Jun ;)

Officially signed off from being a writer here.

[eisdendrobium]

right person, wrong time.

pairing: giyuu tomioka x f!reader

You never believed in silent love.

You were the noisy one. the laughing, talking, fearless one. Joyful even in tragedy. Warm even in bloodshed. The kind of person who made the darkest corners of the Demon Slayer Corps feel alive.

Until him.

Until the first day your eyes landed on Giyuu Tomioka — the Water Hashira whose presence felt like cold mist clinging to your lungs. He wasn't striking because of beauty or power, though he certainly had both. It was the loneliness in his eyes. The way he stood at the edge of every room, invisible despite being impossible to ignore.

The moment you saw him, something in you shifted.

You fell in love. Quietly, hopelessly, and far too deeply.

And suddenly, you, the extroverted girl who never shut up… couldn’t speak.

Whenever Giyuu entered the room, your voice died. Your hands fumbled. Your heart clenched. Around everyone else, you were a wildfire. Around him, you were smoke.

You tried to ignore it, heaven, you've tried, but even Mitsuri noticed.

“Y/N!” she gasped one afternoon, grabbing your hands. “You like him!”

Your face turned red instantly. “W–What? I don’t— I mean— He’s just—”

Shinobu smiled at you over her tea cup, eyes filled with annoying knowing. “You stutter too much when he’s near. It’s adorable.”

“It’s pathetic,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“It’s love,” Mitsuri said cheerfully. “And you should talk to him!”

You almost choked. “Talk to him? Mitsuri, he barely talks to anyone!”

Shinobu shrugged with an innocent smile that wasn’t innocent at all. “Exactly. You’d be special if he spoke to you. Go on. Just try.”

And because you were foolish—or maybe brave—you did.

====

The next morning, you gathered every scrap of courage you owned, walked up to Giyuu at breakfast, and forced yourself to speak.

“H–Hello, Tomioka,” you managed.

He blinked. Slow. Blank.

“…Hello.”

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

You could survive being sliced open on a battlefield, but standing here in awkward silence made you want to disappear.

“Um… did you sleep well?”

“…Yes.”

Another silence.

Mitsuri watched from a distance, giving you a dramatic thumbs-up. Shinobu looked like she was trying not to laugh. You wanted to strangle them both.

Still, it was something. A beginning.

Slowly, day by day, you tried again.

“Good morning, Tomioka!” “…Morning.”

“Are you heading to train?” “…Yes.”

“Did you finish your patrol?” “…Yes.”

It wasn’t much. Just pieces of conversation. Small, short, clipped replies that barely qualified as answers.

But you convinced yourself it mattered.

That maybe he just needed time.

That maybe cold things learned to thaw.

A week later, you were assigned a mission with Giyuu — just the two of you. You tried not to panic. You tried not to stare at him when he wasn’t looking. And when the battle ended and you both limped back down the forest path, you tried to speak.

“Tomioka,” you said softly, “your arm… is it injured?”

He didn’t respond at first. You thought maybe he didn’t hear you. You tried again, gentler, worried.

“Let me see it. I can wrap—”

He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing.

The glare hit you like a punch.

Cold. Sharp. Irritated.

Like he wished you would shut up. Like your concern was disgusting to him.

You froze.

“I don’t need anything from you,” he said flatly. “Stay focused on yourself.”

Then he walked ahead, not bothering to see if you followed.

Your feet felt heavy. Your chest felt hollow. You stared at the ground, blinking hard so your tears wouldn’t fall where he could see.

You finished the walk in silence.

And that silence drowned you.

You didn’t go to dinner that night. You didn’t meet Mitsuri or Shinobu. You sat alone in your room, hugging your knees, letting the tears fall quietly, angrily, endlessly.

You had been kind. You had tried. And he looked at you like you were nothing.

So the next morning, you changed.

You greeted everyone, except him. You smiled at everyone, except him. You walked into a room and pretended you didn’t notice he was there.

If he didn’t want you near him, then you would leave him alone.

===

Days passed. Then weeks.

No more “good mornings.” No more soft smiles. You stopped glancing at him. You stopped hoping for him.

And slowly, painfully, you let him go.

Sanemi noticed before anyone else.

“You’re quieter,” he grumbled during training. “Weird. Don’t like it.”

You snorted. “You don’t like anything.”

“Yeah, well…” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I like it when you’re annoying.”

Somehow, that made you smile.

===

Giyuu noticed the silence immediately.

At breakfast, your usual seat was empty. In the courtyard, you talked with everyone, except him. Even during missions with other Hashira, you seemed brighter. Lighter. Happier.

But not with him.

He told himself not to care.

He told himself you were safer staying away.

He told himself he didn’t want to ruin your life the way he ruined everyone else’s.

But telling himself didn’t stop the ache.

He started looking for you.

When you walked past him one evening, your eyes didn’t even flicker in his direction. No greeting. No hesitation.

He stopped walking.

For a moment, he just stared at the empty space where you used to stand beside him.

It hurt.

He didn’t understand how badly until the night he found himself outside your room, hand raised to knock, but he couldn’t do it.

He whispered into the dark,

“…I’m sorry.”

But you didn’t hear him.

Too late

Weeks later, he finally worked up the nerve to speak to you. To apologize. To explain the fear that kept him distant. To tell you the truth that he cared. That he always cared.

He searched for you outside, in the courtyard, where you liked to sit in the evenings.

But you weren’t alone.

Sanemi stood beside you, holding out a peeled peach, cheeks slightly red. You laughed and thanked him. He looked at you like someone who finally found something worth protecting.

Giyuu’s heart twisted painfully.

He stepped forward. Just one step.

“…Y/N, I—”

Your laughter drowned his voice. You didn’t even know he was there.

Sanemi leaned a little closer, brushing a stray leaf from your hair. You didn’t pull away. You smiled at him—the smile Giyuu used to secretly wait for.

And for the first time, Giyuu understood,

You had survived loving him. You had grown past the hurt. You had found warmth somewhere else.

He opened his mouth, your name trembling on his tongue, but no words came out.

He wasn’t brave enough.

Not the way Sanemi was. Not the way you were.

So he turned away.

Quiet. Small. Broken.

You fell in love with him at the wrong time. He realized he loved you when it was too late.

And neither of you would ever know the words the other never said.

[chastiefoul]

‘your face is pretty, can i sit on it?’

ft. nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, higuruma, toji, shiu

nsfw.

[sugurusbeloved-deactivated20260]

     #   GOVERNMENT HOOKER  ?!  ⸝⸝ 

SYNOPSIS:  you’re assigned to babysit a rare dog hybrid, toji, until the government finds him a mate to repopulate his kind. the problem? he couldn’t care less about his species—he only wants to breed you.

➢ CONTENT WARNINGS: fem!reader , dog hybrid toji & care taker reader , dub-con , mating press , unprotected sex , pussydrunk , oral (fem!recieving) , fingering , spitting , overstimulation , dry humping , breeding , choking , tummy bulge , size kink , dirty talk , 12k wc.

➢  AUTHOR'S NOTE: i swear to god if this gets flagged again we're gonna have real serious problems

they call you into a room that smells faintly of bleach and bureaucracy. high ceilings, humming fluorescent lights, a long table that gleams like it’s been polished twice too often. men and women in pressed uniforms sit across from you, their hands folded neatly, their faces all cut from the same stern mold. you almost laugh when you realize—you look like you’re here for a job interview, clutching your notepad like it’s going to save you.

it isn’t a job. it’s an assignment.

“thank you for coming,” one of them says, her voice smooth but clipped, like she’s already halfway through the next ten meetings on her schedule. “we’ll be brief. you’ve been selected for a caretaker position—temporary, of course.”

your brow furrows. caretaker? you think of hospitals, convalescent homes, not the government’s sterile walls.

then they drop his name. toji.

“a rare specimen,” another officer explains, sliding a thin file across the table like a dealer in some high-stakes game. the cover bears only a stamped seal, heavy and official. “last of his kind, we believe. canine hybrid—genetic markers unique, irreplaceable.”

you flip the file open. a photograph stares back at you, black and white, grainy like it’s been copied too many times. a man—or something close enough to pass at a glance. tall, broad, a slouch to his stance that suggests irritation rather than weakness. dark hair falls across his face, his expression caught mid-scowl. even in monochrome, he radiates a kind of contempt for the camera, for whoever thought they could capture him.

“your role is straightforward,” the woman continues, folding her hands neatly atop the table. “you’ll house him until we find a suitable mate. his… reproductive potential is too valuable to risk. he must be kept safe, observed, kept in good health.”

your throat feels dry. you glance down again at the picture. the file lists other details—height, weight, dietary needs—but your eyes keep catching on the warning line stamped bold at the bottom: reluctant to comply. highly territorial. requires discipline.

“why me?” you hear yourself ask. your voice sounds smaller than you meant it to.

the officer doesn’t hesitate. “your background makes you uniquely qualified. young enough to adapt, educated enough to document, unencumbered by family obligations. we believe he may… respond better to someone like you.”

someone like you.

the words sit heavy, and for a fleeting, absurd moment, you picture yourself leading a dog on a leash. except this one is six-plus feet of muscle and teeth, and nothing about him looks leash-trained.

you close the file, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears. “and if he doesn’t… respond?”

the officer’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “then you’ll learn to make him.”

they don’t give you much warning. three days, a checklist of things to “prepare” (nutrient-dense food, reinforced locks, a private bedroom), and then they show up on your doorstep like you’re adopting a rescue animal instead of harboring the government’s prized demihuman.

two black vans idle at the curb, engines thrumming low, tinted windows reflecting the weak sunlight. neighbors peek from their windows, curtain slats shifting like nervous eyes. you can almost hear their speculation—drug bust, maybe. raid. certainly nothing that could possibly involve you.

until they unload him.

he steps out of the back like he owns the pavement. shackles bite into his wrists, chains clinking with each deliberate move. it should look degrading, humiliating, but somehow it doesn’t—because that man doesn’t carry humiliation. he carries menace. broad shoulders, head tilted slightly down like he’s watching the world from under his lashes.

the officers on either side grip his arms too tightly, but you can see it in the tension in their bodies, the stiffness in their spines—they’re afraid of him. and he knows it.

“subject is in your custody,” one announces, though his voice cracks near the end.

subject.

but he doesn’t look like a subject when his eyes catch yours. green, needle-pointed, more animal than human in their focus, and suddenly your little house feels far too small to contain something like him.

“you?” his voice is low, gruff, almost mocking, as though the word itself is a joke he’s relishing. his gaze sweeps over you once, deliberate, from your nervous hands clutching the paperwork to the uncertain set of your shoulders. “they’re dumping me with you?”

you swallow, force your chin up even though your stomach twists with dread. “i’m your caretaker.”

he lets out a harsh bark of laughter, far from any humor. “caretaker,” he repeats, like he’s testing the taste of it. his shit-eating grin stretches wider, showing his sharp canines. “what are you gonna do, feed me kibbles? take me on walks?”

the officers don’t laugh. no one does.

you’re aware, acutely, that your neighbors are still watching from behind their curtains. that the government expects you to handle him. that you can’t show hesitation, even as your palms gets slick with sweat.

“i’ll do what i have to,” you say at last, voice steadier than how you you feel.

toji tilts his head, and for the briefest moment you think he might lunge—might snap the chain taut just to see you flinch from him. but instead, he huffs, amused, and lets the officers push him toward your door.

they unclip his cuffs at your doorway like it’s a bomb disposal, quick and careful, one officer bracing his weight just in case he decides to bolt. he doesn’t. he just shakes out his wrists, the chain hitting your hardwood floor with a dull clang, then stretches like an overgrown mutt finally off-leash. you can hear the quiet rip of his joints rolling back into comfort, the subtle crack of his knuckles flexing.

inside, the air feels too quiet, too thin, and his presence fills it instantly. he doesn’t move like a man dropped into someone else’s home; he moves like he’s already staking claim. his broad shoulders brush against the narrow hallway walls, his boots thudding heavy against the floor. the faint sway of his chains punctuates each step, though he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just doesn’t care.

you try to remind yourself that this is temporary. that you’re just a stopgap, a holding pen until the higher-ups find him a mate. that he’s not yours.

but when his eyes flick lazily over your space, landing again on you, that fucking smirk curling deeper, the thought creeps in anyway.

it already feels like you’re the one being caged.

“home sweet home,” he drawls, like the words taste sour.

you don’t answer. maybe you’re afraid that if you open your mouth he’ll smell the nerves on your breath.

your house isn’t much. a boxy living room with a couch too soft for someone his size, a kitchen visible from the doorway, the faint smell of coffee still clinging to the air. neat, modest, painfully human. but with him inside, it feels different. smaller. tighter. like the walls have contracted around him, forced to contain someone they were never built for.

he drops onto your couch without asking, the whole thing dipping under his weight until it groans like it might split. he sprawls wide, legs apart, one arm thrown across the back like he owns the place. his boots are still on, scuffing the fabric, leaving dark streaks against the beige.

you want to tell him to take them off. but you don’t.

instead, you stand awkwardly at the edge of the room, clutching the stack of papers the officers left you—feeding schedule, behavioral guidelines, medical notes printed sterile and clinical. none of it prepares you for the sight of him stretching out like a smug bastard in your living room, a scar curling down his jaw, teeth flashing when he smirks up at you.

“so this is where i live now,” he says, almost to himself, but his eyes never leave your face.

you manage a shaky nod. “until they find you a mate.”

there’s a flicker of something keen in his gaze but then it’s gone, smothered under the slow curve of his grin.

“a mate, huh.” he leans back further, head tipping against the couch cushion. his shirt rides up with the movement, exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his pants. cut muscle, a trail of dark hair. the kind of view you’d get scrolling porn, not standing in your own home. “guess that makes you my babysitter.”

the word babysitter hangs in the air, sticky and humiliating.

he chuckles low, scratching the side of his jaw with one thick finger like a street dog “gonna feed me, bathe me, tuck me in?”

you look away, throat tight with tensity “i’ll do what needs to be done.”

that earns you another laugh, louder this time. he slaps a hand against his thigh like you just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

“you’re serious, huh?” his teeth flash again, a canine glint that matches the too-green gleam of his eyes. “fuck, this is gonna be fun.”

you try to ignore the way he says it. try to ignore the prickle crawling down your spine, the silent dare in his voice.

he will eventually leave, right? you can be a little patient—of course you can.

no.

ten minutes in, and he’s already testing you.

he kicks the coffee table with the heel of his boot, sending the stack of coasters you’d set there clattering to the floor, just to see if you’ll bend to pick them up. when you don’t, when you stand your ground, he hums low, amused.

he opens your fridge without asking, drinks from the milk carton straight from the spout, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. you want to tell him not to. you don’t.

instead, you watch the muscles in his throat shift with each swallow, the flex of his jaw as he drinks, the thick line of his scar catching the kitchen light.

when he’s finished, he sets the carton back half-empty, meeting your eyes purposely as he slams the fridge door shut.

“thanks, caretaker.”

instead of snapping at him, you try to read through the stack of government paperwork like it’s going to protect you. care instructions, feeding portions, health checks. sterile black ink printed on cheap white paper—rules that mean nothing when you glance up and see him sprawled out on your couch, his dark, fluffy tail flicking up lightly.

toji watches you pretend to focus, head tilted against the cushion, lips curled in something between boredom and amusement. a dog with a bone he hasn’t decided if he wants to chew or bury.

“what, no lecture?” he says finally, scratching his jaw with blunt nails. “thought you’d be all over me by now. ‘wipe your feet, don’t touch this, don’t touch that.’” his voice goes sing-song on the last bit, a mockery of how he imagines you sound.

you don’t rise to the bait. maybe you’re scared of what happens if you do. maybe you’re already too aware of the weight of his eyes dragging over you like claws.

but he notices. he notices everything.

when you finally stand, collecting the empty milk carton and muttering about garbage, he follows. no sound, no warning—just a shift in the air behind you, heat radiating from his body before you even turn. his chest brushes your shoulder, deliberate, testing.

“small kitchen,” he says, his voice low, like he’s measuring how you’ll react to his closeness.

“you’re too big,” you shoot back before you can stop yourself.

his grin is jagged as be he hums, “that’s what they tell me.”

you shove the carton into the trash harder than necessary, hoping the sound covers the way your pulse spikes.

by the time you turn back, he’s already leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, watching you like he’s settling in for a show.

toji doesn’t act like a man adjusting to a caretaker. he acts like a mutt testing boundaries, pawing at invisible fences just to see if they’ll hold. and when they don’t? he pushes harder.

he flicks the fridge magnets off with a lazy swipe of his hand, watches them clatter to the floor. smirks when you don’t move to pick them up.

he grabs the remote on his way back to the couch, flips through channels with impatient clicks, pausing only when something loud flashes across the screen. his boots are still on, still grinding into your fabric, like he knows it’ll make your skin crawl.

“you’re quiet,” he says, not looking away from the TV this time. “don’t like talkin’?”

you don’t answer, not right away.

he turns his head finally, green eyes bright in the glow of the television. “or don’t like talkin’ to me?”

you tell yourself you’re not going to rise to it. not the magnets on the floor, not the boots on the couch, not the way he keeps humming under his breath like he owns the place already. it’s been hours, not even a full day, and somehow the house feels like the walls are bending around his size, shrinking until every room is just him and the heat that rolls off his breathe.

he doesn’t look at you when he asks, “got a boyfriend?”

the question is thrown out casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, but his gaze flicks sideways just fast enough to let you know it’s not a throwaway line.

“no.”

he hums, low in his throat, and shifts against the couch, thighs spreading wider. “figured. don’t smell one.”

you blink, sure you misheard. “...excuse me?”

toji’s smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth pulling up as his tongue flicks across his teeth. “dog nose,” he says, tapping the side of it. “you don’t smell like anyone else. no other man’s sweat on you. no sex.” he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “just you.”

heat climbs the back of your neck, humiliation and something close enough to lust twining together. he says it so bluntly, like reading a chart, like you’re just another piece of data.

you try to retreat—to the kitchen, to the bathroom, anywhere—but he’s faster. you don’t even hear him rise, just the weight of him at your back again, looming close enough you feel the brush of his chest against your shoulder.

“thought so,” he murmurs, low and smug. “you smell… clean.” his nose brushes your hair, just barely, and your stomach flips like you’ve been yanked too close to the edge of something.

you force yourself to move, to break the moment, but he doesn’t let you get far.

later, when you grab a blanket from the closet and toss it toward him with clipped words—“use this, couch is yours”—he catches it one-handed and doesn’t unfold it. just tosses it aside.

“nah,” he says, voice lilting with the same grin you’re starting to hate. “i don’t do couches.”

the implication hangs heavy, even when he doesn’t clarify. he doesn’t need to.

you lock your bedroom door that night.

but you still hear him. the pad of heavy footsteps as he prowls your house. the click of the TV shutting off. the soft scratch of claws—no, nails—on the wall outside your room as he lingers, listening.

like a dog testing the limits of his leash.

like he’s waiting for you to let him in.

you lie awake for too long. sheets pulled tight under your chin, every muscle stiff, listening. it’s pathetic how alert you are, ears straining for every sound, every breath.

and he makes sure you hear him.

the first time it’s the fridge door opening, the hollow suction pop of rubber seals giving way. then the clink of bottles, the scrape of glass against glass, and the breathy sound he makes after—thirst quenched, satisfied.

the second time it’s the couch springs groaning under his weight, then a beat later, the distinct thud of boots hitting the floor. he wants you to know he’s there, sprawling, stretching, taking up space.

then—closer.

a drag of nails along the drywall. deliberate, slow, right outside your door. you see the faintest shadow slip past the gap under the frame, broad and moving lazy, like he’s pacing.

your breath sticks in your throat.

“you asleep in there?” his voice is low, playful, muffled by the door but still somehow inside the room.

you don’t answer. can't? don't want to?

silence stretches—then the soft, deliberate creak of wood as he leans in, shoulder against the frame. you imagine him tilting his head, listening to your breath, his grin widening when he catches the quickened rhythm.

“figured not,” he drawls. “i can hear your little heartbeat.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you don’t move, don’t even twitch, but the way your thighs press together under the sheets betrays you to yourself.

he doesn’t knock. doesn’t try the knob. just drags those nails one last time down the door before he shifts away, heavy steps receding down the hall.

the next day, the morning feels too bright, too ordinary, like nothing happened at all. sunlight slices through the blinds, dust floating in the beam, kitchen humming with the low buzz of the fridge. for a second you let yourself believe it—that he’s still asleep, that you imagined the scrape of nails, the weight of unseen breath hovering over you in the dark.

then you walk into the living room, your gaze landing on him. he’s on the couch, sprawled, shirtless.

just that. shirtless. like it’s nothing. like he doesn’t know what he looks like, all scarred muscle stretched out in the daylight, broad chest rising slow as he takes a lazy drag from the glass of water he swiped from your kitchen. his sweatpants ride too low on his hips, a waistband straining against something half-hard already.

“mornin’,” he says, voice rough with sleep. his eyes flick up at you, amused, like he can see the way your gaze stalls against the sharp cut of his collarbone.

you swallow, pretend to busy yourself with the kettle. you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement, the way your hand trembles just slightly on the handle.

when you crouch to grab a mug from the bottom shelf, he moves. stands. suddenly he’s behind you, close—too close.

“need help with that?” his voice is right at your ear, low and casual, but the way his breath hits your neck makes you freeze.

you shake your head, force yourself to straighten up, mug clutched like a shield. but he doesn’t step back. no—he lingers, towering over you, his shadow swallowing you up. you don’t have to look down to know what’s pressing at the front of his sweats now, thick and obvious.

he stretches, arms above his head, the movement obscene—showing off every ripple of muscle, the scars cutting across his torso. his cock shifts with it, straining the fabric, and his smirk says he knows you noticed.

he pads past you then, deliberately brushing against your shoulder, a smug little rumble low in his throat.

“cozy place you got here,” he says, sinking back onto the couch, legs spread wide. his hand rests casually on his thigh, too close to the tent in his pants.

you take a sip of your tea just to keep your hands steady.

he laughs under his breath, eyes gleaming. “what? you nervous already?”

you clench you teeth, just to avoid losing control "shut up..."

the smug bastard doesn’t stop testing you after breakfast—if anything, he doubles down.

you’re wiping the counter when you feel it again: that giant behind your back, the shadow that’s just too close. you spin, dish towel clenched in your fist.

“seriously? do you have to hover?”

he grins, unbothered, leaning his hip against the counter like he owns it. “what? ‘m just standin’ here.” his voice has that lazy drawl, tail twitching slow behind him. “can’t help it if you keep bendin’ over in front of me.”

“you’re impossible,” you mutter, pushing past him. his shoulder brushes yours on purpose—hard enough to remind you how solid he is.

later, when you try to put some distance between you, he stretches out like a human sized dog on the couch, legs wide, veiny hand lazily resting way too close to the bulge in his sweatpants. his eyes flick to you every time you pass through the room, arrogant as sin.

“you keep starin’ down there,” he teases.

you snap your head toward him, glaring sharp enough to cut glasss. “i’m not staring. i’m making sure you’re not wrecking my furniture.”

a slow, chilling smile splits his face. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you throw the remote at him. he catches it one-handed, laughing.

by the time the afternoon rolls in, you’ve had enough. you dig out the little vial the higher-ups pressed into your hand yesterday, the one rattling with pale blue capsules. you hold it out to him.

“what’s that?” he asks, though his nose twitches like he already knows.

“heat suppressants,” you say firmly. “you take one a day. non-negotiable.”

his smirk collapses into a wolfish grin. he leans forward, plucks the vial from your palm with thick fingers, his knuckles brushing deliberately over your skin. “so bossy.” he shakes the vial, rattling it like candy. “these are supposed to keep me from mountin’ you, huh?”

you exhale sharply, jaw tight. “from mounting anyone. you don’t get a choice. take one.”

he tilts his head, eyes dragging slow down your body before flicking back up. “yeah, yeah. i’ll take ‘em.”

you don’t miss the way he doesn’t pop one out, doesn’t swallow it down in front of you. he just pockets the vial, lazy and careless, like he’s humoring you.

“toji,” you warn.

“relax, sweetheart.” he taps the pocket with two fingers. “got it right here. see? i’ll be good.”

but the smirk doesn’t fade, and you know—you know—he’s lying through his teeth.

he doesn’t give you peace for the rest of the day. if anything, toji seems energized by the fact you handed him those suppressants, like he’s won some invisible game. you catch him watching you from the couch, from the kitchen doorway, even from the goddamn hallway mirror, and it’s enough to grind your teeth raw.

days turn into weeks like that—him circling closer, you pushing back, a rhythm neither of you asked for but somehow fell into anyway.

the phone is hot against your ear, your voice sharper than you mean it to be.

“months. months, and you’re telling me you still haven’t found a match?” you pace the kitchen, one hand pressed hard to your forehead. “what do you even do over there? shuffle paperwork until it disappears? he’s not some file you can misplace—he’s a living, breathing person!”

the higher-up on the other end drones through the same excuses: rarity of his kind, complex genetics, compatibility screening takes time. excuses you’ve heard a hundred times before.

you cut them off, jaw clenched, hissing the words out. “so until then, what? i’m supposed to just keep him here? like a stray you dumped on my porch?”

silence. then, a clipped, “your cooperation is crucial.”

you hang up before you say something that gets you blacklisted—or worse.

when you turn, he’s there. of course he fucking is. leaning in the doorway, arms folded, ears twitching like he caught every word. he doesn’t even pretend to give you privacy anymore.

“they piss you off again?” his voice is rough from sleep, but there’s a pride under it, like he’s proud you’re mad on his behalf.

“don’t start,” you mutter, brushing past him, but he doesn’t let you. his enormous hand closes around your wrist, not hard, but insistent. “hey. i’m not complainin’. i like it here.” his tail flicks once, sharp, before curling lazy. “like bein’ with you.”

that’s the thing—you believe him. at first, he treated you like an inconvenience, another leash clipped to his collar. but somewhere between broken mugs, pawing at your laundry, and sprawling across your couch like he paid rent, he got comfortable. way too comfortable.

now, he follows you everywhere. bathroom, kitchen, even the tiny laundry room—looming behind you. when delivery guys drop packages, he hovers in the hall, eyeing them like they’re intruding. one time a neighbor waved at you on the sidewalk, and toji’s hand tightened on your shoulder so possessively you thought the guy might bolt.

he watches you like you’re his.

and the worst part? sometimes it feels like you’ve let him be.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, pulse still racing from the phone call. “you don’t get it, toji. taking care of a huge demihuman isn’t exactly easy. you break shit without even noticing. you eat like three people combined. you—”

“tch.” he cuts you off with a low rumble, stepping closer until your back nearly brushes the counter. “so? i never asked to go anywhere else.”

“that’s not the point.” you sigh, pushing at his chest, though he doesn’t budge. “i’m not your babysitter, not your—”

“ya kinda are,” he interrupts, head tilting just enough to show the unhurried ease of his smile. “my caretaker, right? means i get to stick with you.”

before you can argue, he bends, arms scooping around your waist like it’s nothing, dragging you into him. his face tucks into the crook of your neck, hot breath against your skin, tail swishing slow.

“toji,” you warn, voice tight, but his hold only tightens.

“don’t wanna go,” he mutters, muffled against your collar. “don’t care what they say. i like it here. like you.”

it’s ridiculous—he’s massive, warm, muscles coiled under your palms like a predator, but he’s clinging like some overgrown cat who decided the couch is his throne and you’re part of the cushion.

“you make it sound so simple,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

​he offers a deep, rumbling sound in his chest, a soft agreement, and nuzzles his face deeper against you. “’cause it is.”

​you give a frustrated squirm, but his grip only tightens, refusing to give ground. “toji, I mean it. let go.”

he only tilts his head, mouth dragging lazy against your neck like he’s trying to scent you. “mm, nah. feels too good.” his voice is smug, but there’s something heavier under it—like if he lets go, he really will lose you.

“you’re impossible.” you shove harder at his chest, but he doesn’t move an inch. “I can’t get anything done if you’re attached to me like this.”

“then don’t do anything.” he leans back just enough to see you, that familiar crooked grin tugging at his lips. “stay here. with me. not like you got anywhere better to be.”

your stomach does a little flip—part anger, part frustration, and maybe a bit of something you’d rather not think about. “you can’t just—cling to me every second of the day. I need space.”

he lets out a low, knowing chuckle at that, the sound rough and deep in his chest. “space? you’ve got plenty. look how small you are next to me.” his hand settles across your back with heavy familiarity like he’s proving the point, effortlessly dwarfing you. “bet I could carry you ‘round all day if I wanted.”

“toji—”

“what?” he cuts in, the corner of his mouth drawing up as his grin widens. “you’ll yell at me again? make me take those stupid pills?”

the way he says it—mocking, but also daring—makes your chest go cold. you’d handed him the little blue capsules just this morning, watched him toss them back with a swig of water.

or at least, you thought he did.

"toji, i'm serious! get away from me already!”

the look on his face when you snap finally lands like a slap. his posture freezes mid-sentence, shoulders stiffen, and for the first time since he came under your roof, he actually drops his hand without a word of protest.

he doesn’t talk back. doesn’t smirk this time. his eyes, which had been locked onto yours a second before, cut away as if burned, and he steps back like you shoved a knife into him, his arms dropping awkward and heavy at his sides. “fine,” he mutters, voice low, flat in a way that truly unsettles you. “you want space? you got it.”

and then he’s gone—pads down the hall with that big frame hunched, like a dog that’s been kicked, and disappears into his room.

the silence after is almost worse than his clinginess. no heavy footsteps dragging or shadowing yours, no lazy drawl every time you so much as slide open the fridge. you catch yourself listening for him while you work, only to be met with the dull, persistent hum of the refrigerator.

the house feels bigger without him taking up the space—emptier, and somehow colder, too.

you almost go to knock on his door around dinner, but pride keeps you locked in place. if he wants to sulk, fine. you’ll give him all the space in the world.

except when night falls, and the house settles, you hear it—the floorboards creak soft outside your door. the hesitant pause. the faint, held breath.

you don’t move. don’t say anything. your own breath feels shallow and loud. and after a long moment, the knob turns just slightly, a whisper of brass against wood, as if he’s testing whether you locked it.

you’re half-asleep when the bed dips. a familiar weight. not unusual—not anymore. he’s been sneaking in for weeks now, the ritual perfected, always with some shitty excuse: couldn’t sleep. too cold. “house smells funny without you.” you stopped arguing the fourth time it happened; easier to just let him curl against your back like a massive, possessive cat and steal your pillow.

but tonight the weight and the quiet feels different.

it’s the way he moves—hesitant at first, then urgent, almost desperate. his breath is hot against the crook of your neck, ragged, a hitching sound close to a sob, like he’s been holding it in all day. you stir, blink through the dark.

“toji?” your voice is rough with sleep. “what are you—”

the question vaporizes when you feel it. the thick, desperate stab of his hard-on grinding against your ass, contained only by thin cotton shorts that do nothing to hide the sopping wet heat seeping through. he fucks into you with a muffled groan, his hips stuttering like he’s beyond control.

your drowsy brain finally cuts through the fog, connecting the dots. the heat suppressants. the pills you’ve been handing him, watching him tip back with water like some rebellious little shit.

“wait—” you twist to look at him, see his pupils blown wide, eyes glazed over with fever. “toji. did you even take those pills?”

his forehead slams into your shoulder. he shakes his head once, hard, like a child confessing too late. a shiver violently tears through him as his hips snap forward again, mashing his cock against the curve of your ass.

“fuck—couldn’t,” he mutters, voice slurred, fever-drunk. “don’t want ’em. don’t want anyone else. just—fucking you.”

and it hits you then: he’s been holding it back. weeks of fake swallows and spit pills, of smug grins that never reached his eyes. and now, the dam’s cracking. his body’s on fire, rutting against you like instinct’s dragged him past reason.

you can feel the full, throbbing outline of him through your shorts—thick, heavy, pissing enough to dampen the fabric. each frenzied roll of his hips leaves you gasping, caught between shock and filthy heat pooling low in your stomach.

“toji—” you hiss, half a warning, half a plea. he only groans, teeth grazing your shoulder as he keeps grinding, his hard-on dragging against you like he’s trying to blast you through layers of clothes. “please,” he pants, desperate. “lemme—just a little. can’t stop.”

he’s rutting like he’s lost his goddamn mind—hips dragging against you in rough, needy jerks that make the mattress creak. every roll of his cock smears more slick, wet heat over your ass, fabric clinging damp to your skin. his mouth is on you everywhere—panting into your hair, teeth catching at your shoulder, whining like a desperate dog in a way that’s raw, unfiltered, not the smug bastard you’ve been dealing with for months but something older, more primal.

“toji—stop—” you catch his wrist, try to shove him back, but he’s too heavy, too desperate. “you can’t—fuck, you can’t do this. you’re my assignment. i'm your caretaker. it’s not—” you bite down on the word—“it’s not allowed.”

he groans against your throat, thrusting harder, cock grinding against you like he’s trying to prove a point. “don’t care. don’t fuckin’ care.” his voice cracks halfway through, breaks into a moan as his hips stutter. “those old geezers are too fuckin' late to find me a mate.”

your pulse kicks hard in your throat. you can feel how bad it is now, the girthy shape of him through both your clothes—thick, leaking, the blunt, swollen head catching against the curve of your ass with every frantic thrust.

“they’ll find you someone suitable,” you push out, the words thin, shaking. “they’re working on it—”

“don’t want anyone.” his teeth scrape the shell of your ear, words a hot, ragged growl. “want you. only you. been holdin’ it back—fuck—too long. can’t—” his hips slam forward, his cock dragging over your soaked shorts like he’s trying to fuck the fabric itself. “can’t stop now. don’t even want to.”

your fingers fist in the sheets, torn between shoving him off and arching your hips into the heat of his body. every brutal thrust makes your breath hitch, every low, broken sound he lets out cracks something filthy in your chest.

“toji—”

“please,” he cuts in, desperate, breath shuddering as he pounds harder against you. “lemme fuck you. lemme breed you. don’t need anyone else. don’t even fuckin’ want anyone else.”

“stop fighting me,” he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat dampening his hair. “you feel it too, don’t you?—fuck—you’re wet already. soaked through, and i didn’t even get it in yet.”

“i’m not—” the protest dies halfway out of your throat when he grinds just right, the thick outline of him dragging where you’re most sensitive. heat fucks you up, lancing sharp and humiliating through your belly, and your body betrays you with a hitching gasp.

he smirks, mean and shaky, mouth brushing your jaw. “knew it. knew your cunt wanted me.” his voice drops low, hot against your ear. “you think i can’t smell it? been wantin’ me since the start.”

you shake your head, but it’s weak, pathetic compared to the way your hips tilt right into him without meaning to. “you’re—my assignment—”

“fuck your assignment,” he snaps, then moans, grinding harder, rutting in delirious little jerks that leave both of you breathless. “fuck the higher-ups. they don’t matter. only you. only this.”

his hand slams between your thighs before you can stop him, palm pressing hard against your cunt through thin cotton. he groans like it’s killing him, like just feeling the fire of you is enough to break him open.

