You offer to help Qifrey replenish his spells in his palm quire and he thanks you with his fingers
You wrung your hair out with a towel, entering your shared bedroom as the subtle smell of ink entered your nostrils. Qifrey was hunched over his desk, hardly noticing you entered the room as he scribbled away on his palm quire.
“You’re going to hurt your back like that,” You giggled, tossing your towel in the washing vase.
He sat straighter, turning to look at you, “My love, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were too immersed in your spells,” You sauntered over, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting yourself in his lap.
He laid his head on your chest, pulling you into him, “I was just making sure to replace the ones I used.”
“Would you like some help?” You shifted in his lap, grabbing his quill, and skimming through his quire.
“I would love that,” He shoved his face into your back, taking a deep breath, “You smell divine, my love.”
“I’d hope so, I just showered,” You giggled.
“Mhmm,” He hummed.
While you now immersed yourself in his quire, he held tightly to your form, rubbing slow circles along your abdomen. You lived for quiet nights like this; when the girls had gone to bed, held in the embrace of your lover, with nothing but the quiet crackle of the floatglow lamps and the scribble of a quill.
Until Qifrey began to get restless. Not paying much attention to his movements, now that you’d already replenished his used spells, you were coming up with some others that you thought would be helpful to have handy. What you didn’t notice, were his hands wandering. Having left your abdomen and now pacing circles along the tops of your thighs, working their way to your inner thighs, and then upward. You may not have been fully paying attention, but that didn’t mean your body was unaware of his ministrations.
“Qifrey,” You squealed when he finally lifted the waistband of your panties, your hand flying down to grab his wrist, “What are you doing?” You asked, suddenly breathless.
“Thought I would thank you properly for your help,” He said, kissing the spot between your shoulder blades.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Though your hold on his wrist loosened.
He chuckled, sliding his hand further into your panties, “I think she thinks otherwise,” referring to your absolutely soaked cunt as he lapped up the wetness near your entrance, trailing back to your clit, “Just focus on your work,”
“Qi,” You breathed out, throwing your head back at the already sensitive bud.
“Keep working, or I’ll stop,” His movements on your clit halted and you turned to glare at him.
“I thought this was a thank you,”
“I can’t have a little fun too?” He pinched the bud between his middle and forefinger, making you squeak, “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”
He picked up the quill with his other hand—which you hadn’t realized you’d dropped—and held it up for you to take, rolling the pen back and forth between his fingers, the same motion he was doing between your legs.
“You—you’re terrible,” You stumbled out, but took the wand from his grasp.
“You love it,” He quipped, going back to the soothing circular motions.
Your hands were shaky as you continued to draw. These spells were atrocious and each time you thought you were starting to draw something well, Qifrey would change his pace, or bite your shoulder to distract you. He surely would not be able to use these for anything practical, but you could hardly find the will to care with how perfect he was treating your precious bud. Until he slid a bit further down, fingers grazing against your entrance before easing inside.
“Oh, Qi,” You shuttered, grasping the pen so harshly you thought it would snap it two.
“You’re doing so well, my love,” He praised, fingers scissoring against your gummy walls.
He pushed further inside and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, no longer caring about the drawings in front of you, only feeling as his fingers grazed against your walls, testing, searching.
And when he found exactly what he was looking for, you cried out, hands flying to the desk for balance.
“There she is,” He purred, pressing deeper into that spot inside you, “You’re hardly getting any work done,” He teased, grazing his teeth along your ear.
“F-fuck,” You swore, gripping the desk so hard your knuckles had turned a deep white.
Qifrey laughed, attacking that spot over and over and over again until you were clenching around him, stars clouding your vision as your orgasm overtook you. You grabbed his thighs below you, squeezing hard to try and ground yourself from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.
“That’s my girl, you’re doing so good, I’ve got you,” Qifrey cooed in your ear, fingers still scissoring inside you as your legs shook.
He stalled, squeezing your thigh as you tried to catch your breath.
“Doing alright, my love?” He kissed the lobe of your ear, easing his fingers out from between your legs.
“Mhmm,” You smiled, turning to him with what you could only assume was an incredibly fucked out expression.
He chuckled, pulling you tighter into his chest and ghosting his lips over your ear, “How about we take this to our bed?” He whispered, goosebumps lingering across your skin at his sultry voice.
So of course, you slipped off his lap and let him lead you to your shared bed where you surely weren’t going to get a good night's rest.
A/N: This took me much longer to finish than I thought it would. I am taking this man to bed every damn night that’s for sure like why the hell would that answer ever be no
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
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[A03] [Fanfiction.net] [Wattpad]
summary: When your favourite plushie goes missing, you know only one man could be responsible. Enter: Yoichi Nagumo, master of chaos, king of blanket forts, and self-appointed plushie kidnapper. A ransom note, a living room transformed, and a pillow war later, you find that the safest place in the world might just be right beside him.
warnings/themes: Reader Insert, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Pillow Fights, Blanket Forts, Movie Night, Humour, Teasing, Banter, Comfort, Gentle Touches, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Cuddling & Snuggling, Mutual Pining, Safe Haven, Vulnerability.
You’re halfway through sending your bestie a hilarious meme when you glance up—and freeze. There’s a gaping hole on your bed where your favourite froggy plushie usually lives. Gone. Vanished.
What’s in its place is something very suspicious: a piece of printer paper, smudged with black marker. There’s a doodled smiley in the corner and unmistakable, chaotic handwriting.
If you ever want to see Mr Hops alive again, come to the living room. Bring three pillows and one blanket.
Don’t tell Sakamoto.
—Y. ☺️
You groan, muttering, “I swear, if he’s made my frog wear sunglasses again…”
Still, you scoop up the requested supplies (because you’re not about to risk plushie harm, obviously) and shuffle down the hall, blanket trailing behind you like some reluctant ghost.
The living room looks like a home goods store collided with a sleepover party and lost. The air smells faintly of clean laundry and something buttery and sweet. There are piles—literal mountains—of pillows everywhere. Every blanket you own is draped across chairs, couches, even the bookshelf. Fairy lights crisscross above, twinkling blue and gold.
And at the heart of it, nestled in a throne of plushies and overstuffed cushions, is Yoichi Nagumo. He’s cross-legged, hoodie half-zipped, hair flopping into his eyes. Your plushie is in a very dramatic headlock under his arm. The soft buzz of fairy lights blends with the muffled sound of Yoichi humming some ridiculous (and slightly sinister) tune. When you step on the carpet, your toes sink into a cushiony sea. He beams at you like the world’s most smug cat burglar.
Honestly, for a second, you just have to stare. There’s no way he did all this—for you, right? Your heart does this weird, embarrassing flutter. Yoichi looks up at you, that wolfish grin making it impossible not to smile back. Sometimes you forget how easy he makes everything feel.
“Negotiations are open!” he announces, waving Mr Hops around erratically. “State your terms if you want this little guy back. Or, y’know, surrender quietly.”
You arch a brow. “You want three pillows and a blanket? What is this, a ransom or a redecorating scheme?”
Yoichi’s grin widens. “Assassin tactics. Gotta stay unpredictable. Besides,”—he pats the enormous fort—“I needed building materials. You’re late, by the way. Mr Hops was getting nervous.”
You roll your eyes, but the fort is so ridiculous—like something out of a childhood fever dream, patched together from mismatched fabrics and ambition—that you can’t help but snort a laugh.
Of course, Nagumo went all-out. Subtlety is not his strong suit when it comes to chaos.
You try to sidestep him, heading for the entrance of the fort, but he blocks it with a wall of cushions, grinning wider. “Password?”
You huff. “Let me in or I’m calling Sakamoto.”
“Betrayal!” Yoichi gasps, clutching the plushie tighter. “You hear that, Mr Hops? She’s got no loyalty. You want me to keep you forever?”
That’s it. You drop your pillows for ammunition, hurl one straight at his head. Yoichi ducks, cackling, and you dive into the fort from the other side, sending plushies flying.
A full-blown pillow war breaks out: you lunge, he counterattacks, there’s squealing (yours) and mock battle cries (his). Pillows thud against each other with satisfying whumps, stuffing shifting under your grip. Fairy lights wobble dangerously overhead. He tries to block you with a long, fuzzy snake plush; you retaliate by ambushing him with your blanket, wrapping it over his head like a giant net.
He collapses backwards in defeat, still laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “Okay, okay, you win! Take your prisoner.”
You rescue Mr Hops, triumphant, and sprawl next to him in the pillowy chaos, heart pounding and cheeks flushed.
Your face feels very hot, and not just from the pillow fight. For a split second, you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, but he just keeps grinning like this is the best night he’s had in ages. You bite down a smile, tucking Mr Hops under your chin like a shield.
Yoichi props himself up on his elbows, face framed by string lights and a halo of fluff. There’s always a softness to him when he's around you, hidden behind the bravado.
“Not bad,” he says, breathless, “but your form could use some work. You let your guard down after the second throw.”
“Yeah? That's not what it looked like to me,” you shoot back, snuggling your froggy, “Maybe you just need to get better at holding the fort, Nagumo.”
He shrugs, pleased. “Well, maybe I wanted to lose.”
You snort, flopping back into the nest of softness. For a minute, you both just breathe, surrounded by the ridiculous comfort of his creation.
Then, Yoichi nudges your side with a bowl of popcorn—extra buttery, a Nagumo special. Your fingers brush against his as you both reach for a handful, the heat of his skin sending a tiny, electric jolt through you.
“Movie time. I picked some classics.”
On screen, an old black-and-white assassin flick starts to play. Yoichi is relentless with the commentary:
“See that guy? He’s supposed to be undercover. But look at that suit. Amateur. If that were me—”
He shovels a handful of popcorn, winks at you through a mouthful. “—I’d have finished the job before he even tied his shoes.”
You laugh, eyes watering. The popcorn is warm, the fort is soft, and Yoichi is right there, shoulder pressed against yours.
He lets you keep hold of your plushie, but not without mock grumbling. Eventually, you both end up tangled together under the blanket, limbs everywhere, pillows as a mattress, plushies as pillows. The blanket is warm and heavy, cocooning you in gentle heat. The world seems so small and secret here. You lose yourself in the steady rise and fall of Yoichi’s chest, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek.
As the second movie rolls, Yoichi goes quiet, gaze flicking between the screen and you. His grin softens, and in the gentle glow from the fairylights, his hair looks almost gold at the edges. One of his hands finds yours under the covers. His hand is warmer than you expect, fingers rough but careful, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles.
“Best mission ever,” he whispers, and for once, you don’t even feel the need to tease him back.
You squeeze his hand back, heart thumping slow and easy, and think that if there’s anywhere safer than this patchwork fortress with Yoichi beside you, you haven’t found it yet.
Fandom: とんがり帽子のアトリエ | Tongari Boushi no Atelier | Witch Hat Atelier (Manga)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Qifrey (Tongari Boushi no Atelier)/Reader
Characters: Qifrey (Tongari Boushi no Atelier), Reader
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Female Reader-Insert, Vaginal Fingering, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Implied Sexual Content, Gender of Reader is Not Specified, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Reader is gender neutral/ambiguous and has a vagina
Summary:
Qifrey teaches you that not every spell needs a pen and ink. Very hands on.
(content/warnings): MANGA SPOILERS, sfw, switching povs, slow SLOW burn, soft angst, cold/reserved reader, reader is also an assassin + medical-savvy lol, brief mention of wounds, fluff (if you squint hard enough), mutual pinning (again, if you squint), MAX yearning nagumo, no beta we ball..
(wc) 2.09k! ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚
(synopsis): since your jcc days, it’s been years since you’ve seen him. however, after unexpectedly reconciling with one another, you’re forced to tend to his wounds. gradually, old memories and buried feelings slowly begin to surface. even after all this time, perhaps nothing has really changed, despite it all… ᥫ᭡
(context): takes place after the assassin exhibition arc, you take care of him after he’s treated by granny miya!
(an): this is my first post yay!! anyways, i hope you all enjoy, i will forever adore yearning men ᰔ.ᐟ
“YOU mess this up. You’re dead, Nagumo.” The piercing buzz of the tattoo gun rang through the dorm room, echoing restlessly off the walls.
A cunning grin she knew too well crept onto his face, abruptly stopping the gun’s vibrations. He chuckled, “I haven’t even put it on your skin yet, I’m just testing it out first!” A deadpan glare met him. This time, however, it’s slightly more annoyed than he’s used to. Weirdly, something about that look tugged at him faintly. Almost like he’d seen it before.
She takes a deep breath, the inhalation interrupting his silent thoughts. A light exasperated sigh escaped her lips before she turned away from him, bracing herself for what was to come. Nagumo feels the shift in the air—a subtle signal of her ever-growing annoyance.
Although… when is she ever not irritated with him?
That thought itself feels recycled, almost familiar, like he’s contemplated it before in some long-forgotten memory. The walls, the interior, her face, why does it all feel so oddly nostalgic?
“Don’t mess up, you idiot.”
Snapping back into reality, he chuckles, “You’re in good hands, y’know.” The same cheeky grin still gleaming on his face. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I’ve inked myself plenty of times!” Her shoulders eased slightly at the reassurance.
“But…” Nagumo drawled. “This is the first time I’ve done it on another person,” he added with a sheepish laugh.
She snaps her head back to look at him, her shoulders tensing again once more. God, she couldn’t stand him.
Almost, he smiles— but not quite. Not from the teasing, but from the déjà vu that was gradually creeping in. Those same eyes, that same glare… hadn’t they shared this before? Or was his mind playing tricks on him?
That sharp stare unnervingly cuts right through him. “Quit it, Nagumo.”
Ah. Perhaps he went a little too far this time.
A hesitant, airy laugh left his mouth. “Alright, Alright, you got it, princess,” he says, his demeanor gradually calming down. Raising the gun back up once more, he promptly rests the needle on her flesh, his other calloused hand settling near the canvas of her shoulder.
Bzzzzzzzzzzz—Nagumo jolted awake from the piercing buzz, the echo of the tattoo gun still ringing in his ears. A faint beam of fluorescent moonlight peaked through the curtains, blending with the lingering vibration in the quiet room.
A bead of sweat traced his temple, the blanket tangled around his body as his chest rose and fell from the jolt. He blinked into the darkness, breath unsteady. That felt real, maybe a bit too real.
Tch. Why am I still dreaming about this crap? JCC was years ago… What time is it even?
He turned his head to the right, expecting his alarm clock on the bedside table, only to be met with a neatly arranged coffee table. It was then that he realized, amidst his discomfort, that his large frame was awkwardly sprawled across a couch far too small for him.
What am I thinking… This isn’t even my plac—
A sharp ache in his abdomen interrupted his thoughts. Instinctively, his hand promptly hovers over the sudden pain. Nagumo gritted his teeth with a hiss. He slowly sat up straight, cautiously trying to avoid any sudden movements that would add to his misery. The blanket that was once lying on his body was slowly unveiled from his chest, revealing his bandaged figure, small spots of blood seeping through the gauze.
These wounds are still fresh, he reckoned.
For a moment, he sat there frozen, listening, half-expecting that sharp bzzzz to erupt again, filling the silence. But all he heard was the steady thrum of his heartbeat, loud against the darkness. Coming to his senses, memories of the events prior flooded back into his head— the exhibition, Sakamoto, X, Granny Miwa’s treatment, You.
As though conjured by his thoughts, his gaze unconsciously drifted upward, and there you were, across from him, facing away on the balcony. Only a sliding glass door separated the two of you, its surface touched with a faint blur of condensation from the moonlit air. The sight of you there tugged at his chest, making his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite name, even after all these years.
Your arms rested over the balcony railing, a cigarette dangling between your fingers. Smoke curled from your lips, twisting into the night until it vanished.
Who would’ve thought you’d pick that up? You had a distaste for smoking back at JCC— perhaps Rion had a part in it, he pondered.
His gaze lingered even longer. Your hair was slightly longer than he remembered, and your face was marked with a faint trace of exhaustion.
And did you always look that tired before…?
His eyes drifted to the faint lines of the tattoo on your shoulder, the one he had put there long ago. Time had softened it, but it was still there, just as you seemed to be, unchanged in ways that caught him off guard. You looked different, yet somehow exactly the same, even after all these years.
Nagumo’s gaze lingered over you, nostalgically unwilling to look away.
Finally putting it together, he realized this is your home. Your roof. Your subtle hospitality that had carried him since Miya’s and the exhibition. Despite his attempts to swallow it down, a soft smile tugged at his lips. Followed by a brief, low chuckle, escaping his mouth as he exhaled.
Pfft. Just like old times… still treating me without a word, huh?
You were unbelievable to him sometimes.
Grabbing what was left draped over his body, he quietly took off the blanket.
Click.
Ah. The balcony door…
You had a feeling he’d be awake when you felt that shift in the air moments ago.
“You need to rest, Nagumo.” Smoke seeped from your mouth, eyes focused on the stillness of Minato City below. The door slid shut with a soft click. Without glancing his way, you could already sense that sly grin forming, a feeling you knew far too well. It had been a long time since you last felt it.
A gentle chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re so cold, y’know.”
His voice came from just behind you, giving you goosebumps, followed by the sound of his meticulous footsteps soon after. In the corner of your eye, he leaned against the railing, one arm propping him up, the other resting near yours, but not quite touching.
“Cold, hm?” you murmured, eyelids half-closed.
“Mhm. Bled out right in front of you, and that’s the first thing you say to me after I recover?”
“Recover? Your wounds are still open. You’re far from recovering,” you countered.
In your periphery, he tilted his head. “Ah, you’re wounding me more…” he teased, your name slipping softly past his lips. The way he said it felt so delicate. It had been a while since you’d heard it spoken like that.
You sighed, finally turning your head just enough to catch him. The moonlight traced the sharp lines of his face, softened only by that familiar mischief. He was still freshly bandaged, just as you left him, yet his smirk remained unfazed, as though nothing could touch the ease he carried— even in his sorry condition.
Your eyes lingered on his, just for a second. A blank expression met his sight. Nagumo exchanged a teasing smile in return, casually tilting his head again. The ashes of your cigarette trickled off, falling into the abyss below your hand. The wind brushed your cheek, gently sweeping between you two.
You held your gaze on him, and for a moment, you narrowly caught his smile falter. His eyes broke away from yours as he shifted his sights to the city.
“You’re staring,” he muttered, attempting to recover his usual demeanor.
“You looked like you were about to say something.”
He hummed. “Mm, did I?”
Of course, he says shit like this at this moment.
“Yes, you did,” you said, your voice low and deliberate.
…A beat passed.
And then another. You took a small inhale of your cigarette, cutting the silence.
