In the hallways of school, he’d learned to ignore the giggles and whispers in his wake. Making friends was simple, almost effortless. An off-handed comment about someone’s new haircut, bringing his classmates snacks and drinks as if he had just accidentally bought too much at the convenience store – not a single person thinking twice at the fact that he’d miraculously gotten all their favorites. 

Akaashi was the guy that would notice if you were wearing different nail polish, or if the charms on your backpack were different, would note if you’ve started a new sport or were talking about that new drama just a little bit more often – and he’d say a something that could be compliment, with only a few words at best, but it was enough for you to note that he was paying attention. 

In his second year of junior high, he’d even become quite the hot topic among the girls in his class, because somehow he could always tell who had a crush on who. They’d flock around his desk like vultures, picking at whatever bits and scraps they could get from his carcass until he had no choice but to throw them a bone. 

If you get this bread for Yagi-kun, he’ll really like it. 

Arakawa-san told me he likes girls with short hair. 

Toku-san studies in the library on Wednesdays, you should bring him a drink.

The boys would try to act like they’re not interested in the commotion that always seemed to surround Akaashi. Gossip? That’s for the girls – not something for boys to partake in. But it was only a matter of time before they’d come running to Akaashi for a “psychic reading”, never wanting to admit that all they really wanted was a bit of guidance. 

They’d come running back to him, tittering and snickering whenever his advice would work. Suddenly, he was seen as a genius, a guru – as much as any preteen boy could actually be.

It was easy, really – a person’s body language can often tell you much more than words could ever manage to say, and Akaashi had always been an avid reader. He’d try to tell them as much, try to teach his friends what to look for and where, but alas the ability had still been dubbed a ‘gift’.

But sometimes, it can be a curse. 

For a long while, there were only two kinds of people in Akaashi’s life: those that wanted to use him for his talents, and those that seemed to resent him for it. 

It was actually comical how fast it is for some to turn their backs. Flipping around on him like a switch, taking all the brightness with them and leaving Akaashi alone in the dark. 

He had learned – the hard way – that most people actually quite hated the notion of being perceived. It strikes them with a sense of anxiety that was unfamiliar – not exactly fear, but something akin to uneasiness. The constant feeling of eyes on your back was enough to drive anyone crazy, even more so when you’re meant to be somewhere safe. 

It’s not as if Akaashi was doing it on purpose. Sometimes, he wasn’t even aware he was doing anything at all. He wasn’t watching anyone specifically, but was it his fault if certain things caught his attention? Was it wrong for him to be observant of his surroundings? His classmates were part of his environment, it was only natural for them to be part of his observations as well. It was nothing personal, it was just a habit.

It was difficult to explain as such when a boy from his class called him a stalker for knowing he was in the soccer club, because how else could Akaashi have known? He hardly knew Akaashi. Even though Akaashi pointed out the grass stains on his socks and the pair of cleats peeking out of his bag, the boy still threatened Akaashi to stay far away. 

It was even harder for him to calm the angry girl from two classes over – the one that happened to always eat at the lunch table next to his in the cafeteria. He froze when she stormed up to him, tossing a baby blue hair clip on his table. Steam was billowing out from her eyes, saying she’d only ever spoken a grand total of six words to him, so how the hell does he know her favorite color? Never mind the fact that her earrings, her phone case, her jacket, her thermos, and her bento are all that same color. It was an educated guess, one that was clearly correct if her angry reaction was enough to go by. 

It was frustrating, honestly. Did she even know how pathetic his own classmate looked, sniffing around Akaashi and asking how he should approach the cute girl from class 2-C? Was it really wrong for Akaashi to suggest getting her a hair clip in the same color? What difference did it make whether he figured out random stuff about her or not? 

But the scowl she threw in his direction had almost successfully masked the panic that swept through her eyes. But Akaashi had seen it. 

She was afraid. Of him.

She had called him names then, names he had heard before. Weirdo. Stalker. Creep. Names that never bothered him in the past, but coupled with the look of fright on this girl's face – whose favorite color he knew, but name remained foreign – all of it sounded much harsher than he ever remembered. Especially when she dumped the rest of her milk on the top of his head. 

After that incident, there was a sort of shift in public opinion on Akaashi. The whispers that followed him down the hall no longer mingled with soft giggles and smiles. They were whispers behind narrowed eyes and scowling faces, disapproving frowns upon any lips that would say his name.

Some friends stood by his side, half-heartedly defending him in a way that told him they didn’t actually care – they just wanted to stay on his good side. Nosy busybodies that only shielded him from the wary stares so they could keep asking him for his advice on whether he thought Dairiki-kun like girls with bangs or without.

It was one of the few times Akaashi had really, truly felt pathetic. His life was sitting in the sweaty palms of his peers, and a single wrong move will have him crushed by their grubby little fingers. It was infuriating, suffocating – having to think twice, thrice, four times before Akaashi could even say a single word. 

But they had already decided on the box they would put Akaashi in, and he could do nothing more than sit still. Sit still and ignore the sneers and scowls from people that he used to call friends. Stay quiet when the boys of his class would shove him around the halls calling him freak. Look the other way when he’d come back to his desk and his things were destroyed. Ignore the pang in his chest when he ate his lunches alone in the library. 

At the turn of his adolescence – his first year of high school – Akaashi decided that things needed to change. 

Fukurodani Academy was a different setting – different classes, different halls, different people.

He would be a different Akaashi Keiji. No longer putting himself out there, or offering his observations to anyone who would listen. He would just keep to himself, and not let anyone close enough to contain him again.

Then he met Bokuto Kotaro. 

The boy was simplistic in nature. Kind and bright, with a horde of people that always followed him around wherever he went. Dozens of eyes constantly tracked his every move without fail, and Bokuto happened to be the type of person that thrived in such an environment. Though, despite being interested in the same sport, Akaashi never felt the need to become a part of his entourage. He was exactly the kind of guy Akaashi wanted – needed –  to avoid. 

But some things are simply not up to him. Each morning, he managed to mask the slight surprise on his face each time he walked into the volleyball team’s gym, and found that Bokuto was already there. And had probably been there for who knows how long. When Akaashi joined this team, he fully expected to always be the first to show up, and last to leave the gym each day, just as it was at his previous school. 

Yet, there Bokuto was, every morning without fail, nothing but his grunts and the echoes of the ball spiking on the ground filling the gym. Every morning, he’d greet Akaashi with too much energy, the corners of his lips never dropping despite the fact that Akaashi never responded with anything other than a silent nod. 

For a little while, that was all they had. A silent agreement to work together on the sport they loved, to be a team on the court, and strictly teammates off of it. Nothing more, nothing less. Bokuto continued being his charming self, scoring victories and basking in adoration as he was wont to do. Akaashi stood content to the side, satisfied with the joy of knowing his serves were in the capable hands of such an ace. 

Akaashi should have known that it was only a matter of time until Bokuto would flip everything around. 

They had been alone in the gym for at least an hour at that time, while the rest of Fukurodani Volleyball Club had gone home at an actual reasonable hour. The sun was already slipping past the horizon, taking with it the last tendrils of the day’s light. Bokuto had begged Akaashi to stay a little longer and help with his spikes, as usual. And Akaashi was quick to agree, as usual. 

What was unusual was the way Bokuto kept glancing at Akaashi from the corner of his eye, and Akaashi wanted to laugh at Bokuto’s pathetic excuse of being discreet.

“What is it?” Akaashi asked, uncharacteristically breaking the silence. 

Bokuto jumped, startled that Akaashi noticed him watching. It took a second for Bokuto to gather himself, absentmindedly bouncing the volleyball on the gleaming gym floor, face scrunched in a way that Akaashi had only seen while Bokuto was on the court.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Bokuto opened with those words, bouncing the ball one last time before catching it tightly in his hands. Akaashi’s silence was the only indicator of an agreement, and Bokuto took this as his cue to continue. 

“Why do you hold back?” 

There were many things Akaashi thought Bokuto might have asked. This one wasn’t even really on the list. Akaashi had forgotten what it felt like to be caught so off guard, unable to do anything but stand stupidly as his mind buffered. Bokuto’s pupils moved imperceptibly quickly, raking themselves all over Akaashi. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Akaashi replied carefully, his shoulders rigid, nervously clasping his hands in front of him.

Bokuto frowned a little deeper, resting the volleyball now between his arm and his hip. “You don’t have to lie, Akaashi. I can tell you’re not… I see how you watch everything, but you always catch yourself before doing anything. It’s like you’re scared or… or – I don’t know! But you are, you’re holding back! I can just tell.”

It took all of Akaashi’s willpower not to let his jaw hang loose, only allowing himself to blink slowly. He dug through his mind, searching through every crevice for any memory of someone being able to read him like this. He went out of his way to be invisible, yet the overly cheerful, happy go lucky, sunshine ace of the volleyball team had somehow managed to still see right through him. 

“So why?” Bokuto prodded again, and his tone could easily be confused as haughty, but Akaashi knew better. Akaashi continues to study Bokuto, the poor boy fidgeting under Akaashi’s frigid stare. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t back away. His weight shifted from one foot to the other, but he still waited for an answer

“It’s a long story,” Akaashi said quietly, turning around to walk towards the volleyball cart. 

He hoped that would be the end of it, that Bokuto would take the hint and leave him alone. But before he could take more than three steps toward the cart, it clattered loudly and rolled away with the momentum of the volleyball that just landed into it from across the gym. 

Akaashi turns back to Bokuto, a single eyebrow raised incredulously at Bokuto’s now empty hands. A corner of Bokuto’s mouth lifts devilishly, and he offers Akaashi nothing but a shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ve got a bit of time,” Bokuto rests his hands on his hips, shifting all his weight onto one leg. Akaashi wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, and wanted to ask Bokuto why he even cared. He was happy with how things were right now, and there was no need for him to do anything drastic. 

Even as the thought passed through his mind, Akaashi could feel no truth behind it. And one look at Bokuto told him that he was not winning this round. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and heaved out a sigh.

“If I don’t hold myself back, then people tend to get intimidated,” Akaashi offered, and that was as much as he was willing to expand on at this moment. “And when people are scared of you… that’s when you find out how nasty they can actually be.” 

“So what? You’re scared?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi scoffed because of course he wouldn’t understand. Everyone loved Bokuto, and even those that didn’t still held some sort of respect for him. He was the ace of the volleyball team, and he was the school’s heartthrob. What the hell would he know about being shunned and isolated?

Akaashi opened his mouth to say something snarky, the words burning up his throat and on to the tip of his tongue. Except when his lips parted, it wasn’t his voice that came out.

“If you hold yourself back because of random, faceless people, then aren’t you letting them win?” Bokuto interrupted Akaashi before he could speak, as if he knew that if he let the setter say whatever he was about to say, then the conversation would take a dive into the worst. “I hate losing, Akaashi.”

“What does me losing have anything to do with you?” Akaashi asked.

“Because we’re partners now. I got your back, and if you lose, I lose,” Bokuto smiled this time, and Akaashi’s chest felt a little bit lighter, “Like I said, I hate losing. So don’t make me into a loser, okay? Or it’s gonna be a problem.”

Bokuto brushes past Akaashi as he finishes speaking, hands resting on the back of his head as he walks the distance across the gym and to the volleyball cart. Akaashi’s eyes followed him in awe, a sudden fluttering in his heart and stomach as the ace digs out a new volleyball and bounces it twice onto the hardwood floors.

“We’ve only done eighty serves,” Bokuto changes the topic seamlessly, continuing on as if he hadn’t rendered Akaashi speechless, “We gotta do at least twenty more before Yamiji-san comes back to kick us out.” 

Akaashi felt his feet move, his arms positioning themselves to receive, his body running around the gym until sweat dripped on the floor all around him. But his thoughts were elsewhere, plagued with memories of a past that had apparently silenced him into a pathetic existence. He’d thought this path would be better, make him feel like he belonged.

Maybe for a while, he convinced himself that it did, satisfied with existing as a shadow on the wall. He hadn’t anticipated Fukurodani's golden-eyed Adonis to shatter the illusion with so much ease, Akaashi wonders how he ever fooled himself into believing it in the first place. 

They didn’t say a single word to each other for the rest of their practice. Or on the walk home. Or at morning practice the next day. Bokuto didn’t speak to Akaashi until the middle of their afternoon practice, when Akaashi had received every single one of Konoha’s spikes and gave Bokuto elegant, risky serves that had everyone on the other side of the net scrambling on their feet. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Bokuto exclaimed while pumping his fist, giving Akaashi a pat on the back that made the setter jerk forward two steps, “Keep that up, Akaashi!”

Akaashi rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly to the side. That’s when he noticed the thumbs up Bokuto had thrown you from across the court, and the relieved smile you returned as you flipped the numbers on the scoreboard. You and Bokuto held each other’s gazes for a moment longer, and Akaashi felt like he’d eavesdropped on an entire conversation. 

You shivered slightly when Bokuto broke away, as if Akaashi’s icy stare washed over your entire body. Then you turned your head unnaturally quick and met Akaashi’s stare dead on, making him jolt. You offered him a small wave and half a grin, but before he could respond, Bokuto was dragging him back into the game. 

After practice, Akaashi found Bokuto waiting for him by the gates of the school. He flew into an immediate tirade about the bad grade he got on his exam, and how the cafeteria ran out of katsu before he could get there. You showed up in the middle of Bokuro’s story, and the three of you started walking in sync towards the direction of Akaashi’s house, your voice mingling with Bokuto’s as you offered your own tidbits of the day. Akaashi didn’t question how you both knew where he lived, or why he was suddenly flanked by the two chattiest students in Fukurodani. But if Akaashi had known that was how it would all begin, then he might have cherished that moment a little bit more. 

He never really spoke to you during his initial months in the club, which isn’t saying much as he didn’t speak to anyone. You were nice enough – always asked him how he was doing, berating the older ones whenever they’d give him a hard time, giving him reassuring smiles whenever he got scolded for messing up. The perfect example of a manager; your only fault being the nonsensical hearts in your eyes whenever they happened to land on Bokuto. 

You tried to hide it desperately, but there was no hiding the affection in your smiles whenever they were directed toward Bokuto. It was obvious, painfully so, and it bewildered Akaashi that Bokuto still had not noticed. He can at least assume Yukie and Kaori knew, if the worried glances they threw at each other behind your back were of any indication. But if they or anyone else on the team were aware of your feelings, they respected your efforts enough to keep their thoughts to themselves. 

He couldn’t blame you, not in the slightest. Not when Akaashi’s own heart skipped a beat or two during the night of that initial confrontation, and suddenly he himself was enamored by the ace – wanted to give him the best serves, set up the best plays, win him all the games. When Bokuto was on the court, then it was natural law of the universe for Akaashi to use every skill in his arsenal to make sure he shines. Akaashi did not choose for it to be this way, it simply is.

Perhaps that was how it was for you as well, Akaashi thought. Sometimes, the most painful part about love is having no choice, the complete loss of control. Akaashi could see it; the groan after each stolen glance, shaking him off when his hug made your face too hot,  how you would slap your cheeks whenever you caught yourself staring, like a desperate attempt to break yourself out of some wretched spell.

If Akaashi was being honest, he hated seeing you that way. It didn’t take long for you to become someone precious to him, maybe even quicker than it took for Bokuto. Bokuto infuriated Akaashi as easily as he amazed him, each day a toss up on whether he admired him or wanted to strangle him.

But you brought Akaashi comfort, and a sense of understanding he’d never experienced from a friend. Sure, technically it was your job to assist the team, but he could tell that everything you did truly came from your heart. You were kind and selfless, the type of person that would give someone the very shirt off your back but still spit venom at anyone that spoke ill of your friends. 

To have you in his corner, Akaashi couldn’t even begin to explain how much it saved him. He’d been drowning in the middle of an ocean, nearly overpowered by turbulent waves when Bokuto had given him a boat, and you’d given him an oar. As long as he remained with the two of you, then Akaashi thought he could get himself through it all. 

So whenever he would watch you watch Bokuto flex his muscles to the girls cheering in the stands during a game, watch you gripping your clipboard so hard your knuckles turned white, he may feel... a little bit more than annoyed. And whenever Bokuto would then openly flirt with some of those girls after the game, Akaashi could admit that he might even feel a little bit upset.

Because how could he not see the way you look at him, how you smile when he says your name, how you trail after him like a lovesick puppy? At this point, Akaashi’s been friends with the two of you for months, won and lost countless games, gone to training camps, spent more time with each other than with your own families. And the entire time, Akaashi had to work very hard to act like he didn’t notice your feelings. How could Bokuto still be so ignorant? 

It really bothered him a lot more than he cared to admit, and it surprised him. Akaashi never expected to care about you the way he does, but there it was. Maybe it was this comfortable closeness between you that propelled Akaashi to act so boldly, in a way he couldn’t bring himself to in a long time. 

At the end of one of these unsavory games, while Bokuto busied himself with trying to get the number of a cheerleader in the stand, Akaashi scanned the court for a second, stopping only when his eyes landed on you. You were comparing your notes with the coach, and Akaashi waited until you finished speaking and Yamiji-san stalked off to scold someone else before he approached. 

“Keiji! There you are, I wanted to talk to about your receives in the first set, you –”

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Akaashi asked, not even registering what you were saying. You might have been irritated at his interruption if you hadn’t been confused by the seemingly random question he just threw at your face.

“What? Tell who what?” 

“Bokuto,” Akaashi crossed his arms and straightened his back, “Are you ever going to tell him how you feel?”

You blinked at him once, the only indication that you heard what Akaashi said. He stood facing you, and the seconds seemed to stretch as you did nothing but stare back. The cacophony of sounds that usually bounced along the walls of the gym suddenly sounded muffled and dull. Your lips twitched slightly before they spread into a rehearsed grin, your face slipping easily into a mask of casual indifference.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Keiji,” you answered him softly, shaking your head. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Akaashi groaned, “You know exactly –”

“No, I really don’t,” you said almost pleadingly, your eyes darting around the gym, a mixture of sadness and relief in them when you see Bokuto still showing off to the girls that descended from the bleachers. You look back at Akaashi, brows furrowed as you said, “I don’t know what would make you even think that. Bokuto’s my best friend – that’s it. God, Akaashi, you should really be careful about what you say. If someone heard you, they might have gotten the wrong idea.”

You shot him another hard look – almost a glare, and one that he could read very well, that told him you knew he knew you were lying, that said please, just play along – before you made an excuse of gathering up all the other players for the bus back to school. 

Akaashi’s feet felt stuck to the ground, an achingly familiar helplessness sluicing through him as you walked away. He couldn’t even bring himself to move until Bokuto threw an arm around his shoulder to drag him out, finally done with his flirting and ready to go home. 

You were already seated on the bus when Bokuto and Akaashi finally deigned to board. The seat beside you was occupied by a chattering Yukie, who refused to move despite Bokuto’s complaints of always being the one that sits next to you. You laughed sheepishly and yelled claims of ‘manager bonding’ and doing everything you could to avoid meeting Akaashi’s eye. 

That was the tone of your relationship for the next few weeks. An awkward tension that no one else seemed to notice but you and him. You didn’t treat him any differently – you still greeted him with a smile, walked home together everyday, still messed with him during practice. You still asked him about his day, and told him about yours and Akaashi almost could have convinced himself that nothing was wrong. 

But everything you did started to feel like an act. Disingenuous, like a robot following a set program. You stopped sitting next to Bokuto at lunch, started walking to classes with your other friends instead. Your eyes started flicking to Akaashi whenever you felt you laughed too loudly at Bokuto’s jokes, and you latched yourself to the other players, throwing everyone off kilter. 

You were going out of your way to prove a point that only Akaashi could understand, and even when Bokuto himself had pointed out your strange behavior, you simply brushed him off. There was a sense of insecurity that Akaashi knew he instilled in your actions, and it brought a twinge of regret that he never wanted to feel when it came to you. 

Akaashi had been pouring over how to remedy the situation for days when an olive branch came in the form of Bokuto’s new girlfriend. 

She was a girl from another school, and he met her after one of their games. She came over to their side of the court and congratulated Bokuto for thoroughly defeating her team. She was very pretty and he liked her smile, so Bokuto had asked her out, and she was very quick to say yes. She was waiting for him one day after practicing, standing patiently at the entrance gates with a bag of homemade cookies in her hand. 

Bokuto was so excited as he ran out of the gym to meet her, sparing one minute to ask Akaashi to let you know where he’d gone. Akaashi supposed it was a little comforting to know that Bokuto genuinely cared about you, even if it was encased with his own selfishness. 

Akaashi waited until the rest of the volleyball club had emptied the gym before he made his way into the equipment room. He could hear your sniffling before he even opened the door, his heart slowly crumbling when he walked in on you crouched behind the volleyball cart. 

You sat on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Your forehead rested against your knees, and your quiet sobs filled the tiny room. You didn’t bother to look up as Akaashi approached, and fought his own tears as your shoulders shook with every breath. 

He kneeled in front of you quietly, silently debating with himself before he placed a tender hand on your shoulder. You continued to cry, taking uneven, shaky breaths. You didn’t move from your position, and Akaashi briefly wondered if you’d even registered his presence. 

“Did he leave?” You asked suddenly, voice thick and hoarse.

“Yes,” Akaashi answered. 

Slowly, you lifted your head to face him. Your eyes were puffed and swollen, eyes rimmed with red and cheeks stained with tears. Snot dribbled down your nose disgracefully, and there was a sorry attempt on your part to wipe away the evidence of your heartbreak. The sleeves you’d worn your heart on were now soaked with salty tears, and you couldn’t control the tremble of your lips. 

Akaashi didn’t know what else to do other than wrap his arms around you. The position was awkward and he’s pretty sure he’d actually never hugged you before. He felt you stiffen for a second, almost making him pull back. But then you buried your face into the crook of his neck and cried. Akaashi could feel his shirt begin to soak, but he pulled you tighter against him. 

He had no idea how long he held you for, but he stayed there in that smelly old equipment room and he held you until his knees ached and you had no more tears left to give. 

Neither of you spoke once you were done, giving him a sad smile as you pulled away. He didn’t offer one back, but he helped you up to your feet and kept an arm around your shoulder as you both walked out silently. Akaashi knew there was nothing he could say to soothe the pain, and you didn’t look like you wanted to say a single word about it anyway. 

He simply walked home with you as usual, taking the long way around to ensure you both end up walking by your favorite takoyaki stand. He spent the money he was saving in his wallet for a rainy day, and bought you all the food you could eat. He had even gotten your favorite popsicle from the convenience store by your house, and though you still remained silent, he was happy to see you eat everything he gave you. 

By the time Akaashi dropped you off at your front door, the tears were long gone and the moon was high in the sky. You turned to Akaashi, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tried to find the words. Akaashi smiled to himself, and reached out to pat his hand lightly on the top of your head.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, hoping you’d believe him. The lonely smile you gave him tells him you don’t, but you hug each other one last time anyway before saying your goodbyes.

Akaashi remembered the first time you and Bokuto successfully broke through his brick walls. Broke might have been too gentle of a word for it though – smashed through might be better. It was at the start of his second season with Fukurodani, and he was still riding the high of an amazing first year. He was ready for an even better year, ready to try out his new skills at the first practice match Yamiji-san had arranged with a school the team had never played with before. 

Then a familiar voice called his name from the other side of the court. A few familiar faces from a life he was desperate to forget peered at him through the net, chuckling and laughing and asking him where the hell he’s been for the past year? Akaashi froze – completely and pathetically froze. It was only after six missed serves and accidentally smacking Bokuto in the back of the head with a ball did Yamiji-san finally tire of his antics and benched him for the rest of the game. 

Akaashi ran to the locker rooms as soon as practice was over. He didn’t acknowledge his old classmates, didn’t even pretend to be polite or engage in empty pleasantries. Instead, he hid in one of the shower stalls until the rest of the team left and he was absolutely sure there would be no one left to see him leave. 

But when he exited the stall, there you were. Standing next to Bokuto in a locker room he was absolutely sure you weren’t allowed to be in, with your hands on your hip and brows etched in concern. The two of you cornered him, and barricaded him until he fessed up about what the hell just happened on that court. Akaashi was a resilient man, but even he could do nothing against you two. 

So he told you everything – from his ‘guru’ days to the milk dumping incident to the isolation and bullying – everything. He didn’t stop speaking for what felt like hours, but neither you nor Bokuto interrupted him once, allowing him to regurgitate everything he’d been holding in for years. 

When he was done, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Pity, or sympathy or something like that. But, no. Instead, when he looked at the faces of his two best friends, all he saw was anger. Clenched fists, tight jaws, fire burning in eyes – anger. And it made him happy. Whatever happened in his past didn’t matter, because here, he had two people who were willing to get angry on his behalf. 

He thought he couldn’t get any closer to you than he was at that moment. But he was wrong.

