Perhaps the companionship that burned between you and Aemond once has not yet faded. In light of your newly established betrothal, he pays a visit to your chambers after dark to speak with his wife-to-be.
WARNINGS: Brief Explicit 18+ Content; Uncle/Niece Inc*st; Reader has Long White Hair; Mentions of Violence; Vaginal Fingering; Not Beta-Read; Potentially Other Non-Exhaustive Warnings.
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The feast had been an utter disaster.
Back in your room, you pace along the far wall of your bedchamber. It’s a cavernous space. One of the largest rooms in King’s Landing, and it used to be your mother’s.
You’d stayed here on many an occasion when returning to the Red Keep, and knew it like the back of your hand. That’s partly why you are on edge; for you know well what safety it affords and what it does not.
He will come for certain. Whether or not he does so alone or not is your true concern. It’s your hope that enough good will still exists between you both for him not to indulge his brother’s penchant for causing familial strife.
It’s not a good quality to have in a future husband. That is, if your betrothal is still set.
♤ tags ;; fem!reader, cheating (on reader but not by eren), exes to lover, past toxic relationships, arguing and insults, very emotionally charged sex, co-dependency (in a way), childhood friends to lovers, streamer!eren (BARELY mentioned), make-up sex, oral (f!recieving),, unprotected sex, so much dirty talk, praise kink, petnames angel, baby, pretty girl, eren kinda.. talks to ur pussy djhsdj, 18+
♤ wc ;; 10.2k (utter agony)
♤ a/n ;; i really like. this isn't the best. but that's fine i had a lot of fun alr. very self indulgent. title from teenage fever by drake.
♤ synposis ;; after your boyfriend cheats on you, your ex, eren, shows up for you against all odds. you give into him against your best interest.
You wait for him on the side of the road.
The rain is coming down in heavy sheets. You’re soaked to the bone having left in a hurry with only a single suitcase of your things. Your phones nearly dead, less than 20 percent with an ever-depleting battery. The closest place to charge your phone is too long to walk in this weather. And it’s so late the buses have stopped running.
Even if you could leave, it’s dark and dangerous. Your heart is in your throat, and the only streetlight is so far it hardly makes you feel any safer. You don’t know a single person in your ex-boyfriend's hometown other than his parents, but you aren’t sure you can face them right now if you wanted to.
It’s not like you wanted to call Eren. Or for him to see you as sorry as you are. Dehydrated, exhausted, emotionally battered - you don’t even like seeing Eren when you’re at your best. You’re sure as soon as you get into his car, he’ll start arguing with you. You’ve spent the last 15 minutes mentally readying yourself for his harsh comments whatever they may be.
You don’t have the luxury of being picky. He’s safer than venturing by yourself or taking an Uber. And he owes you one, anyway. Nows a good of a time as any to take him up on that.
Relief fills your whole body when you see a car pull up onto the side of the road. It’s an all-black sports car. Typically Eren, it sticks out sorely from all the other cars that have passed by. Wiping your eyes, you clear your vision to see Eren inside. He’s wearing a black cap and mask.
Your feet sink in the mud as you walk up to the car, but he beats you to the punch. Approaching you in the dead of night with a sort of anger you can feel before you even look at his face. He has a jacket with him made of that thin plastic material.
Before you open your mouth, he’s pulling the poncho over your head. He puts your arms through before he drags you by the wrist to his car. Hurriedly, you grab your suitcase and track it through the mud while you follow. Your voice is too hoarse to protest him, but you shout over the rain.
“Fuck Eren,” You half yell, wriggling your wrist free from his grip “Let me go,”
When he does, you stumble forward. You don’t get a look at his face as he walks over to the driver's side. In your exhaustion, you don’t think twice about it or assume he was doing it on purpose. You resign yourself. Hearing the back trunk of his car open, you try and read his face through the tinted windows. But even with the lights on, you can’t.
Sighing, you truck it towards the back. Your feet sink into the soft earth under you, huffing as you pick it up and shove it into the trunk. After you close it, you hurry back to the passenger seat, finally opening the door to see Eren.
He doesn’t even look at you when you do, eyes focused on the road. You stare at the interior of his car, grimacing at the thought of having to pay him back for getting it covered in mud. Left without a choice, you get in.
The plastic on his seat tells you he might’ve thought ahead. You aren’t sure if you should be comforted by that or not.
The door closes with a soft thud as you get to sit. The sound of the rain is muted almost instantly and leaves you with nothing but the radio, virtually silent, and Eren with a hand over the wheel. You put your seatbelt on and then settle more into your seat. Turning your body to face the window. The tension in the air is so thick you can feel yourself choke around it, breathing through your nose.
Eren’s car smells like spearmint. You’re expecting to be berated at some point, for inconveniencing him or otherwise. After all, you called him through a sob and asked him for something you’re sure he’d rather not be doing.
Instead though, he puts the car in drive, steps on the gas, and does a turn until he’s back on the road home.
He doesn’t say a word or even looks at you. Maybe reminding him of the fact he owed you meant he was going to treat this interaction as entirely transactional, which is infinitely better for you. You let out a breath of relief, shivering. He turns on the heat without you asking.
You decide against speaking and give him a glance of acknowledgment. He doesn’t return the gesture.
You hear your phone buzz in the pocket of your pants, and fish it out. As you expected, it’s just your ex-boyfriend. A slew of missed messages and calls. Your eyes hurt getting adjusted to the bright lights as you send him a quick stop texting me tonight before clicking it off. You want to throw your phone in the river, and yourself. To float down somewhere far from here, and pretend nothing ever happened.
With the white noise of rain no longer drowning out your invasive and sad thoughts, you find yourself choking back more tears. The wound is still fresh, tender, and bleeding.
You’ve always had bad taste in guys.
But you thought this time would be different. He was different. Patient, and attentive and so thoughtful. It was always stable. You met his family, for fuck sake. His mom, dad, and sister - are all good people. A nice house with a garage, health insurance, and a college graduate. From a different place than you and your friends.
It was never all that exciting, but you thought it was better that way. To keep it simple. You put in the effort to make it work. Got comfortable with complacency, and waved off all of your friends when they insisted you should date someone better. Someone who suited you more.
Maybe someone like Eren. The thought makes your stomach sour.
But your ex, he wasn’t a bad guy. It wasn’t so easy. He was safe, and after your other experience with romantic relationships- safety wasn’t something you could dismiss with the idea of deserving more. More was abstract and intangible. Slippery.
You were content, so you stayed. Stability, you told yourself, I just want stability.
He was the last person you could imagine cheating on you. Unsurprisingly with a girl from his hometown who he’d told you about before and swore he got over. Feeling stupid, you let out an exasperated laugh. It’s your fault for trying so hard. For taking his inch and trying to turn it into a mile.
For believing it’d be enough to try. Maybe you know better than anyone, there are just some people you never get closure with. That distant look in his eyes concerned you. But a guy like him didn’t seem like he’d cheat.
You’ve never been so wrong.
Your stomach rumbles as you close your eyes and go over the fight. Subsequently, you forget Eren is even in the car with you. His presence fades into the background, face pained as you think of your exes apologies. He seemed sorry.
But you’re not someone who can forgive or forget easily - so you broke up. It just complicates everything. Already broken up, but you have to get your things. Find a place to stay for the month because it’s too expensive to go home early. Delete him off your socials, and maybe get in touch with your therapist again. The laundry list of post-break-up things to do is the most frustrating and most taxing.
The emotional healing and distrust go in some compartment until you can actually unpack them. After the initial devastations scabs over, you’re sure the sore feeling of sadness will come back with a vengeance.
That’s later though, and this is now.
Moping is a pipe-dream, seeing as you’re in a place where you have no one and nothing. The only person you know lives here is Eren, but you’re not really expecting any help from him after tonight. Maybe 3 days max, if he’s feeling generous enough.
At the very least, he must feel pretty sorry for you. No snippy remark or sarcastic gripe since you’ve gotten in. You can’t figure out what he’s thinking, just as before. It’s almost impossible to get a read on his face, and that thought leaves your mouth bitter.
As bitter as a favor. As bitter as a memory, you swipe your tongue on your teeth to rid yourself of the taste but it lingers.
You avert your eyes to your hands, peeling the skin off the edge of your fingernails. After a minute or two, you drive in front of a stoplight. The red reflects onto your sneakers and into Eren’s car.
“So,” He starts, voice filled with that familiar sharpness “How’s the boyfriend?”
Ah. There it is. He almost disarmed you with his silence. It’s a weird way to start scolding you, but you’ve never really understood why Eren does what he does. You sigh, clearing your throat. It’s thick with tears you’ve been shedding all evening.
“Ex-boyfriend.”
The light goes green, and he takes a right. He lives farther than you thought.
“How’d you fuck it up this time?”
Normally, his insistence on blaming you would frustrate you. It’s classically Eren. The projection was always the name of the game when you two were dating, especially at the sour end of your relationship.
Your desire and ability to fight are diminished though, turning into ember and ash. Giving him a shrug, you laugh a bit.
“Don’t know,” You say with a little more honesty than you were intending to “I just uh. I don’t know.”
He sighs this time, and his voice goes a touch soft. Sympathy feels worse than his anger. How pathetic you must look settles in.
“...What happened?”
It’s hard to get yourself to say it. Even though you know it. Getting the words out feels like climbing a mountain. You lean back into the headrest and turn away from him. Watching the passing cars intently, you smile.
“He cheated on me. From uh, a girl with his hometown,” You say, forthright. Hoping his pity might make him go easy on you “His first love. I came home and found them in our bed,”
You can feel him go stiff beside you.
You realize that anything he said to you right now probably wouldn’t hurt. The numb pain outweighs everything else that you think it’d slide off your back.
“And?”
“Uh... I don’t know. She left. And we got into a fight. Broke up with him and said I’d figured something out. Just didn’t really want to be in the same room with him,” You sigh, rubbing underneath your eyes “Packed my shit and sort of wandered around trying to figure out what to do. Called you when I saw how late it got,”
“Should’ve called me earlier,” He says simply. You chuckle.
“Like when?”
He huffs.
“Earlier. Would’ve picked you from his place and fought him or something.”
You smile somberly.
“I thought about it, buut I thought that'd upset him, so I didn’t,”
This he scoffs at, anger in his voice.
“That’s so like you,”
You wish you could disagree.
“Yeah,” You say back, unsure of what else to do “Yeah, guess it is.”
“What’re you gonna do now?”
You take a deep breath in.
“I won’t be in your hair long. I’ll try and score an Airbnb and wait it out. Leaving early is expensive as fuck.”
“You could stay with me if it’s just a couple of weeks,” He offers easily “Airbnbs are more expensive than a ticket, right?”
“Would your girlfriend be okay with that? Does she know you’re picking me up?”
He stares out into the road, jaw clenched.
“We broke up a while ago.”
“What happened there?”
“None of your business.”
You scoff.
“Of course, it isn’t,” You reply, a little angrier than you can control “Your personal life never is. My mistake. I’m a little rusty on how this works.”
His voice is so cold it’s chilling.
“Don’t,” He grits, hands hard on the steering wheel “Don’t fucking start,”
“I’m not trying to start anything. But it’s hypocritical for you to ask me about the shit that just happened and not even tell me why you and your girlfriend broke up.”
“I’m doing you a favor,” He justifies in a half-hearted way you’ve grown accustomed to “I deserve to know,”
You laugh, voice strangled.
“You deserve a fucking foot up your ass,” You spit, suddenly shaking “A simple ‘It’s complicated or ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now’ would’ve sufficed.”
“You’re still good at picking fights,” He goads, mouth twisted in a sneer “Did you nag him too? Maybe that’s why he went crawling back to his first love”
It’s too far. He’s too far, and he knows it. It’s all over his face, even masked in anger. You shoot him a deadly look, arms crossed over your chest. Suddenly, tears well up in your eyes and you can’t even look at him. It was a mistake, of course it was. You shouldn’t have bothered. Expecting anything from Eren was your own fault. Even basic decency.
Whatever camaraderie you used to have dissolved a long time ago. You bite your tongue
“You’re the fucking worst,” You sniffle, closing your eyes “Just drop me off at a hotel. I don’t want to be around you. It’s my fault for assuming you’d be civil.”
His hands are gripping the steering wheel tight.
“Tell me how you really feel,” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I think I’m being plenty civil right now,”
“Fuck. Do you get off on provoking me? On hurting my fucking feelings?” Your voice comes to a scratchy yell, unable to contain the anger in it “I just got fucking cheated on. In the middle of a city where I don’t know a single person other than you. You’re the last person I want to fucking see, Eren. The last,”
“So why’d you call me crying?”
“I didn’t have a choice! If I had a choice, I would’ve called anyone else. Would’ve called Jean or Connie or Armin—anyone. Anyone who isn’t fucking you.”
He clicks his teeth.
“Liar,” He says with the sort of confidence that floors you “You would’ve still called me even if everyone we know was in the city,”
It stings that he’s right. Your strength crumbles.
“So what if that’s true? What does it matter that I thought of you? That’s always been my issue, right? How’d you put it again?” You laugh out loud, a little out of it “I should stop expecting anything from you, right? It’s my fault. I should just stop having expectations for anyone. It must be me.”
He looks a little strained. Almost sorry. You scoff.
“Yeah,” You mumble, exhausted “You’re right. I shouldn’t expect anything from anyone. No matter how much I heal, or how hard I try to do the right thing”
“Y/N—”
“I worked on myself. Went to therapy. Took time off from dating altogether. Did everything right and still,” Your mouth fills with iron “Still. Still. I can’t find one person to treat me decently. Congrats, Yeager. It’s just like you hoped.”
The silence that follows says more than you ever could. You rub your temple. He’s probably right that you pushed it.
“Sorry for snapping on you,” You reply, voice tense “But, I still want to be dropped off at a hotel.”
“Why?”
You laugh.
“What do you think? Think we’re gonna be able to play house for two weeks? It hasn’t even been an hour and we’re fighting,”
He’s thinking. You can see it on his face, the tight strain of his jaw, and his brows. You haven’t seen him in person for more than a couple of years. But the familiarity always lingers. It doesn’t feel unusual, even the fighting.
He hasn’t changed. That much is obvious.
You shouldn’t have called, you think. It might’ve been better to get hypothermia and walk to the nearest motel.
“It’s not your fault he cheated on you,” He says. You think it’s his way of apologizing, a piss poor attempt at comforting you “Guys are just scumbags. Hung up on their first love or whatever. It’s not uncommon,”
You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. Frankly, you don’t have the energy for either.
“Does that include you?” You attempt to joke. To your surprise, he laughs. His voice is hoarse, and a touch resentful. Not at you, though. That feels important.
“Yeah.” He replies, not looking over at you “Me especially,”
It’s the first time he’s said as much about himself in your presence. Before it was that you didn’t understand him or that you didn’t get it. It’s too early to retract your previous statement. Hope sparks anyways. For what, you don’t want to know.
You nod sagely.
“You especially,” You affirm without any trouble “At least you know.”
This time, he smiles at you. It’s barely there. This whole conversation and the good nature of it is like walking on eggshells. You both know that.
Eren breaks the silence first as he pulls into another lane.
“Stay with me for tonight,” He offers “Just tonight,”
You don’t know why he insists. A loud yawn slips through your lips and your inclination to protest dwindles before being snubbed out completely. Shivering, you nod. Your head feels heavy.
“If you say so,”
You think you feel a pair of eyes on you before sleep washes over you like a tide. They might be Erens, but in your delirium, you can’t be sure. It doesn’t take much for you to succumb to sleep.
__
After your car ride ended, Eren woke you up gently to help you inside. This time, he took your luggage without your asking and helped you into his home.
He lives in one of those luxury apartments with a doorman. It’s fancier than you could ever imagine yourself living in. There’s a chandelier in the lobby, with a gym and a pool. Trekking mud into such a nice place makes you feel guilty. Eren seems unbothered.
You take the elevator up to the 7th floor, and then a right into the hallway. Eren fishes the keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and stepping aside to let you in.
This is a bachelor pad. It’s the first thing that crosses your mind when you enter.
The decoration is minimalist and expensive. Boyish in its extravagance, littered with pricey things only Eren Yeager would buy. The couches are black, the carpet is white and the windows are big panes that overlook the entire city.
A flatscreen takes up most of the room. There’s a kitchen but it looks unused. It’s lived in, in the way that there are running shoes and clothes. Mess that happens when you spend your time somewhere, but it’s void of things a girlfriend would have in the house. You would know.
On one of the walls is a painting of a woman's naked body, tastefully done. From what you remember of Eren’s ex-girlfriend, she’d have his head over something like that.
Eren clears his throat behind you. When you turn to look at him, he looks a little sheepish.
“Broke up a while ago huh,”
He looks surprised at your deduction. You poke your head at the painting.
“She would’ve beat your ass for even thinking about putting that up,”
His expression is affirmative. After you’re done taking it in, all of your sensory issues hit you all at once. You pull the sleeves of your soaked hoodie over your hands but you’re freezing. His eyes widen.
“Ah, shit. Let me get you a towel. I’ll turn the heat up too,”
“Thanks, ‘ren.”
The nickname slips out of habit, but you don’t get a chance to retract it as Eren shuffles off to grab you a towel.
It doesn’t take him very long, a few in hand. You watch him idly as he turns on the heat before hurrying back over to you, shoving towels your way. You make him hold them for a minute, taking off your poncho and hanging it to him.
You dry yourself off to the best of your ability as Eren goes to put away the raincoat.
“Mind if I shower?”
He shakes his head.
“Would be concerned if you didn’t. I can get us food or something while you’re in there,”
“That’s… thoughtful of you. I’d appreciate it. I can Venmo—”
He puts a hand up, sitting on the back of his couch while you dry yourself off.
“Save your money if you’re worried about it.”
“I don’t want to owe you anything.”
Your frank way of speaking to him irritates him, same as always.
“You won’t owe me,” He assures first “I know we hate each other's guts now, but I’m not gonna let you go hungry.”
Warm. It makes you feel warm. You avert your eyes as you dry yourself off.
“Your mom would have your head,” You murmur. He laughs.
“My mom might forgive me. Zeke and my old man would hang me like a flag,”
“How’s Zeke been?”
His expression goes dry. They’re fighting. Eren rolls his eyes.
“Fine. On my ass, as usual. Business is good. I’ve got a niece now. Zeke’s wrapped around her finger,”
You’ve seen it floating on social media. You feel a little melancholy. It must show on your face.
“You should still visit home sometimes. Don’t be a stranger,”
You smile sadly.
“Easier said than done,”
“...Even if you don’t see me. I’m not the only one who misses you. Jean hasn’t stopped bitching about you going to see just Armin.”
You don’t know if he catches it. He misses you. You’re too afraid to confront it but unable to ignore it. You think over his words.
“It’s not like I don’t want to,” You start, voice slow “But after everything… after everything.”
There’s a minute where neither of you talks. Yet it’s not silent. The room is tense with everything you want to say or everything you did. Every regret, every memory starts to buzz all at once inside of your ribs like a spark of electricity through your hollow.
“If tonight didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have ever seen you again,”
He shakes his head with the same confidence as before.
“I would’ve found you.”
He says it like it doesn’t need any explanation. As casual as relaying the weather to you. He gives you a look, scratching his jaw.
“Go shower. How’s Thai? Same as before?”
It takes you a second to find your voice.
“Y-Yeah. Same as before. Where’s your shower?”
He directs his eyes towards the bathroom. You grab your small luggage on your way, offering him a quiet thanks. The sound of your heartbeat thrums in your ears, faster than the pounding rain.
__
Time passes like sand between your fingers.
After a shower, a change of clothes, and a full stomach - you and Eren are left totally in each other's company. Your expectation of it being awkward or even marginally uncomfortable becomes unthinkable after a while. Despite how late it is, you aren’t tired or all that sad.
Truthfully, you don’t know how to handle how familiar Eren feels. Like a durable winter coat with a heavy and comforting weight on your shoulders. It’s not burdensome to talk to him. He matches your pace and picks up easily on your quips. Natural lulls in conversation don’t feel uncomfortable and every misdirect or anecdote opens the door for more conversation.
Maybe you should’ve expected that. You and Eren grew up together. Along with Mikasa and Armin, and everyone from your hometown. It shouldn’t surprise you that Eren is comfortable.
When you look at him, you see home. If your gaze lingers. even a second too long or if you think for a minute more than necessary, you’re caught in the web of memories you’ve spent your whole life making.
You wonder about your ex-boyfriend. The irony of it isn’t lost on you. Maybe it hurts because you understand perfectly. No matter how much you love after, there’s nothing like first love. If he saw that in her eyes, it’s all that much harder to feel angry.
The only thing keeping you grounded is remembering that you’ve tried before and it failed miserably. It sinks you when you float too close to your heartwarming nostalgia.
The acrid truth is that this is all temporary and circumstantial.
Every now and again you remind yourself you’ve just been very vulnerable. And Eren’s grounding presence is helping you.
Again and again, you remind yourself that.
“High school was so ass,” Eren leans back into the couch, stretching his legs out “Mrs. Carnegie was such a bitch,”
You give him an unimpressed look. He looks like you remember when he’s like this. Having changed into his own clothes, hair tied up messily. He’s adjacent to you on the couch, far enough to stretch his limbs comfortably.
“She was nice to me. She was a bitch to you because you kept interrupting class,”
He rolls his eyes.
“And who was I doing that for?”
Your heart skips a beat. .
“Man, whatever.”
He laughs at you.
“Weak come-back,” He hums, laying his head on the back of his couch. He tilts his head in your direction “I was a good boyfriend in high school at least,” He adds, a little softer.
“You were. You were kinda like a puppy,”
He groans.
“Don’t say it like that, that’s humiliating.”
“What are you talking about? Puppies are cute.”
“Yeah, but hearing that now is embarrassing. I’m a man now,”
You raise a brow.
“Men can't be cute like puppies?”
“No,”
“But Armin is right there,”
“Doesn’t count. He literally looks like a fairy prince. Statistical anomaly,”
That makes you laugh hard enough your stomach hurts.
“Why’re you laughing? Am I wrong?”
“You just said it so seriously. He is an anomaly but I think Connie is cute in a puppy way too,”
“Connie’s bald ass? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I like it, his hair looks good buzzed.”
“You’d find something nice to say about a pile of trash,”
“I like your long hair, Yeager.”
He gives you an unimpressed laugh as you break out into laughter.
“Low fucking blow,”
“Cry,”
This time he laughs instead, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it easily, holding it to your chest.
“I do like the hair though. It’s all you ever talked about,”
He gives you a little smile.
“You remembered. I thought it’d make me look cooler. Alternative or whatever. Don’t know if it’s working,”
“Your fans seem to love it,”
He looks sheepish at the mention of his work. You laugh.
“It gets a mixed response. A lot of people miss the short hair. I mostly keep it long because it’s easier to style,”
“Both are nice. I like your short hair more when I think about it,”
“Yeah?”
“I guess it’s cause it was short when we’re growing up. And uh,”
“When we were dating?”
You give him a tight-lipped smile.
“Yeah. When we were dating, it was always short,”
He closes his eyes, suddenly deep in thought.
“You wanna know why I kept it short?”
You think you’d be better off not knowing.
“...Why?”
“When you’d play with my hair,” Subconsciously, he pushes his hair back a little “I could feel it better when my hair was shorter. Thought if I’d grew it, you wouldn’t touch it cause it’d get greasy quicker.”
All at once, you pull back. Whatevers on your face isn’t enough to make Eren waver when he looks at you. It’s easy to get lost in his eyes. Ocean blue, and full of something dark. Tempting like an abyss or a siren song. You swallow a lump in your throat.
