No Lies, Just Love

Kyrsten; 26; she/her; pan; anime simp; Rindou's wife

[sukirichi]

sweet lies (m.) masterlist | COMPLETED

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

♧ toxic! megumi x reader x roommate! sukuna

general content warnings: toxic! megumi, drinking, fwb dynamics, bartender! sukuna, rough sex, oral (m and f receiving), public sex, multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, dirty talking, praise kink, slight angst, titty sucking, fingering, FILTH with a dose of fluff 

♧ part one.

♧ part two.

♧ part three.

[megumig1azer]

Note: This is my first fic in English, the first one I’ve written in years and the first one to publish on Tumblr so please bear with me. Chat helped me proofread because I suck at tenses😭.

Summary: After one too many visits to the infirmary, Megumi is forced to confront the fact that he deserves more than just survival.

Content: fluff, hurt/comfort, aged-up characters (not that deep actually)

Megumi x f!reader

Feeling the weight beneath your eyes, you were certain this was your cue to call it a day and finally meet your beloved bed.

Too bad fate had other plans. And by fate, you meant Megumi Fushiguro.

There he was. Blood trickling down his forehead, his stoic face covered in bruises and his uniform torn right below his ribs, revealing a concerning gash.

Taking in Megumi’s beaten-up state, you exhaled loudly and said, quite unimpressed,

“Again, Fushiguro? Isn’t this like your third visit this week alone?”

You hadn’t meant to sound rude, but it wasn’t easy to keep your composure while trying to suppress the fact that you cared.

Specifically, that you cared about him.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just about getting hurt during missions anymore. It began to feel intentional, born from reckless decisions.

So of course you were pissed whenever you saw him several days a week, wearing his usual nonchalant demeanor, as if he didn’t look one forehead flick away from death.

His only response was a shrug before taking a seat.

Megumi was used to this. Risking his life, getting scolded, doing it anyway and getting scolded again.

It wasn’t as if the words of others would change his mind, especially his opinion on his own worth.

At the end of the day, he was a weapon.

That was his purpose. Saving others, even if it meant doing so in the most ridiculous situations.

With a sigh, you approached him, gently reaching your hand toward his gash and letting your reversed cursed energy flow. You were far from being as skilled as Shoko, but Fushiguro had definitely given you plenty of practice over the past few weeks.

Refusing to meet your eyes, Megumi lowered his gaze, watching your hand resting against his body instead.

He couldn’t help the strange pull in his chest. Something that definitely wasn’t your energy coursing through him.

Not long after meeting you, he had begun to feel differently about you. You were caring, loving, grounding. Someone who made sure to be a sanctuary for everyone. Something he desperately needed, yet would never admit.

You always carried this calmness about you, spreading the feeling that everything would fall into place eventually. That things would turn out just fine. You were everything he believed he couldn’t be.

But to you, Megumi was the moon offering its light in the depths of darkness. Never in your life had you met someone who cared so deeply and protected so fiercely in silence.

He never bragged about his good deeds. If it was possible, he would burry them somewhere no one could see. That was simply how sincere he was. How naturally he took this role upon himself, to the point where praise felt almost ridiculous to him. And yet, he was the same person who noticed, who appreciated and never forgot the smallest kindness someone showed him.

Megumi being so reserved, mysterious, and guarded had made it difficult for you to read him for a long time. But after countless analyses replaying in your head, you finally connected the dots and came to one conclusion, that Megumi didn’t feel deserving.

You were never entirely sure if your theory was correct, but you highly doubted you were wrong on this.

It simply made sense. Whenever someone said or did something kind for him, he either dismissed it or grew extremely flustered. Once, you brought him his favorite tea without him asking, and he reacted as if you had offered him your entire fortune and told him to let you die on the roadside. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his own life just to save others.

Even though he was capable of shutting off his emotions and thinking rationally about what it meant to be a sorcerer, he couldn’t bear failing to save people he considered good. That was why he saved Yuji. That was why he would be ready to summon anything necessary to protect those people even if it cost him his own life.

Once you finished healing the gash, your hand moved to his forehead. Gently pushing his hair aside, you searched for the source of all the blood.

If Megumi hadn’t been so physically and mentally exhausted, he probably never would have allowed it. But in his weakened, affection-starved state, he couldn’t help leaning into your touch. Your soft fingers against his scalp were too tempting.

It was subtle but it was there and it was enough to make your heart stutter.

Seeing him vulnerable was rare, which made you cherish the moment deeply. It also made you brave enough to say

“You know… you’re deserving too, Fushiguro. If anyone is, it’s you”.

Furrowing, it might be the first time that night, that he really looked at you. “What are you talking about?” he murmured, searching your eyes for answers.

Meeting his skeptical gaze with a soft one, you continued, “You always refuse your own worth just to save others. But have you ever considered saving yourself first? If there’s anything I love about you, Fushiguro, it’s your selflessness but not when it means treating your life as a backup plan for someone else’s. You deserve to live, not just survive. You’re your own person. No one can take that away from you and you shouldn’t let anyone, not even yourself. You deserve to be wanted, appreciated, and especially loved. Don’t push that away. Not when there are people out there who truly see you… and are devastated watching you ignore that”.

With that, you turned away to gather supplies for his bruises, suddenly feeling too self-conscious after revealing how deeply you cared, after implying you were one of those people.

Meanwhile, Megumi’s heart pounded violently in his chest. Everything felt unreal.

He felt aware, exposed even. And the fact that it was you who had said all this only made it more overwhelming.

Your words echoed in his mind as he stared at your back, his expression unreadable.

It had been a long time since anyone had told him he was more than just a weapon. Maybe the last time had been Tsumiki. And that memory, so distant yet so present, had haunted him for weeks, affecting him even on missions.

He knew people cared. He knew Gojo and Itadori did. Hell, even Kugisaki.

But it was different when you said it. Not just because it was you, though he couldn’t deny he’d harbored feelings for you for a long time but because of the sincerity behind it. You didn’t just acknowledge him and move on. You saw him. You tried to understand him, to read through his walls.

To you, he wasn’t just another sorcerer, who happened to live at the dorms where your infirmary was located. He was Megumi. A person with his own value, desires, dreams, and most importantly, his own life.

Right then and there, something changed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so free. Free from expectations, free to make a decision for himself. To finally follow what his heart had wanted for so long.

When you returned to him to tend to his bruises, your hand hovered near his face with a disinfected pad. Before you could continue, he gently grabbed your wrist and lowered it.

Puzzled you looked at him only to grow even more confused when you met his intense gaze.

You barely managed to say, “What’s wr—” before his hand slid to your neck, pulling you down as his lips pressed against yours.

Saying you were shocked would have been an understatement.

For Megumi, it felt out of character but he didn’t care. None of that mattered when you were here, telling him he was worth it. Worth love. Worth everything he had denied himself. You cared about him. And now it was his turn to show you how much he cared.

At first, you stood frozen, eyes wide, unable to respond. But before you could fully process what was happening, your body reacted on its own. You kissed him back, closing your eyes as your hands moved into his hair.

That was his cue. His other hand cupped your cheek as he brushed his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for permission.

Who were you to deny him? You parted your lips, and he eagerly deepened the kiss. Slow, gentle, your breaths mingling together. His hands wandered from your sides to your back, pulling you closer, urging you to sit on his lap.

Hesitant you obliged. Unsure of his sudden intimacy, yet too intoxicated by the moment to question it.

Out of breath, you were forced to break the kiss. Refusing to lose contact, Megumi rested his forehead against yours.

Your ragged breathing filled the silence until you whispered his name. His first name.

At that, Megumi let out a breathy laugh.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything”.

Just as you were about to respond, his lips found yours again, cutting you off but you didn’t mind. Not when the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate, filled with all the longing and suffering he had bottled up for so long.

Maybe being selfish wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[sukurena-deactivated20260124]

･ ⟢ ⋮ synopsis . . . you go over to your best friend yuji’s house for dinner… only to find his older brother sukuna is home from college for the first time in a few years. taller, tattooed, pierced, and annoyingly unreadable, he looks nothing like the boy you grew up with—and he won’t stop staring at you like you’ve changed too.

tags .ᐟ 7.1k. reader & sukuna are both in college. nsfw. best friend's other brother. oral m & f. dry hump lol. unprotected sex. creampie. missionary. size kink. dirty talk. light dom. praise kink. teasing. arm pinning. post sex teasing. kinda possessive behavior? unedited per usual, cause we don't believe in that over here !!

you’ve been in their house since you were old enough to walk. same backyard. same childhood summers. same loud dinners where yuji talked with his mouth full and sukuna pretended he wasn’t listening even though he always was.

yuji was your best friend before you even understood what best friends were. sukuna was the older one—a few grades ahead, always taller, always heavier-footed, always lurking on the edges of things like he’d been born allergic to attention.

the three of you were tangled together in that inevitable, you-grew-up-next-door kind of way. not siblings, not cousins, not childhood sweethearts. just that messy, familiar constellation of people you simply belonged to.

and then sukuna left.

not dramatically. not with some sentimental goodbye. he just packed up after graduation and went off to college out of state—far, far away—leaving you and yuji to finish growing up without him.

you didn’t think about him much after that. or at least you told yourself you didn’t.

until today.

you walk into yuji’s house the same way you always do—kicking off your shoes, calling out that you brought notes for the class he skipped again—and then you freeze.

because someone else is standing at the end of the hallway.

sukuna's home.

and looking at you like the past few years didn’t exist at all—like he just stepped out for a minute instead of vanishing into adulthood and coming back built like a warning sign.

you freeze.

because he isn’t the same person who left. not even close.

he’s taller now—like he grew an extra inch or two just to spite you. broad shoulders filling out the doorway, chest built in the intimidating way that says hours in the gym, not a single selfie to prove it. his hoodie clings to his arms in a way it never used to, sleeves shoved up to reveal thick forearms covered in black ink that wasn’t there before. sharp lines trailing up his veins and disappearing beneath cotton.

and his face—god.

there’s a new weight to it. a grown-man kind of sharpness. jawline hard enough to cut your breath in half. cheekbones more defined. his mouth softer than it should be on someone who looks like this.

plus the metal.

an eyebrow piercing splits the dark line above his left eye—subtle, but impossible to ignore. a thin silver hoop sits snug on his bottom lip, glinting every time he shifts his expression. a couple more studs line his ear, climbing the curve of cartilage in a way that draws your eyes before you can stop yourself.

he went from “yuji’s older brother who never talks” to “the man you’d cross the street for, just to look at again.”

he doesn’t say hi. doesn’t smile.

he just tilts his head a fraction, eyes dragging over you in one slow pass that feels too intimate to be accidental—like he’s comparing you to old versions in his head and finding the differences one by one.

“you got taller,” he mutters, voice deeper now, rougher around the edges.

your pulse spikes. “no i didn’t,” you say too quickly, heat crawling up your throat.

his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, right behind the silver hoop in his lip, and the faint sound he makes could be a laugh or a warning. you can’t tell which.

he steps closer. slowly.

the hallway shrinks around him like the walls are trying to pull away first. he’s buffer now—thick chest, defined arms, long legs moving with that confidence he never had when he was younger. his presence alone makes the air feel heavier.

“sure you didn’t,” he says, voice dropping into something low enough to curl at the base of your spine. “go on and lie to me.”

you swallow hard. “is... yuji inside?”

his eyes don’t leave yours—not even for a second. “kitchen. he’s been whining that you’re late.”

you try to step past him, but sukuna doesn’t move.

not an inch.

he stands there like a wall you’re meant to run into. like he’s doing it on purpose. like he wants to feel you brush against him, just to see what you’d do.

he’s always been like this—annoyingly still, annoyingly composed, annoyingly aware of how much space he takes up.

but now?

he’s all that, plus the tattoos, plus the muscle, plus the piercings, plus the kind of grown-man weight that makes your breath hitch.

you barely manage to slip past sukuna—your shoulder brushing his chest as you squeeze through the hallway. he doesn’t move, doesn’t step aside, doesn’t even pretend to give you space. he just watches you go, silent and heavy-eyed, like he’s cataloguing the way your breath stutters when you pass him.

you pretend you don’t notice. you pretend a lot of things. you step into the kitchen with a too-bright smile, dropping your bag onto the counter.

“ok,” you exhale, forcing lightness into your voice, “lecture notes time.”

yuji lights up like you just handed him free money. “finally! dude, this professor hates me, i swear.”

you snort. “he doesn’t hate you, he just knows you don’t shut up in class.”

yuji splutters, offended, and launches into a rant about how the classroom was “way too quiet” without him and how he’s basically “providing a public service.” you roll your eyes. you’ve missed this.

you spread out your notebooks on the table, walking him through everything he missed—slides, examples, the weird tangent your professor went on about life choices and statistics. yuji listens, nodding furiously, asking questions in the loudest voice anyone has ever used in a kitchen.

it’s normal. comfortable. easy.

but your head?

not easy. not comfortable.

because you can’t stop thinking about the man standing in the hallway.

the way sukuna looked at you like he was trying to match this version of you to the one he left behind.

the way he took up the entire hallway without trying. the way the metal in his lip caught the light. the tattoos. the build. the voice.

you try focusing on the material. you really do.

but yuji is halfway through copying something when you completely lose your train of thought, brain short-circuiting at the memory of sukuna stepping closer, the hallway shrinking around him, his arm brushing yours.

“uh… hello?” yuji waves a hand in front of your face. “earth to braincell.”

you blink. “sorry, i—just tired.”

“you should be! bro, you’ve been explaining this for like an hour.” yuji glances at the clock. “holy crap, it’s actually been an hour.”

you laugh, rubbing your eyes. it has gotten later than you thought. the sun’s gone down, the kitchen’s dimmer, warmer. the house feels too quiet.

yuji scratches his cheek and looks sheepish. “hey… uh… you wanna stay for dinner? i was gonna make something anyway, and it’s already late.”

stay.

the word sinks in. you open your mouth out of habit to decline—because you always do, because you have homework, because you’re busy—but you don’t say no.

because you know who else is here. who else you’ll end up near. who else is still lingering somewhere in this house with a pierced lip and a stare that won’t get out of your head.

you swallow. “yeah. sure. i can stay.”

yuji brightens again. “sweet! i’ll throw something together.”

you nod, biting back a smile as he rummages through the fridge.

you tell yourself it’s just dinner. just catching up. just a normal night. but your pulse tells a different story.

you don’t know what game sukuna’s playing now that he’s home…

…but you’re pretty sure he expects you to play it too.

yuji is humming to himself as he cooks—off-key, loud, cheerful in the way only he can be. pans clatter, spices get overused, something sizzles a little too aggressively, but it’s comforting.

you sit at the kitchen table, chin resting on your hand, pretending to scroll your phone. pretending to be normal.

but your ears are tuned to the hallway.

and when you hear slow, heavy footsteps approaching, your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

sukuna enters the kitchen like he owns the space—tall, broad, tattooed arms visible where he shoved his sleeves up again. his lip ring catches the warm kitchen light as he presses his tongue against it, like he’s distracting himself from saying something.

or from staring.

he doesn’t say anything right away. he just pulls out a chair. right across from you, of course.

your heartbeat jumps. you’re grateful yuji is too busy murdering whatever’s in the frying pan to notice anything weird.

sukuna sits slowly, legs spread under the table like he’s claiming territory. his posture is relaxed—leaned back, arms loose—but his eyes?

fixed on you.

not soft nor nostalgic—but assessing and curious in a way that makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

you try to look away first. you don’t succeed.

he breaks the silence with a low, too-casual, “he’s really makin’ you do his classwork for him?”

you blink. “i’m not—i’m just helping him catch up.”

he hums under his breath, that amusement back in his voice, coating every syllable in something mocking. “helpin’ him, huh. you always were too nice.”

“am not,” you mutter.

“yeah,” he says, leaning forward just a little. “you are.”

your stomach flips in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

before you can snap back, yuji turns around with triumph in his eyes and a plate in each hand.

“dinner is SERVED,” he declares proudly.

you and sukuna both watch the plate hit the table with a little too much force.

“you didn’t burn anything this time,” sukuna notes.

“shut up, bro,” yuji grins.

bro.

right. they’re brothers. the kind with the same house and the same history but completely different worlds carved out inside them.

yuji sits beside you—your usual seating arrangement—leaving sukuna directly across from you.

it’s torture.

you try to focus on dinner, but the food tastes like nothing. you’re too aware of the man in front of you. of the way his hand dwarfs his fork. of the tattoos that crawl up his veins, ink meeting sinew. of the metal on his face catching light every time he shifts. of the quiet way he eats—unlike yuji, who practically inhales his food.

at some point, sukuna leans back, eyes still on you, elbow resting on the back of his chair. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t interrupt yuji’s excited retelling of a stupid class story.

he just watches you. until you squirm.

you hate that he sees it. you drop your gaze to your plate.

but then, under the table—something brushes your ankle. you jolt subtly, knee bumping the underside of the table.

yuji doesn’t notice, but sukuna smiles. a slow smile that feels like it’s meant to unravel you one string at a time.

he doesn’t pull away.

his foot stays there—resting against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you try to move your foot back. he follows. pressing gently.

your breath stutters. your fork pauses mid-air.

“you okay?” yuji asks through a mouthful of food.

“fine,” you choke.

sukuna’s eyes drop to your throat, watching it move as you swallow. then he tilts his head and mouths something silently—so only you can see it.

don’t run.

your heart slams. you force yourself to finish your meal, though you don’t taste a damn thing.

yuji finally exhales loudly, rubbing his stomach. “okay, i’m gonna grab the drinks—don’t eat my dessert while i’m gone.”

he gets up and disappears into the fridge.

the moment he’s out of earshot, the tension in the room snaps tight.

sukuna leans forward just slightly, voice low enough that it feels like a touch on your skin.

“you’re real bad at hiding shit,” he murmurs.

you grip your fork. “hiding what?”

he raises a brow. “the way you’ve been lookin’ at me since you walked in.”

your breath falters.

he smiles. “didn’t look at me like that when i left.”

you want to deny it. you want to throw something at him. you want to run.

instead, all you manage is a tiny, pathetic, “…shut up.”

his eyes soften for half a second—amusement, victory, something else you can’t name—and then he drags his foot lightly up your calf under the table.

your pulse jumps.

yuji returns a moment later, completely oblivious, carrying three drinks like he’s hosting a banquet.

“okay! i got—hey, why are you two so quiet?”

you choke. “no reason.”

sukuna doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.

yuji doesn’t even make it to dessert.

one minute he’s talking through a mouthful of food, and the next he’s curled sideways on the couch in the living room, face pressed into a pillow, snoring softly like someone unplugged him mid-sentence.

you stare at him for a second and sigh. “…he lasted longer than usual.”

from behind you, sukuna’s voice is low and way too entertained. “don’t give him that much credit.”

you ignore the way your stomach flutters and start clearing the plates, stacking yours on top of yuji’s, gathering forks, pushing crumbs into your palm. it feels safer to have your hands busy—something to do besides think about sukuna or how his eyes followed you all dinner.

the kitchen is dimmer now, warm under the stove light. quiet except for the clink of dishes. yuji’s muffled snoring drifts in from the living room. the air feels thick, heavy with end-of-night softness.

you bend over to load the dishwasher, reaching for a plate on the bottom rack…

…and that’s when you hear them.

slow footsteps behind you.

you feel him before he speaks—heat at your back, the faint brush of air as he exhales, the subtle shift of the room around someone as big as him.