Walking away from your doorstep, Akaashi knew the bond between the two of you was solidified after this – having already seen each other at your worst, taking turns being each other’s salvation. You become more than his friend, you were his sister. Sister in pain, sister in darkness, sister in light. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you, and you for him. 

Thinking back, the sobbing was probably a bit of an overreaction. A little dramatic considering Bokuto had broken up with that girl not even three weeks later. He was crying and moaning about it for about ten minutes until you promised to take him to his favorite yakiniku spot, and he never thought about that girl again. 

Things would go back to normal for a little while – the three of you acting as reckless teenagers do when they had free reign over the streets of Tokyo. Sitting in cafes sharing one drink for four hours, getting scolded by the coach for staying in the gym too long, laughing and arguing over the most ridiculous reasons that Bokuto turned emo. 

Until Bokuto meets his next girlfriend. Then your heart breaks into a million pieces, and Akaashi tries to hold you together. Then Bokuto breaks up with his girlfriend, and comes running back with crocodile tears in his eyes. You’d catch him again with open arms, and things are alright for a little while until the ugly cycle starts over again. 

Akaashi tried not to let himself wonder why you allowed yourself to accept this – allow Bokuto to put you through it over and over again. He told himself that he didn’t really care, it wasn’t any of his business. Whether you told Bokuto your true feelings or not was your prerogative, and Akaashi wouldn’t do anything but respect your decisions. Even if the decision seemed borderline masochistic. 

Akaashi is forced to simply brush off his irritation at his best friend, because Bokuto was so painfully unaware of what he’d been doing. And if Bokuto was too stupid to see what was right in front of his eyes, then Akaashi was not interested in being the one to enlighten him. 

Ultimately, Akaashi does what he does best – keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. He would listen to every single complaint Bokuto would have about his girlfriends, but he never dared offer his own opinions. He allowed you to drag him to whatever random activity would keep your mind off your own issues, but he never outwardly acknowledged the hurt you always tried to hide. 

And as horrible it is to say, the girls never lasted very long. A month, maybe two at the most. Hardly enough time for Akaashi to memorize any names, as cruel as that sounded. Soon enough, they would complain about his training schedule, or whine about how he hangs out with his friends a bit too much, and that was all it took for Bokuto to cut it off. Bokuto’s priorities always remained the same, and that at least was something Akaashi happily gave him credit for. 

By the time college rolled around, you had even started dating. No one else had ever successfully managed to ensnare your attention for more than five minutes, but Akaashi appreciated seeing you try. Though he admits it was rather amusing to see Bokuto so fervently talk shit about any person you had even a remote interest in, and maybe a little bit more than satisfying to see Bokuto finally be the one on the other side. 

Bokuto, surprisingly, never actually brought any of his girlfriends around. He talked about them, and on occasion, he would invite them to some of his games, but that was it. It was odd, because Bokuto had always struck Akaashi as the type that wanted his partner cheering for him at every opportunity they could get, and would want to hear their voice screaming his name from the stands. But on the rare occasion he actually allowed any of them to come watch him, Bokuto was quick to usher them out of the gym before anyone could even introduce themselves.

It bewildered Akaashi to no end. Was it because he was ashamed?Akaashi’s met at least two girlfriends, and Bokuto’s gone on double dates with Konoha and Washio. Was he hiding his girlfriends from you?

Did he finally get a taste of his own medicine when he saw you kiss that guy in your psych class? Was Bokuto trying to spare you the pain? Akaashi didn’t really want to think of the implications if that statement were true. 

Well, out of sight, out of mind was a set up that worked for him very well.

And more importantly, it worked well enough for you. Worked for Bokuto as well, apparently. He didn’t want to see any of your flings, and you were better off not seeing any of his. A nauseating song and dance that only the two of you knew the steps for. Neither of you were willing to be each other's partner, satisfied to let the opportunity suspend in the air between you, yet never reaching out to take it. 

But hey, if you’re fine with it, then Akaashi could work with this. He could live with this.

That was until Hikari came along. 

Akaashi was honestly a little surprised – Hikari wasn’t typically the type of woman that Bokuto would tangle himself with. That wasn’t to say anything about her looks, or her personality – she was very much Bokuto’s type. But she had already been an essential part of at least one aspect of his life before they started dating, and it was unusual for Bokuto to allow a relationship to transpire with someone so close – the manager of his team, at that. Bokuto always dated outside the proximity of his circle; someone that went to another school, or one that he met at the gym, or sat next to him in one of his classes. 

Never anyone too close. Never anyone that would matter if he lost them. 

But apparently, Hikari was a woman on a mission. Akaashi knew it from the first time he met her, could see it in the wolfish gleam in her eyes as she watched Bokuto from across the room.

He was a little taken aback, but not all that shocked when you came home from that party, practically giving him a heart attack when you burst through the front door and stormed directly to the couch. You didn’t spare him a glance before you face planted onto the cushions, buried your face into the decorative pillows he’d spent two hours picking, and let out the most ungodly scream he’d ever heard. 

You didn’t have to tell him what happened; Akaashi could easily guess. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he still asked slowly, afraid any sudden movements might cause you to lunge. 

“I wish I knew,” your voice was muffled, not bothering to lift your head from the pillow. 

A nagging voice in his head told him he should have stayed at that party, to be your emotional support at the very least if nothing else. He mentally kicked himself, glaring at the laptop he sat in front of, and the blinking document of his unfinished part in the group project he was meant to present to his group mates in the morning. As if the assignment was responsible for his failure. 

You’d be safe if he left, he reasoned with himself. The volleyball team was full of idiots, but they were all good guys. Besides, Bokuto was there and there wasn’t a single chance in hell anything bad would happen to you while he was around. And if Bokuto was too drunk, then Kuroo at least would make sure you all got home safely.  He’d even set himself up on the dining room table so he could see you walk through the front door with his own two eyes. 

Because he had fully expected you to walk through those doors with Bokuto in tow like you’ve done dozens of times, and the fact that you arrived in the dead of night alone was enough to make Akaashi’s blood pressure rise. 

He stood from his chair and walked the few short steps to the fridge. He opened the freezer door, pushing through packets of frozen meat until he found the cream puff flavored ice cream that you had to special order online. He grabs the pint and two spoons before he makes his way to the couch. 

You didn’t move when he pushed your leg to the side, sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. You didn’t move when he nudged your calves with his knuckles and asked you to sit up before you suffocated. So he just leaned back, tossing the lid of the ice cream pint onto the coffee table before digging in. 

It’d been two bites of ice cream and one minute later when you slowly maneuver yourself to sit up. Akaashi tried to pretend not to notice you, but it was impossible when you snatched the extra spoon and the entire pint out of his hand in one fluid motion.

“Jesus, watch out for my fingers,” he mumbled, smirking at the glare you shot his way. But you only held the fake contempt until the first spoon of your favorite dessert hit your lips – then you were sighing and leaning your head against Akaashi’s shoulder.

He patted a hand on your knee, reaching over for a scoop of ice cream and chuckling when you blocked his spoon with yours. You tried to hide the ice cream from him, but his arms were long, and he easily snatched the pint back. 

“Hey!” you cried out, and Akaashi quickly conceded before you really took out a finger. 

“How’d you get home?” Akaashi asked, lifting his feet to rest them on the coffee table and leaning his head against yours.

“Kuroo walked me home,” you replied quietly.

“Good.”

Neither of you said another word as you let the quiet of the evening envelope you, not a single sound save for the occasional clashing of spoons when you both reached for another bite. He could feel you slowly ease beside him, the tension in your body melting away with each passing minute.

When the ice cream was finished, the empty pint decorated your table, along with two spoons haphazardly tossed, surrounded by splotches of melted cream that was sure to be a pain to clean. Your breathing was steady, and the time on the clock read ‘Akaashi is going to be exhausted in the morning’. 

He didn’t care, though. You hadn’t moved or spoken in a while now, and Akaashi was convinced you were already asleep. He already prepared himself to spend the night on the couch, your head on his shoulder and his body twisted in a way that was sure to make his back ache the next day. 

He was just seconds away from giving into sleep’s lovely tug when you broke the silence. 

“I saw him with…” you said, fiddling with the hem of your shirt and clearing your throat, “It was Hikari.”

Akaashi sighed, reaching a hand up to pat your head. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, a pitiful question that he’s repeated to you countless times.

He waited for your usual answer – vehement denial that anything could be possibly wrong, an airy dismissal of his concerns, and a change in conversation so effortless, it almost makes Akaashi forget what he was saying to you in the first place.

This time, though – this time, a weighted silence followed his question, and you looped an arm around his, hugging him firmly.

“Not really,” you admitted softly. 

It was the first time Akaashi had ever heard you confess your heartache. It was always something that was unspoken, and seeing your crumpled face made Akaashi regret ever keeping things that way. He turned fully to wrap himself around you gently, and you gave yourself to his embrace. He’d only heard a sniffle or two, but he could feel the moisture slowly seeping into his t-shirt. It was a feeling that was achingly familiar. 

“Come on, now. Didn’t we say crying over boys was… I think your words were ‘so fucking embarrassing’,” Akaashi mumbled into your hair, smiling when he felt you chuckle against him. His stomach turned at the inadequacy of his words, but he had no idea what else to offer, so he simply offered himself. “I’m here for you, okay? Always.”

You pulled back for a moment to give him a watery smile. Akaashi wiped at your tear stained cheeks.

“Literally, your snot is dripping down to your mouth, and it’s disgusting.” 

Your laughter warmed Akaashi’s cheeks, smacking him on the shoulder before you stood up. You said nothing else as you stalked off into the darkness of your bedroom, not bothering to turn on any lights before shutting the door. 

A myriad of emotions swirled through Akaashi as he remained seated on the couch. Was there more that he could have said? Could have done? If he had stayed at the party, would he have been able to stop this from happening? Was it even any of his business to stop it? 

But Akaashi knows himself, and knows he would have said nothing if he saw Bokuto sneak away with Hikari. He would have done nothing except perhaps usher you to the other side of the house, using whatever means to keep you distracted. Even if he was there, all he could have done was spare you the knowledge of it – at least for one night. 

He couldn’t help but feel as if he failed you then – to be a good friend, a brother. Or maybe he’s failed you for years. You’d never see it that way, could never even fathom the notion of his failure, and somehow that thought bothers Akaashi more. 

Akaashi stood up and stalked to his own room. He shut the door and collapsed onto his bed, hatred pumping from his heart through his veins as he drifted off to sleep. 

It was that lingering hate he could still feel churning in his gut when he awoke the next morning that spurred him out of bed and scurrying into the living room. He had every intention of starting the day as a new man – one who didn’t allow his cowardice consume him, didn’t place the comfort of his wellbeing over the needs of those he loved. 

Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind, but his momentum halted instantly when he rounded the corner of the hallway, and saw you standing in the genkan. You looked like you had just rolled out of bed yourself, eyes swollen and still wearing the clothes from last night. Your hand rested on the doorknob, the front door wide open.

You turned to him as he approached, and gave him an almost pleading look. Akaashi only had to wonder why you were distressed for two seconds before Bokuto barrelled through the doorway, way too loudly and looking much too bright for the hour. 

Akaashi has seen this dance before. He’s seen it so many times, the sequence of it already playing out in his mind like a familiar melody. Bokuto comes in with a plan that sounded equal parts ridiculous and exhausting, dragging you out without even asking. Akkashi scoffed as you tried and failed to ward off Bokuto with pathetic excuses, but as usual he was having none of it. And both you and Akaashi knew better than to think you could win against Bokuto Kotaro. 

He stood aside while you flurried around the apartment like a blizzard storm, fighting the frown at how Bokuto stood in the foyer with his hands on his hips, a satisfied and smug look on his face. Bokuto turned to Akaashi as if he’d just noticed him for the first time, slapping him on the shoulder before asking, “Akaashi! Why do I feel like I didn’t even see you at all last night?”

It was an effort not to lift a hand and smack Bokuto in the back of the head right then and there. But thankfully, you came rushing out of your bedroom, hastily grabbing a pair of shoes from the genkan. You shot him one last apologetic glance, and you were out the door before he could even bid you goodbye. 

And there he stood – alone in the foyer of his own apartment, feeling like nothing more than a fly on the wall. 

A glance at the clock was the only thing that could have set him in motion, already running ten minutes later than he wanted to start his day. From the tornado named Bokuto that just passed, and the flurry in which Akaashi himself now dashed around, it seemed the apartment was destined to be chaotic. 

He was impatiently tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter, glaring at his coffee machine as if his sheer will would somehow make the brew drip faster, when there was another knock on the door. 

The day was already filled with chaos, but apparently also surprises, because the last person he expected to see on the other side of the threshold was Kuroo Tetsuro. 

The two boys blinked at each other for a second, Kuroo looking just as confused as Akaashi as to why he came to visit in the first place. Kuroo shifted his weight from one foot to the other with his hands tucked in his front pockets, offered Akaashi a nervous smile and a lukewarm attempt at small talk before finally asking if you were still asleep inside. 

Akaashi sighed as he delivered the unfortunate news that not only were you already awake, but were currently being dragged no doubt halfway across the city by none other than Kuroo’s very own roommate. 

“Do you guys not communicate or something,” Akaashi asked blandly, and Kuroo just shrugged.

“He wasn’t there when I got home last night, and he wasn’t there when I woke up this morning. What do you want from me?” 

Akaashi rolled his eyes, but he still widened the door for Kuroo to slip through, who only smiled at him sheepishly as he entered the apartment. Akaashi asked if he wanted some coffee, and Kuroo graciously accepted, slipping back into the easy, laid-back attitude that he’d always been known to wear. 

Content to leave Kuroo to his own devices, Akaashi darted back into his room to quickly change. When he emerged eight minutes later, fully clothed and his backpack dangling from his shoulder, Kuroo was filling up his thermos with coffee while Akaashi’s already sat waiting for him at the counter. 

Akaashi nodded his head in thanks, Kuroo handing him his cup as the two walked out of the apartment in tandem. He didn't say anything when Kuroo remained in step with him, chattering about his classes as they embarked on the twenty minute walk to campus. Didn’t even consider that it was a weekend, and Kuroo likely didn’t even have to head in this direction so early at all. 

Kuroo stayed with Akaashi as far as the library entrance, the latter almost entering the building before he finally had the frame of mind to wonder, “Wait, so why’d you stop by the apartment today?” Akaashi looked over his shoulder and adjusted his bag a bit higher, “Sorry, I was too distracted by… everything. Did you need something?”

Kuroo chuckled almost guiltily, a crooked smile on his lips. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at Akaashi as if he was debating whether he wanted to tell him the truth. 

“Oh, ha,” Kuroo breathed out, shaking his head slightly, “No, I was just – I mean, y/n looked pretty out of it last night. And I was about to,” Kuroo cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt, “I was heading to that cafe – you know, the one in front of that seven eleven? – and I thought I’d check in to see if she was alive.”

Akaashi’s eyes softened in understanding, pressing his lips into a thin line and nodding his head once as he turned to face Kuroo fully and offered him half a smile.

“Thanks for taking her home last night, by the way,” said Akaashi, “She’s lucky you were still at the party.”

Kuroo let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. He takes a strap of his own backpack off his shoulder and flips it to the front, holding it against his chest as he hastily pulls open the zipper.

“Yeah, it was just good timing,” Kuroo replied while he continued to dig through his backpack. He eventually pulls out a few red packets and hands them to Akaashi, “Here. It’s red ginseng. I’m not sure how long you’re planning to be here, but it should help you get through the day.” 

Akaashi examined the red packets in his hand, almost pouting with appreciation to Kuroo. But when he lifted his head, Kuroo was already walking across the courtyard.

“Make sure to give one of those to y/n when you see her!” He yelled over his shoulder, waving at Akaashi one last time before taking off. 

Akaashi did eat the red ginseng, and it did help him get through the seven hours he had spent in the library that day. And he never thought twice about Kuroo’s impromptu visit to his apartment that morning, nor did he think twice about being escorted to the library despite the cafe Kuroo mentioned being on the complete opposite side of campus. 

Because that was just Kuroo – Akaashi had never known him to be any other way. The very definition of all bark no bite, the kind of man that would tease you relentlessly for a stain on your pants, then take you to a store to buy you a new pair. 

Though Kuroo may have been closer to Bokuto, Akaashi had a tremendous amount of respect for the man, and would probably even go so far as to say Kuroo was also one of his closest friends. 

And when Hikari started to prove herself a new fixture, and Bokuto’s absence became more frequent, Akaashi was appreciative of Kuroo’s steady presence – still showing up to the study sessions, and coming over to watch volleyball games on Akaashi’s “much nicer TV”, and grabbing hot ramen and a cold beer after a particularly stressful test. 

He was acting as the Kuroo Tetsuro he’d always been, and it was that semblance of normalcy that Kuroo effortlessly provided, without anyone asking him to, nor any expectations from anyone else – like a lighthouse in the middle of a raging storm, Akaashi knows it was Kuroo that brought them safely to harbor. 

Because Akaashi was waiting for it. Ever since that day you had come home from your outing with Bokuto, dragging your feet through the door, looking like someone had just ripped the world out from beneath your feet, he had been waiting. For the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable descent into madness - at least your version of it. 

He felt prepared for it in a way, felt ready. He was no longer going to pretend to believe your fake smiles and reassurances that you were fine while you locked yourself in your room days at a time, and he wasn’t going to let you throw yourself so hard into your studies that you forget to eat. 

Akaashi felt things would be different this time around. He’d make sure of it. So he waited for the moment your mask would fall, and prepared himself to catch the pieces.

But the moment never came. 

Don’t misunderstand. It’s not as if Akaashi wanted to see you have a mental breakdown for the eighth time in as many years, and he certainly didn’t want to watch you retreat into a shell of yourself as you attempt to reconcile your new reality with your broken fantasies. 

Akaashi can see it in your face sometimes, even though you try your hardest to hide it. The exhaustion beneath your red-rimmed eyes, the very slight downturn of your lips when you thought no one was paying attention, and the tiredness in your slumped shoulders, as if you’ve been carrying a mountain on your shoulders. 

Still, you always made sure to take care of everybody, and you did it for so long. Akaashi didn’t want to admit to being part of the guilty party, but he had just been as willing to take everything you gave, and believed when you said you needed nothing in return. 

It was shameful, and a little bit more than selfish, but a small part of him wanted this chance. To prove himself a worthy friend, that he could take care of the people that mattered to him the most. He almost hated himself for it, for using your suffering as an opening, but he wanted to make up for all the lost opportunities, for the pain his silence might have caused. 

It was his turn to take care of you, and he was ready to do a damn good job.

Except, you were fine. 

He was thankful, if not a little thrown off by the lack of a depressive episode. But thankful, nonetheless. 

More than thankful, though, he was curious. Bokuto was becoming increasingly absent, flaking on plans and ignoring phone calls. Akaashi had never seen him be so serious about a girl, and even he was feeling annoyed about being left in the proverbial dust. Akaashi had imagined you’d be a little more… upset.

He hadn’t noticed any particular changes. Your routine hardly deviated, aside from the occasional dinners or drinks at the bar with him and Kuroo – if you were not in class you were at work, if you weren’t at work you were home, and if you weren’t home you were in class. For a short while, Akaashi felt like he had been living with a ghost, just going through the motions until the sun set and rose again for the new day. 

Sometimes, though, he’d find you on the balcony, sitting on the matching chairs Bokuto’s sisters bought for you when the two of you had first moved in. A mug of coffee or tea would be in your hands, the liquid looking as if it had long gone cold. You wouldn’t acknowledge Akaashi whenever he’d step outside to join you. Say nothing as he sits in the vacant seat beside you, staring only out into the blinking lights of the city. 

When you were this way, Akaashi knew better than to try and bother you to speak. Your mind was eons away, in a world where Akaashi had never been and would never get to see. So he settled himself to sit beside you silently, until you were ready to climb back down from wherever you wandered off to.   

But even those days became few and far in between. 

It was something that confused him, like he’d been following a trail of crumbs laid before him, yet had no idea where it would lead him to. 

That was, until he walked up to Study room 201 for the usual Tuesday evening session. On a normal day he would simply barge into the room without a thought as to who was already in there or if they were in the middle of anything important. But there was a tug in his chest that halted him in front of the narrow, rectangular window cut-out of the sliding door. He was still as he peeked through the glass, and something clicked so loudly in his brain, his eardrums nearly burst. 

Because Study Room 201 was already a mess of textbooks and papers, prohibited snacks and drinks littered the conference table, and Kuroo Tetsuro was sitting next to you. 

You were leaning over as you read something on his laptop screen, and Kuroo slightly leaned back to give you some room. Your eyes were roving over the screen quickly, faster than any normal person should be reading. Then you frowned at something, your finger pointing at certain spots as you explained his mistakes. 

It seemed like you were ripping into Kuroo’s essay or project or whatever it was he was having you read over, your mouth running off into a seemingly endless tangent of all the things he could have done differently. If it was Akaashi in that situation, his head would probably feel so hot from how irritating your voice surely would have sounded in his ears. He might have shoved you away altogether. 

Yet, there was Kuroo Tetsuro, sitting in the seat Akaashi had only ever seen one other person sit in, staring at you as he tried but failed desperately to hide the smile on his face. You turned just as Kuroo’s smile bubbled into a chuckle, and you smacked your pen so hard on his head, Akaashi was afraid he might start bleeding. 

Kuroo’s chuckle turned into complete laughter, loud and obnoxious and infectious, it was only a matter of seconds until you dissolved into a fit of giggles yourself. 

Neither of you paid him much attention when Akaashi finally decided to open the door. In fact, it seemed as if you hadn’t noticed him at all, despite nearly slamming the door in his haste to enter. Akaashi settled into the seat across from you, as he’s always done, and a small part of him wondered if Kuroo might move back into his usual seat beside him now that Akaashi has entered the picture.

He didn’t. He simply smiled at Akaashi and asked him if he’d like a turn to criticize his work. Of course, Akaashi agreed and thoroughly enjoyed tearing down Kuroo’s perfectly good thesis if only because it made both of you laugh. 

Akaashi felt incredibly stupid for not seeing it before, and now that he has, he doesn’t understand how he could have possibly missed it. He stared at the man beside you now, sneaking grapes onto your laptop to get you to eat and wordlessly walking down the hall to fill your water bottle and filling in the seat Akaashi never braved to fill, and the revelations pour over him like a waterfall, loud and rumbling and serene all at once. 

He’s glad it was Kuroo. 

It was a little painful, though. Not a heartbreak, nor a pang of jealousy, but there was an ache that took hold in his body all the same. And he hated that selfish part of him that was hurt – wishing it was him that could have helped you heal.

But it wasn’t him, and he’s glad it was Kuroo. 

Whatever sort of pain or shame or guilt that he was torturing himself with was quickly eased away by the sound of your muffled laughter through the apartment walls during late night phone calls, the color that was beginning to return to your cheeks, and the light that had finally returned in your eyes.

In those following months, you stopped locking yourself in your room, stopped losing yourself in the city lights on that cold, empty balcony. And more than once has Akaashi come home to find you and Kuroo splayed across the living room, either giggling over something playing on the TV screen with beer cans littered across his coffee table, or sitting beside each other in comfortable silence while you both worked or studied.

One way or another, Akaashi would get roped into whatever it was you were doing with Kuroo. And he’ll complain, berate you two for wasting his time on nonsense and tomfoolery, but it was those moments that provided him with a sharp clarity, like he finally has all the pieces he needed for this puzzle. 

Akaashi may have been just a man on the outside looking in, but the picture that Kuroo had built with you – for you – was more beautiful and warm than Akaashi had ever thought to imagine. And whether you realized it or not, you now went about your days with a permanent smile on your lips and a lightness in the air about you that Akaashi had not felt in years. 

It had filled him with something he didn’t even know he had been missing, as if his lungs were finally taking their first gulp of air after so long underwater. The brightness you started to exude felt as warm and refreshing as summer’s first rays of sun, and Akaashi finally lets himself relax. 

Because Kuroo – that son of a bitch, Akaashi could kiss him in the mouth – he had taken the pieces of you that were scattered across the dirty floor, and he’s put together every single shard until you were nearly whole again. He had breathed an entirely new life into you, a mosaic of all the things you thought you couldn’t handle, brought back to make you stronger. You were almost unrecognizable. 

But people don’t change so easily, and some habits are ingrained into your bones. Akaashi could already see the beginnings of it. The self-doubt, the fear, overthinking your every word and action. Often, Akaashi felt as if he could hear your thoughts from across the room, his throat constricting as they wrapped around him like a noose. 

He didn’t want things to be the same, he told himself. Things were going to be different this time. He’d said it like a mantra over and over again, and now was the time for him to put his money where his mouth was. 