“It’s something I’d do,”
The way Eren stares at you is so intense. You’re dancing around it now. What you both want to talk about it. A conversation that’s gone untouched for more than 4 years. Sober and aching. Different but the same.
Eren breaks the tension first. That’s twice.
“I’d cut my hair short if you asked me,”
You’re quiet.
“I’d do whatever you want,”
“Eren,”
“What?”
What do you say? Don’t? Please? What could you say that means more than his name in your mouth?
“You know what,” You say weakly “You know,”
A conversation you’ve had a hundred times before. It burns like bile rising in your esophagus. Crushed windpipes under the burden of love. Your hands grip the ends of the pillow tighter. He sits up straighter. You don’t want to talk about it.
“Do I?”
“Eren,” A warning.
“There’s not any point in talking around it, “ He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie “Around this. Around us.”
“There is no us,” You correct sharply, shaking your head “Not anymore,”
His face doesn’t have anything you can read. You know yours must read of resentment. Eren is his usual blank.
“There could be,”
You shatter at the sentiment. The hopeful, easy way he says it. Like he doesn’t remember anything, and that you two are strangers. You know better that you aren’t. That no amount of healing can take it all back. Maybe you could forgive Eren, and somewhere far down the line - you could even be friends.
But us is impossible. You tried us. It blew up in your face.
“Fuck you for even saying that,” Your voice comes out garbled “Fuck you for even thinking it,”
“How is it fuck me? For wanting to fix our relationship, seriously?”
You hate him. With everything you have in you, with a burning fiery sort of anger. A resentment that’s spent years strangling you. Every time you’ve bitten your tongue, all the time you tried to fix it.
It’s all so messy and so unspeakbly touchy.
“The sooner you get it out of your head there’s a relationship to fix, the better off we’ll be,”
“Bullshit. Bullshit there’s nothing. I make you feel nothing?”
It’s not what you said. He knows that, but he means what he’s saying. And he knows your answer already because he’s like that. He already knows everything about you. Where to make you hurt, and how to make it sting. Eren is a scar, not a bruise. He stays, for as long as you’re alive. No matter how faint, or how healed - he stays a part of you.
He knows that as much as you do. That’s why it took you so long to leave. Of course you’d end up talking about it like this, but that’s not what you wanted. Or maybe it is. You don’t really know what you want from Eren. What you were hoping for when you stayed up late to talk to him and reminisce. You think just camaraderie.
“I hate you so fucking much,” You croak, wiping away angry tears “More than anyone in my life, I hate your fucking guts,”
“You don’t mean that,”
“I do,” Your reply comes in an angry hush “I can’t forget how we ended Eren. The months after I left were some of the worst of my life. Do you know how long it took me? To get better?”
His jaw clenches.
“I didn’t think you would leave,”
His confession stuns you into silence. His arrogance never fails to astound, Like this, it feels incredibly frustrating. Your stomach sours.
“...You thought I would stay? After everything?”
“You said you would,” He raises his voice this time. He sounds hurt. Angry. Sad. All things you didn’t know he could still feel “You—you fucking promised. It was supposed to be forever and you left first.”
“You can’t be serious,”
“You promised,”
“Yeah,” This time you sit up. Everything hits you at the same time “When I was 17 and in love. Before you treated me like shit,”
He winces. So he does know.
“You remember now, don’t you? You changed. You left for college, you stopped picking up my calls. You were such a fucking flirt that half of your campus thought you were single till I moved in. You remember that Eren?”
His silence makes you madder.
“You remember. right? How I’d desperately try and fix our relationship while you ran around doing whatever? You always looked so fucking indifferent. All we ever did was fight. Nothing I did worked,”
“Y/N—”
“I didn’t know anything other than you. If it was anyone else… But it was you,”
“I’m—”
“You used to tell me when we were kids that if any boy hurt my feelings, you’d kill him. You remember that?”
He closes his eyes.
“Don’t make it sound like I just up and left for nothing. We both know that’s bullshit,” You choke back a sob as you think about it. The gaping hole in your chest that Eren always left splits open again.
“I’ve always loved you. Always. From the minute I could walk and talk. I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, Eren,” Even now, you don’t want him thinking that “I left because you didn’t love me. I left because I realized that”
The silence that follows your rant exhausts you so much you slump back into the couch. You learned your lessons the hard way. That love was meaningless to safety. That stability was a luxury few can afford. Nothing is guaranteed.
This second time around, you know that love can’t be one-sided. Maybe that’s what all of this has been trying to teach you.
You cry silently, taking in deep breaths. You have no idea what he’ll say, and you don’t know if you care.
“I’m sorry,”
“....What?”
“I’m sorry,” His voice breaks a little this time. You don’t remember the last time you saw him cry “I didn’t mean for things to end like that,”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it,”
You know it’s a mean thing to say. It’s not kind or forgiving. His sincerity doesn’t even feel real to you at the moment he says, but sorry doesn’t make you feel better. Sorry doesn't fix it.
“I know,”
“Then why say it?”
“I still love you,”
Drowning. You’re drowning in murky waters, hardly getting air.
“You don’t love me,”
“Don’t say that,” His voice sounds weak and desperate. You haven’t heard it like that in so long. Vulnerable “Even if you hate my fucking guts. I still love you, always did. Always.”
“Then why did you do that to me?”
“I was terrified,”
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Eren. Spoken to him, or even called him on the phone. Years. Checking on him through his social media and streams was all you ever got. Sometimes Armin would fill you in, or Mikasa.
But Eren, in your eyes, had remained how you left him. He got arrogant you think. He got his fix and grew up to be tall and handsome. Had aspirations and grew out of his shyness.
And instead of growing together, you grew apart. You started to accept the fact that the Eren you loved was no longer someone you could reach. The young, doe-eyed lovesick boyfriend. Eren was just a college boy now. Not your only exception, not the love of your life.
Accepting that was the hardest thing you’ve had to do in your life.
So why does he sound like someone you used to love? And why now, of all times?
“When you talk like that, it makes me think you’re different.”
“I am,” He stops for a minute, hands folded “I’m trying to be.”
“...Why were you scared?”
“It’s uhm, I don’t know how to say it,”
“Take your time,”
“Doing long distance made me realize how much I needed you,” His voice is hardly over a whisper. “It was ego. But I hated that. I had it in my head that you were off with other guys, and I—I don’t fucking know—I was stupid. I wanted to feel like you still wanted me,”
“So what? You made me chase you?”
“Yeah. Something like that. When you moved in, it just… I don’t know. I saw how everyone looked at you. I didn’t think it would make me so angry to see you like that,”
“Sounds like…”
“Self-sabotage,” Eren interjects “That’s what my therapist said, at least.”
“You’re in therapy?”
“Only a few months, but yeah. It helps.”
“I don’t understand you at all,” You shake your head “ Not at all,”
“You bring out the best and worst in me.” He replies with a humorless laugh on his lips “Still. Around anyone else, it doesn’t matter. What they do or don’t do,”
“And me?”
“You,” He rubs a hand over his face, voice shaking. He tries to be lighthearted but the sentiment is sincere “I make myself sick thinking about you,”
It feels hot under your clothes.
“We shouldn’t be… I shouldn't—”
“I know. You drive me so fucking crazy and I get so angry. I know, but how the fuck could it ever be anyone but you?”
Your breath hitches.
“What’re you saying?”
“That I want you. I want you so fucking bad. I don’t want to ever be away from you ever again. I can’t help but want that,”
You can feel him coming into your space. How he scoots closer to you, just enough that he’s moving across the couch. He’s so much bigger than you remember. Stronger. It's all moving so fast. When he puts his hand on your knee, you tense but don’t move. The dizzying smell of his cologne catches on your tongue and tickles your throat.
His eyes dart down to your lips. His hands running up your outer thighs. You’re defenseless. Weak, you pull back a little. He doesn’t move.
“I can’t just forgive you overnight—”
“I know,” He leans in a little more. Close enough that his breath touches your skin “I’ll keep trying. I want to try again. I’ll earn it this time. I’ll chase you, and you can ignore me all you want,”
He’s being cheeky as much as he’s being serious. Classically Eren. You’re so screwed.
You feel your throat close up as he inches forward.
“You’re so bad for me.” You whisper, the words too heavy.
“Two sides of the same coin,” He says back, then he smiles “We’re made for each other. You think that too. I know you do,”
“I wanted stability,”
“I’ll try to give you it. If that’s what you want.”
“And if you’re just a rebound?”
“As long as I’m yours,”
“You’re such a scumbag.”
“I know,”
Everything falls from under you the minute you kiss him.
A little noise of surprise leaves his lips that instantly morphs into desire. It’s an uncouth display of emotions, so animal that you can hardly call it love. It’s something in between love and hatred, the opposite of indifference. All the intensity of life, of every terrible emotion you’ve ever had. You kiss Eren Yeager first because you miss him, despite yourself. Everything after that is just another blurry detail.
He moans into your mouth. Where your hand has landed on his chest, he grabs your wrist and then drags you into his lap without ever breaking apart. You end up over him, with his lap under yours.
When he has you where he wants you, he hugs you close to his body. You can feel the hardlines of muscle through his shirt, his arms secure around your back. Your tits are pressed against his chest, bra forgotten. The slightest brushes are what make you feel the most.
Eren’s shaky breaths and the overwhelming way his lips move against yours. Indecision in how to treat you. Soft kisses that are followed by rough ones. The intensity of your own desire consumes your ability to act cordial, as you squeeze against Eren tight.
You can feel the rapid beat of Eren’s heart in his chest, grinding your hips into his.
In between kisses, he makes sure to nip at your jaw. You can feel his teeth pierce your pulse point, his tongue lapping over the leftover wound that leaves you shaking.
He litters bites like that on every inch of your skin, your neck left with an ache. There’s something ironic in Eren licking your wounds over, but the words escape you before you can utter them.
Even in just being claimed, the feeling is intense. It makes you visceral. Not to be worked up from touch or words, but something else entirely. Something cosmic in it’s very existence.
Eren finally pulls away from you, just barely to glance at your swollen lips. He meets your eyes as his teeth sink into the lower one to make you whine. He talks to you while your eyes are locked.
“Fuck,” His voice is thick with lust. Heat splits you right in half “Fuck, fuck, baby. Been so long,”
“Y-Your hands,”
“Can’t take em off you,” They’re smooth as they feel you up. Shamelessly squeezing the fat of your hips in between in his fingers, grabbing your ass hard. A guilt creeps up for comparing him to your ex-boyfriend.
But all you can think about is how Eren is the opposite of stability. Images pop up of when you used to have sex, so many years before. He was meeker before, less assured. You thought his confidence would make you sick, but it doesn’t.
Rather, the look on his face while he gropes you makes you wet. Chewing his lower lip, feeling your body like he’s dying to see it under his clothes. Impatiently and unabashedly wanting you in a way that is distinctly Eren.
There’s truth in the sentiment that no one could ever fuck you like Eren could. It’s one you’ve kept to yourself for so long that you almost forgot it. Eren knew your body and shaped it to his hands years ago. You like being touched because of how he touched you, a memory you carried like a torch.
It was Eren who wanted you first, who fucked you first, who made you cum first when you were both so awkward and clumsy.
“Look at you,” He groans. His hands inch under your shirt, skin on skin. Pinching your nipples gently, till they’re hard against your shirt “Look how sexy you are,”
He knows what you like, what you like being told.
“My pretty fucking girl,”
Fuck. Of course, he remembers that.
“Oh, you—”
“So pretty,” He parrots. Even with electricity buzzing in his movements, he’s patient. Undresses you gently. When your skins bare, your shirt tossed to the other side of the room, he kisses the underneath of your tits. Each one, he kneads them. Appreciates them, worships them. All of that undivided attention that he always used to give you when you were dating.
When you were in love.
“You still like when I tease ‘em too,”
His tongue runs over your hardened nipple, sucking it into his mouth, His free hand occupies the other, taking time to give them both equal attention. Your body starts to ignite, little sparks of electricity flitting up your spine.
Letting your fingers card through his hair, you glance down. He looks up at you with his mouth full, eyes lidded. His lashes are long against his olive skin, sun freckles over the bridge of his nose. Your hands reach to touch the moles along his cheeks, all in places you remember.
You don’t resist the urge for intimacy. Not things you did with your ex, but with Eren. You press a kiss to his hairline and his hands get a little tighter. Your want expands, fills like a balloon.
Feeling his cock nudge against your shorts is surprising. A blush crawls over his face, grinding his hips up into you. It’s muscle memory to do it back - rocking yourself until he’s nestled between you. Dry-humping like this makes you feel like a teenager again, doing this in Eren’s dingy basement when you weren’t ready to lose your virginity.
Except Eren knows what he’s doing. He shifts his weight, sitting up enough to push up against your clit. His mouth deatches, a string of saliva in his place. The cool air against the swell of your tits make, adds to the sensation.
He grabs your ass again, this time just to push you up. To set a pace as you grind against each other.
“Wanna know something?”
You choke back a whimper.
“Mm,”
“I used to jack thinking about you,” His voice is slick when he speaks, a low whisper “Remember? You used to be too sensitive so you’d rub against the edge of your bed. Thought about it all the time after you told me,”
Your jaw drops open.
“You—”
“You’re a big girl now, aren’t you? Not too sensitive for this, but—,” He does it with more purpose, a long slow drag so you can feel his shaft against your clothed cunt “you still like it slow,”
“Eren, holy—”
“Everything you like,” He hums, this time matching how he moves you with his own body “Still remember every detail,”
“Y-Yeah?”
“Yeah baby,” He dips his head to kiss against the column of your throat again, this time sucking deep dark hickies. You can feel his lips when you moan “Everything. Kept me company,”
You’re almost too afraid to ask what he means.
“Eren,” You half beg, fingers twitching with want “Don’t tease me,”
“What do you need?”
“Uhm,” Embarrassed. For some reason, Eren asking you is making you embarrassed. You’ve never been before “This is so humiliating,”
“You were always shy about asking for it,”
“So why’re you making me, asshole?”
“I like watching you squirm,”
“Shut up, you’re awful,”
“Put something in my mouth, then?”
Your eyes go wide, and he smiles. His breath brushes against the shell of your ear.
“You wanna sit on my face, right? Shut me up,”
It was a stupid arguement you had. At the latter half of your relationship, sometimes the only way you two resolved things was sex. Eren referencing it makes you mad as much as it makes you wet.
When you were both a little inebriated, he used to beg you for it.The memories of that make you nod. Your voice is coarse with lust.
“Wanna sit on your face,”
“Take your shorts off,”
Taking off your clothes is haphazardly done. You and Eren part ways. He takes off his shirt and hoodie to reveal a body cut from pure marble. He was always athletic, but clearly his gym rat posting on his IG story were genuine and not for show. He sends you a little smirk when he catches you staring, flexing his muscles a little.
“Do I look good?”
You nod, awestruck as you wriggle out of your shorts leaving you in just your socks. Eren does the rest slowly, stood up and taking off his sweatpants His thighs are muscular, strong with a little dark hair. It’s on his stomach too, just barely there.
The fabric of his boxers strain against his cock. It’s big, bulges against the black material that you can see the skin. It’s intimidating to look at.
Your eyes follow him to the couch. You watch him get comfortable, moving pillows around to make sure there’s enough space. He flashes you a smile when he’s laid down, untying his hair as a last touch.
“Come here, angel,” He signals, waving you over “Come sit,”
The air brushes past you as you approach him. He reaches a hand out to lace with your hands.
“Face that way. So you can hold onto my hair, yeah?”
“Yeah,”
It takes you a minute. It’s easier to climb over his chest, inching towards his face. When you’re spread right over his neck, he gives you a cheeky grin. His hands reach over your thigh, pulling you apart. His eyes are zeroed in on your clit, finger brushing back the hair on you. The affectionate way he does both makes you want to hide away.
Eren is holding you in place so you can’t move.
“Look at that,” He whispers, breath fanning your cunt “Look at how wet you got for me,”
Instead of putting his tongue where you need it, he cranes his neck to one side and presses kisses into your inner thigh. Licking at the skin, he holds your eyes.
“Tell me something,”He goes an inch highe and leaves a hickey before repeating it a little bit aove “Did he ever get you this wet? You can be honest,”
Your clit throbs between your legs. Eren grins, as you squirm. You look down at him, shaking your head.
“Not like you. I mean, he wasn’t bad but he wasn’t—”
“But he wasn’t me, was he?” He goes on, his lips pressing right against your achy clit, arousal on his lips that he licks with ease “Could never be me, could he?”
“Eren,” You whine. His smile gets bigger, tongue licking one long stripe against your folds.
“Say it baby. That I’m the best you’ve ever had?”
Your reply is a meek yeah. It’s hard to do anything with confidence or self-assurance when your entire body is begging to be pleasured. Eren gives you a few more kisses on your clit, like he’s making out with it. It’s sweet and lazy, making your hips buck for more.
“I’m the same,” He coos, sticking his tongue out as he forces your weight down so you’re not longer hovering but sitting on his face “There’s nothing like you,”
He doesn’t hesitate to dive in right after that. Burying himself deep, your hands immediately fix at the base of his hair. He’s not shy about it, his tongue laid flat, creating just enough suction around to feel. It’s perfectly pracited, familiar.
Eren eats you out from memory. That much is obvious to you as soon as you feel him, the wet heat of his mouth and his tongue. It’s a measured build of pleasure, soothing a long-time ache that slowly escalates to something more.
A mewl escapes your throat. He moans against your pussy, nose bumping against you. Tugging at the roots of his hair, you wiggle your hips to get him to give you more.
You feel the coil in your tummy when Eren goes a little deeper, sucks a little harder, moves a little faster. Encouraging you to use him to the best of your ability as he pushes your hips, nails dug in the skin to keep you steady Looking down makes you see him completely blissed out, like he’s in a comfortable dream.
You don’t really remember the last time someone went down on you like this without asking. Like he’s enjoying it all on his own, like he wants you. There’s vigor to how he takes you into his mouth, tastes you greedily, with appreciative grunts and groans.
The word perfect falls flat to how Eren licks your pussy. Perfect is too prim, too neat. Whatever Eren makes you feel between your legs, is far from perfect. Eren is something more. More intangible, hard to touch. He eats your pussy perfectly, but messily. Desperately, lovingly. Every inch of you is wanted, tongue nestled against your folds and on your hard clit like he wants to stay. He looks at you intoxicated and it shows in how much joy he takes in tasting you. Hitched to your very existence, like a planet revolving around the sun.
He does it like it’s a privilege, a divine gift. Sucks like it’s sweet, ripe fruit in scorching summers. Water in an oasis, deserving of only the highest praise. Not worth wasting even for pride. Shameless.
You can feel yourself tipping closer and closer to the familiar edge. Each second pushes you to it, closer and closer and closer before you feel the feeling again. Deep in your body, undoing you completely.
“Eren, oh—”
You cum hard. It’s the first one, the most intense. Eren is unyielding as you hit your high and start to fall back down, catching on each layer of the ozone. You moan his name over and over, Eren, Eren, Eren. It’s all you can think to say. The only person you’d trust to catch you from this high, you fall foward. Hand gripping on the couch, you try to wiggle away but he won’t let you until he’s had his fix.
When he pulls away, he takes in a deep breath.
You lean back, catching sight of his face. It’s dripping down his chin. He reaches his hands to wipe it with his fingers, then sticks his hands up to you.
“Open your mouth up,” He says, pushing his fingers against your tongue “Or come down here and clean me up, maybe?”
You widen your eyes. Curiosity getting the better of you, you wiggle down until you’re face level with him. He gives you a glance, encouraging you. Unsure, you push your tongue out against his neck, tracing down to his adams apple. He groans, voice vibrating.
“Fuck yeah,” His hands comes around the back fo your neck “Just like that baby. That’s perfect,”
Your memory reminds you. You repeat your actions, tongue dragging over his nec and chin, presses kisses and bites all along his jaw and neck. Eren moans above you appreciatively. The sound is pleasing. Hearing it over and over eggs you on to “clean” him up well until you reach his lips.
The way he kisses you is sweet and gentle. He kisses your lips before peppering them on your face.
“Fuck, look at what you’re doing to me.”
“Making you sappy?”
“Already was. I’m so hard for you right now, it’s fucking stupid,”
You let out a whine.
“Mm,”
“Condoms upstairs,”
“Don’t need ‘em. ‘s fine. Just give it to me how it is,”
He shivers against your body.
“I wanna cum just thinking about it,”
“Don’t think about it and come fuck me,”
He laughs, handing coming down on your ass.
“Get up,”
You stand up and Eren follows suit. He gives you a quick peck before whispering in your ear.
“Bend over the edge of the couch for me,”
Shivering, you nod your head and walk beind the couch. You shoot Eren a look over your shoulder, seeing him ease his cock out of his boxers to give it a quick stroke. It’s just high enough that you struggle to get over it all the way. His eyes are piercing, watching you as you bend over like he asks. You push your ass towards him.
“Like this?”
“That’s perfect, angel. Stay like that,”
You can hear him coming towards you. The weight of his body, bare chest against your spine is almost startling. He’s not crushing you, but you’re still completely pinned under underneath him. You wriggle your hips back, struggling to move.
His hand creeps lower and lower, finger slipping through your folds. He feels you up like that for a while, whistling.
“You’re so wet,” He coos. His voice is smooth in your ear. You moan. He rests his chin just over your shoulder as you turn your head to kiss him. Slowly, he slips his middle finger inside. You’re surprised how little resistance there is really. The pad of his finger reaches far, rubs against your g-spot without second guessing it.
Your squealing makes him do it again. It’s a careful move. Your body responds to him eagerly as he slips another one, steady. Until he’s knuckle deep, stretching out unhurriedly. When it’s no longer a tight fit, he pulls away from you.
Over you, he repositions. You can hear him spit in his hand behind you, the way his palms move against his cock. It’s all completely quiet besides that, lewd little noises that clue you into what he’s doing. Not seeing him makes the anticipation greater, leaves you vulnerable to whatever he wants to do.
“Missed this pretty pussy so much,” He hisses, the head of his cock pushing past your folds until he’s snug against your hole. The muscle clenches “So fucking warm,”
“Eren,”
He pushes forward, a calculated push of hips. You both moan when he enters you. Just the tip, just the familiar curve of his cock. Your inside ache, deep inside. A place only Eren could reach, you think. He groans nto your ear. Your feet are barely touching the floor in this position, Hardly reaching the ground, toes holding you up. The back of the couch digs into your stomach. It’s puts a pressure on your lower belly, that Eren must feel.
All your muscles are tense. Tight. The tip of his cock rubs against your walls. He’s so hard. Intrusive. You clench around him again. Jaw agape, you moan as he pushes even further.
“See that?” He whispers, against the shell of your ear. His hands grab yours, putting them behind your back till your defenseless “She remember me,”
The moan you let out is entirely involuntary once it hits you he means your pussy. Your walls spasm around him. He chuckles at that.
“That’s right. She loves me even if you don’t, doesn’t she?” Pulling his hips back until your empty, he fills you again. Harder this time. You choke on air “We made love tonight, didn’t we?”
“Eren, shit”
“I like when you say my name baby,” He says, another thrust “Like when your pretty pussy welcomes me home. It’s mine, isn’t it? Always has been. Bet he wasn’t making you feel like this, was he?”
All at once, you feel Eren for what he’s worth. You feel his cock, the curve and the shape the weight as it drags inside of you. You feel the weight of his body, all the stretch in your thighs as he casts over you like a shadow. The gravelly way that he speaks reverberating in your bones. He’s fucking you like he’s all the way in the bottom of your stomach.