“feel that?” his breath is hot against your temple, words slipping between teeth gritted against restraint. “all for me. not for some mate they’ll find months from now. for me.”

you try to say his name like a warning, but it comes out more like a whine, trembling and weak. your grip on his wrist falters.

he catches it instantly—always so damn sharp when it comes to you. his mouth drags to your throat, tongue wet against the pulse hammering there, and his hips slow, grinding deep instead of fast. deliberate. coaxing.

“just say it,” he murmurs, low and rough. “say you’ll let me. i’ll make you feel so good, sweetheart. stretch you open nice and full—fuck, i’ll keep you stuffed till you can’t think of anything else. just me. only me.”

your chest heaves, caught between the sharp edge of fear and the dizzy pull of heat. his cock throbs against you, heavy and insistent, his breath ragged in your ear. your lips part, words tumbling out in a whisper that trembles at the edges but still lands, clear enough for him to hear: “...okay. just—fuck, just do it.” it isn’t steady, isn’t confident, but it’s not a no.

toji doesn’t move at first. he freezes like he thinks you’re tricking him, like the second he touches you, you’ll shove him away and tell him it was all a mistake. his ears twitch, breath stuttering against your thigh, and then he lets out a sound that’s half-moan, half-growl.

the blanket is ripped off in an instant. your shorts, panties—gone, peeled off with clumsy urgency until you’re bare to the air. and then his mouth is on you. no foreplay, no teasing, just hot tongue dragging over you in a messy, frantic lap that makes your whole body jerk.

it isn’t gentle. it isn’t careful. he moans against you like he’s been denied this for years, lapping broad and sloppy from your clit to your hole, sucking at whatever he can get his mouth on. drool’s already slicking his chin, stringing between his lips and your cunt, shining in the dim light.

you grab his hair, try to tug him back enough to breathe, but he growls low in his throat, a warning, and shoves his face in deeper. his nose grinds against your clit while his tongue pushes inside, thick and wet, working at you in unpracticed thrusts that leaves you gasping.

then he pulls back, just enough to spit—a thick, wet glob landing right on your folds. you jolt, shocked, but he doesn’t give you time to complain. he dives back in, licking it up greedily, spreading it with his tongue in messy circles that make your hips buck helplessly.

“fuck—” the sound rips out of you, half a raw gasp, half a desperate beg.

he smirks against your cunt, fangs grazing your skin as he sucks your clit into his mouth, careful not to bite but still sharp enough to leave you shivering. and then his fingers—fuck, his fingers—finally join in.

thick, rough digits press against your entrance, a little too hard, testing, then clumsily nudging, before one shoves in. It’s too blunt, too sudden, but the stretch is so deep it makes your insides jump. he lets out a choked groan at the feel, like your body closing around him is the filthiest, most unearned thing he’s ever gotten, and his tongue doesn't slow down, orbiting your clit while he fucks you with that single, heavy finger

“more,” he pants against you, pulling back just enough for his words to hit your slick skin. “gotta give me more—” another finger shoves in beside the first, and your back arches, a strangled sound breaking out of you.

he watches it, watches the way you fall apart on his hand and mouth, and his cock twitches against the mattress where he’s rutting mindlessly, precum soaking into the sheets.

“ngh—” a small sound tears free, your voice cracking before you can even catch it. his fingers curl in too fast, too deep, catching on your wet walls without any rhythm yet, but it doesn't matter, not really—not when his mouth is clamped down on your clit, his tongue flattening and dragging in sloppy, frantic circles, and it’s too much, too sudden. “toji—wait, wait—mmhp, s-slow down—”

​he groans into you, loud and desperate, like you’re the one feeding him instead of the other way around. the vibration rattles straight through your nerves, making your thighs twitch against his ears.

he pulls back just enough to whine, lips wet and glistening, chin glossy with spit and slick. “can’t—fuckin’ can’t slow down. you taste—hnnh—taste too good.”

your head falls back against the soft pillow, a helpless gasp tearing out of your throat when he shoves yet another finger into your cunt. three of them, thick, clumsy, stretching you open with every thrust. his knuckles grind against your entrance, and the thick, wet slap of it fills the air each time he bottoms out.

“oh my god, toji—ahh, f-fuck, you’re—” your breath stutters, thighs trembling as he spits again, thick and wet, letting it drip down his fingers where they’re buried inside you. the sensation is filthy, obscene, makes you clamp around him hard. ​he groans, high and broken, fucking his fingers into you faster like he’s chasing your reactions. “tight—so fuckin’ tight. won’t let me go, huh?” his voice is a ragged pant against your folds, half-drowned by the way he sucks your clit back into his mouth and moans around it.

​“mmhp—n-no, stop saying shit like that—” your hands fist his hair, half trying to shove him away, half yanking him closer. his fangs only just graze your thigh this time, just enough to sting, and the pinprick sharpness makes your whole body buck.

​he pulls back with a gasp, licking the faint red mark his teeth left like he wants to erase it, then immediately noses back into your heat. “lemme, just lemme—fuck—lemme stay here.” his words break up into whines like he can’t breathe without your taste.

​“toji, please—nghh, slow down—i-i can’t—” ​but he’s gone, ears pinned flat, hips jerking into the mattress in time with his fingers working your cunt. every sloppy lap of his tongue is matched with the grind of his cock into the sheets, and the wet sounds from both of you blur together until you can’t tell which is your own, which is his, or which is more humiliating.

​he drags his mouth up to your clit again, sucking hard, and when you cry out, your hips lifting off the bed, he moans right into you, shameless. “gimme—fuck—wanna feel you cum.”

​your eyes squeeze shut, thighs trembling as you gasp out, “i-i can’t—ahh, nghhh, t-too much—”

​his ears twitch against your thighs, velvet-soft but trembling like he’s as close to breaking as you are. every whimper that slips out of him rattles right into your skin, half-muffled by the way his mouth stays glued to you.

when he pulls back for just a second to breathe, you see his fangs glint wet in the low light—sharp and gleaming. ​and then he’s sinking them against your inner thigh, not hard enough to pierce, just grazing, teasing. the sting of it makes your hips buck, a sharp whimper leaving your lips. “ngh—toji—stop, i c-can’t—”

​he growls low in his chest, more animal than man. “don’t stop me,” he pants, pressing sloppy kisses to the spot his teeth just marked. “been starving—fuck—starving for you.”

​your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, his knuckles slick with your arousal. he notices instantly, groaning into your skin, his hips grinding helplessly against the mattress. his cock must be slicking the sheets, but he doesn’t care—too drunk on you, too consumed.

​“mmhp—ahh—” you choke on your own moan when his tongue pushes lower, flattening and licking between his fingers where they split you open. it’s obscene, the way he spits right after, drool and slick dripping down his hand before he slurps it back up, swallowing loud.

​his ears twitch again, catching every sound you make. when your breath stutters, he pulls back just enough to smirk, lips shiny and swollen. “you’re close,” he says, voice husky, proud even as he’s panting. “can smell it, right here—” his nose nudges into your mound, inhaling deeply like it’s instinct, like he’s memorizing your scent. ​

“d-don’t say shit like that,” you whine, shoving at his head, but your legs betray you, locking tighter around his shoulders. ​his tail betrays him even more than his ears—it thrashes behind him like it’s got a mind of its own, smacking the mattress, curling tight in the sheets each time he groans into you. the moment you whimper his name, it coils up around your ankle like a shackle, tugging your leg wider so his mouth can sink in deeper.

​“so sweet,” he mutters, more to himself than you, tongue diving back in, quick and greedy. every lap feels sharper with his fangs grazing just close enough to scare you, keep you on edge.

​your body shakes, your nails dig into his scalp, and your voice breaks around the words: “t-toji—ahhh, nghh—i’m gonna—” ​your warning falls apart into pure noise, a half-scream, half-sob that punches out of your chest when it finally hits. your whole body locks tight—then it shakes, trembling hard enough to rattle the bedframe as release tears through you.

​“ahhh—f-fuck—nghh, toji—”

​it’s messy, too messy, slick gushing over his tongue in thick waves, dripping down his chin, soaking his hand where he’s still working you through it. you feel it, feel yourself spilling over, humiliated and bliss-struck all at once. ​

he doesn’t back off. not even for a second. toji groans like a man dying and being reborn at the same time, nose shoved into your mound as he swallows you down—loud, greedy gulps that make your ears burn. his tail thrashes behind him like he’s lost control, ears twitching madly with every sound you make.

​“mmhp—god, you taste—” he chokes, then latches back onto your clit, tongue flattening and dragging, sucking every last drop like he’s been parched for centuries. ​your thighs twitch around his head, trying to close, but his hands are iron on your hips, forcing you open, making you ride it out while he drinks. you sob again, overstimulated, the sharp scrape of his fangs just enough to make your nerves scream even higher.

​“t-toji—hahhh, please—s-slow down—” you beg, but your hips are rolling against his mouth anyway, desperate and helpless. ​

his mouth finally leaves you, slick and spit cooling on your thighs, his chin dripping with the mess he made out of you. he breathes like he just fought a war, chest heaving, his pupils blown wide and dark, sweat darkening the hair that’s fallen over his face. his tongue flicks out one last time, catching a string of wet that glues itself from his lip to your cunt, and then he groans low in his chest, shifting higher.

​“fuck,” toji pants, voice hoarse, like he’s been crying instead of moaning into your pussy for the past hour. “you came so much, sweetheart. so much for me.” his hand is on your belly now, pressing you down, keeping you flat. “still twitchin’—look at that. you’re beggin’ for cock already.”

​“n-no,” you whimper, voice breaking on the word, head rolling against the pillow. “we can’t—nghh, toji—we’re not supposed to.”

​he grins, crooked and sharp, canines catching in the weak lamp light. “supposed to?” he echoes, leaning down until his nose brushes yours. his ears flick once, tail dragging heavy across the sheets like it can’t sit still. “you think i give a fuck what those assholes in suits want? they can shove their rules up their asses. i’m hard for you. only you.”

​you gasp when his hands catch your knees, shoving them up, folding you without effort. the position’s obscene—your thighs pressed back against your chest, belly bending, cunt bared wide open and pulsing from his tongue. your breath hitches, panicked. “t-toji—don’t—this is—”

​“a mating press,” he finishes for you, smug, watching your face as you squirm. “yeah. ‘cause i’m not lettin’ you go.”

​his hand drops, tugging at the band of his sweats, shoving them low enough for his cock to spring free. and fuck—it’s a beast.

​heavy, thick, flushed dark at the tip, veins bulging up the shaft like ridges meant to ruin you. a piercing gleams at the crown, metal catching the light when he spits into his palm and drags it down over the length. his fist works slow, deliberate, smearing spit along with the precum that’s already dripping out of him, down to his balls

your throat bobs hard. “oh my god—”

he laughs under his breath, eyes locked to yours, hand still stroking himself lazily like he has all the time in the world. “nah, not god. just me.” another stroke, heavier this time, and his pierced tip leaks more for it, sliding slick over his fist. “you’re starin’,” he teases, dragging the blunt head up your slit just to watch you jolt.

you moan, try to push his hand away, but it’s weak, shaky. “t-toji, please—it won’t fit, it’s huge—”

“shhh,” he interrupts, pressing the blunt head against your clit and grinding until you sob. “s’gonna fit. it’s what you were made for. i can smell it on you. smell how bad you want it. dog nose, y'know.”

his cock twitches, fat and needy in his hand, and he hisses through his teeth like even the thought of pushing in is almost enough to make him cum. “fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it before i’m even inside.”

toji leans down, lips brushing your ear, and you feel the scrape of his fangs when he growls, “too late for that. far too late. i’ve been holding back since the day i met you. you think a few little pills could stop this? don't make me laugh.”

​he spits again, thick and wet, letting it drip down onto your pussy before grinding the head of his cock through it, coating himself in your mess. the fat tip drags cruelly over your clit, nudging your entrance, and for a merciless moment, he doesn’t push deeper. he just presses the blunt crown against your soaked hole, rocking it there, making you stretch around the swollen girth of the head alone until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling from the pressure.

​the moment he shifts, you feel it before you see it—his claws anchor along your ribs as he presses you fully into the mattress, weight heavy and unrelenting, a hot, muscled animal pressed onto your chest. his ears flick constantly, twitching toward every breath, every shudder, every little whine that slips out of you as he lines himself with your dripping slit.

​“ten inches left,” he groans, dragging the tip inside slowly, your walls fluttering tight and trembling over him. the burn is sharp, exquisite, impossible, stretching you wide in a way that makes your head tilt back, fingers clutching at the sheets.

“nine…” another deliberate push, inch by inch, his muscular waist shifting, fingers bracing on your hips, forcing them down as your thighs tremor around him. you can feel every roped ridge of his veins, the subtle scrape of metal against your slick walls, and it’s obscene, impossibly hot.

​“eight. hold on a lil' more,” he pants, grinding once before pulling back slightly, letting you protest with a weak, “nngh—too much, too—” but he ignores you, leaning in to bite along your shoulder, leaving a line of teeth, fangs grazing your skin, leaving heat and sting in their wake.

his spit coats your belly as he drags the tip all the way to the hilt, then slides back, counting down each inch with a groan. “seven… six…” his claws dig into the mattress near your hands, tail whipping, ears flicking nervously, mouth open in a panting snarl, hips driving forward again.

​he presses so fully, so deep, that your walls squeeze around him like they want to claim him as much as he’s taking you, the tip of his pierced cock scraping perfectly, dragging slick along your most vulnerable spots. “five… four…” he snarls low, breath hot against your ear, “s’been holding back long enough. not gonna stop.”

​you try to protest, words broken by moans and gasps, “t-toji… mhfm—too big—” but he presses harder, fingers pushing your thighs wider, grinding you into him like he’s marking his territory. “three… two…” his voice rough, fangs grazing your inner thigh again, metallic glint in his piercing catching light every time he hovers, teasing you mercilessly.

​and then—one. finally seated fully, eleven inches of him consuming every inch of your cunt. your breath hitchs uncontrollably, slick dripping down both of you, walls clenching, mouth agape, eyes watering from overstimulation. ​“fuck…” he rasps, chest heaving, nose brushing yours, ears flattened with intensity, tail curling tight around your leg. “you feel… so good. so tight… perfect…”

he hammers forward, slow and deliberate, then sloppy and wild, dragging the piercing against your slick walls, every grind making you shiver violently. his saliva coats your stomach, trailing down, and when he groans, it’s the sound of a demihuman completely undone by the one person he’s claimed. ​your fingers clutch his shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle, “mpfnn—fucking s-slow down—” ​

your legs are folded so hard against your chest it hurts, thighs trembling, knees pressing into your own ribs as he cages you there. his claws dig crescent moons into the back of your thighs, keeping them pinned wide in the mating press, and every brutal thrust makes your vision burst white. ​the stretch is obscene.

it’s not just his size—though eleven thick inches is more than enough—it’s the way he uses it. deep, grinding strokes that hurt in the best, filthiest way, leaving you with nothing but a whimpering sob each time his hips slam down.

“look at you,” he rasps, sweat dripping from his temple, his ears twitching erratically with every throb of your cunt. his voice is smug, mocking, even as his chest heaves like a beast in rut. “cryin’ already? and we’re not even halfway through. c’mon, thought you were tougher than this, babysitter.”

your cheeks are wet, tears spilling, not even sure when you started crying, only that you can’t stop. every lewd thrust forces a sob from your throat, your chest heaving against the weight of his hand when he suddenly presses his palm flat over your tummy, keeping you pinned to the mattress.

“toji—nghh, p-please—” your words fall apart on a hiss as he shoves deeper, the blunt head catching at your cervix, his piercing scraping so cruelly you clench down without wanting to.

“p-please what?” he pants, tail lashing hard against the mattress, the whip-crack sound matching the quick pace of his hips. his free hand snakes up, wraps tight around your throat—not cutting off all air, just enough to make every breath sound like a whimper. “say it. say you like it. say you like bein’ split open like this.”

your lips part around a broken sob, spit shining at the corner of your mouth. “i—it’s too much, can't take it all—”

he pulls out almost to the tip, then slams back in, the skin of the base of his cock wrinkling up as he bottoms out. “eleven, “ten—fuck, you’re takin’ all of it, aren’t you?” his piercing grinds along your walls with every count, making you choke on another sob.

you shake your head weakly at his words, but the sound that comes out through your lips is a whine, high and broken, your nails almost drawing blood from his shoulders.

“don’t shake your head at me,” he snarls, tightening his hand on your throat, squeezing until your eyes blur with tears. “you wanted this the second you let me stay in your bed. the second you let a beast under your roof. you knew what would happen.”

your cunt stretchs into a wide O shape to accommodate his girth helplessly, betrayal written all over your tear-streaked face as your body gives him away.

he feels it, groans ragged against your jaw, voice a harsh whisper, “knew you’d break. knew you’d let me wreck you. higher-ups can choke on their rules—nobody’s gonna stuff you this full but me.”

he tugs you close, folding you in half. uour knees are driven back, right next to your shoulders, his claws now digging painfully deep into your thighs. the angle is agony—a brute-force open that makes your cunt scream at the sheer stretch. even as the walls clench, desperate and tight around all twelve inches of him, he bullies his way in.

“look at this fuckin’ pussy,” he growls, voice rough, eyes blurry with heat. sweat drips from his temple down onto your chest. “takin’ me like it was made for it. you feel that? right up in your womb.” he grinds in circles, piercing scraping against the tenderest part of you, making your tummy bulge.

you cry out, a raw sound that hurts your throat, your nails clawing at his back. “s-stop, toji, it’s—oh fuck—” your voice breaks, tears streaking down your cheeks.

he snarls into your throat, pressing you further into the mattress until you can’t do anything but sob and take it. “don’t tell me stop when you’re gushin’ like this,” he hisses, his tongue dragging across your cheek, tasting salt and tears. “this greedy little hole won’t let me go even if i wanted to. it’s swallowin’ me whole.”

you choke on your own spit, eyes rolling back, thighs trembling violently as he pounds into you harder, every piston harder than last.

“gonna knock you up,” he rasps, eyes wide and staring down at you, voice breaking with a purr. “gonna fill you until you’re leaking with me. don’t care what those assholes say—only one makin’ puppies outta you is me.”

“n-no—” your words cuts off with a wail when he shifts, pumping deeper, crushing your knees harder into your chest until all you feel is pain and stretch and the raw slide of his cock tearing you open.

“yeah,” he spits down at you, saliva dripping onto your tongue when you gasp for breath. “open. swallow it. you’ll fuckin’ take everything.”

your chest is heaving, tits bouncing with every slam of his hips, and toji can’t take it anymore. his head dips, tongue lolling like some feral mutt, drool sliding hot and messy over your skin. he sucks at your nipple hard, teeth grazing just shy of breaking skin, and groans so loud it rattles in your chest.

“fuck, these—” he squeezes, kneading your tits together with his big calloused hands, spit dripping from his mouth as he latches again, harder, rough. “always wanted ‘em. every time you bent over in that tight shit—fuck—thought about stuffing my face right here, sucking on ‘em till you cried.”

you’re sobbing, writhing under the iron weight of him. “t-toji, i c-can’t—”

he ignores you, rutting harder, balls slapping against your ass, tail thudding madly against the sheets like he’s in heat and too far gone. ears twitch every time you cry out, like he’s tuned to your sounds, using them as fuel.

“don’t lie,” he growls around your nipple, spit slicking it raw as his fangs graze the bud. “you love it. tits bouncin’, cunt clenching down like it’s beggin’ for my knot.”

you choke on air, vision blurring with tears. “i-it hurts—”

“yeah? good.” he pulls off your chest with a wet pop, smirking through his own panting, sweat-slick hair plastered to his temples. “s’posed to hurt. you think eleven inches of cock and a fat knot’s ever gonna be gentle?”

your walls convulse around him and he snarls, hips stuttering. “knew it. dirty little cunt squeezin’ me tighter soon as i said it. i fantasized this for months, y’know. every fuckin’ night, watchin’ you walk around like you ain’t mine. dreamt about pinning you down just like this, stuffing you full till you couldn’t take another drop.”

his hand slaps your throat again, pressing you flat into the mattress as he jackhammers deeper, cock piercing grinding cruelly into your walls. you’re choking, tears spilling hot, drool leaking from your open mouth as you sob through the overwhelming stretch.

“come on, baby,” he pants, ears flat against his head. “don’t make me wait—i’ll fuck you all night if i gotta. thought about this too long to let you off easy. gonna milk a mess outta this pussy.”

he dives back down, slobbering over your tits again. his hips are desperate, cockhead bullying your insides again and again until your legs are shaking and your stomach cramps with every thrust.

“cum for me,” he purrs, biting at your nipple hard enough for you to wince. “cum on my cock like a good babysitter, or i’ll keep poundin’ you till you do.”

it creeps up on you like a fever, the kind that makes your skin too hot, your stomach tight and sour-sweet with anticipation. his cock drags so deep, piercing right up against your womb, that you can’t tell if the ache in your gut is pleasure or pain anymore—it’s both, tangled and knotted until you’re dizzy with it.

“nghh—fuck, s-stop, it’s too much—” your voice cracks, but your body doesn’t—won't obey. your hips buck up into him, chasing friction like you’re starving for it.

your clit throbs, the pressure building unbearable. you try to hold back, biting your lip so hard you taste blood, but he notices—the smug curl of his lips pressed to your neck.

“don’t you dare fight it,” he rasps, rutting harder, dark veins on his cock grinding against your walls. “come on. break for me. let me feel it.”

and then it rips out of you.

your whole body seizes, back arching so violently the sheets crumple under your fists. your cunt clamps down viciously around him, spasming like it’s trying to suck him in deeper, to keep him locked inside forever. hot gush after hot gush floods out of you, squirting around his length, dripping messily down your ass.

you scream—raw, nothing like words—just a strangled cry that fractures into whimpers as your thighs shake uncontrollably. your vision blurs with tears, drool slicks your chin, and every nerve ending feels on fire.

“holy fuck—look at that,” he groans, pupils blown wide as he stares down where your cunt gushes over him, milking his cock. his tail thrashes against the sheets, ears twitching like he’s overstimulated just watching you fall apart. “she’s squirtin’ all over me—nghh, fuck, good girl—squeezin’ so tight i can’t even move.”

your orgasm doesn’t end—it crashes again, another pulse, then another, until your whole lower body trembles in aftershocks, every squeeze of your cunt wringing his cock like a fist.

“hahhh—there it is. that’s the one i wanted,” he snarls, pressing you even deeper into the mating press as his cock throbs inside your spasming cunt. “pussy’s cryin’ for me. can feel it beggin’ for my cum...”

your orgasm barely fades when he suddenly goes still—hips grinding in tight, cock buried balls-deep, fat tip smashed against your cervix. you feel the pulse before you hear the sound—his guttural groan ripping out of his throat, animalistic, broken.

then it hits.

hot, thick cum spurts out in brutal waves, flooding your cunt so fast it bubbles back out around his cock. the sheer volume makes you choke, squirming under his weight as he holds you down, forcing every sticky drop inside.

“fuck—oh fuck, take it,” he snarls, sweat dripping from his temple to your face. “been holdin’ this shit back for months—” his ears flatten, tail smacking hard against the sheets with every pump of his cock. “look at you—fuckin’ stuffed like a breeder, takin’ every drop. nghhh—fuck!”

you’re crying again, hiccuping, because it won’t stop. hot gush after hot gush pours out of him, his knot swelling at the base, locking him inside you.

“t-toji—s’too much, i c-can’t—”

“shut up,” he growls, voice cracking as he ruts weakly, grinding to milk himself deeper. “c-can’t waste it. every drop’s for you. you’re carryin’ my pups, you hear me? they’ll split you open fatter than my cock.”

he leans down, mouth sloppy over your throat, fangs grazing your skin as he moans into you, almost whining. “nghhh—fuck, it’s so good. better than i thought. every time i looked at you, i imagined this—cumming inside, fillin’ you up, makin’ you whimper under me. hahh—”

his knot swells harder, locking him tight, and another gush of seed bursts out, forcing your womb to ache with the weight of it. slick leaks down your ass in a messy puddle, the smell of him pungent, feral, clinging to your skin.

your hands weakly push at his chest, but he only growls, thrusting shallow, cockhead grinding messy against your soaked walls.

“no use fightin’ it now,” he pants, eyes hazy, pupils blown wide. “too late. you’re already full. you’re mine for real now—gonna keep you knotted till it takes.”

your vision swims, tears and sweat dripping as his moans turn higher, needier, until he’s whining against your tits again, rutting like he’s still desperate even while his cock paints you full of filth.

“more,” he pants. “fuck—more. can’t stop. not till you’re pregnant with my pups. nghhh—look at that belly swellin’—s’my cum sittin’ inside.”

the bed is a wreck, sheets torn halfway off, your thighs trembling around his waist while he still grinds weak, messy little thrusts against the swollen knot locking him inside. his cock twitches, another lazy spurt of cum leaking deep, and you feel your stomach ache with the weight of it all.

“hahh… fuck, it won’t stop,” he moans, delirious, hips rolling like a dog stuck in instinct. his tail thumps against the mattress, ears pinned back, body hot and heavy over yours. “not done. not even close.”

you whimper, nails digging into his slick skin. “toji—no, y-you already came—”

“can’t stop,” he pants, rutting against your cervix, voice breaking with another high groan. “gonna fuck you till it takes. all night. you’ll see.”

and the starving look in his eyes tells you he means it.

your legs barely work. every muscle aches, your core throbs with a soreness that makes you dizzy just standing upright. the floor is cold under your bare feet as you point a finger at him, voice shaking more with outrage than weakness.

“what the fuck were you thinking?”

toji sits slouched against the wall, on the floor like some scolded mutt, shirtless, hair a mess. his ears twitch when you raise your voice, tail limp behind him. he doesn’t even talk back—just frowns at the floor, jaw tight, muscles still damp with the sweat of last night.

“you— you came inside me,” you snap, voice shaking with fury. “multiple times. like—like I was some fucking—breeding bitch. do you know how fucked up that is?!”

his eyes flicker up at you, then away again. silent.

“what do you think’s gonna happen if the higher-ups find out?” your voice cracks on the edge of hysteria. “you weren’t supposed to touch me, let alone—let alone fill me up like that!”

still, he doesn’t argue. doesn’t grin like he usually does. he just sits there, broad shoulders hunched, as if you really did kick him.

your throat tightens, and you blurt the fear before you can swallow it down. “what if I get pregnant, toji? what then? what the hell happens if I’m carrying your… your kids?”

his ears flick again, and for a second, you see it—the smug spark he usually hides behind. but it fades. instead, he just exhales, heavy, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“…then it’d mean you’re mine,” he says quietly, but the pout on his lips, the way he won’t meet your eyes—it makes him look less like the predator from last night and more like a dog left out in the rain.

your arms cross tight against your chest, pacing the length of the room because you can’t stand still—not when your body’s still aching, not when you can feel his cum leaking down your thighs with every step.

“you didn’t even ask me, toji.” your voice is sharper now, less shaky, simmering with anger that’s had hours to steep. “not once. you never asked if I wanted that. if I wanted you to—” your words tangle in your throat, bile and heat rising all at once, “—to put your kids in me.”

he flinches at that. actually flinches, ears twitching down flat against his head like you just swatted him. his tail gives a miserable little flick, then drops heavy to the floor.

“…don’t want my kids?” his voice is lower, not rough or cocky like last night—quiet, almost small.

you whip around to glare at him, finding him still sitting slumped against the wall, knees bent, arms resting loose on them. his big frame looks smaller somehow when he won’t look at you, when his mouth is pulled into a pout so obvious it would be laughable if you weren’t so furious.

“that’s not the point!” you snap. “the point is you didn’t even give me a choice. you just—just did whatever the hell you wanted, like my body’s some cage for you to breed in!”

his brows pinch, and finally he looks up. pout deepens. “but you’re my caretaker,” he says, and it comes out petulant, like a child defending stolen candy. “you always take care of me. feed me. keep me warm. why wouldn’t you want… y’know.”

“why wouldn’t I want what?”

“puppies,” he mutters, almost sulky enough to sound embarrassed, but not quite. “my puppies. with you.”

you stare, stunned into silence for a moment, and he takes that as his cue to keep sulking deeper, dropping his chin onto his forearms.

“s’cause it’s me, huh? you don’t wanna have kids with me.”

“toji,” your voice breaks sharper this time, but not with anger—with sheer disbelief. “you don’t get to pout about this. you never even gave me the chance to decide if I wanted any kids at all, let alone—” you stop, throat thickening again, “—let alone yours.”

his ears twitch, shoulders hunch tighter, and he looks away with that same pathetic pout pulling at his mouth. he mutters something under his breath you almost miss.

“…wouldn’t be so bad.”

you blink. “what?”

his gaze darts up to you again, just for a second, then skitters away. “if they were yours. ours. wouldn’t be so bad.”

and goddamn it—you hate the way your chest clenches at the sight of this mountain of a demihuman pouting on your floor, looking like he’s been told 'no' for the first time in his life.

he’s quiet for a while, just sitting there, tail heavy and ears drooping. you think maybe the silence means he’s letting it sink in—that maybe he understands how serious this is.

then you feel a tug.

you look down to find his big hand wrapped around the hem of your sweatpants, tugging it lightly, insistently, like a child trying to get attention.

“toji.” your voice sharpens.

he doesn’t look up. just gives another little tug. “…don’t mean it.”

“what?”

“you don’t mean it,” he repeats, this time finally tilting his head up, ears still low but his eyes huge, bright and wet in a way you’re not used to seeing. “you do want them. my kids.”

you take a step back, but his hand doesn’t let go. his tail flicks once, slow, cautious.

“toji, stop.” you try to peel his fingers away, but he only clings tighter, holding on to fabric with a stubbornness that makes your stomach twist.

“don’t wanna stop,” he mutters, finally pushing up from the floor to kneel at your feet. god, he’s too big like this, too much—towering even on his knees, his breath warm against your stomach as he tips his head back to look at you. “don’t wanna mate with anyone else. don’t wanna pups with anyone else. just you.”

your throat closes, a sharp ache clawing at the back of it. “you don’t—don’t even understand what you’re saying.”

he presses his forehead against your belly, arms winding around your thighs now, clinging like you might vanish if he loosens his grip. his pout is gone, replaced with something rawer, needier.

“understand enough,” he says, voice muffled against the thin fabric of your clothes. “been thinkin’ about it since the first night. you smell too good. too warm. always takin’ care of me. s’posed to be you. always was.”

his nose bumps clumsily against your stomach, then lower, dragging side to side like he’s scent-marking you. when you reach down to push him off, he only buries in deeper—muffling a sound that’s too close to a whine for someone his size.

“toji,” you sigh, torn between exasperation and the tug in your chest. “you can’t just—”

he cuts you off with a low rumble in his chest, not quite words, more like a growl pitched soft. his ears twitch against your body, brushing your shirt. his tail curls around the back of your legs like he’s trying to wrap you up completely.

you stand frozen, one hand hovering over the crown of his head, torn between shoving him away and giving in. and when he nuzzles again, nose skimming your hip this time, you feel your resolve fraying thread by thread.

“…you’re impossible,” you murmur, finally dropping your hand to his hair. he tilts into it immediately, ears flicking forward, eyes closing like you’ve handed him the world.

his arms cinch tighter, almost crushing, and something in you gives out. the words slip free before you can stop them, soft but heavy in the air between you:

“i do want them.”

he goes very still.

your pulse stutters, a frantic little rhythm against your ribs, but you don't stop. you can't. your fingers, almost of their own volition, curl tighter into the softness of his hair, a silent anchor as you pull him closer, until the warmth of him is all you can feel. and the truth, once dammed up, now tumbles out. “i do want a family,” you say, and the words feel like a key turning in a lock deep inside you. “with you. i want you.”

the admission hangs there, simple and immense. but then your voice hardens, just at the edges, like cooling metal. “just... don't ever try to fuck me like that again.”

you let the silence stretch, let the warning settle in the space.

“otherwise, i won't be responsible for what will happen.”

that’s all it takes. he lets out a choked noise—half laugh, half groan—and nuzzles harder, rubbing his cheek along your belly like he can already feel it swelling. his tail thumps once against the floor, eager and heavy. “yeah yeah, got it. so bossy”

and you knew with a heavy, certain feeling that settled deep in your chest: he wasn't going to let go. not ever.

mdni & animated divider by @/cafekitsune. reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[madamechrissy]

the witch next door

As a young girl, you did a love spell - nonsense, really. He'll have amethyst eyes, long dark hair... but it never happened for you. Cursed truly - the moment you date someone they just find their true love and it's never you. Giving up on that, and living in your quaint little town as the resident witch when you run into a set of adorable twins and their dad living across the street. That's when you see him - Suguru Geto - is he the man you summoned all those years ago!? If so... will he fall into the same curse?

pairings - Girl dad! Suguru x witch! reader

warnings- rom com vibes, sweet little cozy autumn story, reader falls bad, Sugu is a girl dad, reader sucks at being a witch, the twins are matchmaking. tension and teasing, finding love again, so sweet it's tooth rotting hehe, explicit sex - fingering, oral, p in v sex, masturbation, love confessions, them being cute. - oneshot - 11.2k

This was a commission from one of my amazing supporters, based on the movie Practical Magic! I so appreciate you love and thank you so much

Some might call you a witch.

Maybe you are – cursed they all say, some old family tales of the women in your line never finding true love. Always some disaster befalls you, and you start to think it was real, think that you must be truly cursed. Dabbling in some spells in your youth, you shied away from them after every love spell just seemed to turn into them falling in love with someone else.

Friends of yours called you ‘magic’ because every guy you met and cared for seemed to fall for someone else. You suppose you’re happy for them in your own way, that you bring everyone else love and happiness, even if you’re alone you're okay with it. 

You’re living a peaceful life, running your own little shop, it’s a small town – so small that you’ve known everyone your whole life.

It’s odd to get anyone new, but you know that even if it happens, that there’s no chance really, a few weeks or months of fleeting fun, before they move on. You also are just a really bad witch, you suck at every spell, clumsy in life and in witchcraft, you never excelled like your sister - the most you can ever manage are some healing herbs and tinctures.

Your love spells are really only for finding everyone else’s love, never you.

It's a quaint little life, but you find a lot of peace in it, even if you do get a little bored at times, you’re used to it. It’s home after all, the home where everyone knows you, from the owner of every little store in town, down to every neighbor you walk by. 

They say your name with a curious, friendly smile as you walk by in your cardigans and jeans through the fall weather, some of them curious, others a little apprehensive.

Everyone knows your family are witches, and you're the last one left here, your old home is damn near a Halloween attraction. 

It's the week before Halloween too, you love to get dressed in your ‘witch gear’ and hand out candy, so the kids can run and tell all their friends - they met the town witch!