He sighed in defeat. His smile returned to his lips, but this time, it was softer, “Ha… You always read too much into me.”
A thin ribbon of smoke bled into the air as you silently accepted your victory.
“I almost died back there,” Nagumo admitted quietly, no playfulness to soften his tone.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your cigarette. “I know,” you replied.
He glanced at you, studying how your eyes were fixed on the city instead of him, and looked back into the darkness. He feels almost childish for saying something so bluntly in the moment, but he can't stop himself for some odd reason.
He didn’t have to look at you to know what expression you’d be wearing after hearing something like that. Despite this, when his gaze met yours again, it seemed that a hint of unease flickered across your face.
Another tug pulled at his chest.
Reluctantly, he continued, “When I woke up… I thought I’d see white ceilings. Granny’s clinic. Maybe Sakamoto’s dumb expression.” Nagumo chuckled to himself, his hand supported his chin, his elbow now resting on the rail.
The skin of his shoulder briefly grazed yours, just barely touching— only enough to feel his warmth.
“But…” he drawled, “I didn’t think I’d see you.”
You stayed quiet, but a hint of unease filled you, and you swallowed it down fast. But that was enough for him to catch it.
He snickered at you, the corner of his mouth lifting again, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“What?”
“You haven’t changed, dummy,” he repeated more gently this time. “I can read you just as well as you can read me.” His grin made his eyes curve faintly. “You’re thinking about something, I can tell y’know.”
“You’re insufferable, Nagumo,” you muttered.
“Ah, am I?” he angled his head towards yours, lowering his voice.
His face was close, way too close. You could practically feel his breath on you when he said that.
He lifted his finger, his pointer hovering between the skin of your brows, “Your eyebrows crease right here,” studying your expression on your face after that call-out, “Same look you had whenever you were lost in thought back at JCC.”
A sigh left your mouth, “Listen…” calmly swatting his hand away from your face, “you’re overanalyzing me, and you’re not the only one who notices things.”
His hand lingered in the air for a moment before dropping back onto the railing. “Oh?” he tilted towards you again, “Enlighten me then.”
You took one last inhale of your cigarette before pressing the remaining bud into the ashtray beside you. “You’ve changed too.”
He blinked. “Ouch, that's harsh,” he said, with the smuggest expression imaginable.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“That so? I couldn't tell.”
You gave him a flat look. “Your tattoos.”
Your eyes outlined his neck, the rest of his tattoos hidden beneath the bandages wrapped around his torso. “You didn’t have those before,” your voice dropped slightly, “At least, not at JCC…”
Nagumo’s smirk faltered, just barely— but you caught it.
“Ah, well,” he deflected, “ I just had some extra time on my hands.”
You tsked at his absurd excuse. Another beat of silence passed as the city hummed below.
Breaking the silence, he purposely brushed his arm against your inked shoulder.
“I thought you would’ve gotten rid of that thing by now,” he added, half-teasing.
“Too much effort.”
“You could've covered it up.”
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
Your eyes drifted away from his, wandering back into the city.
“Because I don’t want to, idiot,” you mumbled.
Nagumo’s expression went soft, and for once, he was quiet. God, he internally mused, she’s impossible. Absolutely fucking impossible.
He sighed. “Jeez, you really haven't changed.” lifting his arm, bringing the palm of his hand to the head of your hair, caressing it softly.
Your breath still subtly hitching after the admission. You couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore, “But you have…” you said reluctantly, looking at the ground.
“Nah. I’m still me.”
“Still the same Yoichi?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ha.” She finally smiles, softly. A faint gleam flickers in her eye, cutting through the exhaustion.
That’s it. That’s the sight he’s been looking for.
“You haven’t changed one bit, Nagumo.” An airy laugh escapes her lips. He never did change after all this time— at least, not for her.
warnings ♡ Handjob, mommy kink, tit sucking, dry humping, making out, spit kink, cum eating, sub!gojo, longer than i thought it would be, not proofread💔
Chemistry is the bane of your existence. Ever since you started the new semester, you've been consumed with overwhelming homework and constant readings. No matter how many youtube videos you watched and tutor sessions you go to it seems like the topic just doesn't stick with you. It's not like you're failing the class, but the grade you have now is most definitely not what you want.
Studying has consumed your life and when you're not studying, all you can think it about is how you need to study. With your continuous commitment to study almost 24/7, comes with a very annoyed boyfriend.
You knew Satoru was needy. Hell needy was probably an understatement. Since the beginning of the relationship he was attached to your hip. Even before the two of you started dating, he would follow everywhere you went like a lost puppy.
Waking up before Satoru means staying bed for couple hours more because he absolutely refuses to let go of you till he's ready. His pressed up against you as you do your morning routine, sneaking and using a few your products himself. He'll even follow you to the bathroom, taking a sit on the counter and talking to you, no matter if it's number one or two.
"Babyyyy," Satoru whined behind you, "Pay attention to me, you've been studying for hours." He comes up behind you, chin leaning on your shoulder. Hands smoothing over your curves.
Sighing, trying to stop yourself from taking out your frustration on your boyfriend, "Toru, I told you I'll give you all my attention once I understand this topic," attempting to reason with him.
He lets out an 'hmph' clearly signifying his annoyance, "You said an hour ago baby, just take a break and play with me," Nestling his face into the crook in your neck, inhaling your scent, "You've barely looked at your incredibly sexy boyfriend and it's breaking my heart."
You shake your head at his nonsense, not warranting it an response. Going back to your studies, you try to ignore his growing silence. If you knew one thing about your boyfriend it's that he doesn't take 'no' for an answer. He has been spoiled his entire life and you most definetfly indulged in the spoiling, you couldn't resist those bright blue eyes.
Soon, your laptop is snatched from your lap and slid your books off the bed, "Satoru! What are you doing!" You began to scold him.
"No! I refuse to let you ignore me anymore," He sat in your lap, pouting down at you, "Love me!" Satoru kissed your face repeatedly.
Placing your hands on his hips, enduring his loving attack, "Fine, but I'm only giving you an hour for now okay." You assured him, returning his kisses.
"Mmm, we'll see about that,"
Leaning down to meet your lips, moaning once you two connect. You pulled him closer to you, pulling at his lip with your teeth. Noses bumping into each other.
Letting out a small exclamation of pleasure once his tongue parts your lips. His wet tongue explores your mouth, teeth knocking into each other as the kiss gets more intense, "I need you mama," moaned against your lips. Satoru grinded himself down onto you, growing bulge rubbing against your stomach.
Breaking from the kiss, you licked the column of his neck, sucking under his ear knowing its where his most sensitive. Lightly nibbling as he panted in your ear, "I know baby, I'll take care of you." Flipping him on his back, climbing on top to straddle him.
The sight beanethe you, only fueled the wetness in between your legs. Satoru looked up at you chest heaving, cheeks flushed with need and pleasure. His were totally blown out, hair was tossed and messy but he looked like an angel.
Biting your lip as you grinded down on him, shorts dampening as your movement intensify. Lifting your shirt off your body, revealing one of his most favorite part of your body. He immediately leans up to suckle on your tits but you quickly push him down.
He pouted up at you, "Don't be mean to me baby."
"Shhh, I'll give you what you want."
Moving beside his body, hurriedly sliding off his sweatpants. Satoru's pink cock thumps against his stomach. Precum dripped from his angry red tip onto his belly. You can see the vein running up the side pulsating in anticipation, "Please do somethinggg" He groaned, hips bucking up at the cold air.
Nose running alongside his cheek, as you used one of your legs to pin his own down to the bed. Your hand feathers lightly across the angry cock, stroking your thumb on the underside of his tip.
"F- fuck baby, give me more I'll do anything!" He moaned out, needy eyes begging you for more.
Leaving a trail of wet kisses along his throat, "Aww, you need more? Where was this gratitude when I need to study huh?" Hand wrapping around the tip, squeezing it as precum drips out. Using the pre as lube you began to pump his cock up and down.
Satoru threw his head back at the sensation, groaning as his hips fucked up into your tight hold. Twisting your hand whenever your hand reaches his tip. He looked so hot, mouth open as he whimpered for more. You couldn't help but bring your lips to his once again. Immediately pushing your tongue into his mouth, he quickly submitted to you.
Wet squelching filled the room as well as the heavy pants shared between you two, "Open wide for me baby," He immediately followed your instructions even sticking his tongue out like the slut he is. Letting a slow string of spit fall from your lips, he moaned out once the droplet hit his tongue quickly swallowing.
"Mommy give me more please!" Obliging you gathered more spit for your baby, and hover your mouth about his hot mouth, letting spit drip from yours into his.
Speeding your hand up, you watched as he mouthed at your tits, neck straining to reach to peaks, "Mmmm, does my toru want to suckle?"
His eyes roll back when you palm at his tip sloppily, "Fuck yes! I'll do anything!" He whined, tongue sticking out waiting for you to grant his wish.
Leaning down, Satoru catches your tit in his mouth once it's close enough to reach. He whines loudly as he suckles, drool falling out the side of his mouth. You moan loudly, as he teeth nip at your sensitive nipples.
His hot penis thrust up into your hand, fucking it hard. Toes curling as you bring his over the edge. His muffled moans grow louder the closer he gets, "Is my baby close?" You teased him.
Nodding frantically, carefully making sure he doesn't detach from you nip. Squeezing his cock to help milk him, he begins to pulsate in your hand. Long spurts of white thick cum, shoots out of his cock. Some even reaching up to his chest. You continue to help him through his orgasm till his hands try to push yours out the way from the overstimulation.
Yanking his sloppy mouth from your tit, you bring your soiled hand up to his mouth, "Clean your mess up." He whimpers when your fingers enter his mouth, tongue collected the sticky cum from between your finger and palm. He pulls back with a pop, staring up at you waiting for your next move.
Brushing his hair off his forehead, "Let me go get towel to clean you up baby," you whispered sweetly. As you went to head towards the bed, Satoru's strong arms wrapped around you to stop you movement.
"Please stay with me for awhile mommy," He whimpered, wet eyes looking upon you.
Smiling down at him, Kissing his forehead sweetly "Okay, baby," guiding his head back towards your tit to let him suckle.
lowkey kinda crappy since it's been awhile since the last time I've written. But if you likey feel free to request babes :))))
Sub bully gojo like he was planning on fucking and bullying reader when the opposite went way? Like reader had enough of his bullshit and makes him cry and overstimulates him?
Loser | sub!gojo satoru
wc: 2.9k+ words | masterlist
dom!gn!reader, mean!reader -> soft!reader, bully!gojo kinda but he’s more annoying then actually bullying, crying, footjob except he’s clothed, cumming in pants, college au, edging, comparing gojo to a puppy, degradation, praise, exhibitionism, overstimulation, knocking Gojo down a peg, teasing, cursing, mention of reader being shorter than gojo but not important, ooc gojo(?)
note : the writing may be weird… its been a while 😬
"Well well well, look who it is!" You grimace at the all too familiar voice and try to quickly turn the corner but a hand grabs your hand and turns you around, causing you to stumble back slightly but you catch yourself in time.
Furrowing your eyebrows and frowning in annoyance, you eye the person who stopped you: Gojo fucking Satoru. He’s the guy who’s been making your college life a living hell ever since he found out you two went to the same high school. Even though there were several other students here who also went to the same high school, he decided to annoy you for some reason.
The other students in the hallway quickly shuffle to their next classes or to lunch, too afraid to say something that’ll result in Gojo picking on them instead. Of course, they're scared, Gojo is known as a bully who somehow has good relationships with the teachers, an advantage he uses daily. The hallway is deserted now with only you two standing in. You hear the bell ring loudly throughout and your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Damn it, you’re late to class now.
“Hey! Look at me, bitch.” You scowl deeply as your attention turns back to Gojo. You wonder if he’s aware of his childish personality or not. You assume he doesn’t by the way he continues to act like a toddler.
“What the hell do you want?” You reply, annoyance clear as day on your face. A grin spreads across his face when he sees your attention back on him. God, he loves the way you look at him like that. He quickly shoves the thought to the back of his head.
“In a bad mood today, huh?” He teases, that annoying grin still prominent on his face and you clench your fist into a ball, wanting to punch that grin off his stupid face though you know you can’t. He would just go running to the teachers and higher-ups and get you in trouble somehow.
You let out a small scoff and continue to glare at him before he talks again.
“What? You really think I’m gonna annoy you today?” He smirks and slowly walks closer to you but you grimace. He leans his head down slightly and you frown deeper. You’re already annoying me with your presence, you want to say.
“You should smile more, it’ll make you more pleasant to look at for once, [name]-” He could barely finish his sentence before your anger got the best of you. How dare he act like nothing’s happened?
“What is your fucking problem, you bastard?” You sneer at him as you shove his chest hard, causing him to widen his eyes at your sudden action and stumble backwards before tripping over his feet and falling to the ground on his bottom, his feet on the floor with his knees bent towards the ceiling and his hands behind him to stabilize himself. His legs are spread out slightly and he winces at the sudden impact.
If your mind wasn’t so flooded with anger right now, you would think that Gojo looks rather hot on the ground staring up at you with a flushed face and widened eyes.
Shit, he didn’t mean for you to get this pissed off. He was planning to ask you to come over to his house later or something. Usually you just ignore him and walk off quietly, he didn’t expect this at all. Why are you getting mad? Haven’t you gotten the hint that he bullies you cause he likes you?
You step a foot down awfully near his crotch and he flinches, staring at it with a red face but you don’t notice. You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows harshly. He looks back up at you but quickly looks away when he sees you staring at him so intensely and you’re surprised just how easily he shut up from a simple shove to the ground. Maybe he’s more simple than you thought.
You see his chest rise up and down quickly. The silence is thick and heavy in the air with the sound of his breathing and your own heart beating rapidly in your chest the only noises you hear. The way he refuses to look at you, how red he is, and the way his legs slightly tremble gives you the wrong idea.
Does… seeing you towering over him and staring down at him turn him on somehow? No way, you think.
But when your eyes trail down from his still flushed face down his body and to the place between his spread legs, your idea is confirmed.
“Who said you could get fucking hard right now?” Gojo flinches and his eyes widen, quickly looking down at the rather large bulge in his pants. He tries to cover it with his hands but you quickly kick them away, resulting in his legs spreading even further apart.
Good thing that you’re at one of the more secluded and quiet areas of the school and that not many students nor teachers have classes here.
It’s odd. It’s really odd. How although he could easily get up and run away or even shove you back and say some mean things to you again, he’s not. He’s not doing any of that, just sitting on the ground in front of you like he enjoys it. And a part of you is starting to enjoy the situation as well.
You suddenly remember how although there’s no one in the hallway, there are still some students and teachers in the classrooms near you guys. It seems you two haven’t been loud enough to attract their attention but you know that at any moment, someone could step out into the hallway and spot you two. Though the thought just spurs you on even more.
He hesitates before glancing up at you and swallows again before glancing back at your shoe and it gives you an idea. Without thinking, you lift your foot and press it down on his crotch. The action immediately makes Gojo let out a deep groan and cover his mouth with his hand, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. The sight makes something in your stomach stir although you are still annoyed by his past actions.
Slowly, he opens his eyes back and stares at you, his eyes more soft than before. He puts his hand down and opens his mouth to talk but you notice how he hesitates.
“C-Could we ngh do this in a classroom-“
You quickly cut him off with a scoff. “Really? Do you really think I’m gonna take pity on you after you annoyed me everyday of my college life? It’s not my fault you got hard from just a shove.” You sneer in disgust, making Gojo shiver. “Maybe I should return the favor somehow.” Gojo’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees the anger in your eyes and the way you’re glaring down at him like he’s some sort of useless piece of trash. He feels something throb in his pants.
You suddenly smirk and Gojo has to hold back a whine from the way you look so scary but so hot at the same time.
“I wonder what everyone would think if they were to see you right now, pitifully on the floor like a fucking puppy,” you spit out.
Gojo squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to imagine the sheer shock on everyone’s faces if they were to stumble across him like this in the hallway. But oh God, the way you compare him to a puppy has his stomach fluttering and something else throbbing again.
He opens his eyes again and lets out the most pitiful whine you’ve ever heard and oh does it sound heavenly coming from someone you despise.
“Please?” You contemplate it. As much as you would rather stay in the hallway and ruin him here, you know that if you two were to be caught, you would face suspension and it would ruin your reputation even more. With a sigh and frown, you glance around and spot a dark classroom. Bingo.
You point to it and Gojo’s eyes dart to the empty room, his breathing still fast. He quickly understands it and slowly gets up from the floor.
“Go inside.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an order. He nods and he walks in, glancing behind him to make sure you’re following him inside. As you go into the room, you close the door and lock it, turning back to see Gojo already on the floor on his knees and it makes your heart quicken.
Walking up to him, you before him and immediately return your foot back on his crotch and press down. Gojo lets out a breathy curse from his lips and gasps, his hands obediently at his sides, clenching into fists tightly.
He’s embarrassed at himself for being so easy for you, already at your knees after his plan backfired on him but he’s not complaining. Not when your foot presses down harder which forces a moan out from him and makes his mind foggy. He’s close already. He tells you that and he blushes when you laugh.
“Already? How pathetic,” you tease. “And I thought I would at least get to see you naked first.” The idea of him being fully naked and you fully clothed makes him whimper and he’s quick to open his mouth to beg to get naked for you but you cut him off.
“But I don't think you deserve it after everything you’ve done. You’ll cum from my foot and without taking a piece of clothing off, understood?” He nods before he understands what you said and widens his eyes when he processes it.
“But-” “But?” You raise an eyebrow, daring him to disagree which shuts him right up. You smile and grind your shoe back down on his bulge. “Good, now go on. I know you’re just aching to get some friction, yeah?”
He nods again and doesn’t hesitate for a moment before bucking his hips up against your foot, letting out a soft cry as the pleasure shoots through his body. You keep your foot still and let him do all the work and he lets out a loud moan when a particular thrust has his precum leaking out and dampening his pants.
You feel him twitch underneath your foot and smirk in amusement. “Quiet now, it's still school time, remember?” The reminder has him whimpering, wanting to let out loud noises for you but understanding the environment. You can tell he’s close from the way he’s practically begging with those puppy eyes of his.
“P-Please?” “Please what, Gojo?” He lets out another soft cry, the pleasure being too much. His mind is so foggy from the fact that you two are in an empty classroom and can get caught at any moment and how he can’t let out loud noises like he wants and the feeling of his dick being so hard, it hurts.
And now you’re teasing him. How mean, he wants to say to you. But the chances that you get mad again and leave him here in the classroom by himself with a hard dick is too high. So he begs.