Like a puzzle piece, Eren completes you on a level no one else in the world could. The way he talks to you reflects his, confidence not unearned. He’s cocky and awful, but his dick is doing this to you. Making your mouth fall open until your drooling underneath him. He answers every craving you ever had, that bone-deep sense of dissatisfaction that you’ve spent an entire year burying.
Eren fucks you like he’s in love with you, and only you. His cock kisses your cervix, and it feels like the same kind done at weddings. A vow to you, a promise. It feels so fucking good when Eren fucks you. Nothing in the world could ever quite comparing to that satisfaction. Deep in your body, primal and hungry.
“You were made for me,” He pants in your ear “Made just for me. No matter how far you go, I’ll find you. Remind you that. You get it now?”
You whimper out loud. Yes comes out naturally. Eren kisses your shoulder blade before sinking his teeth into it.
“Knew you would,
Eren fucks you the only way he’s ever known to. Deep and paced. You can’t say how he does it with anyone else, but with you it’s always been the same. Like he’s carving you out with his cock, the way you’ve always needed. You know you’re starting to be close again with each thrust. It’s a memory that your body welcomes.
Eren knows what you need to cum, but he waits. Like always, he keeps at it until your walls are tremor. Until you’re just getting there, and you need the extra push to get you to your end. He keeps you at the end as he fucks you, whispers filthy things in your ear until you reach the point of desperation that you’re begging.
“Please, Eren,” At your limit, pleaing “Please make me cum,”
“There’s the magic word,”
He snakes a hand around, reaching your clit and giving it a gentle rub. Everything happens at once. It’s perfect motion. Equilibrium. You can feel your knees start to give in as he gives it to you, the tension gently easing out. A carbonated soda, cracked open slowly to make way for the big finish. The release. Eren speaks to you again.
“Cum for me angel. Give it to me,”
Like a seismic wave, you cum hard on Eren’s cock just like he asked. He’s not far behind you, thrusting through the waves of pleasures. Your brain melts out of your ears completely, babbling to him to give you his cum too.
And he does in record time, shallowly rutting into you until you’re full of him, shooting deep. You feel your insides painted white, content at the feeling.
When he pulls out of you, you feel it drip onto his hardwood floors. You’re unsure of what comes next, but he pulls you right into your arms. Into his chest, even with wobbly legs.
“I’m not gonna let you go again,” He assures, more to himself than to you “You’re mine. Forever and always,”
Against your better judgement, you give in. Just for now. Just for the time being.
syn: you'd do anything for rindou—that's the problem.
⌗ friends with benefits. car sex. grinding. f!penetration. f!creampie. cursing. kissing. hair pulling. nipple play. unprotected sex. pet names (princess, baby, doll, pretty girl, etc). slight angst. wc: 1.4k+
an: i'm messing around w the format of my fics, trying to find one that's good w me aksns but this was pretty rushed, i'm sorry. but, enjoy!!!
MINORS DNI. | tr masterlist |
"y'know...when you said you wanted to go for a ride—fuck—this wasn't what i had in mind,"
rindou sits under you, large palms gripping the flesh of your hips, guiding your movements over his clothed half-hard cock, "yeah?" he smirks up at you, "well i don't see you complaining."
it's past midnight, the empty parking lot is void of any cars or people. the rain pours endlessly outside, and the sound of heavy raindrops hits the exterior of your friend's parked car. you've been sitting on his lap in the driver's seat, aimlessly making out for most of the night.
"this—this is okay, right?" your voice barely over a whisper, and he already knows what you're implying, what your mind wonders about. the confusion seeping from your tone doesn't go unnoticed by him.
it takes him a few seconds to completely comprehend what you're asking. his mind is filled with pleasure and need. he doesn't look up at you, instead choosing to close his eyes while his hands continue to grab and grope at you.
he manages, "I mean, yeah, why wouldn't it be?" trying his best to suppress a groan, he doesn't stop your movements, clothed cunt rubbing slowly against his hard bulge.
"friends don't usually do this, rin" you counter.
"friends do this all the time."
they don't. he knows this. you know this.
"you have no idea what you do to me," he whispers, more to himself than to you. he trails kisses all the way from your collar up to your neck, sucking and biting, tongue smoothing over to ease the throbbing pain.
before you have a chance to reply, you're cut off by his mouth when it latches on to yours. tongue tangling with each other and fighting for dominance, moaning when he tugs a bit too harshly on your lip. your arms around his neck tighten their grip, one of them moving up to grab a hold of the long hair at the base of his nape.
"shit—rin, oh my god," you reciprocate his movements, rolling your hips and grinding down on his fully hard cock. he throws his head back and groans in pleasure, his mouth slightly open—you catch sight of his wet lips and you already miss the feeling of them on yours.
It always ends up like this—you think. he asks you to hangout. you say yes. somehow things lead from one thing to another and you end up having sex. and you let him do it. every. time.
why? because you love him.
what bothers you the most is how he never asks for more. he never shows any signs of wanting to develop something more than just a physical connection. his face is always unreadable and you could never understand the true emotions of rindou haitani.
his length rubs against your clit and you bury your face in the crook of his neck to hide your whimpers, silently biting down on the skin, you'd doubt anyone could hear you over the sound of the rain anyway.
“lemme see you, baby,” he coos.
one of his palms makes its way to your nape to pull your head back, but keeps you close enough that your lips brush against each other. you could drown in the way he looks at you. like he's craving something so deeply but would never give in.
you hum softly at the feeling of his lips. he pulls you flush against him, chests touching—leaving almost every inch of you in contact with him.
"fuck—baby you feel s'good," his hands are everywhere, reaching and fingering the hem of the hoodie that you're wearing.
his hoodie.
he tugs it upward towards, you gasp as your bare chest is exposed to the hot air. instantly, your nipples perk, skin slightly tingling.
he brushes the fabric lightly against your bottom lip, "bite down on this for me, okay, princess?" and you can't get yourself to do anything but nod at him.
without wasting another second, he brings his mouth down to wrap it around one of your nipples. you let out a loud whine at the feeling of his tongue dancing around your sensitive skin.
your hands tug and pull at his dual-coloured locks, pushing his face into your chest even more. he grinds his hips up into you, and you're reminded of the slick that sticks onto your panties. how your core throbs with need and aches for more stimulation.
“rin. . . need you,” is all you can get out, watching him continue to suck and lick onto your sensitive nipples. He pulls away with a string of saliva connecting them.
“use your words, pretty girl,” he says, voice rough and both of his hands palming and massaging your sore breasts.
you feel heat rise all the way to your ears, but you can't think of feeling embarrassed because all you want right now is, “n-need your cock, rin, please” you plead, voice barely over a whisper.
he chuckles, raking his nails across the expanse of your back, “you gonna be a good girl and take it?” he murmured, chin tilted so he's looking straight up at you.
“mhm..promise i’ll be good,” you lift the hoodie off of you, your top now completely bare. he helps you with tugging your leggings and panties off, his hands rubbing down and caressing the skin of your thighs.
“you're so pretty, you know that?” and you bite the inside of your lip at his words.
his cock throbs at the contact of your palm against him, pulling a deep groan from his mouth. and you look at him—wordlessly requesting him to pull his sweatpants down.
he hisses through his teeth as soon as his length is freed. and you swallow at the sight of him. his face flushed, his forehead beads with a thin layer of sweat, and his abs flex and contract under you. you can't help yourself—your hand comes up to brush against his skin, all the way from his chest down to the bumps and ridges of his abs. you count his scars and all the tiny details about him. and you trace your fingers lightly over the black tattoo that covers the entire half of his body. a reminder of what he does everyday and how he puts his life at risk.
the air is hot and heavy in the car, windows starting to fog up. “you ready, doll?”
you let out a soft mhm, and position yourself over him. reaching down with your hand and lifting his heavy cock from where it sits on his abdomen, you sigh at the feeling of his thick head running through the outside of your pussy, slick with wetness and your clit tingles at the stimulation.
your body shudders when his red tip is pushed inside you, quickly needing something to grab onto and you reach for rindou’s shoulder, your nails digging into him.
“ohh–fuck, just like that, baby,” he pants, rubbing one of his large hands on your hip, you completely ease him in, sinking you down on his cock— ass meeting him at his base.
you bite back a moan at the feeling of him stretching your walls, you wont lie and say the burn doesn't feel good every single time. his cock pulsating and throbbing inside you. you wonder how you could last like this after all the edging he's done to you earlier—feeling that you could cum from the slightest bit of stimulation now.
“can I?” he asks, and you answer him by rolling your hips onto his. It draws a moan out of both of you, and he begins to slowly guide you up and down his length. you gasp at every feeling of his thick veins dragging against your gummy walls. the sounds of moaning and grunting fill the space of his car, along with the sound of your cunt squelching
"ah—fuck, this pussy’s mine, all fucking mine," he babbles, starting to buck his hips back into you from under. he gets lost in the feeling of you around him, always so fucking good and perfect for him. he watches as your breasts bounce with every thrust, and fucks you even harder.
“shit! r-right there!” you whine, and he brings his hands down to the flesh of your ass, lifting it up and slamming you back down on him, pulling another loud moan from you.
“yeah? you like it here, baby?” he says, and you cant reply even if you wanted to, he knocks the breath out of you with every thrust of his hips. he hits the spot over, and over, making sure to look you straight in your lustful eyes.
his hand brushes the stray hair away from your face, and catches you by your nape to pull you down into a hungry kiss. tongue licking and exploring at the insides of your mouth as he watches you struggle to kiss back. your eyes rolling and mouth wide open
“so perfect, always so good for me,” he praises in between kisses, his pace unforgiving, “you gonna cum for me?” he breathes, “gonna cum on my cock, princess?”
two long fingers reach down where your bodies meet, and he starts toying with your clit. rubbing it and pinching it between his fingers. your body jolts at the stimulation, legs shaking and your pussy squeezing around him. “yes, rin! pleasepleaseplease,” you beg, hips rutting and chasing the high you've been wanting all night.
“oh—shit, baby, c-cum with me,” he grunts and you let yourself loose, almost screaming at the sensation, your vision fills with white as you climax.
after a few strokes you also feel him fill you up with his warm and sticky seed, bodies sliding together, and him groaning into your ear. the hand on your hip squeezing you until it's painful. you know your body will be bruised tomorrow but you're too occupied to care.
his fingers eventually stop stimulating you, and his pace slowly comes to a stop. you watch as he brings them up to his face and licks your slick off of him, humming with satisfaction.
you let yourself lay limp on his chest. breath still panting. feeling dazy and basking in the afterglow.
a few minutes of shared silence pass by, and he finally speaks up, “how do you feel?”
“mhm… i'm good,” sighing comfortably, ignoring the sticky feeling in between your thighs.
he chuckles, massaging your sweaty skin, “i'm gonna pull out now,”
you bite the inside of your lip at the overstimulation as he pulls out, his breath tickling your face.
you realize it's over. and you try not to feel too disappointed but you can't help it. you know this is the most that you will be getting from him. the most he could ever give you.
you muster up the courage to ask, "did you mean what you said?" you whisper, “th-that i'm yours?”
he looks at you, and after a few moments of silence, swallows the lump in his throat, "it—it was just in the heat of the moment kind of thing," he places you back into the passenger's seat gently, tossing your clothes back to you, "don't think too much of it,"
he reminds you every time, you could never have him. he never lets anyone get too close, and you ache to peel him apart bit by bit to discover why he hides himself, why he closes himself off.
you try to ignore the pain in your chest the entire ride home. blinking away the tears beading at your lash line, making sure to keep yourself facing the window so he wouldn't see.
rindou haitani is unattainable. and even if you know this by heart, you continue to give yourself to him every time, piece by piece, even if you hurt yourself along the way.
+ fem!reader (she/her). antagonist!reader. bonten!au, gang!au, guns, violence, explicit language and smut, drugs & cigs & alcohol, lots of blood, discussion of murder & illness, mikey is a menace (we luv to see it), mentions of sa (like for charity purposes), childhood trauma, deaths, uhhh wounds, stitches, needles, misogyny, prostitution, illegal gambling.
+ playlist. | click here for more. | send me an ask to be tagged!
PART TWO: WALKS IN THE PLACE, HANDS ON HER WAIST. GUN ON HER THIGH, BIG SHOOTER GAME.
Nihilism wasn’t your thing, but life had thrown its fair share of angst that you considered it a void. Money, bags, and diamonds had filled that emptiness, however. Even left you overflowing with animalistic hunger for luxury. Despite how dangerous your current life is, your hands remained clasped, looking up and thanking whoever it was above for the splendor and a husband who had always been a good fuck.
Your clit felt raw, pulsing and beating under the ministrations of your husband’s skillful fingers. It’s almost embarrassing that he could slide his fingers inside you with absolute ease— proof that you were wet and drooling in the cunt.
“Fuck,” Sanzu huffed out while blinking, as though despite the wilder sex you both have done in the past, the state he had put you in still served as a wonder. “What a fucking meal.”
“Crude…” Your voice trembled, hips jerking up when he pressed his thumb to your clit, fingers knuckle-deep and curling up.
“I said your pussy’s a fucking meal and you call me crude? Manners, pretty.” Sanzu tilted his head to the side, staring at your face with triumph veiled in innocence. The fucker knew you love this but wouldn’t tell. And his goal as he searched for your soul through your eyes was to make you scream how badly you enjoy this. How badly you wanted it.
By the deep blue covering the skies, you could tell that it was still dawn. You woke up twenty minutes ago, and by some unexplainable phenomena, your husband’s awake, too.
What’s a good pastime while ironically waiting for your alarm clocks to blare? Yes, fucking.
Sanzu’s dexterous fingers sunk in your thighs as he leaned down to lick your cunt. Your hand bolted to his hair, carding your fingers through the slick strands. While slowly pumping his fingers in, he sucked on the clit like a depraved man, licking and biting softly.
Shivers raced down your spine, your lungs starting to burn from the sensation. You chewed on your lip, tugging on his hair as your hips jerked of their own volition to suffocate his pretty face.
Sanzu moaned between your thighs, retreating his fingers to focus on eating your cunt out.
Your butt arched slightly, pinning your cunt to your husband’s mouth. His eyes closed in pure concentration, sensually making out with your pussy now. Your arousal mixed with his spit covered your folds as his tongue penetrated your hole.
“Yes, baby,” you sighed, satisfied. “You’re doing so good.”
He moaned again, the sound vibrating through your pussy. You giggled a little, supporting your body with your elbows to rise and watch him feasting on you.
Sanzu’s emerald eyes met yours. Watching his eyes light up in desire, the air had been knocked out of your lungs. He had you on his mouth, yet he seemed to ask for more. At the burning desire, you grabbed your right breast and began playing with your tit.
He was so beautiful. It hurts sometimes.
You slanted back, knees over his shoulders with your soles digging in his back. There were only the deep heaving of your breath, the suckle, and little smacks of his mouth on your cunt.
He built up your orgasm by fingering you again with vehemence. His fingers scissored through your walls, tongue busy licking your whole pussy before coming back to your tingling clit.
“Mhm, I’m gonna cum,” you dragged, throat tightening. Watching your husband suffocate himself with your pussy, your lower abdomen tightened for the nth time. He was in absolute concentration— there’s nothing that could take this away from him.
Hands threading through the side of his head, you interlocked your fingers with his hair and pulled him closer. Sanzu sucked your clit repeatedly, his fingers never stopping their vicious pumping.
Sweat covered your body, your cheeks burning. Familiar tightness coiled inside your belly, waiting to explode in a myriad of pleasures. You closed your eyes, letting go of any inhibitions as your mouth shaped a solid ‘o’. Hurried moans and whimpers rushed past your lips, deliriously repeating the words ‘I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming”.
Your toes curled, your stomach clenched, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe as your orgasm exploded. Sanzu held you tightly, closer even, to eat your pussy out as you gushed on his tongue.
“T… too much!” you shrieked when his tongue hit a nerve ending, coaxing another round of orgasm to build. “Oh my, God!” You fell back on the bed, writhing and folding while pushing his head back. Sanzu dug his fingers in, still licking and sucking. Your gasps were unruly, the sheets wrinkling underneath your manicured nails.
“Haruchiyo!” Your thighs clamped and unclamped around his head, your back arching and falling in repeated rhythms. “I’m gonna cum…!” you sobbed, tears forming in your eyes. It’s so good that he makes you cry.
In a flash, Sanzu hovered above you but his fingers remained inside your cunt. His mouth glistened as he whispered, “Do it, angel. Show me.”
Hooking your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer until your mouths were only hairsbreadth away. You gasped and moaned against his mouth while he finger-fucked your pussy so fast, so hard that your feet would’ve jolted away had you not dug them into the mattress.
“Yes, that’s right.” He watched you and nothing else, wiping your tears away with his spare hand. “You’re doing so good,” he cooed. “You’re so pretty, it hurts.”
Another orgasm rippled through your whole body. You whimpered, hugging him close to bury his face in your neck. Liquids began to drool out of your cunt, the squelching sounds filling the air.
Sanzu breathed into your ear, murmuring sweet nothings while paradoxically fucking your pussy like he paid for it. “My pretty angel,” he murmured before kissing your cheek, “gonna give me what I want, hm?”
You vibrated in ecstasy, your second orgasm rolling like waves throughout your whole senses. It didn’t stop there, though. Sanzu retreated his hand to ride your orgasm by slapping your pussy repeatedly.
You mewled, closing your legs. There was no way you could handle another.
He chuckled, tracing wet kisses down your neck and teasing your nipple between his teeth. You were lost, staring at the ceiling while struggling to make out of your surroundings. Contrary to your almost wandering mind, your body responded to his kisses: nipples growing taut with your clit still beating like a drum.
Sanzu leaned toward you, closing your mouth with his. You savored the kiss, allowing yourself to drown in it. A faint vinegary taste still lingered on his tongue, spurning you on even more. He kissed you while pumping your left breast, twisting your nipple between his fingers. Until he tugged on the waistband of his boxers, freeing what had been growing hard inside.
You straddled his waist, refusing to break the kiss. Sanzu pushed your thighs apart, lining himself to your waiting hole. At the faint kiss of his head against your cunt, you shuddered yet again. And when he finally entered you to the base with ease, you gasped into each other’s mouths.
“Fuck,” he gasped once more. Sanzu took his time to adjust, ascertaining that your arousal had covered most of his length before picking up his pace. Your soles dug in his butt, answering every sloppy thrust of his hips.
You chuckled against your need to moan. It’s his face: flushed cheeks, clenched jaws, audible gasps. Sanzu looked at you, his brow lifting.
“What’s funny?” he asked with curiosity, burying himself deep with a grunt.
“Your face,” you whispered, caressing his cheeks, “reminds me of the first time.”
His nose scrunched up slightly, as if remembering that first time, as well. “You’re silly,” he scoffed but a ghost of a smile painted his lips, “thinking about that while I’m about to wreck your shit? Yeah, silly.”
You held his face close to yours. “I love you, Haruchiyo.”
Sanzu pitched his hips, adjusting himself for better access. “I love you. Always,” he whispered before leaning back slightly, grabbing your hips and fucking you hard.
One thing about Sanzu that had rocked your world was he never looks away during sex. His eyes were lazy, drooping almost, as he watched your face while fucking the living shit out of you. And whenever you look away, he would only hold you in place just to make sure your attention is glued to him.
“This pussy.” He struggled for air, hooking your knees with his arm to push them beside your ears. His thrust had turned sloppy, balls slick and cock drooling. “Making me go crazy like this. Fucking unbelievable.”
“Haru…” you sobbed, pussy raw and hot around his throbbing cock, “feels good, feels so good.”
Sanzu released the lock he had on you before standing on his knees, grabbing your hips, and pushing them close before ramming into you again.
Your breasts jiggled at every impact, your body swaying to the rhythm of him. He grabbed the headboard with one hand, pinning his cock to kiss the soft spot inside your walls. You shivered, legs once again vibrating.
“Spread your legs wider,” he commanded, “hold ‘em up for me, yeah?”
For the lack of ability to form coherent words, you nodded. Raising your feet, you welcomed each greedy thrust. You cried with every relentless pounding, his eyes on you with his jaws pulled tightly. Sanzu pressed his hands beside your head, fucking his cock into your cunt tirelessly. He groaned, eyebrows folding in concentration.
Your breath hitched, watching his body waving along with the tune he made. “Harder, Haru,” you begged, although you weren’t certain if you could handle anything of that sort.
Something switched. Sanzu held one of your legs up, kneeling once more to ram his cock in. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes, to be very fucking honest. You looked so perfect, begging to be fucked harder. He couldn’t breathe just realizing that you were one. That even though in secret, you’ve got his surname attached to the end of your name. You come home to him, and he to you. Every fucking day.
His stomach coiled in realization. Sanzu lets go of your leg just to pull you close and kiss your lips. His balls tightened, cock throbbing sporadically against your walls. God, he loved you and your sweet pussy. Your pussy practically owned his soul just as much as your whole being does. It’s unfair to think that it would only take one look from you and he’d cum untouched inside his pants.
What on earth did you do to him?
“I’m cumming, angel,” he whispered, and he saw your lashes fanning, a sort of triumph evident on your gorgeous lips. As though you were telling him, and that you knew: nobody could make him cum the way he’d cum inside your pretty, insatiable little cunt that day. You have him on a leash.
Sanzu closed his eyes as his orgasm drew near. There’s nothing that would top this: being able to fuck you, cum inside you, then fuck his cum back into you. It’s where it belongs, after all.
He could never tell if he deserved a pussy like this, or if he deserved to be with you at all, with your perfection and everything, but fuck it felt good. This life and everything that comes with it.
You make it bearable, you make it easy.
—
As you fell back into sleep right after, Sanzu tucked you in. With the funeral of your late boss, he knew how tired you must’ve been. If only he could carry a little of your burdens. However, rules had been made inside your marriage. You handle your shit, he handles his. Sanzu knew you were never one to ask for help unless it was necessary.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing up and taking a shower.
The sound of the shower, the weight of your husband’s feet as he padded around the room, the sink of the mattress as he kissed your forehead again, and the sound of the door closing all registered but you were too exhausted to peel your eyes open.
You wished you could stay here all day. With him, watch your favorite movies and have a simple garden date. But that simple dream isn’t simple.
To both of you, that’s a luxury you could never attain. Perhaps it’s foolish that you tied the knot with a man from Bonten. It’s imbecility that he had to take the long way home just to assure that no one follows him to your house. That you couldn’t even go on dates in five-star restaurants or travel to different countries during your honeymoon. However, those things don’t define marriage, at least not to you.
Haruchiyo Akashi was the man you knew you’d spend your life with. You wouldn’t go through this length if you believed otherwise. He was the happiness you deserved.
After taking a shower, you proceed to prepare Sanzu’s pair of tuxedos and accessories. You placed his favorite pair of studs— the one you have gifted him— above his pristine tux. He wasn’t much of a jewelry guy but he never forget his earrings.
Wrapped up in a robe, you descended the stairs to the kitchen, where you found your husband cooking. You leaned toward the aisle, watching his perky butt flex. He’s wearing only a pair of boxers, a sleeveless, and his favorite bunny apron.
You stifled a giggle, watching one of the most notorious men in the city cooking breakfast after feasting on your pussy and railing the living daylights out of you.
He’s a gorgeous man. Ten-ten, you’d recommend.
“Good morning, lover boy,” you greeted, amused.
Sanzu peeked at you over his shoulders. “Good morning, pretty. Breakfast is in two minutes.”
You ambled towards his side to give his cheek a peck. “You’re the best.”
“Only for you,” he added before careening to kiss your lips.
You slapped his butt with a giggle before taking a seat, pouring yourself a glass of juice. “What’s your plan for today?” you suddenly asked.
Sanzu placed the bacon and egg on his plates before sitting across from you. “Not much, I’ll assume. How about you? If you’re not busy, I can call Ran and we can stay at home.”