“you really doing the dishes?” he says, voice low enough to curl behind your ear. “yuji’s not even awake to witness it.”

you roll your eyes at the plate in your hand. “i’m being nice.”

“you always were.”

your stomach dips.

you reach farther into the dishwasher, bending a little more, muttering, “it’s fine, i don’t mind—”

that’s when it happens.

you feel it—a slow nudge at your backside. a hip bump. not subtle. nowhere near being accidental. you gasp and straighten halfway before you even think about it.

“the fuck—?”

you turn, and sukuna is standing right behind you, way too close, one eyebrow piercing lifting as he drags his hips back a couple inches… only to roll them forward again—slow, exaggerated, mocking in the rudest possible way.

a fucking air-hump. right into your ass.

you choke on your own breath. “what—what are you doing?” you hiss, eyes wide, hands still gripping a fork like you’re about to duel him with it.

“correcting your form,” he says casually, gesturing at the dishwasher. “you’re bendin’ like you want attention.”

“i was not bending like that,” you whisper harshly.

he steps forward half an inch—just enough to feel the heat of him against your back.

“you kinda were,” he murmurs.

your pulse hits dangerous levels.

you turn to shove him away—at least that’s the plan—but he catches your wrist, grip firm but not tight, eyes dropping to your mouth for a split second before flicking back up like he didn’t mean to.

“relax,” he says, voice dropping into something warm, amused, and infuriatingly soft. “if i wanted to actually fuck with you, sweetheart… you’d know.”

your knees nearly give out. you pretend they don’t.

you rip your hand back. “yuji’s in the next room.”

sukuna lifts a brow. “and?”

you glare. “so don’t be an asshole.”

“can’t help it.” he leans closer, voice brushing your neck. “you bring it outta me.”

you swallow hard, turning back to the dishwasher because looking at him is dangerous.

he watches you for a moment with a silent, heavy gaze, dragging across your back as you finish stacking plates.

then you feel his breath near your ear again. “finish up,” he murmurs, something darker slipping into his tone. “i’m not done with you.”

you grip the dishwasher door until your knuckles ache. and yuji keeps snoring, completely unaware that his older brother is behind you, smirking like he knows exactly how fast your heart is pounding.

you wipe your hands on the dish towel, fingers still slightly trembling from whatever the hell that “airhump” was supposed to be. you tell yourself it was stupid, meaningless, not worth thinking about—and then your stomach twists, proving you wrong immediately.

yuji is passed out on the couch, one arm over his face, snores muffled by the pillow he stole from your house. his soft breathing fills the otherwise quiet house, the kind of nighttime silence that makes everything else feel louder. heavier.

you sling your bag over your shoulder, take a steadying breath, and tell yourself you’re fine. you survived dinner. you survived sukuna staring at you like he was trying to decide whether to devour you or laugh at you. you can survive saying a polite goodnight.

you move down the hallway, footsteps soft on the carpet. you pass the bathroom, the closet, the familiar creak in the floorboard near yuji’s door, and then—you reach sukuna’s room.

you only mean to look in. just a glance. just a “later” or a “bye.”

you don’t even get that far.

a hand wraps around your wrist and yanks—not painfully, but efficiently, like he’s practiced the motion a thousand times. you stumble forward, and before you can catch your balance, he pulls you into his room and shuts the door with a quiet, final click.

your back hits the wall. not hard. just enough that you gasp, the shock traveling all the way to your knees. when you blink up, sukuna is standing inches from you, one hand braced beside your head, the other still loosely around your wrist as if waiting to see if you’ll run.

his room smells like soap and darker elements—cedar, smoke, warm skin. it hits you all at once, settling under your ribs, making it far too hard to breathe normally.

“you were really gonna leave without saying anything to me?” he asks, voice almost amused.

“i—i didn’t wanna wake yuji,” you manage, even though you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you can’t look him in the eyes without feeling too much.

“that so?” he murmurs, leaning in just slightly. “’cause you walked past my door real fast. almost like you were trying to escape.”

you try to step to the side, but he shifts with you, blocking the one direction you might’ve slipped away. his body doesn’t press into you, but it hangs close enough that you feel the heat of him, the quiet intensity that wasn’t there when he was younger. everything about him feels deliberate now. intentional.

“i wasn’t escaping,” you say softly. “i was leaving.”

“mm.” he tilts his head just a little, eyes dragging over your face. “and here i thought you’d at least say bye before running.”

“i wasn’t runni—”

“you were.” the faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he adds, “you still do that.”

you swallow hard. “do what?”

sukuna’s gaze slides from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long. “get shy.”

the breath you take isn’t steady. not even close. he notices—of course he notices—and his fingers release your wrist only to settle at your waist instead, warm and sending a rush of awareness straight through your core.

“i’m not shy,” you whisper, even though your whole body betrays you.

his smile grows—not cocky, but like he just solved some puzzle that only he was working on. “yeah,” he says, voice dropping, lips brushing the edge of your cheekbone as he speaks, “you are.”

his hand slides up your hip, light but purposeful, guiding you just the slightest bit closer until his chest nearly touches yours. only an inch of air separates your bodies, and it’s unbearable.

“you didn’t look at me like that when i left,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your jaw.

“like what?” it comes out barely audible.

“like you want me to kiss you.”

your stomach drops. your face heats. your throat tightens with something impossible to name. you almost deny it—you should deny it—but the words won’t come.

and something in your silence tells him everything.

sukuna’s thumb traces the line of your jaw, slow enough to make your breath catch. “say it,” he whispers.

you shake your head. your heart is pounding too fast to speak.

“didn’t think so,” he says, eyes half-lidded. “good thing i don’t need you to.”

before you can react, he closes the distance—letting you feel every second of it. his mouth brushes yours once, soft, testing. your breath rises sharply. he waits, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away.

you don’t.

your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking, and that’s all it takes. sukuna kisses you fully then—deep, warm, devastatingly slow. the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been many years overdue. the kind that steals your breath so quietly you don’t notice until you’re gasping into him.

he hums against your mouth, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, tipping your head the way he wants, his lips moving against yours with ease that makes your knees weak.

when he finally breaks the kiss, he stays close, forehead brushing yours, breaths mingling. “there you go,” he murmurs, voice roughened by restraint. “finally got you to stop pretending.”

your eyes flutter open.

his are already on you, hungry for the next bite.

“you should’ve said goodbye earlier,” he adds softly. “i wouldn’t have let you leave.”

the first kiss is nothing compared to the second.

the moment he hears your breath hitch right against his mouth—sukuna cups the side of your neck, fingers sliding under your jaw, and pulls you back into him. no hesitation this time. no testing. he kisses you like he’s been denying himself the thought of it for years and finally gave in.

your back presses harder into the wall as his mouth moves against yours—slow at first, savoring, learning every tiny sound you make. his lips part just enough to taste you, and when your tongue brushes his, something low and electric shoots through both of you.

he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat. you feel it more than hear it.

his free hand slides to your waist, then your hip, then down to the curve of your thigh, gripping just enough to pull you up into his kiss. your hands rise on instinct, fists curling in the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to him like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

you don’t even realize you’re trembling until he notices.

“easy,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, impossibly gentle for someone who looks like him. “breathe.”

you try. you fail.

and he clearly likes it.

he catches your wrists when you try to pull him closer, fingers wrapping around both, guiding your hands up over your head and pressing them into the wall above you. the movement is slow, controlled, the kind you could fight if you wanted to… but you don’t.

you let him pin you there, wrists held in one of his hands, bodies flush, heat rolling between you in waves.

“that’s better,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheekbone as he drags a kiss down to your jaw. “keep ’em there.”

your breath stutters again, a soft, pathetic little exhale you can’t swallow down fast enough. he hears it. he smiles against your skin.

“knew you’d be like this,” he whispers. “knew it.”

he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—then dips lower, to the side of your neck. his lips are warm at first, barely pressure, barely there… and then he sucks.

your knees threaten to buckle. he feels it, and pushes his thigh between yours—not hard, just enough to keep you standing, enough to drag a shaky breath out of you.

“still shy?” he asks against your throat.

you shake your head, even though you definitely are.

he laughs quietly, the sound rumbling into your skin, before kissing lower—along the line of your neck, down your shoulder, back up again like he’s mapping you with his mouth.

your hands flex uselessly against the wall, wrists pinned in his grip. you can’t touch him. can’t pull him closer. can’t do anything except feel him.

and he takes full advantage.

he kisses up the column of your neck, slow and unhurried, until he reaches your ear.

his breath is warm when he speaks. “come here.”

he lets go of your wrists only so he can slip his hands around your waist and lift you—not fully off the ground, just enough that your balance shatters. he turns you easily, guiding you away from the wall and toward the bed behind him.

your back hits the mattress before you fully process the movement. sukuna stands over you for a moment, chest rising and falling, eyes dark, pupils blown.

you’ve never seen him look at anything the way he’s looking at you now. he leans down, bracing one knee on the bed, caging you in with his body.

“been thinkin’ about this all night,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek before kissing you again—deeper this time, slower. “the way you looked at me… the way you kept pretending you weren’t.”

your fingers finally find his hoodie, grabbing it, pulling him down until he’s almost on top of you.

his hand slides up your thigh, over your hip, across your stomach, leaving heat everywhere he touches.

your breath is shaky, your heart out of control.

“just say it,” he whispers against your mouth. “say you want me.”

you don’t say it, but you kiss him like you do. and he takes that as an answer.

his hoodie comes off first.

you don’t even realize you’re tugging at it until he shifts, helping you peel it up over his head, revealing a solid, cut chest inked in black—tattoos wrapping his torso like armor, crawling up his sides and disappearing into the shadows of his collarbone.

he looks unreal in the low light, all sharp lines and sculpted heat, muscle flexing as he braces his hands on either side of you.

your eyes trail down without permission. the slope of his chest, the flex in his abs when he exhales, the deep cut of his hips narrowing into the waistband of his sweats. his lip glints when he smiles—barely there, cocky, knowing.

“that look better than you imagined?”

your breath catches. “shut up.”

his smile widens. “you didn’t say no.”

he leans down again—kisses you slow. your hands map over his chest now, feeling the warmth of him, the weight, the way he moves under your palms. he groans low when your nails scrape lightly across his abs.

“you tryna kill me, sweetheart?”

you grin against his mouth. “maybe.”

he chuckles. he kisses you again, this time harder, his tongue sliding against yours until you’re gasping. then his mouth moves down—neck, collarbone, sternum—lips dragging over skin like he’s starving for every inch.

his hands find the hem of your shirt. “this comes off,” he says, already tugging it up.

you arch slightly to help him. the shirt lands somewhere behind you. his eyes rake over your chest, and you swear he breathes deeper just looking at you.

“fuck,” he murmurs, mouth already lowering. “i missed a lot.”

he wraps his lips around the swell of your breast, tongue flicking once before he sucks. you jolt, hips twitching, a gasp spilling out of you before you can stop it. his teeth graze, soft but suggestive, before he switches sides—mouth worshiping, hands roaming your waist and hips like he’s trying to memorize you by touch alone.

“kuna—” your voice cracks. “s-stop teasing.”

he laughs against your skin. “thought you were shy.”

you shove at his shoulder. “not that shy.”

his eyes flash. “good.”

his hand slips down—under your waistband, fingers pressing between your thighs through your underwear. his touch is warm, rough, perfect.

you jolt. “oh my—”

“that’s more like it,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours again as he starts to rub slow circles over the damp fabric. “been wondering how you’d sound.”

your fingers dig into his arm, your hips lifting instinctively, chasing the rhythm of his hand. he watches you—fascinated, like he’s trying to sear the image into memory.

he drags the fabric aside and sinks a finger in. your mouth drops open, a soft, choked sound escaping. he groans low in his chest, eyes darkening.

“fuck, you’re soaked.”

you can’t answer. can’t think. can barely breathe.

he pumps his finger slow, then adds another—stretching you just enough to burn, just enough to make you whimper and clutch the sheets.

“that’s it,” he murmurs. “take it. knew you could.”

your hips stutter. he curls his fingers, and your whole body lights up.

“kuna—please—”

“what do you want, baby?” his mouth is at your ear again, tongue flicking the shell before he nips at it. “want me to keep playing with you? want more?”

you nod frantically. “yes—yes, more, i want—”

“say it.”

you whine, breathless. “i want you.”

he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, eyes locked on yours. “good girl.”

he shifts lower like he’s been waiting all night to get between your thighs.

your breath catches when he drags your pants down alongside your underwear, slow enough to make you feel every inch of the fabric leaving your skin. he tosses them somewhere behind him without looking—eyes locked, laser-focused, hungry in a way that makes your whole body throb.

he spreads your knees with two fingers hooked behind them, guiding you open until you feel exposed in a way that isn’t embarrassing—just intimate. like he’s letting you know he wants all of you, every inch, every tremble, every breath.

“look at you,” he whispers, voice dark with awe that he’d never say out loud. “fuck.”

his thumb drags up your inner thigh, slow, reverent, as if he’s got all the time in the world and he’s choosing to spend every second right here.

you feel the heat of his breath first—right where you want him—before you feel his mouth.

he kisses the inside of your thigh, once, twice, lips warm, breath shaky like he’s the one barely holding it together. his fingers press into your skin like he’s steadying himself.

“been thinking about this,” he murmurs, kissing closer, “since dinner.”

your toes curl. “k-kuna…”

“shh.” he smiles against your skin. “i’m getting there.”

he moves in slowly, purposefully, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. the motion is smooth, easy—he’s strong enough that he barely has to try. your breath skips.

his thumbs spread you open. his eyes drop.

he groans. audibly. “fuck… you’re perfect.”

and then he lowers his head.

his tongue slides through your folds in a slow, deliberate lick that makes your whole body jolt off the bed. your hand flies to his hair without permission, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gasp.

he groans again, deeper this time, like the taste of you just punched the air out of his lungs.

“shit, sweetheart,” he mumbles against you, voice muffled. “no wonder you were actin’ shy.”

he licks again—long, slow, savoring every inch—and you swear your vision fades at the edges.

you’re shaking. your thighs tense around his head instinctively, but he just smirks against you and presses them wider.

“keep ‘em open,” he murmurs, tongue dipping lower. “lemme eat.”

and then—then he really gets into it.

his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking gently, tongue flicking in a rhythm that feels too good too fast—your back arches, hands flying to the sheets.

“kuna—fuck—”

he moans like your voice is feeding him. the vibration makes your hips jerk.

he slides two fingers back inside you at the same time his tongue circles your clit—slow, curling right against that spot that makes your stomach twist.

your gasp turns into a broken whine.

“yeah,” he grunts softly, pumping his fingers deeper, “right there, huh? that’s where you start shaking?”

you whimper. that’s all it takes. he chuckles into you—a hot, smug, god of a sound—and curls his fingers harder.

your thighs tremble. “i’m—i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growls, dragging his tongue up before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “give it to me.”

your hand clamps around his hair. your whole body goes tight, and then you break.

your orgasm crashes through you so violently you cry out, thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. sukuna doesn’t pull away. he holds you there, mouth working you through every wave, swallowing every sound you make.

“that’s it,” he whispers when you finally slump back, breathless, shaky. “good fuckin’ girl.”

you’re panting, still trembling as he kisses the inside of your thigh again, slow and soft now, letting you come down.

but he doesn’t move away. he crawls up your body, mouth warm, breath hot, chest brushing yours as he hovers above you.

he grabs your jaw gently, thumb rubbing your lower lip as he leans in, lips ghosting yours but not kissing yet.

“think you’re done?” he murmurs.

you stare at him, flushed, breath shallow. “i—i don’t know—”

his mouth curls into a slow grin. “you’re nowhere fuckin’ close.”

he kisses you finally—letting you taste yourself on his tongue, letting you feel exactly what he plans to do to you next. his hand wraps around your thigh, dragging it up around his hip.

you feel him—hard and heavy against you through his sweats. your skin burns with it. he doesn’t even have to move and you’re already clenching around nothing.

“‘m not stopping,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low enough to vibrate in your chest. “til you beg.”

he catches your stare, eyes narrowing slightly like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. then he shifts back onto his heels and leans against the wall beside the bed, thighs spread wide, hand dragging down the front of his sweats.

your breath catches. he palms himself slow, watching you.

“c’mere,” he says, nodding down. “if you’re gonna be a brat about it, least you can do is put that mouth to use.”

your stomach flips.

you slide down to the floor, onto your knees between his legs, palms resting on his thighs. he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide, jaw tense like he’s holding himself back from saying something filthy.

you hook your fingers in the waistband of his sweats and pull them down just enough to free him.

your mouth parts.

he’s thick. flushed and heavy at the tip, veins trailing up the length, a glisten of precum already beading at the head. He wraps a hand around the base and gives it one lazy stroke before tapping it against your lips.

“open up.”

you do. immediately.

you wrap your lips around the tip and suck—slow, dragging your tongue over the underside. his groan is immediate,.

“fuck, that’s it,” he grits. “take it slow—lemme feel that tongue.”

you do.

you move down, inch by inch, working him deeper. spit pools at the corner of your mouth, his cock stretching your lips, pressing hot against your tongue. your hand wraps around what you can’t fit, stroking in time with your mouth.

his hand slides into your hair, not forcing—just holding, thumb brushing your cheekbone every time you take him a little deeper.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters, voice ragged. “mouth full of cock, eyes all glassy—shit.”

you moan around him, and he bucks, hips twitching.

“you like that, huh?” he pants. “like suckin’ me while your pussy’s still throbbing from bein’ teased?”

you nod, tongue flicking over the tip when you come up for air. your lips are swollen, your chin wet, your breath shallow.

he grunts, tightening his fist in your hair. “shit—gonna cum if you keep that up—” and then he pulls you off, panting.

you blink, confused, lips parted.

“no,” he rasps. “not yet.”

he drags you up by your arms, effortlessly. his mouth already finding yours again as he pushes you back onto the bed. his cock, still slick with your spit, presses against your inner thigh.

“wanna cum inside you,” he murmurs between kisses, “wanna watch your face when i do.”

your breath stutters.

he parts your thighs with both hands, wide and greedy, and settles between them, cock dragging over your entrance—just once, just enough to make you gasp.

then he pushes in. stretching you open inch by inch until he bottoms out, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged in your ear.

your back arches off the bed. your nails dig into his biceps. he’s so deep.

“fuck,” he groans. “this pussy—always meant to be mine.”

you gasp, hands scrambling to hold him closer.

his hand catches your jaw, tilting your head just slightly so he can see every shift in your expression.

“eyes on me,” he whispers. “wanna see you fall apart.”

and then he starts to move. his hips roll into yours with control that makes your toes curl—his cock dragging against every spot inside you, his mouth brushing yours every time he thrusts in.

“look at you,” he pants, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth. “already fucked out and i haven’t even gotten started.”

you whimper, thighs shaking around his hips. “kuna—”

he hushes you with a kiss, and keeps fucking you through it, one hand curling around your waist, the other tangling in your hair.

“wanna see you cum like this,” he breathes. “right here, lookin’ at me. fallin’ apart on my cock.”

you’re already close. he knows.

his hips drag back just enough to make you whimper, then roll forward again, deep and heavy, grinding the base of his cock against your clit each time.

“you feel that?” he murmurs against your mouth. “feel how deep i am?”

you can’t answer. your eyes flutter. your thighs twitch. your breath keeps catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

he dips his head lower—kisses along your jaw, down your neck, tongue dragging lazily over your pulse.