The leaves are crunching beneath your heeled boots this time of year, shivers of the chill air slipping through the soft fleece sweater. You carry a bag of little herbs you’ve gathered in your hand when you pause by the home that’s been empty for months. An old home, many assume are ‘haunted’ and they weren’t wrong, it was indeed a haunted home but you were used to that sort of thing.

At least the spirits there were pretty cool, every now and then they say hi to you.

God no wonder men run for the hills, saying you see ghosts is definitely not a topic for a hot date, now is it?

Curse or it's you ugh.

Curious who bought the old three story manor, you can’t help but walk a little closer, observing the dusty old windows, bending over at the waist to peer at just who is inside. You hear giggling of what sounds like two little girls, who run right past you as you stand awkwardly in the yard, pausing as they see you.

A little blond girl and a little brunette with matching bangs and ponytails grin happily, sucking on lollipops happily in the chilled air, each grabbing your hand now and tugging. “Hi there!”

You smile at them, they speak at the same time as if in sync, cute little girls that are tugging at your affection even just meeting them. “I’m Mimiko!”

“I’m Nanako!”

“Oh hello,” you smile at them both, as they eagerly tug you along. “Where are you taking me?”

“To meet dad!”

“You’ve gotta say hi!”

“You're pretty!”

“Oh, thank you…” You can’t help but smile curiously as they drag you inside, but when you see him you pause, faltering just a bit.

The man that's turned with his back to you is massive. He’s got a blueprint laid out on a desk, still dusty and old – left over from long ago. You see a bare back then, muscled and chiseled, hunched over slightly with his hand in his dark, silky locks, scribbling away.

Your heart races in its chest, remembering the silly spell you made as a little kid in your herb garden.

‘A tall man, long dark hair, amethyst eyes, he’ll be quiet and kind, oh and he’ll want children, he’ll want family. He’ll be strong and smart, and just a little on the eccentric side – we can’t have him too boring.’

Your sister had giggled at you, when you had picked up purple petals that you imagined of his eye color, grinning as your sister ran over. 

‘Amethyst, that’s such a crazy color!’ She'd said, touching the petals with you.

‘Well, he’s not real so – he can be as beautiful as I imagine.’

It’s just long black hair you tell yourself, you're being ridiculous! So he's tall, okay… that’s the only similarities. 

Your heart is racing just a bit in your chest, nervously shifting as the girls tug you along even closer, into the living room just dusted a bit from drywall and sawdust.

“Papa, papa!”

He’ll have a deep, husky voice.

“Girls,” he turns around then, and you pause in your tracks, thighs trembling, breaths quickening just a bit.

His eyes.

They’ll be amethyst.

You’d said it dreamily as a little girl underneath the full blood moon, but even then you never thought, never imagined that maybe it could be real. It can’t be surely, even if his eyes are amethyst, even if his dark silky hair falls a bit over his shoulders, and you see his bare chest, chiseled and cut, your eyes trail down it before you can stop yourself, flushing hotly.

He pauses as he eyes you, seeing the heat on your cheeks, something about you making him – Suguru Geto – falter just a moment, a man never lost for words and completely at ease, paused.

You’re dressed casually, soft and cozy, smelling like the autumn itself, hints of the apple orchard and cinnamon, but mostly, it’s how you just look at him like that.

Who are you?

Suguru long ago gave up on women, he had love once long ago, to the mom of these two little girls, and he couldn’t help but focus solely on them. She was lost so tragically.

Not that he doesn't see women as beautiful – especially you. He loves beauty, after all, yet nothing has stopped him in his tracks like this.

How can he pinpoint it? You're beautiful but it's not that… it's something around you, real and tangible, making his fingers twitch with the need to just touch your skin.

Mimiko is giggling and tugs you down to whisper in your ear - “Papa must think you're pretty.”

You blush even more, clearing your throat a bit, finally taking a breath and holding out your hand. “Hey new neighbor, I'm the witch next door.”

He chuckles then, a sound he's hardly made in ages it feels like, aside from when the girls do something too adorable. Little troublemakers that have him wrapped around their little fingers, always batting their lashes and looking too adorable to punish.

But to chuckle from someone else?

He sobers a bit then, realizing how easy that had been, how pretty your necklace sits between your collacollarbone. Some pendant he can't quite place, tilting his head a bit to study it, before realizing his attention was right on your breasts.

The girls run around now giggling and you smile just a bit, leaning over and touching the necklace ever so delicately. “Do you like it?”

“A witch talisman, huh?” He smirks a little and then turns, snatching up a sweater and sliding it over his head, abs flexing when he moves it across his chest. You heat up at the action, managing to stay casual instead.

“Of course it is,” you tease. Yet it was indeed just that – rose quartz, glittering a soft pink. “So your name?”

“Suguru Geto,” he's trying to be friendly, holding out a hand for you to shake, yours rests in his now, biting down on your lower lip and staring. His hand overtakes yours, swallowing it in his calloused grip.

Something about the touch lingers in his mind that night after you leave. He can't help but toss and turn, looking out the window after pacing around his room for a while. In the quiet he thinks too much, sighing and pressing aside the blinds, just to see you under the glittering light of the almost full moon in your garden.

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, sighing when you look over toward him, as if you can see the crack in the blinds. You smile just a little, turning in a little circle before bouncing back in. “Maybe she is a witch.”

****

You may or may not dress just a little sexier with hot dad neighbor across the street - it certainly isn’t intentional at all!

It’s also just coincidental that you put a little charm spell on yourself to look just a bit more ‘enchanting’ if you will. That you bat your lashes that have a little bit of mascara on them lately when you borrow a cup of sugar, or come over with extra donuts for the girls.

It’s just to be a friendly neighbor! It has nothing to do with the fact that Suguru Geto is the epitome of that love spell you made when you were a little girl, down to the smirk and how his eyes get just a bit lidded in amusement when you show up. The house is progressively coming together more and more every day you walk by, Suguru seems to be quite the handy man.

Aside from some workers most of the restoration seems to be done by his own hands, and you sure can’t complain while sitting on the front porch in your little swing after work and sipping your favorite tea.

It may or may not be a little magical brew of your own – you’re not that good at witchcraft but this one is to attract… wealth or something of course!?

Not that man putting a coat of paint on his outer wall, with leafs fluttering around him, he smiles back at you for just a friendly moment and you wave, going back to pretending to read. Then you eye him again, when his attention is off you, and the girls are laughing and running around in the leaves, crunching all underneath their feet.

You can’t help but move your fingers a bit, making the leaves swirl for them, they’re clapping and giggling as they move in the air, and your finger moves in a circle motion. Suguru peeks over at the girls and his smile melts your heart, chuckling a bit and watching curiously as they keep swirling in a figure eight motion.

He eyes you on that porch, your finger moving with them.

You’re not really a witch, are you?

Your eyes meet his and widen, then the leaves stop swirling, instead scattering all across the girls, who are jumping up and down excitedly. You hastily look back at your book, your hair falling a bit in front of your shoulders, looking so pretty in that white swing, like you need him right next to you.

Suguru wonders if you’re casting some spell on him, but he knows the moment he locked eyes with you there was clear desire, but the affection that builds every time you come by is hard to ignore. The girls adore you, frequently running over to your house to bake something with you or help you mix up herbs for your shop, shit they want you more than him sometimes.

He notices your cute little dresses and your boots, like you are the town witch how you carry on, something magical about you that’s hard to ignore. But he does ignore it a bit, because he has to focus on the girls, on getting the house together, on his business. He doesn’t have time to fall for cute little witches next door, even when they start to make him ache at night.

Even when he’s jerking his cock remembering you bending over in front of him in some little dress that’s way too little clothing for this weather earlier that week, he can remember the smooth expanse of your thighs, the curve of your ass. The hint of your black panties that had peeked right between them, made him long to grip your hips and drag you against him.

He’s peeking out that window even as he starts stroking his cock under the covers, sucking in a breath. Suguru hasn’t been with a woman in a long time, not that he couldn’t but he’s picky, and you’re this particular brand that’s driving him insane. Cute and giggly where he’s serious and quiet, warm and soft where he was a bit colder and hard to read.

Suguru wasn’t always this way, but it’s how it went, and now he’s desperately stroking his veiny length thinking of slipping his cock inside you, his cute little witchy neighbor. Bending you over and making you arch for him, a hand slammed over your mouth to keep your moans quiet when he bottomed out, stretching your perfect little cunt out.

He’s so sure it’s perfect.

All of you must be.

You’re in your room which is directly across from his, doing some little dance – surely some other spell of yours – as you get undressed, just your silhouette alone has him leaking pre. He sits up and exhales, spitting on his cock and watching the saliva drip down his tip, mixing with the pearly pre that’s coming out of his tip in spurts, making him suck in a breath.

He should feel like a pervert, watching you slip on a baggy tee shirt, the curves of your body suddenly hidden by it, when you walk over towards the window to flick off the lights, and he swears he sees the curtain move for a moment, as if you were peering at him. You flick them off and it’s dark then, his pretty show gone, but his eyes slam shut and he pictures everything.

Stroking faster he murmurs your name softly under his breath, groaning as his big hand strokes up and down faster until he busts at the thought of fucking you in a baggy shirt in your bed, shoving it up your hips and using it to yank you down his length. White ropes spill all across his hand, his eyes rolling back, breaths coming too quickly, trying to calm himself down.

You’re just pretty, he’s just being a whole pervert, he can control himself better than this.

Surely he doesn’t jerk off again that night.

****

The next morning he’s knocking on your door, he has to look at you and know he jerked himself off to you, stammering almost with a little flush on his cheeks that you’ve never seen, across the bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones as he stands there in front of you, business suit on making him look far too attractive, black and sleek following the sharp lines of his body.

You’ve seen him in one before, but this close to him makes you blush yourself, eyes flitting down his starch white dress shirt he’s still tucking into his belted waist, as if he’s in a rush. His hair’s down falling across his face rather than thrown up in his typical pony tail, making him look like he’d just jumped out of some fucking romance novel cover.

“Hi!” Your voice literally squeaks, you try to compose yourself, wrapping your cardigan around your shirt and shorts you’re wearing, the girls hug each of your thighs and you laugh softly. “Hi girls.”

“We’re coming to play!”

“You’re babysitting us!”

“Huh?” You’re laughing softly, looking over at Suguru curiously, who rubs the back of his neck, smiling a bit.

“Hey there, girls,” he admonishes, they pout all cutely. “We haven’t even asked her if she can yet.”

“Sorry!” they're pouting as they speak in unison, too cute to ever be mad at.

“You’re fine, pretty girls,” you pat their heads as they just run into your house then. “Um, come in?”

“Sorry,” he sighs. “Girls! Manners!”

They’re already familiar with your home so they’re running around and sitting on your cozy couch, Suguru hasn’t been inside your home just yet though. He eyes it carefully as you shut the door behind him, seeing a cauldron on your kitchen counter, a kitchen that has original seventies counter tops and cabinets mind you.

“You are really into this witch thing.”

“It’s for my shop! Aha…” You’re standing in front of it, waving your arms as Suguru smirks a little, hands in his pockets, looking at the old wooden cabinets.

“Have you ever considered renovating?” He walks up and touches the old press wood that is close to falling apart, humming to himself. “Some updates would really open it up.”

“I haven’t no, my parents left me this place and I’m afraid I didn’t do a thing to it,” you touch the old formica countertops that are peeling. “Haven’t even taken down the old wallpaper.”

“Well I can help if you get the materials,” he offers, the girls are climbing up onto the tall chairs, swirling around the mixture in the cauldron as he assesses the kitchen with a sharp eye. “I actually have a good buyer if you want me to order them for you.”

“How much would you charge to put it all in?” You ask, trying to see in your mind if your budget will allow.

You are doing a wealth spell tonight with the new moon though, so maybe it’ll manifest itself just like Suguru did, those amethyst eyes looking at you again, flashing back to that vivid memory. You keep telling yourself that you’re looking too much into it, that it’s nonsense.

But it’s hard to even breathe when he’s near.

“How about you help me out and watch the girls a couple times a week, and I’ll gladly put it all in for free? Fix this place all up.”

“Oh! Of course I can…” they’re giggling and talking amongst themselves, petting your cat who slinks by and jumps up on the counter, purring. “Is it okay if I bring them to the shop? I do go in a couple hours on the weekends.”

“Perfectly fine, I do most of my work at home but I have to go to a bunch of meetings the next couple weeks,” he sighs, snatching a band off his wrist and tying his hair up as he speaks. “It would help me out so much, just on the weekends if you could, the week will be fine because they have school but if you could let them hang out a little bit if I’m not here?”

“It’s no worry at all,” Suguru watches you light up as Mimiko shows you a drawing she’s done. “Oh it’s beautiful!”

The way you are with the girls makes him falter, the affection tearing at him, something he never knew he could feel. Of course he was aware of the fact that they loved you already but he’s never seen them like this. Usually his little ‘troublemaker twins’ as he called them – would chase away any nanny, any babysitter in the world. Yet they adore you.

“Will you be good for her?” He asks them now, leaning down to their level and narrowing his eyes, they nod and giggle behind their hands. “No crossing your fingers.”

“We’re not!” Mimiko says.

“No way!” That's Nanako, he rolls his eyes at them.

“Yeah you are,” he snatches their hands playfully, and they sigh. “Be good for her or I’ll get a mean babysitter instead.”

“No, no we love her!” Mimiko says, eyeing you and holding your hand. “She’s a witch!”

“Girls…”

“No, I am,” you shrug a shoulder and raise a brow now. “And I’ll put a spell to turn you both into frogs if you’re bad!”

They just laugh at you, as does Suguru, standing and realizing how close you are, when they run off, already making themselves at home. You turn to him and smile just a bit, realizing you’re still just in a tank and shorts, and your cardigan has fallen open, soft and tan against your skin.

Suguru’s eyes lower before he can stop himself, seeing your nipples perked up and pressing against the fabric, his heart races in his chest at the sight. He can even see the curve of each breast under the thin cotton, his hands twitch just slightly with the need to grip them, to mold them to his palms.

You seem to notice, they rise and fall, your breaths quicker and quicker, Suguru clears his throat and flushes more, looking back up into your eyes, faltering. “Shit, I’m sorry…”

“No, no I am wearing nothing and it’s cold,” you murmur, but you don’t close the sweater, you bite down on your lower lip instead, stepping a little closer. “It’s cold in here, isn’t it?”

“A little,” he murmurs, looking back at your old counters and touching them, trying not to act like he doesn’t want to brush those nipples with his fingers. “Thank you so much for this, really.”

“Of course, I’d love some help around here-”

Crash.

“Shit…” Suguru grimaces, as the girls crash a face, gasping out simultaneously. “I’ll buy you a new one!”

“It’s all right,” you walk over and sigh, you’ll have to try to fix it with magic a little later, you can’t scare Suguru off when he’s finally coming over. “No worries, just be careful okay?”

****

The girls were not careful.

As adorable as they are, they’re breaking and crashing anything and everything, to the point you do start trying to piece them together with your rusty magic, but you can’t even keep up with them. The cat is even joining in and scratching your old wicker furniture instead of his scratching post, being a little menace to society right along with the girls.

They’re truly exhausting even for you, but they’re so freaking cute it’s hard to stay mad, you instead try to divert their energy with the enticement of a spell.

“What kind of spell!?” Mimiko asks excitedly, while you take them out to your greenhouse, letting them run around and explore the many, many herbs that grow here.

“We’ll do a love spell!” Nanako chimes in, giggling and touching a petal.

“A love spell, hmm?” You ask, gathering some of the mugwort carefully, praying they don’t crash all of your plant pots too. “You have a crush, Nanako?”

“No, yuck!” You smile in relief. “But for dad… he really needs a push.”

“He does,” Mimiko agrees, giggling and then looking at you. “Do you like dad?”

“I mean,” you blush now, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I don’t know him very well. I’d… like to?”

“We’ll help!”

*

It’s the evening when Suguru comes back, looking a little exhausted and leaning in your doorway, smiling just a bit before he sees the mess the kids have made of your kitchen. “Oh god, how bad is it?”

“I mean… they’re rambunctious?”

“Girls!”

“No, no,” you tug him inside now, shaking your head and putting a finger to your lips. “They’re finally calming down, we’re cooking dinner.”

“Oh…” the scents hit him then, some stew that makes his tummy grumble. “Fuck, I didn’t eat.”

“What, not all day? Come on please, it's almost done!”

“Are you sure?” You just nod and take him by the hand, leading him into your cozy little dining room.

Suguru’s not sure anything you own is newer than the eighties, truly, you must love thrifting or have kept everything original.

Though something is so homey and comfortable about it all, it's still a shame to look at as a man who literally has spent years building homes. 

“It’s no imposition, the girls wanted to eat dinner here too. One less thing you have to do today, hmm?”

Suguru’s stunned for a moment, just a small gesture of help is more than he’s had in… as long as he can remember since he’s had the girls on his own. What exactly are you doing to his mind?

It's cozy, the four of you in the outdated kitchen as you scoop another helping of stew into his bowl. The way the girls devour your meal makes him wonder if he's ordering out too much, it's hard sometimes being a single father. 

On days he works Suguru barely sees the girls sometimes, and he's tired some days for their boundless energy.

With you they almost seem a little calmer, showing some actual table manners which surprises him, before they start to yawn and look a little sleepy. “You two can watch a show while we clean up,” he says softly, eyeing the bottle of wine you've pulled out. 

“One glass?” You tease, after they get snuggled up under one of your afghans, it looks like you had a crochet habit judging off all the little balls of yarn and hooks on your living room table.

“I'd love one, what kind you got?”

“A nice cabernet,” you pour him a glass slowly, letting dark red liquid half way fill up the glass you hand him. “It's a little strong.”

You put the crystal wine glass to your lips, you’re flushing just a bit as he watches you sip it, hands around the stem of the glass, sipping it and letting the rich flavor dance along your tastebuds. It’s quiet in the kitchen, the girls are already yawning and snuggling when Suguru stands, sipping his wine and coming a little closer.

“Thank you so much for today,” he murmurs, tense a bit when you look up at him under your lashes. Fuck you’re pretty. “They love you.”

“I love them too, I mean… is that totally weird to say? I feel like they’re my little nieces or something already,” you say affectionately, tugging at his heart then. “Please know I don’t mean to overstep.”

“No, that makes me happy.” He smiles and picks up his bowl then. “Let me help you with dishes.”

“Oh you don’t have to!”

“You have witch magic for them?” You smile and giggle behind your glass, grabbing your bowl as well and carrying it in with him.

“I do, look…” You pop open the dishwasher. “Tada!”

Suguru snorts and laughs, the sound so pleasing to your ears you melt just a bit more for him, looking back over your shoulder and smiling. “I’ll grab the girls’ bowls.”

It’s quiet aside from the running water and the gentle clicking of the dishes as you rinse them, taking little sips while Suguru helps you pop them in the dishwasher, you shut it and start it, leaning against the counter and brushing your fingertips across the counter. It feels perfect having them in your home, you can’t really describe it.

You don’t want to scare him away completely, so you temper it a bit. “I loved having you over for dinner.”

“Yeah?” You nod shyly, the breeze from your little kitchen window blows in gently, tousling your hair around your face.

“You three are welcome any time, truly I get a little lonely since my sister moved out.”

“Where’d she move to?” Suguru brushes a little tendril back, fingers accidentally brushing your skin, you gasp out, teeth sinking into your lower lip to bite back an embarrassing noise. He falters, clearing his throat. “Was in your face, m’sorry.”

“No, no,” his hand falls and he takes a gulp nervously. “Don’t apologize, um she found her true love and moved out of state.”

“That’s cute.”

“I dated him.”

“Huh?” Suguru blinks in confusion, and you sigh, sipping a little more wine and eyeing the two sleeping little girls on the couch snuggling. “You dated him?”

“Everyone I date, they find their ‘true love’. It’s some curse, but don’t worry – even being near me means you’ll find it.”

Suguru laughs then and you glare. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” your lips pout now, looking down and sighing. “It really is true, she’ll fall right into your lap.”

“You’re not cursed,” he shakes his head a bit now. “You’re still young.”

“Twenty five and never dated longer than two weeks, that’s usually the magic number. They find their loves, don’t laugh!”

“That’s nonsense, how much of this curse do you believe?” He finishes his drink and takes both of your glasses, eyeing your pretty lip print on the glass, rinsing it and washing it for you.

“It’s all factual, I assure you, just wait.”

Suguru just laughs at you, and you wish it wasn’t real, but you’re absolutely sure some pretty girl will end up on his doorstep tomorrow.

You carry Mimiko as he carries Nanako over to his home once they’re tuckered out, she’s snuggling to your neck all cute and precious, when Suguru looks over at you in the moonlight you’re so pretty in that moment. All smiling against Nanako’s hair, the soft white light illuminating your skin, when he quietly shows you up to their room.

The entire house looks beautiful, all redone from the new vinyl plank to the soft gray paint on fresh drywall. The girls room is everything you’d dream of as a girl, so pretty and done up with their beds, both sides of the room have their own unique little touches too. Mimiko’s has darker colors, blacks and blues with plushies, Nanako’s room is brighter and sunnier, pastels and sunny yellows.

“Suguru it’s so pretty,” you whisper, eyeing the fairy lights dancing across their ceiling, it’s beautiful and swathed in color. Suguru beams with pride and it’s adorable, as he brushes back their hair and kisses their foreheads. “I want to live here.”

“I’ll make your place just as nice,” he promises, walking out of their room and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, the hallway is dark, still smelling of fresh paint. “You pick a color scheme and I’ll work with it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you murmur, as he’s suddenly too close to you, and you inhale his scent - fresh with just a hint of musk. “It’s not a problem to watch them, I enjoy them coming over.”

“Your kitchen is going to be a work of charity, it’s that bad.”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him by his chest “They aren’t that horrible!”

“Mhm,” his hands rest on your shoulders now, you’re trembling a bit. “You’re living fifty years in the past like a little time bubble.”

“Well maybe I like the seventies,” you tease, the wine warming your bloodstream and making your cheeks flush by his proximity. “It’s retro.”

“Ancient,” he corrects, tapping your nose then, making it scrunch just a bit, his breaths slowing down then, eyes drifting to your lips. “Does your nose twitch side to side too?”

“And you’re hating on retro…” you twitch it all cutely then, making him chuckle, as he brushes his thumb across your lips without thinking.

You’re too cute, your body so warm he can feel it with his fingertips burning through the softness of your sweater with his other hand. He swallows nervously – it’s been a long time since Suguru has been with someone, and he has vivid memories of stroking it to you last night, that ache worse in your presence.

You both just stand there, eyeing each other in the darkness of the hallway, your heart hammering in your ears, pulse racing in his neck, the two of you unsure of what to do, how to move. Him, nervous after years of being alone – you terrified that the moment you kiss him, he’ll be on his merry little way with a pretty new neighbor.

Was it a curse?

Was he the one you summoned that night?

You step a little closer, his hand slides to your waist, briefly brushing across the curve of your breast, your nipples press up aching and needy underneath that top, as he steps closer to you. He’s so tall your head falls back, his shadow overtaking yours when his lips are just a breath away, tickling your own and shooting hot desire from his big hand cupping your cheek.

You feel so small next to him, the feeling is heady, making you even more needy, but all the same so scared. 

Your lips part for him now, as he starts descending, your eyes flutter shut – imagining a first kiss, only for one of the girls to cry out suddenly. Suguru panics, pulling back and opening the door. You see Mimiko has had a bad dream, up hugging her knees then calling your name too.

“Oh,” you come to her and sit on the bed, Suguru watches carefully as you soothe her back to sleep. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

He has never felt this.

Their mom passed a very long time ago, when they were born, so he hasn’t even seen someone with them, especially like you, making him long to capture that moment forever. Your gentle smile as if you’ve cast a spell of calm, he’d almost believe all of it if he wasn’t such a skeptic, that you calmed the very energy all around you all.

You look back and ease up finally, letting him walk you down the stairs to his door, opening it for you, letting the breeze sweep in over both of your overheated bodies, all flustered by the sensations of what had almost been a kiss. “Suguru… I’m not sure my budget on things-”

“I get great deals, I’ll just buy the materials.”

You blink then, shaking your head. “No, no that’s far too much for just some babysitting!”

“Really to see them like that? I…” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes so vibrant in that moment that you drown in their depths. “Worth anything.”

“Suguru…”

God, the way you say his name.

For every bit of him that wants to drag you up to his room and spread your thighs, bury himself in your cunt, another part of him is terrified to take it that far, too ruin something beautiful you have with his girls already. So he hesitates, instead kissing your forehead as sweetly as he does the girls, you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning in close to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, we’ll go over some options,” he says then, pulling back and brushing your tendrils back one more time. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Of course…”

You walk home and he watches you, waiting for you to wave at him, smiling and giggling when you walk inside, leaning back against the door.

Fuck you really, really like your neighbor, it’s past like really, a word you’re too terrified to think but that keeps echoing in your ears.

True love.

Love spell, amethyst eyes, dark hair, the smile – was Suguru Geto the man you conjured up as a little girl?

****

Suguru coming over every day almost to work on your house was far too attractive, shirtless and sweaty, while you dress the most skimpy you can, bouncing around and giggling. He acts nonchalant like he doesn’t notice, even when the girls are at school and he’s over, and you’ll lean and bend over to grab a tool for him, or a cold beer at the end of the day.

It’s easy being near you, that’s all Suguru keeps thinking, amusedly watching as you just accidentally let a strap slip off your shoulder, and he’ll adjust it right back for you, letting his fingers brush just a bit against your skin. You’d pout all cute, never directly saying what you want, though you make him jerk it every night to you like it’s just what he does now.

A routing, remembering every time you brush against him, as he starts to tear out your old ugly cabinets, replacing them piece by piece when he gets time – until it all starts to come together. What was an ugly yellow kitchen was now becoming a beautiful modern creation.

Suguru is great with his hands.

So great you can’t help but wonder how they’d feel against you, how those fingers feel inside your cunt, the thoughts alone make you touch yourself all night, knowing it’s hopeless, no matter what you try he just kisses your forehead, pats your head like you’re a little puppy.

He’s sweet, he’s caring and fun, the days blend into something that almost feels like family, the girls over constantly during the renovations, and you three get even closer than before. Showing them little healing potions and protection charms you all make for Suguru, it’s like they become more than neighbors.

They’re everything to you now.

In the span of a few months it’s become what you look forward to the most, quiet dinners after Suguru works so hard, the little talks as you catch glimpses of his life before he moved to this tiny town. A little vague and mysterious, he eventually shares more, so much more every day with you.

His wife that passed away, some of the pain he felt, a new love it was really snatched too soon. How hard it’s been alone with the girls, but how they have him wrapped around their fingers.

Yet you don’t realize one thing, because Suguru doesn’t show you yet.

You’ve got him under your spell, too.

Every time he grabs Boba for the girls, he grabs you one too, every time he gets some pretty little piece of jewelry they ask for, he makes sure to find something for you. Tiger’s eye, rose quartz, amethyst just like his eyes, wrapped in some expensive gold you know isn’t just casual.

Yet he doesn’t say it, not out loud, stopping himself every time he’d watch the girls hug you, so scared to ruin that for them.

Suguru’s not a perfect person, what if he messes up, what if you two end up done, and the girls suffer?

Yet how can he keep going on acting like he’s unbothered, like he doesn’t constantly think of you, intoxicated by your very presence, by the energy surrounding you just as much as he is your beauty, your humour, the determination as you pass by every day with your little herbs in your bag.

“Daddy, can we stay again for dinner!” Mimiko asks once things are complete almost in your kitchen – just a couple touch ups of paint to go.

“Well we don’t want to keep making-”

“Nonsense,” you bend down, hands on your knees as you get to eye level with the twins, smiling at each of them. “You all are welcome any time.”

Your eyes meet Suguru’s over the girls’ heads, smiling carefully, wondering if you should just stop trying. This isn’t some rom com, there’s no fix to your ‘curse’ truly, he may not have found a love yet, but he would.

You have to enjoy him while he’s here.

When Suguru eats with you all that night, he can hardly take his eyes off you, prompting Nanako to run up to you and whisper in your ear –

“That spell worked, dad is in love.” You laugh softly, entertaining her and whispering conspiratorily back.

“You and Mimiko are witches!"

She giggles with delight, and you feel his gaze, wondering just how long you have until he moves on, as the curse goes.

But that night as a kid keeps replaying in your head, picking those petals.

Amethyst eyes.

*****

“It’s all done,” Suguru says a couple of weeks later, nothing has happened since that night alone, when you two had been so close to kissing.

Was it the curse in action?

You panic a bit knowing he may not come over much anymore, plastering on a smile you don’t really feel. “It is all done! Suguru, how could I ever repay you, really? It’s all so beautiful…”

“No need to thank me, you’ve done so much for the girls,” he looks over to where they’re sleeping on your couch again, snuggled up all cute. “They love it here a little too much, huh?”

“I love them here too much,” you look up then, taking a breath for courage. “I love you all here too much.”

It’s quiet, then.

Suguru’s eyes lock on yours, wearing one of those thin little dresses and your big open sweater, he can see your nipples press up through that thin material, making him ache to suck them, to feel them. He’s barely able to keep his sanity, to keep his control anymore, so afraid to open up again…

That he may lose this chance, a chance at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, shaking your head and looking down at the sweet tea glass set on the table, condensation cooly dripping. The fan overhead does nothing to cool you down, neither does the sip of that golden iced tea, even if it’s cool outside – you’re burning up. “That’s too far.”

Suguru steps closer as you back a bit, into the kitchen, hidden in the darkness so that his shadow’s cast over yours along the wall. He cups your face carefully, like you’re special, like you’re so delicate, while his other hand grips a hip, his chest rising and falling with his nerves.

“I haven’t felt this in a long time… I haven’t ever felt this,” his words make you melt, your eyes blinking back tears while he gently speaks, his voice just a breathy whisper. “I want to break your ‘curse’ you think you have, okay?”

“The ‘never finding love’ curse?” He nods, smiling just a bit, you inhale his musky scent and let it fill your senses, his body heat seeping against yours.

Every breath, every movement, every look is special to him.

It’s you.

“But what if now that we… fall in love… you find your-”

Suguru kisses you quiet.

The first uninterrupted kiss from Suguru Geto was the sweetest thing you’ve ever had in your life.

It tastes of that sweet tea you’d brewed him, mixed with something distinctly Suguru. Like velvet against your tongue, your hands slipping up over his chest, slipping around his neck – fingers entwining in those silky locks. Your lips part, gasping as he slips his tongue in your mouth, slowly exploring the depths of it.

His kiss is slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world with you, not something that shocked you though, no, everything about that first kiss felt perfect, the warmth spreading through your body slowly, burning through your veins. The ache in your tummy was sweet and building, like the sugar on his lips from the drink, still just a little cool.

His hand comes to press on the small of your back, tugging you closer as Suguru loses himself in that moment, in this kiss. He’s moaning softly, pressing you against that table now, long fingers cupping your face while his head tilts, and the kiss gets hungry. You’re desperately arching, craving friction as his thigh presses up between your swollen folds, making your clit twitch as you start dripping.

He moans out softly, lifting you so quickly you gasp out, biting down on your lower lip to try to keep your noise down. His lidded eyes gaze down at you, your swollen lips and dilated pupils meeting his. “Should we slow down?”

“God no, I mean!?” He laughs softly, his hands slipping up the sides of your thighs and dimpling the skin under his touch, lips pressing over and over as you roll your hips, thighs now on either side of his. “Mmm, don’t slow down.”

“I’m not gonna stop if we keep going,” he whispers hoarsely, a hand behind you on that table, the cool wood pressed against your skin. “Been wanting you for too long.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” his lips press a hot trail down your neck, moaning softly against your neck, grinding you against his length underneath his jeans, watching your pretty eyes roll back. “Of course it’s you.”

Suguru’s kissing you again, sucking down your every bit of saliva like he’s thirsty for it, tongues dancing together with that deliberate slowness, his cock leaking and waiting to press up inside you, fill you. He’s aching to taste you everywhere, taste your sweet skin, your pretty cunt, the roundness of your breasts and those nipples pressing against his chest..

“This slutty little dress,” he murmurs then, shocking you for a moment at the change of tone. Your breath catches when he leans back, slipping the straps down your bare shoulders, the thin nylon flimsy as it falls. “You wear them to torture me, huh princess?”

“Princess,” you whisper softly, kissing him again when he lifts you in his arms like you’re nothing, walking you carefully towards your room, the door shutting behind you quietly, only for him to press you against it.

“Mhm…” He pulls back, holding you by your ass, your cunt dripping and needy. “Princess.”

“I’m more of a witch than a princess.”

Suguru chuckles and brushes your hair back ever so gently, leisurely, like he wants to savor every moment. Even as you arch and wriggle, craving his nearness, his touch, Suguru teases you with calloused fingers, rough from how he works with those hands across your skin. His fingers grip your hips, thumbs pressing your pelvis, your back against the door.

“A witch, hmm?” You giggle softly, looking up at him under your lashes, he lifts your dress up your hips now, slipping a finger inside your panties. “Well, little witch, you're just soaked."

“Mnh… you should know one thing about me,” you gasp as he laps his tongue against your neck, tracing the curve delicately. “Before we…”

“What is it?” You tremble as he presses you closer against him, carrying you over to your bed, unmade with so many pillows he has to shove them off, earning your soft breathy laugh. “Besides the fact you have a messy little room.”

“I didn’t know you’d be up here,” his lips trail across your collar bone, your hands entangle in his silky locks that are falling against your skin, caressing it while his fingers tug down your dress.

“Wearing the most easy little dresses to mess with me,” he slips it off in one motion, leaving you in just panties, exhaling when he sees your body. You should feel a little nervous but instead you’re arching for him, breasts begging for attention, as he studies you. “What do I need to know, hmm? Before I have you cumming so hard you fall apart for me?”

“Oh… mnh!” Suguru’s gripping those panties now, easing them down your trembling thighs, savoring every inch of your body with his darkened gaze. “Well… I may have made a love spell and… I think it was you.”

You expect him to laugh, but you’ve already woven so much magic in his life, he leans back, slipping off that soft sweater to show his body to you, those thick arms with bands tattooed around the biceps, flat brown nipples with those chest muscles pressing up. You suck in a breath when his gaze hits your cunt, watching it drip.

“You made a love spell, little witch?” He asks, stepping closer and undoing his belt, the clink echoing, opening it to reveal a hint of that dark patch of hair right above his cock. “What kind of spell?”

“I was young,” you sit up, a hand slipping down every rippling abdomen, hearing his soft moan in response as you trace every one, your hand tugging his zipper, looking up at him under his lashes. “Amethyst eyes. Dark hair. And a laugh, soft and deep. He’ll be loving and caring, want a family.”

Suguru halts then, his cock straining as you lower his boxers, he lets you watch it spring free, falling heavy and thick, leaking pretty pearly spurts. He sucks in a breath as you stroke him, leaning over and lapping some of it up with your tongue as he stands before you, hands entangling in your hair.