“Please let me cum? Please? I-I’ve been good-” You laugh again. He hasn’t been good at all to you but he has been good at not touching you and keeping quiet. So maybe you’ll take pity on him. Maybe.
“Hm should I?” You pretend to think and Gojo moans, his pace quickening against your foot and he nods frantically. “I don’t think I should.” The second you take your foot off him, Gojo swears he’s close to crying right then and there. His hands subconsciously dart out from his sides to reach for your ankle but your sharp glare stops him.
So instead, he whimpers as tears prickle the corner of his eyes, his dick aching for release. You smirk at the sight.
“Beg for it, Gojo. Unless you want me to leave.” He obeys yet again, almost too eagerly this time that it almost makes you laugh. Geez, knocking Gojo down his high horse is way more fun than you thought it would be.
“[Name] please? Please please please i'll be such a good boy for you i promise!” It’s cute, seeing his glossy eyes and parted lips as he pants like a puppy for you. You swear you see a glimpse of a tail behind him wagging eagerly.
“Do whatever you want to me! Just let me cum, please!” With a smile, you place your foot back on his bulge and press down hard.
He throws his head back with a whimper and he swears he sees stars as his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Ah!- T-Thank you ngh” He goes back to his previous quick pace again and it’s not long till he’s close again. He squeezes his eyes shut, not trusting himself to not have them roll back and he hesitantly places his hands around your ankle to keep it there, refusing for you to pull away again. You click your tongue in disapproval but don’t say anything about it which he is grateful about.
“I’m gonna cum im gonna cum-” He babbles out as he continues to rut against your foot like a dog in heat. “Such a good boy for me, telling me that you’re close and not cuming without permission.,” you praise and you swear his hips stutters at that. A sucker for praise, it seems.
His eyes shoot open and it's clear what he’s begging for. “Go on, cum.”
And he does almost immediately. One of his hands shoots up to cover his mouth as he muffles his choked moans and whimpers and your eyes look down to see the spot where his crotch is quickly dampening as he cums.
But you don’t stop, you actually speed up. Gojo feels your foot continuing to grind down on his now damp crotch and he can barely hold on, his hand dropping from his mouth back to hastily hold onto your leg. His eyes widen and curses sputter out of his mouth in stutters.
“S-Shit wait! I’m ngh not ready-” You grab a handful of his hair and yank on it hard, forcing him to look directly at you and let out a rather loud whine. He stares at you with tears ready to fall down his face and oh does he look good like this. He’s on his knees, his hips bucking up to your foot as if he didn’t just say he’s not ready, face flushed such a pretty pink as he stares up at you like you own him. The tight grip you have on his hair has his scalp prickling in pain in such a good way that he almost begs for you to yank harder but another moan escapes him before he can.
“Come on, you were begging so nicely earlier,” you say mockingly, a feign pout on your face as you stare down at the once confident man. “Don’t you want to cum again? I think you got some more in you, yeah?”
He immediately nods and lets out a cry when you step down even harder on his clothed dick and pull on his hair harder. Shit, he’s already close again, the overstimulation getting to him and making it feel all so much better. He can barely even talk or speak full sentences anymore, only letting out mainly whines and whimpers and a few babbles here and there.
Each tug of your hand, grind of your shoe, and praise or degradation you graciously give to him has him soon crying out of pure pleasure. Tears streak down his face slowly as he gets closer to cumming again. You’re almost jealous of how pretty he still is while crying.
“Cum.” That’s all he needs to hear before his hips stutter again and he lets out a quiet sob, cumming for the second time and staining his pants even more.
His pace slows down before stopping, his breath slowing down. He slowly leans forward to lean his cheek against your leg and your breath hitches at the sight. You can feel his hot breath against your leg as he stares up at you with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. He’s mumbling under his breath and you swear you hear “thank you’s” coming out quietly.
You can’t help but lean down slightly and run your hand through his hair, hearing a soft hum coming from him as he sighs when your hand moves down to caress his damp cheek, nuzzling against it.
The sudden sound of the school bell ringing snaps you two out of the trance. Right, you two are still at school in an empty classroom. You hear the other students rush out of the nearby classes to leave and return home and you’re glad that you two aren’t in view of the door window.
You hear a sigh coming from Gojo and you look back at him and see him smile up at you.
“I… enjoyed that,” he murmurs shyly and you can't help but smile. “You did so good for me.” He whines and blushes and you swear you feel another twitch from his crotch.
Let's just say that you two continued to meet at that spot many times after that.
satoru gojo is quite literally the worst person on earth to try and have a silent treatment with.
of course, he knows you’re mad, he knows he fucked up - but he also knows that if he can make your life "unbelievably" inconvenient, you’ll eventually have to break the silence just to tell him to stop.
here's the thing; you haven’t spoken to him in twelve hours.
you are a fortress of solitude, him?
he is a persistent, white-haired fly that cannot be swatted away because of his infinity or maybe a mosquito; sucking your energy out instead of blood.
he realised (unfortunately he is capable of realising things) that as long as you are self-sufficient, you can keep ignoring him. therefore, he must delete your ability to function.
it's 9am, you wake up and try to get out of bed - you can't.
no, not because he’s holding you, but because he has lowered the friction of the floor around your bed to exactly zero; you try to step down and your foot just slides back like you’re on the world’s most invisible ice rink.
satoru is sitting in the corner, casually reading a magazine upside down, doesn't say a word. he just watches you glide helplessly back onto the mattress. 0-1.
10:30am, you manage to "crawl-surf" to the bathroom.
naturally, you reach for the faucet - it’s not there.
you blink, and the faucet is on the ceiling. water flowing upward into the pipes - you look in the mirror;
he’s standing behind you in the reflection, holding a toothbrush and looking incredibly "helpful," "innocent," waiting for you to snap - you don't.
you use bottled water instead, winning the second battle of this "silent treatment war". 1-1.
by midday, he realizes you’re more stubborn than a cursed spirit, so he goes full on nuisance mode. (special grade sorcerer edition).
you open your closet to get dressed; every single item of clothing, every shirt, every sock - is vibrating. if you touch a sleeve, it teleports to the other side of the room.
you are effectively locked out of your own wardrobe by a space-time anomaly.
you go to make tea to calm your nerves, thinking 'if you can't fight it, then adapt to it.'
the kettle is suddenly encased in a "red" orb that repels your hand every time you get within six inches.
the final straw for you was when you tried to leave the apartment to get some space;
you open the front door and walk out, only to find yourself stepping right back into your own living room.
confused, you try again. door → living room. door -> living room, an infinite loop. he’s turned your hallway into a localized version of the prison realm.
you stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, fuming.
satoru is now sitting on the couch comfortably, dramatically sighing and checking his watch as if he's the one being inconvenienced with this whole thing.
you take a deep breath. you tried - you really did.
"satoru," you growl, finally looking at him.
"oh! someone spoke!" he teleports directly into your personal space, his blindfold pushed up so his blue eyes are practically glowing with "i won" energy.
"was that the wind? or was that my favorite person finally realizing that they need a certain handsome sorcerer to fix the literal glitch in their reality?"
"fix the door," you snap, trying to hide the twitch of a smile. "the tea, and the floor. you’re such a fucking brat."
"i'm your brat," he chirps, snapping his fingers.
suddenly, the world stops vibrating and gravity returns to normal.
he leans down with no shame resting his chin on your head. "apology accepted! let’s go get lunch. i’m paying - mostly because you can't reach your wallet since i put it on the moon."
oneshot & fluff ↪ in which y/n and nagumo spend more time annoying each other than anything else until one of them snaps and says something he probably shouldn’t have.
↷ nagumo yoichi ; sakamoto days
↳ paid by (2) tokens, casual mode with boss fight from anonymous in the arcade event !
IF THERE WAS one thing everyone at the JCC Academy agreed on, it was this:
Nagumo Yoichi was hard to annoy.
Which was exactly why Y/n made it her personal mission.
It started small. Harmless, even.
Switching his files.
Mislabeling his weapons.
Taking his favorite seat five minutes before he got there just to watch him stand and stare like he was reconsidering all his life choices.
And every single time, he would just smile.
That stupid, easy smile.
"You’re trying really hard," he would say.
"You’re trying too little," she would reply.
It should have ended there.
It didn’t, because for some reason, Nagumo started doing it back.
"Where is it?"
Y/n didn’t look up from her notebook. "Where is what?"
"My blade."
"How tragic."
He stared at her, unimpressed. "You took it."
She finally glanced up, expression innocent. "Do you have proof?"
Then Nagumo reached behind her without warning and pulled the blade from where she had tucked it under her chair.
Y/n blinked, "...Okay, that was fast."
"You’re predictable."
"You’re annoying."
"You started it."
She smiled slightly, "And you’re still losing."
He laughed at that, soft and amused, like this was all a game.
Which, to be fair, it was.
Until it wasn’t.
Training sessions turned into competitions neither of them admitted to.
Assignments turned into silent battles of who could finish first.
Even the smallest interactions became something else entirely, filled with glances and remarks that didn’t quite cross the line but hovered dangerously close.
Everyone noticed.
No one said anything.
Mostly because it was entertaining.
"You’re in my way."
"You walked into me."
"You were standing wrong."
Nagumo let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head as he looked at her. "Standing wrong?"
"Yes."
"That’s new."
Y/n crossed her arms. "Fix it."
He didn’t move.
Instead, he stepped closer. She didn’t step back. Neither of them ever did.
"You’re impossible," he said.
"You’re dramatic."
"You’re annoying."
"You say that like it’s new information."
Nagumo exhaled through his nose, the smile on his face just a little tighter this time.
And that’s when y/n realized—he was actually getting annoyed.
Oh.
Oh, this was new.
Her eyes lit up slightly, and that was the worst possible reaction she could have had because now she wanted to push it further.
"Nagumo."
"What?"
"You’re frowning."
"I’m not."
"You are."
"I’m really not."
"It suits you."
"Stop being so annoying, it makes me wanna—"
He cut himself off.
Y/n blinked.
Then she leaned in slightly, curious, "Wanna what?"
Nagumo stared at her.
For once, actually quiet. That had never happened before.
"Finish your sentence," she pressed.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you’ll get worse."
She smiled. "I’m already the worst."
"Exactly."
"Say it," she said, softer now.
Nagumo sighed, running a hand through his hair like this was suddenly the most exhausting situation he had ever been in.
Then he looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And, "It makes me want to kiss you just to get you to shut up."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Y/n stared at him. Nagumo stared back.
Neither of them moved.
"...That was a terrible strategy," she said.
He blinked. "What?"
"You think that’s going to stop me?"
Then Nagumo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I figured it was worth a shot."
Y/n tilted her head, studying him for a moment longer.
Then, without warning. She grabbed his collar and pulled him down.
The kiss was quick. Gone before he could even react.
She stepped back immediately, like nothing had happened.
"Did it work?" she asked calmly.
Nagumo just stared at her. For once, completely speechless.
parings: academic rival/tutor!nagumo x afab!reader༘⋆
content & warnings: MDNI! , JCC AU, fluff, slow burn, all characters are above the age of 18, slight mention of unhealthy study habits, vulgar / degrading language, sex, cream pie, slight size kink, no use of y/n, notes at the end!~ •⩊•
wc ~ 5199
the halls of the JCC were never quiet. the comforting echoes of students bickering loudly , sounds of squeaking sneakers and the occasional sharp clicks of heels were all blurred into some sort of white noise- a regular motif orchestrated by many scholarly campuses alike- except this one. the perfectly normal motif was often cut short by the explosive fires of ammunition throughout the school. it became symbolic, a reminder of where you were- the JCC. a prestigious school that trained and bred hit-men.
you pride yourself in your work ethic. finding a purpose and value in something else rather then the commission you'd receive after a hit- or a general praise in your ability. it became something you craved. but, it could've been very well because attention and love was all you lacked. you found solace in every paper with a high score, these were the things that always helped you sleep comfortably at night.
though you knew, better than anyone how unfair life could be; you clung on to the desperate illusion of meritocracy the JCC preached dear. it's your hard work, your strive, that will get you a spot at the top. is what they'd always tell you. so why now, all of a sudden, did your spot in the top 10 for your pre calculus class drop down to 11?
...
"watch out!" a bystander rasped- you gasp shortly before dodging a counter from your partner. "what's up with you today? your totally zoned out." miko remarked before swinging another fist at your jugular.
"its nothing." you retort , using your arm to cushion the impact of her fist- fingers snaking and her wrist, you turning on the ball of your feet- and at the aid of your other hand- you slam her body forward onto the cushioned mat in front of you.
"yowch!" miko yelped dramatically. "go easy on me kay? I'm old." "your only 24." you deadpan before helping her up from the mat. miko was your mentor, your best friend and an older sister to you. she's been with you at every step of the way, from the entrance exam till your third year.
miko scoffed "still 5 years older than you. my tailbone's fragile ya'know." she huffs- you snort, "got it. still, you can't really blame me for pulling that on you. could've killed me with that move." you point at the side of your neck, a vulnerable spot that was commonly preyed on by killers alike. she scoffs "well you could've paralyzed me so where's your empathy huh?" shrugging you retort- "hey at least you know i can catch a bullet before you do." she laughs dryly.
a comfortable silence engulfs the training room before miko opens her mouth again. "I saw the score board." you exhale sharply through your nose- instantly deflating like a balloon. "don't let those numbers get to you. school's stupid anyway- just focus on getting your license that's enough." you bring your right hand to rub your temple as the after effects of studying for your exams kicks in- clenching your eyes closed in hopes to find relief from the suddenly blaring florescent lighting.
"i know. i know that it's just- i finally feel have some sort of control over my life- and i cant help but feel like its beginning to slip." miko hums as she saunters over to her blue duffle; throwing a towel and water bottle at your direction. "whatever you say- well more like whatever you do, just don't do something stupid."
you open your mouth to retort but quickly close it only to realize that your ideas would only prove her right. the imagery of late nights and burning the mid night oil accompanied by cramming big complicated numbers into even more complex formulas and calculators didn't seem to help the argument. miko catches on , eyes attentive and eyebrows raised, she takes a swig out of her water bottle; waiting for an answer.
sighing you swipe the clean towel over your forehead, resting it over your shoulders before cracking open the water bottle to take a sip of your own. "yea. i won't"
...
"are you sure your alright? your progress for this chapter seems to be pulling your overall score down." you stared blankly at the paper in front of you. a figure that could only haunt your first year self seemed to come back to reap its harvest- 34%.
lifting your gaze to your professor you manage to crack a smile, whether it was your anxiety or the nausea that threatened to spill from your stomach- the smile helped keep your composure. "sir with all due respect- i really don't know what I'm doing wrong to be failing this class." and for a moment- you were honest. not a picture perfect student who paid attention in class, took notes, and got straight A's. you were struggling, and for once you swallowed your pride and submitted to the undeniable struggle. your professor hums, almost sounding amused.
"I never thought you out of all people would've run into issues in my class." you decide to humor him, chuckling at remark- awkwardly at best- sarcastic at worst.
he exhales contently before reaching over to pull another test paper from the stack of others. "well truthfully, its not your progress that's been the problem. its the grade threshold that's been changing." you cock an eyebrow- signifying him to continue. "a new addition has been added to this class" he admits before slipping a test paper to your direction. your eyes immediately land on the score- 91%. you almost scoff, but not out of disbelief more out of spite.
"same test, same questions, same printer- yet this candidates score seems to triple your score." you stayed silent. afraid of what you might say, clenching your jaw while staring at the paper as if it has personally offended you. "so you're saying this person single handedly tripled the threshold levels?" you manage to say. "correct. don't get me wrong your by no means dumb. this student in particular just happens to be one in a million when it comes to logarithms and exponents." you chuckle- actually? is this guy for real? you scoff to yourself. before tossing the paper back onto the desk in front of you.
your eyes wander across the paper tracing the delicate ink that showed the candidates name and number- candidate : 10294 nagumo yoichi.
you say your final remarks to your professor before leaving the classroom- hoisting your backpack over your shoulders. navigating your usual route around the JCC- you take a selected combination of lefts and rights to land yourself in the warm lighting of the quiet library. an odd sight that juxtaposed most of the JCC's iconic florescent glow. the comforting biblichor of the library never failed to cure your raging anxiety- exhaling softly through your nose you settle over at the familiar corner of the library; pulling out comically large text books and papers from your bag before popping one air pod in your ear.
quietly humming to yourself you prepare yourself to begin the grind- that was until you felt a small tap on your shoulder. glancing over you meet a pair of curious obsidian eyes, he gestures, pointing at his right ear before mouthing "can i have the other side?" in his attempts to be quiet. you raise an eyebrow, skeptical of his intentions you mouth back "why?" he smiles sheepishly before showing his own pair of air pods- they were dead. you looked at the case before looking back up to meet his gaze again, sighing you reluctantly nodded, passing him the other side.
he flashes you a grin before pulling the chair next to you- placing his own resources from his bag onto the wooden table. you choose ignore his presence, instead focusing on the monstrosity of a question in front of you. scribbling the numbers and variables on to the paper, you spiral and stare at your calculator, the figures on the paper began feeling more foreign by each new line. tugging at the root of your hair, you sigh softly before your attention is drawn to the stick note that slides its way from the direction of the boba eyed boy beside you.
you have shit music taste :p glaring at the note you cock your head to the sender- giving him an unimpressed stare. he chuckles softly, resting his head on his right hand while his body and shoulders faced parallel to your figure- lazily grinning at your reaction.
snatching the pen across the table you write right below the remark, 'then give my air pod back. and stop annoying me i don't need another problem to solve.' his eyes followed your movements intently.
placing the pen down, you shove the note into his direction. his inked slender fingers gingerly held the note- and you notice his grin widens. unexpectedly he leans over, close enough for you to feel the body heat radiating against you. he stares quietly at the textbook, expression shifting to a less playful one before quickly returning to his signature grin. his breath now fanning your cheek he whispers lowly in your ear- "seems like your still stuck here." your face flushes.
embarrassed you scoff out a reply, "so what if i am. can you solve this?" jerking away to create space between you and the boy. however it seems to backfire as it gave you a clearer view of his painfully handsome features. his round eyes bore at your expression, his hair was long and overgrown, most of it messily tied into a low ponytail while the strays framed his angular face. his lips still curled, retaining the same cheeky smirk- "you're staring." "I'm not" you quickly retort.
he laughs- "sure. but yes i can solve it." you huff. before mumbling to yourself again "great, just how many more geniuses do i need to beat?" he catches on- "oh don't worry I'm no genius" he raises his hands dramatically in surrender.