And one day, Akaashi was in the kitchen making his usual cup of coffee, you came bouncing – no, literally, you were bouncing – out of your room with just about the goofiest smile he’d ever seen on your face, and it was all the push he needed to step over the line.

He allowed himself that bit of courage, something he’d spent years shoving to the back of his mind, smothered by his own hands.

“Excited for your date?”

“It’s not a date!”

“Would it be so bad if it was?I mean look at you, you’re smiling like an idiot.” 

For one, glorious, precious second, Akaashi thought that things would finally work out. The gears started spinning your head, and even though you glared at him, Akaashi could already see a sparkle in your eye, and a hint of smile you tried to hide.

“You know what, Keiji, I’m getting sick of you –”

And it only took three knocks for everything to come toppling down. 

The not-so-serendipitous entrance of Bokuto Koutaro was usually accepted with open arms, and an exasperated sigh that wasn’t actually exasperated but a little excited to see what he’s got planned for the day.

But that day, the sight of his streaked hair made Akaashi’s stomach drop to the floor, and hearing the way he spoke to you only made Akaashi see red. 

He almost didn’t register the slam of his front door, the blood roaring in his ears too loudly for him to hear your heated exchange. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel sorry for his best friend, pouting like a child whose favorite toy was just ripped from his hand. 

Akaashi knew, deep down somewhere in a dusty corner of his heart, that Bokuto didn’t mean any harm. He might have even thought he came here with the best of intentions, that maybe he was trying to be a good friend. And maybe that’s what irritates Akaashi even more, the complete lack of self-awareness, and the obliviousness to those around him – perfectly content with staying inside his own Bokuto-powered bubble. 

Irritated, yes. Still, Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to be truly vexed. Not when Bokuto looked just as confused and distraught. Akaashi didn't know what he was thinking, or perhaps he wasn’t even thinking at all, but he couldn’t stop himself. But the worst part of it was, he didn’t want to. Because you were finally letting yourself be happy, and he wasn’t going to let Bokuto ruin it. 

“She’s finally moving on. You shouldn’t do anything to mess that up.”

“Just leave it alone, Bokuto-san. Before anyone gets hurt.”

By the time he was finished, the flames of anger Akaashi felt just moments prior had completely died, and he was left with nothing but a taste of smoke and ash on his tongue. He spoke the words a lot more calmly than he felt, a familiar sense of sympathy creeping over his heart yet again.

Because the look on Bokuto’s face was one Akaashi had seen before, but never on him. A mix of shock and confusion, topped off with a hint of anguish and regret. It looked sad enough on you, but on Bokuto, it was heartbreaking.

So he truly didn’t know. Akaashi’s not sure if it made him feel better or worse. He just knew he was finished with this game, and although he couldn’t really understand the gravity of what he’d just done, he didn’t regret it. When Bokuto silently nodded and left his apartment, he felt only relief.

There was an eerie calm that settled in the wake of Bokuto’s departure. You came back from your date-not-date with Kuroo in infinitely better spirits than when you left, back to skipping around the apartment while humming a tune only you could hear, and the morning’s debacle was already long forgotten. 

Kuroo, unsurprisingly, became quite determined to attach himself to your hip, with a new sense of comfort and a different sort of tension that Akaashi didn’t feel like addressing. It seemed the encounter with Bokuto had added fuel to more than one fire, and if Kuroo was trying to hide his feelings before, he wasn’t bothering to do so now. Akaashi’s caught the way Kuroo looks at you more than once, and it’s even given him butterflies more than he cared to admit. 

Bokuto eventually apologized, and he’d even started bringing Hikari around more. She really was a sweet girl, clearly putting in the effort to get to know Bokuto’s friends. She even desperately tried to ignore Bokuto’s longing looks at a certain blossoming couple, and Akaashi wished he had the capacity to care just a little bit more about the poor girl Bokuto dragged into the tangled web of his heart. 

Alas, he was too busy preparing for the storm.

Akaashi had always been an overthinker. It’s in his nature, something inherent in him that he could never shake no matter how hard he tried. Or it could be the result of his younger days hiding behind his fear, maybe it was something he never actually got over. Akaashi doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he knows much of anything these days. 

His useless mind was only searching for ways he could have prevented this. If he pushed you about your feelings earlier, would you have ended up with Bokuto instead of Kuroo? Would it have been the two of you laughing and dancing, pouring honey in each others’ ear in a crowded room like no one was watching? 

If not for Akaashi, would Bokuto have ever even realized you were in love with him? Were it not for him, would it have eaten away at Bokuto’s very heart until he attacked his own best friend? Akaashi should have kept his mouth shut. If he did, then maybe you might have actually allowed yourself to enjoy being with Kuroo, to let him romance you in the way he’s been aching to do, to let yourself fall in the way you’ve been afraid to for so long. 

And if he did, then maybe he wouldn’t have found Bokuto’s white-knuckled fists gripping Kuroo’s shirt in the middle of a stunned crowd, drenched in sticky alcohol and hair in disarray while you were crying in the corner. Hikari wouldn’t have been sobbing in the back of a dirty taxi, fighting the bile rising in her throat from the betrayal of the one meant to love her most.

He wouldn’t have had to drag you home, too stunned into silence to fight him. He was thankful for that, because he knows that if you had seen the look on Kuroo’s face as everyone he loved left him soaked, eyes stinging, and alone… Akaashi would have deserved that punch you’d throw in his face. 

There were a plethora of things he wished he said, things he could have done. They played through his mind like an endless reel of maybes and what ifs and would haves over and over again as if determined to drive him insane.

He’s not sure what to do now. He’s not sure if he should even do anything. He was tired, he hadn't eaten in at least twenty seven hours, and when he looked in the mirror that morning, he cringed at the deep purple color that encircled his eyes. 

The coffee maker beeped loudly, and Akaashi mindlessly grabbed his mug from the cabinet. His eyes were unfocused, relying on his muscle memory to grab the oat milk creamer from the fridge and mixing in his preferred amount of sugar. 

The morning was calm, a stark contrast from the evening before, and Akaashi’s been awake for a lot longer than he’d care to admit. He stirred his spoon in circles, watching the whorls of milk blend into inky water. This was his fourth cup. Four times he’s brewed a fresh pot, hoping to have one ready for you once you step out of your room. Four times the coffee had turned cold, and he watched it swirl against the steel of his sink as he poured it down the drain. Four times he’s walked to the counter to brew a fresh pot again. 

He winced when he took a sip, coffee burning his tongue, like one last insult to his injuries. By now, he’s already used up more than half the bag of coffee beans you brought home from work just the other day. He hated being wasteful. He hated drinking more than one cup before he could even eat his breakfast. He hated waiting for you alone with nothing but the sugar granules littering his dining table to keep him company. 

He hated the silence in his apartment. He hated the 53 missed calls on his phone from Kuroo and Bokuto. He hated that he was the one who sent Bokuto into a downward spiral. He hated every single face that did nothing but gawked with their phones out while two men – who had never so much as raised their voices at each other  – looked like they were two seconds away from ripping each other's throat out.  

He hated everything.

But he would still do it all over again. Let the fire he had unknowingly started burn their slate clean. If it means peace, if it means freedom from the cage they built around themselves… then he’d do it all over again, for his friends. 

And once it grows cold, Akaashi will brew another pitcher of coffee. He will make himself another cup. 

And he will sit in this chair, and he will wait until he sees you walking out that door. 

The sun was nearing its peak when you finally woke up. 

You cursed yourself for forgetting to draw all your curtains last night, and you squinted against the harsh rays of sun now beating down on your face.

It was an effort to open your eyes. There was crust lining your waterline, stinging your lashes when you tried to flutter them open. Your lids still felt heavy and swollen, and you barely won the battle of keeping them open. 

Your head was throbbing, so loudly that it was the only thing you could hear. You dig into your temples with the heel of your palm, groaning as you positioned yourself to sit up. You run your hands along the rumpled sheets until your fingers hit something hard. You dig through a little more, closing your eyes and bracing yourself as you grab your phone. 

Dead. Only a black screen stared back, no matter how many times you pressed the buttons. You tossed the phone back on the mattress just as you flopped yourself back down, the both of you landing on the sheets like a useless brick.

You should probably charge the damn thing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb the morning’s peace just yet. You doubt you’d find another moment of it the second you get out of this bed. 

Instead, you bury your fingers into your own hair, twisting your body around until your face is buried in your pillow, and you fight the urge to scream into it, too worried that the extra strain might actually cause you to hurl your guts out.  

Not yet. 

You burrowed even deeper into your sheets, wrapping the blankets around yourself until you were nothing more than a cocoon of self-preservation. Because you weren’t ready to face it. The betrayal you were unknowingly the center of, the years of friendship that was splintered in a matter of seconds, the broken hearts of the people you cherished the most. You weren’t ready to face any of it. Not yet.

As if the cowardly admission was some sort of key, memories began to flood through wide open gates in your head, soaking you all over again with sticky alcohol and salty tears. You tried to push it back, tried to cover yourself, like holding an umbrella in a hurricane. But the waves of memory overpowered you, knocking you off your feet each time you remembered Kuroo’s wide-eyed, vacant look as he watched Akaashi haul you away. 

Kuroo. 

Tetsuro.

Even a mere whisper of his name still sends shocks through your nerves, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. The thought of him consumed you so easily, so wholly, like he was a blanket of calm that smothered all your raging thoughts until there was only him. Everything about him made you so dizzy, light headed and out of breath.

Every time you hear his voice, so rich and creamy, it coats all over you like something luxurious on your skin. Forcing yourself to pretend that you’re not breathing in his scent whenever he’s near, pretend that cedar and smoke and warm amber don’t haunt your dreams – it was a tremendous effort on your part to keep yourself sane, to keep yourself from free-falling into the rabbit hole that was Kuroo Tetsuro. 

But last night… You could have dreamt all you wanted about what it would be like to have him look at you with shaky breaths and dilated pupils and ask if he could kiss you, and it still wouldn’t have amounted to anything close to actually having him in front of you. It made you want to laugh almost as much as it made you want to cry, because of course Kuroo Tetsuro could make reality surpass fantasy. 

You wished the memories could have stopped there, that your night ended with the only kiss that has ever made you feel like you were in the clouds.

But fate was almost as cruel as life. 

It was difficult to explain how it felt, for everything to finally click into place while also spiraling into confusion. 

You understood with painful clarity why Hikari hated you, why she acted like you were a pebble in her shoe, and looked at you as if your very existence was an eyesore. You remembered that fight with Bokuto, and the tension that never went away even after the two of you reconciled – all the times Bokuto’s mood would plummet at the mere mention Kuroo, each time you ignored the frustrated glances he threw towards the both of you, hoping you were simply imagining things.

Because what reason could Bokuto possibly have to act that way? You thought about it over and over, and could never come up with an adequate conclusion. 

Now, your willful ignorance has finally come to pay its retribution, a sort of cosmic joke that you were sure some powers above found absolutely hilarious – because Bokuto Kotaro was in love with you. In love. With you. Has been, apparently, for … you didn’t even want to think of how long, couldn’t comprehend the implication of his confession.

A confession that you vividly remember praying for, words that your heart has longed for and ached to hear. Cried for in the silent void of your bedroom, hoped for in your fractured soul, because for so long, you waited, even just for a sliver for a chance for Bokuto to actually see you as more than a friend, more than just the overbearing manager who followed him to college. 

It almost kills you to know that he was waiting for the same thing. 

For a moment, you envisioned it. The life you could have had with Bokuto – walking around campus tucked beneath his arm, registering for classes that fit each other’s schedule, wearing his jersey when you watch his games. Maybe you would have joined the team as a manager, and there wouldn’t have been a second you wouldn’t spend together. Bokuto probably wouldn’t have even waited for the first year to end before convincing you to move in with him. The apartment would have been small, but he wouldn’t ever miss a single dinner together. 

Every morning, you’d wake up to an empty bedroom, but by the time you prepared two steaming mugs of coffee, Bokuto would have already returned from his morning run. He’d kiss you and embrace you, and you’d get ready for the day together, leave your home together, and come home together.

Grief is peppered through every thought like weeds, mourning for the time lost and each memory that never happened. It would have been a beautiful life together. It would have been filled with love, laughter, and happiness so bright, just imagining it made your eyes burn. 

The smell of fresh coffee permeated through the musty, stale air of your bedroom. You could almost see the trail of the scent wafting through the open seams of your door, snaking through the smog until it wrapped around you like a warm embrace. It beckoned you like a familiar friend, so enticing that it actually spurred you to sit back up. 

Suddenly, you felt your stomach grumble and the dryness in your mouth felt like ash, as if the smell of arabica beans was that first fallen domino that had all your issues tumbling into each other. You ignored the rush of nausea churning in your stomach that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol you drank last night, and swung your legs over the side of your bed, feet absently shuffling against the wooden floor until they found your slippers. 

You stifled a groan as you stood, and dragged your feet across the room slowly. You snatched the thin robe you kept hung over your computer chair, and wrapped it tightly around your body, taking a deep breath as you closed your fingers around the door knob and twisted it open. 

You nearly choked on the wave of aroma that rushed at you so fast, you might have thought you were stepping into an actual roastery instead of your own living room. You half expected to see Akaashi standing over a heated pan, vigorously stirring beans until they turned brown – or however the hell one would roast coffee, you seriously had no idea. 

Instead, you found him standing in front of the coffee maker you bought for him two Christmases ago, hands on his hips and foot tapping on the floor. The machine was bubbling and hissing as the coffee dripped slowly into the pot, and the counter was an abhorrent mess that you’ve quite literally never seen Akaashi make in the entire time you’ve lived with him. 

“Did you open up some sort of… cafe in our apartment that I wasn’t aware of,” You tried to keep your voice light and playful, but the words scratched at your throat, and they came out sounding tired and rough.

Akaashi could have broken his neck with the speed he turned around, shooting an arm out to catch himself on the counter when his momentum threatened to hurtle his body too far. He regarded you with wide, tired eyes, coffee staining his shirt in four different places, and you had a strange feeling that if you reached up and tried to run your fingers through his hair, you would find a bird’s egg nestled somewhere deep within. He looked – and you were putting this nicely – like absolute shit. 

You tried to smile, and his gaze immediately softened, lips coming together into a tight line. And you regretted any previous thoughts you might have had about the malnourished vibe he was putting down., because the pathetic way he looked at you definitely said that you looked about a million times worse. 

“I thought I’d give it a try,” he said softly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter, “It can’t be that hard, can it? Especially with an experienced barista in the vicinity.”

You clicked your tongue, and gave Akaashi a mocking glare, “You wouldn’t be able to afford my skills and services.”

Akaashi brought a finger up to his lip in faux-thought, and you felt your heart flutter when he opened his arms wide, “I can pay with warm, comforting, and gentle embraces?”

You shook your head, and your slippers slapped against the wooden floor as you hurriedly made your way across the room and crashed into Akaashi’s arms.

“Can’t you be normal and just call it a hug?” Your voice was muffled against his chest, “Who the hell calls it an embrace these days?”

He pulled you against him even tighter, “Literary geniuses, that’s who.”

A chuckle softly escaped from your lips and vibrated against Akaashi’s chest, and it felt like a tether had been snapped. Even more giggles tumbled out, and the fact that Akaashi was not laughing somehow made it even more funnier – made what funnier, you actually had no idea, though at this point you could hear how unhinged your laughter actually sounded. But you couldn’t hold it back, and you laughed until your belly ached, and tears formed on the corners of your eyes. 

You laughed until the laughter felt like acid burning up your throat, and the tightness of it made it difficult to breathe. The tears that pooled in your eyes now flowed freely down your cheeks, and there was no stopping it then, not when you choked out a sob, clutched at the fabric of Akaashi’s shirt and cried. While Akaashi rested one hand on the back of your head, and stroked small circles around your back with the other, you wept and you cried. Cried and cried and cried. 

Whatever restraint you’d been keeping against your heart was undone by the strength of Akaashi’s arms around you, and knowing that he was there to hold you together… it was enough to have you falling apart.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood in that kitchen for. It could have been a few minutes. It could have been a few hours. Akaashi didn’t falter, didn’t move a single inch. Through each shuddering sob, every heaving gasp for air, Akaashi had stayed. He waited until the shaking subsided, and your breathing evened out, and there was not a single tear left to cry. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you peeled yourself away from his embrace, wiping your entire face with the sleeve of your robe. You backed another step, and Akaashi met your swollen, red eyes with his own sunken, tired ones. He tried to smile at you, and tried extremely hard to seem like he wasn’t uncomfortable in his soaked shirt.

“Go change out of that thing,” you said by way of apology, cringing at the mess you’d left behind, “Please.”

For a second, you thought Akaashi might have argued with you. But then his eyes switched from you to the hallway then back again, before he nodded and darted to the direction of his bedroom. You breathed out a laugh and walked to the counter, grabbing a towel from beside the sink and wiping away the coffee grounds that dirtied your usually-immaculate kitchen. 

You were sweeping up the stray flecks that littered the floor when Akaashi came barrelling back into the kitchen. Before he said a single word, he snatched the broom violently from your hand.

“Hey, I was –”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, not when Akaashi practically shoves you into a seat at the dining table. 

“Stay,” he pointed a finger at you, and you quickly swallowed back the snarky comment you were prepared to throw out. Your eyes just silently followed Akaashi as he fussed around the kitchen, mopping the rest of the floor and shaking his head at you when he realized you’d already cleaned the counters. 

He grabbed your favorite mug – drying on the dish rack like it had just been washed after use – then turned to make you a cup of coffee. But when he touched the top of his fingers to the glass body of the pitcher, he frowned. Deeply. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“The coffee got cold again,” he grumbled, making you shoot out of your seat and scramble towards him when he yanked the decanter off the hot plate and headed to the sink.

“Stop!” you practically screeched, just barely making it in time to grip his wrist before he could fully pour the contents down the drain. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Akaashi just stared. “It’s cold now.”

“So?!” you looked at him like the roles have now been completely reversed, “We can just microwave it or something. You don’t need to throw the whole thing out.” You tried to pry the pitcher out of Akaashi’s hand, but he clutched on tightly.

“I wanted you to have fresh coffee,” he said simply, and you gaped. You looked at him for a second longer before your eyes flick back to the counter that you just cleaned up, and realization washed over you like a gentle shower. 

“Did you –” you paused for a second, unsure of how you were going to deal with this situation, “Have you been making a new pot of coffee each time it went cold?” 

Akaashi opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly clamped his lips down to press them into a thin line. You managed to grab the pitcher from Akaashi with no resistance, and rushed to place it back into its proper place on the machine. In your peripherals, you could see a crinkled bag, folded in half and tucked in a corner behind the coffee maker. 

“Is that…” you mumbled to yourself before quickly snatching the nearly empty bag from its hiding place, “Keiji!”

He winced slightly when you presented him with the evidence, coffee beans flying astray when you shake the bag in Akaashi’s face.

“I just got this bag, Keiji!” you groaned, lamenting the gallons of your favorite roast undoubtedly swirling through the drainpipes of Tokyo by now. You peeked into the bag, frowning when you saw that only about a fourth of the bag had been saved, “Now I have to wait until next month for the cafe to give me a free one.”

“I wanted you to have –”

“Fresh coffee. I got it,”  you sighed, placing two hands on each of Akaashi’s shoulders. Again, he showed no resistance when  you pushed him backwards and sat him on your empty chair. He opened his mouth to argue when you grabbed two mugs and poured in the cold coffee, but the glare you shot him was enough to make him shut it. You ignored his searing gaze as it trailed after your every movement, ignored it burning holes in your back while you microwaved the two mugs of coffee, ignored the burn in your throat at the pathetic way he watched you place one mug in front of him, and held the other as you took the empty seat across from him.

You gestured silently to the mug of coffee.

“Drink,” you ordered, and the word made Akaashi instantly grab the handle, “There’s only room for one mental breakdown in this apartment at a time. And I call dibs for today, okay?”

Akaashi couldn’t stop the laughter that broke free, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exasperated way he shook his head. When the two of you lifted your mugs, your eyes met for just a moment, and the smile you shared with your best friend might have been enough to heal your heart. 

Then, you took a sip of the coffee, and the moment the dark liquid hit your tongue, you had to fight the cringe, and pretend that the way he burnt this batch didn’t break your heart all over again.

“That’s…” you begin, searching for the words. You coughed instead of finishing your sentence.

Akaashi simply sighed. He reached a hand in his pocket, and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching him slowly slide his fingers up and down the screen. 

He gives you a pointed look. “What’s it look like? I’m getting breakfast delivered.”

The sun looked just about ready to set by the time you and Akaashi decided to settle down. Empty take out boxes were piled in the proper compartments of the trash bin, and neither of you have bothered to clean up the crumbs all over the table. 

Breakfast had passed by silently, the both of you just content to be in each other’s presence, still sniffling as you shoved entire forkfuls of souffle pancakes from your favorite bakery. You shrieked with delight when you recognized the logo on the bag Akaashi retrieved from the delivery man. You didn’t even scold him for the insane delivery fee he probably had to pay for them to bring it all the way here. 

You just crushed him in a tight hug and accepted his kindness with a kiss on the cheek. He sighed in the way you imagined an older brother would about his annoying little sister, despite you being an entire year older. It made you chuckle, especially when he let you break his very strict “no eating in the living room” rule. 

If Akaashi had any questions or concerns about the events that transpired last night, he mercifully kept them all to himself. After breakfast, he dug out the kotatsu blanket from the storage closet, and – after screeching to Akaashi that he was banned from making any beverages for at least a month – you brewed some of his favorite green tea.

You laid under that kotatsu with Akaashi for hours, sipping on tea that had long turned lukewarm, talking about things that were of neither importance or relevance. You wasted away the entire day, it seemed, if the setting sun and ombre skies out the windows were of any indication. 

Akaashi sat across from you, his back leaning against the foot of the couch. The kotatsu blanket reached up to his waist, and his head lolled lazily to the side as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. You’d long thrown propriety out the window, though it never is in the room when you’re with Akaashi. You managed to snuggle yourself completely under the kotatsu table, the blanket skirt covering your body while using your seat cushion as a pillow. 

Akaashi had gone through tremendous effort to make this day feel as casual as last week’s Sunday morning. You had a niggling feeling that if you let him, then Akaashi would be very content in keeping you inside this bubble of safety and comfort that he’s curated specifically for you. He’d keep the problems that were waiting past these four walls at bay for as long as he possibly could. This, you knew without a shred of doubt. 

It was a kindness that you held closely to your heart. One that you knew was the type of kindness that didn’t boast, but wrapped itself around you gently and held you against its chest. The longer you looked at Akaashi, rubbing his finger against his nose and eyes glued to the screen, the more your heart swelled with that affection he generously poured into your cup. 

And you knew that because he’s loved you enough to create this bubble, you had to love him enough to pop yourself both out of it. 

“Keiji,” your voice felt hoarse from the silence, the words scratching at your throat, “Was I really that blind?”

Akaashi stilled almost imperceptibly, if you hadn’t known him for years, you probably would have missed it. He clicks the button on the side of his phone, and he gently places the black device on the table. He shuffles to move his seat cushion from beneath him and tosses it to the side, settling himself beneath the blanket before laying down to face you. 

“You weren’t blind, y/n.”

He said it so gently, probably worried that if he spoke any louder, then you would shatter. It softens your heart as much as it sends a spike of irritation through you.

“Dumb, then? Oblivious? Stupid? Naive? Either way you spin it, it still comes down to my faults, my…” your voice cracks, the traitorous thing, and you stopped to clear your throat, “What word would you use, then, Keiji?”

“Young. Afraid. Hurt,” He says with a lot more force and clarity than you expected, each word striking directly into your heart, “A whole lot of other words before stupid, actually. An entire dictionary’s worth.”

You wanted to wipe that look off his face, really. Eyes misting his usual blue to a foggy gray, and failing to stop his wretched mouth from quivering. How many more people in your life were you going to hurt? You felt pathetic.

You stay silent for a moment before starting, “Bokuto… he must have also been in a lot of pain,” you sighed, turning to supine and training your eyes to the popcorned ceiling, “Everything’s so… fucked up. And it’s all because of me and my stupid ignorance and –”

“Please, stop saying that,” Akaashi groaned loudly, balling a fist into his own hair. 

Exasperation floods through you like a tidal wave, it crashes through you viciously and your body shoots itself up into a sitting position before you could even think. You couldn’t hold back the glare at Akaashi before asking him with a bite, “Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Akaashi answers with a growl, maneuvering himself up to face you, his fists landing helplessly on the table, “but please, stop saying stuff like that, not when–” Akaashi sighed, bring two fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I knew about everything for… a long time.”

You shrugged carelessly as you replied, “Well, yeah. I know I never actually told you, but I thought you figured it out after… the equipment room incident.”

Akaashi pursed his lips together. “Oh, I did. But I wasn’t talking about just you.”