“don’t go quiet now,” he growls. “wasn’t so shy with my cock in your mouth.”

your cheeks flush hotter. your hips buck up instinctively, chasing friction. he groans at the way you clench around him, hips stuttering.

“goddamn,” he mutters, pulling back to look at you. “you’re gonna cum just from this, huh? from me fuckin’ you slow and talkin’ to you?”

you nod, frantic, desperate, gasping when he changes the angle just slightly—grinding deeper, bottoming out again, your walls fluttering around him.

his hand slides down your side, firm and possessive. he grabs your thigh and pushes it up, folding you open even more, cock slipping in deeper than before.

your moan breaks right against his mouth.

“there,” he says—almost to himself. “that’s it. that’s where you like it.”

your hands clutch at his back, fingers sliding over warm skin, over shifting muscle, nails digging in when he thrusts just right again.

you feel it building. it coils low and hot, right behind your navel, pulsing with every drag of his cock, every filthy sound he makes in your ear.

he sees it too. his eyes lock on yours, dark and full of something you’ve never seen from him before—raw.

“close?” he asks, breathless.

you nod. “kuna—please—don’t stop—”

his forehead presses to yours, and he fucks you harder—still deep, but less controlled now, pace picking up.

“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he pants. “cum on my cock like a good girl?”

you nod again—choked, messy, right on the edge.

“look at me,” he growls. “when you cum, look at me.”

you do. and when he slams in one last time, angle perfect, pressure perfect—your whole body locks up.

the orgasm hits hard. your mouth falls open, breath shattering, eyes wide and glassy as you squeeze around him, wet and pulsing and uncontrollable.

“fuck—fuck,” he groans, losing rhythm. “that’s it—fuckin’ perfect—look at you—”

you cry out again, grabbing at him, trying to breathe, trying to stay conscious. he doesn’t stop moving—not until he’s right there with you.

“gonna cum inside you,” he mutters against your mouth. “want you full, dripping—”

you whimper, too far gone to answer. he thrusts once, twice—then buries himself deep and groans, low and animal, as he spills inside you.

he stays there, deep and still—chest heaving, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself from collapsing on top of you. your hands trail up his back, shaky and slow, fingertips ghosting over the ink there.

you’re both silent for a moment. just breathing. just existing. and then— “you really weren’t gonna say hi to me?” he whispers, nose brushing yours.

you blink up at him, lips swollen, voice nearly gone. “you didn’t say hi either.”

his mouth twitches. he kisses you again—softer now, longer. like he wants to keep tasting what he missed.

then he pulls out slowly, careful—and groans at the mess you’ve both made. his cum spills out of you, sticky and warm against your thighs.

he watches it. a little too long.

you shift beneath him, flushed and spent, and mumble, “you’re being weird.”

he doesn’t even look up. “you’re leaking. my work here is done.”

you slap his chest. weakly. “stop staring.”

“stop leaking.”

“kuna.”

he finally lifts his head, grinning—messy hair, flushed cheeks, smug as all hell. “don’t look at me like it’s my fault you can’t hold it in.”

you gape at him, mouth falling open. “i just got rearranged like damn ikea furniture—maybe give me five minutes?”

he laughs, head dropping to your shoulder. “you’re so dramatic,” he murmurs into your neck. “you loved it.”

you try to smack him again, but your arm flops back down instead. “shut up. i’m sore.”

“you’re gonna be more sore tomorrow.” he sounds pleased about it.

you groan, tossing your head back into the pillow. “you’re the worst.”

he hums. “mm. you came so hard you forgot your name. i think i’m the best.”

you glance down at him, raising a brow. “i did not forget my name.”

“you whimpered,” he says, kissing your collarbone. “like five times.”

“not the same thing.”

he snorts. “sounded like you were glitching.”

“i hate you.”

“you sucked my soul out through my dick twenty minutes ago.”

“okay first of all—”

“it was an honor,” he says, hand rubbing slow circles into your hip. “salute.”

you burst into laughter, and so does he.

he collapses beside you, both of you a mess—sweaty, flushed, glowing in the aftershocks and still tangled in the sheets. the room smells like sex and sweat.

his hand finds yours between the blankets.

you go quiet for a moment. breathing. existing. then—

“…so do we tell yuji or just make it weird forever?”

he groans and throws a pillow over his face. “my god, just kill me now.”

© sukurena — do not copy, repost, or translate my work !!

[prncessrindou-archive]

rindou having a crush on ran's ex. do whatever with that info as you please 🤭

“Rin, please.. be still! You’re being so dramatic right now!” You said, trying to apply alcohol and healing ointment to Rindou’s scrapes and bruises.

“It stings.. do you have anything less painful?” He askes, wincing as you tapped a cotton ball drenched in alcohol on his face.

“Oh, so Haitani Rindou does feel pain?” You smirked, holding your hand over your mouth and trying not to laugh.

Rindou scoffed, “go ahead and laugh. I really don’t care.” He said, holding his head in his hands. “My fuckin’ head hurts.” He said in a muffled tone.

“C’mere..” you said, grabbing Rindou’s hand and placing your hand above his head, “I’m positive you have a concussion and you have a fever too, you’re burning up!”

Rindou doesn’t know if he’s feeling warm from the fever or he’s feeling warm because you’ve been touching him unstop since he arrived at your apartment all banged up from a fight. As soon as you saw him, you brought him in and instantly went into nurse mode and patched him up.

“You’re not walking home like this so you’re staying here tonight.” You said, putting all your supplies away and Rindou’s head almost burst when he heard that. His ears were red and burning, “seriously?” He questioned, trying to play it cool, “what about Ran? You don’t wanna piss him off, do you?”

“What about him?” You questioned. “Rin, he’s my ex, not my father. Plus, you always came to me to patch you up before we even started dating, right?”

“Oh, yeah you’re right..” Rindou says. “So, um.. where will I be sleeping?”

“My room.”

“Wha-, no fuckin’ way.” Rindou said, “like in your bed? With you??”

“No, you dummy!” You rolled your eyes, “you’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll make a soft enough pallet for you.”

Rindou started blushing, wishing you did say he could sleep in the bed with you.

“Why are you so red?” You asked, touching his forehead once more, “jeez man, you’re really burning up! I’m going to get you a cold rag and you can put it on your head.”

You walked off and Rindou watched as you walked away in your shorts. Impure thoughts started corroding his mind, but he quickly got himself together because of course, you’re his older brothers’ ex.

Rindou slaps his face in utter defeat and disgust with himself. “You okay?” You asked, few blankets in your hand along with a wet cold rag.

“Yeah, head just killing me.”

“I got you some painkillers also, hopefully they’ll help.”

Rindou smiled, taking the painkillers and cold rag from you, allowing you to walk to your bedroom and make up the pallet for him. It wasn’t a bed, but it was comfy enough and that’s all that matters.

“Thanks.” Rindou sighed deeply, collapsing on the pallet.

You giggled, getting out of your clothes and getting your pajamas. Rindou was peeping through one eye watching you undress, seeing you undo your bra.. He didn’t see your breast, but he’s imagining how pretty they are.

You finally hopped on your bed, with your pjs on and phone in your hand, scrolling through your socials. An hour has passed of full silence other than you shifting and turning in your bed, unable to sleep. “Rin, are you sleep?”

“Nah.”

“I want to ask you something.”

“What’s up?”

“What if.. you and I would’ve dated instead?” You asked.

Rindou sat up on the pallet, “where’s this coming from so suddenly?” He asked.

You shrugged, looking up at your ceiling. “Dunno, guess I want to know how you truly feel about me other than being the girl that patches you up.”

“You want to know how I feel about you?”

You bit your bottom lip, “yes and be honest.”

Rindou begins scratching his head, “I mean, you’re hot.. and you’re really good at patching me up.” Rindou says, cursing himself for not saying anything more.

“Is that all?” You asked, not quite satisfied with his response. “Man, you and Ran truly are brothers.. I thought you’d at least be a little more honest with me.”

Rindou sighed, “fine..” he said, getting up from the pallet and sitting on your bed, “I’ll be honest with you.” He sighed deeply once more and puts his hands over his face. You could see how red his ears are and you could only imagine how red his face was.

“Like I said, you’re hot and you’re really good at patching me up.. and I like you.. not as a friend either.” He said, exhaling, “happy now?”

“I like you too, Rin.. I’ve liked you for a long time now.” You said with a smile on your face. Rindou looked at you, tugging on his shirt whilst his heart skipped a beat. “How can you like me if you dated Ran? Then you’re smiling like c’mon, be for real.” Rindou snapped.

“But I am being for real!” You yelled, “you’re the one not being real with yourself right now!”

Rindou remained silent for a few seconds. You had no idea what was going through his head during those few moments and you were quite afraid to say anything at the time until he finally spoke and said, “c’mere.”

You rolled your covers off of you and crawled to his side, still not knowing what is on his mind until his large hand caressed your cheek and he leaned in for a kiss. You didn’t push him away or anything, you let it happen.. something you’ve been wanting to do for a long time now.

“Have you always been this bad at kissing? No wonder my brother dumped you..” Rindou said.

You gasped and slightly shoved him. “Me!? What about you? You’re so ass at it, it’s no wonder you’ve never had a real girlfriend!” You laughed onto him. “And fyi, he didn’t dump me, I dumped him!”

“Yeah, yeah..” Rindou said, pulling your drawstring on your pajama pants and leaning over with you on the bed. He begins kissing your lips once more as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“What about Ran..?” You asked, hesitation in your voice.

“What about him? You think he’s gonna beat my ass or something?” He chuckled, but after seeing your concern facial expression the chuckles stop quickly.

“Alright, fine..” Rindou sighed, “if you’re worried about it, this can be just our little secret. Yeah..?” You smiled a little bit, “alright..” you said, pulling Rindou by his shirt back down over you as you kissed him deeply.

[queen-of-gotham]

“But can he fight?”

Synopsis: in which you’re being flirted with by some guy at the bar, and after showing your disinterest- he asks the question, “but can he fight?”

Featuring: Shinichiro, Izana, Sanzu, Taiju, Ran, Rindo, Koko, and Inupi.

Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request.

(Mikey, Draken, Baji, Kazutora, Mitsuya, Pah, Chifuyu, and Takemichi here)

“I’m not interested. Sorry.”

You give the guy at the bar a tight-lipped smile, hoping to get rid of him. He’s been talking for ten minutes straight and his cologne is starting to make your eyes water from how close he’s hovering.

He just laughs, leaning in closer, "C’mon, don’t be like that. Where is this imaginary boyfriend, anyway?"

"He’s not imaginary. He’s right over there." You subtly nod towards the back of the bar where your boyfriend is sitting with his friends.

The guy glances over, a smirk on his face, "Okay, so you got a boyfriend. But can he fight?"

Just as he finishes the sentence, a hand lands on his shoulder. You didn't even need to look to know who it was. The guy tenses and turns around, his cocky smile faltering as he sees your boyfriend standing there, with his friends not far behind.

Shinichiro Sano

He gives a sheepish smile like the question caught him off guard. “Can I fight? …I can hold my own.”

But then he glances at you, notices you’re uncomfortable, and his easygoing demeanor shifts, his gaze sharpens, and he subtly steps between you and the guy.

Shinichiro won’t brag, but he will make it clear the conversation’s over with a quiet, “Let’s not go there, alright?”

Izana Kurokawa

He doesn’t even blink.

He just tilts his head, looking the guy up and down with a faint smirk, “You’re asking the wrong question. What you should be asking is- can you?”

He’ll let that hang in the air like a loaded threat. If the guy dares to push back, Izana’s eyes go sharp and lethal, all calm façade gone.

Haruchiyo Akashi

Sanzu hears the question and just starts laughing, a low, unsettling laugh that goes on too long.

Then, still smiling like he’s in on a private joke, he steps forward, “Why don’t you find out? Could be fun.”

It’s not just about fighting for Sanzu, it’s about messing with the guy’s head until he regrets speaking to you at all.

Taiju Shiba

Before the guy can even finish the question, Taiju’s shadow is already falling over him, “You wanna say that again?”

He doesn’t have to yell, the sheer weight of his voice and the way he towers over people does all the work.

The guy backs up? Good. Keeps talking? Taiju will gladly make it physical.

Ran Haitani

Ran grins like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week, “Oh, that’s cute, I don’t fight. I win.”

His tone is lazy, but the way he casually leans closer is calculated, it’s intimidation dressed up in charm.

And if the guy doesn’t take the hint, Ran will happily escalate and prove his point.

Rindou Haitani

He doesn’t even bother answering right away, just stares at the guy, tilting his head slowly, letting the silence stretch until it’s uncomfortable, “…You really wanna find out?”

There’s no bravado, no raised voice, just that cold, matter-of-fact delivery that makes it clear he’s not bluffing.

Hajime Kokonoi

He scoffs and looks away like the question isn’t even worth answering, “Can I fight? …I don’t need to. But if I did, you wouldn’t be standing long enough to tell anyone about it.”

Koko’s more about control and intimidation than brawling, but if forced, he’ll fight dirty and finish it fast.

Seishu Inui

Inupi’s reaction is almost unnervingly calm, he meets the guy’s eyes and simply says, “Yeah. I can.”

No smirk, no raised voice, just a level tone that somehow makes it more intimidating because you know he means it.

And if the guy presses, Inupi won’t waste words, he’ll act.

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[reissancesstuff]

“Boss Is Smiling... What Happened Last Night?”

Genre: Crack | Domestic Fluff | Teasing

Characters: Bonten Mikey x fem!Reader

The Bonten HQ was unusually peaceful that morning. No yelling, no tension, no blood.

Even more shocking—Mikey walked in smiling.

Not the neutral, unreadable smirk he usually wore like armor.

No.

A genuine, relaxed smile. Hands in his pockets. Hair slightly tousled. The faintest mark on his neck (no one dared point that out).

The rest of Bonten blinked like owls.

“…Am I hallucinating?” Ran muttered, nudging Rindou with his elbow. “Is he smiling?”

Rindou leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. “Something’s off. He’s either planning a massacre… or he got laid.”

Kakucho coughed into his hand to hide a laugh. “He’s humming. He never hums.”

“Should we ask?” Mochi whispered.

“Do you want to die?” Takeomi deadpanned.

The door opened again, and you walked in, wearing Mikey’s hoodie, hair still a little messy, cheeks flushed from the morning chill. You carried a bento bag in one hand.

The boys collectively stared.

“Good morning,” you greeted sweetly.

“Morning, (Y/N)-chan,” they chorused like students greeting a teacher.

Mikey walked over, plucked the bento from your hand with one hand and placed his other around your waist, pulling you in without hesitation.

The others watched as Mikey kissed your temple.

Right. In. Front. Of. Them.

Koko dropped his pen.

“…So it was sex,” Rindou whispered under his breath.

You blinked. “Hm?”

“Nothing!” they all said in unison.

You tilted your head but didn’t question it, smiling softly at your husband. “I put extra rice in yours.”

“Good,” Mikey said. “You’ll need to feed me later.”

“Oh,” you blinked, flustered. “O-okay.”

The rest of Bonten silently screamed.

As you left the room, Mikey turned back to them.

“What?”

Everyone straightened like soldiers.

“Nothing, boss!”

But once he left too, the silence broke.

Ran leaned in. “Who knew the key to keeping Mikey sane… was literally keeping him satisfied.”

Rindou groaned. “I’ll never look at bento rice the same again.”

[reissancesstuff]

hi, is okay to ask for a reverse harem bonten x reader, where she is the normal assistant and the guys fall for her and super protective?

A/N: YES absolutely omg 😭😭 your request gave me LIFE. I had so much fun writing this—thank you for sending it in!! The Bonten boys are down bad for their assistant and it only gets more chaotic from here 👀💗 hope you enjoy!!

“Just the Assistant (Yeah, Right)”

Summary: You’re the assistant. That’s it. That’s all you’re supposed to be. But to Bonten? You’re everything—and they’ll kill anyone who tries to mess with you.

You’d been working for Bonten for six months. Quiet. Efficient. Knew how to carry three coffees in one hand and whisper a full meeting agenda into Mikey’s ear without blinking.

To you, it was just a job.

To them?

You were a threat to their sanity.

---

“She’s too soft for this world,” Sanzu said one night, watching you help Rindou organize files.

“She remembered I like chamomile.” Ran added, eyes glazed with something dreamy and dangerous.

“She said my tie was crooked and fixed it,” Koko muttered under his breath like it was a confession.

“She’s literally doing her job,” Kakucho replied, annoyed. And yet, ten minutes later, he offered you his jacket because you shivered once.

---

You were the sun in the middle of their bloodstained galaxy.

Mikey didn’t say much about you. Not out loud. But everyone noticed how his hand would twitch when another man spoke to you too long. Or how your name was the only one he said without sounding dead inside.

---

One afternoon, a visiting gang member smirked too wide when you poured tea.

“Pretty thing,” he said.

“Back off,” you replied, polite but firm.

Then suddenly—his chair tipped, and his face met the table. You blinked.

Ran cracked his knuckles. “Whoops.”

Sanzu laughed a little too loudly. “She did say back off.”

---

By month seven, you started noticing things. Like the way none of them let you walk alone. Or how Rindou waited outside your apartment building “just in case.” Or how Mikey once ghosted a whole meeting because you had a paper cut.

You thought you were imagining it.

Until Koko cornered you in the hallway.

“You’re not just our assistant,” he said, eyes sharp. “You’re… ours.”

---

You should’ve been afraid.

But when Sanzu burst in with a bullet wound and still smiled when you patched him up...

When Mikey said nothing but stared at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth...

When the others waited outside your building in the rain, because some gang idiot muttered your name on the street…

You realized something.

You were never “just” the assistant.

Not to them.

[cfyslvr]

imagine making out with tenjiku rindou only for him to pull away mid make out session to take his glasses off before pulling you right back in OH MY GOSH-

(p.s I know I usually post longer fanfics/hcs but I can't stop thinking about this and I just NEEDED to out this out here 😩)

[izanacore]

“can’t say no” | rindou haitani x reader

one-shot 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: rindou and y/n have always been best friends—doing everything together, no boundaries, no awkwardness. but when y/n calls him over for an unexpected favor, things take a turn neither of them saw coming. one request changes everything… and stopping isn’t as easy as they thought.

characters: rindou haitani, fem!reader, ran haitani

warnings: smut (18+), best friends to fwb, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, slight choking, hair pulling, manhandling, praise, mild degradation, phone sex (sort of), ran being nosy, possessive rindou, teasing, implied multiple rounds, slight innocence kink, slight corruption kink, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, “just the tip” (fails miserably), and overall just very bad decision-making

notes: ig we are all just down bad for rindou. and i had to put ran here, i can’t really separate the two.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

rindou and y/n were best friends. the kind that did everything together—eating, studying, sleepovers, movie marathons. the kind that talked about sex like it was just another tuesday. casual. effortless. harmless.

but they had never crossed that line.

until one afternoon.

y/n: rin, come over. need ur help w something lol

rindou: ok. omw. u want food on the way?

y/n: nah, got leftovers here.

rindou: alright. see u.

ten minutes later, the door to y/n’s apartment swung open. nothing surprising. rindou had a key of his own at this point.