"i just enjoy the concept of math." you roll your eyes "yea and I'd enjoy if my class threshold goes back to normal." he hums, "someone's messing with the thresholds?" you sigh in frustration- "beats me, i just hope this nagumo yoichi guy or- whatever his name is- drops out of my class or something." he pauses before awkwardly chuckling, "why are you so set on excelling- its just one grade."
"you wouldn't get it."
"oh? try me."
you turn to face him, but before you could respond, the curt noise of someone clearing their throat cuts you off.
both your heads cock to the person, and were met with an annoyed gaze. "its either you guys stop chatting or leave. this is the library."
...
"it was your fault." the boy quips, scoffing, you retaliate- "you talked to me first." he huffs puffing his cheeks out as the both of you saunter out of the library. "sooo you gonna let me help you with that question? or you gonna keep tugging that hair till you bald?"
he coos sarcastically. you glare at him annoyingly, mentally taking note of his slender stature you failed to notice while he was sitting down. "same time, same spot tomorrow. don't be late." his grin widens- "deal."
...
the next evening, you two sat closely in the shared corner of the library, hunched over the problem you were stuck on. his pencil glided over the silky paper- graphite tracing dark lines and shapes into the paper. they represented the familiar functions and complicated formulas which you had struggled solving. within a couple of minutes he finishes the question- ending his workings with two angular lines below the final answer.
admittedly, you weren't really paying attention to how he was solving the problem. instead you were too focused on the way his features softened into something a little more serious while he did the math. his brows knit softly together, lips pursing ever so slightly- you began to curse under your breath because of how pretty this man looked under the warm light.
"do you get it now?" he leans over to whisper in your ear. you redirect your gaze to the paper before humming "i get this part." pointing at the beginning of the problem, delicately tracing the writing before stopping at a later part. " but how'd you get this figure?" you query. lifting your gaze to make eye contact with the man next to you.
meanwhile, he drops his to the paper, analyzing the part you had trouble in. lifting the pencil again, he explains the reasoning behind the working while drawing simpler examples to break the concept down for you. attentive, you make a note to realize this random guy- whom you don't even know the name of- is really good at teaching this shit.
as he finishes you let out a small chuckle, soft enough not to track attention from the librarian again. the man next to you raises his brow ,expression unreadable. "what's so funny?" he pouts. "it's nothing. you're just really good at this tutoring shit. you must have had loads of experience huh." you quip. he huffs in response "I don't tutor people" "aww so am i an exception?" you tease, pouting your lips, and batting your eyelashes dramatically at him. he laughs- "maybe, or maybe i just feel bad for you." both of you giggle softly over the witty exchange before a comforting silence preserves the odd tension between the two of you.
...
you continue repeating this routine- waking up, going to class then immediately cooping yourself in the library with the mysterious boy you met two weeks ago.
oddly enough, you never recall seeing him roam free outside of the library- let alone any class. you and him never exchanged any sort of socials, hell you didn't even know his name. it made you wonder, how did you not know his name? and for the first time, it became a problem you were more eager to solve over the ones in your text books.
...
"something on your mind?" the round eyed boy questions, poking your arm with his index- just within a short time he has grown awfully affectionate- "nope." you respond coolly, making sure to stress the necessary syllables. he pouts, "you're a terrible liar." you hum in acknowledgment. allowing the silence to grow space between the childish exchange.
mind still pondering on the true identity of the anonymous boy beside you. "hey" "hmm?" you hesitate asking for a minute, but eventually your curiosity boils over "i still don't know your name." he turns his head to look at you- his signature grin missing. uncharacteristically, he was quiet. you and him hold eye contact for awhile, confused your face contorts into an awkward expression- anticipating his answer.
"nagumo."
"....what?"
...
storming your way into your dorm, you fumble loosely with the keys before jamming them harshly into the lock. bursting into your room- miko shrieks in shock, her whole body flinching at your arrival. "jesus, what's got you all worked up?" she exhales dramatically. "my hot tutor is the guy i've been trying to one up for the past week." miko whistles "sheesh, are you describing a romcom or your life?" you groan- "not funny."
miko hums playing with the corner of her pillow, "so what now, you just gonna ghost him? beat him up? threaten him to lower his grades just so you can pass?" you sigh bringing your hands to rub your face "forget it, i'll just have to find a way to beat his score conventionally." miko smirks "without him tutoring you though?" she asks, uncertainty and disbelief in her tone.
"i thought you said your grades were getting visibly better after he started tutoring you?" groaning you toss yourself onto your bed, face planting into your pillow. "yea.. but if that means i have to face him knowing i was openly trashing him the whole week, no thanks."
miko laughs, "you've acted like you've not said worse about everyone else on campus." "yeah but i don't give a fuck about them." you snort. mikos smile widens "oh? and since when did you begin to give a fuck in the first place? don't tell me you're developing a crush on nagumo?" she suggests, wiggling her brow. "hah, a crush? no way. a little curious? maybe." you argue back. your voice a little smaller at the end of the statement.
miko rolls her eyes- "curious about what he's got in his pants? or what?" "WHAT?! NO!" you shriek, "yeah yeah just don't get pregnant kay?"
"MIKO??"
...
"alright! pay attention, you have exactly 3 more quizzes and one more month until you have to sit for the final chapter exam. all these quizzes will be graded out of 25% and your final will be out of 25% as well." your eyes bore into the big screen, in your safe corner of the huge lecture hall, you gaze begins to shift. for the first time in 3 years, you began to scan the unassuming faces in the hall, only for it to land on a particularly familiar one.
nagumo had his hair down. a sight you rarely saw since he often stole the rubber band on your wrist during your daily sessions- hastily ridding the long locks obstructing his vision. in a familiar manner, he had his cheek rested lazily on the palm of his hand, and from your view, you had direct sight of the ever slight stubborn fat of his cheeks. his giant saucers, sagged tiredly; his glance boring at his free hand, fidgeting with his pencil.
you stared shamelessly, and nagumo always knew when you had your eyes on him.
his gaze lifts lazily to meet yours; his signature smirk began to curl playfully on his lips. you blink at him, unimpressed. both of you began to stare each other down, an indescribable tension began to grow between the two of you before your professors voice pulls both of your attention, "now, all of you show great promise. i have no doubt most of you can excel even with the new additions in this class." he remarks eyeing you before glancing over to nagumos vicinity.
following your professors eyes, you find that nagumo's grin widens, his eyes crinkling kindly at the professor- almost as if he was thanking him. nagumo drops the facade, his face resting into something more genuine before gaining eye contact with you again. "good luck" he mouthed in your direction, a sly smirk on his lips.
the taunt gnawed at your pride, this became more then petty rivalry- it was war.
...
less than a week has passed , and yet it had seemed you reverted back to your old ways. avoiding the library, you opted for the confines of your room- spending your time writing lines after lines of mathematical problems you gaslit yourself to understanding. only ever leaving for class, or to train and spar with miko. nights always consistent of a cold can of your favorite energy drink- and a nice date with your textbooks. unfortunately due to this new routine, your stock depleted rather quickly. yet, you took this as an opportunity to leave the confines of the sterile campus.
sighing, you gather the empty cans into a large plastic bag before shoving all the paper filled with your failed attempts along with it. tying the the plastic bag closed- you haphazardly slip on a random pair of shoes before grabbing a large hoodie closest to you.
tip toeing out of the JCC campus, you pull your phone out to check the time- 1:24. as you continue the route that would eventually lead you to the convenience store, the peaceful night was disrupted by a loud voice "WHAT? NO WAY GIVE IT BACK!". you look up from your phone- just outside the convenience you see a girl around your age, her hair was a flurry of bright cyan, poorly tamed into blunt curls. next to her a man who had his hair tied neatly into a bun, the white strays lightly tickling his brow.
he was holding a cigarette- well more like protecting the cigarette- from the whining girl, a scowl apparent on his face. you brush them off, sauntering your way into the store and making a beeline for the drinks section. with a small cart in hand you toss a few cans into the basket, ensuring none of them were defected. suddenly, a box of chocolate pocky appears in your cart, unsure if you unknowingly placed one in, you lift it up to inspect the confectionary.
"oh wow are you actually gonna buy that for me? what an angel!" your ears perk at the familiar voice- craning your neck to face the owner; a deep annoyance becomes apparent in your features. a stark contrast to his rather joyful one. "miss me?"
you scoff tossing the box of pocky at his face which he (unfortunately) catches in a swift motion, smile still coy on his lips. "you wish. why are you stalking me." "yowch, is it wrong for a tutor to check on their students progress?" you roll your eyes, exhaling sharply, "you were never my tutor and i was never your student."
he hums "i feel like you would've said other wise just a week ago." you stay quiet, you won't deny that indeed, you felt he benefited you greatly in your struggle- but the bitter betrayal you felt was much stronger then the grades he brought to the table. it made you wonder why it he bothered you so much. why couldn't he just have told me?
"..why couldn't you just tell me from the start?" you dropped your gaze; too ashamed to make eye contact with him. nagumo stayed quiet, uncharacteristically so, it made you nervous, anticipating his reply. "i liked hanging out with you."
you shift your glance eyes meeting his. "i was worried, if i told you that day you'd stop hanging out with me." he chuckled, but not in his usual song tune. his glance dropping to his feet, "it's stupid, i know-"
"I like hanging out with you too." you confess rather bluntly- though internally, you were panicking. his eyes shoots up to meet your expression. ".. and I'm sorry i said all that crap about you."
his round eyes widened, eye lashes batting rapidly- almost as if he was checking if he was hallucinating.
"you're not mad?" he asks meekly. you don't know if his reaction scared or humoured you- an awkward chuckle erupts from your throat, "surprisingly, i'm not so mad it was you."
his lip twitched, curling back into his familiar grin. "thank god." he sighed dramatically- "does that mean we're.... cool ?" he quips, mirth tipping over in his tone. you hum, "only if it means you'll share your snacks- and that we finally get to see who's better at close combat."
nagumo laughs, his grin widening "deal."
...
"ah... fuck..!" your eyes rolled to the back of your skull- face flushed with drool dripping shamelessly down your chin. eyes shutting tight, trying to find relief from the addictive pleasure.
"nuh uh... eyes up here pretty.." nagumo croons lowly, his eyes dark with lust. his hand snakes around your jaw, yanking it harshly to meet his dazed stare.
his grin lazy, though faltering ever so slightly every time you squeezed around him. the room was filled with lewd sounds- the squelching of your heat fluttering around nagumo's hard length followed with your gasps and whines, bounced off the walls and fell entertainingly onto nagumo's ears.
he had you in such a degrading position, bent over a desk your skirt- which you purposely choose due to its risqué length- crumpled and wrapped securely within his balled fist, your whole ass on display.
his pace was merciless, his hips bruising the plush of your ass, fat tip drilling brutally all the way into your cervix. "aww... what happened to all that talk huh? you were soo fuckin' chatty just awhile ago hm..?" he spits, voice dripping in thick honey. "fuck.. ah.. you nagumo... shit!"
the palm of his free hand met the round of your ass, "we went through this no? i told you to call me yoichi." he tuts, tongue clicking in disapproval. hand now sadistically stroking the reddening print on the fat mound. you let out a whimper, rather pathetic on your end but with the way his large hand kept wandering- made it difficult for you to care.
his palm slipped through your shirt, groping one if your tits. his index and thumb skillfully pinched and pawed feverishly at your flesh- cold fingers caressing your buds made your head toss back in pleasure. he took notice, his grip releasing from your skirt, finding purchase in the locks of your hair. "comon.. you can do it. your such a smart girl hm?"
your face flushes at the endearment- yet your attention was averted by his hand dipping dangerously between your thighs. his finger dips into your folds, drawing circular motions on your clit- instantly your pleasure boils over. "ah! fuck y-yoichi, please don't stop..." you babble uncontrollably.
he hums in amusement "fuck... such a good girl f'me." his hips snapped against yours at an impossibly fast pace- his own groans began to grow apparent- torso pressing against your back. his hands snake downwards, palm pressing on your stomach- he chuckles darkly. "shit, i can feel myself through here.."
you moan in response. nagumo's hands groped at the side of your hips- growing impatient he chases his high, borderline lifting your lower body off the floor, treating you like some fuck-doll. your throat gives out by the action. mouth molded into an o shape with no viable sounds escaping its confines. you feel the heat pooling in your abdomen grow tighter and with every brutal snap! your high draws abundantly near.
"ngh... y-yoichi please...!" you whine, "hm? please what pretty girl.. use your words." nagumo drawls. "c- fuck! p-please cum i-inside.." you pathetically confess.
nagumos hips stuttering at the sudden request his eyes widening before softening into something more gentle. "are you sure?" he asks uncertainly. groaning his pace grew irregular, taking almost everything in him not to stuff your pretty cunt in that moment.
"m-mhm! wanna feel s'full m.. please?" you ask sweetly , eyes brimming with tears of pleasure, cheeks flushed and hair array- how could he ever say no?
nagumo's arms curled securely around your waist- hugging the small of your back. his hips snapped to meet your sopping cunt at a feverish pace, your moans kept spilling with each thrust.
burying his nose into your neck, he kissed and sucked small marks, groaning in between each one. feeling his balls tighten uncomfortably, he let out a loud moan, his tone reaching another octave- which would have been embarrassing but with the way you look under him, and the way you were moaning on his dick- he really couldn't care less.
the knot in your stomach snapped at the sound of his moan- your head blown back you let out a high pitched scream. the pleasure dying at the back of your throat. nagumo's pace stayed brutal on the attempts to chase his own high.
fat tears began running down your face due to the sheer overstimulation. your arms and head gave out- your cheek and drool now met with the cold wooden table in nagumo's dorm.
"fuck.. m gn'a cum..." he confessed through girt teeth. he flips you around, hands around your hips as he drills his cock deeper into your drooling cunt. his lips crashing onto yours as he drinks your moans in. groaning into your mouth before you feel his hot cum stuff your sopping heat.
riding his high, his mouth never left yours. his tongue swiping your bottom lip before parting. his pace now slowed and staggered. slowly, he pulls out. both your pants filled the room- soft warm light casting a glow on your soft skin.
he looks so ethereal like this. his dark locks slick with sweat sticking loosely on his forehead, eye brows pinched together, and his round eyes scanning your body for any damage he might have caused.
"are you okay?" he asks between pants. looking you up from the curve of your waist to the marks on your neck- he scans your expression for any discomfort- although cursing himself mentally for finding your roughed up appearance rather attractive.
"yeah, im okay.." he sighs in relief. reaching over to grab tissues before getting on his knees to clean the mess between your thighs. "ah.. it's really quite a mess though.. do you want to shower?" he asks sheepishly lifting his head to meet yours. embarrassed, you just nod. a grin stretches widely across his face "yay!"
he stood up abruptly, arms suddenly swiping you off your feet carrying you into his shower bridal style. you squeak, slapping his shoulder "hey! atleast give me a warning." chuckling he lets you go, reaching for the faucet to turn on the water.
you hum, observing the various gels and soaps in his bathroom as the hot water began running down your sticky figure. sighing in relief nagumos arms snakes around your stomach - head resting on your shoulder. you reach your hand up to scratch his scalp, until you felt something poking your ass.
"yoichi..?"
"mmhh?"
"you're hard again."
".... ehe..."
...
after a very long and gruelling shower- nagumo begins rummaging through his drawers for clothes you could wear- now clad in a pair of his boxers and hoodie, you laid comfortably in the corner of his twin-sized bed. lazily tapping on your phone checking your dms. you fail to notice the bed shifting under his weight. wiggling onto you, he wrapped his arms around your stomach pulling it down to meet his face.
you groan in annoyance- he takes it as a sign of affection. stuffing his face into the soft fabric of his your hoodie. sighing you tangle your fingers into his damp locks, massaging his skull. nagumo hums appreciatively, the vibrations warming your abdomen.
"y'know i think were past all that tutor-student stuff." nagumo hums, "ish thart souw." he muffles into your stomach. "yeah." lifting his head he looks at your expression. he had never seen you so gentle and genuine, right now you weren't just a girl he met at the library. you were someone he wanted to compete with for the rest of his life.
deep down nagumo knew you were always smarter than him. beautiful, hardworking and dangerous. he was just lucky enough to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. spending time with you, seeing you so passionate brought out a side of him he didn't know he was missing- because under all the teasing and the playful remarks- nagumo yoichi was drowning in love with you.
his eyes spoke all that you wanted to know. reassured you sigh contently. embracing his figure before allowing slumber to inch closer to both of you.
notes: ahhhhhhhhh it took me way too long to write this 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 i just wanted to make sure it was a good read and not a shit post lol. i hope u guys like it!! im so obsessed with nagumo its a problem.... hehe. thanks for finishing this fic! love all of you.
Synopsis: Hoshina pays you a visit to the 2nd Division.
Tags: fem reader, porn with a bit of plot, Hoshina is a YEARNER, LOVER BOY, DOWN BAD, reader is in the 2nd division, smut, cunnilingus, i dont even remember what i wrote but he's a worshipper, established relationship, (3.3k words)
You were used to a loud, fast paced life. One where your gun was in hand’s reach, where all you knew was to shoot, reload, and repeat.
Being one of Japan’s most relied on soldiers during the height of number 9’s terror was a boulder on your shoulders, just as it was a roar of pride smeared on your chest.
With disciplined, heavily practiced cleaves, you tore your way through bodies of kaiju every single time the battle clock reset, promising to do it time and time again, always showing up when Japan needed you most. When the people needed the likes of Gen Narumi and Mina Ashiro, you always stood beside them–the single unit that could tip the scales.
Then came the press. You’ve probably undergone the most media training over all of the higher ups in your inner circle of captains and vice captains, and the one the JAKDF relies on the most for public appearances. You were the best balance of short, curt responses and controlled pois that the JAKDF wanted, which lands you into those quick, thirty second media briefs minutes before being pushed onto a podium, still in your battle suit that smelt like kaiju remains.
In short, it’s a vicious cycle of forgetting what a work-life balance is until you’re finally alone in your office, slumping a bit on your seat as you gulp down some vitamin jelly packs your secretary sent you.
“The damages have been sustained around the 5km radius of the kaiju attack. No confirmed civilian casualties yet, but search and rescue are currently combing through the area as we speak..” Your eyes roll towards the TV, slightly wincing at the sound of your own voice. A bit ironic, since you’d think you’d be used to it by now, but alas, that small hint of cringe still lingered.
Today’s press conference was thankfully not a disaster, but with 9’s existence out of the bag, public unrest was increasingly making its rounds. The JAKDF was getting swarmed with questions left and right, from both public and private sectors. It made standing onto that podium a bit heavier.