“A spell, I knew it,” he murmurs, while you wrap his tip with your lips and he tries not to bust then and there, moaning softly at the warmth of your mouth. “As addicted to you as I am.”

You pull back, saliva dripping down your lips now. “Addicted?”

His answer is pressing you down on that bed, hovering over you, big hands taking over every inch of your body. “You think I don’t notice every little thing you do? Hah…” he laughs softly, shaking his head, scooching you up your bed so that he can lay between your thighs, his body laying hot over you. “Show me a little spell then, let me see.”

“Yeah? You sure you won’t get spooked?” you raise a brow, he shakes his head. “I’m not the best witch but…”

You see flowers by your bed, the ones the girls had picked and brought over because he thought they were pretty. You lean up on your elbows, concentrating and moving your fingers, Suguru watches as you make them swirl up.

“Oh shit,” he watches in wonder, he’d had a feeling you were the one doing the leaves, but this just confirms it all, you let them fall gently, grinning over at him now. “You got impossibly sexier.”

You giggle but it’s cut off when he’s all over you, your bare cunt soaking his abdomen in need, making it slick. Suguru’s whispering your name mixed with – little witch – mouth trailing kisses down the valley between your breasts, mouth bolder, hands kneading the soft flesh of your tits. You arch and whimper out, just how good he feels, descending lower and lower.

Those raven tresses brush against your bare thighs, hand pressing on your tummy where there’s so much pressure, until he’s nestled his shoulders between your spread thighs, breath ghosting your clit. It jumps at attention when he parts your lips with two fingers, watching that drool just pool out of your little hole now.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, your thighs are shaking, breaths coming in little pants while your hands clench his shoulders – nails pressing into his skin. “Look at you.”

“Sugu what are – ah!” He’s pressed a filthy kiss right on your hood, tongue dipping in a tease just to gather some of that slick, you’re gripping his shoulders so hard they leave marks, body trembling underneath him in need.

“I’m gonna taste your pretty cunt,”  he murmurs, cooing almost and smirking as he strokes your folds with his two fingers, the backs of them brushing up and down your slit. “See how many times you cum, but…”

He puts your hand on your mouth, and you nod.

“Stay a little quiet for me this time, but as soon as I have you alone? You’ll scream so much you can’t even talk.”

Fuck.

You’re soaking wet and hot when his fingers tease up that slit again, making you jerk with the touch, your free hand grips his hair, hips arching up. “Yeah, you want it princess? My mouth?”

“Please…” You whisper then, gasping and covering your mouth once more when he makes his first filthy lick, from your drooling hole to your teeny little clit, groaning out at your taste.

“Fuck, sweeter than anything,” he’s sinking two fingers inside you, and he curls them just right, while his tongue flicks that clit, making stars explode behind your eyelids.  

"Fuck," you whimper right back, barely able to keep it down, biting on your lower lip and looking at the amethyst eyes you’ve dreamed of, already pussy drunk off a couple sips of your messy cunt. “Ngh…”

“S’tight, f-fuck…” Suguru’s losing his calm, lazy demeanor, pumping your cunt up and down with so much pressure you can’t take it. “That’s it, you’re taking them so well, even though it’s such a stretch.”

“Mhm!” Your answer is a jerky little nod, as you writhe underneath him, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat while he sucks your clit in his hot mouth, juices just pouring down his pretty face.

“Too tight,” he whispers, your cunt gripping his fingers like a vise, he eases the strokes, flicking his tongue up and down your clit over and over, pushing you over the brink, you cling to the blankets to try to stay stable. 

“It’s… been a while,” you admit breathlessly, arching into his touch, hearing the embarrassing squelching of your cunt just echoing in your quiet room, his eyes lock with yours then, his fingers curling as he speaks – methodical, knowing just where to press inside you.

“For me too,” he admits, you’re surprised then, lips opening and closing like you just don’t know what to say. “You’re worth waiting for, would fucking drown in it, die just like this.”

“Sugu…” He pauses at the nickname, the affection tearing at his chest before he dives back down, lifting your ass up and dragging you even higher as his mouth descends, sealing over your clit with ruthless suction – slurping sounds obscene.

You’re slamming a hand down on your mouth, back arching, your tits bouncing as he watches you under dark lashes, mouth ruining you right with his thick fingers. Your cunt spasms around them as you’re closer and closer, and he can simply feel it, you don’t have to say the words.

Suguru knows you’re cumming.

He pulls back for a quick breath with strings of saliva and your arousal dripping between your cunt and his swollen mouth, eyeing you fucking hungrily while his cock presses against your matress, just aching for release. Suguru works you relentlessly, knowing every part of you like he’s the magical one, and you’re barely able to keep in any way quiet.

Your hips shift and move side to side so much he pins them, your thighs on his shoulders while his tongue moves in broad, flat strokes up your slit and then quick flicks on your clit, mixing with a sharp little nip of his teeth that makes your eyes roll back in your skull. Your toes curl and press into the soft blankets as that tension tightens in your tummy, pushing you right over the edge.

“Cum,” he orders softly, and how can’t you, when he adds his fingers back inside you – three now with one just barely inside at the fingertip, thickness just stretching you obscenely right along with his tongue relentless on your clit.

Of course you cum, of course you shatter.

You have to cling to him with one hand – nails pressing in and leaving crescent moons on his skin, as those fingers fuck you right with his tongue’s rhythm, your eyes shut as the release rocks you, and Suguru drinks it all up, lapping every squirt of arousal gushing as you scream into your palm.

It’s so hot, like the room is suddenly a humid summer afternoon, with the sweat dripping as it rushes through your veins. He presses every bit of that orgasm out of you, greedy and smirking when he finally pulls back just a bit, watching you twitch and whine out, your cunt still shooting up his forearm with those spasms.

“One,” you gasp out.

“One!?”

“Need more, so much fuckin’ more,” your eyes roll back once more as his mouth is lapping at your now messy, sloppy cunt. "Look at me."

The order, soft and lazy like his previous kisses makes you snap your eyes open quickly. Hair damp with sweat clings just a bit in strands to your brow, as he watches the little mess he’s made you, dying to fuck into you.

But he wants that first stroke for you to cum right around him, to milk his cock – he can’t wait to put so much cum deep inside you.

“Wanna see those pretty eyes when they roll back f'me,” he’s back down, fingers scissoring now past the point of overstimulation while his tongue keeps flicking faster and faster. “Mmm…”

He can’t help but almost cum just from your sweetness, like your cunt is just as magical as all of you, heady and addictive. His fingers and tongue along your already sensitive and swollen clit is too much, you barely remember to hold back your cries as your back arches off the bed, and Suguru Geto is drinking your squirting release like a man dying of thirst.

He finally lets go of his suction, seeing the weak and boneless mess he’s made of you and relishing in it, kisses just a little softer and easier now, his soft laugh making you jerk. “Need something, little witch?”

“Inside me,” you gasp out then, he languidly kisses your inner thighs, teasing and ghosting his breath and relishing in how you react. “Please, f-fuck…”

“Needy witch,” he leans up finally, face embarrassingly coated in you, arms on either side while his fingers ease out with a messy pop. He puts those fingers to his mouth, not wasting a single drop of your perfect cunt, as you watch him, lips parted, cunt spurting out even more as you eye his pretty, thick cock again. “Need my cock inside, three fingers not enough?”

Your answer is to yank at him, tugging him up your body, and kissing him deep and messy, not the ease he takes kissing you – no.

You’re frantic, desperate, never having felt anything like the pleasure he’s just brought you, tasting yourself on his tongue as he drools right in your mouth and moans out. His cock is heavy and hot against your inner thigh, decorating your skin in pretty little patterns, spurts of white trailing down as your fingers slip down his body.

You grip his cock in your little hand, earning his choked out breath, moving them up and down as he moans, losing control at the feeling of your fist. He lets you position it against your slick cunt, rubbing it up and down that messy slit that just echoes with every movement.

“Want me to cum inside you, huh?” He asks, husky and deep, his eyes gone black and narrowed lazily, while his fingers are digging into the meat of your hips. “I won’t leave that perfect little cunt once I’m in there.”

“I want it,” you say – even as you’re blushing in the dark. “Fuck me Sugu, please.”

Your little plea ruins him.

He lines himself up, kissing you again slow and gently, as he presses that thick head against your soaked hole – even so wet and ready it’s tight and gripping him so good he almost busts inside. He curses quietly, just holding there, no amount of jerking his cock to you prepared him for this, for the way your cunt grips him with that tight ring of muscles.

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he says hoarsely, and pushes in slowly, stretching you wide and deeper than even his thick fingers could ever manage. Suguru is thick, and far bigger than you’ve had.

You cry into his mouth and try to take him, feeling that fullness from just an inch or two, pretty blushed tip just leaking and pressing on that spongy spot in your walls. “Ah!”

“Shh, relax f’me,” he orders, as your legs are locking around his hips, trembling. “Relax, princess.”

“Witch,” you tease, managaing to laugh ever so softly, when he pulls back and smirks.

“Be a good witch,” he taunts softly – then he fills you completely, inch by thick inch buried inside your cunt so deep. “And take all of me. Can you?”

You nod even as you’re completely unsure, your cunt milking him instantly for all he’s got, as he pulls back and lifts your hips up, moaning at the sight of your tummy just bulging with him. “Fuck,” he groans out at the sight. “Look at us.”

You do just that, heating up at the sight and gasping out, watching it move when his cock just drags along your inner walls, the ones that spasm as hips snap forward sharply.

“Mnhh!”

“That’s it,” he murmurs as he bottoms out, grinding his hips so that he’s leaned back over you, hairs tickling and pressing your twitchy, oversensitive clit. You try to breathe, to take him, nails sinking into his well muscled back and scratching. “Can you take me really fucking you?”

“I can… I can…” He teases more, just rolling his hips, letting you adjust to his sheer massive size, smirking a bit as you wriggle – finally gasping out – “Move, please. W-want you to.”

“Anything for my pretty witch,” he whispers, as he pulls out slowly, dragging himself against your spot, making you whine at the loss before slamming back in hard. “Feel you takin’ me, s’good….”

“Ngh!” Your pornographic moan rips from your throat when he lifts your thighs, his dark hair falling across your breasts, eyes locking.

You take his breath away.

He takes your breath away.

There’s this moment, this perfect moment where your eyes meet, and everything that’s ever not made sense does.

His hands press up your thighs, leaning over you and giving you the sweetest kiss, as if he realizes it to.

Then…

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, princess, gonna be my little witch,” his words barely make it to your ringing ears when he begins to really move.

Suguru Geto is no longer lazy and teasing - no he’s fucking into you at a brutal pace, thrusts fast and hard and just filthy as you’re so wet it’s mesys, it’s damn near embarassing. Sliding in easier and easier with each push, balls slapping on your ass harder and harder, the smacking and squelching sounds mixing with your muffled little cries, his lips swallowing them as he folds you in half.

You’re whining out desperately into his lips, already close to shattering again underneath him, when he moans your name and pauses, biting your neck and letting your thighs fall to the side. “Turn over.”

You’re eager to obey, turning around and pressing your ass up in the air for him, pretty cunt already pushing out his milky cum, earning his desperate moan as he runs his fingers up and down your slit. 

“That’s it, been fuckin’ dreamin’ about you,” Suguru says, all needy now as he grabs your hips, bringing your ass against him. “Use that pillow, you’re gonna need it like this.”

You take his hand and he obeys, shoving you into those pillows and beginning to fuck you from the back – so deep it’s painful, your cries muffled against the bed while his cock works, slamming inside of you and bruising your cervix. His leaky tip is just pouring spurts onto your cervix as he leans over you, prone position.

“Need to see your face,” he murmurs, studying you with his thumb slipped inside your mouth to keep you hushed. “Pretty little witch, gonna take all this cum?”

“Y-yes, yes - ngh!” He slams his mouth on yours to drink your cries, your orgasm wrecking you, blackness making you dizzy as he starts stuttering his hips, murmuring your name over and over.

“Take all of it, hah - can you?”

You’re nodding, biting down on his fist he offers as he slams into you one last time, burying himself against your snug cervix, hot white ropes just flooding you, hot and thick. You clench around him in response, pushing your own pleasure over the edge, both of you falling off it.

“S-Sugu…” You’re trembling, your cunt still milking every drop, you’re breathless, dizzy, when he collapses on top of you, still buried deep inside, his breath tickling your neck in hot little pants.

“Fuck…” He’s kissing across your shoulder, teeth nipping teasingly, hands roaming your body greedy, like he wants to remember every moment. “Good girl.”

You giggle and blush,  as you both pant against each other’s skin. His lips find yours again in a slow, lazy kiss, tasting of sweat and sex.

“I mean good witch,” he murmurs against your mouth, he tugs you to him on your side now. Studying you as you both come down. “I actually believe you now.”

“I told you, but I'm like… diet witch? Witch lite?” He chuckles and shakes his head, your hand rests over his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your palm. He's still embarrassingly sliding out of your hole slowly, dripping onto his thigh.

“I want to break your curse,” Suguru Geto says lovingly, holding you close against him while his hands move soothingly up and down your back. You look up at him, tremulously smiling, tears swimming and making your vision blur.

“You do?” You ask, leaning up to kiss that cleft on his chin, your own hands pressed on his chest.

“I do, your little spell more than worked,” you giggle, feeling blissful in his arms, sticky hot cum dripping down your thighs, you’re languid as he pulls you so close, feeling so safe and right with him. “Got me bad, too.”

“Mimiko and Nanako helped,” you admit, giggling again. “They did another spell for us.”

“I’m raising witches?” His brow rises and he observes your grin. “So I’ll have a family full of witches then?”

“Call it a coven,” you whisper, kissing his hand and taking it, pressing it against your chest. “You’ve already got a witch's heart.”

“Three witches with me wrapped around their fingers,” you’re crying then, he swipes a tear with his fingertips, studying you and sighing now. “I didn’t think I’d ever find…” He trails off.

“Love.” You finish, carefully, quietly.

He nods, swallowing nervously now, before pressing you on your back, hand sliding up the curvature of your frame achingly slow. You’re sore and throbbing from him, as he brushes your cunt again, feeling your cunt twitch around him and smirking now.

“I do love you, little witch,” he whispers against your ear, lips tickling the shell of it. “Fallen in love from your spell.”

“Well I summoned you,” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “I did!”

“I kind of believe you…” He leans up and tilts your chin with two fingers, tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

“I love you, Suguru Geto. I want you and them to stay… for as long as you ever want to.”

“Oh my pretty witch,” he leans up and presses against you again, cock coated in your entrance, it spasms – already fucked out and sore, but needy for more. “I’m never letting you go.”

As he enters you achingly slow, and you lose yourself under his heavy weight, you realize that curse wasn’t a curse at all.

You were just meant to wait for him –

for the boy with amethyst eyes.

I hope you all enjoyed thisss !!

Patreon here for extra fics <3 - commissions info here

[mooningningg]

"𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬."

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

drabbles + fluff,

touchy - possessive - baby - another girl - bruised and bleeding - flirty - leaving your niece with him - silent treatment - you get drunk - tiktok feed - He comes home drunk - argument - gojo hits on you - bikini - He hosts a party in the house - his girl - spin the bottle - He kisses you - spider - he meets your parents - cat - halloween - friends reaction to u dating him - date - shitty friend -

smut,

the tension finally breaks - crossing the line - how sex is w him

drabbles + fluff + mentions of nsfw,

drive thru - noisemaker - pregnancy scare.

© 寧寧 | 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, All rights reserved. Do not copy, reproduce, translate, or adapt any part of my work without my written permission.

[mooningningg]

ぜ | fluff

Dad!Toji was different when it comes to dealing with a problem at his son's school.

The car ride to the school is tense.

Your leg bounces furiously while Toji drives with one hand on the wheel and the other arm slung casually over the console like you're not two seconds from exploding.

“I said I’ll handle it,” he mutters, glancing at you.

“Handle it?” you snap, eyes sharp. “You taught him how to fight, Toji!”

“Doesn’t mean I told him to break a kid’s nose,” he counters.

“He’s nine!”

Toji shrugs like that’s a technicality. “He’s a strong nine.”

You groan and rub your temples, your worry bubbling just beneath your anger. “What kind of elementary school fight ends with a kid missing a tooth?”

“The winning kind.”

You shoot him a glare so lethal he finally stops smirking. Mostly.

When you both enter the principal’s office, the air is thick with tension.

Megumi sits stiff in a plastic chair, arms crossed, scraped knuckles resting in his lap. He looks down, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line. You can tell he’s bracing himself for a scolding.

Beside him sits a kid with tissue stuffed in his nostrils, a loose tooth in a ziplock bag, and a pair of parents who look one insult away from starting a second round.

The principal straightens behind the desk, trying to maintain control. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to speak in person because this incident was... serious.”

You fold your arms. Toji doesn’t bother sitting.

The principal continues. “According to several students, Megumi responded physically after the other student—” he gestures to the wounded boy “—called him a ‘fatherless bastard’ and said his mother was—well.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Inappropriate.”

You blink. Toji’s fingers twitch.

“There will be consequences,” the principal adds. “Megumi will serve a one-week suspension and write an apology.”

Toji huffs a short breath. “Tch. That’s generous, considering the little punk’s still breathing.”

The mother gasps. “Excuse me?! Your delinquent son assaulted our boy!”

“He defended himself,” Toji snaps, tone sharp enough to slice glass. “You wanna raise a little shit who talks like that, expect a broken nose or two.”

“You’re all clearly violent,” she hisses, turning to you. “No wonder your son’s such an animal, with a mother like that—”

You cut her off before she can finish.

“My son is disciplined. He’s respectful, quiet, and kind. And the only reason your son’s sitting here with a bruised ego instead of a broken jaw is because mine still had restraint. So before you insult my parenting, maybe ask yourself why your child thought it was okay to talk about someone’s family like that.”

There’s a pause.

Toji whistles low. “Damn. That was hot.”

The other kid’s father scowls. “Your household clearly lacks any sense of structure. A woman like you raising a boy—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Toji interrupts, taking a slow step forward. “You think you’re fit to talk about parenting? I’m right here, asshole. Say that again.”

The dad pales. Sits down. Quickly.

“Didn’t think so.”

The principal clears his throat again. “Well. I think we’ve covered enough for today.”

In the car, it’s quiet at first.

You twist around in your seat, staring Megumi down. “I don’t care what he said. You do not get to put your hands on other kids. Do you understand me?”

Megumi nods, staring at his knees.

“You’re not in trouble,” you add, a little softer, “but this can’t happen again.”

“…Okay,” he mumbles.

Toji hums. “Not bad, though.”

You glare at him. “Toji.”

“What? He went low, Megumi countered high. Knocked the kid off balance, got one to the ribs, finished clean. That’s textbook.”

You groan. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“I’m just saying,” Toji smirks in the rearview mirror, “next time, angle left. Most kids drop their guard on their dominant side.”

Megumi, quiet as ever, cracks the tiniest smile.

You lean your head back and sigh.

God help you—there’s two of them now.

[odorefal]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ how to fake date with fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna .ᐣ very much limited experience.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who agreed with his teammates – get a girlfriend before the season’s over. he just didn’t expect to want more than just the win.

he just needs to dodge some girl who’s been aggressively flirting with him, and you need an excuse to avoid a creepy dude who won’t stop texting you.

“we’ll fake date," sukuna proposes with that cocky smirk. “it’s not like we’ll catch feelings or anything.”

“are you sure? i don’t want that creep to bother me for the 56th time this week.”

“trust me, sunshine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would take the acting slow but convincingly. he would start with holding your hands publicly while telling his dry jokes to you so all the people would believe him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would brushing his thumb over your hand. he’d play it cool — but the way his hand tightened in yours would give him away.

“it’s all for the show,” he would say.

but the way your fingers intertwine with his says otherwise.

“does it really have to be like this?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would would wrap one of your hair ties or bracelets around his wrist during every game, claiming it’s his ‘lucky charm.’ if you ever ask about it, he’ll say, “worked last time, didn’t it?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who constantly reminds himself that you’re just friends — even when his heart races every time you smile at him.

err . . . you’re just a good friend to him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would slowly realize how pretty and captivating you are. from the way your eyes stare at his when you ramble about your day to him to the way your lips seem to soft while you speak, he just wants to feel how soft it is.

when you mentioned liking someone else, he would sit beside you, fists curling at his sides. his face would stay blank, but his voice would darken. “he better not disappoint you.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who think you deserve better than that trashy guy you mentioned. and he’s the best.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would sneak you into his team’s closed practice.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who always reserves the spot next to him — bus rides, team meals, wherever. if anyone tries to sit down, they’ll be greeted with a warning glare and clipped, “taken.”

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would raise an eyebrow when you suggest to have a matching phone charms with him – just for fun. but he’II just shrug it off and let you pick which one you like.

when you actually really get him a matching phone charm, and even though it’s small and kind of cutesy, he’d attach it to his phone without hesitation.

front and center in the team’s photo, fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna’s fake girlfriend’s bracelet is right there on his wrist, and his matching phone charm would peeks out of his pocket proudly. if you say anything, he’ll just chuckle.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would take you out on a date to keep up on the act. but the way his thumb brushes your knuckles? that doesn’t feel fake. the way he’II hold your hand with him and place it in his pocket? doesn’t sound too fake either.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would using you as an excuse.

“can’t go out tonight — my girlfriend doesn’t allow me.”

oh, you both know that’s a massive lie.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would carry your bag since it seems to heavy for you. (even when it’s not, for certain times.)

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would feel if he will loses a game or feels like he underperformed, he’ll drag you to the gym late at evening or night, you call it.

sweat drips down his forehead as he sinks another shot. “49,” you call out. sukuna’s breathing is ragged, but he looks at you sitting there, waiting — and that’s all he needs to finish strong.

after the 50th shot, sukuna collapses on the floor, chest heaving. you walk over and drop down next to him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. he doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours.

gasps and shouts would fill the gym when the members saw you wearing sukuna’s jersey. “since when?” someone demands. fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna kisses your temple. “since they’re mine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who never shows it, but he does get nervous before big games.

he won’t say it outright, but you’ll catch him squeezing your hand a little tighter or resting his forehead against yours.

you later then would give your hair tie to him, telling that it’II be a silly “good luck” charm for him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who would open his wallet before his game begin, revealing a polaroid of you wearing his jersey number under the sunlight. he suddenly needs to be remember who he’s playing for.

he would spot you the second he steps onto the court. his eyes would narrow slightly, that nervous, yet cocky smirk tugging at his lips when you catch his gaze.

if he makes a shot, he’d turn toward you, wiping sweat from his brow and flashing you a knowing grin — like you’re the only one he’s playing for.

when his team scores, he would glance at you in the stands, lifting his chin as if to say, did you see that, sunshine?

if you cheer for him, his smirk would deepen, and you’d catch the subtle way he straightens up — fueled by the fact that you’re watching. if you smile or wave at him, he’d bite back a grin before turning back toward the game.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would exclaimed energizedly as his team scores.

sukuna would walk straight toward you, ignoring his teammates’ cheers, would grab your wrist and pull you close, sweat-slick and breathless. “i told you, you’re my good luck charm," he’d murmur before brushing his thumb across your jaw.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who doesn’t care how sweaty he is — he will hug you immediately after his games.

“miss me?” he’ll question, pressing a kiss to your temple while you complain about how gross he is. “you’re smelling like rotten eggs with outdated pickles.”

you give him a playful judgemental look.

he just laughs warming-ly – except his teammates eyeing him up and down for noticing how soft he has been with you.

[reignpage]

What Am I Now?

Synopsis: in which everything falls apart in one night because of a bad argument between you and Toji Warnings: angst, major character death, hurt/no comfort, f!reader, lots of swearing, grief, some description of bodily injury but nothing graphic, there's no light in this tunnel like fr, not proofread Word Count: 5.2k

“I just don’t understand why you’d rather go to the bar than sit here with me?”

Toji scoffs. “All we fucking do is sit here. What’s so bad about me taking a break and getting some air?”

“A break?” Your hands are flying, waving about as if they could get it through his head how ridiculous he sounds. “You want a break from me? So, what, I’m this horrible monster you just can’t wait to get away from?”

This argument has been going on for hours at this point, with neither of you willing to cave. It started with you, in comfy pyjamas and face mask, preparing dinner and super excited to watch a new movie on Netflix with your boyfriend, but when he came out of the shower, he was in jeans and a shirt without stains. You both looked just as incredulous as each other. He said he was going out. That he had told you. And you were sure he hadn’t because if he had, then you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of making a hearty meal, laying out the snacks and his very own matching pjyamas. 

Slowly, like he thinks you can’t understand anything when it’s said at a normal pace, he answers, “I didn’t say that. You’re acting fucking crazy, woman. Look, I’m going out to the bar, with my friends, and that’s that. You can do all the shit you wanted to do on your own.”

He’s walking to the door now, grabbing a jacket on the way. Stomping over to him, you get in the way, blocking his exit with a furious glare. There’s no way this conversation’s ending like this, with him deciding it’s the end, with him getting what he wants and your feelings being trampled all over because he’d rather drink himself to death than cuddle on the sofa with you.

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, I said, ‘no.’ You’re not going. We have to talk about this.” Toji opens his mouth, disbelieving and growing more irritated with every syllable you utter, and you know he’s going to ask what the fuck you mean about ‘this,’ so you get the words out before he does, “This. Us. Our night. Our home. Why don’t you want to be with me?”

Rolling his eyes, he bulldozes past you, pushing you to the side. You don’t let him. You’re tugging on his jacket, nails digging into the thick material. He can’t go. What if he never comes back?

The words that have been thrown around tonight are sharp edged swords, though they don’t dig deep, they weave several shallow cuts that sting. No ambulance to rush you away, no hospital to take you, no surgeon to sew you back up. You just bleed out, alive and wobbling away. 

Clearly beyond done, Toji grunts, easily shrugging off your pathetic attempts to hold him back. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about and I don’t want to hear it right now. Just get out of the way.”

“No, answer me.”

Pitiful fists smack into his chest in a flurry. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t even flinch. You want to make him hurt. That ache inside your chest, the one that’s holding onto the tears that threaten to stream down your face, that’s driving you insane – you want him to feel it. You want him to care.

Toji doesn’t relent. Instead, he stands there, an immovable statue sculpted by someone else, and pinches his nose. “Just stop.”

“No. Why are you always leaving? Huh? Why can’t you just stay? What’s so fucking wrong with me that you don’t want to have dinner and watch a movie with your girlfriend?”

“Because you’re suffocating me!” He bellows. 

You stumble back.

“I can’t fucking breathe. God, I can’t even think without you nagging me. ‘Let’s get dinner,’ ‘let’s go to a museum,’ ‘let’s wear matching shirts.’ It’s never enough for you. For fuck’s sakes, I just want to be able to put my feet up, drink beer and not have to cater to every fucking whim of yours like I’m some goddamn dog.” Combing a hand through his hair, he breathes through his nose. He’s losing steam – you can see it in the way his shoulders fall and he shakes his head, slowly, weary and fatigued. Then, with a quieter, gentler, more desperate tone, he asks, “I see you everyday and you still want more? You ain’t tired of this shit? Of all the fake coupley shit that you think we have to do otherwise we’re frauds? You haven’t had enough? ‘Cause I’m growing pretty fucking sick of all the bullshit.”

Speechless, you just keep as still as you can, feeling mighty small under the weight of his words. You’ve never seen Toji like this. Usually he’s passive, allowing you to ramble on and on about whatever’s filling your mind, even when you’re mad at him, when he’s heard your story a million times before, and even in your worst moment when you bait him into chasing after you. Through it all, your boyfriend took your insecurities and flaws like a champ. 

Now he’s done. Now he’s been backed into a corner and there’s nowhere else for him to go except past you. 

It’s unclear to you what expression you wear on your face; you can really only focus on that hollow sinkhole widening in your heart. Something about your eyes makes his close tight. Toji breathes once, twice, and says, “We’ll talk later. I’m late.”

And then he leaves. 

His jacket is dangling from your clutches and it’s suddenly so heavy. Tears threaten to fall. You don’t let them, even when your bottom lip wobbles and so does your balance. Heaving, you lean against the wall.

How did it all fall apart so quickly?

The day had started off like normal: sweaty, dirty sex, pillowtalk, late breakfast, lazy lounging around the living room, and catching each other up on what’s happening on your phones. Weekdays are more productive, what with you both having jobs to do, but weekends are yours and his to share. Or at least that’s what you thought. 

An eerie silence falls upon the apartment. It’s unlike the silences you’re used to, like being the last one to leave the house and you’re eating the breakfast Toji made for you, or waiting for him to come back from throwing the bins out, being the first to come home, sitting in bed doing your own thing as you slowly unwind from the day’s toils.

You can’t stand it – the doing nothing – so you shuffle away from the closed door that’s not going to open anytime soon. There’s a lot to tidy anyway: the plates of food untouched, the unfolded blanket you wanted to be cuddled under, face masks and snacks and dips, and the pile of clothes he probably wasn’t going to wear even if you begged. 

Maybe you are too much. 

Maybe what Toji was saying had some merit to it. 

All those outings he would have never done if you hadn’t pleaded with a huge smile and puppy dog eyes were planned by you. The dinners reserved by you, the anniversaries, the dates, all of it. You. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love you. The fact that he did all of it, albeit begrudgingly, was proof of that. His love showed in his gentle touch, his patience, though limited, and in the fact that, through the ups and downs, he still stayed. 

But he won’t forever, not when he feels…suffocated. 

With a sigh, you grab your phone, snatch his jacket and decide you’re not going to let him be out there, cold and angry. 

So you, too, leave.

.

.

.

“Go home, Fushiguro.”

That isn’t what Toji wants to hear from his friend slash handler, Shiu. Truthfully, he wanted to be validated, wanted the man to tell him you were acting crazy, and that he wasn’t wrong for walking out. 

As he stomped into the bustling bar, the suited man took one look at him, shook his head with an exhausted laugh and took a huge gulp of his whiskey, knowing damn well it was going to be a long night. It always is when the scarred man looks ready to kill and for free.

Toji takes a swig of his beer. “You didn’t hear a single shit I said? I said, ‘I'm not in the mood to get into it with her again.’”

“Being a man is about learning to take the beatings life hands you,” Shiu professes mysteriously, tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Fuck off.”

Sitting in the corner of the bar, they’re left alone to wallow in their problems – one man chronically alone and the other about to lose it all. They don’t remember how they found each other or why they stayed as friends when they barely like the other, but they suppose it’s really because through all the faces they’ve met, not many have ever stuck around. But they did. And that has to mean something. 

The bastard is rarely not right and he knows it. He prattles off great advice with a smug face and one has to fight the urge to lay a good one on his nose. No matter how fucked up shit gets, Shiu could always make things so simple, so clear, and straightforward that he’d feel like a dumb sack of shit. 

In fact, that’s pretty damn close to how he feels now. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he admits, “I feel like shit. Like I got hit by a fucking truck. Look at me. I’m sitting here talking about my fucking feelings with your stupid ass. She’s always gotta get into my head about things. Made me a chump. Fucking hate this. Me. I turned into a pussy.”

“I don’t know about you, Fushiguro, but I like the you she created.” 

Toji snorts. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“You were a massive asshole,” Shiu begins, using a tone that suggests it should be obvious to the man sitting opposite him. “You were angry all the time, moody and brooding for no reason. Hours could pass and you wouldn’t say a single word. Ha, a college kid bumped into you and you knocked his shit before he could even open his mouth to apologise. Made him piss his damn pants. Got everyone scared of your big ass.”

He couldn’t deny that. Their friends, if you could call them that, often joked that he was a monster. And yeah, well, moving place to place, house to house, couch to couch would make a monster out of anyone. Before, these kinda criticisms would have rolled off his back, maybe even brought a smirk to his scarred lips, but something about the person he is now makes that sudden blast from the past bring a grimace to his face.

Shiu chuckles and, with a clink of his glass to Toji’s, says, “Look at you now – you actually shower and smell less like horse shit these days. Sure, you’re still killing for a living but you don’t do that shit with a smile on your face like a psycho now. Hell, you even tip. You used to steal tips, remember? And then just last month, some pimply-faced kid fell onto our table and spilled our drinks and I, honest to God, thought you’d beat him black and blue –instead, what did you do? Huh? Tell me. What did you do?”

“Fuck you.”

“You fucking picked him back up and told him, ‘Get some water in ya, the girl you came with likes you so don’t embarrass yourself.’” He throws his head back and laughs as if he just heard the funniest joke come out of his own mouth. “And don’t try to argue with me. You know she’s cleaned you up, made an honest man out of you, or as honest as a killer-for-hire can be. You smile more, Fushiguro. Fucking cheesing at your damn phone, leaving the bar early, speeding to get the fuck home before she does just so you can do God know’s what – and don’t say, I’d rather not know.”

The changes he talks about, Toji hadn’t noticed. Of course, he knew life had changed for him. A steady, secure home with a woman that sees him and is happy with what fills her vision, a woman who doesn’t mind hearing grunts as replies, who’s patient and kind, that cleans up the blood off his shirts and does it all with a smile. There's stability in his life now. Something that gets him up in the morning other than hunger and a need to piss. A thing to look forward to, a home to come back to. 

"Honestly, I don't know why you'd rather be here with me than her. If I had a woman half as good as her, you'd never see my sorry face. Any more of these nights with you and people will think we're lovers, which is fine by me, just as long as they know I'm on top."

A bead of condensation drips down the neck of his beer bottle. The bar’s too loud, too crowded and it doesn’t smell sweet and floral like home. Everyone’s too drunk to give a shit about what’s happening outside, far too elated with the clumsy grinding and grimy sweating of bodies. Maybe that’s why he likes places like this so much; it’s easy to forget your responsibilities, your past, and all the things that drag you down. 

But that’s not you. You’re not a burden, you’re a part of his present, and the only thing that keeps him going. 

So why didn’t he act like it?

You looked so damn excited to watch that movie with him and he crushed that spark that makes you you under his boot, for what? For booze? For some time alone with an asshole wearing a tailored suit and tie in a dingy bar?

The words he spewed at you come crashing back like a tidal wave of regret and shame. He told you you were suffocating him. He told a bunch of lies, anything to get you off his back, to make his need for alcohol justified. Like. A. Fucking. Pussy. 

Glancing at his phone, he sees missed calls and a voicemail. From you. So does Shiu, who whistles and suggests, “You’re done for, my man.”

“Fuck.” Toji throws his head back. He fucked up. Big time. Running a hand down his face, he says, “I need to go. I need to get home, catch her before she fucking leaves me or some shit. Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

A couple papers get thrown on the table, along with whatever loose change he has in his pockets, and he lunges out of the bar faster than if there was a fire, though not before he sees, in the corner of his eyes, a familiar looking smug tilt of a brow on a suited prick. 