Your eyebrows lifted, opting to stay silent. Akaashi nibbled at his bottom lip in hesitancy, allowing him the time to process through whatever he clearly wanted to say. You brace yourself when you see him taking a slow, deep breath.

“With you, it was… so fucking obvious. And it wasn’t just because you followed him around, or laughed obnoxiously loud at his dumb jokes. If anybody looked at you for longer than five seconds, they’d see it on your face – clear as day. You looked at him like… I don’t know. Like he made all the flowers bloom, or painted the sunset with your favorite colors or something poetic like that.”

“That sounded pretty poetic to me,” you laugh, though it sounded hollow and despondent in its attempt to hide the gut punch Akaashi’s words delivered. Akaashi smiled ruefully, but he continued. 

“My point is – you never had to tell me. I knew it. You knew it. We all knew it. Your feelings were never the big secret you thought it was. Bokuto might have been the only person in this world that never picked up on it. And actually, there was a point in time when I genuinely thought he was ignoring them on purpose. Fuck, maybe he did. I never really figured it out. I don’t really think he ever did either. Because with Bokuto…”

Akaashi took the deep breath you’ve been holding the entire time he spoke, and he looked directly at you this time as he spoke.

“I knew he loved you. He loved you, maybe a bit more than he knew what to do with. God, if you only saw how he’d glare at any guy that tried to even look at you. They were ridiculous – hilariously vicious. He always did it behind your back, but it was about as subtle as a flashing neon sign. I don’t know how you never caught him.You followed him around, sure, but he made sure he kept you by his side, never letting you stray too far from him. Because if you weren’t next to him, then he was… lost. It’s stupid but– yeah, I think I knew he loved you, even before he knew it himself. And I could have told him. Should have told him. It would have been easy, quick – ‘Bokuto, Y/N is in love with you’. And he would have gone running. Well, nevermind. It might have taken him a couple days, but when it hit him… I don’t think anything in the world could have stopped him.”

Silver streaks on Akaashi’s face matched the warm tears that trickled down your own, and you tried to catch his gaze but at this point, he stared fixedly down at his lap. 

“Keiji…” you called out to him, somehow wrangling his name through the tightness of your throat, because you need him to look at you. Needed him to see that you didn’t blame him, would never even think to. But he doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he barrels on. 

“But I didn’t. Obviously. I kept my mouth shut, and just watched you two bumble around like idiots. It was, believe it or not, torturous for me. For the longest time, I kept my nose out of your business, because I know what it’s like to… Ahh,” He bows his head, and covers his eyes with the palm of his hand. It took a moment before he wiped his hand away and continued, “I did try once, though. With you. And I felt so completely iced out afterwards, I remembered exactly why I kept out of it for so long.”

He must have sensed the rebuttal at the tip of your tongue, but he interrupts you before you could even start.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I’m telling you this because… I was afraid too. I was scared that if I had kept pushing, then you would have pulled away from me completely. I was scared that Bokuto would think I was overstepping my boundaries. I was scared that it would work out, and the two of you would phase me out of your lives. I was scared it wouldn’t work out, and everything would be…”

His voice trailed off, so you softly finished for him, “Fucked up?”

He finally, finally looked at you then. You reached across the table and held his hand in yours. You felt him stiffen for a second before turning his hand and curling his own fingers around yours. A giggle of relief spills from your lips, and it elicits a chuckle from Akaashi, and the sound blooms within you.

“You guys are my best friends,” Akaashi said, his grip on you tightening just a fraction, “And I saw what you were putting each other through. I was watching it all happen in front of my own eyes. I should have done something more, right? If I had tried harder with you, if I just talked to Bokuto, if I bothered even just a little bit more to get over my shit and helped my friends…  Then this never would have happened. And Kuroo… God, Kuroo. He didn’t need me to do a damn thing, he just loved you but still I managed to fuck things up for him and –”

“Shut up!”

Akaashi started a little at your sudden outburst, but it achieved the desired effect. He blinked at you once, then twice. You almost felt a twinge of guilt at your lack of patience, considering all that Akaashi was beginning to unpack in front of you. But weren’t you the one that called dibs on the mental breakdown today? If he thought you were just going to sit there and listen to his blasphemy, then he’s sorely mistaken.

“Don’t you even try to blame any of it on yourself, Keiji,” you spat out, irritated, “How could you even say something so convoluted? How could you even think such a –”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Akaashi interrupts you fervently, as if desperate to get you to listen to him, “I let my fears hold me back, instead of facing it for the people that mattered to me. I’m just a coward.”

“No, Keiji. You’re not a coward. You…” You let out a heavy breath, all the sharpness in your tone now softening at Akaashi’s deep set frown, “Do you even have any idea how much you saved me? Even though things were… unspoken between us, I knew you understood me. Without me ever having to say a single word, you understood me. And you never judged me or tried to tell me I was wrong. You just… you just held my hand. No matter what happened, good or bad, if I looked to my side, I knew I would see you there. Do you think you’re the only person that notices the little things? I felt your support, and I felt your love. Even when you didn’t say it out loud.”

“But–”

“No more buts, I really don’t want to hear it. You weren’t the one responsible for us,” your eyes were hard, providing no room for arguments, “You were just a kid. What could you have even done? You saw how stubborn I was being! Do you really think I would have listened? You were young, and afraid, and didn’t know any –”

Too late. The words flew out of your mouth quickly, you didn’t even think twice about it. Your guard was down, and you knew that was the most dangerous thing around Akaashi Keiji. Because too slowly did you realize the trap he laid out in front of you. And as the words slipped past your lips, you realized you were already too late. Akaashi was already looking at you with that smug grin.

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

“No, it’s not,” He chuckled at you as if you weren’t staring daggers at his soul right now, “But if you can afford me that much grace, then I think you owe the same to yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. You won’t meet a single person that doesn’t have any regrets. But you can’t let those feelings define you. Only improve you. I know you’re feeling… a lot of shit right now that I probably can’t even begin to process. But it’s what you do with those feelings that matter.” He propped an elbow on the table, and rested his chin in the palm of his halls. “Are you gonna let it keep you down?”

You felt a little stunned, and though Akaashi’s words were simple, you could feel them find their mark. Hot tears pricked at the corner of your eyes yet again, and you didn’t look away from Akaashi as you let them fall. Still, you crossed your arms indignantly and pouted. “I can’t help but feel like I fell for some dirty trick.”

Akaashi laughed this time, waving his hand to beckon you closer to him. You begrudgingly moved from your spot, ignoring the ache in all your joints from your lack of movement, and crawled to sit beside Akaashi. He lifted the kotatsu skirt for you to settle under before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Dirty trick or not, as long as it gets the point across.”

“I understand, Keiji. I do, but still,” you sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder, “It’s difficult not to feel foolish.”

“I know,” Akaashi said as he laid his cheek against your crown, “I know. Fools in love, right?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you chose not to say anything. The lull in conversation allowed you the time to process his words, closing your eyes to feel everything you’d been avoiding the entire day. With a deep inhale, and a slow exhale, you silently search for the strength to let it all go. 

A buzz on the table catches your attention. Akaashi makes a point to ignore the notification, even more so when it buzzes again. 

The sight of his phone only served to remind you of your own, sitting dead and silent somewhere in the corner of your room for the entire day, of the calls that went straight to voicemail, of the messages that are unanswered – of the two men on the other side of line, waiting to see which way their world is about turn. 

“Have you heard from…” 

Akaashi lets out a snort through his nose. “Oh, yes, I have. I’m probably dead for ignoring all the calls and texts. But I needed to make sure you were alright before I answered anything.”

You chuckle, moving out of Akaashi’s one-armed embrace and sitting up to face him fully. “I love you, Keiji. I’d pick you if you were in love with me too, you know. What do you say? Wanna throw a towel in the ring?”

Akaashi laughed, loud and brash and genuine, and for the first time that day, you actually believed that everything will be alright. “I love you too, y/n. But I’d rather die.”

You nudged him hard with your elbow before standing up, leaving Akaashi to rub the sore spot while you stretched out your sore limbs. “I guess it’s time to stop hiding now, right?”

“Yeah…” Akaashi trails off, and you wait for him to ask the question you could see had been brewing in his mind for hours, “What are you gonna do?”

The question shoots a pang of loneliness through you. Because no matter what decision you make, everything will change. Your friendships will not walk away unscathed, and there will never be going back to the way things were. This was irrefutable, and that thought alone should terrify you, should make you want to scramble back on your knees and beg the gods to turn back time. Yet, it doesn’t. 

No, instead you’re filled with a sense of clarity that you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before. It pained you to know that you’ll hurt the people that matter to you the most, but not as much as it would pain you to know that you weren’t being true to yourself. 

It was time for you to choose your own happiness.

“Nothing’s changed for me, Keiji. I’ve always known what I was gonna do. Whether this truth came out or stayed hidden forever… my answer is going to be the same.” You smiled sadly as you spoke to Akaashi, and he offered nothing but an understanding nod, “From now on, for me, it’s always going to be him.”

✧: @kawaii-angelanne @boosyboo9206 @theglitterypages @rntrsuna @vinsmouke @chi-anpan @jinadamsel @kowalsqq @arcorjoan @galaxyfloater3

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Tailspin

it's still the weekend somewhere, right??

Matsuno Chifuyu, Baji Keisuke & Hanemiya Kazutora x female reader

w.c 6.3k

tw: noncon, yandere themes, character death, manga spoilers, minor blood and gore, violence, nsfw, smut, murder

Chifuyu remembers things he shouldn’t.

Events that never happened, fights, brawls, the death of his friends… his own demise, drugged and tied to a chair, the muzzle of Kisaki’s pistol, burning from the prior shot, pressed to his forehead in the split seconds before he pulled the trigger.

He remembers other things too. Futures that clash and diverge, timelines that can’t have existed, they play out in his head, over and over again.

“Who’s that chick talking with Emma?”

Chifuyu doesn’t have to follow Baji’s line of sight to know who he’s talking about. Inevitably though, he does, catching you giggle at something the blonde says, sipping absentmindedly at the glass of champagne clasped in your fingers. 

His gaze slips to the dress you’re wearing, a satiny, floor-length floral and blush number, lingering on the slit at your mid thigh – the flash of skin he gets when you shift your weight.

His throat dries, and Chifuyu covers it with a cough, tearing his attention back to the table, his own drink in front of him, a bead of condensation slowly rolling down the glass. “A friend of Hina’s.” He shoots Baji a brief, pointed look, “And she’s got a boyfriend.”

Fuyu remembers him, too. 

Baji’s canines glint in a toothy smirk. “Yeah? He here tonight?”

As if on cue, a familiar, handsome brunet appears at your side, leaning down to drop a kiss to your cheek, his arm winding loosely around your side. There’s nothing all that possessive about the gesture – it’s unthinking. Instinctual. It has you smiling, mid-way through whatever it is you’re saying to the youngest Sano.

His chest tightens.

That same man, not nearly so good looking with his face all smashed in, leaking brains and blood onto the concrete–

“Shame,” Kazutora, sitting on his other side, murmurs, his dark, honey eyes still drinking you in as he downs another mouthful of whiskey. The corner of his lip quirks up, “She’s cute.”

‘There. Problem solved.’

Chifuyu returns the grin, leaning back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, “Do not get into a fight on Takemitchy’s wedding day.” He side-eyes Baji, “Either of you.”

“You scared of him?”

“No, I don’t want to be kicked out of the reception because you two idiots started an all out brawl,” he laughs, and prays that neither one of them notice that his hands are all clammy, gripping too tightly at his drink. 

“What kinda wedding doesn’t have at least one good fight?” Baji scoffs, only half serious – enough of a concession that something loosens inside of him and his next breath comes easier.

Baji won’t start a fight, Kazutora won’t start a fight. It’ll be fine. 

You’re close with Hina and Emma and friends with Takemichi by extension. But gone are the days of Toman, where they’d spend the better part of their time screwing around together. Their lives aren’t all tangled up like they used to be. Another few hours, and this’ll be over. You’ll be gone, taking your stupid, handsome boyfriend with you and Chifuyu won’t have to worry about seeing you again. He can go back to pretending that you don’t exist.

Anything else is…dangerous. 

Moments later, they’re joined by Mitsuya and Hakkai, Yuzuha drifting to join the girls, and the conversation shifts to other, safer topics. Plates of canapes come by, and they eat and drink and talk stupid shit, most of it laughing and reminiscing over the dumb things they’d done with Takemichi as kids. 

For a while, it feels like he can breathe. Relax, and enjoy this, because it didn’t come easy. 

And you, you look happy enough with whatever his fucking name is. Chifuyu tells himself that that’s a good thing, too. 

The night wears on, slow, romantic tunes drifting from the speakers. In small groups and pairs, their friends have begun to leave, either heading home to crash or to find somewhere more lively to keep the party going. 

Amongst the few couples remaining, Hina and Takemichi cling to each other, swaying drunkenly on the dance floor, oblivious to anyone or anything but the other. It’s cute, in a disgustingly mushy sort of way. For his part, Chifuyu hangs by the open bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and doing his utmost to focus on anything but the space you occupy, dancing with your boyfriend. 

“You’re staring again.”

“Fuck off,” the words come out more tired than anything else. 

Kazutora drops into the empty seat beside him. “From the moment she walked in tonight, you’ve been all… weird about her. Why?”

‘Please, you’ve gotta help me get out of here, he– he’ll be back any minute.’

Chifuyu shrugs, “‘s nothing, really she just… reminds me of someone, that’s all.”

Kazutora hums, looking entirely unconvinced. For whatever reason, and much to his relief, he decides not to push it.

Bruised, split knuckles grip your chin tight, ‘You’re gonna be good for us tonight,’ Baji smirks. ‘‘Cause I’m really, really not in the fuckin’ mood, princess.’

“C’mon,” Chifuyu says, knocking back the last of his whiskey and slamming the glass down. “We should head out. Some of us have to open the store tomorrow.”

Kazutora snorts, but follows suit without complaint. The sooner they’re gone – the sooner you’re out of sight, out of mind – the better.

—

When Chifuyu shoots awake with a gasp, pulse racing, heavy beads of sweat rolling from the nape of his neck down his spine, it’s to the sound of his phone vibrating insistently.

Kazutora, he realises when bleary eyes adjust to the bright screen, and with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he answers the call.

Wide, panicked eyes meeting his, hands grasping tightly at his arms. Two bodies lie on the floor; only one draws breath.

‘It was an accident, I swear to fucking god– you have to believe me. You believe me, right, Fuyu?’

The sheer relief that hits when the first words out of Kazutora’s mouth aren’t some combination of ‘I fucked up’, but ‘It’s Baji’ nearly knocks the breath right out of him.

Least ‘til they’re followed up with ‘accident’ and ‘ER’. 

He’s never thrown clothes on quicker.

The stuff he remembers from before – the timelines that don’t exist – they’re not always clear. Sometimes it’s difficult for him to place certain events in the right order, in the right timeline. He doesn’t always remember the knock on effect.

Baji’s death isn’t like that. 

You don’t forget that kind of pain. And yeah, maybe he got Kazutora out of it in the end, but fuck it almost destroyed him.

They saved him, though. They went back and they fixed it. He survived and Emma survived and Mikey and Draken and everyone – this is the future they’d fought tooth and nail for. This is their happily ever fucking after, and he can’t–

He won’t consider the possibility of another future without either one of his best friends in it.

Bursting through the doors of the ER, he feels all jumbled, heart beating out a frantic rhythm, breath coming ragged as though he’d physically run the five miles to get here. He scours the room… and spots Baji half propped up in a bed on the other side of the ward.

Awake, looking like he’d been dragged halfway to hell but–

Okay. He’s okay. 

The tension – part of it at least – lifts itself from his shoulders with a shaky exhale. 

Kazutora, sprawled across a chair beside him, notices him before Baji does. “You look like shit,” he comments, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

It earns him a smack to the back of his head as Chifuyu slides on past, grabbing another nearby seat and plonking himself down. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” He tries to laugh it off, really he does. There’s a few bandages, what looks like a broken arm, some cuts and grazes on his face. They’ve all landed themselves in the ER in worse states than this and come out the other side perfectly fine, but he can’t–

He can’t stop seeing it play out in his head, over and over. 

Baji dying. The sense of utter helplessness that swallowed him whole, clutching his dead body in his arms. The sound of his best friend’s last breath, that fucking smile–

‘I’d kill for some peyoung yakisoba right now.’

Baji scoffs, “Some asshole clipped me is what fucking happened.” Side-eyeing him, he adds, “Relax, dude, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He really needs to lighten the fuck up. 

“We’re waiting on–”

“–go already?! You got me here, I don’t need your help anymore, go home.”

Chifuyu’s eyes – Baji’s and Kazutora’s too– shift instinctively to the source of the outburst. Wheeled in by a nurse, your boyfriend trailing behind you like a kicked puppy, Chifuyu’s heart leaps into his throat at the sight of you, tear stricken, pain etched over every inch of the scowl you wear, clutching an ice pack to your ankle. 

‘Pick.’

Fearful eyes flicker between them, silently pleading for a reprieve. ‘But I-I haven’t done anything.’

He hums contentedly, and takes your hand in his, fingers entwining to bring it to his cheek, nuzzling against the soft skin. “Maybe not… but you were thinking about it. So pick one, or I’ll break them both.”

Something dark and unpleasant roils in his stomach.

“Babe, can we–” your boyfriend glances around the room, visibly cringing at unwanted attention the two of you have drawn. He lowers his voice to a hushed whisper, “Can we talk about this later? I get that you’re upset–”

Beside him, Kazutora’s head tilts, “Isn’t that…?” 

“…Yeah.”

“Considering it’s your fault that I’m here in the first place, yeah, you could say I’m pretty pissed!” you snap.

The nurse, doing her absolute best to ignore the squabbling and maintain some air of professionalism, gives you a sympathetic look as she parks the wheelchair next to a bed opposite the three of them and helps you up. “The doctor won’t be long,” she says, patting your shoulder before she turns to depart.

… Not without a sharp, pointed glare towards your harried looking boyfriend. 

That’s all background noise. Chifuyu’s too busy turning those words over and over in his head, waiting for them to click.

Your fault.

Your. Fault. 

And his eyes shift back to the ice pack you’re holding to a swollen ankle, the sheen of tears on your face, and a sudden, violent urge claws its way to the surface. It takes every ounce of self control he possesses not to launch himself across the room and start beating the shit out of him right there and then.

If he touched you, if that asshole fucking hurt you–

“That’s not fair. I said I was sorry–”

“Oh, you’re sorry?! Go to hell, Ginji! Actually, no. On second thought why don’t you go back to Rin’s instead, sounded like her bed was real cold without you there to fucking warm it!” 

While your voice quavers, the words are no less acidic. No less furious. You might be on the verge of shattering, but if looks could kill, your piece of shit boyfriend would be dead twice over.

Ginji stands there, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, floundering for words. 

He goes to touch your shoulder only to second guess himself, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment, then dropping back down to his side – a good decision on his part, considering Chifuyu’s half tempted to march his way over there and break it. 

Cheating? That piece of shit was cheating on you? 

Huh. Maybe the universe does have a sense of humour after all, twisted as it is.

Your boyfriend at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, cheeks flushing pink. Rather than meeting your accusatory stare, his eyes are downcast, the speckled linoleum suddenly infinitely more interesting to the man. 

“It was a mistake,” he admits, choking the words out like they’re physically stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t– I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

Bitterly, you scoff, and Ginji flinches like you’ve struck him.

Good, Chifuyu thinks. Someone should hit the asshole. 

He, Baji and Kazutora aren’t the only ones drawn in by your argument. The doctors and nurses that breeze past, slowing their pace ever so slightly to catch a few seconds more, the patients in the beds around you, subtly leaning in, hushing their friends and families to better hear the drama unfold.

If you were less worked up, all the attention you two have drawn would probably bother you a hell of a lot more than it currently is. 

You weren’t the kind of girl who got off on causing a scene. The nosiness, complete strangers watching something deeply personal between you two unravel like it’s free entertainment, he almost feels bad for you. 

Then again, he’s seen you in far more compromising, vulnerable positions than this, and enjoyed it, too. 

Any guilt he might’ve felt – should have felt – was buried a long, long time ago. He’s not all that interested in digging it back up, and even if he wanted to, Chifuyu’s not so sure he could tear himself away.

“Just… go away,” you mutter. “Haven’t you done enough tonight?”

From your vantage point, staring misty eyed at your lap, you miss the way your boyfriend’s expression hardens. Chifuyu doesn’t.

He sighs, long suffering, “You’re being stubborn for the sake of it, you can’t get home on your own. You can barely walk, babe.”

“I’ll manage.” A curt dismissal.

“We can drive her home.”

Chifuyu’s soul ascends from his body, eyes incredulous – horrified – as he turns his head to find Kazutora staring straight at Ginji, eyes dark and glittering, a smile on his lips. 

It isn’t a pleasant expression. 

Your boyfriend rounds on the three of them, straightening his shoulders, shifting to hide you from view as though they’re some sort of a threat and he could in any way actually shield you from it.

(The first part is true, his subconscious reminds him. The second undoubtedly isn’t.)

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he sneers, shooting them a disdainful glower. “Mind your own damn business, we’re having a private conversation here.”

… A super private conversation with half the ER listening in. If he weren’t so on edge, Chifuyu might be tempted to laugh at that. As it is, his expression only tightens. 

Baji, bruised, bloodied and bandaged, matches Kazutora’s grin from his position propped up on the bed. The idiot barely escaped becoming roadkill, yet still manages to look like he wants nothing more than to start beating the shit out of your boyfriend right in the middle of the ER.

This is dangerous territory. His fingers twitch and flex, glancing uneasily between you, your boyfriend and his friends, trying to think of the right words to say to diffuse this situation, to get their attention off of you, you away from that asshole, and–

‘I hate you.’

Chifuyu presses a kiss to your naked shoulder, drawing himself closer to steal your warmth. ‘I know.’

“Oh my god, would you stop, Gin!” you snap, taking all four of them by surprise. Quieter, you add, “They’re Michi’s friends, don’t be rude.” 

That, it seems, is the breaking point for your boyfriend. 

He spares you an incredulous look, and shakes his head with a scoff, “Yeah, whatever. Call me when you wanna act like an adult about this and we can talk.” 

“Run along now,” Kazutora taunts, not quite quick enough to dodge the sharp elbow Chifuyu jabs into his ribs.

With one final huff, Ginji does exactly that. 

The moment his figure disappears through the sliding double doors, you let out a shuddering gasp, crumbling in on yourself as a fresh wave of tears bursts forth. On sheer instinct alone, Chifuyu’s halfway out of his seat before his brain’s registered he’s moved at all – only to stop dead in his tracks when one of the ER docs materialises at your bedside, chart in hand, and introduces herself. 

He swallows, forcing himself back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. 

“Dude, you good?” Again, if he were in a better mood perhaps he’d appreciate the humour in Baji, laid up in a hospital bed, being the one to ask if he’s okay.

“Yeah.”

Nobody says much after that. 

He’s distinctly aware of the curious, borderline concerned glances from his friends – not to mention the ones they share with each other – he’s hard pressed to care when his attention keeps getting pulled over to where you’re getting your exam, every wince and muffled cry of pain like knives under his skin, all too familiar.

You clutch at him with hands like claws, desperate, wailing, crying, a gross mix of snot and tears dribbling down your face as fingers poke and prod at your injured leg.

‘Stop being a dick, we need to set it or it won’t heal properly.’

Another twist of his wrist and you choke out another scream, burying your face in his chest to sob. 

His hand now rubbing soothingly at your calf, Kazutora’s expression turns thoughtful, ‘…Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?’ His eyes meet Chifuyu’s, ‘If it didn’t heal right, I mean.’ 

When they bring you back from getting an x-ray, rather than the bed you were in before, the one opposite them, the nurse wheels you over to the recently vacated bay next to Baji’s.

“So you can wait with your friends,” she says kindly, helping you up onto the bed. 

He waits for you to tell her that they’re not really your friends, that this has all been blown way out of proportion and you barely know them – which is the truth. 

You don’t, simply thanking her with a polite nod, and once she’s out of earshot you collapse back against the pillows with a sigh, “At least the pain meds are kicking in.” You turn your head to look at them, “Thanks, by the way. You don’t actually have to drive me home. You guys did enough getting him out of here.”

Baji opens his mouth–

“Did he do that to you?” Chifuyu cuts in before either of the others have a chance to reply, jerking his chin towards your swollen, most likely broken ankle. “You said…”

Your fault. 

There’s zero moral high ground for him to stand on, he’s perfectly aware of that, but it’s been bugging him ever since those words slipped out. If Chifuyu finds out that asshole actually laid a fucking hand on you, he’s gonna lose it.