“riiiiin… come here,” her voice rang out, laced with a whine.

rindou strolled into her bedroom, hands in his pockets, only to freeze at the sight before him.

y/n. sprawled across her bed. sheets barely covering her. skin flushed. hair a mess. breathing just a little too uneven.

yeah. she just fucked someone.

rindou swallowed. hard. not that he hadn’t seen her naked before—because let’s be honest, their friendship had long since left the realm of normal—but this? this was different. this was post-sex. this was…

“yo, what’s up?” he asked, forcing himself to sound unaffected.

y/n patted the bed beside her. “rin, come.”

his jaw ticked. he walked over but didn’t sit. “what is it this time?”

she huffed, pushing her hair back. “so… i just had someone over—”

“yeah, no shit,” rindou deadpanned.

“listen!!” she whined again. “so… i need your help with something. it’s… it’s okay if you don’t want to, but you’re the only one i trust, y’know?”

rindou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “yeah, yeah. just spit it out.”

y/n’s face twisted in frustration. “i’m so fucking annoyed. this guy just—ugh. he came too much on me, and i want it out. like now.”

rindou exhaled sharply. “so what do you want me to do?”

y/n looked up at him, lips parting, voice breathy when she said—

“fuck me. i don’t know!!! just help me get it out of me.”

rindou sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “on your back.”

y/n shifted but paused. “wait. we’re not actually gonna fuck, right? just… y’know, you have to make the cum come out, so yeah.”

rindou nodded. “mhm.”

y/n laid back like he asked, pushing the sheets off her. rindou pulled his shirt over his head, then unbuttoned his jeans, but there was something almost hesitant about the way he did it—like he was still wrapping his head around the situation. y/n propped herself up on her elbows, watching him.

then, out of nowhere, rindou leaned in and kissed her.

her brows furrowed slightly, lips parting against his. “rin… you just… you just need to… no need for this.”

but she still kissed him back. it’s not like this was their first kiss or anything.

rindou pulled back just enough to mumble, “oh. s-sorry. i thought i had to, um… prep you first?”

y/n blinked, then chuckled. “oh. alright, i guess this isn’t bad.”

apparently, that was all the confirmation rindou needed because he dipped back down, this time kissing along her neck, slow and careful, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing—but the soft little sighs y/n let out told him he was doing just fine.

“rin… ugh…”

he swallowed hard. her moans sounded… different when they were for him.

when he was satisfied (or maybe just too flustered to keep going), he shifted, positioning himself between her legs, one of them resting over his shoulder.

“don’t go all in,” y/n reminded him, voice still breathy. “just… help me make it come out.”

rindou nodded quickly. “okay…”

his tip pushed against her entrance, sliding in just slightly as he moved at an almost careful pace.

“shit, y/n…”

after a few shallow thrusts, she exhaled. “is it working?”

rindou bit his lip, brows knitting together. “i… i don’t think so. should i go slightly deeper?”

“yes, please do.”

his breath hitched. he pushed in halfway, trying to focus—really trying—but fuck, she felt too good. the tight warmth, the way her walls clenched around him…

a shaky groan slipped past his lips before he could stop it, so he buried his face against her neck, hoping she wouldn’t notice just how much this was getting to him.

rindou kept going, one hand gripping her waist, the other bracing against the mattress beside her head. his breath was ragged, his pace relentless. “fuck, y/n… so this is how tight you are?”

y/n chuckled, tapping his back. “rin, i think it’s already out.”

but rindou wasn’t listening. he was too far gone, too drunk on the way she felt wrapped around him.

“rin…” she called again, but it was useless. instead of slowing down, he buried himself deeper, his thrusts turning rough, fast—skin slapping against skin in a way that left no room for restraint. he went all the way in. there was no going back now. he was fucking his best friend.

his fingers curled around her wrists, pinning her down. y/n moaned, arching into the pleasure. “rin… shit, you’re going too fast. slow down—”

but rindou wasn’t in the mood to listen. his mind was blank, consumed only by the feeling of her. before she could protest, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach, pushing back inside with no warning. a sharp gasp left her lips as he fucked her harder, his hands gripping her arms, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

“shit, y/n, your pussy is so fucking good… should’ve fucked you before.”

suddenly, her phone rang.

rindou barely faltered, but he did release her arms, settling his hands on her waist instead. “answer it.”

y/n hesitated, then reached for her phone, swiping the screen. putting it on speaker, she assumed rindou’s brother needed something. “r-ran…?”

ran’s voice came through the speaker, casual. “hey, y/n. you with rindou right now?”

before y/n could respond, rindou snatched the phone from her hand. “what do you want?” he sounded breathless, impatient—still moving inside her.

“mom said you need to come home. she made dinner.”

rindou groaned, long and low, hips snapping into y/n without missing a beat.

ran went silent. then—

“are you guys fucking right now?”

rindou smirked. “yeah. so fuck off. tell mom i’ll be home soon.” he hung up before ran could say another word, tossing the phone aside.

without warning, he grabbed y/n, pulling her up until her back was against his chest. one hand slid up to her throat, fingers curling slightly, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. the other pinned her wrists behind her back as he fucked into her, deeper, harder.

y/n’s body trembled from the intensity. “rin… fuck, so good…”

“yeah?” he panted, voice rough. “better than the guy you had earlier?”

she nodded eagerly, too lost in the pleasure to think.

rindou suddenly leaned in, licking a slow stripe up her neck before capturing her lips in a deep, messy kiss—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, her fingers twisting into his hair as she moaned into his mouth.

“rin… i’m gonna cum. shit, ugh—”

“me too, y/n… fuck! love your pussy...”

the pleasure crashed over her, her whole body shaking as she came hard around him. rindou didn’t stop—he was chasing his own high, desperate for release. when y/n’s body went limp, falling forward onto the mattress, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to look at him.

a few more brutal thrusts, and then—

“shit… shit!!!! ugh—”

rindou groaned as he came inside her, hips jerking, thrusts turning sloppy as he milked every last drop before finally pulling out and collapsing beside her.

y/n, still on her stomach, lifted herself just enough to crawl onto his chest, resting her head there. rindou’s arm lay lazily across the bed, completely spent.

she huffed. “i can’t believe you came inside me. you fucked me for nothing.”

rindou smirked, eyes still half-lidded. “then i’ll fuck it out of you again. at least this time, it’s my cum.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. “then it’s gonna be never-ending sex.”

rindou shrugged. “i don’t mind.”

she poked his side playfully, then sighed. “didn’t know you were a good fuck.”

rindou smirked. “you never asked.”

y/n bit her lip, glancing up at him. “…then let’s do it more often.”

rindou’s eyes darkened with interest, and just like that, they went for another round—completely forgetting about dinner at the haitani household.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

the walk home felt longer than usual. maybe it was the lingering exhaustion, or maybe it was the fact that his body still felt sensitive from earlier. either way, rindou was drained—but satisfied.

he pushed open the front door, stepping inside with a low sigh. “i’m home.”

from the dimly lit living room, ran’s voice greeted him. “you better come up with a good excuse to mom for coming home this late, or she’s gonna beat your ass.” he chuckled. “dinner’s on the table. just heat it up.”

“okay.” rindou’s response was flat as he made his way into the kitchen, too tired to care.

he barely had the microwave open when he sensed ran following him.

“was the sex that good you went on for hours?”

rindou didn’t even flinch, grabbing a plate. “yeah. best fuck i’ve ever had.” his voice was still painfully plain—too casual, as if he were talking about the weather.

ran hummed, leaning against the counter. he watched rindou for a moment before snorting. “y’know… if you didn’t make a move, i was gonna hit her up myself. that girl is so pretty. literally my type.”

rindou’s grip on the plate tightened slightly.

ran smirked. “man, i knew you had the hots for her. even before you did, but you were just too fucking slow.”

rindou exhaled through his nose, finally looking up. “fuck off. she’s off-limits now.”

ran chuckled, completely unbothered. “as if i care about that.”

and with that, he strolled out of the kitchen, leaving rindou scowling as he heated up his food.

but ran’s words lingered, and now rindou had a whole new problem—keeping his nosy ass brother away from his girl.

[prncessrindou-archive]

What if you received a voicemail/recorded message from Rinnie late at night…

And it’s of him desperately trying to get himself off after a long night of drinking. It’s obvious that the recording is not intentional on his part, and he’s drunkenly calling your name, describing the things he loves about you, and how he wants you so so badly.

What do you think he would say or sound like when he FINALLY cums? And, what would happen if he shows up at your door the next morning apologizing and explaining that he’s loved you for a long time now and to please not shun him bc he didn’t mean any offense

sorry, i’m just drunk and missin’ you

☆︎ sum. you receive an unexpected voicemail from your ex, rindou.

cw include. fem!reader, ex boyfriend!rindou, nsfw and 18+ content, slight phone sex, drunk and horny rindou

The rain sounded so relaxing as it tapped against your window. The television played some lame sitcom, you payed no mind to it as you scroll through your socials on your phone — your eyelids blinking slowly, fighting back sleep as you continued to scroll on your phone and that’s when it comes through with a ding.

A miss call and a voicemail from Haitani Rindou.

You sighed once you saw the name, thinking you had blocked him months ago after a bad argument. You checked the voicemail seeing that it was five, almost six minutes long and the sleep you were fighting had long vanished. You were now interested in what he had to say in the lengthy voicemail.

You’re biting your bottom lip, trying to see if you really want to listen to something that could possibly piss you off. Fuck it, you thought to yourself and clicked the button that would play the voicemail.

“Hey,” Rindou slurred, “it’s me.” You can hear him shifting around in the background and you’re wondering why is he doing so much moving around for. “Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you’re fine though… you’ve always been a tough girl. My tough girl,” he chuckled, “my sweet girl.”

You rolled your eyes, lying back against your pillow and continuing to listen to the voicemail.

“Tonight I was at the club and it reminded me of us. How we used to be out on the floor, touching on one another like starving animals. We couldn’t get enough of each other, eh…” Rindou added, reminiscing about you and him. He starts to palm his cock through his sweatpants. “You remember when we fucked in VIP?” He asked, groaning at the memory of that night. “God, you were so hot and so fucking wet. Fuuuckk.”

You squeezed your thighs together as you remembered that night perfectly. The music blasting in your ears and alcohol coursing through your veins as you rode his cock. His big hands around your waist and his mouth attached to your skin leaving behind love marks. You didn’t care about the hickies or if anyone saw you, all you cared about was milking him for everything he was worth and you did just that.

“I’m rock hard just thinking about that night. Wishing you were here to, you know, take some of this load off me.” He growled, stroking his cock with one hand and holding the phone with the other. “You always looked so pretty on your knees in front of me, taking my dick and deep throatin’ it like a champ.” You can hear him chuckling on the other end. “Fuck, you were the best.”

You held the phone even tighter and much closer to your ear.

“Need ya’ so badly, baby.” He exhaled deeply, “wanna know what I’d do to you if I was there with you?”

“Yes, please..” you whispered into the phone, knowing he couldn’t hear you.

“Well,” he exhaled, throwing his head back, “I’d rip off any type of gown that I know you’re wearing right now and start eating your pussy or better yet, have you sit on my face.”

You moaned into the phone, touching yourself to the thought of him devouring you.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty girl?” He asked, “you’d like for me to suck on that sweet pussy til your thighs are shaking, huh?” He continued to stroke his length, precum oozing out with each stroke and earning a growl from him. “Shit— I’d fuck you too. Fuck you real good, deep and rough just the way you like it.”

You continued to touch yourself to his voice, though, your fingers couldn’t even compare to his fingers or cock. You were desperate. Desperate for him, and you wanted nothing more than Rindou right in that moment.

“I love you, you know that.” He whispered, but those words made you stop entirely in your tracks. “Never stopped loving you and never will.” Rindou moaned into the phone, stroking his cock a few more times before cummin all over his hand, and some part of his bed. “Fuck,” he says with a sly grin on his face, his cheeks and ears are a shade of red from embarrassment. “I’ve talked too much, didn’t I?”

You didn’t say a word. Absolutely nothing. Just listening carefully as he spoke again.

“I know,” he replies, “I know I talk a lot of shit when I’m drunk, but I meant every word I’ve said to you. Especially when I said, I love you ‘cuz I still do. Fuck, man.”

He took the phone away from his ear and saw it was going on six minutes. “I see I’ve taken up six minutes of your time with my bullshit.” Rindou says, “sorry ‘bout that.”

When you thought he was done, he said something once more before hanging up the phone.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he muttered, “hope one day you can forgive me.” His voice was serious this time and his words weren’t slurred or anything, “I love you.”

And with that, he hung up the phone and the voicemail ended at five minutes and fifty-six minutes. You were left wondering and confused and stayed up a few more hours thinking about the voicemail until you finally drifted off to sleep.

The sun rays were now coming through your window as you slept through a text message you received that sounded with a loud ding.

rin: hey

rin: can we meet up and talk about that voicemail i sent you last night? i was drunk and just being a dumbass, so can we talk? if not, that’s ok too ig

rin: but just lmk something, ok?

Rindou placed his phone back on his bed and placed his hand over his head. He was suffering from a hangover — he got up off the bed and instantly dropped down to the floor. He groaned in agony and said, “man, fuck.. I really hope she calls me.”

—

a/n. i hope you didn’t mind me adding my own lil twist by making rin the ex. im sorry i took so long and hope u enjoy it ♡︎

[kunaiiikittennn]

double stuffed 𖹭

𖤐 syp: shinichiro x reader x wakasa ++ rindou x reader x ran (f!reader) ☪ cw; dacryphilia, double penetration, p in v, anal, creampies ++ cum, like buckets of the stuff...

a/n: slight re-write on this one, fixed a few things 𖹭

shinichiro n wakasa

with these two expect lots of bickering and whining, "why does shin get to fuck you first?" and "shuddup, she choose me." all while you're pinned between them like you aren't even there. it's the equivalent of wrangling two over-excitable puppies. it becomes a messy tangle of limbs, you almost get elbowed in the face as the two make grabby hands at your body—pushing and pulling you in opposite directions.

eventually you wind up laying on top of shin with waka hovering over you, sandwiched between their bodies as each of their cocks prod at your dripping, aching cunt. neither wants to back down. you're panting, head thrown back next to shin's as the two of them push in, impaling you on both of their meaty cocks without mercy. a sharp cry is ripped from your lungs, it's overwhelming and dizzying and slightly painful—albeit not enough to ask them to stop. their cocks drag along your walls at different paces, lost in how amazingly tight you are. an orchestra of moans fill the room, all of you writhing together in the throes of bliss. it's nothing like you've ever experienced before, stretched to the max as waka and shin drill into you.

"fuuuck— you keep sucking me back in..." shinichiro groans, eyes rolled back as he bucks his hips along the curve of your ass.

"could fuck this tight pussy forever." wakasa purrs, batting shin's hand away from your tits to play with them himself.

shin's chest rumbles below you, clearly miffed about how clingy wakasa is being. they agreed to share you, but he's not playing fair. you roll your hips, grinding into the two men, pushing them deeper into your wet heat. wakasa sees your eyes rolling back and decides to bring you back to earth. harshly pinching your nipples to get your attention back where it belongs—on him. naturally the other man isn't keen on being ignored, shin tips your face towards his. capturing your lips, and nipping at your bottom lip as you moan into his mouth. your body trembles, legs shaking, threatening to close around wakasa's hips. strong hands grip your inner thighs, pushing them wider, almost in a full split.

you feel shin's cock twitch inside you, signaling that he's nearing his release—by some miracle he lasted this long. moments later thick ropes of cum fill your insides, wakasa grunts at how hard you're clenching while you whimper meekly.

"god— look at that" wakasa hisses, eyes trained on the creamy ring on the base of his cock.

shinichiro whines, spent from his orgasm, just as waka swoops in to feverishly kiss the man below you. heat swells in you, awestruck by the sight, their tongues tangling messily as they fight for dominance.

and instead of pulling out shin stays right where he is, buried into your cunt, plugging his cum inside as wakasa pumps into you. the stretch lessens as shin becomes soft, but wakasa takes advantage of the extra space to pound you into the tall bastard beneath you—fucking you hard and fast like a rabbit.

their lips break apart, saliva string connecting them and wakasa lets out a guttural groan, your vision goes white, body shaking violently as your own orgasm crashes through you—coating both men in your sticky essence. wakasa can only stand so much, and with how tightly your squeezing his cock? no shot. he's a goner. his hips buck as he pumps his seed into you, directly into your womb, mixing with shin's and yours in the messiest concoction on the planet.

all three of you deflate, sweaty, panting and sticky.

(you might as well identify as a cream-filled donut at this point)

rindou n ran

these two are pros at working together, two beasts at mass destruction, the target—your pussy. and well just about every other part of you that they can invade, stretch out and fill to the brim with their cum. they take their time, rindou kissing and nipping at your body; your lips, neck, collarbone, breasts, stomach, leaving hickies and bite marks in his wake—it'll look like you were marred by a wild animal. at the same time ran is eating you out, two fingers scissoring you open as he slowly licks up your sweet, musky juices, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

if you think they'll fuck you quickly n be done with it you are so wrong. oh no, they won't until you're begging, voice hoarse from pleading, tears staining your cheeks—you look prettiest with a wet, scrunched up tear tracked face—even then expect that rindou will be mocking you, "sucha needy thing ain'tcha?" in that patronizing tone that has you squeezing down on ran's fingers. earning a deep chuckle from the brothers, "look at that... she's already gone dumb." ran adds on, lifting his head to watch you with rapt attention, chin dripping with your slick.

your head doesn't feel screwed on right, all loose and wobbly, just a happy drooling mess. eyes dragging along every inch of inked skin—and there's plenty of that to go around.

they manhandle you on the bed, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you're on your stomach, arms dangling off the bed with rindou positioned in front of you. and while you can't see him, you can feel ran's hands along the back of your thighs—spreading your legs apart to accommodate his body. rin taps the tip of his cock against your lips, smearing a line of pre-cum on your mouth and your tongue lolls out to take him in; he tastes a little sweet, like salted honey.

ran on the other hand has got your cheeks wide open, long fingers brushing against your asshole and spits. warm saliva dripping down to mix into the mess of your own juices. neither gives you time to adjust before the other is acting, ran pushing his cock at your entrance—the stretch burns since ran never prepped you for anal—spearing you on him in shallow thrusts that buck you forward onto rindou. who uses that to his advantage to push in deeper, hitting the back of your throat. your body bounces back n forth between the brothers as they fuck you without abandon. it's hot and intense.

brain shut off completely, just a plaything for them to toy with as they deem fit.

you drag your tongue along the vein under rindou's cock, cheeks hollowed as you suck on his tip whenever he pulls back. such a good girl turned dirty slut. he wonders how much dick you've sucked to be this good. but it's no matter. his will be the only cock that bruises the back of your pretty throat from now on.

ran enjoys the sight gifted to him, your ass jiggling with every hard snap of his hips. perfect body sucking him in, he could live here. sunk deep into you. plant you on his lap as you squirm, trying to hide that he's got you cockwarming him. the thought sends him over the edge—

rindou spills down your throat at nearly the same time ran stuffs your ass full of his seed.

(they last for multiple rounds until you're glazed and leaking with their cum.) 

kunaiiikittennn ☆ please do not repost, copy or steal my trash 𖹭

[reissancesstuff]

"you don't look like my boyfriend.”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

featuring: bonten boys (seperate) x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol mentions, swearing, drunk!reader.

—

MIKEY

you're swaying.

barely holding it together on the sidewalk, heels in your hand and eyes glossy from too many drinks. the night is loud — laughter, clinking glasses, someone singing off-key behind you — but everything feels like it’s underwater.

and then there's someone in front of you.

someone tall. all in black. white-blond hair, dark eyes, a glint of silver in his ear. calm expression that doesn't match the chaos around you.

you blink slowly. “who are you?”

he stares at you. deadpan.

you point a shaky finger. “you’re hot. but you don’t look like my boyfriend.”

his eye twitches.