“Ran?” You cocked a brow. Not discussing gang business is a strict rule in the house. However, you could excuse this one. After all, this would be as far as you’d talk about Bonten.
“Yep,” Sanzu said. “Mikey seldom uses his phone. All phone transactions go through Ran.”
“I’d love to stay and just watch movies together, but I have so much to discuss with Ava,” you sighed. “Next time, though. Let’s watch that new movie everyone’s talking about.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He smiled at you, emphasizing the scars beside his lips.
Sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel this burning hatred towards Mikey. You didn’t particularly dislike the man, as you have nothing to hold against him. He was a stranger to you. But when you see Sanzu’s scars and remember that those were from Mikey, resentment never fails to take root. Yes, it’s all in the past and everyone has gotten over it, but it doesn’t mean you should, too. Scars tell a story. It’s a history you refused to forget hence it repeats.
“You’re a pretty man, you know that?” You extended your hand and pinched his nose. “Can’t believe you’re my husband.”
“Well, I was at gunpoint when we married. Got no other choice but to say ‘I do’,” you quipped.
Sanzu laughed, filling your stomach with sudden flutters. “You’re sexy when you’re cruel. Makes me so hard, I’ll nut untouched.”
“Oh?” You feigned a surprised look. “I hold that power over you?”
“You do.” The sincerity in his voice warmed your heart. “And I’ll forever be grateful that you married me. Some people don’t get the same chance.”
You knew him better than anyone else. Before you, he becomes transparent like glass. You could feel it when he’s bothered by something. And right now, you can tell it’s the case.
“What is it?” you carefully demanded, holding his hand over the table. “Tell me.”
He shook his head nonchalantly. “It’s about gang. Can’t discuss it in the house and you don’t have to worry.”
“It’s clearly bothering you, I guess we can make an exemption today.” You tried to convince him with a sheepish smile.
Sanzu squeezed your hand before saying, “You know how Mikey made easy work with ex-Toman members, right? Stabbed, shot, and burned some of ‘em.”
“Yes. He’s on another level, not gonna lie,” you responded, the hairs on your nape rising at the memory.
You have seen it in the news a couple of years back. On the surface, nobody knew who killed these specific men, but in the underworld, everyone was aware it was Mikey. It’s quite obvious since all of them were ex-Toman members, the gang Mikey used to lead when they were teens somewhere in Tokyo. All of them died at the hands of their former leader.
No one knows why.
“There was one survivor, though. He’s Takemichi Hanagaki. He was supposed to marry his lifelong girlfriend next month, not until Mikey shot him dead last week.”
You’ve seen a lot of unforgivable crimes in the undercity. But Sanzu’s story had managed to make your feet cold. “Unprovoked?”
“I couldn’t tell. The man wanted to give Mikey an invitation to his wedding. Talked it out in the old bowling center, at gunpoint by me. But Mikey asked me to leave them alone, so I did. Twenty steps away, I heard gunshots and rushed back to a dead body.”
You immediately understood the distress that’s uncommon to see on your husband’s face. Even though none of you would speak it into existence, your situation was almost similar to that of Takemichi Hanagaki.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” you said, standing up to cradle his head. “We’re being careful. Mikey might be all sort of ruthless but you don’t have to fear him.”
“It’s not that I’m scared of him. We’ve been friends since we were kids and I stayed by his side when no one did. But now that I’m married, I can’t put into words what Takemichi’s fiancée must’ve felt.”
This marriage had changed you, you knew that. You were careful around people before, but now you’ve become cautious. The same apparently happened to Sanzu.
You kissed his forehead. “What do you want to do?”
“I wanna stay here forever, with you,” he replied with a sigh before hugging your waist. “Fuck you, eat your pussy, watch movies, cook together, be fucking normal for once.”
You chuckled while threading his silk strands with your fingers. “What do you mean? We’re normal to me.”
“I’m glad you see us that way.” His hands slowly traveled inside your robe to cup your butt. Before he could do anything further than that, you slapped his hand away. Sanzu groaned in defeat. “Alright, no fucking before work.”
“Your clothes are ready. Go dress, I’ll wash the dishes.” You kissed him on the top of his head before he stood up and made his way to the bedroom.
While washing the dishes, your mind spiraled back to what he narrated. Takemichi Hanagaki? He was familiar. You weren’t chummy with any of the gangs before, as you were struggling to survive through scraps, but you knew you’ve heard his name years ago. He was Mikey’s closest friend, one of his closest friends. How unfortunate it was to know that he was dead, a month before his wedding. Devastated wouldn’t suffice for the feeling his fiancée must be going through right now.
If the same happened to you, what exactly will you do? What can you do?
“Angel, will you help me?” Sanzu called out, breaking your reverie. He stood at the entrance of the kitchen, waving his necktie at you.
“Where’s the bunny apron? Not fit for work?” you joked, tightening the tie around his neck. When you looked at him now, although appearing ragged because of his scars, he looked like a CEO.
“It’s for your eyes only,” he replied before kissing your lips. “I don’t wanna work. Let’s just stay here.”
“I’ll be home before you know it. Besides, Ava’s exams are next week. She’s gonna focus on that first.” You picked up a lone thread from his suit and tapped his cheek lightly. “Be careful.”
“I love you.” Sanzu raised his pinky finger. “Be careful. Pinky promise it.”
You snorted, charmed to know that he hadn’t forgotten about it. Raising your pinky, you curled it around his. “I pinky promise.”
After your morning ritual of make-ups and perfumes, you sauntered to the other room where you keep most of your guns. They were placed neatly on metal shelves. You liked having your guns grouped based on their calibers. Across the shelves were your .38 caliber revolvers. Beside were your 9MM semiautomatic handguns. You grabbed one Hi-Point and tucked it inside your handbag.
With one last rotation inside the house, you finally ambled your way to the garage.
A sense of longing whipped you at your departure. If you could stay here forever with Sanzu, you would. Some people might find it odd how on earth you weren’t followed yet by your colleagues, or how you managed to keep your marriage a secret, but all come with a price.
Sanzu always had to take the long way home. He drives through an empty road to make sure that no one trails behind him. You have planned your marriage with utmost care and trust. That explains why you haven’t been busted yet.
You arrived at the mansion an hour later. Maids were scattered everywhere, tending to the gardens and walking the dogs. Even though the late boss was a crime lord, he had made his mansion a home fit for his only daughter. He’s a good father, if not a good man.
On your way to the huge door, you spotted Sev on the farthest side of the veranda with a cigarette pressed between his lips. He’s a tall man of broad stature. Dark hair, brown eyes, golden brown skin, and strong jawlines. A scar sat on his left cheek from a nasty fight inside the juvie when he was thirteen.
“Hey.” You approached him. “Where’s Ava?”
He looked afflicted. “You gotta talk to her. She’s in the kitchen.”
“Something happened?”
“Mikey called earlier—” Sev hadn’t finished his sentence when you swiveled on your heels and jogged the distance to the kitchen.
Mikey called again? What on earth is he planning? And here was Sanzu, telling you that the man rarely used a goddamn smartphone.
“Ava?” you called out, your voice bouncing on the spacious hall. “Ava?”
“I’m here!” she yelled from the direction of the kitchen. “Cooking pancakes!”
You were puffing deep breaths when you found her in the kitchen. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek as she decorated the pancakes with chocolate syrup. Looking at her now, it was mind-boggling to think that she’s decided to lead a gang. A fucking gang.
You wasted no time to ask, “Mikey called? Why?”
Ava sucked the syrup off her thumb while nodding. “Yup. He asked to meet our gang for the negotiation.”
You sauntered closer. “And? What did you say?”
Ava offered you a plate as she responded, “We will meet Bonten at 10 p.m. today.”
“No.” It had come out stronger than you intended. But you preferred it that way, lest you couldn’t get your point across. “That’s stupid.”
Ava peered at you. “Stupid? Why on earth is it stupid?”
The frown on her mouth told you she was offended by your tone. Yet you couldn’t care less. You haven’t even looked into the deal Mikey wanted to make and now, this? It’s Bonten, for fuck’s sake.
“Because we haven’t talked about it with the gang yet. You can’t make hasty decisions without consulting the executives,” you explained, shackling your irritation.
“This is a good deal. Bonten is influential in the undercity. With Papa’s passing, we are vulnerable, that’s what you said. I’ve merely taken the chance to strengthen the gang,” she answered, her eyes hard on you. But she was convincing no one here.
“Or you’ve taken the bait to let other gangs swallow us whole,” you countered.
“Nothing has been decided yet but it seems like you have little to no trust in me.” Ava leaned back on the kitchen sink, crossing her arms over her chest.
You sighed exasperatedly. “It’s not about trust. You know I trust you and I know you’re wise. But I have been in this life since I was a fucking teenager. You have to trust my experience.”
“And what about mine? How could I learn these things if, like Papa, you’re there to be overprotective over nothing,” Ava groaned out each word, preparing to leave. “I am an adult. Stop treating me like a kid for once.”
“Ava, that’s not— Ava!” you shouted after her, but she turned deaf to your calls. You closed your eyes, leaning both your palms on the counter while taking deep breaths.
You knew the trickery and machinations of greed more than anyone else. More than Ava. If only, if only the boss left the gang to you. You fought the urge to wash your face with your hands, lest you ruined your makeup.
You emptied a glass of water when your phone vibrated inside your handbag. Annoyed, you fished for it, the crease on your brow folding yet again at the unknown number. Realization quickly settled, though, when you read the message.
Another burner phone?
“See you tonight. Hope you’re wearing the dress I bought for you. - H”
—
“We good to go?” You arched an eyebrow at the frustrated Sev. The cigarette stick between his lips once again brought him one step closer to being six feet underground. Similar to you, Ava’s way of meeting with Bonten had rendered him in a bad mood.
He clicked his tongue before blowing a fog. “They’re pissed off, you know. Asked me, repeatedly that my ears bled, why the fuck are we letting Ava decide.”
“Because she’s the fucking boss, obviously.” You adjusted the gun to your hip before descending the stairs to the garage. There was no point dwelling on your sour mood. Ava had decided, and as good members of the gang, you and the executives had to follow. After all, it was their fault for allowing this to happen.
“She’s young,” Sev grumbled, “cut her some slack. She needs us.”
You peered at the butler. Of course, you knew that. But there wouldn’t be this unnecessary chaos had Ava chosen to be a good girl.
“Here’s to hoping our magazines remain full tonight.” You didn’t give him chance to retaliate before slamming your door shut and driving far away from the mansion.
With the little time you were given, you filled in Ava with what she needed to expect in a meeting between gangs. It wouldn’t be pretty, no matter how serene it would be. After all, mafias and gangs stood starkly against each other. Gangs were way nastier as there wasn’t a general rule followed by everyone. It’s always been a ticking bomb.
Even after all your blabbering, you knew Ava understood little about it. She nodded and hummed in response, but her hostility from the scene earlier remained. You could only hope that Sev did his part as Ava was more inclined to listen to him.
Men were already sent to the mob-run casino where the meeting would take place. So far, none of them reported anything suspicious but a few updates about Bonten arriving one by one in the place.
“How’s the perimeter?” you pitched in through the earpiece, tapping your blood-red nails on the steering wheel while waiting for the green light.
“Bonten’s second is here with the Haitani Brothers. I think he knows they’re surrounded,” one of your men replied.
“How so?”
“The fucker grinned at me. And I think they’ve got men around us, too.”
Grinned. Of course, with those sharp eyes, it would be impossible for Sanzu to overlook anyone suspicious in the casino.
“Stay vigilant. We’re almost there,” you said before speeding through the highway, the road signs becoming a blur in your peripheral.
A sense of familiarity washed over you at the sight of red, gold, and bronze. Of fancy statuary and elegant fountains. Between you and Sev stood Ava who appeared heady with the sounds of whirring cards, levers being pulled on slot machines, the bells and whistles, and the chatters of dealers.
Your keen eyes weaved through the crowd, hearing heightened over the endless murmur and the pitched ‘winner, winner, chicken dinner!’.
There were suspicious men all around but you couldn’t tell who was it that belonged to Bonten. You had never done a deal with them. And saved for your husband, they were as good as strangers.
“This way.” Another man approached. His presence jolted Ava from where she stood.
“You’re okay,” you reassured, holding the small of her back. “Pin your back straight. Chin up. We’re right behind you.”
Ava looked your way before giving a slight nod. Her hands were shaking. You grasped it and squeezed. She might be a nuisance, but you’d seen her grow up. Behind the attitude and your vexation over the whole situation, you were the only one she had.
You let her hand fall before pushing the double doors open. Inhaling a sharp breath, you stood tall before Bonten. Mikey was sitting at the head of the long, wooden table. Scattered around him were his executives you didn’t recognize. Ran Haitani’s brow twitched up, his fingers laced together as he sat on their leader’s left. His brother, Rindou, did not look away from his glass.
Your eyes flitted to the man on his right— Haruchiyo.
Those eyes. You knew exactly what they meant. He looked at you like he wanted to fuck you hard. Not like you could blame him— you’d fuck you if given the chance.
These men carried their infamous reputation. In those eyes, you could see a reflection of yourself. They’d end someone without blinking.
“How soon can you deliver the guns?” Mikey suddenly cut through the tension.
“Let’s talk first,” you said, not minding your attitude. “We’re not your dogs.”
“Sorry,” he said, “habits.”
“What the fuck—”
“It wouldn’t be easy to buy the guns this time around,” Ava interrupted you. You threw her a sharp look. “Papa— Mr. Augustus just died. The business is on a tilt.”
“I don’t see why that’s our problem,” Mikey responded, still not moving a damn muscle from his seat.
The tension coiled in the air. Your gun, heavy on your hip reminded you that it was there if you needed it.
“We didn’t say it is,” you cut in, “but you have to understand that this is business. There’s a procedure in everything, Mr. Sano.”
“We’re gangs,” Mikey replied, eyes low looking at yours, before speaking and pinning your surname with his sharp tongue. “Not a damn mafia.”
From your peripheral, you saw Haruchiyo’s jaw twitching. You weren’t what Mikey called you. You were an Akashi.
“Did you call to intimidate us?” Ava hissed your name. A warning. “I’ll repeat just in case you have it jumbled in your head: we’re not your dogs.”
Mikey’s eyes twinkled, then his gaze fell on Ava. “But your gang leader looks like a lost puppy—”
It happened so fast. It happened so fast that even you were surprised at how quickly you cocked the trigger and shot a bullet inches away from Mikey’s ear. The sounds of glass shattering and multiple guns being cocked rang in the air.
Before you knew it, Haruchiyo was pointing his gun at you already.
You held yours tightly and threw your husband a sharp look. “You sure you’ve got balls to pull that trigger? Because I do.” Ignoring your husband completely, you turned your eyes to Mikey. “The next time you talk bullfuckery with that mouth, Mr. Sano, I’ll burn holes between your eyes. We good?”
“Lower your gun,” Ava pleaded, “right now.”
“Someone’s pissed.” Mikey smiled sinisterly. “You can lower the gun now, though. We don’t want blood on the floors, do we?”
“Stand up, Ava. We’re going.” You refused to lower your gun. You knew it was stubborn to do so, but you didn’t trust these men. “Stand up,” you commanded stronger, shooting her a glare.
“We’re not done talking—”
“Let’s go, Ava.” It was Sev. Ava wanted to speak her dissent, but it was Sev and there was no winning with the both of you.
It was a waste of time driving here. Mikey had no plans to help your gang, not like you needed it. He was just here to remind you of your vulnerability. Calling Ava a lost puppy was one of his strategies. And yet if he badly wanted the guns, why would he speak like that?
You didn’t turn your back on them, walking backward with your gun pointing at the men. Haruchiyo’s eyes were the last thing you looked at before the door closed. In them, there was a silent apology.
As much as you didn’t want to feel it, your heart sank at the look of defeat on his face.
—
“What was that, Mikey?” Haruchiyo washed a hand on his face. Was he stupid to think that it could’ve gone better?
“I want that woman dead by next week. Do the job, Haruchiyo.” Mikey finally stood.
It was a bucket of cold water, sipping into Haruchiyo’s veins. “What?”
“Can’t do it?” Rindou teased with that eat-shitting grin. “I’ll do it, Mikey. By next week, you say?”
“Shut the fuck up, Rindou.” Haruchiyo debated whether to bury six bullets on Rindou’s head. He was seeing red and heard raucous ringing in his ears. “There’s no need to do that, Mikey.”
Mikey pocketed his hands. “With her alive, we wouldn’t be able to control Ava.”
“We can convince her. I’m sure she was just pissed by what you said,” Haruchiyo insisted.
“You wanna fuck her, Haru?” Ran asked, lighting a cigarette between his lips. “‘Cause it looks like you wanna eat her pussy ‘til you suffocate.”
If only you know, I do that every day, Haruchiyo thought to himself. “I’m just saying, she controls the gang. They listen to her. Ava is just a placeholder. If you wanna control them, you gotta control the head.”
“You talk.” Mikey yawned. “But I can’t process shit you say, Haru. You’ve never refused to kill someone for me. You gonna do the job or not?”
“Told ya, Mikey, I’ll do it—”
“Rindou, god fucking damn it, shut the fuck up.” Haruchiyo balled his hand into a fist. It would look good on Rindou’s cheek right now. Like burning coals in his mouth, he threw a look at their leader, at his friend, and said, “I’ll do it, Mikey.”
─ The two of you have argued before, there was nothing new or strange about it. Sometimes, though not very often, you'd get upset at something he had said or done. He’d act without thinking, or speak without consideration; words sharpened by negligence, actions spurred on without thought.
Like a wheel that is fated to see no end, spinning and turning on its axis — over and over, again and again — you watch the cycle of anger unfold. He’d drag a hand across his face and tell you to stop overreacting. You’d get irritated and he’d change his tone with you. Lower. Stricter. Harsher.
“This was nothing” or “That didn’t mean anything,” — “You’re overthinking,” he’d say.
And though it was a vicious cycle, patient and damning, you’d learned to adapt to its maliciousness; to the parts of it that drew out the worst in you. You’ve molded yourself to its shape and tried to understand where it stemmed from. Twisting and turning, pulling and pushing — the worst parts of him met the miserable parts of you.
You tried. You really did try.
But the carelessness in which he'd started to approach said arguments was new, and his dismissive manner was starting to thin your patience.
He ignores you as you walk behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the heels you’d worn for the night.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” You plead with him as he stops abruptly at the penthouse door, shoving the key into the slot aggressively. You were getting tired of arguing about the same thing — worn out from having to bring it up so often. Why wouldn’t he listen? Why did he refuse to understand?
The door had just barely closed behind you, when he turns around, slamming the wall beside your head with a heavy hand.
“Enough.”
Ran’s eyes are filled with fury and impatience as he stares down at you. A terrible rage fills his lavender hues and you hesitate. There was no room for your anger in this house. No room for you when he was so domineering and present. He’s never been this loud with you — has never been so upset or mean. His tone startles you.
And though you’ve argued before, though you’ve disagreed at times, you find that you don’t know how to deal with his anger — anger that has never been directed towards you to this extent. You just don’t know.
It’s unsettling. There's a hole in your chest that is torn open, a passiveness settling inside.
You’re upset that he has consistently brushed you and your concerns off to the side. You’re upset that your worry had been interpreted as childish jealousy. You’re upset that the only time he had decided to take you seriously was to yell at you — to shut you up.
He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls back and heads to the kitchen, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves.
He'd expected you to start crying — half expected you to apologize even. You never liked fighting with him. He was never one to blow any argument out of proportion either. But this — this had to stop. No matter how many times he’d dismissed it, no matter how many times he’d told you not to worry about it, you still brought her up. Enough was enough. He looks up at you briefly, eyes flickering towards you as he exhales.
There's a blank look in your eyes, a fragmentation he couldn’t understand. It felt as though you were looking through him. The parts of you that sought to intertwine with him and understand — that hollowed themselves out to make room for him — they fall back in defeat.
Your eyes aren't glassy; they don’t even sparkle.
He clenches his jaw and looks away. Guilt and haunt reach for his throat, as he shakily exhales the smoke.
You turn around, hand reaching for the wall as you bend to unclasp your heels. The right shoe comes off first. The left one follows after. He watches as you walk away with the shoes in your hand, fingers threading through the straps.
You don't say a word. He doesn't hear you make a sound.
The cold air of the restroom makes you aware of the slight wetness on your cheek. You stare at your reflection and you can’t help but wonder if the woman in the mirror was in the wrong. Were her feelings misguided by insecurity? Was her envy so green and her thoughts so vile? You tell her not to worry; that it’ll all be alright. You stare at your bruised toes as you fidget and sigh. You don’t even have it in you to cry.
You spend time with the other woman, washing away her fury; cleaning her anguish. Her breathing has steadied and she watches you from beyond the mirror as you wipe at your face, baring yourself to her. She’s satisfied and you turn your back on her temporary satisfaction, slipping into a loose dress and finding your place on the bed.
He hasn’t bothered to come check up on you. To apologize to you.
You push her nagging voice out of your head, stretching your legs out and picking up your phone instead. You scroll mindlessly for a minute or so before you decide to call a friend. It’ll help distract you, you think. You’ll call your dearest friend and she’ll make you laugh. You’ll laugh and you’ll smile and the filth encompassing your heart will wither away at your joy.
Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what you’ll do.
“Hello?” She says.
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
Silence from your end.
A minute. Then two.
“Ah, I get it. Do you want me to pick you up? We can go eat somewhere.”
“Yes, please.” You aren’t hungry at all. She knows that too.
“Give me 20 minutes, I’m finishing up a shift right now.”
“Okay.”
More silence, this time from her end. Another minute. Another two.
“Did he…he didn’t hurt you, right?”
You shake your head, the rustling making its way over to her end.
“No, never. Not physically at least.” You try to smile, but the other woman insists on tugging at the corners of your mouth, pulling them down.
‘Break,' she says. ‘Break and ruin,' she wants to scream.
You hear a dramatized sigh of relief through the phone.
“Ah, thank God. That bastard scares the shit out of me, honestly. But I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you, you know that, don’t you?”
You laugh and she smiles.
“He wouldn’t, I promise. He isn’t so bad.”
“You’re not seriously defending him right now, are you?”
You find it in you to laugh a little harder. She bids you a temporary farewell and you feel a little lighter. This is okay. It'd be okay if you both took a break…if you were separated from one another for a little — just until you were both able to calm down and think things through.
You stand and rummage through your nightstand, putting a few things in the nearest tote bag and pulling it up over your shoulder. A light cardigan is folded over your arms as you quietly leave the bedroom. Ran is still in the kitchen, leaning over the island as he wipes a hand over his face. There's a glass of water beside him. You think he's trying to sober up, even though he didn't drink much at all.
He looks up at the sound of your feet against the tile and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He’d been waiting for you to come out of the room, not wanting to push you too far. Still, you won't meet his gaze.
It’s then that his line of sight falls to the bag on your shoulder. Panic fills the emptiness he’d been left with since you’d walked away.
"What're you…No, wait a second. Hold on —"
He rounds the corner and slowly approaches you.
"Wait, we can talk about this."
Your brows furrow as you slip on your shoes, voice soft as you respond.
"You said you didn't want to anymore."
Defeat, he thinks. Defeat is what laces your tone…like you’ve given up on him. On you and him.
"No,” He shakes his head as he steps a little closer to you. “We can talk about it. Let's talk about it, baby."
His eyes are trying to read you in a panicked frenzy, but still, you won't look at him. You take a step back, grip tightening on the strap of your bag.
“I think,” you bite your lip, brows furrowing as you try to find the right words. “I think it's best if I spend the night somewhere else."