If anyone – anyone – hurts you this time around, promises or not, he’s going to return the favour without hesitation; eye for an eye, tooth for fucking tooth.

Nobody touches you. 

For a second you frown at him, confused, and then something must click because you laugh, sad and more than a little sheepish, and shake your head. “No, no, not like that. We were fighting about the whole… sleeping with his ex thing.” His fingers curl into a fist. “I went to storm out of the apartment, he grabbed my wrist to stop me and I tripped. Pretty dumb, right?”

He doesn’t laugh with you. None of them do.

—

Chifuyu gets a text from Takemitchy the next day. Between all the emojis and the exclamation marks, it’s a thank you note. You’re practically a sister to Hina, and now that they’re married, a sister to him, too.

All he did was drive you home, and Takemichi’s acting like he stepped in front of a bullet.

Yeah, Chifuyu’s a real knight in shining armour. 

… A masochist, maybe.

Ignoring the fresh wave of self disgust that settles inside of him, he sends a thumbs up in response. 

What else is he supposed to say; yeah, no worries, it’s the least I could do after making her life a misery the past few goes ‘round?

They’ve all done bad things, he won’t deny that. Killed people. Hurt people. Kazutora stabbed Baji, Draken ended up on death row for murdering Kisaki, in multiple timelines Mikey was either directly or indirectly responsible for all of their deaths. Even Takemitchy lost his way once or twice before he caught up with himself.

And it’s not that he holds that against any of them. Takemitchy certainly doesn’t. Things were fucked up for a long time, and each of them became fucked up people trying to deal with that. 

But in the same way he can’t be around Kisaki without wanting to throttle him, Chifuyu can’t look at you without seeing every awful, horrible act they put you through play out in his head like a movie that won’t turn off. Rewriting the timeline doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t absolve him of the guilt.

So he stays away. Keeps Baji and Kazutora away. 

Or tries to, at least.

A few hours after Takemichi’s text, his phone lights up again, vibrating to announce a new message, this time from a number he doesn’t recognise. 

Hey, I got your number from Michi! Hope you don’t mind–

There’s more, he doesn’t read the rest. Deletes the message, switches his phone to do not disturb and shoves it back into the pocket of his jeans, forcing himself to focus on the inventory lists in front of him and not the pounding in his chest. 

Chifuyu’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard. You’re not making this any easier.

—

A week and a half later, the weather outside is miserable and the store is quiet when, a little before closing, the bell above the door rings, announcing a customer. 

Baji with his busted arm sits at the counter, Kazutora busy with restocking the shelves, so Chifuyu, out the back working through the month's expenses and wondering (not for the first time) why he hasn’t yet hired an accountant to do this for him, ignores it.

At least until he hears an all too familiar sound trickling through the door, one that sends a pang straight to his heart. 

Your laugh.

Unmistakable, unforgettable, Chifuyu’s mind goes blank and like a dog with a scent he’s out, weaving his way to the front of the store, chasing after it. He finds you, moon boot and all, leaning up against the front counter, laughing at something Baji’s said.

The image of you, relaxed, perfectly at ease, happier than he’s seen you for a while – the wedding included – does a funny thing to his insides. And then you turn to face him, your countenance brightens and for a good few seconds he forgets how to breathe.

You’ve always been beautiful to him – smiling, though, it’s a gut punch. Palms sweaty, heart racing, he’s struck dumb. 

“Chifuyu!”

‘Fuyu–Fuyu, please–N-ugh!’

‘Don’t know what you’re begging him for, princess. Chifuyu’s not gonna help you.’ 

Baji’s hand curls through your hair, dragging your torso up to meet his bare, sweat slicked chest. Dark eyes glint, his tongue drags along your neck, teeth nipping at your earlobe, causing you to whimper. 

He laughs meanly, ‘He’s enjoying this too much.’

“You’re here,” he replies lamely, glancing to his left to find Kazutora watching him with thinly veiled amusement. 

You take it in stride, “Well yeah, you never replied to my message, so I had to ask Hina for the address. You’re a difficult guy to get a hold of.” 

The teasing lilt in your voice tells him you’re only joking, his cheeks flush anyway.

“How’s the ankle?” he asks instead.

“Better! Still a pain, but you know, it could’ve been worse. I can walk… kinda. More of a hobble, I guess.”

“Least you can take yours off when you’re showering,” Baji grumbles from behind the counter.

You laugh, “True.” To Chifuyu, you add, “I wanted some stuff for Bean, and since you never replied to my message, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and swing by.”

“Bean?” Kazutora asks, completely abandoning all pretence of working to draw closer and join in on the conversation.

“My kitten. She’s a little terror.” 

… You used to play with the strays Kazutora brought home, he remembers that. Talked to them in that soft baby voice, coaxing them closer for pats and treats. Let them curl up and fall asleep on your lap when you were reading or watching tv. 

It was almost definitely an act of petty defiance, showering the felines in love and affection all the while ignoring them as much as they’d allow. Hard to take it to heart, though, when watching you fawn over them was pretty much the cutest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Anyway, there’s this new noodle bar that’s opened up down the road. You guys are almost finished up, right? Let me have a look around for a few things for Bean, you can close up and we’ll go. My treat.”

He arches an eyebrow, “Because we drove you home?”

“Because you didn’t have to drive me home, or stand up to Ginji, or keep me company in the first place,” you counter, still with that same open earnestness, that soft expression that has his insides all tied up in knots. “And because I want to. Are you really going to turn down a free meal?”

The universe is fucking with him. Punishing him, maybe. 

And it’d be so, so easy to blame you for it – you’re like one of those sad, beaten down dogs that keeps returning to its master no matter how many times they’re kicked – except there’s no version of this where he’s the good guy, and you don’t remember anything different. 

Chifuyu’s expression shifts into a paper thin smile. “Take your time looking around,” he tells you. “But dinner… It was just a lift, no need to make a big deal out of it. We’re good.” 

“Oh, yeah– no, of course! I um, I won’t keep you guys long.”

It’s Kazutora, watching the exchange with that same considering look he’d worn back at the wedding, who cuts in, saving Chifuyu from responding. “No rush, take as long as you want.”

Your eyes flicker back to Chifuyu, hesitant now, unsure. Still, you paper over that disappointment, your expression not quite as bright as the one before, but genuine all the same. “Thanks, I mean it. And… if you change your mind about dinner,” you shrug easily, “the offer’s open.”

He only nods, turning sharply on his heel to leave before you can get another word in. 

Before you can convince him that dinner is in any way a good idea. 

You shouldn’t make him feel like this – not guilty. No, he’d take the guilt in heaping droves, he certainly deserves it. You make him feel all off kilter, like his heart’s beating out of sync, and his whole body’s wired wrong. 

You stick in his head, refusing to budge. To give him a minute’s fucking peace.

And as he makes it back into the sanctuary of his office, firmly shutting the door behind him and falling back against it with an unsteady breath out, Chifuyu wonders if this isn’t your own brand personal of torture. 

If it is, it’s sure as hell working. 

—

Fingers wind into your hair, Chifuyu shudders, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him. 

Your eyes are big, swimming with desperate, pretty tears as you choke and gag around the cock stuffing your face. For him it’s heaven – the plush, wet heat of your mouth, the tiny spasms of your throat closing around him when he pushes in deeper.

He curses, moaning louder, dragging your face to his pelvis and holding it there, rutting his hips faster, fucking your face as you beat and claw at his thighs, unable to breathe. That blistering thread of pleasure deep in his core pulls taut–

Chifuyu’s eyes snap open, heart pounding, and he gasps for air. In his boxers, his cock twitches insistently, half hard and aching, the phantom sensation of your lips wrapped around it too fresh to ignore. 

If he had a shred of decency left in him, he’d go and take a cold shower. If he were more awake, if it weren’t the dead of the night, if his bed wasn’t so comfortable, and the memory of you swallowing him down any easier to banish.

His hand snakes down into his boxers, and as he bites down on his bottom lip to muffle any noise and takes himself in hand, rubbing the now throbbing length, he tries not to think about how disgusted you’d be if you could see him now. 

—

You’re at Takemichi’s birthday, chatting animatedly with Pah’s girlfriend when he arrives. You brighten when you see him though, and wave. Half heartedly, he returns it, then spends the rest of the night doing his utmost to avoid you.

Which in no way deters the birthday boy himself from plopping down beside him, beer in hand, and awkwardly attempting to set you two up. 

“She’s great! And y’know, she’s pretty and super nice. And um, she broke up with that Ginji guy so she’s single right now as well.”

He bites back an bitter laugh, and risks another glance your way. 

A few days later, Chifuyu runs into said ex on his way home from a late night beer and snack run. The brunet doesn’t notice him, minding his own business up ahead on the sidewalk. 

There’s nothing in particular that sets him off. He’s not even sure it was a conscious decision. One minute they’re walking, the next they’re down an alleyway out of sight and he’s on top of Ginji, beating the absolute shit out of him.

And he can’t stop.

His fists are slick with blood, knuckles split, and the wet thwacking of flesh hitting flesh drowns out the sound of his own haggard breath, the yelps that turn into grunts and groans, and then garbled nothings.

In his head, the images shift, coming one after the other, relentless–

You, flinching away from his touch, trying in vain to hide your tears.

Baji, panting, balls deep inside of you, forcing your lips together in a violent kiss. 

The sick, soft delight playing in Kazutora’s eyes, his fingers tracing idle patterns into your shoulder as you sleep. ‘She’s perfect, isn’t she?’

He can’t stop.

He can’t stop.

—

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chifuyu blinks, jerking back to the present in time to realise that the shelf he’s been re-stocking is already full, and he’s been standing there mindlessly trying to shove extra products into a space they physically won’t fit for god only knows how long. 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat and glances at Baji. “Nothing, it’s– I’m fine.”

From the disbelieving look on his face, the single raised eyebrow, he can tell Baji doesn’t buy it. Chifuyu can’t blame him, really – it’s been days of this, operating on some weird, malfunctioning autopilot, pretending that everything’s a-okay when he hasn’t slept and barely eats. He can’t close his eyes without seeing you.

He’d honestly be more surprised if his friends hadn’t noticed anything amiss. 

“I’m good,” he repeats, forcing a tight smile. 

Is this what it feels like to lose his mind?

—

When Takemichi calls him late one night a few days later, he’s expecting some sort of well intentioned – albeit clumsy and heavy-handed – attempt at an intervention.

‘We’re worried, you’ve been acting kinda… strange lately. You know you can always talk to us, right?’

He’d have to be blind to miss the shared looks between Baji and Kazutora at work. More than once he’d walked in on the two of them whispering between themselves, only for them to separate and act completely oblivious the second they noticed him. 

Chifuyu wouldn’t put past either one of them to confide in Michi about it, either. 

As it turns out, he’s wrong.

The day of your funeral, it rains all day. Not a light drizzle either; black skies and rumbling thunder, a deluge that won’t let up. It feels fitting.

Chifuyu puts on a suit, drives with Baji and Kazutora to join Takemichi and their friends at the shrine. Neither one of them ask why he’s adamant on going to the funeral of a girl he barely knew.

They don’t say much of anything at all. 

An older couple is standing by the doors when they arrive, greeting the mourners as they enter. It takes him a second to realise that they must be your parents. Your mother cries quietly, your father shaking hands and thanking them in a stiff, thick voice for coming.

Once inside, he spots Hinata in her kimono first, crying her eyes out on a misty eyed Michi’s shoulder, Emma standing to her left, not faring much better. But the others are there too, dotted throughout the room; Draken, Mikey, Pah and Pe-yan. Mitsuya with his sisters, Hakkai with his. 

Whether they’re here for you or in support of Hinata and Takemichi, he doesn’t know, nor can he muster the energy to care. 

Chifuyu says little the entire time, jaw set, bloodshot eyes rimmed in red, and the only thing he can focus on throughout the service – the only thing keeping him together – is the deathly tight grip Baji keeps on his shoulder and Kazutora’s hand locked around his. 

A mugging gone wrong. What kind of sick fucking joke is that?

They put you through hell, you suffered and suffered and suffered, and he fixed it. He did everything right this time; kept his distance and nearly drove himself insane, and for what?

You were supposed to have some kind of a future.

If you weren’t with them, then you were supposed to be happy. 

Instead you’re gone, and Chifuyu can’t feel anything. 

There’s just… nothing. A gaping, jagged hole in his chest, and he realises that he was wrong earlier. Losing his mind wasn’t forcing himself to give you up and stay away, losing his mind is staring at the coffin holding your dead body.

—

Takemitchy, tipsy and loose-lipped, told him once about how he’d gained the time leaping ability. How Shin had, before him. 

—

A fist pounds at the door, “Oi, hurry up. We’re gonna be late!”

Chifuyu lets out a breathless laugh. 

His shirt’s rumpled, tie askew, the waistcoat and jacket laid out on the bed in preparation for today carelessly shoved aside, and as for his pants – they’re unbuckled and hanging from his thighs.

His hips snap forward, drawing a sharp squeal from you, which he’s quick to soothe with another feverish kiss. “Shh, almost–” he pants, licking his lips, “almost there.” 

And true to his word, he picks up the pace, moaning at the way your tight little pussy clenches reflexively around him, spasming under the relentless barrage of his cock stuffing you full, molding your insides to the shape of him. 

You’re probably still sore and oversensitive from earlier. They hadn’t been gentle, Tora spreading your legs and shoving his face between your thighs before you’d even woken up, Baji quick to join in on the fun. You’d whined and sniffled and pleaded, tearfully begging for them to stop, but you always look so cute like that, shuddering and wrecked, cumming for them in a fucked out stupor over and over.

He knows they should treat you better, take a little more care with you – at least with stuff like this. Right now, though, it’s impossible to think of anything but chasing his own pleasure, fucking you deeper, faster, the sheer bliss of you milking every last drop of cum from his cock while he groans out your name.

He’ll make it up to you later. 

Your nails rake down his back, harsh enough to draw blood if not for his shirt, and he hisses in pleasure. Your tears, the breathless pleas, even the weak struggles beneath him, none of it breaks through that haze, he’s wholly lost to the pleasure of your cunt. His grip on you tightens, drawing you closer, your naked, heaving tits pressed against his chest. He can feel your racing heart pounding. 

His head tips back, mouth falling open. The rhythm of the onslaught gives way to urgency, hips faltering, punching himself deeper in short, rabbitting paps.

You hide your face in his shoulder, clinging to him, choking back a sob–

“Fuyu! For fuck’s sake, if you don’t hurry the hell up and finish, we’re going to miss the damn wedding!” Baji snarls through the door.

You tense, toes curling, and squeeze so tightly around his cock that Chifuyu loses control entirely, pleasure exploding like stars behind his eyes, ripping through him violently as spurts of hot, thick cum splatter your insides. His hips rock into you, and he murmurs your name in a contented sigh, riding out his orgasm with a few last, lazy thrusts.

When the wave eventually recedes and he catches his breath, he carefully eases his cock free, lowers you down to the bed – paying no mind to the cum that dribbles from your abused cunt onto the bedsheets below – and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re so good to us,” he mumbles, collapsing down beside you. 

You stiffen at the words. Fat, glistening tears well in your eyes and spill silently down your lashes. Gently, he thumbs them away, but you don’t say anything.

You rarely do these days, if you can help it. 

If he weren’t in such a rush, he’d take the time to clean you up, get you some water. Instead, he has to make do with a quick kiss, forcing himself to get up and fix his appearance, tucking his spent cock back into his pants.

Takemitchy’ll almost definitely have a meltdown if they’re not at the venue soon. 

Racing around the room, gathering up his clothes and throwing them on, he keeps a half an eye on you. You don’t move beyond a soft, shaking tremble, your quiet sobs tugging at his heartstrings. 

This is better than the alternative, though.

You might not see that yet, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And they love you. He loves you. If it keeps you alive and safe and with them, he won’t apologise for it.

The simple truth of it is he, Baji and Kazutora – they can’t survive without you, and you can’t survive without them. 

┌─ “ ! „ PSYCHO KILLER

tw slasher!mattsun, final girl!reader, noncon, coercion, size kink, cevix fucking, fear play, blood play, cutting/marking, he uses a knife on reader, degradation, spanking, manhandling, forced cheating, murder mentions, mattsun's giant cock wordcount. 5.6k

a/n. another commission from an anonymous amazing person so make sure to say thank youuu to them!!! this time we got matTSUnnnn and omg this was such a blast to write anD AAHHH i hope you enjoy it and that it fuels your slasher fucker urge a little bit, thank you so so much for commissioning me again and hERe she is!!

You never really thought much about mortality, before. But the flashing lights reflected on the brick walls, red blue, red blue, red blue, and the wailing of the sirens, paint a haunting picture. One that even someone positive, bright-eyed and preppy like you feels down to the bone. You have the displeasure of standing with wide eyes, hands stiff and shaky from the evening chill, as the armed men move people out of the way and the person from the alley towards the ambulance; and though you’re across the street— you can tell. 

The way onlookers cover their mouths and gasp and try to unsee as the stretcher passes by them doesn’t paint a promising picture. Your spine feels all flimsy the longer you stand, one hand wrapped frozen around your bag of groceries, apartment only a few blocks away. It’s in the way the senior police officer glances around the blocked off street and tells a passer-by to hurry home or to move along, and the yellow tape keeping the alleyway separate as it trembles rapidly and noisily in the wind. You take a deep breath against the sudden chill that travels all the way down your body, and pick your heels up to walk back.

Back down the opposite way and to the blue lit 24h corner store you left mere minutes ago. The melody of the store chime is comforting, and you speed walk all the way down the aisle back to the register. The charming, delicate features of the young man across from you light up when he properly looks up, and he tilts his head much like a curious animal- one brow raising. “Babe? You’re back?”

“I’m waiting out your shift here,” you softly declare, sneaking back behind the counter where you usually dare steal a few kisses, and dragging out a shitty, plastic chair to rest your head to his hip as he blinks down at you in confusion. Eventually though, Haru just nods, his honey brown hair falling a little further over his brows when he leans down to brush his hand over your head.

“Okay. You alright?” You nod, and he doesn’t ask more— and eventually you two fall back into conversation, only stopping every so often to serve the scarce customer. When you two walk back home in the early hours of the morning, the people have gone, but the yellow tape still stings as you pass the quiet street.

+

The apartment smells of the cheapest of Chinese takeout when you drag yourself back inside late from work. Your boyfriend just barely peeks his head around the corner to come give you a kiss, gentle as he is, and slides back into his spot behind the stove. “Food’s here, and I’m just making some extra eggs for mine, because I gotta leave in half an hour.” The routine ramble is nice, you suppose, finding a smile on your face by the time you make it into the kitchen with him to wrap your arms around his back, and he hums. “Oh, one of your friends swung by, so I let him in a little bit ago- I left him on the couch.”

Haru’s hands are quick to pull you back when you let go, for just a second, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and one to your nose. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. I’m gonna go see who needs me- real quick,” you smile, “and then we eat together?”

“Mhm, perfect.”

The door out of the small kitchen leads into the main room, and you look around as you swing your bag over one of the chairs- but find the space strangely vacant. Though a small pout comes to your lips, you just walk along, passing by the desk with stacks of books and lecture notes, to pull open the door to your bedroom. Your house simply isn’t big enough to lose anyone even if you wanted to. The bedroom lights are off, as you step inside, toes curling instinctively into the carpet; before finally clearing your voice. “Hello?”

At the very moment you turn, the tiny door to the bathroom swings open and a tall shape clad in all black steps out— and you jerk with a loud gasp, only to start laughing when your hands meet his chest and you glance up properly. Matsukawa’s dark eyebrows are furrowed in surprise as he finishes drying off his hands, before he gives you a ‘what gives’ sort of look. “You scared me,” you chuckle, as you lean in to give him a hug. “It’s been a while, how are you? And why’d you swing by?” The way he manages to move his arm over your head without having to change positions to throw the paper towel into the trash isn’t lost on you.

“Can’t a guy come see his favorite ethics tutor on a tuesday?” The familiar deep rumble of his voice fills the room, and you make room to trail back to the couch.

“Well, considering I dropped out,” your voice is a little softer when you take a seat in the squeaky chair, “I’d say that it’s probably a waste of your time. But I guess I’m pretty glad to see you again.”

Mattsun plops down on the couch facing you with a little sigh, before that same self assured smile you’ve always known him to have returns. “Don’t make me feel too special, teach.”

“I’m younger than you! It’s not my fault you took ethics again and needed my help.” The banter is nice, reminds you about the hours and hours spent in the library that always grew too rowdy for a study session. Mattsun’s a good friend. A better one than you are, maybe. His long legs stretch out to the coffee table, before he nods.

“This is a nice place. Cozy.” The compliment makes you feel all warm inside. Despite everything, despite the struggles you and Haru have to deal with, the money, the debt- it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it. Even if that someone is the most well accomplished out of your late friend group. “And the boyfriend seems pretty fucking smitten too.” His dark eyes find your face when you smile wider, lacing his hands together over his knee. “Nothing to add? Come on, I missed you so~ much. I haven’t even seen you properly for the last 4 months. Talk to me. You normally don’t hesitate to run your mouth.” He chuckles when you put on a faux-pout.

“Fine, fine, hang on!” you beam after a second of thinking, and roll your eyes. “Let me make a pot of coffee. You jerk.”

“You love it.”

+

You aren’t the most observant of people, but you swear… you’re losing more shit than normal. Some of the stuffies that were proudly displayed on the shelves are gone, and you can’t find some of your panties no matter how hard you look. And while the small closet in the bedroom is more mess than order, now you can’t even find most of your old photo albums, and some keepsakes from highschool and uni. But with your boyfriend catching his sleep when you leave for work, and you returning late- no one has time to go looking for clothing that’s grown legs, let alone do a thorough clean. So you brush it aside, and move on without your favorite pair of lacy baby blue panties.

It’s only when your boyfriend’s watching the news on his laptop one day, that it tickles something in the back of your brain. As you stuff another bite of pasta into your face, your hands still on top of the unfolded laundry.

A feminine voice flies over the topics at breakneck speed, as the honey brunet suddenly turns up the volume a little and stops eating. “Yesterday, another casualty in a devastating string of murders was found. Passerby’s found the body walking by an alley in Miyagi prefecture at around 9pm. The victim has now been identified to be Kawada Eiko, the 25 year old nurse that was reported missing a few days ago. Strangulation or suffocation are the two current debated causes of death, authorities say. She might have been the unfortunate victim of a lover’s spat, as she was found with blue panties constricting her airways. More about this at 6.”

“Turn that down,” you quickly breathe, and Haru turns over his shoulder with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. ‘S a bit grim for lunch…” He simply gives you an understanding look, before suddenly turning to knock his knees with yours. “How about you pick something to watch? Here.” His hands reach out to pull you a little closer, and cradle you against his chest. It’s sweet. He always is. And though you nuzzle into his touch, the story doesn’t want to leave your brain. There it is again. That faint flicker of mortality staring you in the face.

+

The stern face of the police officer- burly, heavy mustache and old- is exactly how you imagine it’d be, made very clear by the dead-like tone and eyes as he gives you an up and down. “This your house?”

“R-rented, yes,” you’re in the pajama-est of clothes from when you pulled open the door, “of me and my boyfriend.” The officer gives a tiny nod to the other two men behind him, and pulls out his badge to present it to you. It’s too early for your brain to function properly, but you still swallow at the sudden severity of the situation. “What’s- the issue, officer?” Your voice sounds even mousier when his eyes narrow in on the scene behind him, and your measly apartment feels even more inferior than usual.

“Sasaki Haru’s been arrested and is currently being questioned for multiple accounts of aggravated assault and first-degree murder. And we have to search the property, young lady.”

You stop breathing.

Murder.

Your head thumps, and you feel a flare of heat bite at your neck, clutching the door handle a little tighter.

Murder, he said. Haru… arrested for murder.

“We’ll have to take you in for questioning as well. Why don’t you walk towards the car and have my colleague escort you—” You focus as hard as you can on the words that are thrown at you, but really, nothing hits. There’s a blanket of static over everything in your vision. You might puke.

+

“Hey, breathe out. You’re turning blue,” Mattsun’s deep voice washes over you like a wave as you clamp the phone to your chest and try your best to relax a little, a warm, heavy hand softly stroking the area between your shoulders. It’d been a total coincidence that he’d called just as you were done with the hours of terrifying questioning, but as soon as you’d sniffled out that Haru had been arrested, he took time off to come over. Here you are now, hovering between sleep and frightened awareness in the painful, sticky seats of one of the dead waiting halls.

And though you’re glad someone’s here for you, because Haru’s parents haven’t even called yet— you’re also a little too wired up to appreciate the sarcasm and jokey attitude. After another few minutes of nervously fiddling with your phone and staring through the small window at the other doors, Mattsun clears his voice. “So… murder, huh.” His dark eyes are intense as they flutter over your face, eyebrows straightened. “Do you think he did it?”