You could see your figure keep its trained posture amidst camera flashes and unrelenting questions from the press, asking if 9 was behind the attack, if civilians had to start evacuating, if the JAKDF can really handle an attack of such a caliber. “We will refrain from further inquiries until our investigations have–”
You finally shut down the TV, and with a sigh, threw your remote across the room onto the couch. Sinking further down onto your chair, you unbutton your uniform and open your next pack of vitamin jellies. “That number 9 needs to get gone soon, I swear…” you mumbled, “Using this numbers weapon is going to kill me…”
Just as you were in the middle of throwing your little fest of complaints, a series of knocks racked through your door. Deducing it was your secretary, you didn’t even glance at the door as you wrinkled your eyes further. You’d complain about it being 11:48 on a Friday night, but everyone in this line of work knew that any sense of normal workplace logic does not apply here.
With that in mind, you rose to your feet, sliding the door without a second glance. “Machida, just email it to me.”
“Do I look like a Machida to you?” You paused, seeing a mop of familiar purple hair. Soshiro. His foxy smile felt at home in your heart, and the whiff of his familiar musk released a small weight from your chest you didn’t even realize was there.
The man eyes you softly, making his way into your office as you close the door. “Soshiro…” You whispered, not to anyone in particular.
“Wanted to call, but I know you keep your phone off after dealing with the press,” The vice captain started, his steps leading him to the middle of your quarters. “So came to pick you up myself.”
You stare at him, feeling a bit self conscious over your state now. Still smelling like kaiju entrails, with built up sweat on your body. You always get a bit of a clean up before facing the press, but that definitely doesn’t stand in for a shower. “Pick me up?” You bring back the topic first.
Soshiro smiles once more, a bit of worry laced in his voice. “What’s the point of a shared apartment if we don’t use it from time to time?” He makes his way over to you, brushing a bit of rubble on your uniform that the team must’ve missed. “Come home, dearest.”
As his sweet voice reaches your ears, you feel his calloused hand already tracing the small band-aid on your cheek. Today’s battle was particularly weary on your body, and you could feel Soshiro’s displeasure from the hint of darkness in his eyes. Not at you, not at the Defense Force, but at circumstances. “Come home.” He murmured.
“I miss my wife.”
Your heart fluttered at his endearment. At the mix of sadness and longing in his voice. At Soshiro Hoshino’s proximity in both body and soul to you at this very moment.
Both of you knew the weight of the world at the moment. That weight was especially strong for two vice captains. Here you were, barely a year into your marriage, and you hadn’t even had time to add the final touches to your city apartment.
You knew what you both were getting into ever since he confessed to you, ever since you came and bowed in front of the head of the Hoshina household, ever since you donned on that shiromuku. You don’t let go of your weapons. You don’t let go of your duty.
But somewhere along the line, Soshiro Hoshina’s duty shifted to you.
With a soft brush of his lips against yours, he melts into your touch, kissing you deeply and inhaling your scent, as if to make sure his being becomes marked by yours.
You let out a soft, weary moan, before pulling away and fixing up your collar. With a cough, you run your fingers through your hair before returning to your seat.
Like a giddy fox, Soshiro follows you to your side, watching as you tidy up some paperwork that was previously strewn about your desk. The author forgot to mention this before, but it’s there.
He watches you pick up a pen, quickly cutting you off. “Are you not exhausted, my wife?” He sternly, takes away some of the paperwork, eliciting a groan from you. “I’m taking these to Machida.”
“Isn’t it better for me to get it done before we go home?” You replied, drawing out your words a bit as you feel a bit more dreariness make its way to your eyes. “If I get an early start…”
“...Machida can hold onto these and sort out the really important ones. You already did the conference. It’s time to relax.” Soshiro cuts you off, already piling up the papers and neatly putting them in a box labeled ‘secretary’. He makes sure to add a sticky note too, plucking the pen out of your fingers (eliciting a complaint from you) to write a short message detailing the situation before returning it to your stationary holder.
He brushes his two hands against each other comically, before turning back to you. “There, settled. I’m driving tonight…” His voice waivers as he sees your half lidded eyes, leaning back onto the chair with dreary breaths.
You must be exhausted. He knows your hours have been tough, and with the addition of your numbers weapon, the strain must be a lot of getting used to. He recalls the papers from earlier. A lot more media affairs than he usually sees. You must be working your ass off with number 9 on the loose.
He sees you stretch your body vigorously, hearing cracks and exclaims of surprise as you wriggle your limbs to release some tension. You continue complaining to him about taking away your papers, undoing the zipper of your top to finally leave you free for some air, now only clad in your tank top and loose pants.
The sight makes him swallow a bit. It’s not an unusual one–you’ve been very very close in your time together, so something like this is nothing–he thinks, but he is quickly reminded of how much of a losing battle he was when he sees you turn your head to the side, exposing your neck.
In the back of his mind, it dawns on him that the two of you haven’t been intimate for a long time. A good while. Too much of an interlude.
“Give me a minute–eugh I’m so sticky–I stretched my back the wrong way last fight,” you continued. “Seriously though, I’m already giving Machida enough trouble. Igarashi’s also running around back and forth. We’re getting so much spam mail too it’s crazy–” Soshiro just keeps his eyes glued onto you. “God, I want a break, I want to check out Okinawa or go back to Kyoto for once, but they’re probably going to lock down the airport and train stations in a the minute we secure our tickets, ugh, this is the worst–”
Soshiro makes sure the door is locked, before he makes his advances towards you. You jolt in surprise as you suddenly feel his hands on your thighs, pushing you to the back of your seat. “Soshiro!”
“My dear–” He starts. “You look very tired.”
You nod.
He gives it a few moments, looking down a bit before meeting your eyes again. “I have an offer.”
You raise your brow. “Go on.”
He goes up to kiss your lips, which you graciously accept. “Soshiro?” You gasp.
He pulls away, drawing a breath. “Let me help you relax…”
The way he looks at you in times like these always makes you skip a beat. With all that longing in his eyes, as if he was a starved man, how could you say no?
Your eyes flit to the door for a split second, making sure it’s locked. It’s almost midnight and you’re in your quarters anyways, so there’s really not much of a risk…
Soshiro is still wagging his tail in front of you, waiting for your response.
It has been a while. You sigh, lowering your tank top before tracing his lips. Like a moth to a flame, he follows your lead to face your laced bra. “Make it quick. We’ll continue this at home.”
You swore you’ve never seen a man be so happy as he dives onto your mounds, sly fingers reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra and quickly make way for his mouth. At the wet sensation of his tongue on your left nipple, you can't help but quickly feel your breath taken away, made clear by a sweet moan escaping your lips.
Soshiro worked like a man starved, one hand fondling your nipples and another diligently sucking them, curling your toes as you let out an onslaught of silent moans. He’s gentle–or he tries to be, until a particular sharp moan from you edges him on to go rougher, switching to your right nipples so as to not neglect any part of your body.
You gasp, hands making their way to his hair as he shows no sign of stopping. Soshiro was a man who usually took his time, but he was also one that respected his wife’s wishes. So, as a middle ground, he’ll make sure you feel good while he also gets enough of his fill to last the ride home.
“Soshi–” you held back a grunt, locking eyes with him. “Soshi–” you drew out a moan, matching your husband's grunts and groans of approval. “Soshiro!” He releases your breast with an embarrassing ‘pop’, before he gets on his knees with his hands already on your hips.
With his saliva already on the crevices of his mouth, he holds back no shame as he pulls down your pants in one swift motion, putting his nose on your clothed cunt. He savors the moment, relishes in it even, before locking eyes with you again. “I missed you.”
You laughed a bit. “That’s abundantly clear.”
Soshiro gets back to business quickly, pulling off your panties without a second thought and spreading your legs open. Feeling the air hit your core, you instinctively try to close your legs, but Soshiro knows you all too well, and he’s already prying you open like a trained response. “Darling, let me help you relax.”
He smiles, seeing your flushed out face, your body all spread out for him. He’s even beaming when he sees your wetness start to drip down the leather of the chair, feeling a sense of pride well up on his chest. God, he was the luckiest man in the world.
Without further ado, he dives down, wetting your cunt and plunging his tongue deep into your heat, eliciting the cutest moan from your throat. He keeps your legs open as you instinctively squirm around, sucking up all your juices like a champion.
He feels even more pride as he feels your fingers bunch up his hair, before shoving him further down your throat. He could ABSOLUTELY die happy now.
With every lick, every part of you touched, you felt more and more heat pull up in your core. “God, Soshiro, you’re like a man parched…”
“Is it wrong for me to miss my wife?” He momentarily replies, before one of his hands leaves your thighs to circle around your clit. You immediately hiss, eyes rolling back as he draws out yet another wistful moan from you. As he keeps up his onslaught of attacks on your clit, you can only keep cursing as the heat in your stomach keeps churning. “Mm, you’re so cute, honey. All this for me.”
Soshiro spits on his finger, before slowly inserting it inside you. He shushes you gently as his other hand covers your mouth, keeping your moans in check. “So wet already. I didn’t have to try much to get it in.”
As he curls his finger upwards, seeing you jolt from pleasure alone made him so close to cumming in his pants. Remembering your request, his fingers make quick work of you, curling them with a rhythm. Then, when he reaches that spot that makes you melt, he knows he’s got you.
“Mmh.. god, god there…” You whine, tears pricking at your eyes as Soshiro is already prepping another finger to go in. “There there–oh–” you choked. “holy fuck–”
You don’t know where to put your hands anymore, but they land on Soshiro's scalp yet again, and before you know it, you’ve led his tongue back to your clit, and Soshiro, being a good husband, eats it all up like it’s all routine.
As his wet tongue slips and sucks your puffy clit, you feel your head spin and all reason run loose from how good his fingers were hitting your g-spot. The thought alone had sent you back to the last few months, where he had you in the same state plus tenfold on your shared bed. God, he was really trying to sell that trip back home, and my god was it working.
Unbeknownst to you, Soshiro glances at the clock for just a millisecond, before he brutally picks up the pace and leaves you holding back your screams. Your breasts were bouncing in rhythm with your laboured breaths, and you could feel the leather beneath you slowly slosh around with an unholy mix of sweat, saliva, and everything that’s coming out of your pussy. It was disgusting, and you knew you had to clean it up as soon as you finish, but my god, Soshiro was doing such a good job messing up your insides that nothing else mattered at that moment.
At the height of your pleasure, you gasp as a familiar feeling washes over your senses. “Wait, shit– Soshiro wait–” You panicked, but it was all too late.
Your sentence was quickly cut off by a yelp as you squirted all over Soshiro’s face, your leather chair, and the floor of your quarters. “Ah…” you croaked in place. Fuck, now you’ll really have to make sure Machida doesn’t pay too much attention to your office when he clocks in in the morning…
It has been a while since you’ve even touched yourself, and even more so since you and Soshiro had gotten intimate, but to have that physical proof laid out all over his wet bangs now…!
God, Soshiro WILL never let you live this down. You look up to him again, already blabbing apologies and promising him a wet towel, but the man is only all the more smug like the freak he is as he sends you a sly look before resuming his activities, causing you to jolt again with the motion of his fingers. “f-FUCK! Soshiro you damn freak!–”
Your moans are uncontrollable now, Soshiro putting his full force into forcing that knot in your stomach to snap. Tears are running down your cheeks now, another shameful moan leaving your throat as his free hand that was previously on your mouth now fondled your nipple again, leaving you squirming in your own juices.
Then, it happens. With one final choked out moan from you, he finally draws out your orgasm, fingering you through it with mastery only achievable from knowing your body all too well. He kisses your cunt one more time, before he sucks and licks all and any remaining come that has left your body. Of course, you’re now trying to move his scalp away from your cunt, but the smug bastard toys with your overstimulated body a more before he meets your face with a smile.
“Aw~” he shuts you up with a teasing kiss, smearing your juices on your own lips. “You missed me that much?”
You send him a dirty look, still harboring heavy breaths. “Shut up, help me clean this up.” You push him away and attempt to stand, wincing at not how your entire lower body was covered in liquids, but also at the fact that it was dripping onto the floor. “Oh my god, shit Soshiro…”
The cheeky bastard has the audacity to grope your chest once more, eliciting a yelp from you while he laughs, before he helps you clip your bra back on and pull your tank top up. He’s already reaching for the tissues you keep in one of your drawers, handing you a few before getting to work. “Kept my promise, didn't I?” He smirks. “Made you relax, and I made it quick.”
You glance at the clock. True, he really did keep it quick. Rolling your eyes, you reach for your jacket and pants, making quick work to look presentable again. “Come on, it’s gonna look suspicious for both of us if we don’t show our faces at the main lobby by now.”
He follows your lead, but not before squeezing your ass on the way out, leading to you smacking him lightly on the head as retaliation. “Soshiro!”
He laughs as a response, fox like as ever, before following your lead down the hallway. “You know I’m not done with you yet…” you feel his sly gaze on your body again, leading to another smack sent across his forehead. “Owie!”
“Save it for the bedroom,” you sigh, rolling your eyes as you pick up your pace, leaving your eager husband following your trail with car keys in hand.
As the two of you finally went through the hallways, you fail to notice a flabbergasted figure hiding by a corner near your office.
“...”
“...I’ll give her these reports tomorrow…” Machida fixes his glasses shakily, clearing his throat before awkwardly trekking away from your office. Next time, he’s clearing out of the general vicinity when he sees your husband step foot onto the 2nd Division, lest he wants his boss’ private life echoing in his mind again.
tags. college/uni au, happy au, nagumo centric, nagumo’s pov, motorcycle rides, road trip, beach vacays, sakamoto is whipped for aoi, akao being her menace self, fluff & humor, identity crisis, overthinking, meeting the parents, pining, soft nagumo, mild sexual content, paranoid kissing, vaginal fingering, hand jobs, orgasms, more pining!!!
author’s note. i’m genuinely running out of ideas for this au so here’s some fluff (and other stuff) that has nothing to do within academic premises
By four in the morning, Nagumo, Sakamoto, and Akao rolled out of the city. The sky was bruised purple and hadn’t yet been touched by the sun. Nagumo perched on Akao’s bike—a true spiritual experience, mostly because he knew he would spend the entire ride wondering if this time he’d finally meet some higher power.
For the sake of scenic routes, Akao was adamant about avoiding boring expressways. Nagumo spent the first hour watching blurred neon signs and gray concrete melt into the dark as they zipped by, Akao’s poor hair whipping against his helmet like a windstorm.
What was supposed to be a five-hour travel from the city to the coast spiraled into a grueling eight-hour journey of loitering and lung cancer activities. It seemed like every time there was a gas station or souvenir shop, Akao decided her nicotine levels were at an all time low. They would pull over and Akao would leisurely burn through half the pack.
Meanwhile, Nagumo scrolled through his phone, munching on whatever he could find in his bag as he sent you pictures of sights along the way. Sakamoto, of course, was the other reason their ETA kept crawling toward afternoon. Trying to quit smoking, Sakamoto had every excuse to wander into the back corners of these shops, avoiding the chimney that was Akao, but mainly to loot for trinkets to bring back for Aoi. By hour six, Sakamoto’s saddle bags were clinking with the weight of keychains and hand-painted charms, holding a small satisfied smile every time he zipped them up.
Heat shimmered in waves off the baked asphalt as the sun climbed up. Nagumo’s shoulders were beginning to feel stiff and his bum a bit sore. The constant stopovers were brief respites, until it had turned the trip into an odyssey—a true test for his god-like patience.
During the middle hours, they pushed deeper into the rural routes, navigating unpaved shortcuts and crossing small bridges. Their engines roared past farmers in rice paddies with the mountains as the backdrop. The air changed completely, smelling of mangoes and sun warmed earth that made the city feel like a distant dream. Eventually, the dense foliage began to thin, revealing glimpses of blue, sparkling through the gaps among the trees. The horizon stretched out to where the sky kissed the sea.
They reached the hidden trail near the shore.
“Don’t buy cheap meat!” Nagumo exclaimed, his voice propelled by the wind.
Sakamoto and Akao were already bickering over who would drive and who would carry the goods. Once things were finally settled, their voices faded as they peeled away toward the nearest town market to stock up.
Nagumo was left with manual labor, a role he usually bullshitted his way out of. But there’s no one to bullshit here except the sand and the birds. He checked his phone—still no replies from you—and shoved it back inside his pocket. Wondering what you were up to, he hauled the heavy gear from Sakamoto’s bike, his slippers sinking into the volcanic white sand of a beach Kindaka had kept miraculously untouched over the years.
For the next hour, Nagumo wrestled with the tent—a massive beast of a thing that was definitely an overkill for three people. He took his time, waiting for the heavy canvas to stop billowing before finally pinning it down. Ensuring the two had enough space to kick around in their sleep without breaking his ribs, he smoothed out the ground cloth and interior. The last flap now zipped, Nagumo stood back to admire his work, brushing back his sweaty bangs off his forehead, feeling the salt air stuck to his skin. It was so quiet—too quiet—that he was beginning to worry Sakamoto and Akao might get distracted and spend their entire food budget on more souvenirs.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving them with a sky thick with stars—it felt like they were under a different galaxy. The only light on their private stretch of sand came from the orange of the bonfire Akao was coaxing into a roar. Salt, wood, and the smoky aroma of barbecue filled Nagumo’s lungs. Sakamoto crouched over the grill, his focus as intense as if he were disarming an explosive when he was just flipping pork skewers.
Slumped flat on a beach towel, the cool glow of Nagumo’s phone illuminated his face, thumb hovered over the screen, refreshing your chat, maybe, for the hundredth time now—still no reply from you. He told himself the signal in this part of town was just shit. But the little knot in his chest was far from loosening. He had sent you a photo of the sunset, a blurry shot of the road, and even a silly selfie of himself with Sakamoto looking lost and Akao mid-smoke. But a response remained elusive.
“Hey, Sakamoto,” Akao’s voice cut through the sound of crashing waves, a fresh cigarette dangling from her lips as she tossed another branch into the flames. “Still claiming you’re quitting? I’ve seen you eyeing my pack every time I light up.”
Sakamoto didn’t look up from the sizzling meat, his expression ever unchanged, “The nicotine patches are working.”
“Yeah, that and keeping the souvenir industry alive,” Akao snickered, blowing smoke toward the dark sea. “At this rate, you’re going to need a sidecar for all your romantic pebbles.”
Nagumo saw an opening. He needed something to pull him out of his head before he started imagining you had forgotten about him already. He put his phone facedown on the sand, the silence from you still stinging.
“Speaking of the lovely lady,” Nagumo started, standing up to stretch his stiff limbs. “Have you met Aoi-san’s parents, Sakamoto-kun?”