“Fuck no.”
You hold a hand out, a weak attempt at stopping him from getting any closer. He steps forward. You step back. He reaches out for you and you deny him.
“Come on, love. Please.”
What you say next comes out of you so quietly — so dismissively — had he not been so close to you, he might’ve missed it. You find it in you to finally meet his gaze as you utter the word.
"Enough."
His karma comes in the form of six letters — the ones he’d spat at you so harshly less than an hour ago. But you’re still kind, even now. How quietly the word tumbled from your lips, how beautiful you were in all your anguish. His karma grins at his misery, and rejoices at his self-induced tragedy.
"Please," he begs.
How pitiful. How cruel.
He grips your wrist when you turn to open the door, caging you in between his arms.
"Don't," he pleads.
You try to turn in his arms, tugging at his rolled-up sleeves, nails scratching at tattooed skin. His biceps flex as he holds you to him tighter. Closer. Don’t go. Don’t leave. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you — the racing of his heart as he holds you against him. You sigh, deciding to ease his mind.
"I’ll come back, Ran. Just one night.”
"No, no. Don't walk out on me."
He shakes his head at the thought, in misery and denial at its implication.
“I'm sorry."
He apologizes and you freeze in his hold, fingers stilling against his forearms.
“I'm sorry," He says again. "I won’t raise my voice at you again. I'll never talk to her again. Won't even look at her, baby. I’ll cut all ties right now. Please just don’t go."
He keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches for his back pocket, pulling his phone out in the process. You blink, watching as he brings the device over to you, his fingers unlocking the screen as he looks over your shoulder, chin propped against you. You watch as he removes her from his Facebook. You watch as he blocks her on Instagram. You watch as he goes to delete her number. It’s then that you start to cry. You cry so hard, your shoulders tremble and your hands shake. You cry and you cry until you're overcome with the urge to vomit.
“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
How did he let it get this bad? To ignore the pleas and worries of the one that gave him reason and meaning for the sake of maintaining a business relationship he didn’t give a shit about ─ To brush your pain off for the sake of an organization that only brought him misery...The twisted cynicism was almost laughable. Over and over, you'd asked him to listen to you. And over and over, he’d dismissed you.
It's his fault. It's all his fault.
No one else but him.
His arms fall to his sides and he stands there, watching you.
You wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. His hands tremble as you step back.
"All I asked was for you to establish clear boundaries with her."
Your hands shake as you point an accusatory finger at him. Your breathing falters, salty tears meeting your tongue as you try to find your words.
The other woman licks at your wounds. 'Destroy him,' she says. ‘Leave him,’ she whispers. You dig your nails into the skin of your palm at the violence of her words.
"But you made me seem like I was crazy for wanting that."
His eyes widen as he stares at you.
No longer covered in the green of her envy and guilt, she lines you with her red. You become one with your sorrow and fury.
"Why couldn't you establish one simple boundary until I was about to walk out? What kind of girlfriend is supposed to be okay with seeing another woman press herself up against her boyfriend?"
You quiet for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and his heart breaks at the sight of your stuttered breathing and tear-stained face.
"Cutting her off means nothing. Not when you brushed me off every time I brought it up.”
“Love ─,”
You cut him off, mumbling to yourself as you pick at the skin of your nails.
"God forbid someone even looks my way. But with you —" you snort and it's void of any emotion.
His face darkens at that.
"Watch your mouth," He steps closer.
You look away.
Lithe fingers grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him — into his eyes. Eyes that only desire you, that only love and lust after you. You, you, you. Always you. Only you.
She was nothing more than an old Bonten business partner, but you? You were everything.
He presses his lips to yours. Neither of you wavers in closing your eyes, the haziness of his own meeting with the anger in your irises, but he kisses you anyway. He kisses you and he kisses you. You don't kiss back.
The bag slips off your shoulder and you move to lift it back up. He refuses to let go of your jaw, lips moving against yours as he speaks.
"I love you."
"Liar," you whisper against him.
He groans and kisses you harder.
"God, I love you."
You shake your head in his grip but his hands are firm, squeezing your cheeks lightly, forcing your lips into a subtle pout.
"Get this shit off already." He pulls your bag down to the floor and throws you over his shoulder.
“I don’t want to stay here tonight.”
“Yeah? Where exactly were you gonna go?” He squeezes your hip as he walks towards the bedroom. He knows the answer, knows you would’ve been safe had you actually left. You might have smiled more tonight had he let you go with your friend; might’ve been spared of the tears you’d shed instead. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let you go.
You rub at your eyes in exhaustion.
“I’m not sleeping beside you. I don’t want you.”
He smacks your ass harshly before sliding a palm beneath your slip, stroking the skin gently.
"You're a liar, baby."
Please be lying, baby.
You grip his shirt to keep from falling.
"I hate you,” You whisper out.
He tightens his hold on your waist.
"No, you don't, princess."
His voice is low, strained. He prays you don’t hear the tremble in his tone.
He sits you down onto the bed, kneeling before you on the floor. You go to pull your legs up but he stops you, palms gripping your ankles as he places his forehead onto your knees.
“Don’t leave me.”
The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the humidifier he’d forgotten to turn off before the two of you left. It’s a steady sound — soothing in its own right. You don’t say anything as his fingers rub at your calves, as he nuzzles his face into your skin.
"I’ll do anything.”
You’re stunned into a deeper silence, staring down at him in shock. It’s laughable really, how terrifying he is to others. Tall and threatening, dark eyes and a prideful smile — the Bonten executive’s standing was respected by most. Feared by all.
And here he is, kneeling before his girlfriend, begging her to stay.
You bring a hand down to brush through lavender strands, releasing a shaky breath, as you play with his hair. You speak and your voice is soft, not disturbing the still air around you. He freezes, listening intently.
“She’s in love with you.”
He can’t help the slight sound of indignation that he lets out.
“No, she’s not. She’s just-”
“Just a business partner. I know.”
There’s a tremble to his hands as he leans forward on his knees, hiding his face in your lap as he grips your waist tight.
“I’ll talk to the rest of the executives tomorrow, we’ll find someone else to ─”
You shake your head.
“That’s not what I’m asking from you.”
He looks up at you in confusion, fingers tight against your hips.
“Then what?”
“I can’t —” You whimper and his heart breaks. “I can’t be with you if she’s going to disrespect me like that, if you’re going to let her disrespect me like that, every time we see her.”
He watches you with a certain softness in his eyes as he climbs up onto the bed beside you.
“What’re you talking about, baby?”
“Is it okay for her to touch you like that? You’re okay with that?”
You pull away from him, folding your legs up to the side as you pick at a piece of lint on the comforter.
He hadn’t thought much of it. The woman in question had been a long-time Bonten business partner, she’d known most of the executives for a decade. Her behaviors and antics, they were all used to it by now, aware that they had to put up with it to build a false sense of trust, to lul her company into an aura of security. Of all the execs to take a liking to, she’d chosen your boyfriend. Expensive nails that didn't belong to you were often wrapped around his bicep during events, and you’d watched off to the side ─ hoping, wishing that he’d say something. Anything.
But nothing ever came out. Nothing was ever said.
And you’d taken the brunt of it. Time and time again.
“I can’t ruin Bonten’s relationship with her,” He had said once, the first time you ever brought it up. “Her company is a pivotal part of our projects.”
Watching her wipe the wine stain from his lips tonight, with you seated right beside him ─ it made you wonder how far she’d gone when you weren’t around. How far she was willing to go? How far would he let her go?
You look away at the thought. The light catches onto your tear stained cheeks and he hates himself.
He furrows his brows as he stares at the pattern you were making on the comforter, the trail your fingers created and left behind. He eyes the bruised skin of your cuticles and the chipped paint of your nails — a telltale sign of your anxiety. How had he missed that? He eyes the missing ring on your right hand and his breath hitches. When had you taken that off?
He feels sick. He’d noticed that you’d declined to go with him to Bonten events as of late. You stopped attending, telling him you were too tired. Too busy. “Another time,” you’d say. “Another time,” he’d smile and agree, kissing your forehead before he made his way out and left you alone.
You’d lied to him to keep from arguing about this anymore, to keep yourself from doubting him. You’d lied and he’d fallen for it — thinking nothing strange of your behavior. And when you’d finally given in, deciding that you missed your boyfriend and that it was well within your right to go out to dinner with him — you had to sit and watch idly as she sat on the other side of him. On this cruel and unforgiving evening, you’d watched as she touched him and stared at him. You’d listened as suggestive jokes were exchanged and loud laughter was thrown across the table. You'd watched with a quiet that only the broken could understand. He’s a fool for not pulling your hand back into his once you’d pulled it out — an idiot for not following after you when you’d excused yourself to go to the restroom. He’s a moron for not seeing the hurt that you were in and the knives that dragged through your skin as he turned a blind eye.
Cold metal is pressed to your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his rings against your cheek. His eyes carry a sadness you don’t recognize.
“You’re my woman. You.”
“Then act like it.”
You move to your side of the bed, turning off your light as you send your friend a text. You’ll explain everything when you see her, you say. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.’
—
You sleep with your back facing him that night. Ran can’t find it in him to sleep at all. He’s scared, terrified that you’ll try to leave in the middle of the night — that you’ll leave just as wordlessly as you let your pain settle into your bones, and that he wouldn’t notice again.
He’d been too careless with you recently. Too comfortable and neglectful.
You turn in your sleep, unconsciously facing him, and he leans up on his arm to watch you. Carefully, gently, he lifts your hand up to meet his lips. Soft kisses are pressed to your knuckles and cuticles, to your palm and wrist.
You don’t stir.
He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead before it becomes too much for him. He’s overwhelmed and it hurts. It hurts to know that you hurt, and it hurts to know that you hurt because of him.
Ran sits up and heads over to the living room, closing the door behind him quietly.
He leans his head back against the couch, arm coming up to cover his eyes. A part of him thinks it’s ridiculous for a man of his power and standing to get worked up over his girlfriend like this. The other part of him doesn’t understand. He’d never been one for long-term relationships. Commitment had never been the issue either. They were just too much. Too much to deal with, too much work to be done — to care and to have to care, to trust, and to be trusted. It was all too much. He never bothered with the matter in its entirety.
But then he met you. And he’d asked you to stay. So you did.
Caring came naturally to him then. Loving was even easier.
He sits alone in this dark room and thinks about you and him. He thinks and he hurts, and he's reminded of the words Sanzu had thrown at him last night. Ran is more than ashamed.
—
“You’re losing her.”
“What’re you on about?” He had said, lighting his coworkers cigarette before leaning back to light his own.
Sanzu had gestured to where you were standing, away from the crowd. You had an arm loosely wrapped around the street pole as you watched the Tokyo night traffic, waiting for your boyfriend to take you home.
“She doesn’t look too happy.”
He frowns at Sanzu’s words, irritated by his comment. For an outsider to speak on his relationship with you, for another man to act like he could read you (and for him to be right about it too), Ran’s blood boils as he crushes the cigarette between his foot. He'd turned to look at you then, at the blank look on your face, wondering briefly just how much you kept to yourself. You had smiled weakly when he took your hand and led you to the garage. You said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. Until he prodded at you. Until it was too much for you to ignore. Until you came to the conclusion that should he want any other woman, you’d rather he let go of you first. Let me go, let me go, let me go. If I’m not enough, please let me go.
He’d gotten pissed at you for that and had sped up his walking once the two of you got out of the car. The front desk personnel lowered their gazes as the two of you walked into the building, and you had quieted down out of respect for your relationship.
─
His stomach churns and he soaks in his self-hatred. You could've reassured her. Could've held her hand a little tighter, could've kissed her a little longer. You fool. He hopes it isn’t too late. He groans and leans forward, running his hands through his hair aggressively as he covers his face with his palms.
He’s too in his own head to notice that you’d woken up — that you’d been standing nervously at the end of the hallway, watching him. He lets out a choked sound and your heart falls victim to his silent pleas. You make your way to him, silently asking to be let into his arms and onto his lap. He startles but quickly makes room for you, staring at you with wide eyes as you place yourself onto his thighs, settling against his chest.
Loving arms wrap around his neck as you turn your face to his chest. Undeserving palms stroke your back, pulling you in by the waist, ever closer.
“I’m sorry.”
He stares down at you in shock at the words you’d chosen to utter.
“What? What’re you –?”
You look at him and the darkness accompanying his eyes ─ at the lilac hues rimmed with red and purple, and subtle traces of blue as his veins surface beneath his skin. He was tired. So tired. Fragile fingers stroke his cheek, finding their way to the fine lines around his mouth. His stubble pricks your palm as he nuzzles his face into your skin. It's fascinating to watch a man of his stature — a man of his strength and power — fall weak to your touch. He wonders if you knew that he’d give up all that he was for a chance at forever with you. The money didn’t mean shit and his position was for naught if it meant you were hurt — if it meant you would leave. ‘If you leave, take me with you,’ his core wants to cry out. His arms wrap around you tighter as he hides his face in your neck and you blink in surprise.
“Why the fuck are you apologizing?”
Your hands find the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the black and lavender strands, tugging them gently beneath your fingers.
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
He freezes. Your voice muffles against his hold.
“I know you have obligations. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Or worse, you want to say. I don’t want to get you killed over something so…
You shake your head at the thought.
Even now, you’re still thinking of him? Even now, you’re putting him before you? He thinks it’d be fitting if he were to dig through the earth and call out to the devil himself. With bloody fingers and a dirty face, he’d call out and he’d say, ‘Come get me, come take me. This woman is too good for me.’
“I love you, I trust you. I won’t bring it up anymore.”
You press a kiss to his throat, directly onto his tattoo, before you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, broad shoulders comforting you. He falls in love with you all over again. He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around your waist while the other trails up and down your thigh.
“Baby.”
You hum in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue.
He pries you off of him, gently setting you down in his place on the couch while you look at him in confusion. You settle into the warmth of where his body once was, watching him curiously.
Ran kneels before you for the second time that night. His head is bowed slightly and his palms are flat against the cotton of his pants
“This is all on me. Not you. I’m sorry, love.”
“Ran, get up.”
You sit up, anxiously reaching for his arms but he shakes his head.
“Please just listen." He swallows, gaze fixed on the ground. "I’m a real shit boyfriend. Put you through so much shit you shouldn’t have to deal with. I know you deserve better.”
So much better.
“But I love you. I need you. I’m selfish and fucked, but I need you. ”
You tilt your head at him as your lip quivers. His shoulders tremble slightly and you reach for his cheeks, hands on either side of his face as you lean forward.
You kiss him then, for the first time all night. A languid kiss. ‘Feel all of me,’ it says. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ His brows furrow as he squeezes the skin of your thighs. You whimper against him and he smiles against your mouth, teeth touching, bones aching.
He pulls you off of the couch by the waist and onto his lap as he embraces you. The two of you find refuge in the floor of the apartment.
You stay on top, seated right on his hips as your tongue meets his. He bites the column of your throat and you tilt your head back in need, giving him access to the skin he wanted to mark.
“I belong to you,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, fingers in his hair as he kisses and bites, as he licks and whines. He reaches for the palm you had spread against his jaw, moving it to his hips.
“Ah, fuck.”
He groans in your ear at the feeling of your skin against his, at the raw affection exchanged between the two of you. He missed you, he missed you — he doesn’t deserve you. You snap his train of thought in two as you slip your hand into his pants, watching the rise and fall of his sternum. You trail your eyes back to his face and find that he’s already staring at you. One arm reaches back for the collar of his shirt, and you fixate on the flex of his bicep as he tugs it off to reveal his chest.
“My woman,” he grunts.
You nod distractedly, cheeks heating up at the intimacy. Something in him snaps when you slip the straps of your night dress off, lifting the hem to expose your underwear to him.
“Shit, you’re —” He cuts himself off to slip the flimsy cloth to the side. You stroke him as he prods into you, moaning into each other's mouths, staring at each other with desperate eyes. Love and lust and need and want. He wants to fill you with all the words he couldn’t properly say. Again and again, he'd find you. Should he be damned to a fate where you aren't beside him, he'd spend forever looking for you ─ for the home he'd found within you. Never again would he let it get this bad. Never again will he make you feel unwanted or unloved.
“So fuckin’ beautiful.”
He kisses your chest, words vibrating against the skin as he speaks.
“I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.” you cry out as he touches you deeper, rubs at you faster.
“Real shitty guy, aren’t I?” He lets out a strained laugh as your hand falters against him. “Not good for you, am I?”
You shake your head, eyes shut tight as a familiar feeling washes over you.
“I – oh,” You cry out, unable to finish your sentence as you collapse in his arms. “I love you. Please, please.”
“Please what, baby? What is it?”
He lays you down, hovering over you as he bites at your lower lip, appreciating the curve and swell.
You spread your legs and he swears.
“Please.”
“Yeah. Shit, yeah. Anything for you.”
He can’t find it in him to strip you completely. You don’t care enough that his pants are still somewhat on. But with each snap of his hips, he finds you and you find him.
He’s a sorry excuse of a person, a vindictive, hurtful soul. A damaged man with the world at his feet and his heart in your hands. He’d handed it to you himself with a hammer in tow. Should he ever go too far — crush his very spirit and rid of him of whatever is left of his soul.
But he knew. He knew that he’d be forced to sit and watch as you tenderly held the flesh. He’d sit with his legs crossed and his cheek in his palm, watching as you soothed the erratic pulsing.
‘What about the dark spots?’ He had wondered. ‘The filth and the corrupted gloom. How will she handle that? Will she throw them out? Look at them in disgust and try to change them?’
(He receives his answer time and time again — answered over and over by the one person who didn’t realize they were even being questioned.)
He'd watched as you held his heart, with all of its twisted calamities, and placed it right against yours — as if it wasn't stained, as if it wouldn't taint you for as long as you stood. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ran Haitani had resisted the urge to cry.
—
He doesn’t let you go as you try to get up from off the floor.
“I didn’t pull out,” He mumbles. “That’s my bad.”
“I know,” You whisper back, into the darkness of the room.
“Are you baby trapping me?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracking one eye open as he grins at you.
“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me go, perv.”
You flick his forehead and he laughs beside you lazily. The two of you are eye to eye and a complete mess at that.
“I need to go clean up,” you say when he shoots his hand out to your wrist to stop you from standing.
“No, I want to go again.”
“You’ll fall asleep midway.”
He grins and you laugh.
“Hey.”
“Hm?” There’s still a hint of a smile on your face as you pull your gown back into place.
“Tonight…” he turns to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. “I won’t let that happen again.”
You don’t look at him as you fiddle with the straps, tugging at them till they seem somewhat right.
“Look at me.”
He sits and tilts your chin towards him. Hesitance. Worry. (And though you’ve forgiven him, there’s still pain in your eyes.)
“I was in the wrong, and I hurt you for a long time. It won’t happen again.”
You stare back into his eyes — into the aftermath of your apocalypse. You want to tuck him into your ribs, to cage him in and hold him tight. And though he was older and had lived a life that had picked him apart more times than he could count, you don’t think you have it in you to surrender him to the darkness. Your naivety has you following after him eagerly — no matter where he takes you, no matter where you go. You’d pick up the parts he threw out on the way, and you’d ease yourself into the emptiness of his soul. You’d placate his hunger for love and give him a place to belong.
He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response. All you can do is nod.
He sighs in relief. You kiss his nose softly before you stand, giggling as he groans at your insistence on leaving the confines of his arms. He lays back down as you steady yourself, eyeing your hips before he reaches up to lift the hem of your nightgown, whistling when he eyes the damage he’d done.
“Nasty old man.”
He laughs and it’s full of life – filled with love and joy and you.
“You're into nasty old guys?”
You laugh as you walk away, turning to look at him as he grins at you.
“Just this one.”
He groans as he gets up, long legs chasing after you as you run away. It’s late, much later than he ever liked to stay up. But he’s home. He’s in your arms as he lets you fall back onto the bed, rejoicing in your laughter as he attacks your stomach with sporadic kisses. You’re here, and he’s home.
You lay on your side, holding him to you, as he nods off against your chest. A tattooed arm is thrown over your waist while the other falls slack near your thigh. The pain of the night lingers idly, wondering what will become of itself. You’ve killed the envy inside you, held hands with the fragility of the red woman that had insisted on coming out of you.
Ran Haitani is a large man, not small by any means. But underneath the prying moonlight, you think he looks vulnerable. Men of hurt will only know hurt, while the good of the world remains a foreign entity. He’s lucky, in that sense. There is a woman to hold him as he sleeps, a woman he trusts enough to fall victim to. And if he came home to you covered in blood from head to toe, covered in the sin of the world, baring the weight of their tragedy, he’d stare at you and say “Disgusting, isn’t it?” And he’d watch you shake your head, ‘No’.
cw: arranged marriage, oral sex, non-human genetalia, loss of virginity, reader is very repressed
male demon x fem reader
word count: 8k
You’d spent the whole week non stop planning your wedding. Stuff you’d dreamed about for ages. You had found your dress and helped pick flowers and colors, finally given the opportunity to decide things, to plan something for yourself. Everything would be perfect. But the planning couldn’t go on forever, eventually the actual day did arrive.
And now you sat in the throne room, waiting to meet your future husband. It was odd, in all the years of thought you’d put into this wedding you hadn’t given much thought into who you’d be marrying. It wasn’t like it would matter anyways. You’d known it would be out of your control, that them letting you plan the wedding was nothing but an attempt to pacify you. A facade of control to distract you from the rest of your life that you had no part in making the decisions about.
Sitting here, waiting for him to arrive, you could no longer indulge in that. You couldn’t throw yourself into planning, try and distract yourself from everything else. You sat there, chin up and face as unreadable as you could make it, and you had nothing to do but think. You had to stay present, it was important to consciously make yourself look regal in front of everyone, but that just made the time pass even slower, your incessant worry becoming overwhelming.
Of course you’d known you wouldn’t get to choose who you married, that was how being a princess worked. That was why you’d put it out of your mind so intentionally, no use worrying about things you couldn’t change. However, in all your years of not thinking about it, you’d never imagined that this was how you’d end up. You assumed you’d marry some haughty rich boy, probably a prince or a king. You’d met enough of them to know that most of them were the same. You knew what awaited you, or at least you’d thought you had. Somehow, you had been blindsided.
You wouldn’t react emotionally. They’d explained everything to you beforehand so you had time to cry, to get frustrated, to argue, to adjust. You were numb to it now. You’d do your duty and you would do it with grace.
Part of you had thought that the descriptions of your husband-to-be and the others of his creed must have been exaggerated, that the people who had encountered them had been making the demons sound more imposing for the sake of their little tales. It wasn’t a foreign idea, returning soldiers would say plenty of things to make their victory sound a little more heroic or to make their defeat sound more justified. As he entered the room, you instantly realized that you had been wrong. The first thing you noticed was his size. He was easily seven feet tall, towering above everyone else in the room. His skin was a reddish-purple, far from anything human, with large, dark horns coming out of his head.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: draken’s always been attractive when he rides his bike, and you take the liberty to show him that—even if it’s in the middle of the highway
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fem! reader, public sex, hand jobs, slight overstimulation
the night air is crisp on your skin as you wrap your arms around draken’s neck, pulling him into a searing kiss. the shop’s been busy as of late, and you’re happy for him, you really are, but you crave a bit more attention. he’s barely had a second to spare to all day to get up and eat lunch, let alone entertain you in your pursuit for his affections, but he’s all yours now.
you plan on using that to your advantage.
“wanna go for a ride, princess?” he grins at you in between kisses, his rough hands finding their rightful spot on your hips. you’ve been waiting for that question, a grin of your own stretching across your lips as you hum.