You find yourself glaring, even though you can’t say why. “No, of course not. He’d never. He’s… he’s so gentle—”

“They’re saying there’s evidence, y’know.” You know that. It makes you want to rip out your hair and sob, because they showed you the proof. The dna, a kitchen knife out of your drawers, traces of the perfume you always, always wear— but you can’t shake the feeling that only if you could talk to Haru, if you could see him, ask… Your intuition tells you he didn’t do it. Couldn’t have. And they’re wrong, they have to be wrong. You would’ve known if you’d been living with a murderer. You would’ve. You just have to wait for an alibi to show it.

“He didn’t do it, Issei,” you softly end up repeating, and Mattsun’s eyes basically roll themselves as he looks away. “I’m telling you, I know him, and he didn’t do it.”

“Maybe- you just don’t know people as well as you think you do, teach,” the brunet places his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth as he leans in as glances over at you. “You’re wonderful, ‘n smart, and kind. But you’re also naïve, baby…” The last word falls deeper, and drags a cold shiver up your spine that only gets more intense when he doesn’t laugh it off, or look away. Luckily though, the door to the waiting room is pushed open that very moment, and a tired looking woman taps her clipboard.

“You can go home for now. Get some rest. And please stay available so that if we need you to return-”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” you start, and wring your sweaty hands together a few times, “what about Haru?”

Her sharp eyes soften a little when finding your face. “He’ll have to stay until they’re done with the investigation. It might be another couple hours, or days. He can’t see anyone until then.” Your dejection must show, because she sighs. “Head home, child. Try to sleep some. You’ll be okay.” You barely manage to have enough energy to get out of the chair, letting Mattsun take your hand and rub a few comforting circles into it with his thumb. And then you’re walking home as he holds the umbrella high above your heads, and that cold only worsens. You don’t feel okay.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

“How about my place instead of yours?” Issei’s more reserved when he asks, laying an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side a little. “Doubt you wanna hang out there now that the cops have gone through it all.” It doesn’t matter, really, so you nod- let him walk along the crosswalk and steer you down the familiar streets in silence for a while. It really doesn’t make any sense. Haru’s been at work all evenings that the murders happened, there’s security cameras to prove it. And killing someone in broad daylight, alley or not— it doesn’t line up.

Issei squeezes your hand in his when the silence continues, and you briefly look up at him to give him a little smile that doesn’t feel like it reaches. “Sorry I’m so quiet. I’m just…”

“Lost in thought, I get it.” He hums, before pointing at the long line of buildings. “It’s just along there, we’re almost inside. Then we can talk about it, or you can take a load off, or whatever.” The short chuckle is meant to disperse the tension, you know that, but even the tall brunet seems on edge. You’re still holding his hand, and you find yourself blinking at it in quiet confusion. But the thoughts are louder than logic right now. And if Haru didn’t do it, which you will yourself to believe with all your heart —you have no choice but to— how the hell did stuff out of your house get to the scene of the crime. You never lended anyone that knife, and definitely not the even more private stuff—

Issei leads you through the gates into the courtyard of the apartment, then to the door, into the dim staircase all the while softly humming. And you don’t know why your heart sinks as you climb the stairs with him in tow, because the building smells nice, and the walk to the door is clean and high-class. “Tch, you really are,” his low voice barely reaches, and you raise a brow. “Naïve that is.” The humming goes into a soft laugh when you turn to look at him, and the tall man smiles down at you. But though he’s smiling, the hairs on your neck go to stand on end, shoulders squaring. The vivid, unnatural sort of intensity in his eyes rolls your stomach.

And you go to pull your hand out of his, only for Issei to resist the pull harder. “Shh, calm down. I got you, don’t I? Don’t tell me I scare you.” He does, though. “Come on, princess, we’re friends. And friends are there for friends when they need each other. Now you're poor boyfriend's gone.” Your mouth corners turn down into a half pout, half open in confusion. And you don’t know why, you never felt unsafe with him before— but every fiber in your body is screaming at you to run. You want to. But your body refuses to budge, let alone turn your back on him. Issei’s always been a very tall guy. Tall, but wired with athletic muscles from the years of sports, and strong, and fast— and all of these things never scared you.

But they do now. The shivers that roll down your spine are almost painful as you stare up at him and that happy-go-lucky grin still stays on. The corners of your eyes sting when you try again to pull away, to no avail, and Issei’s long legs pull you towards the door of his fancy apartment anyway.

“Issei, let go.” Your voice breaks, and tears creep up in your eyes and your shaky whimper. “This isn’t funny, let me go.”

“Nah ah, I got something to show you.” His casual sing-song response almost makes you angry. But you can’t be when you’re too busy fighting off a full-body panic and planting your heels into the tiled floor. “I got something to show you,” he repeats, glancing over his shoulder again. “Y’see, because I really like you. You make me feel all- hm- good inside.” His curly hair bounces with each step towards the door, before he repositions his grip to hold around your wrist when your sweaty hand almost manages to slip out. “But then you went and got a boyfriend, and disappeared on me.”

He fiddles with the keys for a second as you use your other hand and try to pry your fingers into his painfully tight hold, and frowns. “And I- stop struggling- I don’t blame you. I mean- it’s not like I can even explain this little earworm I’ve got. About how you and I just fit together. I should know better, right?” He’s rambling so fast, and the door manages to be swung open, and you bite back a sob. You want to scream. You want to scream, call out for help, do something other than get pulled in further and further, but it doesn’t work. Your body refuses. Your head’s blank. “I know I should know better. Yet here we are.”

He pulls with his entire body to get you over the doorstep, and grabs your face between his hands to aim it up to his, squishing your cheeks until your lips are a puckered pout. And his deep voice goes low as he whispers. “You didn’t like my little stunt with the panties?”

It short circuits you. Before you get to think about it, you knee him right in the dick with all your might, and push at his face until he jerks back— turning and sprinting back towards the door. But his reach is longer, and he tackles your feet, sending you straight onto your belly with a loud, unforgiving thump as your head knocks against one of the book cases, and his large hands wrap around your ankles. He pulls you back a few feet across the floor, and though you try to kick at him, he’s quick to get above you and restrain you.

”Help!” you squeak, voice more air than actual sound. “Help me!” Issei grabs you by your neck and kicks the door closed with his long legs, before going to sit on top of your back and squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“Awww, fuck, babe,” he groans for a long breath, before grabbing your head and pushing it down into the cold floor as if in punishment. The loud knock of your skull against the floor is enough to force your thoughts out of you. “That really hurts, fuck.” Then he shifts, one hard knee in the middle of your back. You can barely breathe, and the little bit of air you do get is obstructed by the tears blurring your vision. “Little kitty’s got claws, huh.”

“Issei,” you start to whimper through your hickuppy breaths when his palm slides down your neck and under the edge of your shirt, “please let me go. We’re friends. We’re friends, right? So let me go home, and I won’t tell anyone.I swear, I won’t- wo- please, please, ‘ssei.”

“Tch, don’t go begging on me yet, baby. I’ve hardly even started.” His large hands roam around your skin for a moment, before he rolls you over like you’re a ragdoll, and grabs your face again as he bends down until your noses are touching. Him, overtop of you, his free hand training down the surface of your thigh through your sweatpants.

His dark eyes glitter in the low light, animated and joyful despite the way you’re trying to calm your wheezes. Which doesn’t really help. The harder you try, the less air you manage to use— Mattsun’s heavy palm sliding to your throat to squeeze the tender skin there. “Hey, guess what.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, before he starts picking anxiously at the stretchy band of your pants, sliding two fingers under it. “you turn me on so much it makes me want to fuck you until you’re raw. But you might’ve guessed that already, right?” There’s a low chuckle, while you’re sniveling under him with wet cheeks and a hot face, before he starts tugging your pants down your thighs.

You cross your arms over your face, and Issei laughs a little harder. “Aww, don’t cry. I know what you’re thinking, all the murdering and stuff, the blood, the choking, cutting open— it’s a lot. But luckily for you… all of that isn’t going to happen to you. Look, here-” he mumbles, pulling your arms away from in front of your eyes to force your smaller hand back in his, linking pinkies, “promise. They weren’t you, so I had to get rid of them sooner rather than later.”

By the time he finishes talking, you’re shivering without your pants, on his cold floor and tears all over your face- and for a moment Issei looks like the guy you knew when he pouts down at you. But then he licks his lips, and the relief is gone. “And you get I can’t let you go after this. So it’ll be easier for both of us if you play along.”

Then he gives you a once over like you’re a slab of meat, and hums, whispering under his breath. “I like when they play along.” It makes you cry harder, but barely any noise manages to come out, staring resolutely at the ceiling as soon as his hand lets your chin go to trail his fingertips along your tits. “So fucking pretty, baby.” The lilt of barely veiled excitement in his voice makes you want to sink into the floor, to just stop breathing altogether. You trusted him implicitly, and- though your skin is covered in goosebumps, it barely sets in that Issei was the one who— 

You remember the disemboweled girl on the stretcher, the yellow tape. And bile rises in your throat, so you have to put a hand over your mouth not to throw up. Oh god, you’re… You’re cold on the floor, your tits being gently squeezed by Mattsun’s large, rough hands through your shirt as you try to make your mind go anywhere else, to no avail. Suddenly he gets up on his knees to slide his arms under you, and you start struggling against him enough to make him glare down at you. “Don’t be a brat. If you want me to-”

“Let me go, Issei! Let go, let go!” You’re squished to his chest, but you manage to smack him across the face and get a little bit of wiggle room, and he lets out a low rumble of displeasure, before dragging you further into the house and tossing you down onto the bed. It’s even darker here, smelling faintly of spices and men’s shampoo- but that isn’t what frightens you. It’s the heavy duty cuffs dangling from the metal bedposts, and the way Mattsun grabs a fistful of your hair to yank your head back into the bed.

“Don’t move. Unless you want me to get mad.” The painful tug makes you whimper, but you find yourself trying to slide out the other side of the bed as he bends to search through one of the bedside tables. Your legs are going a bit numb, toes tingly as you dare brush your feet along the floor and make a run for it. Of course, you have to round the bed, and he doesn’t have much of a hard time grabbing the back of your shirt. With one stern move, he swings you over his shoulder, large hand palm landing so hard onto the soft skin of your ass it makes you gasp and tear up. The touch pulses and aches as he slaps the same spot again, and now you’re crying- this time from the stinging of your skin as he tosses you down and forces your hand into sharp, cold handcuff.

His slight frown and the stern look he gives you make your body freeze up, but then he leans in. “You’re a dumb little baby, hm? You don’t get it?” His eyes are wide, pupils dark and blown all the way out to take up almost his entire iris. His hand appears from behind his back with something that glimmers in the low light, and is sharp as he pushes it to your cheek. “Not gonna play along?” The knife’s cold edge next to your ear makes you entirely wooden, staring up at him with shallow breaths and your lips trembling. As he peeks out his tongue, the knife digs deeper and breaks skin on your cheekbone.

And it hurts, clenching your teeth hard as tears spill over, it really fucking hurts. Burns, instantly making the skin feel taut and pounding and irritated. You gasp again, grabbing at his arm with a pitiful cry. “No, no, stop. Stop, please. I’ll play along,” you plead, voice hoarse as you clamp your hand around his wrist. The hot, searing feeling on your cheek and the way you feel blood run along your face and ear takes away all other rational thought. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You want it to stop. “Please. Please, ‘Ssei, please.” The knife’s edge tingles as it leaves your wound, but the pain doesn’t go away, and you can’t help but sob. “Mattsun~”

However pathetic you must look, Matsukawa clearly doesn’t care. Because he groans, before leaning in to press his tongue to your wound, and then kissing you. And the coppery taste makes him moan into your mouth, while you try to turn your head away instinctively. His tongue forces open your mouth and melts with yours, sloppily claiming your mouth with a soft hum, heavy, large body coming to cover yours. He’s everywhere, as he grinds his hips into your panty-clad center and licks your mixed spit off his lips when he pulls back, throwing his head back.

You’re feeling a bit lightheaded, one cheek pounding painfully as you stare at him, and your one arm slowly but surely going numb from the uncomfortable position. But as you’re looking at him, he quickly rids himself of his shirt, and scoots you up the bed a little to drape your legs over his thighs. Even in the half-dark room, you can see them. The scars on his shoulders, his chest, ugly lines that healed over sloppily— proof that someone dug some nails of a key so sharp into him. Fought, and lost. It only makes you take a deep breath that makes a pinched, little noise. And Mattsun grins, rubbing his one hand along the skin.

“They were never close enough to you, y’know? Always something missing.” His one hand goes back to your chest, playing with your pebbled nipples through the fabric, before the knife returns and he drags it across your chest this time, pressing hard enough to cut your shirt and also the thin skin of your breast bone. “Oops, sorry.” The thin line of dots of blood that beads up has him bending to run his tongue along the little wound again, before ripping the rest of your shirt apart and sucking your tits into his mouth too. The warm mouth paired with the painful stinging and aching of your body has your stomach flipping and your mind blank.

Your free hand runs along his head to grab his curls in support, and his moans before biting one of your nipples. Then he pulls back to slap your tits around a bit, and running his thumb over the wound. Seeing the red before he slips it into his mouth is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to block everything out. And Issei chuckles. “Aw, scaring my little baby, am I?” The sound of his zipper and the shuffling of fabric lasts for a few seconds. Your heartbeat is so fucking loud, and the stinging is loud, and his voice is loud, and everything is so fuzzy. You open your eyes again, only to find that same disturbing look in Issei’s eyes as he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, spreading all the precum around.

There’s a lot, you notice, and also that his heavy, flushed cock is big. Really big, too big, making your breathing even more rapid. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt, it’ll hurt, it’ll hurt— your mind blanks when he starts peeling off your panties and manhandles your legs around however he wants, before the thick head of his cock is lined up to your too-dry pussy. There’s some wetness there, but not enough. You tear up more, because of the hurt, the pain, the fear, your lungs aching and everything else- and shiver when Issei talks again.

His voice is low enough to shake your bones. “You’ll have to fit me, okay? Okay?” His sing-song teasing has you nodding your head, and he puts on a cheshire-like grin again. “Because when they didn’t, I had to cut them open to make room-” he points the knife into your lower stomach then, point stinging as soon as it touches and digs into your soft belly, “-and I don’t want to cut up my favorite girl.” His thumb rubs lazy circles into the top of your slit, brushing your clit, before he spits on it.

Then he lines up, and starts pushing into your tight, clenched pussy without giving you a second to prepare, placing both hands next to your head and pushing himself into you while each inch fills you up more and more. It’s such a painfully tight fit your legs shake as he pushes you all the way full, and keeps pushing. “Aw, aw, aw, Issei- hurts, that hurts-”

“Uhuh,” he just nods, and kisses you again, smiling into the kiss and pulling back to watch you tear up. He moves one leg to push against your chest, and starts grinding his cock even deeper, pushing you open too much, and you cry— only to make him pull back and do it again, groaning. “Ah, fuck, princess. Fuck-ing- godly pussy, agh.” His huge dick pounds against your cervix every time he pulls back and bottoms out, bulging your stomach in a way that hurts even despite the pleasure. But his body slamming against your pussy each time does feel good, as much as you hate to admit it. It sends tingles down your spine that makes you forget about the hurt you’re feeling. “Tell me it feels good, hm?”

He leans into kiss you again, before turning your face to the side to rub his finger along the bloody mess on your cheek and make it hurt again. “Tell Mattsun senpai that his cock’s your favorite. And I’ll make you come so hard you go cross-eyed.” The pounding of the sticky, warm blood and the skin that aches, the way he fills you, makes you feel it all the way in your throat, how loud your heartbeat is in your head and how your lungs fill only with shallow half-breaths, has you crying out long and hard, squeezing your fingers into his bicep.

“Mattsun senpai~ cock-ahg- hick- my favorite.” You’re not sure you recognize the way your voice sounds as you say it, getting your mouth full of his tongue again as you choke on it and the way he forces his cock through your cervix. Hurts, hurts, feels so good it aches. You can’t tell up from down when his fingers return between your bodies, and he jackhammers his fat cock through you.

“I know, baby. I know. S’all for you now. All yours.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader

summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.

a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni

Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring. 

It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break. 

“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal. 

“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams. 

He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better. 

Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him. 

___

“This is your dream,”  you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow. 

“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.” 

“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold. 

“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body. 

“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster. 

“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke. 

“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces. 

“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.” 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” 

____

For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia. 

It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs. 

Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else. 

He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-

“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him. 

But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-

Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face. 

“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway. 

“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you. 

“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling. 

“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin. 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.” 

“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than  you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that. 

“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.” 

“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him. 

“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats. 

“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall. 

“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?” 

“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again. 

“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding. 

“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it. 

“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately. 

“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture. 

“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it. 

You: hi sorry

You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-

Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know 

Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time

You: just wanted to see how you were doing 

Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season. 

You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay? 

You: ahhhhh

You: it’s probably a lot to text 

Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no 

You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall

You sigh, hands shaking now with relief. 

You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean 

Kunigami: this is so fucking hard 

You: yeah

You: Dream job helps though, right? 

Kunigami: sure 

Kunigami: your job still dreamy? 

You: not without you, no. 

Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you. 

You: okay <3 

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone. 

“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat. 

“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage. 

“You needed it.” 

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights. 

“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock.  “What?” 

“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time. 

“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”

“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?” 

“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.” 

“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head. 

“I just didn’t want you to go.” 

“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower. 

“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head. 

“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him. 

“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”

“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you. 

“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous 

thing he’s ever heard.   “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder. 

“He wasn’t big on sharing.” 

“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through

with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly. 

“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine. 

“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little” 

“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment. 

“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off. 

“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.” 

“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I took Latin, ya know.” 

“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-” 

“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.” 

“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.” 

“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?” 

“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.” 

“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys. 

“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?” 

“You don’t yell.” You say quietly. 

“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan. 

“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck. 

“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly. 

“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body. 

“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip. 

He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering. 

“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.” 

__

He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm. 

“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.” 

“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch. 

You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning. 

“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey. 

“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers. 

“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.” 

“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-” 

“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”

His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears. 

“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.” 

“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?” 

“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.” 

“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision. 

It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms. 

“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs. 

“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you.  You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver. 

“No.” You whisper. He nods. 

“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair. 

“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐘, 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ♡— 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

𖦹 ft. ushijima, bokuto, oikawa x f!reader, 18+ 𖦹 themes: size kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie 𖦹 synopsis: they are too big for you 🍆 bc I can't help myself from listening to big boy 🥹

♡ USHIJIMA

"I'll be gentle." He said as he aligned himself along your entrance. He had done all the necessary preparations to get you ready, but no sufficient amount of KY Jelly could prepare you for his huge cock.

He penetrated you nice and slow. Your eyes grew wide at the size while he elicited a pained expression. "God, you're so tight. Feels so good."

He moved slowly inch-by-inch that you could feel his length—your little hole was also stretching wide to his girth. Your hips moved uncontrollably wanting more stimulation. You're getting there. You're getting there and the itch building up in your pussy just wanted more and more. He's feeling the same too as you saw every bit of restraint on his face.

"T-Toshiii, it's okay. You can give it to me." You purred and you saw how his jaw clenched hard.

"Do you like it this way?" He asked and you were shocked when he slammed fully right in. You never knew he was that strong. He rammed in and out of you as you gripped on the sheets and writhed around.

"Ohhh....Toshi! Toshi!" You couldn't make out his face, because you could surely see stars right now. His huge cock felt like destroying your pussy. You were never sure if it would ever be the same anymore. Your legs! You couldn't even feel your legs, not even any part of your body except for Toshi's hot-blooded thrusting into your hole. It felt so good...too good. He could use you, ravage you and fill you up anytime he wants. Your head started spinning as the tremors came through.

"I— I'm coming! Coming!" You held tightly on his hands on your waist as you found your release.

You were still trembling around him when he held your waist so firmly it would definitely leave a mark. He pounded both himself and your body in full speed onto his cock. Your eyes almost rolled at the back of your head at his action and soon he stuffed your cunt full with his cum. He pulled out and damn you felt so empty without him. You knew you'd never ever be satisfied with any other cock anymore now that you got a taste of his.

♡ BOKUTO

He always complained (complimented) how tight you were that left him busting his nuts earlier than he should, so you had your ass up in the air now for his fucking. He gave your supple bottoms a good squeeze. Damn! He could easily enter you in this position. He couldn’t control himself any longer. You felt him rub his tip and you held tightly on the sheets, knowing how powerful his huge dick was. The moment the head got in, you took a deep breath in and soon, his full length was inside you. Your arms shook at how large his cock was. With that beefy body of his, you expected no less. 

“Oh, fuck Y/N! You’re so tight even on this angle.” He had his eyes shut tight. 

“Aughh…you’re just too big for me, Bo-kun.”

“Please don’t talk to me like that…“ He pulled out. “You know I won’t be able to hold back—” And slammed back in, your ass cheeks slapped hard against his pelvis. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy!” He pounded, thrusted, screwed you in a frenzy. It was so messy and wild that your arms felt like giving up on your weight and tears pooled at the corner of your eyes.

Quickly picking up on this, he grabbed hold of your elbows and gripped on them like they’re the throttle lever to your body. He maneuvered you as he slammed in and out of your tight cunt. Your titties bounced alongside your ass whenever he’d hit it deep. He was so rough and big, completely wrecking your pussy. You felt your juices uncontrollably dripping in between your legs. 

The heat started creeping in and you knew…. “Bo-kun…I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” Your body trembled as you cried into your release.

“Yes, Y/N! Give it- Give it to me!” He screwed you faster. One, two, pumps…He pushed in deep into you and filled you up with his cum. 

His heavy body fell onto yours and you both caught your breaths as he got you into an embrace and planted a sweet kiss on your sweaty forehead. 

♡ OIKAWA

What supposed to be a cuddlefuck always ended up in hardcore sex because of his unbelievable size. Now, here you were sandwiched in between the bed and his big muscular body, while he covered your neck with soppy wet kisses. His erect cock now hot on your stomach. 

“T-Tooru, I don’t think I can.” You said as he you felt him harden.

“Just between the thighs, baby. Just between the thighs.” He assured, flexing his hips forward and easing himself through your squeezed thighs. You gasped when his huge cock rubbed along right where your clit was. You bit your lip and arched your back—your hips matching his every thrusts. You wanted more, but could you really handle him? You rocked against his member which prompted him to move even faster and faster until—

It slipped! Your eyes popped and so was your mouth. He’s too big that you were shivering at the size. He almost tore you apart.  “You-You’re too big,” you gasped and something inside Tooru was awakened. You sure felt him got even bigger and harder inside you. You knew what was about to come. “T-Tooru, wai—“

He began pounding you. Your nails dug against the skin of his forearms as he thrusted intensely. “My cock can never be too big for you not when your pretty little pussy is sucking me so tight.” He leaned even closer to you and pressed your knees close to your face. “You love it right? You love it when I’m balls deep down to your womb.” He clenched his teeth. "You love it when I stretch you open like this!"

“I- I-“ He’s fucking you so hard that you couldn’t even speak. The wave of pleasure with a little pain was too good. You’re going crazy. You wanted nothing but to be stuffed by his big cock that he was breaking both your poor little hole and your mind. There, yes...Harder! Harder! You let out a cry as you felt the rush takeover.

You couldn't believe you were still whole. You caught your breath beneath him and he kissed you. “I…I’m done for,” you whispered.

“I don’t think we’re done yet, baby.”

© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

—tag list on reply section ♡

“Hypothetically-“

“Absolutely not.”

The words don’t even get to pass your lips before Rintaro grumbles, knowing that whatever you’re ‘hypothetically’ gonna do, the event has already been done, and you don’t care what he says. It’s late on his side of the world, just freshly afternoon in yours, and despite you telling him that he didn’t have to call you every night if he was too tired, for the past three weeks, he still made his mission to.

And tonight, apparently, the gods are gonna make him regret it.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask!”

“Don’t have to,” he yawns. “Already know I’m gonna say no.”

“Do not!”

“I so do.” He rubs his tired eyes and leans back against the hotel bed, staring up at the pristine ceiling. Nothing like the countless spider-remains on your own shared ceiling. “You’re gonna ask if I’d be okay with something, or if you can buy something, or if you can go somewhere, knowing you already have done it. So, since I know my answer doesn’t matter, I’m gonna just say no. I don’t want you to do whatever you’re doing.”

He practically hears you pout over the phone, and he tenses slightly. Gnawing at his lips, he sighs, “fine. How many cats are in our house right now?”

“None!” You swear. Then, he hears a ding, “and… neither am I.”

“What? Where are you? What was that noise?”