“you’re drunk,” mikey mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

you gasp — scandalized. “how do you know me?!”

“you’re my girlfriend,” he says flatly.

“liar,” you squint at him. “my boyfriend doesn’t scowl like that. he smiles at me. like this—” you flash your teeth in a crooked grin, tipsy and far too confident.

mikey sighs, stepping closer. “you tried to kiss a bartender, y/n.”

“i did not,” you pout. “he had glitter on his face. i thought he was a fairy.”

“you told him you’d trade your phone for a ride on his back.”

you freeze.

“…was he gonna say yes?”

“get over here.”

he doesn’t wait. just loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you into the backseat of the black car parked at the curb. you squeak, landing in plush leather as the door shuts behind him.

“manjiroooo,” you groan, flopping onto his chest like a ragdoll.

he hums lowly, letting you cling. “what am i gonna do with you?”

“feed me.”

“you threw up your last meal.”

“because it was spicy and i don’t like spice!” you say dramatically. “you know this. you should’ve protected me.”

“you said you loved wasabi.”

“i was lying!”

he chuckles. actually chuckles.

his hand comes up to brush your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the back of your neck. you blink slowly against his shoulder, your words slurring into sleep.

“…you’re warm,” you mumble.

mikey leans in, lips grazing your temple.

“next time you’re drinking, i’m chaining you to me.”

“is that your new kink?”

he groans. “just shut up and sleep, brat.”

and as your breathing evens out, arms still wrapped lazily around him, mikey glances at your peaceful face and thinks —

yeah. he’d carry your drunk ass a thousand times over.

as long as you come home to him.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

SANZU

you’re wobbling in your heels.

like really wobbling. cartoon-character-on-ice kind of wobbling.

sanzu watches from across the room, half amused, half exasperated. he told you not to take another shot. he literally pulled the glass away from your hand at one point. but then some giggling friend of yours handed you another one while he was on a call and now.

now you’re drunk.

you’re so drunk you don’t even notice him approaching.

"baby," he says, catching you by the waist before you can tip forward and faceplant into a couch, "what did i say about the tequila?"

you blink up at him.

pause.

your brows furrow. you lean in a little, squinting.

“…who are you?”

sanzu blinks. “what?”

“you’re really pretty,” you slur, poking his chest with one finger. “but i have a boyfriend. he’s scary. he kills people.”

he snorts. “yeah? what’s he look like?”

“pink hair. sharp teeth. eyes like a lazy cat. talks too much sometimes but i love him.”

he tries to hold it in—he really does—but a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. “wow. sounds hot.”

“he is,” you nod solemnly. then you lean closer, all whispery and secretive. “his name is… haruchiyo. but everyone call him sanzu. you can't tell anyone.”

“your secret’s safe with me.”

you sway again and he steadies you with both hands on your waist. you stare up at him, suspicious.

“…wait a minute,” you whisper, narrowing your eyes. “you look like him.”

“maybe i am him.”

you gasp, scandalized. “no, you’re not. he wouldn’t wear a shirt like that.”

he looks down at his black button-up. “…i wear this all the time.”

you ignore him, gently smacking his chest. “nope. nice try, imposter.”

sanzu just sighs and lifts you into his arms. bridal-style. effortlessly.

you squeak. “hey—stranger danger!”

“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, carrying you out of the venue like a man on a mission. “your scary boyfriend would’ve murdered me by now.”

you squint at his face one more time, like it’s just starting to click.

“…wait. are you my scary boyfriend?”

“finally.”

you stare at him.

then giggle.

then pass out on his shoulder.

he sighs again. but it’s fond this time.

“dumbass,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. “don’t ever change.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

KAKUCHO

you’re swaying in place when kakucho opens the penthouse door.

mascara a little smudged. shoes in your hand. clutch barely zipped. and your smile? way too wide to be sober.

“hiiiiii,” you slur, waving like you’re meeting a stranger. “whoa… you’re really hot.”

kakucho’s brow twitches. “you’re drunk.”

“mmmaybe.” you hiccup, then squint at him. “wait. do i know you?”

he blinks. “you don’t remember me?”

you take a cautious step forward, wobbling. your eyes trail over the expensive dress shirt clinging to his chest, the familiar scar on his face — but your brain is still foggy and floating somewhere between tequila shots and karaoke.

“you kinda look like my boyfriend,” you mutter.

“do i?”

you nod solemnly. “but he’s mean sometimes. really serious. you look nice.”

he deadpans. “glad to know i’ve got a nicer twin.”

you gasp, like it’s a revelation. “are you the good twin? can you kiss better too?”

“baby.”

“ohmygod, you sound just like him,” you whisper, poking his chest. “are you two, like, related?”

kakucho sighs through his nose and steps forward, gently looping an arm around your waist before you stumble into the damn wall. “i am him.”

you pause, peering up at him with bleary confusion. “…huh?”

he leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, voice low. “you’re really drunk, sweetheart. let’s get you to bed.”

you blink once. twice.

then your mouth drops open in realization.

“kakuchoooo!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him like you haven’t seen him in months. “my boyfriend!! i missed you soooo much!!”

he stifles a laugh, catching you easily.

“you saw me this morning,” he mumbles into your hair, but the way his hand rubs circles on your back gives him away — soft. patient. relieved you made it home safe.

you sigh dramatically against his chest. “i was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore ‘cause i wore that short dress.”

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “you looked beautiful.”

“really?”

“really.”

you smile so wide it makes his chest ache, even as you sway again.

“‘m sleepy…”

“then let’s get you to bed,” he says, scooping you up effortlessly.

you wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, voice muffled. “you’re the best boyfriend in the world…”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly.

“yeah,” he murmurs, “even when you don’t remember me.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

TAKEOMI

you’re absolutely wasted.

not tipsy. not a little buzzed. wasted.

takeomi finds you outside the bar, sitting on the sidewalk with your heels off, feet bare, and a bag of chips in your lap that you definitely stole from someone inside. your friends had texted him to come pick you up — and good thing too, because you look seconds away from face-planting into the asphalt.

“baby,” he calls gently, crouching down in front of you.

you blink up at him, squinting under the streetlight. your mouth opens slightly.

“…do i know you?”

takeomi blinks. “are you serious?”

you lean back a little. “are you hitting on me?” you gasp suddenly. “wait—i have a boyfriend!”

“yeah,” he sighs. “me.”

you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “prove it.”

he sighs again, but there’s a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you always make me late by stealing my hair gel in the morning and hiding it in your bra.”

you gasp again, scandalized. “how do you know that?!”

“because you tell me every single time.”

“that sounds like something i’d do,” you mutter, nodding.

he reaches for your bag of chips and tosses it aside before gently helping you up. you wobble against his chest and bury your face into his jacket, sighing dramatically. “you smell like my boyfriend.”

“probably because i am your boyfriend.”

you pause.

“…oh.”

takeomi wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to his car, holding your shoes in one hand while you mutter something about him being suspiciously handsome. he just shakes his head with a laugh, brushing his lips against your temple as he opens the door.

“let’s get you home, pretty girl.”

you blink up at him again, swaying slightly.

“…hey.”

“yeah?”

you point a finger at his chest, dead serious. “if my boyfriend finds out you kissed me, he’s gonna kill you.”

he sighs. “i’ll take my chances.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

KOKONOI

you’re swaying.

not from music. not from happiness. just… swaying.

your heels are clumsy against the pavement, arms flailing slightly as you stumble toward the black car parked outside the club. you barely register the man who steps out of it — tall, lean, dressed in an expensive black coat and even more expensive glare.

“jesus,” he mutters, eyes locking on you. “you’re wasted.”

you stop walking.

tilt your head.

squint.

“…huh?” you blink, swaying again. “who’re you?”

kokonoi hajime just stands there. lips parting slightly.

you don’t know him.

your boyfriend — the man who held your hair back when you were sick, who tucked hundred-thousand-yen gifts in your purse like loose change, who loves you more than life itself — and you don’t even recognize him.

“you don’t even know me?” he asks, voice quiet.

you frown. “…are you hot?”

he chokes.

“what?”

you take another unsteady step forward. “are you, like, my type or something?” you poke a finger into his chest, clearly unaware you’re messing with one of bonten’s top executives. “you’re kinda pretty. do i know you from somewhere?”

his jaw tightens — not in anger, but something else.

god, you’re so drunk. flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, wobbling in your cute dress like you haven’t slept in days.

he exhales slowly and slips his coat off, draping it over your shoulders without a word.

“i’m your boyfriend,” he says, pulling you close so you don’t tip over. “kokonoi. hajime. remember now?”

you stare at him. long and slow.

“…no,” you whisper. “but i like your voice.”

he closes his eyes for a second like he’s praying for strength.

“come on,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “let’s get you home.”

you hum softly against him, cuddling into his side like instinct. “you smell nice.”

“i should,” he mutters. “you bought me the cologne.”

“…i did?” you blink up at him, awed. “that was so nice of me.”

kokonoi smiles despite himself. “yeah. you’re amazing, remember?”

you don’t respond.

you’re too busy falling asleep on his shoulder.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

MOCHI

you’re absolutely smashed.

slumped against the backseat of a sleek black car, your cheek is pressed against the window, fogging up the glass with every hot exhale. the city lights blur into hazy halos as you mumble incoherent things about ramen, frogs, and how the bartender definitely had a crush on you.

mochizuki kanji is sitting beside you — arms crossed, jaw clenched — watching you spiral deeper into drunken chaos with a look that’s a mix of what the fuck am i gonna do with you and i’d kill anyone who touches you.

he’s calm, quiet. only ever speaks when it matters. but right now, he’s biting the inside of his cheek because you — the love of his life — have just looked him in the eye and slurred:

“you’re not my boyfriend.”

he blinks. “…what?”

you squint at him like your vision’s lagging. “you’re not him. he’s taller. angrier. his eyebrows are… madder.”

kanji raises an eyebrow. “madder?”

you poke his chest. “and he smells like cigarettes and laundry softener. you smell like… like a man i don’t know.”

he stares at you. speechless.

then you dramatically flop sideways, landing right against him with a whine. “i want kanjiii,” you say, sniffling, like a child who lost her toy. “he’s my big scary boyfriend. he growls when he talks.”

“i am kanji.”

“liar.” you squint again. “kanji’s nose is more punchable.”

he exhales, presses his fingers to the bridge of his very punchable nose, and fights the urge to laugh or scream.

“…you’re drunk.”

“nooo.” you hiccup. “you’re just impersonating him. is this a bonten thing? secret twins?”

he leans forward, his voice lowering. “baby, i swear to god—”

“see? that’s how he sounds!” you gasp like you cracked the case. “do it again.”

mochi’s eye twitches.

you’re fully sprawled across him now, clinging to the lapel of his coat like a lost little puppy. he adjusts your seatbelt with one hand, sighing, then brushes your hair away from your face with the other.

“i’m taking you home. and tomorrow, when you wake up with a hangover, i’m gonna remind you how you called me an imposter.”

you giggle. “you sound hot when you’re mad.”

he mutters under his breath, “so i am your boyfriend?”

“…hm. jury’s still out.” you poke his cheek. “i’ll decide when i’m sober.”

kanji leans back in the seat, groaning. “you’re so lucky i love you.”

you yawn and nuzzle into his side, half-asleep already. “my boyfriend loves me too…”

he glances down. your arms are wrapped around him now. soft breaths tickling his neck. and he knows you won’t remember a damn thing in the morning.

but he smiles anyway.

“yeah, he really does.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

RAN

you’re tipsy. no— scratch that.

you’re gone.

ran knows it the second you stumble out of the bar, heels in hand, mascara a little smudged, smile big and dizzy as you scan the street like it’s moving. it’s not. you are.

“there you are,” ran drawls, slipping his phone into his pocket, voice low and lazy as ever. “i’ve been looking everywhere, baby.”

you squint at him.

you squint at him.

and then you take a step back, blinking. “…sorry, do i know you?”

ran freezes.

“…what?”

“you’re really tall,” you slur, clearly impressed. your finger pokes at his chest, right at the silver chain peeking from his collar. “and you smell expensive.”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you don’t recognize me?”

you tilt your head, swaying. “are you a celebrity?”

ran is trying. really, he is. but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“something like that,” he murmurs, stepping closer to steady you as you wobble. you stare up at him, lips parted, brows furrowed like you’re solving a math problem.

“wait…” you whisper. “do you… have a girlfriend?”

his brows shoot up.

you gasp, dramatic as ever. “because if you don’t—i know a girl who’d be sooo lucky to have you.”

he stares at you for a long, silent moment.

“...you’re trying to flirt with me,” he deadpans.

you nod eagerly. “you’re hot.”

“baby,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “i am your boyfriend.”

you freeze.

pause.

“…you are?”

“yes.”

“…are you sure?”

“you live with me,” he deadpans. “you wear my shirts. i literally dropped you off at this bar three hours ago.”

you gasp again. “wait—you’re ran?!”

ran looks like he’s this close to losing it. “oh my god.”

“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “you’re so hot i didn’t recognize you.”

“…that’s not even a compliment. it’s a safety hazard.”

you giggle, tipsy and smug now, as you stumble forward into his chest. “well, you’re mine now, right?”

he rolls his eyes, arms wrapping around your waist anyway. “was always yours, drunk idiot.”

“can we get fries?”

“…you don’t even remember dinner, do you?”

“nope!”

he kisses your forehead, groaning like he’s suffering, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“alright,” he murmurs, scooping you up bridal style. “fries and then straight to bed. my bed.”

“ooh,” you giggle. “that hot stranger’s bed?”

“jesus christ,” he mutters, shaking his head.

but he’s smiling the whole way home.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

RINDOU

rindou has seen you in many states. sleepy, grumpy, pouty, clingy. he's even seen you swing a pan at mochi for “looking weird.”

but drunk? drunk you is a different species entirely.

“what the fuck,” he mutters, watching you sway unsteadily in your heels as you stumble out of the bar with your friends. “she said she’d have one drink.”

you spot him leaning against his car, wearing his usual black, his lavender hair tousled and unbothered. but instead of rushing into his arms like you usually do—

you squint.

hard.

“...who are you?” you ask, dead serious.

rindou blinks. “what?”

you point at him accusingly. “you’re hot. are you a stripper?”

“a what—?”

“did my friends send you? for my birthday?? oh my god, you’re my present, aren’t you??” you gasp dramatically, stumbling forward with jazz hands. “stripper boyyyy~!”

rindou grabs your waist before you faceplant into the pavement. “jesus, baby. it’s me. rindou.”

“rindou?” you frown. “nooo, my rindou has sleepy eyes and looks mean but actually buys me cat stickers when i’m sad.”

“that’s literally me.”

you lean in closer, squinting harder. “hmmm. i don’t know. you’re suspiciously hot. too hot. hot with earrings?? hot with a lip ring?! are you even real???”

“what the hell are you even saying,” he says, but he's already pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “get in the car, idiot.”

you gasp. “he even smells like rindou!! what kind of AI technology—”

he physically picks you up bridal-style before you embarrass yourself any further. you're still rambling nonsense about stripper androids as he buckles you into the passenger seat and shuts the door.

rindou sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“should’ve just handcuffed you to the couch tonight,” he mumbles.

“kinky,” you slur from your seat.

he slides into the driver's side, throws you a dry look, and says, “remind me to delete your birthday next year.”

you giggle and flop your head against his shoulder.

“…but you’re cute for a stripper.”

rindou mutters under his breath, “yeah, and you’re dead when you sober up.”

but he doesn’t push your head away.

[littlepumpky]

"How they react when you come back from a Terrible Date" (They're Secretly in Love With You) // Tokyo revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Ran, Rindou, Draken, Hanma, Shinichiro, Kazutora, Sanzu

Synopsis: You come home from yet another awful date — frustrated, humiliated, and swearing off dating for good. He’s waiting. Always is. The one who never says it, but watches you like he could burn the world down for you. You start ranting, words sharp and bitter... but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you. Close. Too close. One look. One kiss. And it all snaps.

“Shut up,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”

And maybe you always have been.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

You slam the front door a little harder than necessary.

Shoes off. Purse on the floor. Frustration clinging to you like a second skin.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter to yourself.

Mikey’s sitting exactly where you left him—on your couch, legs crossed, eating Pocky like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t say anything yet. Just watches you from the corner of his eye, tracking your every movement like a cat waiting to pounce.

You’re too annoyed to notice.

“Literally the worst date I’ve ever been on,” you grumble, heading to the kitchen to put your keys in the dish.

Mikey leans his head back. “Didn’t think anyone could top last week’s guy.”

“Oh, this one did,” you say, raising your voice from the other room. “First, he shows up late. No apology. Then spends half the dinner talking about himself—nonstop. Doesn’t ask me a single question.”

Your voice grows sharper, more animated, as you stalk back and forth, venting.

“I mention I like manga, he says ‘Oh, that nerd stuff?’ Like, excuse me?” You scoff, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and slamming it down. “Then he tries to guilt-trip me into inviting him up to my place. Said I was leading him on because I smiled too much.”

Mikey’s body shifts slightly. His eyes are locked on you now, and he’s not blinking. Still silent.

“And the worst part?” You huff. “I actually tried. I tried to be interesting, polite, charming. I laughed at his terrible jokes. I wore the dress I wasn’t sure about because I thought maybe it’d make me feel confident.”

You open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, ramble on.

“I just—God, why do I even bother? Every time, I end up with these walking red flags in human skin. Like I’m cursed or something.”

You twist the cap off and lean down to shove some leftovers back into the fridge, muttering to yourself.

“What’s so hard about finding someone who just... sees me for who I am?”

And that’s when it happens.

You turn around and nearly bump into him.

You didn’t hear him move. Didn’t hear a single step.

But Mikey is suddenly right there, only inches away. His expression unreadable. Shoulders tense. Eyes locked on you like he’s barely holding something back.

Your mouth opens, confused. “Mikey—”

His hands grip your waist.

And then you feel your back hit the wall behind you with a gentle thud as he presses you there, body close, leaving you no room to retreat. The bottle of water slips from your fingers and rolls away.

“Mikey, what are you—?”

You don’t finish.

Because he kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not a question. It’s not careful or delicate. It’s the kind of kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, the kind that tastes like every unsaid word he’s ever swallowed. His mouth claims yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s furious with how long he’s waited.

Your hands go to his chest out of instinct, half in shock, half because your legs are suddenly jelly.

When he finally pulls away, just barely, his voice is low and trembling.

“I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

You stare up at him, stunned, lips parted, your heart slamming in your chest.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Since the first time you called me out on my shit. Since you patched me up after a fight without asking questions. Since you sat next to me in silence when I didn’t know how to talk.”

His forehead presses against yours.

“And every time you told me about those stupid dates... every time you came home looking sad and tired... I wanted to be the one you came home from a date with. I wanted it to be me.”

You’re still breathless.

Still pressed to the wall by the only person who’s ever made you feel this seen—like your words, your fire, your rants aren’t too much.

You swallow, still stunned. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

His hand cradles the side of your face gently now, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Because I was scared,” he whispers. “That if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

There’s a moment — one long, charged heartbeat — where the world seems to go quiet.

And then you say it.

Soft. Barely a breath between you.

“Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t hesitate.

Mikey dives back in like a man who’s drowning and you’re the only air left on Earth. His mouth crashes onto yours again — rougher this time, messier, needier. His hand cradles the back of your head, angling you just right, while the other grips your waist with something between desperation and relief.