“course i do, kenny.” one hand trails down his chest, roaming over the muscles of his pecs and abs, making him chuckle lightly.
he’s always been built rather large, but the years have done him good. his towering height’s put on a few more inches, his muscles bulge a bit more, his chest is a bit broader, and any remnants of the boy you’d known draken as before has grown into a man.
“let’s go, baby,” he presses a few kisses to your jaw. “need a de-stressor after this week,” he mumbles.
you plan on giving him just that.
the wind on your face as draken speeds faster is all too refreshing. the cramped garage of his shop has been all you’ve been seeing in your spare time anymore, the need to keep your boyfriend company overwhelming your urges to go do anything else. but this is nice, you think.
draken seems happy too, his lips are stretched into a grin, and his shoulders are less tense, the muscles rippling through the collared shirt of his uniform even as they’re relaxed. you trail your hands down his chest, rubbing over his abs as he glances momentarily at you over his shoulder.
“keep your hands to yourself, baby,” he grins playfully, and you can feel the small chuckle he lets out through the rumble of his chest as your hands glide back over it.
“can’t, you’re too pretty, ken,” you murmur, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of his neck. he shudders slightly. “been waiting for you the whole day,” you pout into his ear.
clearing his throat, he lets out a gruff, “y/n,” as a warning, but you don’t pay any mind to that. your hands trail lower, and lower, and lower— “y/n,” draken growls. “what are you doing?”
“just having fun,” you grin. and your palm glides over his crotch, gently feeling over his dick print as he grits his teeth. he looks around, and the highway’s almost empty, but he still doesn’t appreciate the circumstances.
“well, have fun somewhere els—ngh,” he cuts himself with a grunt when you squeeze his half-hard cock through his pants, pumping him as much as you can until a tent forms. “y-y/n, i’m serious.”
you wish you can find it in yourself to care about his warnings—but you can’t.
reaching into his pants you grab his erection, cheek resting on his back as you pull his pulsing member from his confinements. you stroke him languidly, drinking in the sounds of his gasps and choked-out groans.
if only you could see him, but this’ll do for now.
“y/n,” he hisses. “have you lost your fucking mind?”
“maybe,” you chuckle. rolling your palm in circles around his tip, you can just barely make out the long, drawn-out moan he lets out, his thighs tensing at the small bit of friction.
he’s always been sensitive at the head, and you’ve always used that to your advantage too.
“fuck,” he whispers, letting out a shaky sigh when your other hand cups his balls. you doubt anyone you pass by would really notice, draken’s going much too fast, and it’s much too dark, and no one would really think to look at his crotch, but still. the fact that your boyfriend is currently riding down the highway, dick out and open, hard and aching for release leaves you desperately aroused. “fuck, y/n, either put my dick away or do something,” he growls at you. “and be quick.”
you decide on the latter, wrapping your hand around his cock and starting a quick rhythm, stroking his length as your other hand cups his balls again, massaging them lightly. he moans, forcing himself to keep his head upright and not thrown back like he desperately wants.
“been working so hard, ken,” you say smoothly. “thought i’d help relieve the stress you were talking about earlier—and you look good in your uniform,” you add. “my pretty boy.” he doesn’t have the patience to let the praise stroke his ego, too focused on the throbbing of his member in your hands.
and you don’t have patience either, it seems—otherwise, you wouldn’t be pumping his cock out in the open like this, trying to pull an orgasm from him while he’s taking you both on a ride around the city.
“fuck, go faster,” he demands, his hips bucking ever so slightly to meet your fisted hand’s movements. and you’d give everything to have your boyfriend cum right now, to have his body tense with his back pressing to your chest, shooting ropes of cum that splatter against his precious bike.
so you move your hand faster, squeezing at the base of his shaft before stroking up, thumb grazing his slit and making him cry out each time.
he’s moaning loudly by now, with no efforts to hold back or stay quiet. the broken strings of curses falling from his lips leave your thighs begging to close shut to relieve the heat pooling at your core. you can feel his chest rising and falling erratically as he pants, trying to keep his hips in place, fighting the urge to thrust into your hand. the bike swerves a little every now and then, and with a harsh squeeze of his balls and one more glide of your thumb through his weeping slit, he’s cumming with a loud, strangled cry of your name.
“f-fucking hell, y/n,” he groans, body shuddering as he tenses his thighs. the shoots of cum that spurt from his tip leave him clenching his handlebars tightly, teeth gritting as he forces his eyes to remain open. “fuck—fuck, that feels good,” he says shakily, letting out a soft whine when your hands don’t stop even as he finishes. “shit, y/n, ‘m done. cut it out,” he hisses.
but you don’t listen, stroking his sensitive dick, hand coated in his thick cum, using it as a lubricant while you rub your thumb over his vein. he lets out a small whimper at that, and the sound shoots straight to your core.
“too much,” he all but whines. “f-fuck, too much, y/n,” he grunts. chuckling, you stroke him one last time, smiling at the way he shudders before kissing his neck and pulling away. he’s still catching his breath when you tuck him back into his soiled pants, and before you can say anything, he’s swerving to take the nearest exit.
“wha—ken, you’re going the wrong—”
“we’re taking a detour,” he sneers. “someone has to be taught a lesson for being such a shameless whore.”
kazutora promising “just the tip” in the back of the pet shop when you’re visiting but that really means he’s fucking you until you walk out with his cum trailing down your legs
“not here, are you crazy?” you whisper yell at kazutora, one hand laying itself on his chest to keep him in place as he pushes you against the wall of the storage room. it’s too easy to read him, too easy know exactly what he wants, and the hazy look in his eyes is just another hint at what you already know. you should stop this before it goes any further, you think.
but it’s too late—you can feel him poke through his jeans, prodding at your thigh, and he’s nothing if not persistent.
“baby, please,” he groans, hands gripping your waist tight, pinning you in place as you bite your lip before shaking your head—you almost open your mouth to tell him off, but he beats you by just a second. and then he says those words…those very tempting words. “just the tip, i swear,” he says desperately, voice almost a whine, “j-just gotta feel you—just a little.”
kazutora’s eyes are as tempting as the devil’s whisper over your shoulder, like saccharine words that promise you everything you want, pushing you to give into desires you know you shouldn’t indulge.
but then he kisses up your jaw, and your resolve weakens a little, and you fall right into the honeyed trap of his eyes.
“but we’re in the middle of the store,” you reason, but your legs are already spreading as his hands wander past your waistband. he hums at the wetness already pooled at your core, pulling away just as he teases over your clit, pulling a harsh glare from you.
“we’re in the back of the store,” he grins cheekily, “no one comes here, it’s employees only—”
“and what if chifuyu comes looking—”
“i’ll be quick,” he whines, head digging into your shoulder, a soft little kiss landing on the skin before he suck’s slowly, making you melt in his arms just a bit more. “so quick—please baby, jus’ wanna feel you.”
“just the tip,” you remind him—though it’s a bit of a warning, “okay?”
“fuck, yeah…yeah, just the tip,” he agrees, all too quick to unbuckle his belt and slip his pants halfway down his legs, exposing his hardened cock. you eye the flushed pink of his tip, the small bead of pre cum that leaks from his slit, the way his eyes close and his jaw slacks as he lets out a shaky little breath when he strokes himself for a moment.
and when you feel the way your walls clench around nothing as you watch, feeling painfully empty without him fucking you full, something tells you just the tip won’t be enough.
“tora,” you huff, glaring at him petulantly, “you are always so full of bad ideas.”
he doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t even hesitate as he pulls you into a needy kiss, groaning against your mouth as his fingers loop around the edge of your pants and pull them down your legs, two fingers sinking knuckle deep past your folds as they curl into you. his palm rolls over your clit as he bullies his digits into you slowly, lips kissing you in a messy clash of teeth and tongue as you whine against his mouth.
your walls flutter around his fingers, warm and tight—and suddenly, he doesn’t think think he can keep up with the previous agreement anymore. and how can you expect him to? how can he be satisfied with so little when you’re right here, perfect and pretty and so, so ready for him to take you.
“fuck—i can’t,” he breathes against your mouth, “need more than that, please. please? swear it’ll be okay—nothing’s gonna happen, we won’t get caught—”
“tora jus’ need you inside already,” you whine, cutting him off and pleasing for more yourself. you don’t need anymore convincing—you don’t even care about your earlier worries anymore, not when there’s only one thing you want—one thing you need.
“sh-shit, okay,” he mumbles. you gasp as his fingers leave you—but it’s not long until the head of his cock is sliding up and down your folds, pulling a quiet whimper from you as his tip rubs over your clit. he slides into you slowly, inch by inch as his hand grabs onto the plush of your thigh and guides it around his waist, bottoming out with a low groan. “fuck, so good, baby—feel so good. so fuckin’ tight,” he rambles, hips slowly rolling as he thrusts into you.
“t-tora,” you cry, hand clutching to his shirt, fisting the fabric as you pull him closer, your own hips desperately bucking to meet every snap of his. “more, need more—”
“i know,” he pants, gasping as you squeeze around him when he lands a particularly harsh thrust, fat tip kissing your sweet spot perfectly. “i know, i know—me too,” and almost instantly, his hips slam into you harsher, rougher, deeper.
you mewl as he hikes your leg higher up his waist, angling to hit your spot as his thumb rolls over your clit. and you should be quiet—should keep it down as much as you can so it’s not obvious just how unprofessional he’s being right now. but the slight furrow of his brows as his face twists with pleasure and the soft moans make the last thread of your composure snap, and you throw your head back against the wall as you whimper his name.
“close, ‘m close tora, g-gonna—”
“not yet, baby,” he kisses your cheeks soothingly, panting against your ear as his head buries itself into your neck. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his body flush against yours as your chests collide—and by now, his hips are just barely rolling, his cock dragging against your folds, pace sloppy as he feels his orgasm build up. “cum with me—please. gonna fill you up nice ‘n f-full—”
“yes, please—need it,” you cut him off with a sob, and he curses under his breath, the last of his composure slipping as he lets out a wanton moan, cock slamming into you roughly as his thumb rubs circles onto your clit faster.
“c’mon,” he grunts, “‘m close—cum for me.”
and just his words are enough to push you off the edge, walls spasming around his aching length as you cum, nails digging into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. his forehead presses against yours, lips on yours as you pant against each other’s mouths, yours spilling soft whimpers as he fucks you through your high.
“‘s good,” you slur, breath ragged as your chest rises and falls erratically. “so good—fuck, tora.”
and just as you clamp down on him again, he lets out a broken gasp into your neck, rutting into your wet folds, a mess of your slick and his cum running down your thighs. you feel his cock throb with each rope of cum, balls slapping against you with every roll of his hips.
“fuck, fuck, fuck—so good, feels so good. perfect, my perfect baby,” he babbles into the crook of your neck, cutting himself off with a whine. his breath tickles your skin as he pants, finishing with one final thrust before he slumps his figure against yours.
your hand weakly strokes through his hair as you catch your breaths together—and then you gently smack his shoulder.
“just the tip,” you mock his voice, scowling. “if you’re gonna cause this much trouble every time i stop by—”
“tora just need you,” he mocks back, huffing as he pulls away. he takes in your fucked out appearance—eyes raking over the sweat on your skin and the marks on your neck, and suddenly blush creeps his face just a little. “you look good,” he breathes.
“and you have work,” you snort, pecking his lips softly.
property of hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok
geto suguru finds the concept of goodness to be conceptualized by you - maybe thats why he loves you so. obsessively, profoundly, lustfully.
a/n: college au, trio and reader are juniors, reader is a foreign exchange student, fem reader, unprotected sex, confession of feelings, lovesick geto my beloved, 5k, minors dni, smut, grinding, fingering, blowjob, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia - let me know if i missed something
cw: minors dni, crack, plot heavy with a little porn, otaku behavior (~3.5k words), mild violence mention, fem!reader
summary: you meet someone desperate to win a competition.
a/n: idk what this is but i hope you laugh lmaooo
Twenty-four-seven convenience stores are only convenient when you’re not the one working the shifts, you think as a yawn forcibly runs through your body, and you lean back into your chair, stretching your arms over your head. The digital clock directly across from your gaze, situated at the top of the glass door, states that you’ve now made it to the witching hours of 3 and 4 am. By now, everything is quiet, as most of the drunkards that leer at you from the corner of their eye as they stock up for the next few mornings have already found their way home or otherwise, and the rest of the city is fast asleep.
It’s hard to keep awake yourself, and you consider taking a nap, but alertness is probably crucial at a time like this - security cameras will only record a robbery, not prevent it. The doors aren’t locked after all, and even if this area is relatively safe enough not to require police, you’re still an easy target.
A little more than 3 hours. You switch the radio to a top 40 station and tap your foot idly with the music. It’s another Takada-Chan hit, something catchy and gooey about love in strange places that you’ve heard ad nauseam in the past week, but still has somehow grown on you. You glance over to the display shelf that has just three out of a previous stock of a hundred bags of chips with her face on the cover, flashing her winning celebrity smile. There’s something about a promotion that has made that particular brand so popular, but you neither remembered nor cared about the details. A backstage pass or fan-meeting? Either way, it’s none of your business.
At least, it isn’t your business until a figure that seems to appear seemingly out of nowhere barrels through your store. Your mind barely registers the ringing of the bell, but your eyes follow the shadow in shock, which turns out to be a young (?) man whose shoulders are hunched as he inspects every bag for a split second. Your legs freeze as does the rest of your body in disbelief as he tears each bag open one after the other, dumping its contents on the ground, then groans loudly.
Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sex, non-con kissing, baby trapping, hanma is sometimes an asshole, unprotected sex, edging, creampie, cum play, cum facial, breeding kink, reader spanked twice, exhibitionism, mentions of public sex, slight manhandling, mentions of marathon sex, degradation, pet names and manipulation. Minors do not interact.
Notes: commissioned by bby @marism (◕દ◕)💕 hope u like it love and sorry for the delay.
Synopsis: Hanma Shuji always gets his way, even if it doesn’t sit right with you—he will.
✩ tags ;; pwp, fluff and smut, minor hurt/comfort, f2l, pro-hero bkg and reader, established relationship, fingering, oral (f!recieving), riding, dirty talk (soo much lol), overstimulation / multiple orgasms 18+ mdni
✩ wc ;; 6.4k
✩ a/n ;; happy birthday to the love of my life who has subsquently rotted my brain for so long now. love u king.
✩ synopsis ;; bakugou drops by your place and the two of you resolve some long standing tension in your kinda sorta new relationship
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Katsuki,”
“It hasn’t been shit but you lately,”
On your bedside table is a fresh bouquet of flowers, tended to and soaking up sugar water right against your windowsill. Underneath the glass vase is a note, flattened out under the weight but still folded with hand-writing that looks like chicken scratch.
romance aint dead or whatever the fuck. see you soon - k.
You know it’s there because you put it there, and when you wake up from a nap on Saturday afternoon - it’s the first thing you think of. There’s a heavy rain drumming on the roof of your apartment that sets a backdrop to the silent evening. You check the time, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. It’s nearly 7pm, almost 8. Your stomach rumbles and your heart thumps with a tender melancholy.
You’re practically slumped forward as you swipe your phone open. You force yourself to scroll aimlessly through your socials first. Twitter, Instagram, Tik-Tok. After some mind-numbing scrolling, your fingers tapping along hearts and re-tweeting stuff that you find amusing, you gain courage to check what you’ve wanted to check the whole time.
You tap your text messages and there’s two new ones from your lover. Your face spreads into a smile as you touch the messages.
(sent 5:45) Out on a mission.
(sent 5:47) See you later. Don’t be fucking stupid.
That makes you laugh, a real loud laugh. You know what he’s trying to say at least. He’s still not good at telling you to take care. You think it’s a result of spending so many years as friends. That awkwardness in showing real affection and real vulnerability. Even still, you don’t hate it. It mostly feels like a welcome transition, another milestone in your many years together.
(sent 7:02) I’m awake. I took a nap and I’m gonna start dinner. Text me when you’re home. Miss you <3
You wonder if the last sentiment will be too much, but decide it doesn’t matter. Swinging your heavy limbs over the edge of the mattress, you slip your feet into some house slippers. Pro-Hero Dynamight merch no less.
Yawning, you rub your eyes from sleep and stumble into the bathroom. You play something on your phone to pass the time as you freshen up. A quick lather and rinse with face wash, brush your teeth, and make sure your hair is neat and back. After that, you put on an old pair of PJ pants and a shirt two sizes too big on you.
Once you feel clicked into your consciousness, you pocket your phone and think about what you have in the fridge. A box of silken tofu unopen, chili crisp, green onions, eggs. Maybe you have something in the freezer?
You only ever make it into your living room before a cumbersome knock startles you out of your haze. You can’t imagine who’d be here at this hour.
With hesitance, you rest your hand on the doorknob.
“Who is it?”
“Who the fuck d’ya think?”
Your hand moves before you can reply, undoing the lock before twisting the door open. Bakugou stands in front of you, ragged and a little wet from the rain. You blink a few times, mouth agape.
“Why’re you here right now?” You say, ushering him inside to shield him from the pouring rain. He’s soaked to the bone. Mask pulled over his forehead, with most of his hero gear still sitting on his body. He stands in the doorway as you click the door shut behind him. Without any words exchanged - you hurry off to grab him a towel.
“Wanted to make sure you weren’t dead,” He replies. Part of you itches to revert back to just handing it to him, letting him dry himself off in your doorway like he has tens of times before.
But with trembling hands, you wrap the towel around his head and press. Drying him off is an easier task than you thought it’d be - even if your heart is twisting funnily in your chest. You suddenly feel nervous as you pull the towel back enough to see his face. His eyes are piercing like always, smeared liner around them accentuating the stark white and red. He looks at you hard, long, wordless.
You continue drying him off, your hands over his ears and head with the towel as a barrier. You hesitate when you get down to his neck, suddenly conscious of his body and how the material of his costume leaves so little to the imagination. You trek forward feeling both stupid and brave. Bakugou clears his throat.
“I was asleep,” You say, cutting through the tension to the best of your ability.
“That why you look like shit?”
Your eyes widen at the jab, then all at once, you’re laughing. You hit his chest, and let it linger.
“Dickhead,”
“Only the best,” He snips.
And it’s a weird, roundabout way to flirt. You know it is, and so does he. Maybe you’re just feeling emboldened by the fact he showed up. Despite himself, he’s here. You take a step forward, wrapping the towel around his neck and dragging him to you.
When you kiss, something inside of you feels like it’s melting. Bakugou lets his hand rest on your waist when he kisses you. He grabs it tight the deeper you go, a soft little moan leaving his mouth when you let out a whine. It’s really not like you, and it’s not like him either.
But it makes sense like this, and only like this.
You fold under the intensity of his lips. The scorching kiss that leaves a tingle in your spine, you pull back and curl your fist on his chest. When you pull away from him, he looks a little mad. A growl leaves his mouth as he pulls you back in.
And for a second, you get pulled into it. You giggle and let him bite your lower lip with his teeth before you pull away more seriously.
“I have to make dinner,” You say through a breath. He’s practically burning up, steaming at the sudden wait. You give him an apologetic look. You can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
He just gives you another deep tongue kiss before nearly pushing you off. Running a hand through his hair, he gives you a quick once over then takes a deep breath.
“Asshole,” He says. It’s all he can come up with. You flush.
“Come eat with me. Your clothes are in the bathroom,”
“What’re you going to make?”
You haven’t really decided.
“Something spicy,” You say instead. He gives you hum and then disappears down your hallway, the bathroom door shutting behind him.
You hear a shower run and laugh under your breath as you actually make it into the kitchen. You can throw something together, a curry works. You pull a clean cutting board and knife and then simper around for ingredients.
Left-over chicken thighs, some mushrooms, onions, garlic, and a curry roux cube. You have frozen spinach in your freezer, so you take that out. Cutting and prepping the veggies entrances you and soon enough, you lose yourself to the monotonous sound of chopping and peeling. Discarding scraps in between as you heat oil and add everything as it comes. It doesn’t take long. You’ll throw everything together and eventually let it hang out while the rice cooks.
Bakugou returns to you when you’ve finished chopping up all the veggies. You hear him before you look, wearing slippers he keeps at your place. They have little lions on the feet, and you’re always surprised he doesn’t complain about wearing them.
His breath is warm as he lingers over you in the kitchen.
“Smells good,”
“Nothing special. Just curry,”
“Better than eating take-out,” He bites, a call out to your poor diet as of late. You roll your eyes a little at the jab, but it dies as soon as his hands touch your waist. It’s a little, hesitant touch. His chin resting on your shoulder.
“This..?” He says, so softly you almost miss it. Like if he says it too loud, too open - everything will crumble to pieces. You shiver.
“Mhm,”
And then he gets closer, a back-hug. You don’t mind when his arm hesitantly wraps around your middle. His fingers ghosting over the skin of your stomach, his cheek slightly pressing into your neck. He breathes, and you feel it all over your body like a spark of electricity. Little flickers of it igniting a heat so deep into your body you aren’t sure where it starts and where it ends.
You stir the pot for too long. If you move, so will he.
The onions are golden when they aren’t supposed to be, but you still hesitate to step away.
When you do, he does - but not too far. A breath of relief passes your lungs. You load the veggies, and the chicken into the pot.
“Can you get me the chicken stock from the fridge? In the plastic thing,”
Bakugou opens the fridge, pauses, and then brings it to you. He opens it without you asking, the tricky lid on the countertop. You tuck the curry cube into all the bits, then pour the cold stock over everything. The roux cube dissolves into the water, and you season with salt and pepper. Then the lid goes on, and the boil rolls off to a gentle simmer as you turn the gas low.
When it’s over, there’s silence. You’re nervous to turn around, what you’ll see.
When you work up the nerve, Bakugou is staring at you. Your breath hitches.
“C’mere,” He rasps.
You step forward and he’s got a hand on your shoulder, the other on your hips. He cradles your neck, thick fingers at the nape. It’s a bold move, especially from him. But you don’t shy away from him.
“I uhm… I missed you,”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You say, letting your hands on his arms
He leans forward. It’s a little slower, chaste, but wanting. Longing. Deeply imbued in the gesture.
He presses forward to yours with an uneven grunt. Your noses brush, as his hold on you, gets tighter and tighter. You stare at him, blinking. His eyes are screwed tight for a while, but when he opens them they’re filled to the brim with fire. You know it well, have seen it hundreds of times on the field before but now it’s directed you in a way it’s never been.
A flaming arrow into your wooden heart, your hands reach around. You grab his shoulders, his muscles, and look.
“You’re gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy,” He whispers, soft and tender. Your brows raise
“I didn’t do anything,” You say back, a protest.
“Don’t need to,”
“I missed you,” You say again, a little firmer.
“Don’t do this to me,” He says, voice filled to the brim with longing. You frown.
“But I didn’t -”
“You did. You did by being like this and kissing me at the fucking door. You’re a fucking tease,”
“I’m not anything, you dick. I just… I’m nervous.”
“You think I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that,”
“You really know how to push my buttons,”
You stop then, holding him. The two of you just holding each other, in the dim lights of your kitchen. Your hands on his body and his on yours, looking. You study his expression, the part of his lips, and the crease in his brow. It’s been like this for the last couple of weeks. Bakugou suddenly appears at your place and then gets frustrated with something.
You’re normally so good about figuring out his moods without him having to tell you. Lately, being together seems to hinder any of your previous rationale. You feel like you’re learning him all over again, like he’s the same but he isn’t. Normally, you would just know. Or if you didn’t it, he’d work up the nerve to tell you.
But lately, it’s like this. Neither of you is sure what to do or which steps you’re allowed to take. You glance down at his lips then look into his eyes. Then you ask.
“What is it?” You say soft, pressing your lips to his before pulling back “What do you want?”