“I’m in an elevator.”

“What? What elevator?”

“No,” you say, letting out a shaky sigh.

“What do you mean ‘no’? That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

Silence falls over the line, and he furrows his brows, an unease settling in his chest. His hands get clammy, his heart rate picking up and he quickly sits up.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right outside your room.”

His heart stops. His eyes widen and dart over to the crisp white door that separates the privacy of his room from the quiet hallway that may or may not have your frame in it. “I’d ask if you would be okay with it, or okay if I bought the ticket, or okay with me being here, but since you said no-“

“Don’t you move,” he rasps over the phone, quickly scrambling to the door. He trips over his own socks and feet with breathless pants, and he wastes no time in flinging open the door to, indeed, reveal you, in a shirt with his number on it.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he whimpers into the speaker before tossing his phone carelessly, enveloping you in a bone crushing hug. You laugh as he buries his nose in your hair, taking inhales of your scent and taking in your arrival, as if not believing you’re truly in front of him.

“Komori gave me the hotel and everything,” you say from his chest, as if you’re not smearing snot on his shirt, yourself. Then, you angle your head up to look at him, “said you miiiiised me.”

And Rintaro wants to, desperately, tease you, tell you he couldn’t care less if you were here, or tell you to get on the plane because you ruined the mood.

But instead, all he can do is hold you tighter and murmur a croaky “so fucking glad he did,” into your head.

Genuinely the best thing i have ever read!!!!

yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader

summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.

a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni

Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring. 

It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break. 

“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal. 

“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams. 

He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better. 

Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him. 

___

“This is your dream,”  you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow. 

“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.” 

“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold. 

“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body. 

“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster. 

“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke. 

“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces. 

“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.” 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” 

____

For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia. 

It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs. 

Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else. 

He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-

“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him. 

But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-

Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face. 

“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway. 

“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you. 

“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling. 

“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin. 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.” 

“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than  you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that. 

“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.” 

“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him. 

“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats. 

“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall. 

“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?” 

“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again. 

“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding. 

“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it. 

“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately. 

“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture. 

“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it. 

You: hi sorry

You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-

Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know 

Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time

You: just wanted to see how you were doing 

Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season. 

You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay? 

You: ahhhhh

You: it’s probably a lot to text 

Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no 

You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall

You sigh, hands shaking now with relief. 

You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean 

Kunigami: this is so fucking hard 

You: yeah

You: Dream job helps though, right? 

Kunigami: sure 

Kunigami: your job still dreamy? 

You: not without you, no. 

Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you. 

You: okay <3 

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone. 

“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat. 

“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage. 

“You needed it.” 

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights. 

“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock.  “What?” 

“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time. 

“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”

“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?” 

“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.” 

“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head. 

“I just didn’t want you to go.” 

“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower. 

“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head. 

“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him. 

“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”

“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you. 

“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous 

thing he’s ever heard.   “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder. 

“He wasn’t big on sharing.” 

“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through

with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly. 

“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine. 

“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little” 

“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment. 

“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off. 

“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.” 

“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I took Latin, ya know.” 

“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-” 

“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.” 

“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.” 

“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?” 

“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.” 

“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys. 

“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?” 

“You don’t yell.” You say quietly. 

“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan. 

“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck. 

“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly. 

“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body. 

“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip. 

He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering. 

“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.” 

__

He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm. 

“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.” 

“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch. 

You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning. 

“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey. 

“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers. 

“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.” 

“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-” 

“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”

His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears. 

“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.” 

“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?” 

“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.” 

“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision. 

It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms. 

“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs. 

“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you.  You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver. 

“No.” You whisper. He nods. 

“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair. 

“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."

Day 26 Bonus: Stuckage

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: stuckage kink, reader gets stuck in a window & it has nothing to do with weight or size or whatever and everything to do with Kats being unable to help himself when you find yourself trapped, praise kink, mild degradation, light teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism sorta, daddy kink, nicknames used: princess, baby, & sweetheart, uhh if I missed any lemme know politely pls <3

notes: so..yeah. here’s another Kinktober post. even though it’s August lmao. maybe I’ll finish these by November ajdhdhs I’m sorry. these are all literally sitting in my drafts fully formatted, so I'm not changing them 😂

“Hey, babe?” You call in your sweetest voice to Katsuki, who is not-so-patiently waiting for you to retrieve the set of keys that you were so sure were right here in your bag.

“Yes, baby?” His tone borders on mocking as he stands there with his arms crossed, leaning against the car that he was hoping would’ve been open by now.

“What would you say if—hypothetically—the keys weren’t in my bag aaand I already locked the door on the way outta the house?”

“I would say that’d probably make you look like a pretty big asshole, considering that you swore they were in your bag. Hypothetically,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Yeah..s’pose it would, huh?” You frown and stick your bottom lip out in a pout to answer the heavy sigh that falls from your lover’s lips. 

“You’re not allowed to be in charge of the keys anymore,” he grumbles while strolling back over towards the door to lift up the plant where your spare key should be, but it isn’t there. 

“We, uh..took that in to make an extra copy to give to your parents,” you gently remind him, physically feeling the frustration radiating off of Katsuki. 

He closes his eyes and splays his hand over his face to pinch his temples, dragging his digits together as he rubs them over his eyes. 

“And both of those keys are still sitting on my fuckin’ desk where I left ‘em.” He heaves a sigh and looks at you, shrugging against as his hands settle on his hips. “Whaddya wanna do? Should we call a locksmith?”

“Is this all it takes to put you in full blown dad mode?” You giggle, unable to help yourself as you take in his stance and all too serious demeanor, not that your boyfriend was much of the carefree type anyway. He narrows his eyes, rolling them while his mouth moves in a mocking gesture. 

“It’s daddy to you, princess,” he teases, not-so-lightly swatting your behind and making you yelp as he strolls past you and starts walking around to the side of the house. 

“Hey, wait! Where ya goin’?” You call after him as you scurry along. 

“M’gonna check the back door. Maybe we left it open,” he explains with a shrug. It was doubtful, but worth a shot. 

“Fuck,” he curses, trying the obviously locked back door one more time like it might make a difference. It doesn’t. He tousles his hair and goes to head back to the front of the house. “Locksmith it is, I guess.”

“Wait!” You bounce a little on your feet and he turns around to hear your bright idea. “What about a window? I bet the one in the kitchen is still unlocked. I can climb through it.”

“That could work.” He nods and pivots to head further into the backyard, making his way over to the aforementioned window with you on his heels. 

He grabs the bottom and lifts up and, much to his relief, you were right about it being unlocked. He pushes the window up plenty high enough for you to crawl through and onto the counter that sits below it inside. 

“Alright, c’mere, baby.” He curls his fingers, gesturing for you to come closer before he bends his knee and taps the outside of his thigh. “Grab the sill and step on my leg. I’ll help boost you up.”

You nod and step in front of the window, placing both hands on the windowsill and putting your foot up on his knee to help propel yourself up and through the window. Everything’s going according to plan. Until you lose your footing on his leg trying to give yourself enough of a push to crawl through. That awful feeling of falling washes over you for half a second before his strong hands find your hips, keeping you from falling backwards onto your ass when your feet touch the ground again. 

“Motherfucker,” you sigh, closing your eyes as you take a moment and a breath to collect yourself. “Okay, let—ahh!” 

You’re cut off by the sound of the window closing. Again, thanks to his heroic reflexes and reaction time, you’re spared from injury as he catches the window before it hits you. You breathe a massive sigh of relief, practically wilting in the window, which now you can no longer simply slip back out of. 

“Babe, can you lift it back up, please?” 

“I’m trying,” he mutters. 

“What?”

“I said I’m trying,” he repeats, sounding frustrated, though you know it isn’t aimed at you. It’s aimed at the window that suddenly won’t budge an inch. “Damn thing’s fuckin’ jammed,” he gripes, heaving a sigh before his hands are on you, soothingly rubbing your back. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reassure him. “I’m fine I just,” you sigh. “Don’t know what to do now. Who the hell do we call for this? I’m not letting the fire department find me this way,” you state as you shake your head and briefly imagine what an interesting interaction that might make for. 

“I’m not either,” he scoffs, his eyes being drawn to your backside, which he had to admit looked especially great with you in this position. 

“Try opening it again. Maybe you loosened it,” you suggest, turning your head to try and look over your shoulder at him, but the angle is rather awkward with how you’re trapped. 

He tilts his head thoughtfully. It couldn’t hurt to try, but it certainly felt pretty well stuck. He leans over you and places his hands beneath the window again, trying in vain to lift it while his crotch presses right up against your backside.

“Are you really getting hard right now?” You can’t help but giggle, wiggling your ass against the bulge that you can feel growing in his pants. 

“You’re bent over in front of me,” he mutters, grunting as he attempts again to shove the window upwards. “And looking pretty vulnerable, I might point out,” he adds with a smirk as he relents his attempts and instead runs his hands along your sides. “How the fuck am I not s’posed to be hard right now?”

His hands seize your hips, bringing you flush against him while he grinds his hips forward, You close your eyes and let out a quiet groan, feeling a pulse between your thighs.

“You wouldn’t take advantage of me in a position like this, would you?” You ask in a sultry tone, no doubt implying that you sincerely hoped that he just might. 

“I wouldn’t say that, princess. You know how much I like seizing opportunities and this one seems too good to pass up.”

“Katsuki,” you whine his name, knowing full well that it makes all the blood in his body redirect to his dick. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gruffs, already feeling his breathing shallow from the pure sense of need that you can still feel pressing into your backside. “You want it that bad, huh? Want me to take you just like this, where any of our nosy fuckin’ neighbors could peek over and see me drillin’ ya?”

“Yes, baby. Don’t just want it. I need it, daddy. Please,” you insist, writhing as much as you can in your compromised position. 

“Shit,” he huffs the curse as he bunches your dress up over your hips, only pulling his hips away from your to appreciate the view. 

He hooks a finger underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs, letting it snap back against your skin while his other palm takes a greedy handful of your ass. 

“Still can’t fuckin’ believe someone as hot as you puts up with me,” he snorts, delivering a swift smack to your cheek before he soothes the ache with his palm. 

“I could say the same,” you reply, shaking your ass and grinning when you hear him groan at the sight, but you’re growing impatient, so you poke at him a little. “Have you even got your dick out yet? I want you so bad, baby..”

“Patience, princess. M’gonna take care of ya. Lemme just look at’cha for a second, yeah?” Both of his hands grope your behind before he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls them aside. “Wanna appreciate all this before I ruin ya.”

His thumb parts your folds and you shiver, juices gushing onto his digit as he snickers. 

“That worked up already, huh? Guess ya really do need me.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s wearing his signature smug grin. His thumb finds your clit and he begins drawing it in slow circles, making you clutch to the wall inside the house. 

“I do, I do. Please, daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips to chase the friction he offers you. 

It’s gone a second later, but you hear the jingle of his belt coming undone and clench in anticipation while he frees his leaking cock. 

“All this beggin’ sounds real good, baby. Gimme a little more and then you can have this,” he promises, letting you feel his rock hard erection as the head teases through your lips. 

“Please,” you blurt the plea out, instantly complying in order to get what you need. What you crave. “I’ll do anything, baby. Want you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Want you to ruin me, daddy. Take this pussy. S’all yours. Always all yours.”

“Such an overachiever. S’what I love about you, princess,” he chuckles, giving you no notice before he lines up and bottoms out in a single thrust, stuffing you full with his impressive length. 

“Fuck!” 

You claw at the drywall beneath your fingers, pressing your hands to the surface to hang on as he begins to thrust, showing little mercy to your drooling cunt. 

“Goddamn you feel good. You’re really into this, aren’tcha? Like being stuck and lettin’ me use your pussy like I wanna?”

“Y-yeah. Oh fuck, yeah, daddy. U-use me. Oh my God, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

You’re babbling now, too far gone already with the way his cock moves inside you, deliciously dragging along your walls as the tip finds that special, velvety spot inside you and starts knocking into it over and over and over again. 

“M’not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not ‘til you’re creamin’ on my cock. You ain’t gonna last long, are ya? Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight already. Shit.”

“Mm-mm. N-no. Feels too—haa—s’too good, baby.”

And he’s right, of course. That white hot heat burns in your belly, searing you from the inside out as it builds and spreads, spiraling out of control as he continues to snap his hips, offering you no mercy now as you rocket towards your orgasm. 

It hits you like a freight train, making you scream as you slump over the sill of the window, simply trying to hang onto the structure as your cries echo around the empty kitchen. You don’t even notice the way that the window seems heavier on your spine now. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, breathing labored from his efforts as he keeps it up, sprinting towards his own undoing. “So fuckin’ good. Pussy’s too fuckin’ good, baby.”

He doesn’t even falter when he finds his release. If anything, he moves faster, willfully pummeling your poor, abused cunt as he fills you to the brim until the mixture of your essences begin to seep out as your own name falls from his lips, ringing in your ears through the haze you find yourself floating through. He looks down, entranced by the vision of his cum being pulled from and pushed inside of your again and again.

“Fuck,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow and landing on your exposed lower back. He watches the bead trail along your heated skin to mingle with the rest of the fluids joined between your bodies. 

A whimper is all that you can manage as he withdraws himself and leans over you, a decisively more gentle touch skimming along your sides before he begins rubbing your back and feathering kisses along your spine. 

“You okay, baby?” His tone is as soft as his touch as he restores your modesty, dipping down to return your panties to their rightful place before he reaches for the hem your dress and pulls it back down. 

“Mhm,’ you hum, blissfully content as you continue coming down from your soaring high. 

“Good.” He continues rubbing your back, working up to your shoulders when his hand nudges the window and he realizes that it’s finally budged. “Well, shit,” he chuckles, reaching over you to lift the window up, freeing you from your entrapment. 

“Hmm?” You feel the pressure lift off of your back and step back from the window, shaking your head as a smile graces your features. “Well, I guess that works out.”

“Think you still have the strength to crawl through?” He grins, a little smug and a lot handsome as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he rubs your arm. 

“Gimme a minute.” You laugh quietly, closing your eyes as you wind your arms around his and rest your head upon his broad chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt to inhale his cologne. 

“Take all the time you need, princess. I’m good right here,” he murmurs into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

likes, comments, & reblogs especially are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

♡ it's VALENTINES DAY, darling ♡

by @seijorhi, @terushimooo and @iwaasfairy ૮( ྀིʃƪ´ ˘ ` ) ྀིა ᶻ z 𐰁 "think you got it bad now? well, it just gets worse, and worse, and worse"

tw dark content, yandere, dubcon, noncon, blood, drugging, murder, forced infidelity

SHIVER

inui seishu ... coming 05/02

TREMBLE

nagi seishiro ... coming 10/02

BREATHER jean kirstein ... coming 15/02

SHAKE

choso ... coming 20/02

SHUDDER

kozume kenma ... coming 25/02

encore | jjk | teaser

⇥ pairing: game-designer!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors au, fluff, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: an absolutely fluffy little piece, he is an ambivert but so hot too, talk about music and it’s really wholesome!!, coffeeshop dates and movie nights, cursing, pov switch, flirting, (okay how do i avoid c*mmunity labels uhhhh), s*xual tension, s*xual content (like: or*l, big d*ck and dom kook, s*x toys, unprotected s*x, fumbling around, m*sturbation, he can be cocky if he wants to, more when the fic drops)

⇥ wc: around 10-12k; 979 for the teaser!!

⇥ author’s notes: my friend said he looks like your next door neighbor who’ll lend you stuff and all, and of course my sick brain came up with this wicked thing. teaser is unedited!! fic still in the works which i’m so excited to post as soon as it’s doneee!<3

⇥ summary: The new guy next door seems an awfully lot like your ideal type. You might be in serious trouble.

–

When you look up from your shoes, meeting his eyes, you realize for the first time that Jungkook is staring at you.

Your eyebrows shoot up in question, humming a curious little, “Hmm?”

Keep reading

polarity | 05 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x (f) reader

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+ , toxic relationships, unhealthy and obsessive behavior , mentions of mental health, manipulation, blackmail, cheating,

word count: 13.1k

summary: Your best friend’s new boyfriend becomes infatuated with you…

Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | CS | 03 JK | 04 | 05 

A/N: So sorry for the delay but my wifi was doing me dirty again. Hope you guys enjoy !:) ALSO this is not edited yet so forgive me .

—

Neither of you said anything at first, not a single greeting or question was uttered. You both stood there, letting your eyes wander over each other in curiosity for god knows how long.

There was still one thing that stood out though. How the woman’s gaze kept returning to your necklace.

“I’m sorry, you are?…” She was the first one to speak, you were yet to form the appropriate response to acknowledge her and explain what you were doing in her son’s apartment.

You debated what you should tell her. The truth? It was out of the question, you were naive but not that naive. The first time meeting her and you immediately jump to accuse her son of blackmail and tell her everything wrong with him? Those were dangerous waters, you still didn’t know if what Jungkook told you about his family was true or not.

There was so much left unclear and so much yet you didn’t know.

“I-,” You take a step back, further widening the door open. “I’m Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

The lie sat surprisingly well on your tongue, as if that’s exactly what you truly were now. You supposed it was, not willingly but that’s  the title he would undeniably give you.

His mother doesn’t seem as shocked as you expected her to be despite the way her eyes widened momentarily, and her mouth opened slightly as a gasp left her.

“Oh!” She told you, her face relaxing as realization slowly seemed to hit her. “Yes, of course. He told me about you.”

He had?

You can’t help to be taken aback, not expecting Jungkook to actually mention you to his mother. How long had she known about you? Was it a recent thing? You wondered if Jungkook had already fed her too many lies , convincing her that he had formed a normal relationship with you.

The thought made you uneasy, how far had Jungkook planned this exactly?

Keep reading

better than i ever even knew

NSFW - MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

fem!reader. pet names (princess, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby), minor angst start but happy ending, confessions, frenemies to lovers, porn with feelings on feelings. multiple orgasms, oral (f! receiving), mating press, riding, unprotected sex, matsukawa can and will fold u like a pretzel. if there’s anything i missed, pls let me know, enjoy :)

“something you’d like to say to me, issei?”

makki had fallen asleep on your movie night, and you’d excused yourself to use their bathroom, only to find matsukawa waiting in the hallway for you after. he’s caged you in somehow, pinned you to the wall like an insect on corkboard, with nothing more than his commanding presence and a notably large hand to the wall beside your head. he looms over you, imposing.

like he always seems to be, only to you.

Keep reading

Glitter and Rot

What better way to bring in the new year that with my favourite, degenerate twins. Happy belated new year, y'all <33

Miya Osamu x female reader x Miya Atsumu

w.c 6.8k

tw: extreme dub-con, themes of infidelity, major character death, smut lite, slight gore/violence, somnophilia if you squint, murder, and, as always, yandere themes

The rain comes heavy, soaking the dirt beneath your bare feet. 

The cotton of your nightgown, drenched, plastered to your skin, does little to keep the chill of the midnight air from seeping into your bones. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the trees above you, dripping onto your shoulder, clinging to the ends of your hair, your eyelashes. 

In the mountains, away from the city lights, the night glitters with stars, streaks of soft moonlight spilling through the canopy on clear nights. Tonight, though, with the rain clouds looming ominously overhead, there’s no light beyond the sole beam of torchlight, steadily making its way closer towards you.

Your toes wriggle in the earth. Run. 

He calls out your name, twigs snapping in the undergrowth behind you. 

How… how did you get out here? 

The wind picks up, biting at your soaked, exposed skin. You shiver, and he calls your name again. This time you can hear a note of concern – not quite panic, though. Not yet. 

Run, that quiet voice urges.  

You take a step. Another–

And the torchlight finds you. Squinting under the sudden bright light shining on your face, there’s only a sigh, and the beam shifts downwards.

A familiar countenance peers back at you through the rain; dark hair, grey eyes, a strong jaw. Your husband. 

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one’a these days, sweetheart,” Osamu says, with a wry sort of laugh. “C’mon, let’s get’cha home.”

Holding an umbrella in one hand and the torch in the other, he passes you the latter so that his arm can snake around your middle, tucking you into his side and out of the rain. Unbothered by the dampness of your skin, he presses a kiss to your temple, his thumb rubbing at your side.

“… I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t know– I don’t remember–”

He squeezes you side, offers you a crooked smile as he helps you back through the trees. Back home. “It’s fine, the Doc said this could happen, remember?” 

You do, vaguely. The Doctor had said a lot that day, most of it lost to the ringing in your ears. 

Neither of you say much as you make the trek back to the house. There’s a gentleness to the way he helps you peel off your sodden nightgown, letting the shower heat up before ushering you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him again, when he passes you the big, fluffy towel to rub yourself dry. 

Sorry for causing him to worry. Sorry for making him chase after you in the rain in the middle of the night. Sorry that you can’t remember what came before, the life you built with him and all the happiness surrounding it.

You feel like a shell, hollow and useless. You don’t know why he keeps putting up with it, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a nasty voice whispers that he won’t for much longer.

But Samu just shakes his head with a snort, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my wife, ya don’t apologise for anythin’.”

You muster a weak smile in return, quickly glancing away. He’s only being polite, you remind yourself, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. Accident or not, none of this is ideal. It’s been weeks now, and you haven’t gotten better. Your memories are still gone, and no one can tell you with any degree of certainty when or if they’re going to come back, not to mention that tonight officially marks the third time you’ve wandered off in your sleep.

What if your memories don’t come back? What if you never return to the person you used to be? 

Before this you had a family, friends, a history. Likes, dislikes, funny stories from your childhood and weird habits. The things that shape who you are from where you’ve been. You’re just supposed to slide back into the life you had, but how can you when you don’t know who that person was?

What kind of man would want–

“Hey,” he says, catching your jaw to coax your face back up. Grey eyes appraise you, a frown pulling at his features. “I mean it. None of this is your fault. Not the accident, or your memories, the sleepwalking, none of it. And I’m not going anywhere either, alright?”

He holds your gaze, surveying you intently until you bob your head in agreement. 

“Good girl. Now are ya comin’ back to bed or are ya planning on leavin’ your poor husband high and dry for a second time tonight?”

Your cheeks heat, the heaviness between you easing somewhat as amusement dances across his face. He’s handsome, almost intimidatingly so – striking features and excellent bone structure. Something coils in your stomach as the weight of his gaze bores into you. Taking your face in his palms, his thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone. Slowly. 

Your mouth parts then, but whatever response you have is lost as his lips descend on yours, kissing you deeply. 

When he pulls away, when you’re breathless and slightly dazed, satisfaction and more than a touch of pride gleams from his expression.

“Though we might have to invest in some better locks. Don’t want ya wandering off too far on me.”

—

Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.

As if you’ve woken in someone else’s life, or a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down and you’re whisked away back to reality. A handsome, devoted husband, not one but two houses – the mountainside retreat you’re staying at while you get better, and a place in the city you haven’t yet seen – even the ring on your finger, the bright, sparkling diamond that sits next to your platinum wedding band. 

How can it be real? 

He tells you that the two of you work together in his restaurant back home, and that too  sounds sweet in an oddly domestic way.

And looks can be deceiving, you know that. Money, success, the image of a perfectly happy couple, it doesn’t mean anything. Façades can crack, rot can fester beneath the surface, slowly eating away. 

Everything he tells you sounds so… good.

You’re happy. In love. Fulfilled with your job and comfortable enough financially for the both of you to take the time off while you’re still trying to fix the broken pieces of yourself.

Accident aside, no one gets everything they want. Surely no one can be this happy. 

There’s a niggling sense of unease that bites and gnaws. No one can be this happy. 

There’s a woman who keeps calling Osamu’s phone. You know because those are the calls he lets ring out, ignoring them until he thinks you’re asleep or busy, distracted by whatever task he’s set you on for the day. 

He calls her Hikari. No, that’s not entirely true now, is it – he calls her Kari. 

“Kari, you know I wanna be there, but I can’t. Things are just– it’s not a good time right now, s’all.”

And the house is quiet enough that you can hear her desperate sniffles on the other end of the line, “Samu, please, this is important. I need you back here.”

He huffs, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pacing the length of the living room. “I can’t,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, I am, but after everythin’… it’s too much.”

She cries again, and it’s a strange thing but your heart squeezes in response. She sounds so broken, so lost and scared, a fragile, pitiable thing. “… I know… “ her voice trembles, “Despite what happened, I know you still care about her. I need you to come back. Please, Samu.”

You slip away then, unable to bear it anymore.

Sliding back beneath the covers of your bed, you let out the shuddering breath you’d been holding, trying to process the conversation you’d overheard. 

There were perhaps other explanations beyond an affair, but as you lie there, mulling it over, none come to mind. If she were a friend–

‘I know you still care about her.’