He’s driving home now, fingers thrumming on the wheel, a subconscious desperation to manifest the ability to push the car beyond its limits and get to its destination faster. The useless piece of shit isn’t going fast enough; every second he wastes getting home when he should have been there to begin with is a second closer to him losing everything he never deserved to have in the first place. 

Images of you crying, hugging yourself and waiting by the door, or sleeping, alone, in an empty bed flash in his mind and without realising it, he’s accelerating even more. The roads are empty this time of night and he thanks the universe; the last thing he needs is to be honked at. 

Why couldn’t he just suck it up?

Movie nights are a lot of work – he often has to drive down to the store and get all the snacks your heart desires, squeeze into the cheesy pyjamas you bought him, let you spread some goo on his face, and then sit through some chick flick that he grumbles about at the start but gets really into once ten or twenty minutes has passed. All the dates that required him to get off his ass sent dread settling in his stomach usually turn out more fun than he thought. Because you know him. Because you know his strengths and weaknesses, his sore points and intolerances. And love him because of them. 

Having half a mind to listen to the voicemail you sent, Toji thinks about what he wouldn’t want to hear. What he can’t. The argument was bad, yes, he admits. But it’s not bad enough to quit, to end the beautiful thing you’ve grown, to give up. There’s no life after you, without you. It’s just you. You’re his…everything. And when he gets home, he’ll take you into his arms, apologise for all the shit he said and will say, and watch that movie with you. Hell, he’ll watch it a million times. 

Toji will do anything to make it up to you.

Maybe he should take you to the sea. That’d be a nice break from the chaos of the city. You two can go fishing, take long walks down the beach like women love to do, and do that thing he watched in a movie, where he carries you into the water, laughing and giggling. 

And what about the ring he’s been meaning to buy?

Flashing lights catch his attention. A fuckload of police cars and ambulances off the side of the road. Toji’s brows furrow. “Fuck happened there?”

Palm sweaty, he fishes his phone out. That voicemail he’s been ignoring, pretending it doesn’t exist because if it’s anything other than an ‘I love you, let’s not break up,’ he might just throw his phone out the car. He runs a hand through his hair and presses play, only hesitating twice. A second of static silence reaches his ears before your voice does. 

“Hey, Toji…I, um, don’t know if you want to hear from me right now."

Your voice has the corner of his scarred lip twitching. It's the tender and gentle voice he knows, and not the scratchy half-screams he last heard. The latter never suited you. It's just not who you are and deserve to be.

"But uh…I wanted to say sorry…You’re right, I was a lot today, like usual….And I’m sorry. About the movie that you didn’t want to watch, t-the face masks and the food I didn’t even ask if you wanted to eat. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Toji...I was too much, wasn’t I?”

He shakes his head. There’s a creeping sudden tension rising up his spine and he tightens his hold on the wheel, slowing down for show so the uniformed men don’t give him shit, and as soon as the red and blues of the night disappear from his rearview mirror, he revs up. 

“I think it’s ‘cause there’s so much I want to do with you, y’know? Like, you’ve lived a whole life before me and it’s a little intimidating….You’ve loved before…and it’s beautiful…but you’re my first and I’m not trying to compete with her or anything, I swear! I just want to make our own memories, y’know? I want experiences too. And when you’re quiet, less active, less…present, I guess it triggers something in me: a need to compensate. Maybe one could even say I’m overcompensating and they wouldn’t be wrong, I guess.”

When he pulls up, his feet carry him out and into the building on autopilot, gravel crunching under his shoes and the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. There’s no one else around. The lights of every window are off. It’s too quiet. Toji scratches his chest. 

“I don’t know where I’m going with this; you know I ramble when I’m nervous. Maybe I should just go to sleep and wait for you, fight through that feeling I’m getting that says I won’t see you ever again after this. I should sleep everything off…but I couldn’t let our night go like this. You have that mission tomorrow and you’re going to be gone for a couple days so I guess I just wanted to cram some time together…”

The door’s unlocked. He flexes his hand, knuckles turning white with the tight clench of his fist. Somehow, his work schedule had eluded him; it was you who kept up with all that admin shit that Shiu never bothers to remind him about, after all. 

“I should have known it’d be too much. I mean, you’re right that we see each other every day – that was hyperbole, of course...I think anyway...but it’s practically true. We see each other a lot…but I don’t know…I guess I just thought it wasn’t enough.

Your voice grows quiet and he has to lift the speaker of his phone to his ear to hear your next words over the sound of his heart pounding. 

“To me, I could never see too much of you. I always want to see you. To be with you. And…you don’t feel the same…”

Something painful scrunches in his chest, it almost makes him double over. Under his breath, he mutters, “No, baby. I do. Fuck, I do.”

“And that’s okay. I’m realising now that that’s probably healthy. I think I just love you too much. More than you love me – that’s not a complaint at all, I promise. It’s not a reflection of you but rather of me….God, I’m crazy, aren’t I? I never know when to shut up and wow, even now I’m saying ‘I’ a lot. Okay, so yeah, I have problems and I need to work on them.”

You’re not in the living room. The TV is off. And what was that about him loving you less? That’s bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You know that. You have to. Right?

Making a mental note to make that the first thing you hear, he continues his search. 

“Ma? Where you at?” He checks the kitchen and finds containers of the food you prepared put neatly away. It’s his favourite. His stomach rumbles. “You sleeping, doll?”

The bedroom’s empty too. Fuck.

“I’ll work on it, Toji…so, please, will you give me a chance? To do better. To be better.”

He’s checked every room. Twice. And again. You’re not home. But that can’t be right. You have to be home. You just have to. It’s dark outside and cold and dangerous and he’s not there to hold your hands to make sure they don’t fall off from the frost of summer. 

Louder, nearing a scream, he says, “Baby, I’m not messing around. Tell me where you are. You hiding? Is that it? You hiding from me? Fuck, sweetheart, I promise I’m not mad, okay? So just come out here. L-let me see my gorgeous girl, yeah?”

Breathing faster and faster until he has to lean against the wall for balance, Toji scrambles to think. You’re saying so much so fast and he can’t keep up. For every sentence you utter there’s a whole conversation to be had. So many inaccuracies he needs to correct, to set straight. Where the hell did you even get all this shit you’re saying?

Not from him, right?

He didn’t make you feel so small, did he?

The woman that had built him up crumbling all by herself because he’d rather drink himself to death than live a life you made possible for him. Fucking bastard. Ungrateful son of a bitch. Useless fucker.

“Uh this is getting long, sorry. We can talk more about it when I see you. So, yeah, that’s what I was trying to say. I’m driving over to the bar to give you your jacket. You forgot it. Or maybe you left it on purpose. I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be cold. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you, hopefully smiling...You don’t smile without a bottle in your hand nowadays but if I had a clingy girlfriend, I’d probably be making out with beer too. I’m kidding. Sorry, that’s not funny…okay, so, um, I love you and I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

Flashing lights, 

Cop cars. 

Ambulances. 

The crowd…gasping and pointing.

And a flipped over car he only now just processed. 

The ride over to the crime scene goes by in a blur. Only static and the faint sound of your voice on repeat playing in the background. Every stop light is ignored, pedestrians barely avoided, and the wheels pushed to their very limits. All while he foregoes wearing a seatbelt.

Toji doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t think or slow down or answer the many calls from unknown numbers. 

He doesn’t even make a sound.

Not until he arrives, shoves past tiny men with their tiny understanding of who you are and what you mean to him, and finds a body wrapped up in a bag. Rushing of blood fill his ears. People try to hold him back, to get him away, but there must be something in his face or his eyes that warns, ‘don't get in my fucking way’

It’s akin to a wounded yelp of a wild beast or the guttural flames of hell as it opens up and consumes whole poor, unfortunate souls. No one’s ever heard anything like it. Yet, they know. Just from the way he had fallen to his knees, had rushed to yank that zipper down but hesitated to pull the bag open. But the sound…the sound tells a whole story. 

Some look away, half paying respect and half all too familiar with the scene. Others can’t. They bear witness to the shaking hands that cradle your cold face, cut up and bleeding, and the one sided conversation. 

“No, no, baby, what h-happened? Wake up.” Toji’s patting your cheeks, searching for a flicker of your lashes or the rise of your chest. Even now when he feels the nauseating coldness on a body that had only ever kept him warm he's mindful of the force he's using. He could never hurt you. Not like this. “Come on, this isn’t fucking funny. Open your eyes, baby. Come on. Please.”

Shallow cuts on your face, glass shards still embedded in the skin graze his thumb as he brushes the hair from your hair. They cut him too until the blood staining the skin he’d felt and tasted are both his and yours. 

“I need you. I need to talk to you. Fuck, it isn’t fucking fair. You got to say your shit. You need to hear me apologise ‘cause I am fucking sorry. You hear me, you stubborn woman? I’m s-sorry. So wake the fuck up. Please. I can’t do this without you. I just can’t.”

The car’s totalled. Hit a tree. He can hear the police talk on their radio, something about how you were crushed for hours, alive and yelling for help, but was dead when anyone got to the scene. A roaring of injustice wages war in his very soul. His babygirl in pain and alone and dying. Did you call out for his name? Did you think he was going to come even till your last moments? 

He doesn't know how long he holds you for, can't even tell if it's raining or if he's just sweaty as hell. Those trembling hands of his, that have killed countless men and got him this far in life, seem so useless now as he wills warmth into your limbs. Your pyjamas are soaked with a metallic liquid; they stain his hands.

A familiar face shows up, suit wrinkled. “Fushiguro. They need the body.”

Firm hands pull at him, tugging him away. He won’t let go. Can’t let you be all by yourself. Look at you. You’re not even wearing a jacket. Silly girl. You’d bring his but not your own? 

Do you always have to be so goddamn perfect?

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he says, “Let’s go home, yeah? Let’s go home and watch that movie. That sound good, doll?”

But you don’t answer. 

Not his prayers the next day or his pleadings the week after and certainly not your phone every day since.

Toji never touches another bottle again if only because when he does his mind gets so blurry, so fucked out, he can’t envision the exact angles of your smile or how many wrinkles form at the corner of your eyes. Honestly, if he could, he'd never return to that place you two lived in; it's far too big now and everywhere he looks he sees you. But where else would he go? Where else in this fucked world could he go to find you?

He doesn’t eat either – no one’s cooking tastes the same as yours. They lack something he thinks he might never find again. And maybe that’s fine. It was always too good for him anyway.

None of the people that show up to his door are allowed in; they’d just disturb the air you touched. Not his friends or yours, he has no family and yours don’t really want to see him. Good thing too. He can’t deal with the pity or the attempts to relieve him of his responsibility. 

‘It’s not your fault,’ they say. ‘It was an accident.’

Shit doesn’t matter. Nothing does. How could anything mean shit to a man who only wants to spend his days in bed, holding your pillow over his face, simultaneously wanting to consume every particle of your scent and suffocate on memories of a life he barely lived?

They say he shouldn't let your death define you but how would that even be possible? You've always defined him. There's only the Toji before you, during you, and without you. He thinks maybe his life will forever be defined by all the things he never should have said and the things he wishes he did. That's the real tragedy.

'You need to move on.'

Bullshit. All those grief counselling pamphlets and self-help books don't know shit. There's no moving on. There's only you.

The worst, perhaps, that he’s heard is, ‘she’d hate to see you like this.’

Because what the fuck do they know about you? 

Those assholes see a man locked away, beard growing in, dark circles under his eyes, and an air of death about him. Whereas Toji sees himself as someone who’s keeping your memory alive. Because, contrary to what you believed, you weren’t too much. God, you couldn't ever be too much. With your scent fading, your clothes collecting dust and the divot in your spot on the sofa evening out, he thinks he hasn’t had enough. Could never have enough.

Even the fact that when he closes his eyes he sees you serves as no consolation. It’s not enough. He wasn’t enough. Wasn’t man enough. Didn’t love you enough. Toji needs to touch you, to feel you, to make up for all that he never gave you when he should have. Wherever you are, he wants to be.

His girl all alone? No, he can’t have that. Someone needs to listen to you ramble, to lift heavy things for you and hold you the way you like when you sleep. Who's keeping you company up there? Who's drawing on your palm when you get nervous? Who is telling you you've always been enough?

Someone needs to be there for you.

Staring at a picture of you on his bedside table, he smiles softly.

“I’m coming, baby. Just wait for me, yeah?”

[prettyboytsum]

stalker ⋆˚꩜｡ toji fushiguro

⋮⌗┆kinktober masterlist! ⋮⌗┆send me a request!

#synopsis. toji fushiguro is a quiet man, even when he was sent to prison for god knows what. but once he was released with no charges to his name, his first stop is to pay a familiar face a visit.

#tags. 18+ mdni, not proof read, afab! reader (uses of she/her), degradation, daddy kink, slapping, hair pulling, mentions of breeding, mentions of pregnancy, dubcon, choking, p/v penetration, blowjob, cunnilingus, no protection (use protection!!), themes of a stalker and being stalked (ish)

#count. 2.6k

working as a prison guard wasn't glamorous. the days were long and filled with tedious work: routine checks with inmates who taunted or tried to hit on you, endless piles of paperwork when there were transfers or incident reports, and a gaze that never stopped watching you. toji fushiguro's eyes were different from the rest. he was quiet, calculating—which seemed to be far more terrifying in comparison to the rowdy inmates. you never knew what he was thinking. toji was a headache for the months he was there. not because he got into fights or tries to waste your time. no, he was observant—his eyes always following you, even when you didn't expect it to. routine checks especially. from the moment you were in that cell all the way to when you left, his eyes would follow you. toji would drink you in—the way the slacks hugged your curves, the way you'd talk to him sternly. by the end of the check, well, to say toji was hard would be an understatement.

weeks turn into months and nothing happens to toji. one random day, he's just...free. no trial, no investigation, no press. that was it. he was a free man. the other officers say he knew someone who knew someone who threatened that someone. supposedly. so, you don't think much of it when your night shift ends that day. nor when you feel a quiet rustle behind you as you walk home. after all, you live in a busy city—there's bound to be people going in the same direction as you, right? then you see it, a figure smoking outside the entrance of the apartment complex. he's hard to miss—large, bulky, and brooding. you chew on your lip nervously, the outline familiar despite the lack of an orange jumpsuit.

you keep your hand near your baton by your belt, and for once you're glad that you haven't changed out of your uniform. "hey, ma," toji greets you, as if it wasn't insane for an ex-inmate to follow one of the guards home. "you followed me home?" you ask, clipped and tight. toji briefly looks at your coat, at the way it's obvious that you're gripping your baton. he almost laughs. "no," he says, smirking. "jus' know where you live." you freeze, glancing at the front door. it's too late at night to ask for help, the front desk was deserted. it wouldn't be a couple of hours until your cheap complex had someone out front. "a second offense—" "i wasn't convicted of anything, was i, sweetheart?" he takes a drag of his cigarette, raising an amused brow. "just wanted to make sure my favorite guard got home safe, 's all." your eye twitches and really, you should be calling the nearest precinct. you should be waving your arms frantically, calling for help at the top of your lungs. toji could overpower you any day, his body was built to tower over normal folks. but you don't. there's a hint of curiosity, what does he want? why did he pick you? in some deranged, sick way, you aren't deterred. the kicker? toji knows this. he's seen it, in the way that the other guards mock you, the way they exclude you, the way they don't let you join their get togethers.

they're dicks, that's for sure and you—well, you've always tossed him an extra slice of bread during meal time. and god, does toji play you like a fiddle. "why don't you show me in, eh?" he asks with the arrogance of a man who knows you to well. who knows how this'll play out. "i'll play nice." you blink once, twice. toji almost thinks you'll say no before he sees your arm shift from under your coat—and you've let go of your baton. when you open the door to the complex with a resident key, he bites back a smirk. the elevator ride up to your place is tense, not for toji. no, he's relaxed, hands stuffed in his jeans that still fit him even when it was collected months ago after he first entered the prison. it's his first day out and he went to you. in some sick way, it makes your heart flutter. "you know," he says, watching the floors go up on the screen. "any other guard would've had their badge out by now and a gun to my head." it's true. you're quiet. the elevator dings, signifying you've reached your designated floor. "like you said," you murmur as you both exit the elevator. "you weren't convicted." you walk down the corridor, toji letting out a low whistle as you both stop in front of you door. "seems like a nice place," he says, eyeing the line of doors down the hall. it does, better than whatever flat he had before he went to prison. you let a non-committal hum, keys jingling as you let him in. it's stupid, you think, that you're letting him into your apartment into your own private space, into a space that—quite frankly, no one will hear you if you scream and die a painful, murderous death. but toji choose...you, right? he went to your place, waited for you outside your complex. surely, it's not to take advantage of you, right? "cozy," toji comments, ducking slightly to enter the door. "they pay you well?" "you'll riot if they don't?" you snort, removing your coat. something flickers behind toji's eyes. you try not to dwell on it. "gotta change out of my uniform," you mumble, a little weakly. "let me watch, ma," toji smirks, the way he did when he knew you were doing his routine checks. who always made sure he was hard when you pat him down. "i can't—" "why not?" he tilts his head. "ain't nobody stopping us." "we can't just—" "so many fucking rules with ya, jesus," he grumbles, making his way to you then working to remove your belt. it happens so fast, out of nowhere, that you gasp. "toji—" you try pushing his hand away. the belt falls onto the floor, your baton making a clang against the wood. "that's right, ma. say my name," he growls, pushing you to a nearby wall. you protest, hitting his chest. toji plants wet kisses onto your neck, rutting into you. "toji, stop!" you try pushing him away. you try kicking his legs but it's no use—no use in trying to move this behemoth of a man. "i saw the way you looked at me in that goddamn prision," he groans, taking a deep breath of your scent. he pushes himself closer, forcing your legs to wrap around him. you can feel how hard he is, grinding against your slacks. "you know what a couple of months without sex does to a man like me, ma?" he whispers, voice husky and dark. you throw your head back, feeling just how needy he was.

"mhm, used to fuckin' stroke it to the thought of you, princess. i knew you heard me from my cell." "what, no—no—" "don't fuckin' pretend," his hold on your waist squeezing you tightly. "i know you did it for me. knew you wanted me as bad, knew you wanted me to fuck you—" "toji—" "just shut up and take me." toji carries you to the kitchen counter, ripping your uniform. the buttons fly off, hitting various parts of your kitchen. you gasp, throwing your head back. toji smirks, holding you. the ex-inmate pins you down with one hand, both your wrists fitting snugly in his hand. "you like this, don't you?" he taunts, kissing the valley of your breasts. "fucking love that you're being controlled, that i'm bigger than you, huh? bet you love being at my mercy." heat claws up your neck, you look away. he isn't wrong but you'd be damned if you admit it. toji lets out a dark chuckle, pulling back as he removes your slacks with one hand. you let out a soft whimper, a whine that tells him everything he needs to know. "fuckin' watched you everyday, y'know that?" he groans, removing you from his hold. he slots himself between your legs, head just inches away from your dripping cunt. he lets out a low growl, taking a deep breath to just smell the scent of you. "jerked off in my cell jus' hearin' you bark orders, thinkin' about how i could fucking tell you what to do, and i bet you'd listen, hm?" toji says softly.

"fuckin' hell, can you hear how wet she is for me? 's probably tired of waiting for me, probably wanted me in you—ain't that right, ma?" he kisses your clit from over your underwear, your back arching as you feel his relentless tongue on you. your hands in his hair, tugging him closer. "there we go," he moans. "always knew you fuckin' wanted me. she fuckin' wants me, don't she? wanted good dick, none of those limp dicks you had—" you blush. "that's right—heard you talkin' shit, talkin' how wet you get but no one just hits that fucking spot—" "toji," you whine, clamping your legs around his head as he chuckles darkly. "i know, princess. i know, jus' let me set you straight, yeah?" toji whispers, smirking as he stands. you whimper at the loss of his tongue on your folds before he starts unbuckling his belt. you watch as he tugs the damned piece of fabric, his long, hard, cock springing free. he revels in the soft gasp you let out. toji knows he's impressive—he's hung like a horse, a long dick with an angry red tip covered in the sheen of pre-cum. your mouth almost waters and he can tell. "wanna taste, ma? before i split you open," he asks, but you both know it isn't a question. you're scrambling on the kitchen counter, you try to get off only for him to turn you over. your back is against the cool material, but your world is turned upside down as he makes sure your head is on the edge of the counter and fucks your mouth. "that's it," he grunts, hand on your throat as he watches it bulge. "let me fuck your mouth, ma. let me use you." toji's thrusts don't start slow, he isn't a patient man. he fucks you with a fervor no other man has matched, soft gags fill the room as you slobber all over his dick. "bet this is all you need," he whispers, groaning as he feels your throat struggle to accommodate him. "jus' some good dick, huh?" you gurgle a response, a dark laugh escaping his lips. he keeps thrusting, throwing his head back. it feels good. after beating his cock, a warm throat feels like heaven. you watch him through your glassy gaze, eyes watery with want as your fingers play with your clit. you moan around his cock. toji smirks, amused. "fuckin' needy already, ain't ya?" he asks, removing his cock from your throat. before you can complain, he sits you up and carries you down from the counter only to bend you over. toji doesn't wait, he's waited long enough. ever since he first laid eyes on you, he restrained himself. now? oh, there's nothing stopping him now. he pushes his hard cock past you, the tip bullying it's way into your tight cunt. he groans. "toji, wait—" "shut up," he grunts, pushing his way in deeper. "want ya to call me daddy." "what—" "just fuckin' call me daddy, you whore." "i—i—" another thrust. "oh, daddy!"

"there we go, good girl," he moans. toji feels your gummy walls tighten around his cock when he praises you. "good job, baby, takin' daddy so well." you whimper, gripping the counter as he continues thrusting into you. soft moans escape your lips as he pushes inch after inch until he bottoms out, only for him to pull out and thrust himself back into you. "daddy!" you moan, earning a grunt from him as he slaps your ass. he watches the fat jiggle, letting out another low groan. he fucks you slowly for a couple of strokes, to tease or for mercy, you weren't sure. but you couldn't dwell on it for too long, not when he starts picking up the pace. you gasp, gripping the counter as he keeps his hands on your waist. "there we fuckin' go, there's that juicy pussy screamin' for me," he moans, watching as your back arches. god, you were a sight for sore eyes. he can hardly believe you choose to be an officer in that goddamn prison. no, from now on, he was going to keep you. you were going to be his, going to be toji's. there was no stopping it. he wouldn't let anyone else have you.

you start moaning incoherently, cunt clenching as he plows into you over and over again. he's too big that there isn't a part of your pussy untouched by his cock. "there we go, fuckin' you stupid," he moans, tugging on your hair. you gasp, your back to his hard chest. "you goin' me be good for me, won't you, princess? gonna let daddy own you, won't cha?" you nod stupidly, dumbly. whatever resistance you had earlier, whatever hesitation you exhibited was gone. toji's successfully fucked you into a blissed out mess. perfect. toji speeds up his pace,one hand in your hair and another groping the perfect tits you'd so kindly given him access to. "gonna cum?" he whispers, and you nod—which only earns a slap on the ass from him. "answer me. use your words, princess." "gonna cum, daddy! gonna make a mess!" "that's it," he groans, planting soft kisses on your neck. this is exactly how he wanted you, he tugs on your tits. "gonna fill these with milk, won't we? gotta fill these with milk." "what—" "don't worry about it," toji groans. "don't worry about it, princess. daddy'll get you nice and pregnant, yeah? gonna breed you and you ain't gonna have to think about anythin' anymore. jus' gonna let me take care you ya, won't ya?" "i—i—" you try to protest, you want to. a baby? in you? from an ex-inmate? it's unthinkable. but you can't speak, not when he's fucking you so well. not when he's tugging on your tits and leaving hickies all over your neck. "jus' don't think," he whispers, his breathing growing ragged. oh, he can already imagine it. you, round with his baby. he'll help you when your tits are heavy with milk, he'll make sure his seed takes over and over again. "jus' let daddy breed ya, baby. let me make you a mommy." you don't say anything. you can't, not when you finally feel the coil in your stomach snap. your toes curl, body spasming—and you see a flash of white that convinces you that you've seen heaven. toji is quick to follow, thrusting himself deep into you so that he's sure that you'll get pregnant. and if you aren't? well, you've so kindly invited him into your home that he's sure he'll have the whole night to try.

"did you hear?" satoru asks suguru. it'd been a slow night, the prison hasn't had a commotion since toji left. or they hoped so, considering that they were the ones on the night shift now. "hm?" suguru asks, taking a sip of his coffee as he looks up at satoru. "that weird guard quit," satoru shrugs, taking the seat beside him. they were in one of the watch towers. "apparently, got pregnant." "huh," suguru says thoughtfully, nodding. "well, there really is someone out there for everyone. congrats to her."

a/n: this was so much fun to write guys....toji my nasty nasty man <3

ⓒ prettyboytsum 2025. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise, repost, or retranslate these works on any other platform or account.

[katsukiskitty]

BICEPS.

“in which, you ask your haikyuu boyfriends for bicep pictures”

featuring: kageyama, atsumu, akaashi, osamu, kenma, tsukishima and iwazumi…

kuroo and bokuto: part 2

I literally need a husband to get free bicep pics from.

Please do not repost my work.

A/N : this is kinda just a filler post "( – ⌓ – )=3 , I am writing something rn and it’s taking a while to finish (longer than expected) but I hope you enjoy.

images I used were found on pinterest and belong to their rightful owner.

@katsukiskitty

[katsukiskitty]

⌗ ┆ ⸝⸝⸝ 18 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 2) .ᐟ.ᐟ — koutaro bokuto

summary: falling for your best friend bokuto koutaro was never part of the plan, and neither was oikawa’s stupid 18-step playbook that dragged you here in the first place. now, after jealousy, arguments, and confessions you can’t take back, everything feels too fragile to name. maybe you’ll make up, maybe you’ll fall apart — or maybe you’ll finally cross the line that’s been waiting all along.

genre: romantic comedy, friends-to-lovers, slice of life, angst, fluff, smut potential

warnings: 18+ (minors dni) explicit sexual content (bonus chapters), lazy morning sex, messy needy sex, reunion sex, rough backshots, reverse cowgirl, condom use, praise kink, oral (m & f), thigh-grabbing, ass-grabbing, grinding, heavy makeouts, biting/marking, messy kisses, breast play, fingering, desperate touching, overstimulation hints, dirty talk, lap sitting, jealousy undertones, protective Bokuto energy, sexual tension, heated arguments, angst-to-fluff pipeline, slice-of-life intimacy, public teasing, suggestive humor, boyfriend-coded chaos, alcohol mentions, domestic fluff, timeskip, proposal, pregnancy reveal, found family vibes

wc: I never keep count….

fun fact: 18 ways to win bokuto was actually an idea I had since 2020 and only now did I fully lay it out!! I hope you enjoyed as much as I loved writing it.

18 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 :

1. Borrow his hoodie

2. Share food

3. Overnight calls

4. Sit way too close

5. Nap on him

6. Play with his hair

7. Wear something eye-catching

8. Whisper in his ear

9. Party games

10. Hold hands

11. Hypotheticals

12. Sit on his lap

13. Spend the night

14. Give a loaded compliment

15. Soft staring

16. Jealousy test

17. Confide something vulnerable

18. Confess & Kiss

𝐁𝐘 𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢)

[ Rule sixteen , jealousy test: continuation. ]

By the time you and Makki pulled up outside Fukurodani’s gym, your palm was clammy in his. You could already hear the thuds of practice serves inside.

“This is weird,” Makki muttered under his breath, squeezing your hand for the crowd’s benefit. “But whatever, I’m committing. Let’s make Bokuto lose his mind.”

You swallowed. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he teased, before lowering his voice. “Okay, I’m gonna kiss your cheek now.”

Your eyes widened. “What—”

“Relax.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to your cheek, lingering just enough to look romantic from a distance.

You squealed, mostly from the awkwardness, and giggled. “That was so bad. Never again.”

Makki snorted, pulling back. “Yeah, no offense, but never again.”

“He’s probably going to hate me now.”

“Or maybe,” Makki said, squeezing your shoulder, “it’ll finally force him to admit he likes you. Good luck.”

You whispered a thank you, then let go of his hand and walked into the gym.

The noise hit you instantly—teammates laughing, calling out, the sound of volleyballs being scooped up. But then someone shouted, “Is that your boyfriend outside?!”

Another voice chimed in. “He kissed you, right? He kissed her cheek! Y/n, who is that?”

“Where’d you meet him?”

The questions piled on, voices overlapping until your head spun. You opened your mouth, flustered. “He’s not— We’re not— It’s not like that—”

But the words fell flat, drowned out by the sudden silence that rolled across the court.

Because Bokuto had walked past you without so much as a glance, his expression unreadable, his usual warmth completely gone. He didn’t smile, didn’t joke, didn’t ruffle your hair like he always did. His voice was low, clipped, when he said:

“Practice is over.”

Everyone froze, confused murmurs breaking out.

Your stomach dropped.

Bokuto brushed past you, shoulder grazing yours, without looking back.

And for the first time since you started these rules, you wondered if Oikawa’s brilliant plan had finally gone too far.

[ Rule seventeen , confide something vulnerable. ]

The slam of the gym doors still echoed in your ears as you chased him into the dim corridor. Everyone else’s voices — the teasing questions, the chatter about the “mystery boyfriend”— they’d faded the second he left. Like the second he brushed past you, the whole world tilted wrong.

“Bokuto—” You nearly tripped, breath catching in your throat.

He didn’t slow. His shoulders were rigid, fists jammed into his pockets, every step heavy enough to make the floor vibrate. The air around him felt colder, darker, like someone had dimmed the lights just for him.

“Wait!” you called, desperation scraping your voice raw.

At last, his stride faltered. He froze mid-step, his back to you. The muscles under his shirt shifted, tense, wound tight as a spring about to snap.

Your fingers brushed his wrist, barely there. “Are you…” Your voice came out too soft, almost childlike. “Are you mad at me?”

For a moment, nothing. Then his head dipped, the smallest nod. His voice was gravel. “Yeah. I am.”

The words hit harder than you thought they could. Your heart stumbled. “But… why?”

He turned, and your stomach dropped. His eyes weren’t sharp with fury — no, that would’ve been easier. They were bruised, raw, wounded in a way that made your chest ache.

“Because—” His voice cracked on the word, and he cut himself off, grinding his teeth. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots like he needed pain to force the truth out. “Because, Y/n, you were with him. Holding hands, letting him—” He broke off, disgust twisting his mouth. “Like you were his.”

The air thinned until breathing hurt.

Your mind flickered, unbidden, to three days ago: the feel of his arms suddenly around you, the strength in the way he’d spun you without warning, the stupidly soft press of his lips against your cheek. The roar of the crowd. The heat that had flushed your face for hours after. Everyone whispering like you two were already dating. And for a dizzy second, you had wondered what it would be like if they weren’t wrong.

Now? That warmth felt miles away.

“I don’t…” Bokuto’s words dragged you back. His chest rose too fast, uneven. “I don’t get you. One second you’re closer to me than anyone else, then the next—” He cut himself off, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “Do you know what that felt like?” His voice cracked again, thin with something you couldn’t name. “You’re my best friend—”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you cut in, too sharp, too fast, because if you let him finish, your heart would split open.

His breath caught at the interruption.

You swallowed, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “It’s not like we’re… together.” Your voice faltered, but you pushed on. “You said it yourself. We’re best friends. So why does it matter?”

For the first time, he looked away.

Your chest heaved. “I just—” You exhaled hard, twisting your hands into your sleeves like you could wring the ache out of them. “I wouldn’t feel this bad if I didn’t care, Bokuto. I wouldn’t be running after you down some stupid hallway if it was just… friendship.” Your voice shook. “And you—why are you acting like this, if it’s only friendship for you?”

The silence was brutal.

You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears, but beneath it was the phantom memory of his laughter, his grin when you won at Mario Kart, the heat of his body pressed against yours during the scary movie when he’d flinched. The weight of him in your bed, the sound of his voice drifting into sleep beside you. Best friends don’t do that.

His breath stuttered, shoulders rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. He couldn’t look at you. Not really. Not with that storm twisting in his eyes.

“That’s not how you treat a best friend,” you whispered, broken.

Something flickered across his face then — a flash of softness, almost pain, like your words had scraped at the truth he kept barricaded behind his ribs. But just as quickly, it was gone. He forced his mouth into a tight line, eyes shutting down, wall slamming into place.

“God, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.” You laughed bitterly, though it shook apart halfway. “I feel like I’m the only one being honest here.”

His fists clenched. “Don’t.” The word came out hoarse, ragged. He stepped back like he couldn’t stand the closeness. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what’s going on in my head.”

“Then tell me!” The plea ripped from you before you could stop it, your voice echoing sharp in the empty hall. “Tell me why you’re mad, why you can’t even look at me, why it feels like I just ruined everything!”

His throat bobbed, his lips parting. But nothing. Nothing came out. Just his breathing, jagged, uneven, like he was fighting something no one else could see.

The silence was a knife.

You blinked hard, the burn of unshed tears stinging your eyes. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice cracking. “That’s what I thought.”

For a second, his hand twitched, like he might reach for you. But he didn’t. He turned instead, his voice frayed and hollow. “I don’t know what I am to you, Y/n. I don’t know what you want from me. And I just… I just don’t know.”

And then he walked. Not storming, not running — just walking, steady, heavy, final. Each step echoing down the corridor like a door closing between you.

You stayed frozen where he’d left you, heart splintering, breath too shallow to catch. Because deep down you knew. You knew he wouldn’t act like this if he didn’t feel something. He wouldn’t be jealous, he wouldn’t be hurt, he wouldn’t be breaking in front of you if this was only friendship.

But he wouldn’t say it. And you couldn’t force him.

So you let him go. And the unsaid words burned hotter than the ones you’d managed to choke out.

[ Rule eighteen , confess & kiss. ]

Weeks pass.

That’s the first thing that shocks you—that it’s so easy to count them, to carve them into neat blocks of time when every day feels jagged and unfinished. You used to measure your life in Bokuto-shaped moments: how loud he was when you passed each other in the hall, how many new nicknames he could invent in one practice, how often he’d throw an arm around your shoulders like it was second nature.

But now? Now you measure your days in silence.

It’s not angry silence, not exactly. It’s the hollow kind. The kind that scrapes at your ribs when you sit on the bench at practice and he’s right there on the court but might as well be a hundred miles away.

The team notices.

“Koutaro, you good?” a first-year asks one day after Bokuto misses a spike and doesn’t even react.

He laughs it off too loudly, clapping the kid on the back and pretending it doesn’t sting.

They notice you, too. How you cheer, but your voice never rises as high as it used to. How you clap, but your hands never linger at your mouth, hiding a grin meant just for him.

Even Akaashi notices. Which is worse, because Akaashi never says anything unless it matters.

You last exactly one week before cornering him.

He’s folding practice jerseys in the equipment room, as precise and calm as always, when you blurt out, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He doesn’t even look up. “Do what?”

“This.” You wave your hands vaguely, like the word is too sharp to hold onto. “This whole… cheerleader thing. Being here.”