“Look who decided to join in, Sakamoto!” Akao drawled, eyes glinting in reflected firelight. “Asked by the guy who disappears before the sun comes up, no less.”
“It’s just a question, Akao.” And to dismiss the sudden heat crawling up Nagumo’s neck, he let out an airy laugh, his voice as neutral as possible. “After eight hours of watching Sakamoto-kun curate a museum of keychains for Aoi-san, I wonder how deep the rabbit hole goes… out of pure academic curiosity, of course.”
“Academic, my ass.” Akao snorted, perked up, and fixed him with a look that was too sharp for someone three beers deep. Nodding at Nagumo’s phone, her face split into a grin, “You’ve been staring at that screen like a time bomb. That’s your own rabbit hole.”
“You know how my folks are.” Nagumo shrugged. Even to him, his excuse sounded thin. “Just checking the signal. I’d hate to make mom worried.”
Akao barked out a laugh. “Is it really your folks? Or is our prince charming here finally getting a taste of his own medicine?”
“Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe talk properly, Akao?” Nagumo waved her off, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. Now turning to Sakamoto, “So, Sakamoto-kun… have you? How did it go?”
“He’s scouting the terrain!” Akao cackled as she threw another branch to the fire. “Sakamoto! Look at him, he’s already practicing his ‘son-in-law’ bow!”
Sakamoto didn’t answer immediately. Poking at a skewer with a pair of tongs, his expression was unreadable as a stone wall. The silence stretched with the crackle of the fire and Akao’s wheezing snickers.
“It was quiet,” Sakamoto finally responded, “We had tea. Her parents didn’t say much.”
“See? You can’t do quiet, Nagumo.” Akao snorted so hard Nagumo was sure a bit of beer nearly came out of her nose. “You’d probably start doing card tricks just to fill the silence!”
“That’s it?” Nagumo sat back down and didn’t look away from Sakamoto. “They didn’t interrogate you, Sakamoto-kun?”
Sakamoto paused, the tongs hovering over the grill. “Just the usual questions… where I saw myself in five years. If I had a stable job. Looked at my hands.”
“That’s actually especially perfect for you and your silky soft hands, Nagumo.” Akao interjected, poking Nagumo’s sides with her toes. “Trust fund and all.”
Nagumo gripped Akao’s foot, ignored her and kept his attention on Sakamoto.
“And? What else?”
The tent was a quiet chaos. To Nagumo’s left, Akao was sprawled out like she was dropped from a height, her snoring sharp and abrupt. To his right, Sakamoto was an immovable boulder, his breathing steady like the tide outside. Nagumo was pinned between them in the middle, staring up through the mesh ceiling—a sky so crowded the stars felt suffocating.
You still haven’t replied, his phone a silent brick facedown under his makeshift pillow. Akao’s teasing from earlier still echoed in his head. She was right, though. She had her own brand of pointing them out but they were right, more often than not. As much as Nagumo hated to admit it—he didn’t do ‘parents’. The concept felt alien. And it wasn’t because he was socially inept. He had navigated parties and stiff formal dinners with his own family, sometimes with highly important people invited. But those people? They weren’t important to him. Even in his sleep he could play those parts with ease.
But you… you actually mentioned your family wanting to meet him. And said so casually too—classic you. The idea of sitting across a dinner table from the people who shaped the person he—who shaped you, was terrifying. Was he someone a mother wouldn’t worry about? Were his hands worthy of your father’s handshake?
Was he even good enough at all?
And your silence was only making it worse. Every minute that passed without a notification made him wonder if you were second guessing the idea too—or if you’d realized that bringing someone like him home was more trouble than it was worth. Nagumo shifted slightly, the nylon rustling, but his two friends beside him didn’t even flinch.
Nagumo was in the middle of paradise, literally, figuratively. Yet here he was, wide awake, feeling like a recruit on his first day.
The ride back to the city was slow. The wind and the fabric of his jacket against his skin felt like sandpaper on a fresh sunburn. Every muscle in his body screamed from yesterday’s whole day of swimming, and a totally uneven and unfair beach volleyball of three. Slumped on the back of Sakamoto’s bike—this time a much safer bet than Akao’s death defying leans, likely thanks to Aoi-san’s influence—the oppressive heat was lulling him into sleep.
Nagumo’s head might’ve been lolling forward, his helmet banging against Sakamoto’s, because a series of heavy taps on his knee jolted him awake.
“Nagumo.” Sakamoto’s voice was steady even with the wind blowing, his gloved hand stayed on his knee to ground him. “Stay awake.”
“I’m up, I’m up.” Nagumo mumbled, eyes barely open from the unforgiving high noon as he adjusted himself yet again to a position that didn’t make his scorched skin wince. He expected to relapse into another comfortable silence, but after a few kilometers, Sakamoto spoke up again.
“Just be yourself.”
Nagumo blinked, the haze of sleep cleared by sudden confusion. “What?”
Sakamoto turned his head slightly to the side, his voice a bit louder this time. “Just be yourself.”
“Huuuh?” He knew where Sakamoto was getting at, but he didn’t really wanna deal with it right now. “For what? So I don’t fall asleep?”
“The parents,” Sakamoto clarified, yelling over the engine. “Be polite—that goes without saying—but don’t put on a show. If they’re going to like you, it should be for who you are.”
Nagumo stared at the back of Sakamoto’s helmet, watching all the greens and browns blur into a smear on either side. Of course he knew what Sakamoto meant—honesty, sincerity, all that ‘good guy’ stuff. But the problem wasn’t that he didn’t want to be himself. It was that he’d spent so much of his life being the Nagumo everyone expected that he wasn’t even sure which version was the real one anymore. If he stripped away the jokes and the easy smiles, was there even enough left to impress anyone’s parents?
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃
A week later at the terminal…
Beside Nagumo, you were a sleepy little thing, your head heavy on his shoulder. He, on the other hand, had never been more awake. His chest was performing drum solos, and each time you spoke to him, he had to fight the urge to bolt toward the nearest exit and possibly, never look back.
Nagumo could handle exams week on three hours of sleep, could bluff his way through presentations he didn’t prepare for. But sitting on this bus, clutching a box of premium cake he had spent hours picking out, felt like he was going to walk into a firing squad.
“You’re bouncing your leg too much,” you yawned, adjusting your bag.
“It’s ‘cause I’m vibrating with excitement, silly.” He said, his voice had more of a lilt than usual. If his palms decided to become sweaty now, he was worried he might actually drop the box before reaching your house. He went over his script a few more times:
Nice to meet you, sir. You have a lovely home, ma’am. No, I don’t plan on being a bum after graduation.
The bus ride was only an hour, but it felt like the longest sixty minutes of his life. Every stoplight and turn was a milestone closer to the moment of truth. Nagumo looked at you… peaceful and completely unfazed by the fact that you were about to introduce a guy like him—who wasn’t even your boyfriend. What the hell—
What are we even?
A wave of panic washed over Nagumo. What if they asked about that and he said something stupid? What if he accidentally talked the way he talked to Akao and Sakamoto? What if they saw right through the ironed shirt and the polite smile and realized he was just one of those dumb fucks who wanted to bang their daughter?
Nagumo didn’t want to bang you—well, he did actually, for the longest time. That’d be really nice. But that was not all there was to it—shit. That wasn’t the point, was it…?
The bus pulled into its designated stop. Nagumo’s fight-or-flight leaned hard toward ‘flight’ as he stood up. The few minutes trek toward your house made his legs slowly feel like they were made of lead.
Upon reaching the gate, he checked his watch—almost lunch time. He seriously considered faking a sudden illness. In the name of keeping it cool, he hadn’t even asked a single thing about your parents. He’d just assumed they would be like you—maybe a little quiet, maybe the strict types who only communicate in polite nods and never crack a smile? Nagumo had his Dean’s Lister mask ready to go, the one he used for grumpy professors with a superiority complex.
Then the door opened, and all of his mental rehearsals were wiped in an instant.
Your father… he didn’t just open the door. At least six feet, maybe taller—maybe taller than Nagumo, the fuck?—with a build that made his tank top look like it was straining at the seams, he loomed in the frame. But honestly, it wasn’t the height that made his heart stop. It was the ink—tattoos flowed down from your father’s neck down to his wrist, intricate and dark, against the domestic look of your house.
He looked Nagumo dead in the eye with a smile so tight, his eyes almost crinkled close. It didn’t feel like a greeting. If anything, it felt like he was measuring him for a coffin.
“You must be the Nagumo we’ve heard so much about!” He boomed, his voice echoing off the neighborhood. It was way too bright, way too loud, way too cheerful for comfort.
Nagumo felt his own smile go stiff. Never before had he felt like a prey, holding on to a cake box for his dear life. He bowed, offered his hand, and managed to squeak out a greeting.
Without breaking a sweat, he had walked into the homes of professors, family friends, and distant relatives—usually radiating a level of confidence that bordered on obnoxious. He knew the drill. Find the sofa, offer the gift, make a polite comment about a framed photo, and win the room before the choice of beverage was even served. But standing in your living room, with your father like a mountain chirping at him with so much energy, Nagumo completely crashed.
He stupidly stood there in the middle of the rug, clutching the box of cake like it was a shield, his brain stuck on a loop of: Don’t sit yet. Don’t stand too close. Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t look at her. I mean, look at her. Okay, maybe not that long—
“Sit, sit, Nagumo-kun! We don’t bite… much.” Your father gestured toward a chair.
Even with the invitation, Nagumo didn’t move, paralyzed by the irrational fear that if he sat, he’d be trapped. And if he kept standing, he was being disrespectful. Nagumo looked at you—you looked puzzled, a brow twitching—while your father’s close eyed smile remained fixed on him.
Nagumo hadn’t survived Akao’s offensive driving and Sakamoto’s lectures just to end up not knowing what to do with his own body.
Never had he ever been more grateful for a person in his entire life than the moment you reached out and pried the box from his death grip. Nagumo watched as you disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him alone and under your father’s ‘cheerful’ gaze. Just as he was about to risk sitting in the chair, you popped back out to announce lunch.
Your mother was there, the three of you moving in the kitchen with grace. Her voice was flat, devoid of any of that singsongy warmth your father had. She looked like she could calculate his life span by looking at the way he held his spoon.
Sitting around the round table now, the steam rose between them. The silence was heavy and was broken only by the clinking of silverware against ceramic. Without a word and without a single crack in her expression, your mother reached over and heaped a massive portion of tofu and stew onto his plate.
“Eat more,” she said, it wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.
There was zero motherly affection in her tone, but the amount of food she was piling on his plate suggested she didn’t want Nagumo to faint in her house.
They moved on to the standard checklist: Nagumo’s major, where he grew up, his plans for the summer—it was all very casual, really. The kind of small talk he could do in his sleep if he weren’t currently under a microscope. Nagumo, nonetheless, was handling it all well. His answers were polite, posture straight, and he hadn’t dropped his fork once. But inside, his mind was going a hundred miles an hour. Each time your mother refilled his water without looking at Nagumo, or your father laughed a bit too loudly at one of his neutral jokes, he felt like he was prancing around a landmine.
Under the table, your hand, warm and soft, reached out and gave Nagumo’s knee a squeeze—a silent reassurance that pulled him back from his own racing thoughts. Your small knowing smile was enough to let him know he was doing fine, even if his brain was trying to calculate every possible social misstep.
The afternoon stretched on surprisingly peaceful. Since your father didn’t drink, the conversation never veered into slurred interrogation or loud probing. Instead, the two of them found a quiet, and quite intense, common ground in the world of tattoos. Your father’s overly cheerful energy from earlier smoothed out into a mutual appreciation for it.
Your mother, on the other hand, remained a monotone presence in the background, but her constant snack plates and sliced fruits exclusively just for Nagumo, felt less like a chore and more like observing a rescue animal, that saying thank you felt way too repetitive.
Oddly enough, for Nagumo, the tension gnawing at him started to soften.
Dinner was also incredible. Your father took over the kitchen and produced a spread that almost moved Nagumo to tears, his nerves completely dissipated under the weight of good food and light conversation. Naturally, the evening settled comfortably, so he assumed the night would end with a polite goodbye and a quiet bus ride back.
That comfort disintegrated the second you dropped a question about bringing extra clothes. Nagumo nearly choked on a piece of lettuce, his eyes sliding from you to your parents as the reality of the situation set in. Of course, he hadn’t considered the possibility of a sleepover! It was audacious enough that he was here. In his mind, this was a one-day mission before retreating back to the safety of his own apartment.
Your father’s bright smile returned. He insisted Nagumo could simply borrow some of his own clothes, his voice booming louder than ever, that felt like a trap closing shut.
“Just for one night,” your father added, the emphasis hanging in the air with a weight that made Nagumo’s spine go stiff. The offer was generous, but the message was clear—should he stay, he would be on watch.
Nagumo sat there, caught between the observation of your mother and the hospitality of your father, realizing his escape plan had been completely dismantled. He looked at you… you traitor, still with fondness, realizing he was about to spend the night with you.
But at what cost.
Nagumo laid uneasy on the mattress, staring through the bedroom door that was—per your father’s perhaps eleventh (..? He lost count) cheerful reminder—flung wide open to the hallway.
“The door stays open, Nagumo-kun! Have a good night!” He could still hear the echoes of your father’s voice, sounding entirely awake for a man who was heading to bed.
Upon hearing a distant thud of a door closing, Nagumo whispered in the dark, “Your dad is genuinely terrifying.”
You shifted sideways, looking back at him, “He’s not.”
“He smiles with his eyes closed.”
“You do that too.”
A beat passed. “I’m significantly less tattooed.”
The conversation drifted to comfort, recalling small moments of his time with your parents, the tension in his muscles bleeding out slowly. It was easy.
Anything that wasn’t about the two of you was easy.
He went on telling you about his long weekend beach getaway, showed you his peeling sunburn spots under his phone’s flashlight, and complained about it. Laughed about it.
“What have you been doing though? While I was out there.”
“Gaming.” You said casually, as always. “End-of-season grind.”
“Gaming.”
“Yes.”
One thing about Nagumo was that he would get into these moods, and one of them was a hunger for self-inflicted punishment. Probably that was what made him ask, “And you didn’t even bother to respond?”
“You mentioned once you haven’t been seeing them as much, so I figured you didn’t want any distractions. And I was enjoying mine anyways. We could always see each other after.”
True. Point taken. But the days following that you were both so busy, he had only seen you so haphazardly and not for more than thirty minutes straight.
“An emoji or something would’ve been nice.”
“You used to do that, so I figured it’d be okay to do that as well. The pics were pretty, though. I saved them. But, sure. Next time.”
On normal days, he would’ve dropped the subject by now. But he was totally in the mood for it. “What do you mean I used to do that a lot, do what exactly?”
“See you everywhere on campus except in our chats? It was fine at the time, really. I quickly understood that about you.”
If there was something you weren’t shy about, it was matter-of-fact subjects. Nagumo couldn’t help but feel affronted. Maybe a little irritation leaked into the way he hummed, because…
“Are you upset?”
Was he? An uneasy silence grew between you and him. The quiet buzzing of the distant fridge overtook. The tension in his shoulders returned.
“Out with it, Nagumo. Told you I can’t read minds.”
Nagumo pulled the blanket up to his eyes, grumbled, then sighed, “Something like that.”
“You’re upset because I did what you’ve been doing?”
He had to give it to you for stripping everything away to get to the bone of it.
“It’s different now,” he muttered into the edge of the blanket.
“Different, how?”
Because he had been thinking about you he wasn’t sure if you were too. Because each time he felt you liked him back, you would do a sudden U-turn. Because now he was finally in your house, drowning in your father’s shirt, full of your mother’s cooking. Because he finally got to spend time with you, just you and him, in your room, and he still couldn’t do a thing about it.
“It just is,” he exhaled. “I’ve been missing you. A lot. And it’s pissing me off. Okay? Happy?”
“I’ve been missing you too,” you said, he could hear you smiling through your words. “Should we update each other through texts every ten minutes starting tomorrow?”
He rolled his eyes. “Someone finally learned how jokes work—”
Your hand slid across the space between you, coming to rest on his stomach. His eyes snapped to the threat of your open bedroom door, that a simple warm touch made him feel like a trapped bird. He was trying his best to be on his best behavior, damn it. Sure, no one was there, only his looming fear of being caught—
Caught doing what exactly?
He closed his eyes, breathed out. Maybe he was being overdramatic. He didn’t move your hand away, and slowly let his own settle over, his fingers interlacing with yours. It was just handholding, nothing wrong with that.
The sheets whispered as you shifted closer, draping yourself over him into a sideway hug. He turned his head just enough to catch the scent of your shampoo, finally lulling him into a good night’s rest.
Just as his soul began to peel away from his body for sleep, your hand travelled from his stomach to his cheek, guiding his face towards yours. His paranoid gaze toward the dimly lit hallway came rushing back. The heat—thick and potent—centered right where your lips were hovering centimeters from his own was eroding the last of his vigil, it was becoming hard to breathe.
“This seals it,” a helpless quiet huff of a laugh escaped him, “You’re trying to get me killed.”
You said nothing. Just pressed yourself closer to his side, your eyes the only thing he could see through the filtered light—steady, pupils blown wide. Just as his focus fractured, he shifted and moved his hand, trailing his fingers up your arm until he finally cupped the back of your neck. But it wasn’t him who did the pulling.
You did.
For a moment, the wrath waiting for him outside your bedroom felt light years away. This kiss felt different—it wasn’t those stolen, effortless make out sessions back at uni, where he had acted all cool and smug, just looking to get a reaction out of you. This one felt desperate, as if he were pouring all of his anxieties and longing he’d been bottling up since all this started. All that stupid pushing and pulling had led to this—pulling and pulling until each other’s breath was the only world that had ever existed.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing the softness of your waist, circling his thumb over your rib, and god knew he was aching for more. Yet, he stayed there, hesitant.
Nagumo didn’t even recognize himself; no, this wasn’t like him at all. This was someone who actually cared about the consequences, because being caught might mean staining what he had carefully crafted up to this point—whatever it was the two of you had. He was caught in a tug-of-war between the yawning doorway and the thing that had been blooming in his chest.
Each time he slanted his mouth over yours, deepening the kiss, his gaze would flick back to the hallway, searching for a shadow, a silhouette. Anything.
“Can you stop that?” You whispered, breathless as you trailed a line of feather light kisses down his neck. “It’s creepy.”
“What is?”
“Your eyes,” Your hand clasped his, guiding him towards the plush curve of your chest. “Close them.”