You gasp into the kiss, and he takes advantage, deepening it until you’re practically melting against the wall. Your fingers twist into the soft fabric of his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer as he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he’s kept this to himself.

Teeth clash. Lips bruise. Tongues slide.

It's not pretty. It's not polite.

It’s raw, breathless, real.

He presses his body against yours fully now, like he wants to sink into you, like this is the only place he’s ever wanted to be. You can feel his heart racing against your own — fast, erratic, like he’s on the edge of completely losing control.

He breaks the kiss for just a second to breathe, but your lips chase his, and he lets out a low, broken sound that sounds almost like your name before he kisses you again — slower this time, but no less intense. He tastes like sugar and fire and something you can’t name, but know you’ll never forget.

You barely register that your back is still pressed to the wall, that the water bottle rolled across the floor. The only thing that exists now is him — Mikey, here, holding you like he’ll never let go.

And you kiss him back like you feel exactly the same.

Because maybe you do.

Maybe you always have.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

The door clicks behind you with a sigh as you step into your apartment, emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted.

You’re already shrugging off your jacket, toeing off your shoes, when you hear him.

“Hey,” Mitsuya’s voice comes from the kitchen. “Welcome back.”

You hadn’t even remembered he was coming over. But there he is — sleeves rolled up, a gentle expression on his face, stirring something warm on the stove. It smells like curry. The good kind. His kind.

Your lips tremble before you even realize they are.

He glances at you and pauses.

“Bad date?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You could say that.”

You step further in and drop your bag onto a chair. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t push. He just keeps stirring, calm and steady, waiting.

You lean against the counter and start talking.

“I don’t even know why I bothered. He was fifteen minutes late, spent most of dinner checking his phone. Said something like, ‘I don’t usually go for girls like you’—whatever the hell that means.”

Mitsuya’s jaw twitches subtly. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“He laughed when I said I liked sewing. Said it was ‘a grandma hobby.’ Then asked if I had a backup plan, because he didn’t think people ‘like me’ could make a real living out of it.”

That’s when Mitsuya puts the spoon down.

You keep going, frustrated and trying not to let it show how hurt you really are.

“And I just sat there. Smiling. Nodding. Pretending I wasn’t sinking. I don’t know why I do that—I just keep giving these guys chances, hoping one of them will… I don’t know. See me. Actually see me.”

When you look up again, Mitsuya’s closer.

You blink, startled. He was on the other side of the kitchen just a second ago.

“I see you,” he says softly, and the words land so gently it takes a second to register how much they mean.

You smile, trying to brush it off, even as your chest tightens. “Thanks, Mitsuya. But—”

“I mean it.”

He’s closer now. Only a few feet away.

You can see the tension in his shoulders, how carefully he’s holding himself back. He takes another step, slowly, like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

“I see how hard you try, even when people don’t deserve it. I see how you light up when you talk about the things you love. You’re not too loud, or too much, or ‘intimidating.’ You’re just… real.”

Your breath hitches. He’s right in front of you now.

“And that’s what makes you so damn beautiful.”

You don’t move. Can’t move. The air between you is thick with something unspoken, and finally, finally, Mitsuya reaches out and brushes his fingers across your cheek.

He watches your reaction, searching your eyes. “Can I?”

You nod.

And when he kisses you, it’s soft — like he’s afraid you’ll break. Like you matter. It’s not rushed. It’s warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the taste of this moment.

But then your hands curl into his shirt, and you kiss him back — harder. Hungrier.

That’s when the dam breaks.

His hand moves to your lower back, pulling you against him, the other curling into your hair as he deepens the kiss. He still holds you like you’re something precious, but it’s laced with years of held-in emotion.

When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I’ll ever admit,” he murmurs. “Just say the word, and I’ll show you every single day.”

You smile, tears prickling behind your eyes — not from sadness this time, but relief.

“I think I just did.”

He lets out the softest breath of a laugh — almost disbelieving, like he’s been dreaming about this moment for too long to trust it’s real.

And then he kisses you again.

This time, there’s no holding back.

It starts slow, sweet — but as soon as your fingers tug gently on the fabric at his waist, something shifts. He moves in closer, kisses deepening, mouth pressing harder against yours. His hand finds your lower back again, guiding you gently until the edge of the kitchen counter is right behind you.

You feel him pause for a second — lips still brushing yours — giving you one last moment to stop it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you murmur, “Come here,” and that’s all it takes.

He lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, settling himself between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His palms brace your thighs, thumbs dragging slowly, possessively along your skin as he leans in to capture your mouth again.

This time it’s urgent. Hungry.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to draw out the low, rough sound he makes into your mouth — half groan, half sigh.

“Mitsuya—” you whisper between kisses, your head tilting as his mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, leaving warm, lingering kisses that make your skin burn.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says into your skin, voice husky and low, “for so long.”

You shiver at the way his hands explore — not rushed, not greedy, but purposeful. One hand behind your back, supporting you as he leans you slightly into him, the other trailing up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin at your waist.

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until there’s barely room to breathe between you. It’s messy now — all teeth and tongue and heat and longing, years of tension finally snapping like thread pulled too tight.

He kisses you like you’re the answer to every quiet ache he’s ever stitched into the seams of his silence.

And when he pulls back for just a second to look at you — cheeks flushed, lips kissed red, hair slightly tousled from your hands — he just says softly:

“Tell me this is real.”

You lean forward, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whisper against his lips:

“As real as it gets.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

The bell over the pet shop door jingles as you push it open.

It smells exactly the same as always — soft sawdust, warm fur, hay, and something lightly sweet from the hand-poured candles he insists on keeping near the register. It's cozy. Familiar. Safe.

There’s no one else inside, just the usual sounds — a soft chirp from the birds, a few mews from the kitten enclosure, water gurgling in the turtle tank. You don’t say a word.

You don’t have to.

You walk past the aisles with barely a glance, past the register, past the puppy sleeping in its pen. Straight to the back door — the one that leads into the supply room where Chifuyu’s probably doing inventory or feeding the animals.

Your heart’s still pounding from the rage, the disappointment, the stupid date that went wrong in a hundred tiny ways. You don’t want to vent. You don’t want pity.

You just want him.

You push open the door, and there he is.

Chifuyu’s crouched down next to a big bag of kibble, scooping some into a bin, a soft smudge of something on his cheek. He looks up, eyes lighting up with that instinctive smile he only gives you.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “How’d it—”

You don’t let him finish.

You step straight into his space, grab the front of his worn black T-shirt, and pull him down into a kiss.

It stuns him at first — a quiet gasp against your mouth — but he doesn’t hesitate long. His hands find your waist, anchoring you, as the kiss deepens quickly. Years of tension. Months of watching you go on dates with guys who didn’t deserve to say your name. All of it explodes in the quiet little back room of his shop.

Your fingers tangle into his hair as he walks you slowly backward until your back hits the old wooden counter. His lips are warm, urgent — like he’s been waiting for this moment so long he’s afraid he’ll wake up and it’ll be gone.

He only pulls back long enough to breathe your name.

“Wait—what happened?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him for a second — really look at him — and whisper, “Don’t ask me about him. I don’t want to waste another second thinking about anyone who isn’t you.”

His throat bobs.

And then he's kissing you again — harder this time, like he finally understands that this isn’t just a moment. It’s you. It’s real.

His hands roam — not impatiently, but like he’s trying to memorize you. One slides up your back, the other resting warm at your waist, pulling you in. You lean into him, your hands never leaving him, your mouths tangled in something that feels so far from temporary it makes your chest ache.

Chifuyu kisses you like he’s spent years holding this back.

Because he has.

You don’t stop until both of you are breathless, flushed, your heartbeats pounding in sync like they’ve finally caught up to the truth.

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, he whispers, “You don’t have to say it yet. But I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You smile — the first real one today — and kiss him again, slower this time.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I think I’ve been yours too.”

Chifuyu blinks, stunned still for a second — then his smile curves slow and real, soft at the edges but burning in the center.

“Stay,” he breathes. “Let me close up.”

You nod, eyes never leaving his. He steals another quick kiss — like he can’t help it — then pulls away just long enough to flip the front sign to CLOSED, twist the lock, and dim the overhead lights until the entire shop feels like a quiet little secret.

He’s barely stepped back into the room when your back hits the counter again and he’s kissing you like it’s the last ten minutes before a goodbye he’ll never recover from.

Your fingers tangle into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he lets out a soft sound low in his throat as he slots his mouth over yours again. This kiss is deeper — less hesitant, more claiming — the kind of kiss that says, we’re doing this now, and I’m not pretending anymore.

His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing under your shirt, and your legs part slightly to let him closer between them. The world outside disappears: just the quiet hum of the fish tank, the rustle of small paws, and the warm, breathless press of his body against yours.

You break apart just long enough to whisper, “That bad date might’ve been the best thing to happen to me.”

He laughs, breathless, then leans back in to kiss you again.

“Same,” he murmurs against your lips. “About time.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

You don’t knock.

You never do with Ran — not when he’s told you a hundred times, “Door’s open, baby. Just come in.” And tonight? You don’t have the patience for polite.

You step into his apartment, heels clicking on marble tile, barely holding it together.

“Whoa.” His voice slides in from the living room, low and lazy like smoke. “Now that’s an entrance.”

You turn the corner, and there he is — draped across the couch like a damn prince, one long arm over the backrest, shirt half-unbuttoned, gold chain catching the city light pouring in through the windows. He looks you over, head tilting slowly.

“You’re dressed up,” he says. Then, with a smirk, “Let me guess. Bad date?”

You toss your bag down harder than necessary. “Bad would’ve been generous.”

“Oof.” He whistles, sitting up. “Let me get the popcorn. You about to tell me how he cried at the bill or started quoting Jordan Peterson halfway through dinner?”

You shoot him a glare. “He said I was too much.”

Ran blinks.

Then he says, too casually, “...Too much of what, exactly?”

“Too opinionated. Too loud. Too passionate. Too everything.” You pace now, hands gesturing wildly. “Like I should just smile and nod and be one of those girls who only talks in curated Pinterest quotes. He said I needed to be more 'contained.' Can you believe that?”

Ran’s on his feet now, slower than you, predatory and precise. He stalks forward while you rant, hands in his pockets, head tilted.

“I mean—who says that to someone’s face? I should’ve left mid-dinner but I thought, No, be civil. Be mature. But then he had the audacity to—”

You don’t even see him move.

One second you’re pacing.

The next — your back hits the door and Ran’s mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is sudden, deep, devastating. He kisses you like you’ve been pissing him off for years without realizing it — like every word you just said flipped some hidden switch.

Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw as he tilts your face to deepen the kiss. His other hand braces against the door beside your head, boxing you in.

He pulls back just barely — lips brushing yours, voice low and wrecked.

“You are too much. And I’ve been going crazy over it for years.”

You’re breathless, stunned. “Ran—”

“I’m serious,” he growls, eyes locked on yours. “Too smart, too stubborn, too sharp for those boring little bastards you keep giving chances to. I wanted to kiss you the first time you told me to shut up.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself. “Then why didn’t you?”

He smirks — but this time, there’s heat behind it. Honesty.

“’Cause once I start with you… I won’t be able to stop.”

Your breath catches. And this time, it’s you who pulls him down — crashing into another kiss, rougher, messier, full of everything you’ve both been avoiding.

Ran groans into your mouth as your hands slide up into his hair, tugging slightly, and he presses his body fully against yours, trapping you between him and the door like he owns the air you breathe.

He doesn’t stop kissing you for a long time.

And when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, voice hoarse, he rests his forehead against yours and says,

“Told you I’m not the civil type, baby.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before Ran’s hands are under your arms, lifting you up effortlessly.

“Come on,” he says, voice low and husky, “Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you can protest, he’s carrying you like you weigh nothing, pressing you close enough you can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The couch is right there, and he sets you down gently, but his hands don’t leave you — one resting possessively on your hip, the other trailing slow and teasing up your thigh.

You look up at him — all sharp angles and smirking lips — and realize the room feels too small for just the two of you.

Ran leans down, capturing your mouth again, kiss deep and demanding, like he’s staking his claim.

Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans — low and rough — into the kiss.

This time, it’s slower, more intimate, like the world around you has finally faded out, leaving just the two of you tangled up on the couch in a heated, breathless embrace.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

You showed up at the diner without warning — damp from a light drizzle, hair messy, eyeliner smudged. You didn’t even text him you were coming, but Rindou didn’t seem surprised when the bell over the door rang and you walked in like you’d just run out of a dream and straight into his world.

He looked up from his coffee, eyes locking on you like gravity.

You dropped into the booth across from him, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath the entire night.

There was a pause — thick and full of tension — before you finally spoke.

“He was nice,” you said flatly, folding your arms over your chest. “Too nice.”

Rindou tilted his head slightly, but didn’t speak. He knew you well enough by now to let you get it out.

“He asked all the right questions. Laughed at everything I said. Held the door open. Didn’t check his phone once.” You paused, eyes narrowing. “But it felt like I was sitting across from cardboard.”

Your fingers traced a drop of condensation down the side of your water glass. “He had no edge. No bite. No soul. Just… safe. Like he’d read a script on how to date someone like me and followed it word for word.”

Rindou’s lips twitched. Just a little. But he stayed quiet.

“And the worst part?” you said, looking at him now, really looking. “For one second, I thought—maybe this is what I’m supposed to want. Someone easy. Predictable. Someone who won’t ever argue with me or make things complicated.”

You let the silence hang, then said the part that hurt most.

“But I don’t want easy. I don’t want to settle just to say I have someone.”

That’s when Rindou moved.

Not fast, not dramatic — just that slow, smooth kind of motion that makes your pulse skip. He slid out of his side of the booth and into yours, his body close, knee brushing yours under the table.

You turned slightly, but before you could speak—

His hand was on your chin, tilting your face toward him.

“Good,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something darker. “Because I’m not easy. I’m not safe. And I’ve never been the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow at first — not because he was hesitant, but because he wanted you to feel it. Every inch of it. Every second of tension he’d been storing, every stare that lingered too long, every moment he almost touched you and didn’t.

Then it deepened — fast, rough, possessive. The kind of kiss that said, I’ve thought about this a hundred times, and now that I have you, I’m not holding back.

You melted into him, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie, gasping into his mouth as he shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours and his arm sliding behind your back.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.

He looked at you like you were the only person who’d ever made sense to him.

“You don’t need someone who fits into a box,” he said, voice gravel-low. “You need someone who’ll burn it down with you.”

You stared at him, stunned and trembling in the best way.

And when you whispered, “Then what are we waiting for?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed you again — harder, deeper — like that was the only answer you’d ever need.

The second kiss ended, your breaths tangled between you, and Rindou didn’t even hesitate.

“Come on,” he muttered against your lips, his hand already sliding down your back. “Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to.

The night air outside was thick with summer humidity and leftover rain, the world quiet except for the soft buzz of streetlights and the distant echo of traffic. Rindou’s car was parked down the street, black and sleek, half in shadow.

He opened the passenger door for you like it was muscle memory — not gentlemanly, but instinctive, like keeping you close and protected was just wired into him.

By the time you were both inside, the air felt electric.

He was in the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing grounding him, jaw clenched, breath shallow.

You stared straight ahead, lips still swollen from his kiss, heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Then you turned to him — and the look in his eyes told you everything.

No words.

Just heat. Need. That tightly coiled restraint he was so damn close to losing.

And you wanted him to lose it.

So you moved.

Without a word, you slipped off your seatbelt and climbed into his lap.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands instantly grabbing your waist — firm, hot, trembling just slightly.

“You sure?” he muttered, voice like smoke.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That’s all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours again, this time with no restraint. His kiss was rough, all-consuming, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

The windows fogged instantly, the air thick with heat and breath and that soft, desperate sound of lips crashing and parting.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it before he murmured, “Been dreaming of this. You. Just like this.”

You gasped when his mouth trailed down your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been suffocating for years.

Your hips shifted instinctively, grinding against him, and he groaned low — dark, guttural, head falling back against the seat for a second.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel like trouble.”

You smirked against his jaw, kissing along it. “You like trouble.”

He chuckled, one hand sliding up your back and fisting in your hair to pull you into another kiss. “Damn right I do.”

You stayed there, tangled in heat and want, the car your whole world — just lips, breath, skin, and the dangerous promise of what came next.

And when he whispered, “You’re mine now,”

You didn’t argue.

You kissed him harder.

___________________________________________________________________________

Draken (Ken Ryuguji):

The garage light was still on, low and golden, humming faintly like it always did when he was finishing up work late. You let yourself in through the side door, your jacket clutched tightly in one hand and your heels dangling from the other.

Draken looked up from under the hood of a bike, grease on his forearms and a black bandana tied around his head, like something out of a photo you didn’t have the heart to frame yet.

The second he saw your face — tired, frustrated, lips pressed into a thin line — he straightened immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly. “That bad?”

You dropped your shoes on the ground and ran a hand through your hair.

“He talked about himself the entire time,” you muttered, walking past him and flopping onto the old couch tucked against the wall. “Didn’t ask me a single thing. Then called me emotional because I said I didn’t find cheating ‘complicated.’”

You scoffed bitterly, arms crossed. “Like, sorry I’m not morally flexible enough for your gray-area bullsh—”

You didn’t even see him move.

One second you were rambling, venting, trying not to scream into the nearest cushion — the next, Draken was standing right in front of you, tall and solid, a shadow cast over your curled form on the couch.

You blinked up at him. “What—?”

“Get up.”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeated, voice low, rough — but not angry. It sounded more like… restraint.

You rose slowly, confused, until you were standing toe to toe with him. He looked down at you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You really think you need guys like that?” he asked, voice suddenly softer — but more intense. “Guys who talk at you? Who don’t see you?”

You opened your mouth, but the lump in your throat stopped your words.

Draken stepped forward, so close now you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. His hand rose — big, calloused — and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek.

“You deserve someone who shuts up and listens. Who fights for you. Who’s scared to lose you. Not some weak-ass punk who treats you like you’re disposable.”

You felt your breath hitch.

And then—

“You know I’ve been in love with you for years, right?”

It was barely a whisper, like he was scared the truth might break the room in half.

Your heart stopped.

And then he leaned in and kissed you.

Hard.

Like he couldn’t take another second of pretending he didn’t want to. His hands cupped your face, big and warm and a little greasy from the bike, but you didn’t care — not when his lips crushed into yours like he was finally claiming what had always been his.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands fisting in the front of his work shirt, and he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing how you tasted.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands still wrapped around your waist.

You stared up at him, dazed. “Draken…”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh, rough and raw. “That’s my line, you know.”

You blinked. “What is?”

“‘He was awful. He didn’t see me.’ I’ve said that about every guy you’ve dated for the last three years.”

A pause.

Then, without even thinking—

“Then don’t let me date the wrong ones anymore.”

He smirked, and you swore it sent heat down your spine.

He kissed you again — slow and firm — before gently walking you back until your knees hit the couch. You fell with a soft laugh, and he followed, hovering over you like the quiet storm he always was.

“Guess I’m gonna have to make up for a lot of lost time,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw.

You smiled against him.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

Draken’s hands were warm on your waist, steadying you like he still wasn’t sure if you were real — if this was actually happening.

You could feel the way his breath caught every time your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, the way his body tensed when your thighs parted slightly beneath him. He was big, solid, a wall of quiet heat caging you in, but not once did you feel trapped.

You felt wanted.