That makes him look. His eyes flick up from the jersey, sharp as knives even though his face stays neutral. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I quit.” The words scrape your throat, but you force them out. “It’s not the same anymore, Akaashi. I thought—I thought maybe he just needed space, but it’s like I don’t exist to him. And I can’t…” You shake your head, fingers twisting in your sleeves. “I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

For a second, he just studies you. Then, quietly: “Y/n.”

The sound of your name almost undoes you.

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, before he can say more. “Tell the others I said thanks. For everything. But I’m done.”

You leave before he can stop you.

Oikawa’s couch is where you land. Because of course it is.

Iwazumi’s sprawled on the floor beside it, arms crossed, already rolling his eyes before you even finish explaining.

“See what you did, Shittykawa?”

Oikawa scowls, stuffing a pillow into Iwa’s face. “Oh, please. Like I could’ve predicted the owl would be so ridiculously dense.”

You glare at him, though it doesn’t have much heat. “Not helping.”

“Actually, I’m being very helpful.” He sits up straighter, tossing his hair dramatically. “You followed the playbook, didn’t you? Eighteen steps, carefully designed by me, Tooru Oikawa, genius of romance. And what did you get? Radio silence.”

Iwazumi pulls the pillow off his face. “That’s because your plays are stupid.”

“They’re not stupid!” Oikawa insists. Then, to you: “He’s an idiot. That’s all. He clearly doesn’t know what he wants, and it’s not your fault for trying. It’s his fault for being as slow as Iwa-chan over here.”

Iwazumi’s ears go pink. “What.”

You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “Maybe it is my fault. I should’ve just told him how I felt instead of trying to…” You trail off, gesturing helplessly. “Instead of making games out of it.”

“That’s not the point,” Oikawa says firmly. “The point is that you care. And trust me, he does too. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

Iwazumi studies you, his voice quieter. “Have you even talked to him since?”

You shake your head. “No. And I’m not going to. He’s ignoring me. Practice was already awkward, so I… quit.”

Both of them go silent at that.

Then Oikawa leans forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay, no. This is actually stupid. I’m not getting it. You like him, he clearly likes you—he’s just too much of a coward to admit it.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what, you want me to force it out of him?”

“Yes.”

“That was rhetorical.” You roll your eyes, but your chest aches anyway.

Iwazumi cuts in, steady as stone. “You should talk to him.”

“He won’t listen,” you mutter. “Trust me. He’ll just… look away. Pretend it didn’t happen.”

Which is why, a few days later, you’re not surprised when Oikawa and Akaashi both mysteriously go missing before the summer festival.

You are, however, very surprised to run right into Bokuto.

He looks as startled as you feel.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels heavy with all the words you didn’t say these past few weeks.

“Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, hair catching the lantern glow. “Weird. You here too?”

“Guess so.”

You don’t say Oikawa. You don’t say Akaashi. You don’t say we got set up, even though it’s obvious.

The crowd surges around you, warm and noisy, pressing the two of you closer.

And for the first time in weeks, you’re standing side by side again.

But everything feels different.

The crowd surges like a tide.

The summer festival sprawls across streets you both know well, but the lanterns strung overhead make it feel like another world entirely. Lantern light pools golden on the pavement, painting the air with warmth you don’t feel. Children run past, laughing with sparklers clutched in sticky hands, couples drift between booths with candied apples and paper fans.

You and Bokuto stand in the middle of it all like two actors who’ve forgotten their lines.

“Guess it’s crowded,” he says finally, his voice louder than it needs to be. It falls flat against the swell of festival chatter.

“Yeah,” you murmur.

For a heartbeat, silence again.

You used to walk with him everywhere—on autopilot, shoulder bumping shoulder, his voice filling the empty spaces. Now every step feels like a negotiation. Do you walk close? Do you leave a gap? He solves it by jamming his hands into his pockets and staring straight ahead, his usual bouncing energy muted.

The silence eats at you. You can feel your own heartbeat in your throat, heavy and uneven.

He tries again. “You… uh, eaten yet?”

“Not really.”

“Wanna… get something?”

It’s clumsy. He knows it, you know it, but you nod anyway because it’s easier than standing here like ghosts.

The first food stall smells like fried batter and sweet syrup. Normally, he’d be vibrating, pointing at every single thing on the menu with wide-eyed excitement until you dragged him along. Tonight, he only gestures vaguely at the skewers.

“I’ll get this,” he mutters.

You order too, more to fill the space than out of hunger.

When the vendor hands over the paper tray, your fingers brush his. It’s an accident—you both pull back immediately, like the touch burned. His ears go pink, but he doesn’t say anything.

You want to.

You want to say why can’t we touch anymore? When did it get like this?

Instead, you eat in silence. The food tastes like cardboard.

The next stall is brighter, kids crowding for masks painted like foxes and cats. You catch Bokuto staring at them longer than necessary, his brows pinched, and for a moment, you almost recognize him—the version who’d shove a ridiculous mask over his head and try to scare you.

But then he notices your gaze and looks away.

“Let’s, uh… keep going.”

You follow.

The silence grows unbearable.

You’ve never been afraid of quiet before—not with him. With him, quiet used to mean comfort. Your shoulder pressed to his as you both watched the court, the easy kind of silence that said you’re safe here.

Now it’s suffocating.

You try to break it. “So… how’s practice?”

“Good,” he says quickly. “Fine.”

And nothing else.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

It only gets worse when you pass a ring toss stall. A group of Fukurodani first-years are there, laughing as they fail to land any rings. One of them spots you both and calls, “Bokuto-san! L/n-san!”

Their faces light up at the sight of you together, like nothing has changed.

You force a smile, waving back.

Bokuto does too—but it’s stiff, a mask. He tugs you away before they can come closer.

You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.

The walk stretches on. You drift past goldfish stalls, shooting games, the smell of grilled corn. Your shoulders ache from holding yourself so carefully apart from him.

Finally, he breaks.

“Why’d you come?”

The question catches you off guard. His eyes are fixed on the lanterns overhead, but his voice is sharp enough to cut.

“I—” You swallow. “I just… wanted to.”

He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in the set of his mouth.

You don’t tell him that you didn’t come for the festival. That Akaashi and Oikawa pulled strings you didn’t agree to, forced you here because they were sick of watching you both orbit misery.

Because if you said that, he’d only retreat further.

You stop at a yakisoba stall. The heat from the grill stings your cheeks, the smell thick in the air. Bokuto fumbles with his wallet, pays for both without looking at you, and hands over a plate.

It’s awkward. Too polite.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

He just nods.

You stand side by side, eating from separate trays, shoulders not touching though the space between you aches.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Bokuto.”

He freezes mid-bite. Slowly lowers the chopsticks.

“What?”

“I hate this.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “This… thing between us. Like we’re strangers.”

For a second, his face flickers—hurt, guilt, something else. But he forces a laugh, too bright, too brittle.

“C’mon, Y/n. We’re not strangers.”

“Then what are we?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than the smoke from the grill. He doesn’t answer. Just looks away, throat bobbing.

You walk again. Past cotton candy stalls, past sparklers, past couples leaning into each other like the air belongs to them. Your chest feels hollow.

At one point, your hands brush again. This time neither of you pulls away immediately. But neither of you takes the leap, either.

It’s enough to make your stomach ache.

By the time the fireworks are about to start, you’re raw with silence.

The crowd funnels toward the riverbank, blankets spread across the grass, families settling in. Lanterns sway in the breeze, casting long shadows.

Bokuto stops beside an empty patch of grass.

“Here?” he asks.

You nod, though your throat feels too tight to speak.

You sit side by side, the distance between you a canyon.

The first firework explodes overhead—red, then gold, lighting the sky like something alive.

You don’t look at it.

You look at him.

And the words burn at the back of your throat, desperate to be said.

The fireworks continued to boom so loud to the point where the ground trembles. Gold bleeds across the sky, burning out into ash that falls invisible in the dark. The crowd cheers, but between you and him it’s quieter than it’s ever been.

Your knees pull close to your chest. His hands are fists in the grass.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Bokuto,” you whisper.

He flinches like the sound of his own name hurts. Slowly, he turns, eyes reflecting the fireworks like shards of glass.

“I really can’t do this anymore.”

His breath hitches. “Do… what?”

You gesture weakly between you, the canyon carved from silence and misunderstandings. “Pretending everything’s fine. Pretending I don’t—” You bite down, the words raw in your throat.

He watches you, eyes wide and wounded. “Y/n…”

You swallow hard. “There’s something I need to tell you. The truth. All of it.”

The words come spilling out, jagged and messy:

“How this started as a test. Oikawa wrote eighteen stupid rules for me—ways to make you fall for me. I didn’t even mean to at first, but then… I kept going. Sleepovers, compliments, all of it. Every step I took was me trying to tell you without actually saying it out loud.”

His mouth parts, disbelief written all over him.

You push on. “But somewhere along the way it stopped being a test for you to like me. It wasn’t about Oikawa’s dumb playbook anymore. It was just me, wanting you.”

The confession tastes like blood and salt on your tongue.

“I like you, Bokuto. More than a best friend. I have for a while now.”

The world narrows to his silence. To the crackle of sparklers and the thunder of fireworks you don’t see.

Finally, he breathes, “You… you did all that for me?”

His voice is rough, like he’s been shouting for hours.

You nod. Your pulse hammers so loud it drowns the crowd. “I didn’t mean to confuse you. I just… I didn’t know how else to tell you. And I thought—”

“That night,” he blurts, eyes sharp now. “The party. We played sven minutes in heaven.”

You blink. “What?”

“I remember.” He drags a hand through his hair, wild-eyed. “I didn’t before, but—I did eventually. We kissed, Y/n. I kissed you, and I didn’t stop thinking about it even when I forgot the details. That’s why it’s been eating me alive.”

Your chest tightens, air searing in your lungs.

“You kissed me?” Your voice cracks.

He shakes his head violently. “Well—we kissed each other. And it felt—” He cuts himself off, breath shuddering. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t want to screw it up.”

A firework erupts overhead, bathing you both in gold. His hand twitches in the grass between you.

“Y/n,” he says, softer now, broken in a way you’ve never heard. “I like you too. More than a best friend. I just—I didn’t know how to say it. I thought if I held on too tight, I’d loose you.”

Something in you snaps.

You lean forward, grab the collar of his shirt, and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first, more shock than skill. His lips are soft, hesitant, testing. He freezes for a heartbeat, and then he’s moving, responding, tilting his head until your mouths fit.

The taste of yakisoba and sugar still lingers on your tongues. His breath hitches against you.

Then the dam breaks.

The kiss deepens, hot and desperate, his hand cupping the back of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. Your lips part, and the world dissolves in sensation: the rough scrape of his teeth grazing yours, the low groan caught in his throat, the shiver that runs down your spine when his thumb brushes your jaw.

Fireworks explode above, drowning the sound of your gasped breaths.

He kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s been waiting for years and is terrified this is the only chance he’ll ever get. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging him closer, until your chests press flush, heat radiating through every point of contact.

The smell of smoke, fried food, and summer air swirls around you, but all you can taste is him.

When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, you’re both breathless, gasping against each other’s lips. His chest heaves like he’s just played five sets straight.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, voice shaking. “That was—you—”

You laugh, giddy and wrecked. “Yeah. Same.”

Another firework cracks above, showering the world in red. He leans in again, kisses you softer this time, almost reverent, like he wants to memorize you in every color of the sky.

For once, the silence between you isn’t suffocating.

It’s full.

It’s everything.

END

A/N- FINALLY FINISHED OMDD I will do bonus scenes (partially because I don’t want it to come to an end ߹𖥦߹) which includes some elements of smut + other scenes!!

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒:

1. Graduation

2. I Love You

3. Date Night (smut)

4. Moving In (partial smut)

5. Early Morning (partial smut)

6. First Doubt

7. Reunion (smut)

8. Always & Forever

[ Bonus one , graduation. ]

It had only been a few weeks since you and Bokuto started dating, and you still couldn’t quite believe it. Sometimes, when he pulled you in close, you had to pinch yourself — like maybe you’d wake up and it would all still just be a dream. But it wasn’t. This was real. He was yours.

Those weeks felt like a blur of soft kisses tucked into stolen corners of the school hallway, his ridiculously sweaty hand always finding yours on the way to practice, late-night calls that turned into sleepovers where you’d fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Bokuto was everything you’d thought he’d be as a boyfriend: playful, relentless in affection, and so open with his happiness that it made your own heart ache.

When you finally told people, the reactions were… dramatic, to say the least.

Oikawa’s voice went up several octaves, practically shrieking over the phone. “FINALLY! My genius plan worked! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this day? I practically wrote history, Y/n, you can thank me—” until Iwaizumi’s “shut up, Shittykawa” cut him off. Iwaizumi, of course, had been calmer, though the grin on his face said everything. “Congrats. Took you guys long enough.”

The Fukurodani team, on the other hand, erupted into chaos the second Bokuto blurted it out during practice.

“NO WAY!” Konoha yelled, gripping Onaga’s shoulders like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “I knew it! I knew it from day one—”

“You didn’t know anything,” Washio interrupted, though he was smiling too.

Akaashi didn’t say much, just met your eyes and gave a soft, knowing smile — like he’d seen this coming a mile away.

It had been perfect.

But perfect things had a way of moving too quickly.

No matter how much you wanted to slow it down, graduation came faster than anyone wanted. The air in the gym felt heavier with every practice, every serve echoing against the walls with the weight of lasts. The last rally. The last time Bokuto would scream in victory in his high school gym. The last time you’d stand at the edge of the court, cheering so loudly your throat hurt.

On the day itself, the atmosphere was bittersweet.

The third-years — you included — lined up for the farewell. The first and second-years tried to act normal, but you could see it: the way Washio’s jaw set tighter than usual, the way Akaashi’s fingers twisted against his clipboard, the way Onaga blinked too many times to fight back tears.

And then there was Bokuto.

He was trying — oh, he was trying so hard to keep his usual brightness. He laughed too loud, ruffled everyone’s hair, cracked jokes like always. But you saw the way his smile faltered whenever he looked around the gym. You knew him too well; you knew his energy was masking the ache in his chest.

When it came time to pass down the captain’s role, Bokuto stood in the center, holding the armband with a trembling hand.

“Washio,” he said, voice catching, though he still smiled, “I trust you. More than anyone. You’re steady, and you’ve got this. You’ll take care of them, right?”

Washio nodded firmly. “Of course.”

That was it. Bokuto handed the invisible band over, and the weight of it all seemed to finally crash on him.

He turned to his teammates, and for once, his voice wasn’t booming with bravado but thick with sincerity. “You guys… you’re my family. This team made me who I am. Don’t forget that you’re strong. Even when I’m not here to yell about it.”

There were sniffles. Even Akaashi’s usual composure cracked when Bokuto wrapped him in a hug so tight his feet nearly left the floor.

By the time the goodbyes were done, your chest hurt from holding back tears.

And then, just like that, it was over. The gym was emptying out, echoing with the ghosts of all the noise and chaos it had once held.

Bokuto reached for your hand as you walked out together. His palm was warm, grounding, even as the cool evening air brushed your skin.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice a little hoarse from everything he’d just said and felt.

You glanced at him, and he smiled — not his usual blinding grin, but something softer, steadier. “It’s sad… but I’m glad I’m walking out of here with you.”

Your throat tightened, but you squeezed his hand back. “Me too.”

It wasn’t an ending. Not for you two. As the gym doors closed behind you, it felt like the beginning of something bigger, brighter — a future you were stepping into together.

[ Bonus two , I love you. ]

It was now only a few weeks since graduation, but the world already felt different. The team scattered into new routines, new futures, new uncertainties. And Bokuto Koutaro — your loud, golden, chaotic best friend-turned-boyfriend — had been quiet.

Not bad quiet, just… heavy.

You noticed it in the way he slumped into his desk chair when you came over that evening, the way he fiddled with the string of his hoodie instead of bouncing to tell you about his day. His parents had congratulated him, you’d hugged him, Akaashi had clapped him on the back with a rare, soft smile. But Bokuto still hadn’t celebrated properly.

You climbed onto his bed, cross-legged, and watched him from across the room. He looked like he was trying to hold the whole sky in his chest.

“You should be happy,” you finally said, voice light, teasing. “Big scary MSBY Owl, right? Captain of… well, something eventually. You made it, Bokuto.”

His head snapped up — eyes wide, almost guilty. “I am happy!” He said it too fast, too loud, like if he said it with his usual volume it would be true. Then his shoulders deflated, and he spun slowly in his chair to face you. “I just… I dunno, Y/n. It’s weird.”

You patted your lap, a silent command. He hesitated, then dragged himself over, collapsing onto the bed until you guided him into sitting between your thighs, his head dropping against your shoulder.

Your hands instinctively found his hair, carding through soft strands until his breath evened out. He always melted like that under your touch.

“What’s weird?” you asked gently.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, muffled against your shirt: “I’ll be traveling a lot.”

You smiled into his hair. “Yeah, that’s kinda the point of being a pro athlete.”

“I don’t ever wanna lose you.” His voice cracked, raw and boyish, nothing like the confident ace who commanded stadiums. His arms slid tight around your waist, pulling you flush. “I don’t even know if I wanna do it, Y/n. Not if it means—”

You pushed him back just enough to see his face. His eyes were shining, wide and terrified, like he was already watching you slip away.

“Bokuto,” you said firmly. “Don’t you dare think about not doing this. It would hurt me more if you gave up your dream just because of me. Do you know how proud I am of you? You can’t throw that away.”

He bit his lip, searching your face. “But promise me. Nothing will happen to us. Please.”

Your chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the fear gathering in his expression. “Nothing will happen to us.”

His breath hitched. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

And then, like the words broke free without his permission, he whispered it against your palm: “I love you.”

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t shouted to the ceiling like most things Bokuto did. It was trembling and desperate, as if the confession itself was a lifeline he’d been clinging to for months.

You blinked at him, heart stuttering. And then you smiled, so wide your cheeks hurt.

“I love you too,” you breathed.

The relief in his face was almost painful — like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He surged forward, kissing you once, twice, soft and shaky, before breaking. Then it was all heat, hands gripping your waist, your own fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him back until you couldn’t tell where his breath ended and yours began.

The world tilted when he pulled you fully onto his lap, straddling him. He laughed against your mouth — that unsteady, dizzy laugh he only made when he was overwhelmed.

You kissed it away.

His hands slid under your shirt but didn’t push further, just held, just touched — grounding himself in the promise that you were here, and he wasn’t losing you. Each kiss deepened, slow then hungry, until both of you were panting, foreheads pressed together, your laughter trembling with leftover tears.

When you finally pulled back, lips swollen, you whispered, “See? Nothing’s going to happen to us.”

And Bokuto, eyes shining brighter than you’d ever seen, nodded. “Never. Not as long as I’ve got you.”

[ Bonus three , date night. ]

It had been months since the fireworks. Months since the night your lips pressed against Bokuto’s beneath the burst of light and smoke, months since the world narrowed into him — warm, loud, and trembling in your arms.

And somehow, you still couldn’t believe it.

Bokuto Koutaro was your boyfriend.

The word felt giddy and unreal every time it slipped through your head.

Boyfriend.

Like it wasn’t the same boy who used to yell across the gym to show you his new spike form, or whine for energy juice during practice, or drape his hoodie over your shoulders without thinking. No — this was Bokuto, but softer.

Yours.

He’d turned out to be surprisingly romantic in ways you never expected. He would walk you to practice, insist on carrying your bag even when you argued he’d already been weight training that morning, and he’d always buy you those little melon breads you liked at the corner shop. Flowers, too. He wasn’t smooth about it, not really — he usually thrust the bouquet at you like a volleyball, cheeks pink and hair sticking up in uneven tufts. But the sincerity in his wide smile made your chest ache every time.

There were kisses, of course. So many kisses — slower ones when he dropped you off at home, sleepy ones when you fell asleep at his place. Endless sleepovers where his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, and you whispered into his chest until you both drifted off.

It was everything you wanted.

And yet, for all that sweetness, the two of you hadn’t crossed that line yet. Not because the desire wasn’t there — you felt it, buzzing beneath your skin, humming in every long kiss that lingered too close to something more. But neither of you pushed. Maybe because Bokuto didn’t want to pressure you. Maybe because you were both too wrapped up in the happiness of simply being together.

Still, there were nights when you lay awake in his bed, your legs tangled together, wondering what it would be like to take that final step.

You didn’t have to think too hard about it today, though.

Because right now, Bokuto was lying beside you in your room, half-sprawled across your bed while a half-forgotten movie played on your laptop. His hair was messy, his T-shirt a little too loose, and his arm rested beneath your head like it belonged there. Which it kind of did.

You thought he was dozing until he suddenly piped up.

“Let’s go on a cute date today.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What? Where’d that come from?”

Bokuto grinned, turning his head so close your noses nearly bumped. “I wanna take my pretty girl out. Proper date. Just us.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? What’s the occasion?”

His grin widened until it stretched nearly off his face. “You. You’re the occasion.”

You smacked his chest with a pillow, trying to cover the way your heart melted into a puddle. “Cheesy.”

“Not cheesy if I mean it,” he shot back, voice warm with something softer than his usual loudness.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. Bokuto craned his neck like a curious owl, reading the caller ID.

“Oikawa? Tell him I said hi!”

You groaned, swiping the phone before Bokuto could grab it. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered, slipping off the bed. Bokuto gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up before sprawling dramatically across your pillows.

You answered the call as you stepped into the hall. “Hey.”

“Y/n-chan!” Oikawa’s voice nearly blew out your eardrum, loud and dripping with over-the-top sweetness. “It’s been ages! I was starting to think you forgot about your childhood best friend, now that you’ve got a boyfriend and all—”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips tugged into a smile. “I didn’t forget you. Don’t be dramatic.”

There was a muffled grunt in the background, and then another voice cut in. “She didn’t forget you, Shittykawa. Stop whining.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squeaked. “Don’t ruin my moment.”

You laughed, leaning against the wall. “So, you two are together again? I should’ve guessed.”

“Obviously,” Iwaizumi said. “He begged me to join the call. What’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Just—” You hesitated, then smiled to yourself. “Actually, Bokuto’s taking me out on a date tonight.”

Oikawa gasped so loudly you winced. “Cute! Adorable! Fantastic! …But I was asking about the juicy stuff.”

Your face flamed instantly. “The—what?”

“You know.” His voice dropped into a conspiratorial purr. “The spicy details. Don’t tell me you two haven’t—”

“Oikawa!”

Iwa groaned in the background. “You’re disgusting. Stop prying into her love life.”

But Oikawa was relentless. “Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me. You’ve been dating for months. You’ve done all the cute couple stuff. And you’re telling me you still haven’t—”

Your silence was answer enough.

Oikawa shrieked. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It’s been months! Do I need to get on a flight from Brazil just to fix your sex life??”

You nearly dropped the phone. “Oikawa, shut up! It’s none of your business!”

“Iwa-chan, back me up here,” Oikawa whined.

“No way,” Iwa said flatly. “This is between her and Bokuto. Don’t drag me into your crap.”

“Unbelievable,” Oikawa huffed, ignoring him. “Tonight. It’s happening. I refuse to let my best friend stay a virgin forever when she’s dating a guy who looks like that. Here’s what you’re going to do—”

“Oikawa!”

But he was already rattling off a plan — half-serious, half-ridiculous — that made your face burn hotter with every word. Seduce him, he said. Dress a little cuter than usual. Lean in. Don’t chicken out.

By the time you finally managed to hang up, you were mortified.

Still, his words lingered in your head as you padded back into your room. Bokuto sat up the second you entered, hair sticking up in a dozen new directions, a goofy smile on his lips.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “Yeah. Just Oikawa being… Oikawa.”

Bokuto patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You climbed back onto the bed, curling against him as if nothing had changed. His arm draped over your shoulder, casual and familiar.

But your thoughts weren’t casual at all. They were racing, tangled up in Oikawa’s meddling words and the warm weight of Bokuto’s arm around you.

He noticed the way you bit your lip, because of course he did.

“What’s with that face?” he teased, poking your cheek.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, too quickly.

He tilted his head, unconvinced, but let it slide with a hum. Then, casually, almost like it was nothing, he said—

“I booked us something nice for later, we’ll need to pack a few things.”

You blinked. “…For what?”

Bokuto grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s a surprise.”

Your heart stuttered, and Oikawa’s voice echoed in your mind: Tonight. It’s happening.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kill him… or thank him.

Bokuto had practically dragged you into the lobby, his hand warm and solid around yours, his grin wide enough to split his face. He marched up to the front desk like he owned the place, puffing out his chest as though announcing something to the world.

“Reservation for Bokuto Koutaro!” he said loudly, then added, proudly, “And my girlfriend.”

You nearly choked on air. The receptionist blinked but handed over the keycards, and you hid your face in your sleeve as Bokuto beamed like he’d just won nationals.

The elevator ride was no less chaotic. Bokuto was humming some offbeat rhythm, bouncing on his heels, his fingers tapping restlessly against your knuckles. When the doors opened, he nearly barreled you into the hallway before fumbling the keycard into the slot.

The door swung open, and he froze. “WOAH.”

The suite was massive. A king-sized bed stood at the center like a throne, its crisp white linens already conquered by a battlefield of snacks Bokuto must’ve hauled in earlier: chocolate-dipped strawberries, a tower of popcorn, sodas, candy, chips spilling from bags. A wall-to-wall window looked out over the city, glittering with lights. To the side, the largest flat-screen TV you’d ever seen glowed like a movie theater screen.

“Look at this place!” Bokuto shouted, his voice echoing against the high ceiling. He ran across the room and belly-flopped onto the bed, making the snacks jump. “Y/n, c’mere, it’s like we’re celebrities.”

You shut the door, laughing despite yourself. “You’re going to break the bed before we even sleep in it.”

“Worth it!” He flipped onto his back, hair wild, cheeks flushed from excitement. Then he bolted upright and dashed to the dresser. “OH! They have hotel clothes!” He held up the folded loungewear like it was treasure.

“Bokuto—”

“Let’s change, baby!” He was already kicking off his shirt, tossing it carelessly across the room. “We gotta do this properly!”

You shook your head, but your heart thudded harder when you pulled out the outfit you’d packed: the delicate lingerie Oikawa had insisted on, now hidden beneath an oversized shirt. You slipped it on in the bathroom, nerves twisting through your stomach, and tried not to think about the way your hands were shaking.

When you came back out, Bokuto was sprawled shirtless in baggy shorts, already dimming the lights so the room was wrapped in soft darkness. The TV flickered, painting him in silver and blue.

His head popped up when he saw you. His grin softened into something warmer, something that curled in your chest. “Perfect. Get over here.” He patted the bed like he was coaxing a cat, snacks spread everywhere around him.

You climbed onto the mattress, the oversized shirt hiding your secret. Bokuto immediately slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest.

The screen glowed, the city twinkled outside, the air smelled faintly of strawberries and chocolate. Bokuto squeezed your hip absentmindedly as he chattered about what movie to start, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Oikawa’s words echoing in your head

Bokuto had the lights low, the movie long forgotten, his arm tucked around you as if he could never sit without touching you somehow. You shifted to face him, and his grin faltered into something softer, something that tugged at you until you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, smiling against your mouth before deepening the kiss. One soft press turned into two, then into heat—his hand cupping your jaw, his lips moving faster, hungrier, until your shirt was caught between his fingers and you were half straddling him. He pulled you into his lap without hesitation, a groan slipping out when your weight settled against him.

You kissed him harder, every brush of your lips against his making your body burn. Bokuto kissed back like he always did—hot, desperate, overwhelming—but then, just like every other time, he slowed, pulling back, breathing hard against your cheek as if forcing himself to stop.

But this time you didn’t want to stop.

You chased his mouth, kissed him again, then down his jaw, his neck, his cheek. His laugh was soft, almost breathless, as his hands lingered helplessly at your hips. “My love,” he chuckled, voice hoarse, “what’s up with you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you caught his hand, kissed along his fingers, watched his eyes widen before you trailed lower, pressing your lips to his chest, then down the lines of his abs. His laughter caught, stuttered into silence as you kissed your way to the sharp cut of his waist, your lips brushing just above the waistband of his shorts.

“Y/n…” His voice was tight, warning and wanting all at once. He reached down, tilting your chin up with trembling fingers. His golden eyes were wide, his mouth parted, expression almost shy despite the heat between you. “Uh… you don’t have to—”

You grinned against his skin and bit his hand playfully, a teasing nip before you kissed lower, tracing the sharp V-line that dipped into his shorts. He sucked in a sharp breath as you tugged at the drawstring, slowly working the fabric down to reveal the outline of his boxers.

“I want to,” you whispered, your voice trembling with nerves but steady with intent.

Bokuto swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t bring you to a hotel because I wanted you to do this,” he murmured, voice rough, as if he needed you to know it.

“I know.” Your lips brushed his waistband again, your hand pressing to the warmth beneath. You looked up at him through your lashes, a smile tugging at your mouth. “But I want to. So please?”

He stared at you, chest rising and falling, his hair sticking up even wilder than usual. For once, Bokuto Koutarou didn’t have words. He only sighed, face flushed deep pink, and nodded. “…Okay.”

His shorts slipped lower under your hands, and when you tugged his boxers down, you froze, your breath catching. He was already semi-hard, heavy in your hand, flushed a deeper shade at the tip. You pressed a tentative kiss there, and his entire body jerked.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his head tipped back against the headboard. His hands clenched the sheets, but his eyes never left you, wide and almost disbelieving. “You—Y/n—” His words stuttered into a moan as you kissed again, your lips lingering, testing, learning.

You were nervous, fumbling at first, but every reaction from him was a guide: the way his hips twitched when you circled your tongue around the swollen head, the low curse he breathed when you wrapped your lips tighter around him, the broken groan when you took him deeper bit by bit.

Bokuto’s hands shook where they hovered above you, like he wanted to touch but couldn’t bear to stop you. His chest rose hard and fast, his abs tightening under your palms. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna kill me,” he gasped, voice cracking into laughter and moans all tangled together.

And still, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your lips lingered against the flushed crown of his cock, warm and soft, and Bokuto swore his entire body lit up like a struck match. The sound he made was nothing short of broken—half-moan, half-gasp—his head thunking back against the headboard as his fists balled in the sheets.

“Y/n—” His voice cracked, breathless and high, as if saying your name alone could anchor him. “Fuck, that feels—” He cut himself off with another groan when you parted your lips and kissed him again, this time wetter, firmer, your tongue darting out in a nervous flick.

The taste was faintly salty, sharp and heady on your tongue, and the weight of him in your hand only made your pulse quicken. He was heavy, hot, pulsing with every faint twitch of blood rushing through him. It was intimidating—he was intimidating—but the way Bokuto was looking at you made it impossible to stop.

His golden eyes, wide and blown, were fixed on you as if he couldn’t bear to blink. His chest heaved, each inhale shaky, every exhale a muttered curse of disbelief. “You’re… oh my god, you’re actually…” He trailed off, his words strangled as you opened your mouth wider, your lips wrapping cautiously around him.

The sound that left him then was shameless, guttural—like the last shred of his composure snapping in half. “Holy shit, baby,” he groaned, hand shooting out instinctively before he froze, hovering above your hair like he was terrified to push you. “Can I—? Please—”

You hummed, the vibration making him jolt, and guided his hand to your hair yourself. His fingers threaded through carefully, reverently, holding but not forcing, stroking your scalp as if you’d break beneath his touch.

Your mouth slid lower, slow and experimental, until he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, pulling back instantly with a watery gasp. But Bokuto’s hand was there, not restraining but steadying, his other hand reaching down to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your lips, wet and swollen from stretching around him. His gaze softened, even as his body trembled with need.

“Hey, hey—don’t push it,” he whispered, though his voice was still wrecked, raw with restraint. “You’re already—fuck, you’re making me feel so good. You don’t even know.”

But you wanted to know. You wanted to know exactly how to make him lose his mind. So you tried again. Slower this time. You took him deeper bit by bit, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, listening for every sound that spilled out of him like music.

And Bokuto was so vocal.

Every shift of your mouth had him panting, every flick of your tongue had him groaning your name. “Yes—just like that—oh god, you’re perfect,” he choked, his hand tightening in your hair, not pushing but guiding, matching the rhythm you were learning. “My pretty girl—fuck—you’re unreal—”

Your confidence grew with each reaction, each stuttered moan and strangled laugh, until you were bobbing your head in a steady rhythm. The slick, obscene sounds filled the darkened room, mixing with his gasps and your own muffled breaths. Saliva slicked your lips and dripped down your chin, and he couldn’t stop staring at you—on your knees, hair messy, eyes watery but blazing with determination.

“Y/n,” he whined—actually whined—as his hips twitched, betraying him with shallow thrusts. He yanked his hand back instantly, horrified at himself. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”

But you caught his wrist, kissed the vein at the base of his palm, and went back down on him with a deliberate slowness that made his eyes roll back. His restraint cracked, splintering into shuddering groans. “Don’t—don’t do that to me, baby, I’m gonna—”

He couldn’t help it anymore. His hand threaded back into your hair, this time with firmer intent, guiding the pace but never shoving. Just enough to meet you, to move with you, until you were both lost in the sloppy, wet rhythm. His thighs trembled under your palms as you steadied yourself against him, and his voice broke again and again—praise, curses, moans spilling freely.

“God, you’re so good—so fucking good—I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold it—” His hips stuttered, thrusting shallowly into your mouth now that you’d allowed it, each one sloppy, desperate. His eyes locked on yours through the messy strands of hair, wild and vulnerable, like he’d never wanted anything more than you right here, right now.

Your jaw ached, your throat burned, but the sight of Bokuto—flushed red, chest heaving, golden eyes glazed and frantic—made every second worth it. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue, and that was all it took.

His entire body jerked, a strangled cry ripping out of his throat as his hips pressed forward, spilling hot and heavy onto your tongue. He moaned your name like a prayer, like a plea, his hand gripping your hair tight as his climax tore through him.

You swallowed as best you could, though some of it spilled messily down your chin, dripping onto your shirt. You pulled back slowly, lips sliding off him with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.

Bokuto’s chest was heaving, his hair plastered to his forehead, sweat shining on his collarbones. He stared at you like you’d just upended his entire universe. And then he laughed—a breathless, incredulous sound, his hand cupping your cheek again.

“You,” he rasped, voice still shaking, “are actually going to kill me.”

You had barely pulled your mouth off him, lips shiny and cheeks flushed, when Bokuto leaned forward and grabbed you—not rough, but urgent, like he couldn’t let you stay on the floor another second. He pulled you onto his lap in one smooth motion, chest still rising hard and fast under yours.

“Baby,” he whispered, and his voice cracked on the word, his forehead pressing against yours. His golden eyes were wide, soft and disbelieving, like he couldn’t process that you’d just done that for him. “You’re insane. You’re perfect. You—fuck—”

His praise dissolved into a groan as you shifted on his lap. You felt it instantly—the twitch under you, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh even though he’d just finished.