Nagumo’s mind stuttered. Now your breaths, his own, the fabric rustling—all of it sounded like gunshots to him, echoing down the hall like a flare signal.
But then, you didn’t stop there.
Your free hand brushed against the heavy ache beneath the fabric of his boxers. A strangled gasp died in the back of his throat, nearly lifting his hips to chase it as he went absolutely rigid.
In all the months of careful pacing and polite boundaries, you had never been one to cross the line first. To have you do it now, under the most crucial conditions imaginable, felt like a deliberate act of sabotage against his sanity.
Almost like a reflex, his hand tightened over yours—either to stop you or pull you closer, he honestly wasn’t sure anymore. All he was sure of was that his ‘best behavior’ was crumbling to dust.
“Getting comfortable?” He managed to rasp.
“Very much,” you said simply, “We’re in my territory after all.”
And gods, was that so true. Even the stupid thing hammering against his ribcage was entirely yours. He’d go through a hundred more terrifying family meets just to be exactly where he was right now.
“Hm? Is that how it works?”
You hummed in agreement, your fingers slipping past the elastic band. Your parents’ bedroom was mere meters away and the boldness of it drove him into a wall. He let himself fall back on the pillow, eyes rolling back to the ceiling before snapping back to his habitual checking of the door.
“You’re being unfair,” he kissed you, deeply, trying to ground himself. “So unfair.”
His own hand travelled down, mirroring your movements with trembling desperation until he found you already slick and welcoming. He slid a finger inside that felt like being lured into a whirlpool. He moved with you, a faint tremor ran through his limbs as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. Every motion of your hands and lips made his vision swim.
“Let’s go,” you rasped, “All the way.”
The moment those last three words left your lips, it was as if the bedroom held its breath. His hand, which had been moving with hesitance, went still inside you. He stared at you, for what felt like eternity, his chest heaving like he had run a mile.
It was devastating, truly. Every fiber of his body was screaming for him to say yes, to pull you under him, and forget that everything beyond that open door existed. The warmth between your legs was an intoxicating weight. And the way you looked at him, with each agonizingly slow touch—it was a game, an argument he was losing. When you told him that your parents slept like rocks, he wanted nothing more than to believe you.
“Liar,” he smiled. A strained chuckle was all he could muster because he knew better—you never lie.
“It’ll be quick…” you sighed, “I’m almost there.”
The way you said it, the way you were squeezing him, the friction—all of it combined made him bury himself in the crook of your neck. He felt feverish. You felt feverish. He wasn’t sure whose sweat was whose anymore.
Nagumo was slapped back into reality the moment he felt you pull away and saw you beginning to disappear beneath the blanket, moving with the clearest intent, his desire spiked so fast he could blow a hole through the roof.
“Wait—no, no,” he whispered, scrambling to catch you. “Stay up here.”
Your faces were level again. He couldn’t remember the last time he gave a fuck about first times. But it sure was hell not gonna be here. At least, not like this.
Not with you.
“You’re kinda cute like this,” you murmured, not a dust of sarcasm or tease.
Uh… huh. Nagumo cupped the back of your head, inserting his damp fingers into your mouth so you could get a taste of yourself. You resumed, your delicate hand wrapping around him, a gesture he quickly mirrored. His desire overruled his inhibitions as he slipped two inside, curling them sharply—but his moves immediately backfired when his mind registered your soft moans as being loud as a thunderclap.
“Shh, god—see?”
“Shut it,” you hissed, moving against him, your touch becoming more urgent. “I told you… I’m gonna come.”
Nagumo’s hand flew to your mouth with the speed he wasn’t aware he had, muffling your sharp gasps against his palm. At the same moment, your fingers dug around his wrist with a bruising grip as he moved between your legs. You were coming, and he couldn’t even lean into the high. He was too busy guarding the rectangular death sentence waiting for him to make one single audible mistake.
Barely having a second to recover, he could feel it catching up to him. You didn’t stop, your hand continued stroking him, while your lips found a midnight snack all over his neck. He had to pull you into a kiss to stifle his own groans, his heart punching its way out of his throat. His body trembled with the aftershocks—a release that felt far from romantic and closer to a narrow escape.
He finally let his eyes shut for the first time tonight, his head falling back on the pillow, with you warm and heavy in his arms. But then, you asked,
“Do you think they heard us?”
Nagumo honestly didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into another kiss or if he actually wanted to be mad at you for all the traitorous acts you had put him through. His entire body still thrummed, the echoes of the last few seconds of a quiet clash lingering in the bubble that enclosed the two of you.
“If they did,” he whispered, looking at you. He sighed, unable to keep himself from smiling as he met your expectant gaze. The sight of you, unbelievably serene, made his own heart slow down. “I’m telling them you forced me.”
“A victim till the very end?”
“Yup!”
“Wanna play victim again?”
“…”
“That was obviously a joke. I’m sleepy.”
“Ha-ha.”
Next morning, as you all sat for breakfast…
“Good morning, Nagumo-kun—“ your father boomed, your mother sitting beside him, her gaze sharp. But then, his head tilted, eyes narrowing behind that smile. “Whatever happened to your neck?”
“Mosquitoes.” You answered for him without skipping a beat, filling up two bowls with fried rice—completely and utterly unfazed.
Nagumo gave a polite nod, scratching at the ‘mosquito bites’ that weren’t even itchy. Never had he ever felt this exposed.
But then there was you again, and you had just kind of been there; standing by Raphael’s side like a loyal dog since day one. Never frowning, never raising your voice. And he didn’t think he minded it, not really. He liked that your serenity balanced out the semi-man-child whom Thaddeus now called his new boss. You were soft, gentle, benevolent. Maybe only at times. Greeting him whenever he passed by you in the hallway. Laughing at his stupid jokes. Humming a foreign song under your breath that the Apostle didn’t recognize.
One less eggshell to walk on, yet two ticking bombs remained.
He liked your eyes too. Shining, dazzling, so unlike Raphael’s. The redhead only felt that familiar twinge of annoyance when you gazed up at the man you called your little brother with so much love and care. Like you were willing to hang the moon and stars for him. And Thaddeus wasn’t jealous, not really. Raphael was your flesh and blood; it’s only natural that devotion would dig deeper than any shovel or sword could.
But you only had that impenetrable smile on these days. Moving with grace and gold. Keeping your distance. He couldn’t even hold a conversation for longer than one minute before you excused yourself out of the room, not sparing him another glance.
—
Your indifference bothered him.
Made him feel like he was a snot-nosed brat all over again, struggling to survive in that dog-eat-dog shithole he reluctantly called a family. Years ago, when you took the knife out of Raphael’s hands and dug the blade into Father Gabriel’s heart for him, Thaddeus was stuck kicking his legs somewhere far away until his limbs were bent at an inhuman angle, his lungs burning for air. But he pushed through the pain, the tears, the blood early on. He had to become the strongest.
For what, a six-year-old him once pondered.
Sitting by the pond in the garden and swinging his legs in a pair of dojo shoes he had soon outgrown. Martial Arts is about the body and the mind. Integrity, courage, respect. He never intended to frighten others and should have never been considered a weapon of destruction either. But then came the power. The control. The entire continent soon bowed to the King of Kowloon, and Thaddeus was nothing short of elastic.
As much as he hated to admit it, the fight with your little brother knocked some sense into his thick skull. The Apostle didn’t even have time to process his defeat before Raphael wrapped him up in a white body suit that made him look like a goddamn psych ward patient, heavy chains bidding his legs together and keeping him suspended in the air. Thaddeus refused to yield then, gritting his teeth and cursing out strings of profanity that he wasn’t taught before. He fussed, yet Raphael was barely fazed. The punishment didn’t come right away.
It was the days after that.
Days when he was all alone in the base with nothing but his thoughts for company. Thaddeus kept his head hung low and just stared blankly. He felt like a slab of meat. Static noises played on repeat inside his head; and he was okay with that, really. He didn’t want to think anymore.
The hours were so long that he stopped counting. Only then did sleep eventually claim him—a stuffy, dreamless slumber.
—
The redhead didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. But when he woke up, he found himself on the ground; the chains and ridiculous costume miraculously all gone. He was resting his head on something soft too. Thaddeus’ mind tutted its alarm late, but when it did, his body shot up as if struck by lightning and muttered up whatever little strength was left to put some space between him and this unfamiliar presence. Yet the second he attempted to move, his vision started spinning. A stabbing discomfort gnawed on his nape, and Thaddeus realized he was hit with the worst neck pain ever.
He was going to fall at this point. Crashing face-down on the ground like a pathetic loser. The Apostle’s legs wobbled like overcooked noodles as he braced himself for the fall that never came. Instead, he found himself on his back once more, wondering if his body had even moved an inch in the first place.
But there was you, staring down at Thaddeus with a smile.
“Welcome back,” he hadn’t heard any voice in days, much less one as pleasant as yours. The way your hands cradle his face felt like a hug on a winter day. When you shifted, Thaddeus’ stomach did a weird twist.
You didn’t seem to mind him gaping at you like a dead fish, tilting forward with that same mysterious quirk on your lips. Your hair falls around him in soft curtains, blocking the flicking lightbulb ahead that was starting to hurt his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Your fingers weaved through Thaddeus’ hair. And it felt good, so good he thought he could fall asleep again right here, with his head on your lap. The stinging pain at the back of his nape went away almost instantly when the tips of your digits grazed through the spot.
He opened his mouth, trying to get the words out. It’s useless; his throat was so parched. Thaddeus guzzled the bottled water you handed him in less than two seconds, not caring if his whole face was drenched too in the process. He heard a giggle from you, sounding like mist drops on leaf dripping down a pond.
You came here by yourself.
That much he collected when you pat his face dry with a handkerchief, the silver cross embroidery at the edge tickling his jawline. The movement was still nothing but gentle, yet Thaddeus noticed the corner of your smile turning icy. You came alone, but not without purpose.
“What do you want?”
It might be a little too late, but his inquiry came out nonetheless. Thaddeus tried propping himself up with his elbows but soon realized they were shaking.
At the question, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly. Legs tucked under your thighs in a too-expensive dress. Not a single wrinkle or hair out of the place. Unfeeling. Unmoving. Pupils blown wide like a doll’s.
“I came to check up on you!” You sing-song, beaming too bright, too superficial he had to stop himself from cringing outwardly. “Sit up.”
The command barely registered in his weary mind when Thaddeus felt his body moving on its own, and he was sitting face-to-face with you.
The smile you gave him was nothing short of satisfactory. Eyes glinting with mirth. Like he was a puppy and just did something endearing.
“Here,” something warm slipped down his throat; soup? Thaddeus blinked in awe, feeling the herb soothing his deserted taste bud. He hadn’t eaten anything for a whole week, “how does it taste?”
“G-Good.” His response came immediately this time, albeit rasped and still shaky. But you didn’t mind, feeding him another spoonful of dumpling that he eagerly bit into. Thaddeus was left starved, and he was gonna rot here to death if you didn’t come.
You were technically his savior.
And you looked pleased too, letting him have the rest of the bowl until it was empty. Wiping his mouth clean. Guiding him to lie back on your lap. You were warm, so perfect. Thaddeus wondered why he wanted to get away in the first place.
“It will get better,” you hum, running your hands through his hair, “once you move in with us.”
Thaddeus perked up at the last part, meeting your eyes. Your gentle smile remained as your fingers slipped underneath his bangs, resting on his forehead. “Have you thought about what he said?”
He did.
More than he begrudged to relent. Between the endless hours hooked up to the ceiling and nasty bug bites bruising his skin, Thaddeus didn’t have much of a choice. If he somehow walked out of here alive, he would be dragging his feet until the friction scoured the heel of his shoes. Bitter. Humiliated. He didn’t want to be reduced back to the disappointment he was back then.
He needed to be strong.
“Good boy.”
Taking his silence as an answer, you giggled and ruffled his hair. For once, he was sure he had made the right choice.
—
Thaddeus was all over you. In the hallway, in the garden, in between those meetings he rarely ever showed up. Always saying your name with an ear-splitting grin. Always have something to say. A stupid joke to tell.
You never seemed to mind it. You never even liked him to begin with. But he felt comforted when you were there, passing him by like an invisible wall. Thaddeus remembered the way your hands felt on his skin that day. He wondered just what he had to do to have you close again, looking at him like he was precious. Like he meant something.
this is such a cute viet song and i can’t help but think how much it fits thaddeus in this panel 😭 he’s such a precious bean. this is the chorus that has been trending in my country so i thought i’d translate the part and share it here!!!
Can you do Yandere Yoichi Nagumo? Smut... Consensual btw, I feel uncomfortable reading noncons. So to be short, Yoichi fell in love at first sight with mc who's a retired spy. And Mc is very indulgent of his obsession, obvious to it's harmfulness since mc doesn't have a blue print of what a normal relationship looks like.
Invisible love
Synopsis: Nagumo has spent the last few months, following you around in your daily life. As a retired spy, you've already figured that much out. But you don't seem to mind.
Character used: Nagumo
Cw: stalking; afab!reader; oblivious reader; kidnapping; trespassing; breaking in; obsessive behaviour; NSFW under the cut; switch!Nagumo; switch!reader; face riding.
The first instance wherein you noticed something was actually before you retired from your job as a spy. The night of your last mission, you felt something off— a wandering pair of eyes. No matter where you went or what you did, that gaze followed. It unnerved you, but didn't deter you from completing your mission. Not that the eyes were ever hostile. Towards you. If anything, they seemed more supportive in nature, but tucked too deep within the darkness fir you to investigate.
The second came when you were erasing your existence from the organisation— or in simpler terms, resigning. Some of the IT workers mentioned that there happened to be someone who had been digging into your files.
"With how persistent they're being, you could almost say that they have a crush on you, Agent [Name]," one of them chuckled. Everyone else laughed it off, but you stayed still. A crush? As in someone loved you? That was something worth looking into.
Once everyone calmed down, they offered to help track down this mysterious stalker of yours. Curious about said stalker's nature, you declined. Thus, they advised you to be careful when you left.
From then on, you definitely knew of their presence.
Early mornings to work are always calm, peaceful— if you aren't someone trained to nitpick any minute detail. You can sense it here too. It's too distant to pinpoint, but too close to be dismissed. You just had no clue if they were the same pair from before.
Then, you have the tiny, cryptic messages tucked into small corners of your life. Your desk, your bag, the gap beneath your door, even your bedroom window— no where is safe from their reach!
'You look lovely today <3'
'Rain is coming up. Do take the umbrella I left for you.'
'I noticed you skipped a meal. Please rest :('
The notes have all been sweet in nature. And you're slowly starting to wonder just how far they're willing to take this.
The moment this all comes to a head is when you cornered them in your own home. Unsurprisingly, you arrive to find your door unlocked and take it as a sign someone else is inside. Slipping inside, you lock the door behind you. You feel the air stiffen when the click resounds in the apartment.
You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid. No matter their intentions, this is still someone who has been snooping for your personal information. Anyone ballsy enough to try is someone to be wary of.
So wary you are, slipping your pocket knife from your sleeve as you creep into your house. Slow, careful steps eat up the distance between yourself and your bedroom door. It's cracked open. But you can sense something inside.
You can sense someone.
And judging by the increasing tension coming from within, they sense you too. Just as the door creaks, you swing your arm, ready to point the blade at the intruder. To anyone's shock but your own, the intruder reaches a tattooed hand out— just barely grabbing ahold of your wrist. You gasp, strengthening your hold on the knife. Your gaze is cast aside and that's when you finally have a clear visual of your stalker.
Using your knowledge from your previous job, it proved quite simple to pinpoint the source of this invasive feeling— Yoichi Nagumo. The name isn't new to you. Murmurs of the skilled hitman occasionally echoed in your work, but he never posed enough of a threat for you to have any extensive info on him in the back of your mind.
Nagumo grins, tightening his hold on your wrist. Though strangely enough, his thumb tenderly runs over the inner part of it, right over your veins. You can't deny the way your heart skips a beat at the intimate gesture.
"Nice to meet you, Agent [Name]— Oh! Should I rather go with just [Name] now?"
You deadpan in response, "The latter is fine. But I'm more concerned about what you think you've been doing for the last few weeks now, Yoichi Nagumo."
In response, his eyes light up. "You know who I am? To what do I owe such an honour?" he exclaims, using your wrist to pull you into a tight hug. His embrace is warm— suffocating even— and disarming in the way he strategically angles your hand so you can't take a quick slice at him with your knife.
Clever.
"A name like yours is a must-know if you want to survive long in my previous profession," you retort— tone blunt and factual. For whatever reason, your flat attitude doesn't seem to deter him. If anything, it makes him all the more gleeful!
The tattooed assassin holds you close. "Maybe," he mumbles, letting his nose burrow into your neck. "But it's still really cool." He takes a deep inhale. "So how much do you know?"
You blink, looking down at his hair with a blank expression. "Just the basics. You're a member of the Order— age 28 and are nicknamed the 'Illusionist.' Nothing more."
Nagumo whines into your skin, "So nothing special?"
"No."
"No?
"No."
Steadily, the assassin begins to sway you from side to side to a rhythm only he seems to know. The gesture is almost romantic. "And here I thought we were one in the same— two peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin. Two souls who found and sought each other in the darkness of the world." You blink up at him with a puzzles expression. The pace of his steps quicken. “I imagined that our hearts would finally intertwine in a way only we would be able to– a love untouched by the filth of the world,” he rambled, hastening his steps as he dragged you around the hall. His movements have started a hasty waltz.
Suddenly, he comes to a halt, tipping you so you fall back. Shocked, you shriek, dropping your knife. It clatters on the floor, but you don't land. Instead, Nagumo holds you at your waist and wrist, perfectly dipping you.
“But this isn’t how I wanted this to go.”
Oh?
The raven haired man leans close, almost nudging his nose against yours. "Not at all. I wanted to pick you up after work and take you out," he explains, voice low and even. "It would be really sweet too. It'd be raining and I'll offer you an umbrella on your way out and then drop you off right here."
His face draws closer. "We'd keep running into each other and fall even deeper in love. Doesn't that sound romantic?" the assassin hoarsely whispers to you. There's a silent, desperate plea that screams in the depths of his irises. But you're still caught on one thing.
Love?
Yoichi Nagumo— a man dubbed 'The Illusionist.' The man whose strength far exceeds human expectations— so much so that he climbed his way into the Order. A man shrouded in so much mystery that you'd think his name would show up as its definition of the word in the dictionary.
He went through all this trouble for love? To find love in— with— you?
You stare at him, puzzled. Your heart races— and you wish you could say that it's out of pure adrenaline.