No. You’re not that naive. Maybe you were before the accident, or maybe you had suspicions, hell, maybe you’d physically caught him in the act – you suppose none of that matters anymore, does it? All that matters is what you’re going to do with this new development.

And as your husband returns a few minutes later, crawling into bed beside you, an arm hooked over your waist, the warmth of his muscular frame pressed up against your back chasing away the winter chill, you wonder if he sees this as some kind of atonement.

Osamu exhales, nuzzling closer in an effort to get more comfortable, and amidst the strange heaviness in your chest, you close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep. 

—

If Osamu knows that you eavesdropped on his call last night, he gives no indication come morning. Although, admittedly, that might be because of your visitor.

The day the Doctor came to the house, he’d said a lot about what was happening to you. A result of head trauma, there was no telling if or when your memories might return. 

He’d spoken to Osamu, taking your concerned looking husband aside just before he’d left.

“What did he say?” you’d asked when he’d returned dutifully to your side.

He hadn’t answered straight away, choosing instead to reach out and take your hand in his. For a moment, his focus remained on your entwined fingers, and then he’d said, “To take things slow. Too many people, too much it might… might overwhelm ya. Until things are better, it’s best if it’s just you ‘n me.”

Today, apparently, marked a change to that, because his twin brother was arriving to stay for a little while. 

Which, shortly after mid morning, he does. 

Naturally, you’ve seen pictures, you and the twins back in highschool, posing with a friend of theirs, grinning toothily and laughing at the camera. Seeing the two of them in person, though – it’s a whole other ball game.

Next to each other, they’re a mirror image, but… not. Tiny, subtle differences that weirdly make them appear more similar than less. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and yet you have no other way of explaining it. 

Osamu stands at your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as his brother pulls up front in a fancy, fast looking car. Atsumu, however, pays him no mind,  eyes – a few shades browner than his brother’s – fixed solely on you, a familiar, smirking grin broadening across his handsome visage.

Osamu tells you that the three of you are close, yet with only a faint, glimmering recognition and your husband’s words to fall back on, it’s hard to know how you’re supposed to greet someone you once knew and loved.

With an arm loosely wrapped around your front, you settle for a smile. 

Atsumu notes this with a raised eyebrow. “Aw, c’mon now, that ain’t no way to greet your favourite twin, is it?”

Before you can stop him he’s on you, yanking you away from Osamu so he can pick you up into a near crushing hug, spinning you around for good measure. You shriek and bury your face in his neck, clinging to him while he laughs, eventually setting you down on wobbly feet.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, ignoring Samu’s disapproving scowl in favour of taking you in, hands settling on your waist. And there must be some giveaway, a hesitance he notes because his demeanour turns curious, head tilting to the side, “Still nothin’, huh?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Feels like that’s all you’re capable of saying lately. 

“Nah, don’t be. Not your fault.”

While you don’t necessarily agree – it’s hard not to think of any of this as some kind of moral failing, as though the only reason you can’t recover those precious memories is because you’re simply not trying hard enough – it’s… nice having someone else around to help fill in the gaps a little.

Not that you aren’t endlessly grateful to Osamu – more than you actually know how to convey to him, and you have tried. It’s just that when you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, being watched over by a man you didn’t recognise, and with no memories of who you were or what had happened, you hadn’t reacted well.

Being your husband (the issue of fidelity aside), he’s supposed to be the person who matters the most to you, and you assume that’s a two way street. In a sense, forgetting him is its own kind of betrayal, with that comes the heaviness of expectations and fears and awfulness.

Plus, things have been… strained between you two, lately. 

So yes, having Atsumu here as a sort of buffer between you two is a relief. Having someone else to help fill in the gaps in your life, to tell you about the person you used to be – the one you’re trying to fit back into – even more so.

“That year we made it all the way to the finals before gettin’ knocked out.”

His finger draws across the picture; the volleyball team, sweaty and defeated, bowing before the roaring crowd. All these years later, now a pro playing in arguably one of the best teams in the country (according to him), a two-time Olympic medalist, and he still sounds pissed about it.

You bite back a giggle, following when he turns the page of the year book. “I dunno, second in the nation when you’re still in high school doesn't sound too bad to me.”

“You were there that day.” 

Glancing up, you find Osamu considering the two of you from the kitchen, elbow deep in food prep for dinner. “I was?”

He nods. “Yeah. Ya came to all our games, right from the start.”

“There,” Atsumu taps on the next page, a picture of a younger you cheering wildly from the stands, hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your shouts, maroon ribbons in your hair. “Our cute little cheerleader.”

“We begged ya to become our manager, but ya kept turnin’ us down,” Samu adds, then smirks, “Said you couldn’t stand being around Tsumu for another ten hours a week.”

The dig reaches its mark, Atsumu sneering as he flips Samu the bird, while his other arm slides from the backrest of the couch to drape over your shoulders. You hardly notice, utterly transfixed by the book on Tsumu’s lap. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how weird it is to be seeing these pictures, like peering into some alternate universe; you, but not you. You look happy, though.

It makes your heart ache a little.

Did you like sports, or was it more of a school pride sort of thing, you wonder. Or was it them – him, really – who drew you into it? If you watched a game now, would you feel anything, some glint of recognition? Excitement?

Flipping the page, you study the various pictures until one in particular catches your eye – only after a second glance. To be fair, the photo isn’t of you – well, it is, but you’re not the focus. Rather it’s of two girls who appear to be in the same year as you, posing cutely with each other on the school’s courtyard. Behind them, though, in the background there’s a wooden picnic bench in the shade of an oak. Perched cross-legged atop it, sitting amongst piled up books and notes, there’s you – and you’re not alone.

Shoulders back, eyes closed, soaking in the rays of the sun filtering through the leaves sits another boy. Not Osamu, one of his teammates, a dark haired kid you recognise from a bunch of the old photos they’d shown you.

The image itself might not be so remarkable – you’re not doing anything all that interesting, one of a number of people captured in the background, and slightly out of focus at that– if not for the one tiny detail that has a strange feeling racing through your heart.

Barely visible but for the way you study it, your hand is curled in his. 

“– listenin’?”

“Huh?”

Mid-way through scraping out his rice, Osamu fixes you with an odd expression. Atsumu, however, just snickers and flicks your forehead. “Ya always were a little spacey.”

Halfheartedly, you chuckle along with him.

The smart thing to do – perhaps the right thing – would be to leave it. 

Samu told you the two of you dated right through high school, so it can’t be anything like that. There’s a possibility the two of you were just close. Good friends, judging by how often he appears in the photos with you and the twins. He’d told you your parents, the only family you had, died in an accident years ago, but Samu hasn’t really spoken much about your friends. You know why, and understand it to an extent – he doesn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily, not while you’re still so fragile.

‘The doc said we gotta take things slow, baby.’

Nevertheless, your lips part, the question burning on the tip of your tongue–

Suddenly, as has become a frequent occurrence in the past few days, Osamu’s phone blares to life, the loud vibrations against the marble countertop startling all three of you. 

He doesn’t answer it, by this point you no longer expect him to. 

—

You dream of fingers running through dark hair, of lips smiling lazily. Someone laughing, ‘You’re an idiot.’

There’s a warmth, a slow burning heat that ignites in your body, trailing from your jaw, down the slope of your neck, dancing along delicate collarbone, another unfurling deep within your core. You chase the pleasant sensations, a soft, pretty moan drawn from parted lips. 

Only when teeth bite down, a tender nip to sensitive flesh are you roused from your dreams to find your husband straddling you, his mouth now between your breasts, dark eyes that glint in the low morning light taking in your visage as you slowly come to. 

“S-Samu, wha–”

“Shh.” He chuckles, your stomach flipping at the deep rumble, “Relax. Gonna make ya feel good, baby.”

Whatever protests you might have (if you have any at all) are lost when you realise that the heat pooling in your guts is due to the two digits Osamu has curled up inside of you, slowly easing in and out.

It isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate since the accident, and while you hadn’t fought him those times either, there’s a slight niggling sensation, nearly lost to the burgeoning pleasure, that twists and knots at the thought of what’s to come.

There’s no possible way of knowing how often you’ve had sex with each other in the years you’ve been together. For him, this must be old hat. For you though, with no frame of reference, no past partners to call to mind, there’s an edge of vulnerability you wish you could get rid of.

A hesitance you don’t give a voice to – not that Samu offers you much of an opening to do so. 

Pushing up the hem of your nightdress, your husband lifts your hips enough to ease off your panties, dragging them slowly down smooth legs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and you kick them aside.

Spreading them either side of his broad frame, Osamu stands briefly to rid himself of his own underwear, crawling on all fours back between your legs – gripping one thigh to sink his teeth into soft, delectable flesh – his tongue quick to soothe the hurt when you cry out.

“A-Atsumu, he’s gonna wake up,” you murmur as he once more takes you by the waist, hefting you forward so that you lie flush against him, your legs hiked up over his hips. 

The very last thing you want right now is an audience.

With one hand, he strokes his cock with the fingers that had been buried inside your pussy, spreading the glistening mix of your slick and his pre over the thick member. The other’s planted near your shoulder, keeping him stable while he rolls his hips forward, slowly bullying his cock into your warm, tight little cunt. Osamu grins roguishly, lowering his top half down to hover above you as you fist at the sheets, your spine arcing, ankles locking over his back.

“Maybe–” he grunts, relishing in the sounds of your sweet cries and gasps as he inches his way into stuffing you full. “Maybe I want him to hear.”

—

A heavy weight drops onto the couch beside you. “Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You fiddle with the rings on your left hand. How many times now have you caught yourself toying with them, completely lost in contemplation, their weight on your finger almost foreign? 

A few times now you’ve taken them off to wash up and forgotten about them entirely, not noticing their absence until Samu himself comes to take your hand in his and slide them back on. 

Did you used to do that before the accident?

No… no, you probably spent days marvelling at them, wiggling your fingers to make the diamond sparkle in the light. You were probably enthralled by the pretty thing. Blissfully in love. 

Happy.

“I think Osamu’s cheating on me.”

You don’t dare raise your eyeline when you say it, afraid of what you’ll see. You might be his wife, however poor a job you’re currently doing, yet the one person Osamu’s closest to is undeniably his brother. 

Since Tsumu arrived three days ago, all they’ve done is bicker between themselves, and yet without either of them saying as much, the writing’s on the wall. It’s in the looks they share, full of silent conversations you’re not privy to and won’t ever have a hope of understanding. In the way they move around each other, that implicit, frankly unnerving trust they have with one another. 

There are things Osamu can’t share with you – or won’t, maybe – but there’s not a doubt in your mind that if Samu were sleeping with somebody else, if he loved them as he claimed to love you, Atsumu knows about it.

It’s not confirmation that you’re searching for, though. You doubt he’d admit it to begin with – between you and Samu, there’s no question of which side his loyalty falls. This isn’t about that.

For days now, weeks, you’ve had this gnawing pit in your stomach that keeps getting worse, and worse and worse. 

With each day that passes, you should be making some kind of progress towards regaining your memories or, if not that, then at the very least becoming more comfortable around him. Yet you still feel like a stranger inhabiting this body, and to make matters worse, your marriage might be failing before you can try to adjust yourself to it. 

Atsumu’s really the last person you should be saying this to. It’s the sort of thing you accidentally let slip to a friend after one too many glasses of wine, letting them comfort you and offer advice, commiserate, even.

Yet Samu won’t so much as bring up the friends you had before for fear of making things worse – because you’re fragile and weak, and you haven’t shown any signs of getting better. From the complete and utter radio silence on their ends, you can only assume none of them bothered to fight him on it. 

Again, rationally speaking you can understand it – that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in its own bitter way.

Beside you, Atsumu laughs. Actually laughs. 

Indignation – hurt – burns, heating your cheeks as your hands curl into pathetic little fists in your lap and shake. Much to your dismay, tears prickly uncomfortably at your waterline. You go to say something, only for a lump to settle in your throat, blocking all noise. You didn’t think he’d spill the truth just like that, but to laugh at you?

In a split second decision you start to rise, planning on stalking off to go lick your wounds alone in your bedroom until Samu comes home, when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

He chuckles again when he’s met with your poisonous glare, “Hey, c’mon. Don’t run away, I wasn’t laughin’ atcha.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scoff. His lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up in a peaceful gesture. “Okay, okay, I was but… s’just funny to me that you think Samu’d ever look twice at another girl. He’s been in love with ya pretty much from day one.” 

The words should be more of a reassurance than they are. Your shoulders rise and fall, a tight shrug as your gaze dips once more to your lap, to the rings that shine mockingly on your left hand. 

Atsumu, however, isn’t so willing to drop the subject. 

“Nah, you don’t get to say some wild shit like that ‘n then go all quiet on me. Explain.”

If you got up and left, would he follow you? Probably, you muse. If anything, Atsumu’s proven over the past few days that he’s nothing if not persistent. He’s clearly amused, at your expense, mind you, yet the way he scrutinises you now, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that reminds you of a dog with a bone. 

No, he won’t let this go.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you shrug again, “There’s this girl– woman, I guess. She keeps calling him… Samu won’t talk to her if I’m around.” You swallow tightly, “I–I overheard them, the last time she rang, and…” 

“What’d ya hear?”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as that tell tale prickle stings at your tear ducts. After your early morning tumble in the sheets, you’d thought that things might’ve been different between you two. But Samu still left, some hollow excuse about running errands, and all you can think is that he’s with her now, that whatever you gave wasn’t enough and–

“Look at me.” Atsumu’s no longer laughing. If anything, he actually looks mildly pissed off by the whole thing, his jaw tightening even as he tries for a reassuring smile, scooching closer and touching your shoulder again, “What did she say to him?”

“She told him she needed him, begged him to come home.” Your voice breaks, just as the dam to your tears do, tumbling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake and crumple inwards. 

Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth before muttering a quiet curse, and you suppose that that’s confirmation enough. Without a word he pulls you into his arms, your face held to his chest while he strokes your back and you cling to him in turn, letting all the frustration and grief and confusion of the past few weeks spill out  of you in horrid, trembling cries. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, half cradled in Atsumu’s lap before he finally speaks, “I don’t care what ya heard. Samu loves you more than anythin’, we both do. He ain’t gonna throw that away for nobody.”

Drawing back, he takes your cheek in one hand, cupping it in his palm, the broad pad of his thumb sweeping away the remnants of your tears with a tenderness that near breaks your heart. 

“I mean it,” he says. You’re close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles your skin, that you can count every last one of his eyelashes. Your stomach flutters. “You mean everything to us. Nothin’s gonna get in the way of that.”

And before you can stop him, before you can blink, Atsumu’s closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours. 

Like a computer short circuiting, there’s nothing you can do but freeze and falter as he kisses you, wholly unbothered by your lack of participation. His lips are surprisingly soft, warm as they move against yours, and while his tongue brushes along your lower lip, he makes no real effort to deepen it, seemingly content with the contact he has. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage so violently that it drowns out all other noise. Your stomach twists, flips, churning as he moans softly into your mouth, but for the life of you, you can’t move, can’t stop this. You’re frozen. Shellshocked. Only when Atsumu breaks away, pupils dilated, eyes slightly glazed over, wearing a stupid, self satisfied little grin do you finally gain control over your body again.

By that point, he’s already shifting to settle you back on the couch, rising himself. “Samu and I love ya. We aren’t goin’ anywhere, stop worrying your pretty little head about it, yeah?”

And then he’s walking away, whistling as he goes.

—

A little while later, Atsumu calls out that he’s going for a run. You don’t acknowledge it. 

The front door opens. Closes. The sun moves across the sky, minutes tick by, and eventually he returns, sweaty and panting, popping his head in the door to make sure you’re right where he left you.

The whole time you sit stationary on your bed, staring vacantly out the window to the forest that lies beyond. Numb, just numb.

“Gonna go have a shower, then I think you ‘n me should talk before Samu gets back.” He waits and you don’t acknowledge him. Shrugging off his shirt, something wicked enters his expression, “Unless ya wanna come join me?”

That, finally, gets a reaction; your head jerking back to regard him with wide, scandalised eyes, “What?”

He winks, snickers when your gaze drops briefly below his shoulders, eyeing his muscular chest, the well defined planes of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck, you track its path with a rapt focus, down to his navel, the smattering of hair there, the cut of the V shaped muscles that draw your attention towards– 

Abruptly, you force your attention upwards, cheeks burning as blood rushes to your face.

Atsumu, grinning smugly, missed none of it. “Next time, then.”

And with that, he waltzes off, leaving the door ajar.

… What the hell?

What the actual fuck?

Head reeling, you have no idea how you’re supposed to process this sudden shift in… well, everything. Had this – you and Atsumu – happened before? Did Osamu know about it? 

Were you cheating, too? 

Was that what your relationship with Osamu was; two deeply unhappy people screwing countless others to avoid fixing whatever it was that festered between them.

Your mind jumps to the picture you’d seen in the year book, you and that boy on the picnic bench, your hand wrapped around his. Osamu told you that you’d been dating ever since your high school days, had you been unfaithful that whole time – spreading your legs for his friends and brother until he gave up trying to be loyal in return?

You feel sick at the thought. 

What other option is there, though? What explanation? Either Atsumu’s being particularly cruel and messing with you, or he isn’t and you’re apparently more than okay fucking not only your husband but his brother as well.

‘Despite what happened, I know you still care about her.’ Hikari’s words ring mockingly in your head. All this time you’ve been so bent out of shape over the idea of Osamu with another woman, and it’s now occurring to you that maybe you might’ve been the one to drive him to it.

Despite what happened.

You draw in a shuddering breath, you bring a hand to your lips, either to stifle a sob or to keep yourself from throwing up, you’re not entirely sure which. 

And as the sound of running water filters through the room, so too does a sense of calm clarity. 

For weeks now you’ve been trying to make this work, trying to slip back into the person you were, a life that you don’t truly remember.

And it isn’t working. 

You still don’t feel normal around Osamu. You don’t remember anything, and despite what you’d been told from the start – despite fighting it every step of the way – you have to accept the possibility that that might not change.

Your spine straightens, the grip you have on the duvet easing as you take another, calmer breath in, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head.

The answer’s been staring you in the face this whole time. If you can’t find your way back to the life you led before you got hurt, perhaps rather than clinging to a past that doesn’t truly belong to you anymore, it’s time you cut it loose and walk away.

A clean break doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when the current situation promises nothing but messiness, hurt and heartbreak for everyone involved.

Even if the thought of going it alone is a terrifying one. 

Even if it means leaving the one – now two, you suppose – people who stood by your side in the aftermath behind.

And as if the universe senses the tumultuousness inside your head, the sharp, trilling sound of a ringtone shatters it, snapping you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. 

You figure that it must be Atsumu’s phone and despite being startled, you’re content to let it ring out – after all, it’s not your phone, not your business. 

Atsumu’s a professional athlete, an incredibly successful one at that, there could be any number of important people on the other end of the line, and if it’s critical, whoever it is can leave a message. You’re not his receptionist.

After a few seconds, the ringing stops. And begins again.

Frowning, you push yourself up from the bed, heading towards the dining room. Atsumu’s still in the shower, you can hear the faucet running, your only thought is that if it’s Samu and it’s something urgent, he won’t mind. 

Except when you find it, lit up and vibrating on the kitchen bench, the caller ID isn’t his twin’s. Again, the ringing stops, and again, after a short beat, it begins anew. 

The picture that fills the screen is of a pretty girl with dimples, her arms looped around a familiar looking brunet.

Not Osamu, but the boy from the yearbook. Older, of course, smiling lazily at the camera while she pokes her tongue out and throws up two peace signs. 

Little Suna, the caller ID tells you, and in brackets next to a sun emoji; Hikari.

Your heart squeezes, a thick lump settling in your throat as you survey the image of the two of them. But it isn’t dismay, or the hurt you’d felt earlier when Osamu was hiding her. You can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, only that looking at that picture fills you with an incomprehensible and near overwhelming sense of grief, like someone’s clawed their way into your chest, taken your still beating heart in their hand and slowly, agonisingly, ripped it from you.

Without consciously choosing to do so, you slide the little bar across, answering the call and clicking on the speaker icon.

“H-hello?”

The silence you’re met with is heavy. Pregnant. Why did you pick up? Why the hell did you answer?! Panic and common sense sets in and you silently curse yourself for being so stupid, your finger moving to hurriedly tap the end call button. 

And then you hear her gasp, a tiny, sharp little thing that spears right through you. Hikari stutters your name, “You… Wha– they… they found you?”

She starts to laugh then, or maybe she’s sobbing, it’s difficult to tell exactly. 

“You’re okay?” she asks, the sound muffled by choked, ragged noises. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re okay! A-after they found Rin, I-I thought–”

White noise drowns her out.

… Rin.

Rin…taro. 

Suna.

Your knees go weak, giving way beneath you. Pain sings through your kneecaps as they collide with the wooden floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that overtakes your chest, spreading with every beat of your frantic heart until it’s the only thing you can feel, and you cling to it. Desperate. Gasping.

There’s a frantic noise somewhere, Hikari calling your name; it’s lost to the pounding haze. Nothing more than the buzz of a gnat flittering around your head.

Every thought eddies from your head, only him. Only that name; Suna Rintaro.

And suddenly–

“You’re an idiot, you know?”

You laugh, throwing an arm around his shoulder as you wriggle your fingers in front of his face, admiring the sparkling ring. “But it’s so pretty, don’t you think? It suits me.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow when you turn to cheekily grin at him, “Considering I was the one who picked it, yeah, that was kind of the idea.”

Giggling, you stretch up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

………

“Gin can’t make it. Somethin’ about his girlfriend and the baby,” Rin mutters, appearing in the doorway of your bedroom. “So it’ll just be us and the twins, I guess.”

“Well geez, no need to sound too excited about it,” you say, eyeing your boyfriend – fiancé now, you have to keep reminding yourself – from the mirror as you battle with the clasp of your necklace. “It’s fine, we’ll see him when we see Kita and the others next month.”

A few seconds pass with no sign of victory, and Rin rolls his eyes, “Let me.” 

He comes up behind you, taking the delicate gold chain from your fingers and nimbly clasping it shut in what feels like a mockery of your struggles. Adjusting the pendant so that it falls better, he exhales, letting his arms fold loosely around you, his chin coming to a rest atop your head. 

The faint crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – to anyone else he might appear bored, annoyed even. You aren’t so easily fooled. You know Rin, know better than to push. It’s not hard to guess what’s bothering him, though. “You think it’ll be weird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs, “I think it’ll be weirder without Gin.”

“It was years ago, they’ve both moved on – a long, long time ago. They’re our friends, Rin. The only thing they’re gonna be is happy for us.”

………

A hand covering your mouth, another roughly shaking your shoulder, rousing you from sleep. “Shh, shh, it’s just me. There’s someone in the house,” Rin’s voice whispers in your ear. “Get under the bed and don’t make a sound, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Rin–”

“Not a fucking sound!” he hisses, and quietly slips from the bed. As if on cue, a loud shattering noise cuts through the room, and terror, absolute terror, grips you. You do as he bids, limbs shaking and clumsy, the sound of every breath enhanced in the quiet stillness Rintaro leaves behind. You clamp a hand over your mouth to try and muffle it.

You wait, and wait, trembling in the darkness.

And then a crash, heavier than the last one. Rintaro’s yelling, more voices raised, more muted thumps, grunting and howling bellows of agony that have every hair on your body standing on end, and abruptly–

Silence.

It rings in your ear, echoing.

Your pulse thunders, every beat of your heart pumping a paralysing mix of fear and panic through your body. You’re shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try – try so desperately – not to make a noise like Rin told you to.

The footsteps that approach have your blood running cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wheezing terrified breaths as you choke back sobs and pray that they won’t find you. 

You aren’t that lucky.

You aren’t that quiet.

They stop at the foot of the bed. Two of them. One bends down, a hand finding your ankle and with a snickering laugh, yanks you out into the open. 

You scream and fight against the figures clad head to toe in black, thrashing like a wild thing for all the good that it does you. You’re determined not to go easy – at least, not until they carry you out past the living room, the mess they left there.

Rin, but not Rin. Not with his face brutalised like that, his skull all caved in, limbs broken and splayed out all wrong.

No.

No, no, no, no.

One eye, empty and lifeless, staring back–

It’s too much.

You blink, jerking back to the present with a heaving gasp. Glancing up, your gut tightens into a knot as two things become starkly apparent. 

One; Osamu’s finally returned, standing half frozen in the doorway, appraising you with an uncharacteristically cold expression.

Two; it’s deathly quiet. Turning your head, you find that the call with Kari’s gone silent, a shirtless Atsumu, hair damp, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips, gripping his phone, jaw tightly clenched.

It twists into an awful sort of forced grin when he notices you’ve come back to them. 

“I really, really wish ya hadn’t done that, baby.”