You pulled back slightly, wide-eyed. “Already?”

Bokuto laughed, breathless and sheepish, running a shaky hand through his sweat-mussed hair. “I—uh—yeah. I can’t help it. Look at you.” His eyes roved over your face, down to your swollen lips, your damp chin, and then—slowly—lower. His hand trembled as it traced the hem of your oversized shirt. “Can I…?”

You nodded, your chest already tight with nerves

He pulled it up and over your head—then froze.

The shirt slipped from Bokuto’s fingers, but his breath slipped from his lungs. You sat there in his lap, lace framing your body like some fever dream, and the only thing separating you was the steady, heavy press of his cock against you—even harder now, flushed and thick where it rested against the heat of your panties.

“Fuck…” His voice cracked. His hands—big, trembling—skated up your thighs, pausing just shy of your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear if he touched too hard. “You’re sitting here—looking like this—on me? You’re insane. I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, until his disbelief melted into need. His mouth parted under yours, his tongue sweeping against yours as though he couldn’t get enough, and you gasped when he ground up into you, the wet lace between your thighs barely softening the drag of his length.

He broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I’m already so close just from that—what the hell are you doing to me?”

You smiled against his hair, sliding your fingers into the messy strands. “Driving you crazy.”

“Mission accomplished.” His voice was low, hoarse, almost reverent.

One hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over the lace-covered peak until your back arched. He groaned at the sight, slipping beneath the cup with no patience for barriers. The heat of his palm against your bare skin made you whimper.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered before ducking his head. His mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently, then harder when your hips jerked against him. His teeth grazed, tongue swirling, pulling broken sounds from your throat while his other hand gripped your waist, keeping you steady as you writhed.

Every time you shifted, his cock slid against your soaked panties, smearing your slick down his length. You couldn’t stop rocking into him, couldn’t stop the tiny gasps each time the head nudged against your clit through the fabric.

“Bokuto—” Your voice cracked, pleading.

He lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes wild. “I’ve got you,” he promised, kissing you again, tasting the whimper still trembling on your tongue. His fingers drifted lower, skimming the waistband of your panties. “Can I?”

You nodded fast, too breathless for words.

He hooked his fingers under the lace and slid down, groaning when his hand met nothing but wet heat. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” His thumb found your clit like instinct, circling softly until your nails dug into his shoulders. “And all this—just from me?”

“Always you,” you gasped, bucking into his touch.

That pulled a curse from his throat, his cock twitching hard against you. He teased you with shallow strokes at first, fingers brushing your entrance but not pressing in, like he was testing how much you could take.

You whined, rolling your hips desperately. “Koutaro, please.”

He chuckled, kissing you again to swallow the sound, before finally sliding a finger inside you. The stretch had you clinging to him instantly, moaning into his mouth as he worked you open slowly, gently, like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever held.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice rough with awe. “Good girl, taking me so well.”

Your whole body jolted at the praise, your walls tightening around him.

He froze, then smirked against your neck. “Ohh. You like that, huh?”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t deny it—not when your body gave you away with every pulse.

He added a second finger, curling them just right until sparks shot up your spine. “Then I’ll say it again. You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. You’re mine.”

His fingers curled inside you just right, brushing over that spot that made you see stars, and you clutched at his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. His name kept spilling from your lips, broken, desperate—“Kou, please, please—”

He groaned, the sound deep in his chest. His thumb never stopped circling your clit, slow but relentless, and each tiny motion made your thighs tremble where they caged his hips. You were unraveling fast, every muscle straining tight, sweat making the lace cling to your skin.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your ear. “Let it happen, baby. You’re so close. You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers hard enough to make him curse, but just as your vision started to blur—right on the edge—he stopped.

“Wha—?” Your protest cracked on a whimper.

Bokuto’s forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. His fingers slipped free, wet with your arousal, and he hooked them into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them to the side, baring you completely against the thick, leaking press of his cock.

“Can I?” His voice was wrecked, almost shaking with restraint. “Tell me you want this too. Tell me now, or I stop.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your eyes even through your blush. “I want you, Kou. I’ve always wanted you.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a choked laugh, half-disbelieving, before lining himself up. The blunt head nudged at your entrance, sliding easily against how wet you were, and both of you moaned at the contact.

The blunt head nudged at your entrance, sliding easily against how wet you were, and both of you moaned at the contact.

He pressed in slowly, almost too slow, his jaw clenched and his hand gripping your hip hard enough to tremble. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the stretch hit—hot, tight, so much more than his fingers—and you buried your face in his neck with a gasp.

“Kou—”

“I know, baby. I know.” His voice cracked like he was barely holding himself together. He kissed your temple, your hair, anywhere his lips could reach while his other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “God, you feel… you’re perfect. So warm, so tight. Just… just breathe, yeah? I’ve got you.”

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to relax, and he pushed deeper. Inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you, panting hard against your ear. His cock twitched deep in your heat, and his whole body shuddered.

“Holy shit.” His laugh was wrecked, breathless. “I’m not—I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this. You’re… fuck, you’re mine.”

The words made you clench around him, and he groaned so loud it rattled through his chest into yours.

He didn’t move at first. He just held you there, one hand splayed over your spine to keep you flush against him, the other gripping your thigh as though anchoring himself. His lips brushed your cheek, your jaw, whispering between shaky breaths: “You’re so beautiful. My pretty girl. I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

When you finally shifted your hips experimentally, the both of you gasped. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he muttered a broken, “Don’t—fuck—don’t do that unless you want me to lose it.”

But you wanted him to.

You rolled again, this time slower, and he hissed, dragging his hips up to meet yours. The friction sparked through you like lightning, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, and he found his rhythm—smooth thrusts that grew steadier, stronger, until every push had you choking on a cry.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, tangled with his shameless moans. Bokuto didn’t hold back, didn’t bite them down—he gave them all to you, each noise proof of how undone you made him.

“Feels so good,” he groaned, kissing your shoulder before tilting his head back, golden eyes blown wide. “You’re—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby. Like you were made for me. You were, weren’t you? Just mine.”

“Yes,” you gasped, nails scraping down his chest. “All yours.”

That cracked something in him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, angled just right until sparks exploded behind your eyes. You clawed at him, desperate, your moans rising into shameless cries as heat coiled tighter and tighter low in your stomach.

“Kou—” Your voice broke on his name, pleading.

“I’ve got you,” he panted, thumb finding your clit again, circling fast and messy as his hips snapped up into yours. “Come on, baby. Cum for me. Wanna feel you, need to feel you—please.”

His begging undid you. You shattered around him, crying out as waves of pleasure tore through you, walls pulsing hard around his cock. Bokuto cursed loud, almost desperate, thrusting through your release until his own hit.

He buried himself deep, moaning your name like it was the only word left in his vocabulary, and spilled hot inside you. His body locked tight, muscles trembling, before he finally collapsed forward, catching himself with shaking arms so he wouldn’t crush you.

For a moment, the world was nothing but harsh breaths, pounding hearts, and the dizzy aftershocks still rolling through you both. He pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, a dazed grin spreading across his flushed face.

“You just… ruined me,” he said, voice hoarse but filled with awe. “Like—I don’t think I’ll ever recover. Holy shit.”

You laughed weakly, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “That’s kind of the point.”

He kissed you then, slow and messy, full of everything words couldn’t hold. When he finally pulled back, his smile softened, eyes glowing even through exhaustion.

“I love you,” he whispered, like a secret meant only for you.

And the way he held you after, still inside you, made you believe him in every trembling breath, every lingering kiss, every heartbeat.

[ Bonus four , moving in. ]

The smell of fresh paint still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the cream-colored walls of your new living room. The floors were littered with cardboard boxes, some neatly labeled and stacked, others half-open with clothes or books spilling out. A mattress lay bare on the floor upstairs, waiting for the bed frame that would arrive in a week, and the fridge hummed almost too loudly in the kitchen because it was still mostly empty except for bottled water and leftover takeout.

It was yours.

The house wasn’t fancy—two bedrooms, a cozy kitchen, just enough of a yard out back for Bokuto to set up a makeshift net when he wanted to practice—but it was more than you’d ever dreamed. You’d signed the papers together a few weeks ago, both of you too giddy to stop smiling, and now here you were: unpacking your lives into this new space, building a home.

Bokuto was sprawled on the couch you’d just wrestled through the front door, his hair messier than usual, a streak of dust smudged across his cheek. He had one of your throw pillows tucked under his arm like he already owned it, grinning like a kid at Christmas as he turned his head to look at you.

“Baaaabe,” he drawled, his voice warm with exhaustion but still buzzing with excitement. “We live here. Together. Like… this is our place now.”

You laughed, dropping onto the couch beside him and stretching your legs out, toes brushing against one of the unopened boxes. “Yeah, we do. Feels surreal, doesn’t it?”

“Totally surreal,” he agreed, sliding closer until his arm was looped around your shoulders. “Like, I’m gonna wake up and think I’m back in my room or something. But then you’ll be there. And then I’ll remember—nope. This is real life. Our home.”

Your heart squeezed. You’d both come so far since those chaotic high school days. He had MSBY now—flights, games, grueling practices that sometimes kept him away longer than either of you liked. You had a job you actually loved, one that paid well enough to make this house possible. It wasn’t always easy, but you’d made it work. Together.

Bokuto pressed a kiss to your temple before leaning back against the couch with a sigh. “You know what’s missing, though?”

You turned to look at him. “What?”

“Christening the house,” he said immediately, eyes glinting with mischief.

You blinked, laughing nervously. “Christening? Like… breaking a bottle of champagne on the front door?”

He shook his head furiously, hair flopping. “Nooo, not like that. I mean—you know.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, though it was only the two of you. “Like us. Making it official.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly. “Kou.”

“What?” His grin widened, playful and unashamed. “It’s tradition!” He tugged you into his lap like it was the easiest thing in the world, your knees bracketing his thighs. “C’mon, baby. First night in our own place… feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but the way his hands slid instinctively over your waist, fingers splaying against your back like he couldn’t believe you were real, made your pulse skip. You’d been together long enough to know that when Bokuto got like this—reckless, giddy, overflowing with love—it was impossible to say no.

You smirked a little, pretending to think. “So this is your way of saying you don’t want to unpack anymore boxes, huh?”

He gasped dramatically. “Unpacking can wait. This is way more important.” His tone dropped suddenly, sincerity softening the edges of his grin. “I wanna make a memory here with you. Just us. First of many.”

Your throat tightened at that, because damn it, he always knew how to get to you.

You leaned in and kissed him—soft at first, then lingering. Bokuto hummed, hands tightening on your waist, his lips parting beneath yours until the kiss deepened, heat sparking between you as easily as it always did. He tasted faintly of the cola he’d downed earlier, sweet and sharp against your tongue.

“Kou…” you murmured when his mouth trailed to your jaw, then your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin.

“Mm?” He didn’t stop, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe… we should christen it.”

The groan he let out was half relief, half pure hunger. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that.”

Before you could respond, he was already shifting, standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you through the half-unpacked house to where the mattress lay upstairs. The sight almost made you laugh—the room was still bare, walls echoing slightly, your mattress sitting on the floor without sheets. But Bokuto set you down gently like it was a throne, and suddenly it didn’t feel empty at all.

It felt like the start of something.

He kissed you again, harder this time, one hand cupping your jaw while the other slid down your side, squeezing your hip. You tugged at his shirt until he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, revealing the broad chest and abs you’d once only admired from afar. You never got used to how warm his skin was, how solid he felt beneath your hands.

“Kou,” you whispered when he pressed you back onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours.

“Yeah, baby?” His golden eyes burned down at you, already dilated with want.

“Don’t hold back tonight.”

The sound he made in response was almost feral, low in his throat. His mouth crashed onto yours again, his kiss hot and needy, as his hands roamed everywhere—palming your breast through your shirt, dragging down your shorts with impatient fingers, stroking the curve of your thigh like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first.

When he finally slipped his hand between your legs, pressing against the damp heat through your panties, you gasped into his mouth.

“Already wet for me,” he murmured, pride thick in his voice. “God, you’re perfect.”

You arched into his touch, already trembling, as he kissed his way down your chest. His mouth found your nipple through the thin fabric, sucking lightly until you whimpered, tugging his hair in desperate encouragement. He grinned against you, always so damn smug when he got you like this.

Your hands fumbled for his sweatpants, shoving them down until he kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers and the bulge straining hard against them. The sight made your breath hitch.

“Kou…”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, voice rough with need as he reached for the drawer of the nightstand you’d at least managed to set up. He pulled out a condom, ripped the wrapper with his teeth, and rolled it on smoothly despite how much his hands were shaking. “I got you.”

Then he was back over you, pressing his forehead to yours as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock sliding against your soaked entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, voice breaking slightly.

“Yes.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until you were gasping, clutching at his shoulders. The burn was intense, but so was the pleasure, and Bokuto was kissing you through it, whispering praise against your lips.

“You feel so good. So tight. Taking me so well, baby…”

When he was fully seated inside you, both of you breathless, he groaned deep in his chest. “Fuck. Every time feels like the first.”

Then he pulled back and thrust forward, hard enough to make the mattress squeak against the floor. Your moan filled the empty room, echoing off the bare walls.

Bokuto smirked against your neck, thrusting again, harder this time. “Guess the neighbors are gonna know we moved in, huh?”

You could only moan in response, already clinging to him as the rhythm built, your new home christened in the most Bokuto way possible—loud, messy, and unforgettable.

[ Bonus five , early morning. ]

You woke up to the press of him inside you.

Not the slow slide of foreplay, not the deliberate buildup of teasing kisses and whispered pleas—just the thick, familiar stretch of Bokuto already buried in you, his big hand clutching the curve of your thigh to keep you open for him.

Your breath stuttered awake with a soft gasp, eyes flying open only to be met with sunlight spilling across the pale walls of your bedroom. The sheets were tangled around your waists, your leg hooked over his hip as he held it higher, opening you wider so he could thrust lazily into you from behind.

“Kou—” Your voice cracked, sleep-rough and breathless all at once.

“Mm, morning,” he mumbled against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin with every slurred word. His hair was wild, sticking up worse than usual, his chest pressed flush against your back as he rutted into you with the kind of half-conscious rhythm that said he’d woken up hard and refused to waste time.

The pace wasn’t frantic—it was messy, needy, the kind of lazy grind that had you melting into the sheets instead of bracing against them. He wasn’t chasing finesse; he was chasing warmth, chasing the way your cunt squeezed around him every time his cock dragged against that sweet spot.

“Kou,” you tried again, whining as his thumb traced lazy circles over your clit. “You didn’t even—ah—wake me up first.”

He groaned, forehead dropping against your neck. “Couldn’t. You were so warm… felt too good not to.”

The words should’ve sounded shameless, but coming from him—half-asleep, desperate—it just made your whole body shiver. He gave another slow thrust, his cock dragging deep, and you clenched down around him, earning a broken curse muffled against your skin.

“Shit, baby… already squeezing me that tight? You’re gonna kill me first thing in the morning.”

You reached back blindly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until he grunted. His mouth found yours in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing, tongues messy with the way neither of you had the energy to make it neat. It was all heat and need, the taste of morning breath and pure want.

The room smelled like sex and sweat, faintly tinged with the lavender detergent you’d used on the sheets just last week. The bed frame creaked softly every time his hips rolled into you, a slow, steady rhythm that made the sound obscene.

“More,” you whispered, and he groaned like the word itself was a prayer.

His arm looped tighter around your thigh, pulling it up until your knee brushed the mattress, leaving you open and exposed for every deep grind of his cock. You cried out, clutching at the sheets, head tilting back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he panted, voice husky with sleep and lust. “Taking me so good, baby. My perfect girl. Fuck, you feel incredible like this.”

His praise was constant, broken between messy kisses against your shoulder and jaw, spilling out of him like he couldn’t hold it in. You knew by now that Bokuto didn’t just fuck with his body—he fucked with his whole heart, every word tumbling out unfiltered.

And you loved it.

Your orgasm built slow, drawn out by the lazy drag of his cock and the steady circles of his thumb. Every time you thought you were close, his pace would stutter, messy and uneven, making you chase it even harder. It was torture and bliss all wrapped in one.

“Kou, please,” you begged, hips rocking back into him. “I need—ah—need to come.”

“Then come,” he rasped, kissing the corner of your mouth as his thrusts deepened, sloppy and hungry now. “Don’t hold back, baby. Wanna feel you all over me.”

That was all it took.

Your body arched, the orgasm ripping through you with a broken cry, thighs trembling as your walls clamped down around him. Bokuto groaned so loud it rattled through your bones, his hips snapping harder, chasing his own release with reckless need.

He buried his face in your neck, muffling a string of curses and praise as he spilled into the condom, his cock jerking inside you while his whole body shook. His grip on your thigh loosened slowly, letting you collapse back against the sheets, both of you gasping and trembling in the aftermath.

For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven. Sunlight warmed your skin, making the sheen of sweat glisten across your bodies.

Then Bokuto laughed breathlessly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple. “Good morning.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible and yours.” He grinned, tugging the blanket back over you both before pulling you closer into his chest. His cock slipped free with a wet sound, and he winced faintly before disposing of the condom in the trash by the bed. When he flopped back down, he dragged you with him, tucking you firmly under his chin.

“Hungry?” he asked after a few minutes, still breathless but already grinning.

“Starving,” you admitted, your stomach giving a small growl to prove your point.

He perked up instantly, eyes lighting with the same excitement he had before every game. “Breakfast in bed. Don’t move—I’ll do it.”

You groaned. “Kou, you’re gonna burn something.”

“I won’t! …Probably.” He kissed your forehead, already leaping out of bed with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. “Stay right there, pretty girl. You’ll see.”

And somehow, you did. You stayed curled under the sheets, listening to the chaotic clatter of pans and the hum of the coffee machine. Twenty-five minutes later, Bokuto returned, proudly balancing a tray stacked with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and way too much syrup.

“Ta-da!” he announced, nearly tripping on the way to the bed but recovering at the last second. He set the tray between you, beaming as he flopped back down beside you. “Our first breakfast in bed in our new house.”

Your chest swelled at that—the simplicity of it, the sweetness. You leaned over and kissed him softly, tasting syrup on his lips already.

“Perfect,” you whispered.

And it was.

[ Bonus six , first doubt. ]

The house was too quiet.

You hadn’t noticed it before—how much Bokuto filled every inch of the space just by existing. His laugh echoing through the kitchen while he burned toast, his heavy footsteps on the stairs, even the way he’d hum tunelessly when he showered. All those little things you used to roll your eyes at had become the background music of your days. Now, without him, the silence pressed in on you like a weight.

It had only been two weeks since he left for his away games. Two weeks wasn’t forever. But it felt like it.

You tried to keep busy. Work, friends, reorganizing the living room shelves for the third time even though they were fine. But no matter what you did, your gaze kept drifting to your phone, waiting for the screen to light up with his name.

When it finally buzzed that evening, you scrambled for it like a lifeline.

“Hey, baby,” Bokuto’s voice crackled through the speaker, warm but tired. In the background, you could hear faint chatter, laughter—his teammates, probably, in whatever hotel lounge they were holed up in.

Your heart squeezed. “Kou. Finally. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said immediately, but his voice was muffled, like he was covering the mic. “Hold on, let me just—” You heard a door click shut, then silence except for his breathing. “Okay. Sorry. What’s up?”

You curled into the couch cushions, clutching the phone tighter. “Nothing’s up. I just… wanted to hear your voice. It’s so quiet here without you.”

He chuckled softly, but it was thin around the edges. “Yeah? I bet it’s weird not having me leaving socks everywhere.”

“It’s more than that,” you whispered.

There was a pause. You could almost picture him frowning, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

“I know it’s hard,” he said finally. “But it’s only temporary. Just a couple more weeks and I’ll be back.”

You bit your lip. The words should have been comforting, but instead they stung. “You say that like it’s nothing. Kou, I hate this. I hate going to bed without you. I hate waking up to an empty house. I feel like… like I’m living in this space that we built together, but half of it is missing.”

“Baby, don’t—” His sigh was heavy, frustration bleeding through. “I’m trying, okay? I call when I can. Practices are brutal, games are nonstop, and by the time I get back to the hotel, I’m dead on my feet. I’m giving it everything out here.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. “I’m not asking you to give everything to me, Kou. I’m just asking for something. A real conversation, not just five minutes before you crash. Do you even want to be on this call right now, or is it just another thing on your list?”

“Of course I want to be on this call!” His voice rose, and for a second, it was like he was right there in the room, loud and overwhelming. But then it cracked, softer. “You think I don’t miss you? You think I’m not lying awake at night wishing I was next to you instead of in some shitty hotel room?”

Tears pricked your eyes before you could stop them. “Then why does it feel like volleyball comes first? Always?”

The silence on the other end was deafening.

When Bokuto finally spoke, his voice was low, raw. “Because volleyball is what I have to do. For me, yeah—but for us too. Every paycheck, every match, every bit of this grind—it’s so I can build something better for us. So we can stay in that house we love. So you don’t ever have to worry.”

Your throat closed up. “Kou…”

“I hate this too,” he cut in, voice breaking. “I hate being away from you. I hate hearing you cry and knowing I can’t touch you, can’t hold you. You think I don’t feel that same ache? Baby, it’s killing me.”

You pressed the heel of your hand to your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. “Then what are we supposed to do? Just… wait it out?”

Another pause. Then softer, gentler, his tone shifting like the fight had drained out of him. “We do what we’ve always done. We push through. We trust each other. And we remember this isn’t forever.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your chest loosening just enough to let his words in.

“I’m coming home soon,” he promised, so quiet it almost sounded like a vow. “Sooner than you think. Just hold on for me a little longer, okay?”

Your voice shook, but you forced the words out. “Okay.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he whispered, almost pleading, “Don’t give up on me.”

“I could never.”

The line stayed open for a while after that, neither of you speaking. Just breathing together, clinging to the fragile thread that still connected you across miles of distance.

The doubt wasn’t gone, not really. The ache was still there. But so was the love. And for now, that was enough.

[ Bonus seven , reunion. ]

The sound of the lock clicking made your head snap up from the kitchen. You’d been halfway through stacking clean mugs into the cabinet, your playlist humming softly in the background, when you heard it: the sound of the front door opening. For a second, you thought you imagined it—your brain had been playing tricks on you for weeks, craving the familiar sound of his heavy footsteps, the jangle of his keys, the way his voice filled every corner of the house.

But then—

“Honeeeey, I’m hoooome!”

His voice boomed from the entryway, playful and dramatic, dripping with the kind of over-the-top silliness only Bokuto could pull off.

Your heart stopped. Then it sprinted.

Dropping the mug onto the counter with a clink, you spun toward the doorway. He was really there—framed in the golden afternoon light, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, hair wild from travel, grinning like he’d just scored match point. His sweatshirt looked rumpled, his shoes scuffed from airport chaos, but to you? He looked like the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

“Kou!”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was half relief, half disbelief, as your whole body moved before your brain caught up. You bolted across the kitchen, rounded the corner, and threw yourself at him. Bokuto barely had time to drop his bag before you leapt, arms wrapping around his neck and legs locking around his waist.

“Oof—baby!” His laughter rumbled in his chest, but his arms caught you instantly, strong and steady. He crushed you against him like he’d been waiting forever, burying his face in your shoulder as he spun you slightly. “You came flying at me like a volleyball!”

“Shut up,” you laughed through the tears prickling at your eyes, peppering kisses across his cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. “You’re actually here—you’re home.”

“‘Honey, I’m home,’” he repeated with mock pride, deepening his voice like some old-timey sitcom dad. “Always wanted to say that. Nailed it, right?”

You laughed harder, the sound muffled as you kissed him again, everywhere your lips could reach. He smelled faintly like airplane air and the travel-sized cologne you’d tucked into his bag, but underneath it all was him—warm, familiar, grounding.

“Kou,” you whispered against his skin, voice breaking. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” he said instantly, pulling back just far enough to look at you. His golden eyes were shining, a little glossy despite the grin still tugging at his mouth. “Fuck, baby, you have no idea.”

You did. Because you’d felt it too—the ache of the empty house, the way the bed felt wrong without his weight beside you, the silence that seemed heavier than noise ever could be. But right now? None of that mattered. Because he was here, holding you like he’d never let go again.

“Wait, wait—” He suddenly shifted, adjusting his grip on you with that casual strength of his. “As much as I wanna keep you wrapped around me forever, I should probably, y’know… actually get inside before we knock the door off its hinges.”

Reluctantly, you let him set you down, your feet touching the hardwood again. But the warmth of his hands lingered as he trailed them down your sides, big palms curving over your hips before landing—predictably—on your ass.

“God, I missed this,” he groaned dramatically, giving a squeeze that made you squeak. “Perfect. Still mine.”

Your face heated instantly. “Kou!”

“What?” His grin turned shameless, eyes glinting. “You think I wasn’t dreaming about your ass every night on the road?” He gave another squeeze for emphasis, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Booty guy for life, baby. You know that.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, though your giggle betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.” He winked, finally releasing you long enough to stoop and grab his duffle. Slinging it onto one arm like it weighed nothing, he hefted his rolling suitcase in the other hand. The casual flex of his biceps made your stomach flip—seriously, had they gotten bigger while he was away? He looked unfairly good, even travel-tired and jet-lagged.

He toed off his sneakers by the door and stepped fully inside, gaze sweeping over the living room. The throw pillows were arranged just how he liked them, the shelves dusted, his goofy framed photo of you two on the beach still perched proudly on the mantle.

“Damn, baby,” he said softly, awe in his tone. “You kept it in good shape. Better than when I left, honestly.”

“Of course I did.” You leaned against the wall, arms crossed but smiling. “It’s our home. I wanted it to feel good when you came back.”

He set his bags down with a thud and turned back to you, expression softening. Then, with zero warning, he scooped you up again—this time spinning you full circle, your laughter echoing through the room.

“KO!” you squealed, clinging to his shoulders.

“I can’t help it!” he said, voice giddy, as he slowed the spin but didn’t set you down right away. “One month and a couple days without you felt like five years. I gotta make up for lost time.”

When he finally stopped, he didn’t let go. Instead, he kissed you—slow at first, like he wanted to savor the moment, then deeper, hungrier, like he’d been starving.

You melted into it, fingers threading into his messy hair, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Every bit of distance, every lonely night, every aching moment without him seemed to dissolve with that kiss.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, you whispered, “You’re really home.”

He smiled against your lips, voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, baby. I’m really home.”

His grip on your ass tightened, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been holding that sound back for weeks. Your back hit the nearest wall with a dull thump, but neither of you cared—his lips were all over yours, hot and frantic, teeth catching your lower lip until you gasped, giving him the chance to lick into your mouth. He tasted different, faintly of airplane coffee and mint gum, but under it was him—your Bokuto, all heat and need.

“Kou,” you whimpered, tugging at his shirt, nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss.

He laughed, breathless against your lips. “God, I missed the way you say my name.” Another squeeze of your ass, rougher this time, making you gasp. “I missed you. You have no idea how bad I wanted to kiss you every single day I was away.”

Your legs cinched tighter around his waist, grinding down against the hard length straining through his sweats. He groaned, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes blown wide. “Fuck, baby… don’t do that unless you want me to lose it right here.”

“Then lose it,” you whispered, tugging at his hair.

That broke him.

He carried you down the hall without ever breaking the kiss, bumping into the wall once, both of you laughing breathlessly between sloppy kisses. By the time he dropped you onto the bed, his sweats were hanging dangerously low on his hips, his abs flexing as he leaned over you.

“Take it off,” you begged, tugging at his shirt.

“You first,” he teased, voice low and hungry. His big hands slid under your top, calluses rough against your soft skin as he peeled it upward. You arched your back to help him, and the sound that left him when your bra came into view was practically a growl. “Fuck… prettier than I remembered.”

He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, nosing at the swell of your breasts before sucking one nipple into his mouth, his hand kneading the other. You gasped, head falling back, legs shifting restlessly as arousal pooled hot between your thighs.

“Missed these,” he mumbled against your skin, nipping gently before kissing lower, toward your stomach. “Missed all of you.”

Your shorts and panties didn’t stand a chance—he hooked his thumbs in and tugged them down in one swift move, leaving you bare and trembling beneath him. His eyes darkened, the grin on his face feral.

“Baby… you’re dripping. Did you really miss me this much?” He dragged two fingers through your slick folds, groaning low in his throat. “God, you’re soaking.”

“Kou, please,” you gasped, hips jerking against his touch.

He smirked, but his restraint was shot. He yanked his sweats and boxers down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and flushed, already leaking for you. He tore open the condom wrapper with shaking hands, rolling it on quick and messy before bracing himself over you.

Instead of pushing you down, his broad chest pressed flush to your back, his thighs bracketing yours as he pulled you onto his lap.

“Kou—” you gasped, already trembling when his hands skimmed over your waist, down to your thighs, guiding you to straddle him.

“Like this,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick, raw. He kissed your temple, your cheek, then sank his teeth into your shoulder gently. “Wanna see you arch for me. Wanna feel you take it all right here.”

Your breath hitched as he nudged the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance. His hands gripped your hips tight, guiding you down slowly—inch by inch, the stretch burned hot, your walls clenching helplessly around him.

“Fuck,” Bokuto groaned, throwing his head back, eyes squeezing shut as you sank all the way down until your ass pressed against his thighs. “You’re so fucking tight. Sitting so pretty on my cock, baby—god, I missed this.”

You whimpered, your hands grabbing at his knees behind you for balance, arching your back instinctively. His groan rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against you as he slid his arms around your waist, locking you to him.

“Move for me,” he whispered, almost desperate.

You lifted slowly, the drag of him pulling out of you making your whole body tremble, then dropped back down with a wet slap that echoed in the bare bedroom. Bokuto’s teeth sank into your shoulder harder, his groan muffled against your skin.

“That’s it—fuck, just like that.” His hands gripped your hips, helping you find a rhythm, guiding you to bounce on his cock. “You’re amazing. So fucking amazing, baby.”

Your moans filled the room, each bounce sharper, wetter, louder. The sound of your bodies slamming together mixed with Bokuto’s broken praises, his breath hot against your neck.

“Ride me—fuck, yeah—take all of me.” His voice cracked with each thrust upward, hips slamming into you from below. “You’re perfect. My perfect girl. Fuck, I love you.”

His chest was slick against your back, sweat dripping down his temple as he pressed sloppy kisses along your neck, biting at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His thrusts grew harder, meeting each of your movements until the rhythm turned frantic, messy.

“Kou—” you sobbed, back arching as he filled you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned, hips stuttering when your walls clenched tight around him. One of his hands slid lower, between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and circling fast, sloppy, desperate.

“Cum for me,” he begged, his forehead pressing to your damp shoulder. “Please, baby—wanna feel you cum on me. Wanna feel you lose it.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm ripped through you, a violent, blinding wave that had you crying out, clenching around him so tight he cursed loudly. Your thighs shook as you collapsed back against his chest, panting, trembling.

“Holy fuck—” Bokuto’s hips jerked, his thrusts going ragged, broken. “So tight—shit, I’m—”

He slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep as his groan tore out of his chest. You felt the condom fill with his release, his entire body shuddering against yours, arms wrapping you up like he was afraid you’d slip away.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared panting, the creak of the mattress beneath you, his lips brushing lazy kisses along your damp shoulder.

Then he laughed weakly, voice hoarse. “Fuck. I really missed you.”

You managed a breathless laugh, too, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Yeah… I noticed.”

His hand squeezed your ass again, possessive and soft at the same time, while his other hand cradled your thigh. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple, still buried inside you, like he never wanted to let go.

[ Bonus eight , always & forever. ]

The evening was quiet in that way that only came after years of learning how to live together. The dishes were drying on the rack, the faint scent of stir-fry still clinging to the air. The TV hummed low in the background, muted because neither of you were really paying attention. Bokuto was sprawled out on the couch with his head in your lap, hair tickling your stomach as he scrolled lazily through his phone. You absentmindedly combed your fingers through his messy locks, humming a tune you didn’t realize you knew.

It was simple. It was ordinary. And it was perfect.

But your heart was racing, because you had something to say. Something you’d been holding onto for days now, the weight of it delicious and terrifying.

And you didn’t realize—he was feeling the exact same way.

Bokuto shifted suddenly, tossing his phone aside like it had never mattered. He sat up in one motion, so quick you almost yelped. His golden eyes darted toward you, uncharacteristically nervous, and his hands fidgeted against his knees.

You blinked. “Kou? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” His voice cracked, and he coughed, trying to recover. “I mean—uh. Everything’s… good. Really good. Like, so good.”

You tilted your head, suspicious. He only got like this when he was holding something in. “Koutarou.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, then shot up off the couch and started pacing. “Okay, so, I wasn’t gonna do this now—I had this whole thing planned in my head with candles or, like, maybe I’d take you out to dinner and do it all fancy. But, baby, I can’t. I can’t hold it in anymore.”

Your breath caught, your stomach flipping, because you knew.

He turned back to you, hair even messier from running his hand through it, eyes wide and nervous and glowing with something that made your throat tight. He dropped down on one knee right there, between the coffee table and the couch, your old rug creasing under his weight.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

“Y/n,” he said, voice unsteady but overflowing with love, “you’re my best friend. My biggest fan. My home. You’ve been with me through every win and every loss—on the court and in life—and you never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I don’t wanna do forever without you.”

He pulled a small box from his pocket, fumbling with it, and when he opened it the ring sparkled in the soft lamplight. His hands were shaking. His smile was wide and terrified.

“Will you marry me?”

You barely heard him, because your heart was thundering and your eyes were already filling with tears. And you were laughing—half-sobbing, half-hysterical—because this was insane, because you had been about to say your thing too.

“Kou,” you choked out, pressing your hands over his, the ring box trembling between you. “Wait—wait, I have to tell you something too.”

He blinked, panicked. “What? No, no, you can’t—don’t say no, babe, please, I can’t take it—”

You shook your head furiously, tears spilling over as you laughed. “No! God, no, Kou. Yes. A million times yes.”

His face split into the brightest grin you’d ever seen, relief and joy flooding him at once. He let out a loud, unsteady laugh, squeezing your hands so tightly you thought he might never let go.

“But—” you added quickly, voice wobbling, “I wanted to tell you something first. Because… Kou, I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, it was like the world stopped. Bokuto froze, eyes wide, his mouth dropping open. The box slipped from his fingers onto the couch, the ring tumbling harmlessly onto the cushions.

“P—pregnant?” he echoed, voice cracking like he’d just hit puberty all over again.

You bit your lip, nodding, heart hammering. “Yeah. I—I just found out. I was waiting for the right time to tell you.”

He stared at you. One second. Two. Three.

And then—

“HO—LY SHIT!” His voice boomed through the room, so loud you startled before dissolving into laughter. He leapt to his feet, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you in wild, dizzy circles until you squealed. “I’M GONNA BE A DAD?! You’re—baby, oh my god, you’re having my kid?”