The kiss deepened fast — no more hesitation, no more holding back.

His lips moved against yours like he was making up for every second he’d stayed silent, every time he’d watched you smile at the wrong guy. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, fingertips brushing bare skin, and he groaned softly into your mouth — low, raspy, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

You shifted underneath him, angling your hips just right, and his mouth broke from yours for a heartbeat — his eyes dark and wild and locked on you.

“You keep moving like that,” he said roughly, “and this make-out session’s gonna get real complicated, real fast.”

You grinned, breathless. “You complaining?”

He smirked — crooked and devastating — and leaned in again, kissing you until your lungs burned and your fingers trembled.

The couch creaked beneath you, his knee pressing between your thighs as he held himself above you with one arm, the other hand running up your side, your ribs, tracing the shape of you like he was trying to memorize everything in the dark.

When he kissed down your neck, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue, you gasped and tugged him closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against your skin.

“Try me,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed you again — deep, bruising, claiming — and then pulled back just enough to look at you. His voice was rough with something more than lust.

“Mine now,” he said. “You get that, right?”

You pulled him down by the collar and kissed him hard.

“I’ve always been yours.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

You were already regretting this date ten minutes in.

He was… fine. Nice enough. Well-dressed. Kept talking about his job in finance like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You nodded along, smiled politely, sipped your drink — counting the minutes until you could fake a headache and bolt.

And then the bar door opened.

And in walked Hanma Shuji — tall, cocky, every inch of him oozing trouble in that long black coat and lazy grin. He scanned the room like he already owned it, like he was looking for someone.

And his eyes locked on you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process the slow, smug grin that curled on his lips before he was moving toward you with all the calm, deliberate confidence of a man who had no business being there — and didn’t give a damn.

Your date turned slightly, confused. “Uh… do you know that guy?”

Before you could even answer, Hanma was there — towering over the table, one hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other lifting to brush a knuckle down your cheek like he owned you.

“You ready to go, babe?”

You blinked. “What—Hanma, what are you doing?”

He leaned in closer, his grin never wavering — but his eyes were burning now, dark and focused on you like you were the only one in the room.

“Your date’s not over yet.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant — he grabbed you.

Not rough, not forceful — just desperate. Like he couldn’t wait one more second.

His hand curled around the back of your neck and he kissed you — right there in front of everyone — a hungry, unrestrained claim. Lips crashing into yours, mouth moving like he’d thought about this every night and finally snapped.

You gasped against him, hands gripping the front of his coat, torn between shock and heat and the dizzying swirl of oh my god, this is happening.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your pulse racing, and your date was staring at the both of you with wide eyes and a half-open mouth.

Hanma didn’t even glance at him. His focus was locked on you.

“That guy?” he said, breathless but sharp, his voice low and curling with something jealous and smug. “He’s not even your type. He’s awful just to look at.”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, dazed. “Says the man who just hijacked my date.”

Hanma leaned in again, brushing his mouth over yours with maddening softness this time.

“Says the man who’s been in love with you for years and is done watching you waste time on walking cardboard.”

You stared at him, heat flooding your chest. “And if I say I wasn’t done with the date?”

He smirked against your lips, hand sliding to your hip, tugging you closer.

“Too bad. I’ve already decided we’re leaving.”

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper — and when you finally broke apart, your date was already standing awkwardly, grabbing his coat.

You didn’t stop him.

Because Hanma’s arm was already around your waist, leading you out of the bar like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist of his life.

And maybe he had.

You.

__________________________________________________________________________

The car ride was silent for exactly twelve seconds.

Twelve seconds of thick tension, of his hand gripping the wheel so hard you could see the veins pop, of your thighs pressed together as the echo of his kiss still tingled on your lips.

You glanced over.

His jaw was clenched. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip like he was trying to stay calm. He didn’t look at you — not yet. Just stared at the road like it had personally insulted him.

“You gonna say something?” you asked softly.

That did it.

He yanked the car into a back alley near the edge of town, tires crunching on gravel, engine still humming low. Then he put it in park, ripped his seatbelt off, and turned toward you — eyes wild with everything he hadn’t said in years.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gravel and fire. “Get in the back.”

You stared. “What—”

“Backseat. Now. Unless you want me climbing over this console.”

You didn’t even think — just unbuckled and slipped into the back, heart pounding, skin already burning before he even touched you.

Hanma was on you in a heartbeat.

He closed the door behind him, and then his hands were on your face, in your hair, his mouth crashing into yours with zero hesitation. The kiss was desperate, tongue tangling with yours, his body already pushing you back into the seat like he wanted to melt into you.

You moaned against his mouth as he climbed between your thighs, one hand sliding down your waist, gripping your hip tight enough to leave a mark. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to kiss you deeper — wetter — filthier.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to do this. Every damn time you went on one of those dates with some loser…”

He kissed down your neck, teeth dragging, making you shiver. “I should’ve done this years ago. Should’ve just dragged you into my lap and made you forget every guy before me.”

You didn’t care anymore. Your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, thighs clenching around his hips as you arched into him.

“Then do it now,” you whispered. “Make me forget.”

Hanma groaned — full and low — and kissed you so hard you forgot your name for a second. He pulled you flush into his lap, grinding up into you with slow, aching precision. The entire car rocked with every movement, every desperate shift of your bodies.

Breathless, messy, hot.

Fog steamed up the windows, your back arching off the seat as he mouthed down your throat, hips rocking, teeth biting your shoulder just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered, voice husky against your skin. “You get that?”

You nodded, head tipping back, chest heaving.

“Say it.”

You grabbed his face, lips brushing his.

“I’m yours, Shuji.”

That was it.

He kissed you again — hard enough to bruise — as his hands roamed your body like he had no plans of stopping until the sun came up.

And honestly?

You didn’t want him to.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

The scent of oil, metal, and something warm always lingered in his bike shop — like nostalgia and comfort wrapped into one. The sign outside said closed, but the lights were still on when you showed up, heels in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder.

You pushed the door open, the little bell chiming softly.

From behind the counter, Shinichiro looked up — a rag slung over his shoulder, grease smudged on his cheek, black tee hugging his frame. His eyes lit up for a second at the sight of you… then dimmed a little when he saw your expression.

“Bad night?” he asked gently, setting a wrench down.

You sighed. “Can I just sit here for a second before I burn the memory of that date off the face of the earth?”

He chuckled, voice warm and laced with concern. “That bad?”

You kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the old couch in the corner, groaning as you rubbed your temples. “Worse. He kept calling me babe like we were already married. And then — get this — he tried to explain how motorcycles ‘aren’t practical’ and that I should consider dating someone with a Tesla instead.”

That made Shinichiro pause.

You looked over just in time to see the slow twitch in his jaw, the restrained look of pure disbelief.

“…He said that to you?” he asked, dry.

You nodded, sighing again. “Yes can you believe it? He was such a dick.”

Shinichiro walked out from behind the counter and leaned against the wall across from you, arms crossed.

His gaze was on you now — not soft. Focused. Intense.

“You just keep looking at all the wrong ones.”

You frowned. “Then who’s the right one, Shin? Because so far all I’m finding are emotionally constipated tech bros who think passion is a red flag.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he pushed off the wall and stepped toward you — slow, deliberate.

“The right one’s been here the whole damn time.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Shinichiro didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the scar at the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

He swallowed hard. “You think I enjoy hearing about your dates? Sitting here fixing engines while some idiot gets to sit across from you, wasting your time, making you feel small?”

You opened your mouth, stunned, but he kept going — voice low, raw.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve always been me.”

You barely had time to whisper, “Then why—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was desperate in the softest way — like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally exhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips moved against yours, slow and deep and aching.

You melted into him instantly, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling him down with you until you were both sitting on the couch — tangled, breathless, starving.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” he whispered. “I just didn’t think I could have you.”

You smiled, touching his face with both hands, eyes shining.

“You’ve had me this whole time, Shin.”

And this time, you kissed him — slow, intentional, pouring every unspoken thing into it. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap as the make-out deepened, your bodies pressing close on that worn leather couch that suddenly felt more like home than anything else ever had.

The shop was quiet, the world forgotten outside those metal doors.

Because tonight? You finally found the right one.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

The kiss turned hot fast.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you were both standing — mouths never parting — and Shinichiro’s hands were on your waist, your back, your thighs, gripping you like he didn’t know where to touch first and couldn’t choose. You moaned against his lips when he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature.

“Shin…” you breathed, dazed.

“Shhh,” he whispered back, forehead pressing to yours, voice tight with restraint. “Just—just let me have this. I’ve waited so damn long.”

He carried you through the shop — past half-finished bikes, scattered tools, and dusty helmets — deeper into the back, where the lights were dimmer and the only sound was the echo of your shared breath and the thudding of your heart in your chest.

And then he laid you down gently on one of the old worktables — solid, flat, clutter pushed aside in a single sweep of his arm. His hands never left your body, never stopped roaming, like he was trying to commit every curve to memory.

You pulled him down with you, your fingers twisting into his shirt, tugging him close until your mouths met again — this time harder. More urgent. Teeth clashing. Tongues tangled. Years of repressed desire unraveling in a matter of seconds.

He kissed down your jaw, your neck, pausing at your collarbone to leave a mark — a soft bite, followed by a kiss — like he wanted you to remember this tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

“You don’t know,” he whispered against your skin, “how many times I watched you walk out that door and wondered if I’d ever get a chance like this.”

Your hands cupped his face, tilting it back to yours.

“You have me now,” you said, voice thick with heat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He growled low in his throat — the sound wrecked, surprised by how fast he was losing control. “Everything,” he promised.

His mouth crashed into yours again — this time with no more hesitation, no more restraint.

One hand fisted the back of your shirt while the other braced on the table beside your head, holding himself just above you, his hips pressing between your legs, grinding into you with delicious pressure that made your back arch off the cold metal.

The worktable creaked with every movement, your name tumbling from his lips between kisses like a prayer he was only just allowed to say out loud.

You pulled him closer, breathless. “Shin—someone could come in…”

He looked at you, lips red, breathing heavy, eyes blown wide.

“Then let them see who you belong to.”

And just like that, he kissed you again — messier, hotter, slower — as the night deepened around you and the bike shop faded away until it was just you and him and everything you’d both kept buried for far too long.

__________________________________________________________________________

Kazutora Hanemiya:

The moment your trembling fingers dialed Kazutora’s number, your chest felt like it might cave in. Every breath was sharp, every sound around you a threat. You ducked into the public restroom near the station, your heart pounding so loud you were sure it echoed off the cold tiles.

“Kazutora…” your voice was barely a whisper, trembling. “He’s… he’s following me. The guy from my date. I don’t know what to do. I’m in the bathroom. I’m scared.”

You heard his intake of breath through the phone, sharp and quick. His voice came low and steady.

“Where exactly are you? I’m coming.”

Before you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched. Was it him? Or the other guy?

“(Y/N), it’s me,” Kazutora said, voice calm but with an edge that told you he meant business.

You unlocked your stall and stepped out, your legs weak but steady. Your eyes met his — hoodie pulled low, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. The golden flecks in his eyes shimmered with something fierce.

You whispered, “Kazu…”

But he didn’t stop.

His stride took him right past you and out the door — like a storm ready to explode.

You froze, ears straining.

Then came the sound you feared but couldn’t tear your ears away from — the sudden crash of flesh meeting fist, the grunt of someone caught off-guard, the curse muttered through clenched teeth.

You covered your mouth with your hands, heart thudding as the fight unfolded just outside the door.

Moments later, Kazutora returned, breath ragged, hair falling over his forehead, knuckles red and swollen.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, voice a contrast to the rage he’d just unleashed.

On the way back to his place, you kept close, your fingers entwined with his. No words. Just the steady beat of his hand holding yours — grounding you.

Once inside his apartment, the warmth felt suffocating after the cold chaos outside.

You leaned against the door, your breath shaky but steady.

Kazutora stood across from you, eyes fixed on the ground, the bruises on his knuckles visible in the dim light.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice thick. “You shouldn’t have had to see that side of me.”

You stepped forward, reaching out to tilt his face up gently.

“Kazutora,” you said softly, “that’s not the side of you I’m scared of.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

“But you were scared, right? After what I did… after the fight?”

You shook your head, voice firm but kind.

“No. I was scared before you showed up — scared of being alone with him. Scared of what he might do. But the moment you appeared… I felt safe.”

His eyes searched yours, disbelief flashing across his face like a storm breaking.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across the bruises.

“No. I’m not. I’m safe with you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Kazutora’s defenses crumbled. His shoulders sagged, his hands dropping to your waist as if anchoring himself to reality.

You pulled him close, lips meeting in a kiss that was both tentative and fierce — a wordless promise of healing and trust.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice raw and steady.

You smiled, tracing the line of his jaw.

“And I’m yours. Always.”

The dim light of Kazutora’s room was soft, almost forgiving. The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled by the closed windows and thick curtains. Here, the chaos of the night seemed to dissolve.

You and Kazutora stood close, still breathless from the adrenaline and the stolen kiss by the door.

His hands were tentative at first, fingers tracing the sides of your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you just right.

Your hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper. Your lips met again—this time slower, more deliberate, savoring every touch.

Kazutora’s breath hitched when you let your tongue brush his lips, silently asking for entry.

He responded immediately, tongue sliding against yours, warm and searching. The kiss grew urgent, needy, as if he wanted to make up for every second he’d spent holding back.

His hands moved down your back, pulling you flush against him, your body melting into his like you were the missing piece he’d been chasing all this time.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest — uneven, pounding, desperate.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “I don’t want you to be scared ever again.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his hair.

“With you, I’m not scared.”

He smiled back, a fragile but real curve of his lips, before capturing your mouth again.

Slowly, carefully, he guided you toward his bed, never breaking contact.

You sank down, Kazutora following, his hands exploring your body with a mix of reverence and hunger.

Every touch was an apology and a promise all at once.

The night stretched on with whispered confessions, trembling hands, and the quiet discovery of each other’s scars — both visible and hidden.

In his arms, you felt safe.

In your warmth, Kazutora found peace.

And as the city slept outside, two broken souls finally began to heal — together.

__________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

You burst through the door, cheeks flushed, words spilling out in a rush.

“It was awful. Absolutely horrible. He wouldn’t stop talking about himself like he was the center of the universe, the food was disgusting, and then—” You paused, exasperated, “—he asked if I was seeing anyone. Like, who does that on a first date?”

Sanzu leaned lazily against the wall, watching you rant with a half-smile tugging at his lips, those sharp eyes glittering with something dark and amused.

“Sounds like you had a real catch,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You shot him a glare, about to launch into another tirade, but he stepped closer, closing the space between you with deliberate slowness.

His hand came up to cup your cheek — fingers warm and firm, thumb stroking gently across your skin. Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

“Shut up,” he said, voice thick with quiet command.

You blinked, stunned by the unexpected order.

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as his gaze bore into yours.

“You don’t get to complain when you look like that,” he murmured, his breath hot and intoxicating against your cheek.

Before you could protest, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and demanding.

Your hands flew up to grip his chest, fingers clutching the fabric as his tongue slipped between your lips, exploring, claiming.

Every frustrated word you’d been holding inside dissolved into the heat of his mouth, your body arching into his touch.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other threading through your hair and tugging gently.

When he finally broke away, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes were dark, wild, and glittering with mischief.

“If that date was so terrible,” he whispered huskily, “then don’t bother with anyone else.”

You tried to speak, but he silenced you with another searing kiss — harder this time, like staking a claim.

His hand moved to press you back against the wall, fingers digging into your hip with a possessive grip.

“I’m the only one who gets to see this side of you,” he growled low, lips brushing your ear.

You shivered, heat blooming deep in your core as his breath mingled with yours.

“So, shut up. And look at me.”

His eyes held yours with a fierce intensity, leaving no room for argument.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as your body responded to his every touch, every whisper.

The rest of the world fell away — the awful date, the frustration, the noise — until there was only you and him, tangled together in the quiet storm of desire

The moment Sanzu’s lips met yours again, it was like a spark ignited a wildfire inside you. His mouth was fierce, hungry—every kiss demanding, claiming. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as his fingers dug into your waist, holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

He pressed you back against the wall, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between you. His tongue traced yours, exploring, teasing, while his breath hitched with every deepening movement. Your heart thundered in your chest, caught in the storm of sensation he stirred.

Sanzu’s hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through your whole body. You clung to him tighter, desperate for more, lost in the intensity of his touch.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice was low and rough, “You’re mine.” Then he claimed you again, devouring your lips with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless and trembling.

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, isolation, abduction

Tags: @shumidehiro @o-ree-ve

Jumpy and nervous darling

Uchiha Obito

🔥​Considering Obito's touch-starved nature, abduction is most likely a breeding ground for anxiety and stress for him and you both. Both of you have a vastly different view of the world. Where Obito believes reality to be cruel and unforgiving and for that sees himself as your protector, you merely see a mentally unstable man with too much power and delusions. What he believes to be love and protection is in reality a highly overbearing and clingy demeanour which is frightening in your eyes. The last thing that Obito wants is for you to be scared of him. So despite difficulties he decides to refrain from touching you for now even if his fingers constantly twitch with the urge to touch you and his skin itches for your warmth. That doesn't stop the hovering nature though. The only difference now is that he is standing a few feet away but still watches you with the paranoia of a man who has already seen what the world does to a person he loves if he isn't there. It still unsettles you so he tries to make himself smaller, crouching on his knees and holding monologues with a disturbingly gentle voice about how he will help you understand eventually. The world won't reach you as long as he is here.

Pain

🌧️​Pain is always fascinating as it is essentially only Nagato obsessed with you yet with the critical condition his body is in, most of the time he is left relying on the bodies of Pain to interact with you. Through them emotions he may otherwise experience much more intensely are diluted- hidden behind the stoic face of whichever body he is using at the moment. Touch itself is for those bodies not important as they are corpses used for a greater purpose. Pain isn't touch-starved for there is no sensation of touch for a dead body. There is not even a real reaction as the emotion of rejection is something Nagato deals with without letting it be seen through any other body of his. If you fear touch and him though, you are left alone. It is Konan tending to you the first few weeks as you are scared of Pain. What you do receive eventually though is a speech. Not gentle nor understanding but spoken with a conviction of a God retelling a prophecy. Pain has a vision and he will see it through to fulfill it. You are now a part of it. He does not need your love for that. He just needs obedience for now. It's almost tragic with how little Nagato expresses his emotions through Pain.

Hoshigaki Kisame

🦈​Perhaps it is not an ideal situation for you to be stuck with Kisame as you are jumpy around him. Part of him finds it entertaining. As a man resembling a shark so much the predator instincts are there and for that there is some underlying sadism he finds as he triggers your fear on purpose. Sometimes he does like seeing you scared after all. Then again though, it is a sight he is far too used to. Most people he faces are scared of him and so he finds himself quietly wishing that at least you would be different for that matter. That requires work from his side though as he realises that he too needs to work on himself if he wants to change your perception of him. So eventually he attempts to tone it all down- the intimidation and purposeful frights to scare you. The results take longer than he would have wanted to and his patience is not quite as durable for that matter. There are moments where he gets fed up with you cowering demeanour and relapses by manhandling you and touching you even though you don't want to be touched. It doesn't help the overall situation at all as you are even more scared of him as a result. This is going to take a while, isn't it?