Despite what your former coworkers would claim— you weren't entirely oblivious to the feeling. From what little you gathered from novels, movies and displays you'd seen on the streets and on your own missions, you had drawn your own conclusions of love. Or what you think it might be:
'A deep attachment to someone or something. An attachment so deep that it causes one to resort to extreme methods to preserve and even obtain it.'
That's not to say you, yourself, have experienced the emotion. But that was never an issue in your line of work. In fact, it was quite the opposite! Emotions only dragged agents down in the long run. Cool detachment was the best way to function. So that was what you did.
But you're not living that life anymore, are you? You're living in a normal apartment, working a normal job, having normal interpersonal relationships. Why should those old rules matter? Why shouldn't you be allowed to sink into what Nagumo is pleading for you to accept?
It's that thought that drives you to reach out and glide your finger along Nagumo's jaw. The action stuns him, but he melts into your touch nonetheless. Quietly, he hears your voice, "You did this out of love?" There's something about the the uncertainty behind it— your vulnerability. With a low hum, the raven haired assassin draws closer. Your hand fully cups his cheek. At no point do you stop him from invading your space and Nagumo takes it as an invitation to press further.
To his surprise, you reciprocate. Though, your movements are a little more hesitant than his. Not that he expected much better from someone who spent the better part of her life burning away at her own emotions for the sake of her job. But that's fine! Nagumo has no qualms with bringing you up to speed.
And that's exactly what he does. His lips meet yours— gentle and firm all at once. The Illusionist holds you close as he molds his lips with yours. Weeks of yearning naturally flow into the kiss. The depth of Nagumo's pining is felt in the way his lips glide along yours— unhurried yet light against your skin. He's tender at first. You're given brief moments to catch your breath before he's drawing in for more. The care he puts into his touch draws you into the passionate dance to which the assassin invited you.
And that's when he strikes.
Yearning morphs into greed as his kisses grow deeper, hungry. Eager hands tug you closer closer his form, pinning you against him. His tongue slithers between your lips, desperate and wanting. It coaxes your tongue to join his in a sinful dance that forces a hitch in your breath. The sensations he gives you are overwhelming— dizzying even. For a brief moment, you mind goes quiet. You're just left to feel his mouth map the crevices of your mouth. Feel his hand begin to wander at your torso. Feel his other hand guide your hands over his shoulders before settling them at the base of your skull.
You then realise; if you had any plans of escaping him, they would never come to fruition now. From what you can tell, Nagumo has little to no intention of letting you slip from his grasp. And for whatever reason— you don't seem to reject the notion. The assassin pulls away from you, but doesn't stray too far. "Is this your way of saying you want me too?" he murmurs. Each word has his lips brushing against yours. He doesn't even wait for a response before coming in for seconds— or thirds? Sixths? Who knows anymore?
But you don't let it happen— pulling your face away from his before he gets his next self-indulgent taste. His large eyes flutter open. Deep, dark eyes peer into your own as you take deep, heavy breaths. Yours mix with his— shallow yet incredibly intimate. The room goes silent between you, leaving you to break it first. "If I want you too," you begin, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
But it's loud enough for him to hear. Nagumo doesn't need you louder for you to capture his undivided attention. For him, the faintest breath warrants not only his entire attention, but a church sermon's worth of praise. So it's only natural that he'd lean in and nudge his nose with yours. Only this time, it's to take in every word you wish to say.
The feelings you're willing to convey.
Your emotions catch in your throat. But not willing to back down— arguably a terrible trait you've picked up over the years— you persist and try again. "And if I want you too, how exactly would you treat me?" Your gaze shifts to the floor before you reiterate. "Would you cherish me?"
That stuns Nagumo. Nothing could've prepared him for him it. His body responds long before he himself can. The grip he has on you tightens as he tugs you impossibly closer. Your body presses against his, leaving no part of you apart from him. And with sincerity that almost stuns him, he whispers into the small space between you, "Of course, I would. How would I ever consider treating something as precious as you any other way? Someone as ethereal as you deserves nothing less."
With that, Nagumo leans forward and takes your lips once more. This time, you don't back away. Instead, you completely fall into his careful touch. Tenderness quickly turns to hunger again as he slips deeper into you. His tongue slips between your lips with ease and pulls yours into a smooth, lustful dance.
Little did you know, your tongue isn't the only thing that will be taking with him tonight.
Your clothes land flat on the floor before you fall to your bed with a light thud. Nagumo follows you down, latching onto your chest. His lips and tongue lave over the entire surface area. Inked hands roam your body. They glide, squeeze and grope every part of you he can. Each touch sends electricity down your spine, going straight to the burning heat between your legs.
Speaking of your legs, it's all too sudden when a gentle hand grips at the firm, yet supple flesh. The dark haired assassin lifts his face from your chest before bringing it further down. His hand lifts your leg, spreading you open for his gaze. But Nagumo isn't interested in that. For now. What he is interested in is the muscle definition in your thigh. While holding you open for him, he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh. Slowly, he brings himself higher and higher till his nose brushes your knee.
You softly gasp, squirming in his hold, "Nagumo, what are you doing?"
His response comes with a light, lingering peck of the lips to the side of your knee. Then, he presses another, but slightly lower down. He does it again and again. With each kiss, his lips linger for longer, growing more and more ravenous. Eventually, his lips begin sucking marks into your skin as they draw closer to your centre. Between kisses, he answers against your skin, "Giving you a reason to choose me. Should I stop?"
Even though he asked, there's something about the glint in his eye that makes you think he wouldn't stop, even if you asked. But you shake your head anyway, narrowly avoiding that dark road. That doesn't stop him from stopping right at the fabric of your pants that cover your crotch. He nuzzles his face into it, deeply inhaling and rolling his eyes back. He's still for a few moments before doing it again and closing eyes. "Fuck, you're so perfect, baby," he whispers. For a short while, he stays in that exact spot. If you squint, you can almost pinpoint euphoria swirling in the depths of his eyes. It almost creeps you out.
Almost.
Before you can linger on it you feel his tongue prod at your core. It takes a long drag upwards, lingering where your clit would be. Nagumo gives a brief, pleased hum against you. Unfortunately for you, you barely feel it through the layers of fabric between you and the skilled muscle.
Though, you don't have to worry about it too long— as your clothes are stripped from your form, leaving you bare to his gaze. You shiver from the sudden drop in temperature at your lower half. Thin, inked fingers spread themselves along the expanse of your inner thigh. Slowly, carefully, they creep closer— stopping just short of your pussy and spreading the lips apart.
The sluggish teasing only makes you whine, "Stop teasing, Nagumo." With a gleeful glint in his eyes, he flicks his gaze up to you.
"Is that you asking for something, schnookums?" he muses. Light kisses follow the blazing path he'd paved with his fingers— eyes trained on the impatient mess he happens to to be brewing.
You begin to grow tired of his foolery. With a exasperated huff, you press his head away from your heat, and sit up on the bed, "That was me telling you to get a move on. But since you wanna stall, I can get you up to speed."
Using strength that almost surprises the assassin, you manage to flip your positions. Now, you're on top of him and he is under you. The change of scenery isn't anything of concern for Nagumo though. If anything, he seems almost happy to be beneath you.
"Oh, have I reached the limitations of your patience? And here I thought I was striving for the impossible," he chirps. You feel your eye twitch. Clearly, someone is having fun.
You crawl your way up his body until you're straddling his face. That freak's grin doesn't even twitch. A firm hand of yours tugs at the pitch black locks, rooting him in place for lustful your whims. "Guess you have" you retort. Your hips lower to his face which makes you breathe a sigh of relief when you finally feel him against your core.
Nagumo groans beneath you. Even you let out a low hiss of your own— though yours is out of restlessness. Your hips begin a slow, urgent pace against his face. With a light tug at his hair, he receives your message and begins to probe his tongue at your slit. Large hands reach up to grapple your ass, squeezing the supple fat between his fingers. Each firm squeeze helps you drags your core over his tongue.
The scene is messy. Loud smacks and squelching resound in the room with every tedious drag. From above, you seize control of the situation, using the assassin to get your dose of pleasure. From below, Nagumo allows you to use him as you please— guiding your movements to be just the slightest bit rougher with him.
And you comply, grinding down even harder when his nose nudges right at your clit. You jolt against him. A faint giggle bubbles beneath you and you almost chalk it up to your imagination— until you hear the illusionist start speaking. "Isn't this a lovely treat? The great [Name] can lose control. Does it feel good?"
You scowl, yanking at his hair as you drop your weight on him. "Just shut up!" you hiss. It's harsh, yes, but you aren't stopped. Nagumo isn't one to complain— especially when his provocations are working out for him as well as they are now. He gets to see you feel something for once and drive you over he edge. It's a win-win. And he continues to win, when he notes how pitchy your voice becomes. There's a slight stutter in your movements. And oh, does he love it. His stygian gaze tracks the sharp slam of your palm against the headboard.
There is no warning. It just comes crashing down all at once— your squeal, your shudder, the way you pulse on the surface of his tongue. It's near earth-shattering, but the solid hold of Nagumo's inked grip help carry you through it. Your body jerks above him as you rife out your high, letting Nagumo prove his love— his unbridled worth— to you. He moans straight into you as if your bliss is his as much as it is yours. And it may as well be! It definitely rivals the euphoria of what might be the best night of his life.
You might hardly remember it, but Nagumo clearly does— the night he met you. And the night he swore he would have you.
Not that you really can say 'met,' but it ultimately does mean the same thing. He saw you and that was everything. Poised, efficient, charming, mysterious— your allure captured him in a single night and the illusionist had absolutely no qualms with the matter.
So it's only natural he learnt all he could about you, right? Your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies, your habits. If he wanted you you close, wanted you forever, he needed to know exactly how to keep you.
Except this is a mission done by Yoichi Nagumo— The Illusionist. There's only so much normalcy one is allowed to retain in the matter. As an oddball himself, he naturally turned to unorthodox methods to extract that information from you. Every day, every night, every waking moment he spent— carefully carving his presence into your life with the hope his efforts would bear fruit. All of it leads to this moment.
All while the syringe tucked in his back pocket remains unused.
And you don't seem to mind his imposition, if he goes off the fact that you've never made any real attempts to halt his previous behaviour. Which works in his favour. It just means he gets to whisk you away the way he does in his romantic little day dreams!
a/n: I can't even blame you for this. Yes, I love me some yandere shenanigans, but heaven forbid it's non-consensual! Nothing makes me put down a story faster.😭
This unironically came to me in a dream. Then, I found this request and I knew what I had to do. [devious]
Ironically enough, every time I make Nagumo smut, I always land up with red headers. It can't be a coincidence.
But, happy valentine's day! Ironically enough, I finished this on the day! :D
-Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make's love known?
J.R.R. Tolkien
synopsis: during a tense afternoon training session at the defense force headquarters, vice-captain grows visibly jealous when a bold new recruit hovers near his partner. as the squad suffers extra drills, your calm reassurance steadies him, proving their quiet, unwavering love stronger than insecurity.
content: f!reader, fluff, jealousy, romance, love, and so on
a/n: the plot may or may not follow the anime/manga. if you have any suggestions or recommendations feel free to dm me. also if there are any mistakes or or things you would like me to add, reach out to me.
Training was supposed to be structured.
Precise.
Professional.
Instead—
It had turned into a social experiment titled:
How Far Can a New Recruit Push His Luck Before the Vice-Captain Snaps?
The answer?
Not very far.
“Why is Vice-Captain smiling like that?” Iharu muttered mid-spar.
Furuhashi didn’t look up. “That’s not smiling. That’s a warning label.”
Reno shifted his grip on his blade. “He’s been correcting everyone twice as much today.”
Kafka wiped sweat from his jaw. “He made me redo footwork for breathing wrong.”
Kikoru glanced toward the platform above.
“You mean since Hayato started orbiting Y/N-san?”
All of them went quiet.
Above them, you stood peacefully near the railing, hands folded in front of you, offering gentle nods whenever someone improved their stance.
Hayato had positioned himself nearby again.
Too nearby.
He laughed at something you said.
Below—
Hoshina’s practice blade struck harder than necessary.
The crack echoed.
Three recruits flinched.
“Focus,” Hoshina said pleasantly.
The pleasantness was the problem.
Water break.
Hayato seized the opportunity and jogged up the stairs.
Iharu watched him go.
“…He’s doing it again.”
Furuhashi grabbed the back of Iharu’s collar. “Do not follow him.”
“I’m not following. I’m observing.”
“That’s worse.”
Reno whispered, “This feels like watching someone poke a sleeping tiger.”
Kafka nodded gravely. “A tiger with two swords.”
Up on the platform—
“Y/N-san,” Hayato began, trying to sound casual and failing slightly, “can I ask something personal?”
You blinked softly. “Personal?”
He nodded, shifting his weight. “About… how you balance things. Work. Relationships.”
Your cheeks warmed slightly.
“Oh. Um.”
Below—
Hoshina had stopped moving.
Completely.
“Vice-Captain?” Furuhashi tested carefully.
Silence.
Then—
Hoshina began walking toward the stairs.
Not fast.
Which was worse.
Iharu grabbed Reno’s sleeve. “This is it. This is the moment.”
Kafka whispered, “If he confesses, we’re all dead.”
Hayato took a breath.
“I really admire you, Y/N-san. The way you carry yourself. The way you support Vice-Captain. I just—”
You smiled gently. “That’s kind of you.”
“And I was wondering if maybe—”
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Firm.
Steady.
Hoshina stood behind him.
Close enough that Hayato visibly reconsidered his life choices.
“Maybe?” Hoshina prompted lightly.
Hayato swallowed. “Maybe I could—”
Before he could finish—
Iharu and Furuhashi appeared out of nowhere.
Literally nowhere.
Furuhashi clamped a hand over Hayato’s mouth.
Iharu hooked an arm around his waist.
“We need him!” Iharu declared loudly. “Urgent drill emergency!”
“There is no emergency—” Hayato protested through Furuhashi’s grip.
“There is now,” Furuhashi muttered.
They began dragging him backward toward the stairs.
Hayato flailed. “I wasn’t done talking!”
Reno joined in, pushing from behind. “You’re very done!”
Kafka saluted you awkwardly. “Sorry about this!”
Within seconds, Hayato was physically removed from the platform.
Silence returned.
You blinked.
“…Was that necessary?”
Hoshina’s jaw was tight.
“Yes.”
You clasped your hands together softly. “He didn’t even finish.”
“That was the problem.”
His voice wasn’t raised.
But it was sharp.
You hesitated.
Then gently, “You’re upset.”
“No.”
“You are.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“I’m irritated.”
“At him?”
“Yes.”
“…Only him?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
His eye flicked toward where Hayato was now being lectured by three frantic squad members.
“I don’t like when someone stands that close to you.”
Your cheeks warmed further.
“Oh.”
He noticed that reaction.
And it made him step closer.
“You stepped back earlier.”
“You saw that?”
“I see everything.”
Your fingers twisted together slightly. You always got a little shy when he looked at you like that.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to respond without being rude.”
“You don’t have to be rude.”
“Then what should I do?”
He moved closer still.
Not dramatic.
Not aggressive.
Just close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest.
“Look at me instead.”
Your heart skipped.
“Hoshina…”
“If someone’s leaning in, you step away and come stand beside me.”
Your voice softened. “You sound jealous.”
“I am.”
The honesty stunned you quiet.
Below, Reno whispered, “He admitted it.”
Kikoru smirked. “I told you.”
Iharu held Hayato in a loose headlock. “You almost got court-martialed by vibes alone.”
Furuhashi nodded seriously. “Read the room.”
Back on the platform—
You reached for Hoshina’s sleeve gently.
“I don’t like making you feel that way.”
He looked down at where your fingers held him.
“You didn’t.”
“I don’t want anyone thinking they can interfere.”
“They won’t.”
He stepped even closer now.
You could feel the warmth from him.
“If he tries that again,” Hoshina said calmly, “I won’t wait for the squad to drag him off.”
You swallowed softly. “You were going to interrupt.”
“I was going to end it.”
That made your pulse jump.
“You don’t trust me to handle it?”
“I trust you,” he said immediately. “I don’t trust him.”
That was fair.
You smiled faintly. “You were glaring.”
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“You snapped a practice blade.”
“That was unrelated.”
You laughed softly.
He watched you like you were something fragile and infuriating at the same time.
“You’re too gentle,” he muttered.
“And you’re too intense.”
“Exactly.”
He lifted a hand and brushed his thumb lightly against your wrist.
“Don’t let them test boundaries.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t let them think you’re available.”
You blinked.
“I’m not.”
“Say it.”
You hesitated, suddenly shy.
“I’m yours.”
The words came out quiet.
Soft.
But clear.
Something in his expression shifted.
The jealousy didn’t disappear.
It settled.
Grounded.
He leaned in slightly.
“Good.”
Below—
Hayato tried to step forward again.
Iharu immediately yanked him back.
“Nope.”
Furuhashi crossed his arms. “You nearly triggered a disaster.”
Reno added, “We enjoy living.”
Kafka nodded dramatically. “Please do not pursue death.”
Hayato groaned. “I was just complimenting her!”
Kikoru replied flatly, “Compliment from over there.”
Hoshina finally stepped back from you.
But his hand lingered at your waist.
Subtle.
Claiming without making a show of it.
Training resumed.
But every time Hayato drifted even a meter too close to the stairs—
Iharu blocked him.
Furuhashi redirected him.
Reno distracted him.
Kafka tripped him “accidentally.”
It became a coordinated operation.
You noticed.
“You don’t need bodyguards.”
Hoshina glanced at the squad.
“I didn’t assign them.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He smirked faintly.
When drills ended, he walked beside you instead of ahead.
Your hand slipped naturally into his.
“You were really that bothered?” you asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“…That much?”
He looked at you.
Serious.
“Yes.”
You squeezed his fingers.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t scare the recruits too badly.”
“No promises.”
You laughed softly.
Below, Reno wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Are we safe now?”
Kikoru watched Hoshina’s arm settle around your waist.
“For today.”
Iharu released Hayato with a warning glare.
Furuhashi patted Hayato’s shoulder. “Survive your probation first.”
Hayato sighed dramatically.
Meanwhile—
Hoshina leaned closer to you and murmured quietly,
“Next time someone tries to confess, I’m not letting them get past the first sentence.”
Your cheeks burned.
“Hoshina…”
He smiled.
Jealous.
Possessive.
But calmer now.
Because you were still beside him.
And very clearly—
Staying there.
Before you come at me, I know Iharu is Furuhashi last name, but I want to add more characters so I decided Iharu and Furuhashi to be completely different characters. I didn’t know what other characters to put as my memory is bad and can’t remember names of the characters so.