“Yes!” you laughed, clutching his shoulders as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Kou!”

He set you down only to fall to his knees again, pressing frantic kisses over your stomach, his big hands cupping your sides as if to shield you. He was crying now too, his laugh breaking apart into shaky, choked sobs. “I can’t believe it. I can’t—fuck, I don’t deserve you. You’re giving me a family.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he looked up at you, eyes shining, cheeks wet. “So that’s a yes?” you teased, voice trembling.

“Baby,” he said, clutching your hand again, still kneeling at your feet, “it’s the biggest fucking yes of my life. Yes to you. Yes to us. Yes to our baby. Always and forever.”

You pulled him up into a kiss, both of you laughing and crying at once. He tasted like salt and hope and a future you hadn’t even dared to dream.

When he slid the ring onto your finger, your hands were shaking too much for it to be graceful, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way he looked at you—like you’d hung the stars, like you’d given him everything he’d ever wanted and more.

And when he whispered against your lips, voice raw and reverent—“My soon-to-be wife. My love. My family.”—you knew this was it.

Always. Forever.

reblogs and likes will be much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed <3

Please do not repost my work.

all images are not mine, this isn’t how the characters act/or are intended to act. This is just my personal idea on how they would act.

@katsukiskitty

[haikyuu19corner]

Ushijima couldn’t stand baseless arrogance.

If you couldn’t back up the achievements you bragged about to everyone—then you were nothing. He’d seen it countless times on the court, when opponents swallowed salty tears, realizing they’d boasted empty ambitions.

Maybe that’s why Wakatoshi was so quiet. He preferred actions over words.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤUnlike you.

“I’ll go on a date with you, Ushijima!”

“You looked at me longer than usual!”

“I’ll make you fall in love with me, just wait and see!”

There was no escaping your loud declarations. But that’s all you did—annoy the always calm and talk-resistant guy. His long friendship with Satori had probably toughened him up.

You showed up in the most unexpected places, making the Shiratorizawa ace the butt of jokes. No one could understand why you clung to him so persistently. There were plenty of more talkative and clearly more suitable guys around.

But no. You only wanted the intimidating wing spiker.

“Huh, haven’t seen Y/N in a while,” Tendou yawned, throwing his arms behind his head. “It’s kinda sad without her constant chatter.”

Wakatoshi grunted, finishing the tight lacing of his sneaker. True, where had you gone? It had probably been a month, and not a word from you.

“She gave up. Like the rest,” he thought, and something felt off. Empty, somehow.

The next day, your eyes met in the cafeteria. And it felt like—this was it. He was already bracing for your loud shout across the room, ready—no, even wanting—to hear the laughter that followed your silly remark. But…

You simply turned away.

The volleyball player’s breath caught. What was that? Another one of your tricks to get his attention? Well, it worked.

He spent the whole day on edge. Even during practice, he was distracted by his thoughts far too often. He felt… defeated? Yes, that was the only word that came to mind. As much as he denied it—how annoying, irritating, and unbearable you were—without your loud, cheerful voice, the day felt wasted.

“Guess Y/N-chan got herself a boyfriend,” Wakatoshi remembers snapping a pencil in half when he heard Tendou say that.

Rage and jealousy surged inside him, and he jumped to his feet, rushing to the bus stop. You lived in the same neighborhood as Ushijima, so most of your silly conversations happened while he waited for his bus.

He quickened his pace when he spotted your petite figure on the sidewalk. Unexpectedly, you turned your head toward him and smiled softly, squinting slightly in the sunset light.

“You,” the volleyball player began sharply, grabbing your shoulder. “You’re going on a date with me.”

And it didn’t sound like a question. More like a statement. Just like you had said a few weeks ago.

Laughing, you tilted your head and nodded:

“Told you you’d fall for me, Ushijima.”

[haikyuu19corner]

Ushijima couldn’t stand baseless arrogance.

If you couldn’t back up the achievements you bragged about to everyone—then you were nothing. He’d seen it countless times on the court, when opponents swallowed salty tears, realizing they’d boasted empty ambitions.

Maybe that’s why Wakatoshi was so quiet. He preferred actions over words.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤUnlike you.

“I’ll go on a date with you, Ushijima!”

“You looked at me longer than usual!”

“I’ll make you fall in love with me, just wait and see!”

There was no escaping your loud declarations. But that’s all you did—annoy the always calm and talk-resistant guy. His long friendship with Satori had probably toughened him up.

You showed up in the most unexpected places, making the Shiratorizawa ace the butt of jokes. No one could understand why you clung to him so persistently. There were plenty of more talkative and clearly more suitable guys around.

But no. You only wanted the intimidating wing spiker.

“Huh, haven’t seen Y/N in a while,” Tendou yawned, throwing his arms behind his head. “It’s kinda sad without her constant chatter.”

Wakatoshi grunted, finishing the tight lacing of his sneaker. True, where had you gone? It had probably been a month, and not a word from you.

“She gave up. Like the rest,” he thought, and something felt off. Empty, somehow.

The next day, your eyes met in the cafeteria. And it felt like—this was it. He was already bracing for your loud shout across the room, ready—no, even wanting—to hear the laughter that followed your silly remark. But…

You simply turned away.

The volleyball player’s breath caught. What was that? Another one of your tricks to get his attention? Well, it worked.

He spent the whole day on edge. Even during practice, he was distracted by his thoughts far too often. He felt… defeated? Yes, that was the only word that came to mind. As much as he denied it—how annoying, irritating, and unbearable you were—without your loud, cheerful voice, the day felt wasted.

“Guess Y/N-chan got herself a boyfriend,” Wakatoshi remembers snapping a pencil in half when he heard Tendou say that.

Rage and jealousy surged inside him, and he jumped to his feet, rushing to the bus stop. You lived in the same neighborhood as Ushijima, so most of your silly conversations happened while he waited for his bus.

He quickened his pace when he spotted your petite figure on the sidewalk. Unexpectedly, you turned your head toward him and smiled softly, squinting slightly in the sunset light.

“You,” the volleyball player began sharply, grabbing your shoulder. “You’re going on a date with me.”

And it didn’t sound like a question. More like a statement. Just like you had said a few weeks ago.

Laughing, you tilted your head and nodded:

“Told you you’d fall for me, Ushijima.”

[kenforty]

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮?

Pairing: Bakugou x reader. All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

Summary: A freaky session with Bakugou in a closet leads to you both being more than friends...

You aren't supposed to be doing this, especially with this asshole...

The situation you landed in wasn't really unpredictable, you knew the tension between you and Bakugou would eventually land you both here. But the place wasn't really ideal. The closet was not really spacious, especially considering the hunk of a man, bruising your cervix.

The get together had started hours ago, Denki hosting it in his studio apartment, although by now everyone was drunk and passed out around the house. That still made you muffle your moans, sweaty palms pressed against your mouth. No room was really empty and you had to stick to the storage closet.

"It's useless, cunt's too loud." Bakugou groaned against your ear, calloused fingers finding your throbbing bud.

"Wa-wait, slow down." You whined, clawing at his wrist, looking at him with tears clung to your eyelashes. He stops thrusting, hips slowing down as you steady yourself. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, the sensation making you squeeze your thighs.

You are barely stable before he starts all over again, hips rapidly smacking against yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your clit echoing through the closet.

The constant pressure against your cervix pushing you towards your orgasm, you arch your back, head coming to rest on his shoulder, lulling side to side.

The sight of your fucked out state making Bakugou throb. "Fucked dumb, already?" He pinches your clit, "Gonna cum around me, huh?" He knows you are close, mindlessly chasing your high, you didn't even realise he stopped thrusting into your sloppy cunt. And that you were shamelessly humping his cock, creating a pathetic mess on the front of his pants.

Fingers rubbing circles on your clit, while your cunt spasms around him. You arch your back, making sure the angry red tip of his cock, mushes against your sensitive little spot.

"Suki-I am cummin-", barely coherent moans leave your throat, you push back against him, the rim of your cunt spasming around the base of his cock.

You slump against his chest, thick cum leaking from your pussy, dripping down his balls and your thighs.

You look at him, eyes all droopy, before you move and lean against the wall, slowly moving back and forth, creamy cunt sliding on his cock with ease.

"What are ya' doin', Mama?" The word making your clit throb, his hands come to rest on your waist, stopping your movement.

"You didn't cum-" You tried to protest, tried to move his hand and hump back against him.

"That desperate for my cream, Mama." He smirked, tongue coming to lick your earlobe, puffs of breath against your cheeks. His words making your cunt wetter.

He pressed a hand against your back, before slowly pulling out and roughly slamming in, you let out a shriek, widened eyes looking back at him, sensitive cunt drooling on the floor.

"Hng-waitt." You try to steady your legs, knees weakening as he continued to thrust in.

"Wanted ma' cream, huh?" He spat on his fingers and moved his hand around your waist to smear it against your clit.

Ploughing deep into you, rough fingers rubbing at your sensitive clit. "I'll cum- again." You are sure you'll pass out, every thrust of his hips knocking out air from your lungs. You were already standing at the tip of your toes, taking him as deep a possible.

"Just a bit more, Princess." He grunted, letting out a deep moan, balls tightening at the thought of cumming in you raw.

It takes few more thrust for you to see stars again, cunt tightening around him, Bakugou follows, with a deep groan.

Sound of heavy breathing fills the closet. Bakugou slowly pulls out of you and looks around before moving out of the closet.

You assume he was done and left to get cleaned up, sighing tiredly you bent down to pick up a random cloth to clean yourself up.

"What are ya' doin'?" He questions, standing outside, with a wet rag in his hands, he wraps an arm around your waist and slowly pulls you out. Steadying you he cleans up between your legs with a warm rag.

"I thought you were done." You joke weakly, knees almost buckling.

"Ain't an asshole." He mutters, eyes focus everywhere but your face. "I ran a bath, we'll clean up."

You looked at him surprised, not really expecting the compassion and the aftercare. "And after that? You'll order me dinner?" You teased, as he gently guided you towards the bathroom.

"I'll make dinner, dumbass." He affirmed, completely unfazed by your teasing, slowly undressing you and nudging you into the tub.

You looked at him with confusion in your eyes, mind slowly clearing, "What are we, Bakugou?" You queried, tone teasing with seriousness entwined.

"Dating obviously you and I both know I don't do this casually." He pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing up to undress himself. "And Suki from now onwards."

[xoxojisu]

I DON'T EVEN LIKE YOU!

synopsis: katsuki destroys something he doesn't know how to hold. (aka he's mean and pushes you away) (FUCKING BITCHHH)

notes: if you notice the title is different thats bc it is. (previously 'dicksuki destroys' but that felt too unserious.) pt two here!

it was stupid.

just a joke, a nudge. you’d called him grumpy, poked at him for being all bark and no bite. leaned in too close with that pretty smile that always got him to look away.

but this time, he didn’t look away. not one bit.

“god! stop. you’re so fuckin’ clingy all the time. maybe i'm 'grumpy' 'cause you're pissin' me the fuck off! i don’t even like you, alright?! lay off!”

his voice cut sharp through the dorm hallway, louder than he meant it to be.

and your world stuttered.

your smile cracked in half, lips parting like the words physically struck you.

“...oh.”

that’s all you said.

just a breath. one syllable.

but it felt like the earth splitting open.

he saw it happen in real time. the shift in your expression. the way your eyes glossed over, the slight tremble of your lips how your hands came up to hug yourself like that might somehow keep the pieces of you from falling apart.

he already regretted it. immediately. it tasted wrong the second it left his mouth.

“wait. shit. no, i didn’t-”

“it’s fine,” you said too quickly, voice shaking around the edges. “i get it.” he hated your reaction. hated that he caused this.

you turned to leave. he stepped forward like his body knew better than his mouth.

“don’t go..! c’mon, i didn’t mean that, i just-”

“it's fine. you don’t have to explain.”

your laugh was hollow. small. the kind of sound that hurt worse than a scream. like if you made it funny, it wouldn't sting like a bitch.

“thanks for clearing it up, though.”

and you were gone before he could say anything else.

before he could say what he meant to say.

that of course he liked you. that he was in love with you. that he just didn’t know how to handle the way you made him feel so soft, so seen. like every wall he’d ever built was paper in your hands. how everything just felt.. better when you were there.

he didn't know how to fix this. he'd never had to do any fixing before. all he'd ever known was destruction. you were the healing. you were the love.

and not knowing how to handle it, he destroyed you too. the most precious thing in his whole damn life.

he didn’t sleep that night.

masterlist

[xoxojisu]

"DON'T STOP LOVING ME."

synopsis: things were always easy between you and katsuki. until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it)

notes: ALWAYS w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda. wc ~5k. childhood bffs bc duh. barely proofread sorry

ever since you were three years old with your scraped knees and sticky fingers to now, where teenage life could not be more confusing, there has always been one, unwavering, constant fact.

you're absolutely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with bakugo katsuki.

and you've never been afraid to show it! backhugs, tackling him to the floor, jumping on top of him and climbing him like a jungle gym, telling him you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. (it is)

he always scoffs and grumbles, but you'd never take it personally, because when he tells you to get off, he pulls you close. when he complains that you're annoying when you're sick, he brings you soup and medicine and cuddles you to sleep. when he blushes and tells you he hates you, his eyes tell a different story.

so what if he doesn't express it the same way you do? everyone has different ways of showing they care. even if he doesn't say it much, you know katsuki loves you.

right?

-

it was late when you accidentally overheard it. when you froze up and felt your heart drop to the floor. when you started shaking and sweating, eyes darting around for a trash can in case you threw up.

"bakugo, bro, when are you and y/n gonna make it official?" kirishima had teased, throwing an arm around katsuki.

katsuki scoffed and shoved him off. "tch. it's not like that."

"you suuure?" sero questioned. "you two seem awfully close for just friends."

"mannn, if i was bakugo, i'd be all over that. y/n is such a pretty girl!" kaminari chimed in, clearly jealous over his lack of love life.

the teasing continued. you couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew that katsuki definitely had a vein on his forehead that was getting larger by the second.

"you're always carrying her bag, walking her to class.."

"cuddling with her during movie nights, scratching her back.."

"oh! and don't forget how she never forgets to tell him she loooves him whenever they say goodbye!"

"c'mon, bakubro, just spit it out! you two are practically married already!"

the three laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the rise they were getting out of katsuki.

"all of you, shut the hell up!"

"just admit it. you're in love."

he gritted his teeth.

"i'm not in love." he grimaced, venomous anger bubbling to the surface.

"she's just there all the fucking time! always fucking doing girlfriend-y shit when she knows damn well she's not! always clinging and trying to cuddle and all that stupid sappy shit. she's just an annoying fuckin' habit ive learned to tolerate." he spat.

you froze.

what?

was he serious? like, really, truly, deadass serious? you knew he wasn't exactly the super affectionate type, but even still! you thought he really cared about you! clingy? annoying? tolerated?

your head spun as you broke out into a cold sweat. you could've sworn that that wasn't true. you and katsuki have been friends forever. surely he wouldve gotten rid of you by now if he hated you that much, right? and he cuddles you! and hangs out with you! he takes care of you when you're sick! there's just no way, right? he's just angry because he's being teased, right?

..right?

"damn, dude, that's pretty harsh," sero snickered. "you always take care of her, though, no?"

you held your breath.

"tch. doesn't fuckin' mean shit. just gotten used to her because she's been around so long."

your stomach dropped to the basement. he tolerated you. he thought of you as nothing more than an annoying habit.

insecurity pooled inside of you. now that you think about it, was he really cuddling you, or just not bothering to move you off when you laid on him? maybe he just thought you were too much of a hassle to get rid of when you came to hangout, so he just let you stay even thought he didn't want to. when he brought you medicine and stuff, maybe your sickness made you delirious and made you think he was being more affectionate and caring than he really was.

you felt nauseated. you recall all the times you threw a quick "i love you!" over your shoulder or while you clung to him. had he ever once said it back? ever? the room started spinning as you realized you couldn't think of a single time. he'd always deflected. gave you a classic "tch." rolled his eyes. messed up your hair. you dont think you'd ever even heard the word "love" from his lips.

had you just been deluding yourself all this time?

you couldn't take it anymore. sweating, you sprinted out before you could be spotted.

-

it's been two days since you overheard that conversation, and you'd been avoiding katsuki ever since. or rather, not quite avoiding completely, but there was an undeniable shift in your behavior. you stopped trying to cuddle with him. you stopped showing up to his dorm room to hangout. you especially stopped saying "i love you," even though it killed you every time.

katsuki hadn't shown much of a reaction to your change in behavior. he'd raise an eyebrow when your usual daily hugs disappeared or ask a gruff, "where were you?" when you didn't show up to your unofficial but completely established after school hangouts, but he had otherwise put up no protest.

you didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

on one hand, katsuki's kind of scary when he's confrontational. also, you don't know how you would be able to talk to him. "i overheard a conversation where you said you hate me but im madly in love with you and want to marry you and have your kids?" yeah right. you were sort of glad to be getting off easy.

but on the other hand, you were devastated. his apathy served as further confirmation that he meant every word he said. he really didn't mind that you were pulling back, and seemed perfectly content not being nearly as close as before.

you really had been deluding yourself. secretly, you had been hoping that he was just saying stuff in the heat of the moment and would actually be upset if you pulled back. because that would mean he cared. but he didn't give two shits about you. you really were just some stupid childhood habit he'd learned to tolerate.

you became less energetic as a person. not just with katsuki, but simply in general. your days seemed unbearably longer and darker without him. you had a hard time engaging and staying in the present, your mind wandering to katsuki again and again. it was pathetic, really. you two had never even dated. why were you so hung up about it? you two were just friends, and in fact, it seemed like he never even liked you in the first place. you were just stupidly hopeful and naive.

-

katsuki was dying.

two days. it had been two fucking days since you'd touched him or even just been remotely affectionate with him and he was going crazy. hell, he'd give the whole damn world even for just a smile at this point. he was desperate.

he didnt understand why you were being like this. it was like everything he knew about you had shifted, and he was just standing there, waiting for some kind of sign or something like an idiot.

katsuki had noticed the shift in your behavior immediately. of course he did. he knows you better than he knows himself, after all. at first, he thought you were just playing some dumb game or pulling some stunt to get his attention, but that wasn’t it. you waved instead of hugging. said a simple "bye" instead of "love you, bye bye!" it's not like you were completely avoiding him. you still talked. you still laughed. only now, it didn't quite reach your eyes.

and it was fucking killing him.

he hated that you were pulling back. he hated how off everything felt. he hated how fucking empty his dorm room felt when you weren't there to pester him. but most of all, he hated how he couldn’t even figure out what he'd done wrong. he couldn't think of any fights or reasons to be angry, but if that wasn't it, what was it? why were you suddenly just.. leaving?

he wanted to confront you. he wanted to pull you aside and demand to know where the fuck you went. but for the first time in his entire life, he didn't know how. because this wasn't like confronting stupid deku about his new powers. it wasn't about asking icyhot what his fuckin' deal was. it was you. his whole fucking world, even if he never said it out loud. he was nothing short of terrified to ask, because he feared it would drive you away even further, and he couldn't think of any alternate universe where he'd be able to handle that.

he found himself looking for excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to just be around you in any way possible. the last two days had been a torture of silence, of missed chances to sit next to you or casually reach out and tug you into his space like he used to. the times when he’d shove his arm around your shoulders or playfully mess with your hair, it had all stopped. he didn't feel like he could anymore. like he'd somehow lost the privilege. and now, all he was left with was this gnawing feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.

he had finally worked up the courage and tried asking you once, but you had shut him down with that all-too-familiar "nothing, just tired" bullshit and that damn closed-off look on your face that made him feel completely hollowed out.

he was desperate. he needed to feel you. needed to hear your bright laughter and see your stupid smile. it was so fucking stupid and sappy and so unlike him, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about that. he needed to cuddle with you until you fell asleep. have you curl up on his chest and get swallowed up by his much larger frame and watch you as your breathing quickly evened out from his touch. you could never stay awake long when cuddling with him. he found himself smiling at the thought.

he scowled. this is so fucking stupid. he thought to himself.

-

it all came to a bubbling point for him on friday. 5 whole days of "hi's" and a half-smile instead of "KATSUKIIIII's," and a running hug. he was losing his fucking mind.

usually, you convinced him to join the weekly 1a movie night by taking his hand and dragging him out of his room. he'd grumble about it, but he'd never refuse. he'd sit on the corner of the couch and you'd sit close to him before gradually inching closer, the night ending with you two cuddling. now, he willingly trudges to movie night of his own free will and sits in the same corner of the couch, but this time alone.

the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the flicker of the TV as the opening credits rolled and iida turned the lights off. it was some dumb romcom movie katsuki couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest. you would definitely like it, though. kirishima passed around popcorn, sero argued with kaminari over which movie was the best, deku was doing his stupid nerd rambling as todoroki and hagakure gawked at him. and you? you sat on the other end of the couch.

not just away, but away from him.

the usual spot right beside katsuki, practically in his lap, head on his shoulder, knees draped over his thighs sat empty. you sat next to mina instead, curling into the armrest and pulling your legs up to your chest. you offered sweet smiles to everyone, laughed when something was funny, made conversation when prompted. but katsuki saw it. he saw you.

and he saw that you weren’t you.

he stared.

throughout the entire first half of the movie, he barely processed a single second of it. he kept looking over, waiting for you to glance at him, to shift closer, to give him a sign, anything, but you stayed curled in on yourself, legs angled away from him. he hated it. he hated how you looked like you were trying to make yourself smaller. like you were trying to disappear.

katsuki’s heart thundered. his leg bounced impatiently. his jaw was tight. he couldn’t take this shit anymore.

he stood up abruptly, catching your attention. he stalked straight over to you, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. he hovered over you, looking down and saying nothing.

you blinked up at him. "...what?"

his eyes were sharp and unreadable to most. but to you, who knew him better than he knew himself, you could see the anxiety and desperation swimming in his eyes.

no, no, no. remember, don't delude yourself. he doesn't like you, not even as a friend.

"are you okay..?"

"no." he snapped, his tone making you flinch. he softened at your reaction. "i just.. you've been.." he started, but his tone cracked, eyes flashing, and something in him snapped. "fuckin’ hell, just—"

he reached down and grabbed you.

gently, but with zero room for argument. strong arms slid under your knees and behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you barely had time to yelp before he was sitting down again, with you in his lap, pulled tight into his chest like you were his lifeline. (you are)

you froze, wide-eyed and stiff, but he just held you. his arms locked around you. he didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t give a shit about the stares or the knowing grins. he buried his face in your shoulder, muttering low and rough into your neck.

"i don't know what the fuck i did," he said. "but you don't get to just... take all that away. not from me."

you blinked, suddenly breathless.

he held you tighter. his voice cracked again, this time softer. "whatever i did, 'm sorry. i'll make it up t'ya, i swear. but don't just.." his voice trailed off. "dont stop loving me." he wanted to scream.

you felt your heart stutter, but you didn't say anything.

not at first, anyway.

because what is there to say when your heart is lodged in your throat and your body is caged in the arms of the person you swore you were going to get over?

you just sat there, crumpled in his lap like some lost puppy that finally found its way home again. your face is pressed into his shoulder, and you think if you speak, you’ll cry. so you don't. you just let yourself relax and melt into him.

he doesn’t say anything else either. his grip doesn’t loosen, not even a little. his fingers press into your back, not hard, just steady. grounding. enough to keep you pressed firmly against him. like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

the room’s still noisy with all the side conversations, but it's all background noise now with you two just in your little bubble away from the rest of the world. you feel safe and like you’re about to fall apart at the same time.

you shift a little in his lap and glance up at him.

“…you didn’t have to drag me across the room, you know,” you finally mutter, voice hoarse.

he scoffs, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “yeah, well. you weren’t comin’ on your own.”

you wrinkle your nose at him. “you could’ve asked.”

“whatever." he grumbles. "this is more efficient."

you snort. "the hell?"

he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “worked, didn’t it?”

you don’t answer. because yeah. it did.

instead, you rest your head back on his chest, and he immediately shifts to accommodate you. your legs drape over the couch, his arm hooked under your knees to keep you anchored, and his other hand settled at the base of your spine. he starts tracing slow, absentminded circles there, hand slipped under your hoodie to rub at the bare skin like nothing had ever changed. like you hadn’t just gone five whole days without touching him. like you hadn’t spent those five days trying to unravel every version of reality where he didn’t love you back.

you sit like that for a long time.

finally, he speaks up, his voice low.

"what did i do?" he asked, his voice oddly shy. "why'd ya stop.. you know..?"

your breath hitches. because you do know. but you don't know what to say or how to say it. "i thought you completely hated me" doesn't quite seem like an appropriate response.

"nothing," you settle with.

he gives you a look.

you sigh. you never could lie to katsuki. he's known you for too long and too well to fall for them.

"i just.. got insecure. overheard some conversation where you said i was, um, clingy and annoying." you murmur, your voice small. if katsuki wasn't pressed up against you and hanging on to your every word, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.

but he did.

and you swore you saw complete heartbreak in his eyes.

you let out a small gasp of surprise when he pulls you flush against him, arms tight around your body and face nuzzled deep into your neck. he holds you with such a gentle intensity you think you might cry. he holds you in a way that makes you feel loved and safe.

"'m sorry." he mumbles into your neck, voice watery. "didn't mean it. i was just.. mad that they were makin' fun of me. none of it was true. at all."

your breath hitches.

"you're.. so fuckin' special to me. i mean it. these last few days without you have been hell."

you think you might cry.

"been missin' your fuckin' smile and your damn laugh. and your stupid hugs that make me almost topple over."

you hold back a giggle.

"i love you."

the world stills.

you don’t move.

you don’t speak.

hell, you're scared to breathe.

your heart is beating so loud you’re worried he might hear it. your face is burning, your lungs feel tight, and your throat’s a warzone of words you can’t quite say.

he said it.

he said it.

and now he’s quiet. breathing you in. arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

you pull back just enough to look at him. your hand comes up to brush his bangs from his eyes, and your fingers linger at his temple, trailing down his cheek like you’re memorizing him.

his expression is soft in a way you rarely get to see. wide-eyed. hopeful. a little scared.

you offer him a tiny, quiet smile.

no teasing.

no trying to be brave or play it all off.

just soft. honest. the kind that only he gets to see.

you lift your hand and touch his face. not dramatic, not shaky, just steady. fingers brushing along his cheekbone, thumb ghosting over the edge of his jaw like you’re memorizing the shape of him again.

his eyes close for a second and you swear you see him leaning into it a little.

you say nothing.

you don’t need to.

because you’re here. because he’s holding you. because you’re not pulling away, and he's pulling you in.

you nuzzle your face into his neck, like it's right where you belong, and you breathe in.

he breathes in too.

slow. like the world’s stopped spinning for a second just so you can exist like this, tangled up in each other without saying anything. no talking about what's going on, no complications, just.. being.

you both don't notice how mina and kirishima are gossiping wildly about how you two are practically married and wondering how you still claim not to be dating. you don't notice the way that ochaco squeals after glancing over at your position, and you don't notice the way izuku looks fondly at you two with soft eyes. (he's been shipping the two of you since childhood)

you and katsuki are the only two people in the world who matter.

"i love you," you whisper as you feel yourself dozing off.

you think you feel his lips press gently against your forehead.

"i love you too."

masterlist

[mooningningg]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓: 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆

Where there was bsf!satoru , there was you. It had always been like that.

You two grew up in the same neighborhood, the kind of kids that made everyone sigh whenever your names were mentioned together. Trouble. Chaos. Sticky-fingered little brats with dirt on their knees and pockets full of stolen candy.

If you were jumping fences, bsf!satoru was already halfway over the other side; if you were getting scolded for sneaking out after dark, bsf!satoru was laughing next to you, both of you covered in scrapes like it was a badge of honor.

He was the boy who dared you to eat bugs, who shoved worms into your hand just to see you scream.

The one who yanked your pigtails in the middle of class, then offered you his pudding cup at lunch like that would make up for it.

He made fun of your handwriting, your shoes, the way you tripped over the curb—until someone else did.

Then he was spitting fire, fists clenched, daring anyone to talk about his girl.

Middle school was worse.

His legs got longer, his mouth got sharper, and suddenly he was towering over you, all elbows and loud laughter.

He’d steal your notes just so you’d chase him down the hall. He’d stretch out across your couch during study sessions, pretending he was asleep, until you got so frustrated you’d throw a pillow at him. He always threw it back harder.

And then high school hit. That’s when things got… weird.

You noticed first—the way he looked different.

The baby fat had melted from his face, and suddenly the boy who used to wipe snot on his sleeve was all angles, sharp jaw and blinding grin.

His voice dropped, his shoulders filled out, and he stopped wearing his uniform properly, always half-buttoned, like he knew he could get away with it.

And he noticed you. Oh, he noticed.

He noticed when your legs stretched longer than the skirts they gave you. When you started carrying lip gloss in your pocket. When boys who weren’t him started circling around. He noticed how your laugh changed—still the same bright sound, but it lingered on his skin in a way that made him itch. He noticed the way his chest burned when some dumbass pressed too close to you in the hallway, and he noticed how easy it was to make you smile when he was the one pulling your attention back.

It was still you and him. Always. But it wasn’t the same anymore.

Because bsf!satoru wanted things he shouldn’t. He wanted to see if your lip gloss tasted like strawberry when it was smeared across his mouth.

He wanted to tug your skirt higher and see if you’d still giggle or if you’d gasp instead. He wanted to ruin you for anyone else—and that thought scared the hell out of him.

So he stayed the same on the surface. Loud, cocky, your shadow in every room. But underneath it all, he burned every time you sat too close, every time your hand brushed his, every time you trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Because where there was bsf!satoru, there was you.

And that was starting to feel like the sweetest curse of all.

Then there were the times.

The times his hand landed a little too low on your back when he moved past you. The times his thigh brushed between yours when you were crammed together on the couch and he didn’t move.

The times you were roughhousing like always, and you felt the hard press of his bulge against your hip before he jerked away, too late, grin too wide.

Once, you were playing Twister at a party.

Just stupid fun, everyone half-drunk, mats spread out on the floor. You went down first, palms planted, back arched, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Gojo followed right after—long limbs and no balance—and somehow managed to collapse face-first into your chest.

The room went dead silent.

He popped his head up, grinning ear to ear, still with his cheek smashed against your tits. “What? Comfy,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You shoved him off, cheeks burning, but he just rolled onto the floor, hands behind his head. “I’m winning, by the way. Great strategy.”

And the worst part? After that, it wasn’t even weird.

Somewhere along the line, bsf!satoru smacking your ass became as casual as a high five. Sometimes he’d do it when you passed him a snack, sometimes when you bent to tie your shoe, sometimes just because you were walking in front of him and he was bored.

“Bro,” Utahime muttered once during practice, eyes wide, “did he just…?”

“Yeah,” Shoko sighed, not even looking up from her cigarette. “Don’t bother asking. They’re freaks.”

People noticed. Of course they did. The way you’d climb on bsf!satoru's back without asking, how he’d carry you around like a ragdoll, the way he’d sit behind you during study sessions with his chin hooked over your shoulder, arms around your waist like you were glued there.

“Are you two…?” a classmate asked once, eyebrows raised.

You blinked. “What?”

bsf!satoru grinned. “Nah. We’re just best friends.” He said it so easily, so convincingly, that they nodded—even though his hand was resting comfortably on your thigh under the table.

Best friends. Sure.

Because whatever it was, neither of you ever addressed it. Not the grinding bulge pressed against you during a “totally innocent” wrestling match. Not the way his hand lingered when he smacked your ass. Not the way his breath got shaky sometimes when you leaned too close.

It was easier to laugh, to shrug, to pretend. But everyone else? They already knew.

What they didn’t know was…

You both got off on each other.

There was a thrill in pretending. Pretending you were just friends, pretending those sloppy tangles of limbs meant nothing, pretending it wasn’t deliberate every time you pressed into each other until sparks shot through your veins. Maybe it was the risk—laughing it off in front of everyone else, daring them to notice—but mostly, it was the way it left you trembling, soaked, and wanting more.

Just like now.

You hadn’t meant for it to go this far. You were only trying to “help” bsf!satoru, sprawled out on Suguru’s dorm couch, whining about how pent up he was. You rolled your eyes, teased him like always, straddled his lap to “shut him up.” That’s all it was supposed to be.

But now your thighs are locked around his hips, and his cock is rock hard against your cunt through layers of denim and cotton, and you’re grinding like you’re trying to fuck him through his jeans.

Poor Suguru is asleep in his room down the hall.

You should stop. You don’t.

“F-fuck, princess,” bsf!satoru groans, head falling back against the couch. His hands grip your waist so tight you’ll have marks. “You trying to kill me?”

Your laugh is breathless, your lips brushing his neck as you roll your hips again. “You told me to help you.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, voice cracking when you shift just right, your clit catching the seam of his jeans. “Didn’t mean like this. Shit—”

You grind down harder, chasing that delicious friction, the heat in your belly knotting tighter. His cock drags perfectly against you, blunt and desperate.

“God, you feel good,” he pants, one hand flying up to clutch the back of the couch. The other slides down, palming your ass, pressing you even closer. “So fuckin’ good. Don’t stop.”

You bite your lip, gasping as your hips rut against his. “We—ah—Satoru, we shouldn’t—”

“Shut up,” he growls, thrusting up to meet you, jeans squeaking against the couch cushions. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking stop, I’ll lose my mind—”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs trembling as the pressure builds, grinding faster, messier, moans spilling from your mouth unchecked.

“Fuck, baby, yeah—that’s it,” he groans, forehead dropping against yours. His voice is ragged, unsteady. “Ride me like that. Rub that pretty little pussy all over me. Wanna feel you ruin my jeans.”

You whimper, clit throbbing against his cock, slick soaking through your panties. The sound of it—the hot drag of fabric, your breathy cries, his desperate grunts—fills the quiet dorm.

“Shit, shit—look at you,” he moans, jaw dropping as he bucks up hard, nearly lifting you off the couch. “So wet, you’re fuckin’ dripping, aren’t you? My best friend’s dripping all over my cock.”

Your body jerks, pleasure bursting white-hot through you, and you choke on his name as you come, grinding helplessly against him, thighs squeezing tight around his waist.

bsf!satoru gasps, rutting up into you like he’s starving. “Oh, fuck—fuck—ohhh shit—” His hips stutter, and then he’s coming undone, cock twitching, hot and messy as he spills in his jeans, grinding against you until you both collapse against each other, panting.

The room goes quiet except for your ragged breaths.

From the hall, Suguru’s voice drifts out—half-asleep, irritated: “Can you two not fuck on my couch?”

You slap a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh, but Satoru just grins against your neck, still panting, his cock softening under you. his hand squeezing your ass possessively as he shouts back:

“Relax, Suguru,” he calls back, voice hoarse but smug. “Wasn’t fucking. Just… deep cleaning your cushions.”

© mooningningg's kinktober'25!

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