Sasori

🦂​What an utter inconvenience this can be at times. Ironically enough that jumpy disposition of yours is part of why Sasori hesitates so greatly to transform you into a lifeless doll. He would not be able to replicate those emotions in a mere puppet and it becomes his greatest frustration and obsession. He cannot express emotions the way you can for he is no human so he studies every twitch and gasp of yours with the devotion of a mad scientist aspiring for no less than perfection. There are times though where this is quite the hurdle. As a human you bleed and get bedridden by some measly flu. Sasori is no longer able to suffer but you are and then he needs to touch you. He doesn't tolerate scratches and injuries. If they leave a scar, it ruins your skin so he needs to tend fast to them yet you flinch away from his touch. Do you mistake him for some barbaric person? Sasori is almost cruel with the way he treats you. You are his work in the making and he doesn't tolerate any flaws. He's precise and surgical with no sympathy or emotion ever showing itself. His touches are gentle but cold, they fix but are unnervingly clinical. It is such a shame that you don't share his vision.

Uchiha Shisui

🍂​The tension isn't something Shisui is oblivious about. In fact he is far too much aware of it as he notices so much due to his observation skills. However, he just doesn't simmer it as much as you do. It is after all enough already that you only push yourself further into anxiety. If he were to give in, he just knows he would only cause you to spiral further. So Shisui attempts to deflect with humor. Tactful humor that is as he isn't going to be as insensitive as to ignore your own fear. So he wears a playful smile on his face whilst still keeping a respectful distance. He's going to tell you jokes whilst standing a few feet away from you and offering you something to drink. It's best not to force this situation- or rather he doesn't want to force it. Considering what his Mangekyo Sharingan can do, it would be easy for him to coax you into accepting him. It's because he has this power though that he takes more responsibility for it. It would be cheap and unfair. It wouldn't feel right. So Shisui attempts the more difficult path which is going to require patience. Patience which he has fortunately a lot of. He's going to do it gently until you take the first step towards him.

Uchiha Itachi

🍡​This truly is some terrible spiral where both parties just keep on making it worse for each other. Though not in the way you might suspect. Whatever resentment and fear you may hold against Itachi, he deep down holds against himself too though much worse. Even the abduction is something that doesn't sit right with him but selfishness has perhaps always been what runs apparent in the Uchiha clan. The few attempts he has made to get closer to you, you have scattered away from his touch. No more proof is needed and understanding that trying to force it would only push you away further, Itachi withdraws his direct presence from your sight. Obviously given the circumstances now though, he cannot leave you alone. So he simply turns into the quiet caretaker who observes and protects from the distance. He still ensures that you have everything you need and watches out for potential harm but he does it all so that you don't have to see his face. It allows you to breathe just a bit easier which is balm and blade simultaneously for his heart. He'll endure though if it allows you to feel better. He owes it to you after he has already taken you away from your old life.

Deidara

💥​It is not a case of ignorance. No, it's even worse. It's a case of utter and complete oblivion that you find yourself in as you are stuck with Deidara. He is an extremely delusional individual and that implies that you may say one thing and his brain can and will interpret it in a completely different way. So all the fear and anxiety you end up feeling because of him isn't even registered as such. You're just being shy and far too modest and Deidara finds that extremely cute. As someone who is on a very touchy scale your fear of being touched by him becomes a living nightmare because Deidara touches you a lot. In fact he even gets cuteness aggression whenever you flinch away as he doesn't register it as fear from your side and that results in him only squeezing and touching you more aggressively. Even if he should eventually notice how jittery and frightened you are all the time, he never thinks of himself as the problem. Or he just thinks that a nice firework coupled with a few explosions which may or may not cost some innocent bystanders their lives will fix the problem. There is nothing worse than being stuck on a clay bird whilst watching him bomb a village as he only wears a thrilled grin.

Gaara

🐼​Gaara too finds himself avoiding you as it becomes apparent very soon that you aren't comfortable with him in the least. A lot of it is hauntingly familiar though. After all the sight of people avoiding him, fearing him and flinching away when it even looked like he was going to touch him was something far too common during his childhood. Back then he relished in it but ever since he met Naruto, Gaara has been working towards becoming a better person. Now he finds himself stuck in the past again though only that this time he feels the shame and the heartbreak of it all. He doesn't force anything though. If he were to do that, he'd feel like slipping back in the skin of a person he doesn't want to be anymore so he just leaves you. The problem is that Gaara himself is quite clueless on what he can do to ease your fear of him at least a bit as he isn't necessarily an expert in dealing with emotions. Most likely his siblings have to step in at one point and help him as this ordeal haunts him even in office. He's quietly awkward when he does attempt to start a conversation with you even if you are on one end of a room and he is on the other. He's genuinely trying though. Give him some points for that at least.

[kuutardo4e]

Never again – Bucky barnes x fem!reader

Summary : you go on a mission with Bucky and Sam after you and Bucky has an argument, but it doesn't go well.

established relationship, fluff, mentioned of an argument, injuries, kinda hurt/comfort ? wc around 3k

Note: first post with Bucky, maybe a bit ooc, I still haven't seen everything with him yet but I feel it's not that bad (?) Please be kind and tell me what you think !!

masterlist | rules

The room remained dead silent when you walked inside. Sam's face was heavy, frowning your way as you took a seat calmly – as if you weren't almost half an hour late for the meeting. The tension in the room was electric. Bucky wasn't looking your way and Sam's eyes were bouncing between you two like an overwhelmed mom. 

Bucky was sitting across from you on the other side of the large table, leaned back in his seat but nothing in his posture was relaxed. The frown on his face deepened when you showed up and his shoulders tensed when he caught a glimpse of you on the corner of his eyes. Your eyes were still red, it couldn't go unnoticed but nobody mentioned it, nor did they point out you sniffing frequently. Instead, Sam cleared his throat and got up.

"Now that everyone dared show up to this urgent meeting," emphasizing on his last words. "I can explain how tonight's mission is gonna go – hypothetically." 

You tried to focus on what Sam was saying, you really did. Your life, or theirs, depend on it but you couldn't help but hear Bucky's heavy breathing, the way he shifted stiffly in his chair; or even missed how his normally warm, blue eyes for you, turned cold. The way he stares at you, as if he was holding himself from snapping at you again for a whole other thing now, was getting on your nerves. 

Your ears were still buzzing from the argument you had with him earlier. From the way he raised his voice at you like you were responsible for everything going wrong in his life and your eyes watered again, at how unfair it was. Tearing your eyes away from him to your hands, you forced yourself to focus on Sam's voice instead, pushing away the uneasy feeling growing in your core. You were just waiting for this meeting to be over, so you could get ready and as much space with him as you could. You couldn't handle having him right in front of you, staring at you like some stranger when you spend your night calming him down after he had yet another nightmare. You get that it's hard for him sometimes, but that doesn't mean it isn't for you as well. 

"We can't let her do it, it's too dangerous," Bucky suddenly cuts both Sam and your trail of thoughts. "I'll go." 

"No man, I need you there," his pen clap on the board, "with me, to cover her. And she has an escape route, you" Sam pointed now at him with his pen, "can't fit in that vent. She's going." He looked your way for the first time in the meeting, searching for support.

You nodded. "I'll handle it. Nobody should be inside anyway. It's gonna be fine." 

"If there's more guys than we assume, there's no way you can handle that by yourself, come on." He was getting fed up. His arms landed loudly on the table as he stared at you, silently begging you to listen but still clinging to his anger. 

"Since when do you think so little of me, huh ?" You snapped, all the resentment building into you the whole meeting flowing out.

You caught his jaw locked when you leaned into the table as well, meeting him half-way and your fist clenching around your sleeves. 

"If I tell you I can handle, it's that I can, Bucky. Don't act like you care now," you spat before looking at Sam again, not letting him space to talk. "I'll do it. Don't change a thing." 

The meeting wrapped up after that, everything was in place and the next thing you had to do was to wait until you got there. The topic was closed, but Bucky wasn't done yet, and you knew better than to fall into it. 

You almost ran away from the room, not leaving him space to catch you outside to talk or pick up his pace to do so. You were done talking with him for today, at least not more than necessary. Seeing his stupid face was enough to make your fist clench now that he just confirmed he didn't trust you, twice. You know you go too far by saying he doesn't care – you know he does – but hurting him like he hurt you earlier felt better than you'd like to admit. 

The route there was silent. You were reviewing the plan, the building plan as you were the one in charge of getting the files while they intercepted the doon to be transported merchandise. Nobody should be inside, Bucky and Sam will make sure nobody makes their way inside so you have a clear field. Rather easy. It wasn't a big operation, you just didn't have much time, but that wasn't a problem for you either. 

Bucky didn't speak to you. You didn't speak to him either. The tension was only bundling up more and more and you knew it wouldn't be pretty when it'll break, but it still had to wait. The pill was hard to swallow, on both counterparts, and now was definitely not the time. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes off you. His blue eyes shine with worry and frustration every time they land on you. He didn't reach out for you, didn't begged for you to listen – he knew better than to push you when you're angry at him. Yet it was impossible to miss the weight on his shoulders when you don't listen to him. 

That only makes you want to prove him wrong even more, showing him that you could handle it yourself, that it was fine and that they could rely on you. Because for the moment, with the simplicity of the mission, it just felt like he didn't want you on the field with them. Like he didn't want to put you in danger when you spent your whole life fighting just like them. 

When the SUV stopped, a fragile sigh left your lips. Your eyes closed for a second; you'll never get over the anxiety that you may not make it, you or one of your partners, out of the mission, but you pushed it away when your eyes opened again. Something switches inside you, turning the anxiety into a fuel to make everything work out. You were leaving after them, so you were still getting ready when Sam jumped off the SUV. A hand brushed against yours. 

"We'll talk about it after, ok ?" Bucky's voice was soft but unsteady, and his jaw clenched with anxiety. 

Neither of you like leaving for a mission angry – it can lead to many regrets – but sometimes, that's something that can't be helped. That was his way to promise you he'll come back to you.

"Be careful." 

He jumped out too, and just like that, he left to clear the field for you. Your heart beats faster inside your ribcage and you have to take a deep breath before stepping out yourself, taking another route. Regrets already crimping in your heart, like something holding your throat; you should've said to him you love him. Because despite everything, that was still your only truth. 

Entering the building was easy; there wasn't many people here in the middle of the night. The remain ones were at the back, dealing with your two partners, trying to protect the merchandise and make it leave anyway before it was destroyed or secured by the authorities. Your job there was to make sure they couldn't remade it, and find every connection they had over the country, even the world. 

The building was empty, you didn't step by a single soul and your delicate, cat-like steps were the only sounds beside the mess happening outside the windows. Finding the office was easy, so was getting all the files on the USB you had or even folding the papers so it fits in your tactical vest. Loads of pockets, your favorite. 

You didn't miss the heavy steps coming your way, well, to the office at least, but there wasn't much time left – it was enough. You had your escape route right behind you, a good kick and you were out of there in a second. So you waited, until the last second you waited. 

The first few bullets were nothing, you dodge easily – they couldn't really see inside the office yet, just your form and they seem in need of more training based on how far it actually was from your body. Hiding the USB in your vest, you took out your gun on the way when three men entered the room. Hitting one twice before he fell on the ground, you made sure to kill his two friends before they could warn anyone.

You start moving faster, taking ground on the desk to push you up to the vent. Your blood went cold when you opened it : a bomb was placed there, and it didn't take to be a genius to realize that it must be connected to other vent. One wrong move and the whole building was out. They were waiting for you – or someone at least. They knew it'll be dangerous and that people would try to sneak in. That's when you took your first bullet. 

You winced loudly at the pain in your shoulder and fell to the floor swiftly to dodge the next few that flew your way. You didn't hear him coming with the mess outside, but that wasn't the worst. The five men behind him were. 

"You ok ?!" Bucky screamed in your ear, making you shut one eye while looking for a way out.

"I'm touched and cornered with no way out, what about you, love ? Still in one piece ?" You tried to play it cool but, besides jumping through the window – which would put you into a bigger battle while being injured, so even more dangerous – you had no idea how to get away from here. 

Your heart was racing at the pain the adrenaline wasn't covering, it was harder to fight with a bullet buried in your skin. As much as you want to be confident, you know you can't manage five men their height by yourself, while being injured. 

"I'm coming." 

It wasn't a question, he wasn't thinking about it; he was already on his way. You wished you could let the relief sigh leave your lips but the hit in your knee made you think otherwise. Your nose starts bleeding as you hit the desk, or maybe was it your mouth ? You had no idea. All you could feel was the metallic taste of blood on your tongue and a throwing pain all over your body as another bullet entered your thigh. 

The knife in your hand was doing far less damage than you wished, but you knew the blood on you wasn't only yours and it gave you a small, comforting feeling before you felt your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you heard was a man whining in pain before you black out by a hit behind the head.

Next thing you knew, you were laying on a bed, antiseptic attacking your nose and the annoying beeping of your heart on the monitor next to you. So, you guessed it went kinda well in the end. Or at least, you made it out alive. Breathing hurt, but it was better than not breathing at all. You guessed Bucky made it out in time, but your ego was bruised. 

You couldn't, in fact, handle it. It went poorly, and you ended up badly hurt – so, probably, did they since you failed so miserably. You wished you could cover your tearing eyes but moving hurt too much for that. Instead you sighed, composing yourself the best you could.

Bucky's voice cut through the room, coming from outside. The simple sound of his voice smooths something inside your heart. You couldn't see him, but he was screaming at Sam, you guessed again, after you heard him yell about how "he told him so" and that it was why you were in a hospital bed. Your head pushed further into the pillow, taking a deep breath, before you called for someone. 

It doesn't take a second for him to strom inside after the light went red on top of the room's door, his breathing uneven and his eyes alert. He was badly hurt too. He had strips around his forehead and his flesh hand was covered in band-aid – leaving you only to imagine the damages beneath his clothes. He probably shouldn't even be up right now. But the relief in his eyes, you've never seen that before. He let out a deep sigh as if he had forgotten how to breathe without you around.

You're hurt, badly, but you can't bring yourself to whine when he takes you in his arms more roughly than he attends to. You can feel his heart rushing against your cheek as you nuzzle yourself into his neck, clenching your fist around his shirt. You had no idea how sacred he must have been, finding you lifeless on the ground while getting beaten up. 

"Never do that again." His voice is low, a desperate whisper as he holds you even closer, cradling your head. Was he hurting you ? Yes, but you don't mind if it could bring him the comfort he needed at the moment.

"Please, listen to me next time. I trust you, I do." He pleaded, now resting his forehead against yours. "But you have to trust me too. Even if we argue. Even if you're mad at me or I'm mad at you. I care about you more than anything. I want you safe, that's all."

"I'm sorry." Your nose brushed into his as you nodded. 

You couldn't even recall why you two were arguing. It was long forgotten, all that matters now was that you were fine, both of you in one piece. His hands cupped your face gently, taking in the feeling of your soft skin below his fingertips before he had to let you go. The medical staff will arrive soon now, but Bucky didn't seem ready to let you go just yet. The coldness of his vibranium hand on your cheek gave you a comfort you desperately need at the moment. It felt like home. Your hand find his, laying on top of it. 

"I'm ok," you murmur before placing your lips on his delicately to not hurt him further. 

"Thank God you are," he kissed you once again, rougher this time, not caring about his hurt lips. "I never would've forgiven myself if not."  

The door opened behind you, letting the staff in for the check up you had to do and it broke your heart the way his lips captured yours quickly one last time before he moved away – but never leaving the room. It didn't take that long, they asked a few questions, checked your reflexes and how you were responding to your treatment. Within 30 minutes, they left the room and you were alone with Bucky once more.  

He was sitting on the chair the whole time, waiting for them to leave so he could hold your hand again. You got told not to move much to not reopen the stitches on your shoulders, so no more hug for the moment; but his thumb running on your knuckles did a great job too. 

"I'm sorry I lashed out at you yesterday," he said after a beat, breaking the silence building up. "It wasn't your fault."

You shook your head, searching for his eyes but he was focused on your hand and all the small injuries on it. 

"I wasn't kind either," you admit, closing your fingers around him. "I'm sorry too, love. I shouldn't have run away from the conversation or say that to you. I'm so sorry." 

His eyes locked with yours for a second, taking in the love you were kindly giving him after the horrible thing he told you and for a second, he thought he didn't deserve you. His lips laid gently on your hand, kissing each of your fingers. You let out a breathy giggle at the ticklish feeling.

"It's long forgotten now, don't worry about that anymore." 

Another silence fell between you, but comfortable this time. The kind you're used to, where you don't feel the need to talk to fill the void, the kind where you just appreciate the other presence next to you. 

"I love you," his voice almost broke, almost, and it felt like he just lost you. He brought your hand to his face. "I should've told it when I left. And the second I saw you awake, but I love you so much. I can't afford to lose you." 

Your heart stutters at his words, he sounds desperate – like losing you would make life impossible to handle, make breathing unnatural. You desperately wished you could hold him in your arms right now.

"I love you too, thank you for coming for me."

"Always."

It wasn't something said without a second thought, even if he didn't miss a beat. It was something he's been saying himself over and over, and his smile proves it to you one more time. It was a promise. 

Let me know if you liked it !

[flopsxii]

the real world — haitani rindou

in which rindou harbours feelings for his favourite nurse in the juvenile detention centre.

note: reader and rindou are 18 <3 just a lil short one cause i got bored on the train xoxo

“this is your fourth visit this week.” you mumbled, eyes grazing over each and every new wound he’d been given. “it’s only wednesday, rindou.” you reminded him but his face remained nonchalant as ever, blank eyes boring into yours but you could read him like no one else; he missed you.

“you can’t keep picking fights in the rec yard… one day you’re going to end up on a stretcher.” you spoke gently, hoping not cause offence. he laughed at that, “are you underestimating me, y/n-chan?”

you furiously shook your head in response, reminding him that it was your job to care about his wellbeing, in case he just so happened to forget. “that may be true, but you take care of me the most out of anyone else. i’d say you’re doing a lot more than your job.” his hands gently intertwined with your own as sultry words fell from his lips.

he was correct, of course he was. you had begun your job almost four months ago now, a recently turned 18 year old and now working in a juvenile detention centre under your step fathers supervision. you had caught rindou’s eye ever since your first encounter; no one had ever treated him as gently as you did. not only did you clean him up, you also asked questions about him. he was sure that you didn’t know that nurses and inmates didn’t communicate that much outside of health related topics.

seeing you was refreshing and had become somewhat of a safe space for rindou. even if he did have to get battered by several other juveniles just to be able to see you. in any other circumstance, getting purposefully wounded would definitely deflate his ego but he had incentive; seeing your gorgeous face after his royal beating in the yard.

you squeezed his hands before speaking, “i don’t like seeing you hurt…”, rindou knew he probably shouldn’t be provoking other inmates to beat him up just to see you but really, what other choice did he have?

“‘m not hurt.” he grumbled back before flashing you a grin, and kissing your lips gently to ease your nerves. before you could pull away and retort, rindou had snaked his hands to the base of your neck, pulling on the silky strands of hair making it impossible to pull away. he snuck a few more kisses in before allowing you to speak.

“do you think…” you paused, swallowing nervously, “if we had met out in the real world, would you have liked me?”

rindou’s mouth gaped wide open, surely he should be asking you that! you were perfect in every way and on top of that, you found space in your heart to accommodate rindou and all his darkness. you were truly incredible.

he kissed your lips once more, this time lingering as he did so; “id have loved you no matter when or where we met, y/n-chan. i love you too much for any of that to matter.”

[ajolomuu]

artblock is kicking my ass and so i decided i wanted to draw my favorite evil gay boy