There’s a passing look. A familiarity stitched into the way he looks at you, has looked at you forever. It’s still longing, for some reason.
“How long have we known each other?”
“8 years, give or take,”
You can feel his arm support your back. His fingers are gentle as they brush over the nape of your neck, over the peach fuzz.
“Every time we act fucking.. lovey-dovey or whatever, I feel like I’m losing my mind,” ― He takes a deep breath, leaning into you. His nose pressed to your temple ― “It doesn’t feel like it’s been 8 years. Feels like I just opened something that I can’t close again,”
“Like a dam breaking?”
“Somethin’ like that, yeah. It’s fucked,”
“Do you hate it?”
He kisses your temple.
“Nah,”
“Then why do you seem so…I dunno, frustrated? I don’t like seeing you upset,”
“It’s not like I’m upset. But I’m getting greedy with you, with everything,”
“That’s kinda just how you are,” You say, amused. A tender smile on your face as you cup his cheeks, thumb smoothing underneath his eyes “You want something and you make it yours. You take and take and take,”
“You’re not fucking… you’re not something to be taken, alright? It’s not that easy,”
“I’m not a delicate little flower, baby. We work on the field together, you know how it is. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” ― You say, leaning forward. Your noses brush ― “But I’m not gonna run away. Maybe I like giving to you. Maybe I want you to take,”
He swallows, then gives you a feral grin.
“So you are being a tease,”
“Oh, shut up.” You snort.
You like seeing him smile, as mild as it is. It’s not something you get to see often, but when you do - it makes your heart flutter. You kiss him that time, smiling and laughing into it.
“We’re both bad at this but we’re in it together,”
“Whatever,”
“Whatever,” You mock. He clicks his teeth at you.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Katsuki,”
“It hasn’t been shit but you lately,”
“What about me?”
“Fucking everything,” ― He says through a laugh, hands going lower ― “Every single thing I learned to suppress that you keep reminding me of. Everything. All of you,”
“What do you want?”
“Everything,” He says again, a little harder. A little more heat attached. “All of you,”
You catch wind of something you don’t think you’re supposed to see. The room starts to simmer. A gentle warmh licking at your insides, the soft embers of fire aching to be fed. You let your eyes flicker to his mouth, pink tongue sliding over his bottom lip.
“Is it… do you want to go all the way with me?”
“We can’t go back from that,” He rasps, sharply. Instantly. A way out in case things go sour. It’s hesitant, almost desperate. His voice, always so full of composure when he speaks, suddenly gone unsteady like a wave.
“Who says I want to go back?”
“You’re killing me,”
“I’ve liked you back, all the same as before. Chased after you. Worked to be by your side in the same way you did for me. You’re the common denominator,”
“Fuck,”
“I don’t go into something planning on backing out,”
“We… I can’t go back after this. Whatever fail-safe I’ve got on my feelings is going to go out the fucking window and you’re gonna drive me crazy for the rest of my life,”
“Don’t ever leave me alone,”
He laughs hard.
“Not in my wildest fucking dreams,”
You let yourself fall into a kiss. It’s easy. Your hands settle at his neck, and he’s still holding you the same as before. It’s just a kiss, a start to something more but it never stops feeling good. His lips are nice, soft, full. His tongue is curious, licking into your mouth. His teeth are sharp, digging into yours before he pulls away, letting your lip follow.
And his hands, like him, are greedy. Calloused, devious as they slide down your back and come around your ass with a harsh grip. You can feel yourself being spread apart, the mild stretch that makes your stomach feel like it’s flipping. Nothing about this is easy.
But you don’t expect that from him, so you kiss back. Your hands tangle in his hair and tug at the root and you think the two of you will fuck just how you fight. When the thought passes your mind, you moan loud into his mouth and he freezes. When he pulls away, a string of spit follows where your lips were locked.
“Turn the stove off,” ― His voice is so deep you can feel it in your ribs, in your whole body ― “Or it’ll be burned by the time I’m done with you,”
The gas turns off with a sudden flick. Your body feels almost numb from want. Bakugou takes your hand, and you follow him into your bedroom.
__
Wholly familiar with the sound, sight, and feeling of shattered glass - the feeling of falling into bed with Bakugou feels an awful like crashing through a building.
You feel him before you get a chance to look him in the eyes, your back hitting your unmade mattress. Sheets and blankets get kicked to the floor, you fall with a soft thump into the pillows. Bakugou crawls on top of you, his knees between your spread legs and arms on either side of your head. His shadow swallows you like an eclipse, a moon over blazing sunlight. You succumb quickly to his darkness. You kiss again, all over, again and again.
Unsure of what to do, you reach for him with desperation. Fingers dancing over the muscles in his shoulders and his back - your palms glide over the nape of his neck until you’re dragging him down to you. So hot it burns, the taste of swapped spit, and the feeling of a swollen mouth. Memories of heated makeout sessions on your couch return to you with fervor, and for some reason make you want this all the more.
Bakugou lets his hands do most of the speaking. For all the time you’d spend, out of reach from each other - you wonder if this kind of clinginess is bred from all the time apart. Why you can’t part for even a second, or why Bakugou’s hands speak a private little language.
Languidly passing over your calves over your fuzzy PJs, suddenly steady sweeping over your hips, tender at the waist where you can feel every callous in his palms, and desperate above the navel. Anguishing need when he gropes your chest, fingers squeezing the fat of your tits just underneath you’re oversized t-shirt. Your mind feels like it’ll drip from your nose, but you’re enamored by how many ways there are to say i love you without ever saying a word.
His thumb rubs the underneath side of your tits, then flick over the nipple until you’re moaning into his mouth.
“Aah, ah,”
You think back on moments spent in bed. You’ve never gone all the way before, but you’ve done plenty else. So Bakugou knows what he’s doing when his thumb rolls your nipples, knows how sensitive they are to his touch. It makes you flood between a dull ache growing between your legs. Your clit throbs, and your body yearns.
You wonder how much time he’ll spend like this. You wonder how much will have passed. Bakugou never does anything half-assed, and you’re sure you’re included in that. The pinching feeling all over your skin makes you take in a lungful of air as you attempt to anchor yourself into reality.
He pushes your shirt all the way up this time, breaking the kiss-off before adjusting himself. You wiggle around taking your shirt off, tossing it to the floor somewhere. When you’re naked, Bakugou drops down again - tongue smoothing over your neckline. He bites into you hard, and you cry out. The pleasure from it is unexpected, the way he takes from you leaves your mind spinning.
“You’re so fucking sexy,”
“Yeah?”
He grunts, laving over every inch of your skin. You feel like you’re being offered, eaten whole. Cool air on the warm patches of saliva as he licks down parts of your body you didn’t think you liked being touched. On the space between your tits and on them, kisses on your stomach. You don’t think to compare it to worship.
Closer to fanaticism, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. The difference hasn’t mattered until it has. Until just now, a single-minded way of working your body that makes you feel like you’re falling.
His fingers are comfortable in your waistband. He looks up at you this time, and you look down at him. You hold your own chest in some act of comfort, nodding. He takes off your pants and your panties with it - revealing you to the cool evening air. It’s too much for you to handle. Bakugou’s eyes are unapologetic in the inspection. His fingers smooth over the well-kept hair (which you only keep because he likes, so he says anyway) and you recognize it all over his face.
Your clit is throbbing, almost painfully. Tender. But Bakugou merely spreads you apart until it’s exposed, the hard bundle of nerves unfree from his scrutiny. You don’t know why he stares at it for so long, shallow breathing like he can’t take in enough air to stay afloat. He leans his face in, and unexpectedly - pecks the hood with something akin to affection.
He kisses everywhere, along your folds until he’s kissing your clit and then it occurs to you. It feels so much like how he kisses you, lips first, then tongue then greed. You let out a pathetic whine in the process. You want to clamp your thighs, push his face away from the most sensitive parts of you but you can’t.
It hits you when his tongue laps at you, snaking around your clit before sucking it into his sweltering mouth. The heavy muscle expert in the pressure it needs ― you need to feel good. Your toes curl, steady anticipation building. His arms wrap under your thighs and suddenly he’s dragging you down to bury his nose deeper until it disappears into your pussy. A wave of static flits through your whole body. You hiss, teeth clamped together and trembling. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You don’t know what to do with your hands, so they clamp into the sheets behind you. The fabric is taut in your grip as pleasure starts to tear through you like a torrent. A storm starting from your chest and ending between your legs - a natural disaster that threatens to tear you apart from each end. It signals with a shaky tremor inside, and your spine arches off the bedsheets in the shape of a crescent moon.
You convulse in the blink of an eye and cum so hard you can’t see straight
“Oooh, oh fuck. K-Katsuki, fuck,”
You moan his name like an epithet for god. He lets you sink into him, his touches remaining until you physically have to pry yourself away from him, and even still he insists. Persisting in the gesture, he pulls away to let you breathe but doesn’t move away from your thighs. Labored breathing fills the white space in the room, and when you finally stop scurrying away, he buries himself snugly into your cunt. Licking again with little regard to what protests you might have above him.
“You taste so fucking good. So goddamn sweet,”
“Want more,” You say, soft. An urgency rips through you as your hands rake through his hair “Want you so fucking much,”
Bakugou crawls up between you, a couple of kisses exchanged almost like a distraction. Before you understand what’s happening really, you feel Bakugo move. The weight of his body suddenly shifted. You turn on your side to accommodate him, his body slotted behind you. The position is oddly embarrassing, as Bakugou's hand is enough to fit around your torso.
“Hold your legs apart, baby,”
The way his lips curl around the word baby makes your stomach turn. You lift your leg, holding it. You can feel Bakugou’s arms snaking around your middle, dipping below your belly button until the pads of his fingers nudge your clit. You shake, your head dropping back onto your shoulder. He tilts his head to kiss the shell of your ear, teeth at your earlobe.
“Gonna open you up and fuck you in every position under the sun,” ― He says with so much confidence is astounds you. You gasp at the sound of his voice ― “You’re gonna give it to me and I’m gonna take it from you,”
“K-Kat…suki,”
“And I’m gonna make you fucking cum. Gonna fuck you so good you can’t think,”
“Fuck w-where ‘d you… fuck,”
You feel his fingers press against your hole, fluttering at the intrusion. Bakugous fingers are thicker than they are long. Covered in calluses and cuts, blunt nails and all. They’re rough in a way that’s incredible. You’ve felt them before, more than once. With your leg up like this, they sink deeper into your hole. It’s lewd, the way his two fingers make his palm cup against your pussy.
His fingers pump in and out of you, a wet shlick punctuated with each movement. It’s so wet and so tight. It feels funny. The tenderness from cumming makes your insides twitch.
“You do this to me,” ― He says in between everything, a reminder ― “Seeing you fucking fall apart ‘cause of me. I’m so hard I can’t think about fucking anything other than you,”
You can only describe it as animalistic, like a cat in heat. Desperation A sinking, lingering desperation from something you don’t have a name for. You’ve never known Bakugou to talk much at all so every word feels like it’s piercing you. A clawing thing, digging into your chest. You want and want more than anything in the world. You’ve done plenty in your life. Kissing strangers and sex with exes in between. Life has touched you more than once.
But because it’s Bakugou, it feels like you’ve just discovered every last one of your senses. What touch can really feel like, the potent smell of sex, the vision of the open window, the taste of desire, and the sound of Bakugou’s voice all working in tandem. Your heart pounds in your ears as his fingers fuck you open a little more, and it’s not enough to make you cum. But it’s enough to drive you fucking mad.
It’s about all the time you’ve missed out, your body is signaling to you that there really is no coming back. You clench at the thought and Bakugou hisses behind you. You’ve never coveted something so much.
Yet, you’re wiggling your hips back and fucking into Bakugou’s hands and moaning. Shaking and frantic for whatever makes you feel full. You want to be so full it makes your head swim.
“Please. It’s enough, I swear - so please, please, please,”
“You want my fucking dick?”
“So bad, you don’t - you don’t get it. Need it,”
In his capable hands and even in your delirium, you register Bakugou at his tipping point. You know he is because he curses on his breath, fingers suddenly pulling away. Your leg is still up. Swallowing saliva, you bite your lip trying to be patient.
Bakugou pulls his sweats down in one motion and pulls you flush to his hips. You feel it behind you. Hard, heavy, and thick against your spine. You feel it against your ass before he slips underneath and rubs the head just along your clit. You never get over it - the way it curves upward. Pink tip and mostly pale, and long.
It feels like a dream. Bakugous hands come underneath your knee, making sure your leg stays up. You reach a hand between your legs to help guide it in. With your lower lip tugged into your teeth, you hold your breath - guiding the tip inside of you with a quiet gasp.
“Holy fuck,”
“Nghh, shit,”
The initial stretch makes your muscles clench. It’s so thick, the head leaving you with a dull soreness. Constricting and hot, there’s a wet noise as he pushes each inch inside. An agonizing swell, the raw feeling of skin against skin. You moan loud, gasping for air, and Bakugou humans.
“I gotcha baby, just - shit, just breathe,”
It’s hard to remember, so you take a big swallow of air in your lungs. It all gets pushed out when he fucks himself in. The tight stretch peaking with the slightest discomfort - yet no pain. He slides another arm under you, holding your stomach and grinding his hips so the head rubs against your insides. His other hand touches your clit.
He starts slowly at first. Pulls his hips back before filling you again - all at once. Each thrust is dizzying. Your walls are slick and scorching, throbbing at the way his dick drags through you once then a few more times. The pain gets gradually replaced with pleasure, a white-hot euphoria settling in your body. Whimpering, you reach back to grab him, to get him close as he fucks you.
“You feel so fucking good,”
You exhale shakily. Opening yourself up to him makes your mind feel hazy and desperate. The way you’re laying makes it hard for him to move. Forceful, narrow.
“If I keep fucking you like his, I’m gonna cum,”
“It’s fine,”
“The hell it is,”
You don’t get a say in the matter before Bakugou’s handling you. You hardly understand how it happens, he’s so strong. In one fell swoop, he was you facing away from him - sitting on his cock. You fall forward, hands on his calves as he adjusts you. This position is so much deeper, right against your g-spot. A heatwave runs through you at the new feeling - how can something be so different and the same all at once?
You can feel what he was talking about before. What greed he’s been shaking off. It feels so good to let him carve pieces of you out.
“Wanna see you move on it,” He says through a hard grunt. He adjusts behind you, leaning up against some pillows. Your knees are on the bed bent. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, even the littlest movements feel incredible. “Grind on it. Make yourself feel good,”
You end up leaning almost all the way forward, to make it easier on yourself. Cheek pressed into the mattress - your thoughts slip as the position allows you to take every inch. Your arm resting over your head, the other nestled under the weight of your body - playing with your clit. A soft whine leaves you when Bakugou’s hand lands on your ass, one harsh smack that makes you twitch. You hear him groan.
“Fuck, what a view,” He practically growls. His voice is thick with lust, hands kneading the flesh rough “Look so damn good, fuck - look how you move on it,”
He wants you, and you can feel that. That alone is enough to make you give, like breaking under the weight of his adoration.
You feel lost hearing the praise. Your whole body forward as you move back and forth - a grinding motion that gives you the most perfect friction. Bakugou is encouraging but entranced - hands doing little other than guiding your hips again. You can feel him watching you more than anything. The prying gaze you’ve gotten used to suddenly focused on you, and the way you bounce on his cock. You can feel the mess you’re making on his cock, arousal displaced by motion.
Even when you get used to the stretch, there’s something about the way it penetrates you that never stops feeling unfamiliar. It’s addicting, the natural rhythm. The in-out-in-out that rubs against your inside, your g-spots. You feel so intoxicated, suspended in a dull pleasure that builds and builds but never ceases. Never comes to an appropriate stop, a pauses but just keeps fucking going.
Bakugou is like kerosene in your veins. With every gesture, his voice rumbles through his chest, hot grunts, and moans that make you want to move faster. He’s always so vocal and it makes you feel so good. All your thoughts turn off as you listen to your instinct. Moving back against him becomes as natural as breathing.
“Wanna see you cum all over it, make my dick pretty baby,”
“K-Katsuki,”
You can practically hear the grin as his hands settle on your middle.
“Whose dick are you riding?”
“F-fuck, yours,”
“And what’s my name, baby?”
You can feel him guide you, moving you into going faster. You follow the rhythm he sets, harder and faster and quicker until you’re dripping all over it.
“Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki,”
“That’s fucking right. Cum for me, come on,”
You aren’t sure how it’s possible - that little push of arousal like sparking off fireworks. But hearing him is all it takes you for your whole body to get pulled taut. For you to finish with an orgasm, one that’s longer and harder where each wave lasts so long it almost hurts. You’re squeezing him so tight - the stimulation too much to bear.
But you’re not finished, not ready for the way Bakugou is handling you for the second time. You’ve always known he was strong, but you’ve never felt so delicate as he flips you around and lays you into the mattress all in one gesture. You don’t even know that it happened until you blink blearily to see him above you. His eyes are so intense you tremble.
His hands come behind your knees again, until you lifted just slightly. It’s another brand new angle, another way of intense pleasure this time from your over-sensitive walls. Heaving, your hands push on his torso. It’s too much, he’s too much.
But he’s ceaseless. Even on your spine, each one of your nerves fried - Bakugou doesn’t give you any room to breathe. He folds you like it’s nothing. Your thighs tense and trembling, he dips down to really look at you. His mouth is swollen from where his teeth were biting in. You wrap your hands around his neck, dragging him down to you. He grunts.
“It’s harder to cum when I’m not looking at you,”
You almost laugh. If he wasn’t fucking you the way he was, you think you would be. Each of your giggles is cut by a moan or cry. Your ears feel full, your body gone heavy. You listen to the pounding rain but your body is caught in an endless loop of stimulation. Over again, stimulating the same deep nerves to the point it feels like being dug out. If he wasn’t so sweet to you, you’d feel used. Even so, you hardly mind. Instead, you stare with glassy eyes at Bakugou above you.
Bakugou is looking down at you with his teeth bared, eyes glued to your cunt and how it sucks him. How it shines with arousal, how the tip spreads you open and keeps you open until he’s balls deep.
“I wanna fuck you forever,” ― He says, pulling you before thrusting himself all the way back in ― “Wanna make you cry, won’t stop till you push me away,”
“Too much,” Your voice shakes, throat hoarse from the highs of adrenaline you’re still riding “It’s too much!”
“You can give me one more,”
His voice is smooth.
“Hold yourself up for me,”
Shaking, you keep yourself in position - wondering what Bakugou is doing with his hands before you feel fingers on your clit again. You gasp - body flaring up with hypersensitivity. You choke on the sound of your own voice, wanting to push him away. He pins you with his weight. You lay underneath him, unmoving. A jagged edge splinters your mind. You aren’t sure it’s possible to cum again, so your mouth is gaping open in a plead. You can’t, you’re sure you can’t.
But every word of disbelief is met with a kiss on your calf. Bakugou continuously thrusting into you. Deep, excessive, oddly patient even as he starts to lose his composure. Concentration lingers in the crease of his brows, the set of his jaw as you look up at him with lovesickness and desperation.
All of a sudden, you feel something. Your brows shoot up and Bakugou instantly connects his lips to yours. Swallowing every last sound as your whole body constricts. All the muscles in your thighs, your stomach, your whole body clenched.
And then, for a third time, you cum. You cum so terribly hard and for so long you can feel your mind breaking. Your nails wrap around his arms, digging into his back as you silently scream.
Bakugou drops his head onto your shoulder as he shudders. His thrusts going sloppy, he groans into your ear. It reverbs through your whole body. You run your fingers through his hair, catching your breath.
“I’m gonna, g-gonna, shit,”
“Cum inside me, Katsuki. Give it to me, hero,”
You think the last words might be too much until you feel his nails dig into your hips so hard it’s painful. You’d have to explore it later, but for now, you moan - shivering as you feel him give you a few pumps before hot, thick cum paints your insides completely white. You can feel yourself full, contented.
Once you’ve both finished, and Bakugou rides out his high - he collapses on top of you. The weight of his sweaty body makes you laugh. He smells sweet and earthy, like home. In the afterglow, your heart beats funnily. You look around and see the flowers on your windowsill, and think about the note underneath.
“Katsuki,” You call, voice soft. He grunts.
“I love you,”
“....love you too,” He says, flushed “Even when you drive me crazy,”
✩ tags ;; fem!reader, implied age gap but it’s unspecified, pussy eating, unprotected sex, fliritng, public sex (kinda), dirty talk, pet names like good girl, pretty girl, and young lady, teasing, uhhh idk i don’t think there’s anything else, toji is implied to sleep around a litle, 18+
✩ wc ;; 2.2k (lmao)
✩ a/n ;; this is so. so old. i started it in like nov of last year and found it in my drafts.
✩ synposis ;; you can’t help your intrigue at the man who sits at your bar everyday.
“Are you married, Mr. Fushiguro?”
Mr. Fushiguro gives you a look you don’t know how what to make of. Out of habit, his tongue slicks over the bumpy scar on his lap. The flesh now split, thick and gnarled.
You blink at him, once then twice.
“No kid, I’m not.”
“Have you been married before?”
“Only once,”
He’s got on a nice shirt. A dress shirt with all the buttons done other than the top two, and nice slacks. He looks good, clean. You hum slightly, your tone curious and open. He’s got a grit to him that you like. The respectful, chivalrous distance between you makes your stomach heat.
The watch on his wrist and the design of his shoes equal status. He looks out of place in the environment. You know men like this, always here for work. Often married ones, seeking reprieve from their wives. You’ve heard the word ball-and-chain so many times you start to wonder if men are worth the trouble in general.
Mr. Fushiguro has been here everyday for the last week. Always dressed the same and staying until bar closing but never getting drunk. On the rare occasion he’s not watching reruns of soccer games on the TV, he’s flipping through his wallet.
“What happened to your wife?”
“Didn’t take you for he nosy type,” ― He says, with no real bite attached to the end ― “We separated,”
“I’m sorry to hear that,”
He gives you a small smile, then a laugh that’s rough and deep. You couldn’t guess how old he is. Older than you most definitely, since he was married with a son.
You only really notice him because he never chats you up. You’re a bartender - your job is to pour drinks and make conversation to strangers. But Mr. Fushiguro doesn’t engage with you. He does with other women, but they always approach first. He’s got a sleazy way of talking, but his eyes are always lingering. When the night ends, he’s gone with it. Sometimes he returns disheveled and gives you a little look over the counter. But he’s never disrespecful, always oddly chivalrous.
For how easily he smooth talks, he doesn’t seem to care about taking them to bed. He always comes back looking the same and drinks until the bars closed. The most he’ll say to you is telling you to stay safe. There’s always more to everything he does. You can’t help your curiosity.
He seems sober, almost indifferent to the world around him. You can never get a hold on what type of person he is.
“Doesn’t get you anywhere being nosy, ay?”
“It gets me tips,” You offer, wiping some cups. He lets out a laugh at that.
“Don’t let my clothes deceive you, I’m dead broke”
“Is this your way of letting me down easy?”
His brows raise, giving you a wry smile.
“Did your boyfriend teach you talk like that?”
“Don’t have one, Mr. Fushiguro. And nobody taught me anything, I’m just curious,”
“You’re nosy is what you are,” ― Toji says, shoulders shaking in a laugh ― “Curiosity killed the cat,”
“But satisfaction brought it back. That’s the whole thing,”
“You’re a smartass aren’tcha young lady” ― He gives you a grin which you return with a tiny smile ― “Don’t start something you can’t finish,”
It hits you that this is more of a warning, a pre-emptive way to back off. You have no intention of it, shrugging as you sort now dry glasses and put them in their place. You turn your back to him, facing the bar. Getting on your tippy toes, you glance over your shoulder.
“I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two about finishing,” You offer. This time he laughs loud. You hear him stand up, turning on your heel and watching as he knocks on the wood. You glance at him, as he gives you a grin.
“I need to take care of something. Stay here after closing,”
Your feel your heart hammer in your chest, nodding. You tug your lip between your teeth, suddenly intimidated but refusing to back down.
“See you then, Mr. Fushiguro,”
“Toji,” He corrects.
“Right. See you then… Toji,”
__
You learn quickly that Toji Fushiguro is a man of his word.
a/n. blue lock blue lock blue lock. i know people might be waiting for some other stuff a bit more than this but as i'm still working on a big assignment i'm resorting to crossposting from my other acc for now!
itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae
He’s thought about damnation a lot, has thought about what it would look like as the end of his days come to a final count once- maybe twice. It’s a vague outline of himself, he imagines, a dark shadow trailing behind him every step. Invisible, but present. It’s not like he sees damned written with heavy, crooked letters mirrored back on his forehead when he looks, but then again, he never looks quite that hard.
Never stares at his reflection in shame like he probably should, getting sick off of the many lies laced under his skin. He’s not really waiting for it either. He’s not religious anyway, gave that up a long time ago with the promise of your hands linked in his, staying close enough for him to cling to.
It’s only damnation when they are damned regardless, with no intention of repenting. And repenting— that would require him being away from you long enough to clear out his head from you, which isn’t going to happen. The icy water glides down a parched throat until it fills his entire stomach, rivulets missing his lips and traveling down the stretch of his neck instead, dripping down his shirt. He imagines that’s the kind of stain everything else leaves on him too, revisiting the pain again and again each time he breathes. Each time he eats, or sleeps, or runs his body into the ground trying to escape it.
The truth is, there is no escape, he’s tried. Like fucking Hell, he has. He’s bent and broken himself into ridiculous shapes for forgiveness, and still— still it sits on his tongue like a poison, thick, heavy, unrelenting, and only pretends to fade with each break of day. You’re soft in the mornings, entirely mellow and wanton, like no touch he gives you is too much. He reaches down to nudge your chin upward, tilting your face skyward to greet the sun -for him, never with him- because he doesn’t illusion himself to think you’re on the same sinking playing field he has been cast off to.
He’s nothing but a weary, drowning sinner; and you his savior. If the glove fits, you might as well wear it, right? “Mornin’ niinii,” you drawl before he dips his lips to yours, brief enough not to be weird, to wash away the connotations that linger unspoken on his lips. Because of course they linger, there’s nothing about his sins that washes off easily. They stick like honey, like glue to the corners of his mouth and try their hardest to ruin him further every waking moment, for years past and years to come.
He lets you slip from between his arms to get ready for the day, instead rests his head into the door of the bathroom when you shut it behind you. The morning run didn’t do much to burn away the shadow pooling at his feet, swallowing him where he stands.
Sae nii back. In the empty room across the hall, he can already hear him shuffling, like he smells the moment you wake, and like the sinner he’s resigned himself to be- his blood sings with jealousy. It brings back memories.
Rin trails behind, unshowered, uncaring, when you come back out of the bathroom, because he can’t shower with you when Sae’s here and the guy, the splinter in his sole, won’t ever resist the urge to make it weird for you two. He knows that for sure. You never blink twice when he slips into the stall with you, pressing up just close enough to feel the dips and stretches of your skin against his chest, his stomach, lining his arms with warmth. You never stare— and so you don’t know that Rin absolutely does.
Instead you go about your day like normal, making the two of them breakfast without thinking, like the angel he knows you are. He’s seen it, the sharp contrast between you two. He doesn’t say anything about the way Sae’s eyes flick to the bow of your apron, or below it, just scrapes his chair a little harder until you place their plates in front of them. Your hand finds his on the table like it always does, every morning for the past two years, feeling it twitch under the tracing of his long fingers along your barely visible veins— pretending like he can’t feel your older brother’s eyes on the motion.
You don’t notice it, just giggle when it tickles, ask for some water to take away your sleepiness. “Have you been healthy, niichan?” you mumble through a mouthful, and Sae’s shimmering, emerald irises meet yours too quickly.
“Sure I have,” he reaches over the table to brush a lone strand away from your cheek, before he stuffs another mandarin slice into his mouth, “why, you worried about me or something?” Rin feels the way you tense, watching the pout grow more grand on your pretty face, before the oldest mercilessly continues. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about your nii nii? He can’t even eat his breakfast without holding your little hand.”
The spoon clatters down too noisily, disturbing the barely-existing peace like a trainwreck barreling through a building. You draw your hand back, Rin resists the pull. He can only glare under his thick, long lashes and hope that the look will make Sae drop dead on the spot. Sinless, he’s sure, because Sae never gets what he’s owed when it comes to bad luck. Rin excuses the noise, picks up the utensil again and resists the urge to roll his eyes when his brother lets his lips quirk up, like this is all some big game to him.
Which side of the triangle is the favored one, right?
Rin’s hands don’t shake as much as he expects them to, but still more than he wants, when he scoops the pudding and leans over to you. The morning rite of passage goes undisturbed, Sae watches as Rin brings it to your mouth and you let it slide in without a problem, sucking it clean when he pulls back. You return to your drink, one hand still captured, and miss how Rin slips the spoon into his own mouth after. Sae doesn’t, but he stays quiet as he eats his own breakfast, playing with the peels of the mandarin like the lesser of two evils. After a few more spoonfuls and your happy hum to assure him it’s delicious, the oldest clears his throat.
“I remember when I was her number one big brother to cling to. Really knows how to make a guy feel like he's on top of the world, right?” A smile. “I imagine you get that now. Hows’it feel to be the new favorite, little bro?” he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gets up from the chair, leaving to get some paper. It’s far from innocent, and even further from naive, and the dark haired sibling would rather only sit and wait it out.
He clenches his jaw, rubs a thumb over your interlaced hands as he bites back the attitude when answering. “She’s always been this kind, nothing much has changed.”
There’s a glint in the other’s eyes at the answer, brightly rubbing Rin the wrong way. As if it’s mocking him— really, nothing has changed yet? — he doesn’t think the eldest would be below it either. The silence is enough to make even you fidget a little, squeezing your fingers a little tighter around his.
He’s sure you don’t really get what’s happening, sweet, little thing you are, but he’s so fucking tired of being the one to back down. You clear your voice as you pick at your shirt, one of Rin’s spare shirts that barely cover your ass, and nudge your knees into his thigh. He bites his cheek, sighs, then finally breaks eye contact to untangle his fingers to instead place them at the bottom of your spine for some comfort, shifting in his own chair.
“Well, that sure is something then. Never noticed you two were so close when I was around.” There’s a little chuckle when Sae bites his lip, definitely swallowing down a triumphant grin, before he too moves.
He reaches down and wets the paper by putting it on his tongue, before gripping your face and swiping it along the corners of your mouth for imaginary crumbs, and Rin can barely hold back the urge to take the stupid butter knife and plant it straight through his brother’s palm to pin it to the table— like some sick butterfly collection. “Tch, still eat so clumsy, don’t you?” Sae coos as you struggle to pull your cheeks from his grip in embarrassment, before he finally sits back down.
“I really,” he continues, propping one foot onto his knee, “am so glad to be back here though. It’s sure been what-,” he pauses for dramatics as if he didn’t help you move in, as if he didn’t swing his arms over your shoulder with a knowing, sly grin and taunted Rin every second of the way there, “two whole years since you two moved in together?”
You pout, jutting out your lip in a way that makes Rin want to eat you up, kiss you until you run out of air to waste, before nodding. “Yeah, it must be two years by now!” Your face changes into one of amusement, before you look over at the dark haired brother for some sort of reaction. “You’re not sick of me yet, are you?”
Never, he wants to say, but Sae is here- with his knowing grin and stupid, infuriatingly smug eyes. He just nods back, expression dry. “Sick? You’re a menace to live with, sick is putting it mildly.” You pout again, and this time, it’s all for him. All for Rin to see and admire, for him to reach up and kiss if he so wanted to- if his older brother wasn’t such a fucking pain.
Not that he cares, Sae has always been a pain anyway.
“Kidding,” Rin pulls you, both large hands on your hips, down into his lap when you get up from your chair- can’t help himself from nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck as you giggle at it, wrapping both arms around your waist to have the full of your weight on his lap. You smell so soft, feel so soft— talk like you’re a daffodil blowing in the wind.
It’s intoxicating, and he doesn’t give a shit when he hears the chuckle of his brother to the side, excluded for once because Rin is getting hard just having you this close, having your ass on his lap as you wiggle around to turn to him. “You know I adore you,” he mumbles, and something in your eyes tells him that you absolutely do— the spoiled little one.
He won’t be able to stand up without drawing attention to the swelling cock in his sweats in a bit, but that doesn’t matter right now, feeling you sit in his lap so perfectly, obediently. You smile sweetly at him, before turning back to face Sae like you’re asking for some sort of approval from the eldest, as if proving— see, we do get along well. Sae only hums, pats your head before he sends Rin a sharp look, and leaves. Where to, Rin doesn’t care to ask.
You don’t get up for a few more minutes, pecking his lips gently when he asks for them, again and again and again until you finally get up. “You want some coffee, niinii?” you ask, and he gives his agreement while shifting his hard cock towards his stomach while you have your back turned, unknowing.
Must be blissful to be unaware of the sinners of this earth, waiting in line for the gates to open to them. He isn’t complaining though. At least you can’t hate him for the things you don’t know he’s committing. Can’t charge him for ruining you in his head.
+
Your days haven’t changed much. And neither have your nights, which is exactly why Rin knows to skip his evening run so he can lay in the same bed as you, pretend to be deep asleep when you nudge him. It doesn’t take long for you to roll onto your back and clench the plush of your pillow between your teeth. His baby sister, sliding your pretty hands along your chest, the peak of your tits down, down until you find fabric, and then under that too. He’s memorized it by now, learnt every slight twitch, gasp or breath. Learnt to watch you without missing any of the good parts, a study too intoxicating to ever stop.
You run your one hand over your chest as a slight whimper falls past your plush, perfect lips, and he stares at the curve of your cheek when you dip your fingers into your mouth, pulling them out glistening. You’re a phantom at night— ruining him to the core, his cock swelling between his legs as you softly ruffle the sheets. Not enough to wake him should he really be asleep, but plenty to make the pull towards your perfect fucking body so much harder to resist. He blows out a breath, and slowly slides his hand down for his own boxers, teasing the wiry hair going from his belly button down.
He doesn’t normally dare. No, his sins are usually contained to the drain of the shower when he’s alone, the groans muffled in his hand or your panties or pillow, whatever can keep him relatively quiet when you leave. But Sae is in the other room, while you’re in his bed. His bed, like you have been for the last two fucking years, driving him insane when you masturbate right beside him. If he only just rolled over, he could be on top of you, slip his hard cock between your wet, dripping pussy and find heaven. He bites his cheek when you circle a nipple, other hand back between your legs.
It’s unfair. Many things are, but the way Sae gave you to him on a silver platter, daring him to try something, must be the sickest joke of all. What a family reunion. The sinner, the savior, and Judas himself. His cock twitches hard, balls pulling to his body with the way you softly rock your hips back and forth, wiggling the mattress under you. He blows out another breath through his nose, biting back a hiss when his palm slides over the hot, flushed head of his cock, imagining your hand there instead.
You fuck your fingers with a pitiful little breath, rub your clit with the other and arch your back, and he instinctively bucks his cock into the ring of his fingers that’s not nearly tight and sloppy enough to resemble your pussy. But fuck, he might cum early. It’s too much. You’re breathing and whining like a desperate thing, like he’s already inside you, ruining you— like he’s imagined rendering you for night after night. The sick sound of him fucking his fist is just barely drowned out by the pleasure you’re lost in, head thrown back and legs clenching.
Your fingers move faster, and he bites his own pillow as he watches the tears fall down your temples, watches you get yourself to the edge. His spit soaks into the pillow when you move again, buck your hips into your own touch, and whine harder. The bed squeaks softly but you don’t care, rubbing hard and fast, feet brushing up against his leg. Rin almost spills his cum all over himself right then and there, staying completely unmoving for a second with his fist wrapped so tight around the flared head of his cock.
You don’t notice, still don’t fucking notice how hard he’s shaking as your wet lashes flutter and you whine out pleas. He can’t still, rubs his cock against the soft of the mattress, fucks into his palm, balls tightening and breath so obvious— until his undoing. Niichan— your voice travels the room, and there’s nothing to help him in this wretched room.
Hot, white cum shoots into his hands as he clasps one over the swollen head, other grabbing his balls in a sharp move that’s the farthest from subtle, listening to the symphony of your voice. You’re cumming, replaying in his mind like a broken record as he soils the expensive bedsheets and leaves them sticky with his cum, swallowing down a broken sob from somewhere deep inside. Niichan, niichan— the sound breaks him in two. His cock is still leaking when he manages to crack open his heavy, wet lashes, staring at the side of your face as it sheens with a glow that makes you look even more angelic.
When you slump back in bed with your face beaming out heat, your entire body spent too, you roll onto your side, and Rin doesn’t look away. There’s tears pooling at the bottom of his lashes, collecting in big, diamond rounds that roll down his nose and cheek. You blow out a last few breaths, before moving closer, ignoring the mess when you shuffle right up to him. To cuddle your disgusting, nasty big brother, delirious surely, because he can see the way you are seconds from dropping into sleep.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you hum and nose his throat, still sticky from sweat. His phone lights up in the dark, he doesn’t answer. Only ignores the laughter coming from the other room as he slips out of bed to go find some new boxers, wiping the back of his hand under his eyes once. And when Sae creeps his head into the door with a sickening grin, all he can do is listen as his emerald eyes fly over to your sleeping form. “She’s never going to marry you, y’know?”
‘Shut up,’ Rin says, begs, but his voice fails him and nothing comes out.
“She isn’t. So let me know when you’re done playing the family martyr. Before I change my mind about taking her with me.”
tw. incest, jealousy, angst, much more explicit in the next chapter
wordcount. 2k
a/n. part 2 is already written and will be posted soon, and after that there's maybe one or two more parts have planned. this is your fuckingggg sweet gentle nudge of a reminder if you haven't read blue lock yet,, dO IT bABIES PLEASE omFGGD thE men are so so so hot i love them so much. crosspost from my other acc!
itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae
“Rin. Rin.” The room is still dark except for the blaring light you’re holding up to your face, making him grunt, roll over, and close his eyes again. You don’t say anything for a while which only makes him sigh, because he’s been around you long enough to know that it isn’t an admission of defeat on your part. “Rin,” you whisper again, and this time he cracks one eye open long enough to glare at you and the way your pretty face is lit in harsh angles by your phone screen. “Sae nii is back.”
“Great,” he grumbles, taking his pillow from below his cheek to instead plop it over his head, wrapping it over his skull. The room is hot, clammy, which makes the covers sticking to his skin even more uncomfortable. You call again, muffled now, but before you can repeat yourself fully, he blows a sharp breath through his nose and lifts one end of the pillow to glare at you again, more narrowed. If it wasn’t so dark, you’d probably comment on him getting permanent wrinkles like that, would probably press your thumb between his brows to smooth out the harsh line there with an understanding smile. “It’s the middle of the night, what the hell do you want?” he still snaps, unable to keep the venom out of his voice.
“Niichan’s back home,” you mumble. He can’t tell if it’s excitement or pity left on your face when the light of your phone goes out, only able to make out the slow movement of your lashes, and the way you grip the blankets a bit closer to your body. Your one shoulder has slipped out from the thin fabric you always wear to bed, seeming to wink at him from the distance between you both. You bring a hand up to run it along your neck and shoulder, smoothing out some ache you’ve complained about for a few days now, before he closes his eyes again in a last attempt to fall asleep. ‘Why should I care,’ he bites back under his breath, and you ignore it in favor of prodding his side with nimble fingers. “The drive is long. Come with me, Rin nii?”
“He’s got enough money, tell him to take a taxi.” You lob the other pillow against his head without hesitation this time, making him let out a soft ‘uph’, before suddenly sitting up on the mattress and towering you from his seated position. “What’s your problem?” It’s an empty question, he already knows the answer.
You look pretty like this, gentle and open as you watch him get his bearings. There’s a bit of hair sticking to your bottom lip when he is able to make out your face in the dark, long lashes splayed around sleepy, perfect eyes, and his hand twitches in his lap with the urge to brush it away from your face entirely. Weak idiot.
“Please come with me?” Even before you reach for his arm to cuddle it to your chest, even before you jut out your bottom lip, he’s already shifting his weight for you. Weak fucking idiot. He takes a breath, gives you a push against your forehead and moves over you to reach for the shirt at the end of the bed.
“Go get the stinkin’ car keys and put on some clothes.” You’re up with a small chuckle, sliding off the edge to smile back at him, before moving back to the hall. Rin’s eyes follow you as you leave, tracking along the curve of your spine, exposed thighs, printing the way you dart out of the room into his brain before falling back in bed. He takes a deep breath, feels his heart beating against his ribcage like a ticking time bomb. His large hands glide over his cheeks a few times, rubbing his eyes, before he bites his bottom lip. “Fuck. Moron.”
+
You take his car, talking much too excitedly about being up at 4am, something he can’t help but snap at you for when you laugh at his annoyance. But with the roads so quiet, like the entire world has stopped and made room for the two of you— just you and him, it’s easier to place that feeling sewn between his lungs and his heart, pressing on his stomach a little any time you look his way, or smile, or rest your head against his shoulder. And even though he’s become a master at ignoring the mulling thoughts tucked far back in his head, there’s a part of him that hopes the drive doesn’t end too soon.
He drops his hand to the gearbox and shifts, trying to keep his eyes strictly on the road ahead as you drag your hand through the air out the window, creating a draft that blows his hair every which way. He grunts. It’s impossible to ignore your humming, or the way the orange street lights flick over you like blaring warning signs. “Close it,” he mumbles, and of course you don’t. Your smaller hand just keeps going. It bobs up and down like a dolphin a million times, only stopping when your fingers get too cold and you stuff them between your thighs with a laugh. He can’t help but bite his lip again, before closing the window from the obnoxious rattling of the wind.
The music you put on earlier is long forgotten, as you drive through a tunnel and soft static fills the car. He clears his throat, before glancing at you again through the corner of his eye. There’s such an innocent type of relief on your face, face relaxed and open and vulnerable. He can’t stand it. He knows the world better than you do, knows Sae better than you do too, and there’s nothing both want more than to snuff out that last bit of goodness to make it their own. Rin just focuses on the end of the tunnel, tapping his finger against the wheel impatiently. “Sae might not be as excited to see you as you hope he’ll be, y’know.”
The car leaves the tunnel, exposing the night sky and all it’s stars again, and you pout. “Niichan never seems truly excited though.” You raise your shoulders to your ears, before stretching your arms out before you, shifting up the shirt you tossed on over your shorts. Boxers, his. He holds the immediate response of telling you off for it to watch how it falls around your thighs, just visible from under the zip-up sweatshirt. “I’m just happy we’re all together again, s’all, Rin nii,” you mumble, before reaching over the console again to rest your head against his shoulder for the little bit of intimacy you can get like this, “you don’t have to be.”
Instead of driving the last part like you promised you’d do, you fall asleep on him, snuggling closer into his neck and making driving unintentionally difficult, but he doesn’t wake you up. Doesn’t say a damn thing when glancing to the side as your song plays in the background, as you mouth the words sloppily into his skin.
He can only obey your wish as he parks and stares up at the front of Tokyo International Airport, gently nudging you back into the land of the conscious. He pretends pretty well that his skin doesn’t feel like popping like a balloon when you lean in and kiss him full on the mouth in thanks, wrapping your arms around his neck for a few seconds.
Not long enough too soothe him when you pull out your phone right after, but plenty long to make his lips tingle, the warmth of your embrace and the smell of you to linger on his collar. Rin barely looks up from his hands when you pick up and he can hear his brother’s voice on the other end, going along in your rambling of something about the gate, his car— he doesn’t really care to listen.
You look happy, truly, fully happy, when you toss open the car door and run to meet the dark clad figure walking up halfway in a tackling hug. He frowns, clicks the car keys out, and watches how you gush something at the oldest, let him lean in and press a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, and finally your mouth.
The mouth you so eagerly, innocently pressed against him just seconds earlier. Of course, it’s not like that— it’s never been like that to you; your morality a pretty strict black and white between what is familial affection, and what is more. Rin knows that as well as Sae does, and that’s exactly why he knows that Sae is anything but fair when he squeezes you to his chest and whispers into your ear. He looks over when you point at the car, seeming to meet his eyes with pinpoint accuracy even in the dark. You drag him over to the car behind you, and motion Rin to get out. He doesn’t, trying to ignore the way your mouth corners fall.
Just a few seconds longer he wishes to pretend that it’s just you and Rin in this car, just you and Rin in this life. Just a bit longer to imagine that he doesn’t have to fight his older brother on every single thing he cares about. Sae opens the door for him, leaning his head inside with a small smile. “Hey, little brother, d’ya miss me?”
“Not one bit,” Rin breathes back, smiling along when Sae laughs at that. He can read it in his eyes though, that testy attitude hasn’t changed one bit. The oldest Itoshi will always be the fan to his flames, no matter how much older he gets. A fact of life you’re blind to, sadly.
“I’m sure you didn’t. If I also had our little sister to keep me company, I’d be the luckiest guy in the world. You should come along some time,” he gives your pretty smile a quick glance, before opening the car door wider, letting in more cold air, “the team would adore her.” He squeezes your hand in his before he brings it up to his mouth, holding his brother’s eyes, before he finishes. “Maybe even marry one of them.”
“I’m probably not getting married to anyone from your team,” you giggle from the side, clinging to the oldest brother’s side like it pains you to let go of him just yet. “Besides, I have to stay here to support Rin, y’know?” You lick your lips before you glance back at Rin, completely missing the knowing, smug grin that Sae slips on, nodding along with your words.
“Hmm, guess you’re right, little sister. Rin’s lucky to have you too.” There’s a tightness that keeps pushing down on Rin’s heart more the longer he watches the interaction, keeping his expression as neutral as he can before running a hand under his eye, scratching it once in an attempt to distract himself. This is his type of game, Rin can only think, his brother has gotten the provocation down to a science. But he doesn’t say anything else, and Sae taps his long, slender fingers on the window a few times, before nodding at him. “Well, hop out, you drove here.”
“It’s fine-” Rin starts, only to get the weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder.
“You get into the back seat with her and let me drive, okay? I appreciate it.” There’s a barely visible motion of Sae’s head to indicate Rin to move, which he does with a deep sigh.
You peel yourself from the oldest’ side to make way and happily get into the back seat though, basically dragging Rin along after you. “Us two in the back seat, niinii? It’s almost like when we were kids, I missed this.” He doesn’t move when you practically drape yourself over him, both much too used to getting all the physical affection in the world from him before, and too deprived of it to keep to yourself now.
You’re already falling asleep again when Rin carefully lays his arm around your back and pulls you a little closer, barely enough energy to watch Sae load in his luggage or pull out of the parking spot. You mumble a soft “missed you s’much, Sae nii,” before soft snores fill the car, and Sae turns off the radio entirely.
But when Rin meets his brother’s eyes through the rearview mirror, he only blinks once, then pulls his lips into a tight line. “You could stand to thank me more for leaving, Rin. After all, that’s the only reason you still have a shot, right?” And the tight ring around his heart pulls even tighter when he pulls you a bit closer yet again, dropping his mouth to your crown. Your limp hand sprawled out across his lap is easy to link his fingers between, and it’s almost easy to pretend like you liked him this much all along.
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