ꉂ ᵎᵎ cw/tw: 18+, hybrid!au, dom!dog hybrid!katsuki, fem!sub!bitchy!cat hybrid!reader, maybe some ooc katsuki (oops), reader is afab, reader is shorter than katsuki and izuku, knotting, heat, biting, “random” (i put it there because i thought it was… neat) watersports? (reader has a brief memory of katsuki scaring her to the point of her peeing), breathplay (arm chokehold YES!!!!), coercion, little bit of footplay as a treat (reader recieving), voyuerism, reader doesn’t know the terms “sex” (has done it though) and “rut,” creampie.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: happy halloween! i hope everyone likes this… let me know if i forgot any warnings.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ synopsis: as your owner, izuku, leaves you home alone with stray dog hybrid!katsuki, who you hate, you suddenly go into heat.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ w/c: 3.6k
mean. blunt. rude. all words you would use to describe that mangy mutt, katsuki. ever since your favorite person in the world, your owner, izuku, had brought him home one rainy night a few weeks ago, what used to be just you and izuku, quiet and comfortable, suddenly became you, izuku, and katsuki.
you really did try to get along with katsuki— you did. on your very first attempt to bond, you even offered him your favorite stuffed animal. but the next morning, you woke up to find it torn to shreds, the result of him gnawing on it in his sleep. he didn’t even manage a proper apology, just stood there with his tail between his legs, arms crossed, and muttered, “my bad.”
then there was the halloween incident— the one where he hid in the dark of the laundry room, waiting to pounce on you, only to pin you down and lick your face until you were crying so hard you actually peed. and of course, he made fun of you for that, too. when you tattled to izuku, he played innocent, pretending you’d made the whole thing up.
and as if that weren’t enough, every evening since last week, when the three of you curled up on the couch to watch tv, he’d taken to demanding izuku brush a hand through his hair, each stroke robbing you of affection and attention that was rightfully yours as you sat on the opposite side of izuku.
aside from his terrible personality, he was also big— annoyingly so. he was always in your way — whether you were in the hallway, trying to go use the bathroom, or in the kitchen to get a snack — somehow someway, he was there, taking up too much space as usual just by his presence. sure, izuku was similarly built, but he had a gentleness about him that made it easy to breathe. katsuki, on the other hand? he was suffocating, and you couldn’t shake the fear that eventually he'd snuff your place here — with izuku — out.
now, snuggled up in bed with your precious owner as you both got ready to sleep, you found yourself asking the question that’s been lingering in your mind.
“izuku,” you murmur, your hand resting on his chest. “when is katsuki going to leave?”
izuku looked away from his phone, his head tilting at your question. “why do you want katsuki to leave, baby? i thought you liked him.”
the scrunch of your nose provided reason otherwise. “i don’t like him.”
he laughed, the sound light and amused. “well, he likes you.”
you scoffed. that seemed unlikely. “he likes me?”
“of course. he gives you all the vegetables you like at dinner. wouldn't you be lonely without him?”
“no,” you scowl, “i'd be happy. who needs a filthy dog who can't even go without eating anything that isn’t meat? you’d think living in the streets for years would have made him grateful for your delicious cooking.”
izuku set his phone aside, gently running his fingers through your hair, in an effort to soothe you. “are you jealous of katsuki, baby?” he asked, softly.
“no,” you repeat yourself, your answer coming out in a grit. “why would i be jealous?”
“well, you’re saying all these mean things about katsuki. he hasn’t done anything wrong to you.”
“yes, he has,” you huff, crossing your arms.
“like what?”
as you struggled to put into words why exactly you hated katsuki, you could feel izuku’s ministrations gradually easing your anger. “he’s just… disrespectful.” you manage at last.
another laugh slips from izuku’s lips as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “i think you should ease up on him, baby. katsuki has had a hard time being out on his own for so long— he might not know how things should be done exactly but he’s trying. all he needs is a little love.”
you let out a reluctant sigh before nuzzling deeper into izuku. “fine.”
“that's my girl.” he says with a smile. “you'll try to get along better with him, yeah?”
“yeah…”
“good. now let’s go to sleep. okay, pretty girl?”
with one last nod, the two of you drift off into sleep, with you in his arms— just as it should be.
that’s why, when sunrise came and you woke up alone in bed, you were more than a little upset. did izuku have work? if he did, he never left without kissing you goodbye. scrambling out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen, searching for your precious owner— only to be greeted by the sight of katsuki, blocking the fridge like he owned it.
“where’s izuku?” you mumble out, sleepily rubbing your eye with your fist.
“out,” katsuki answered curtly.
“out where?” you ask, a frown working to tug at your lips at his short answer.
“work, i guess.”
“you guess?” you scoff, your morning already starting off poorly. “ugh. of course i can’t expect a fleabag like you to actually be useful. are you just going to stand in front of the fridge and look stupid or move?”
for someone so much smaller than him, you always acted like you were ten feet tall. he rolled his eyes, continuing to survey the contents of the fridge. “maybe if you said please, i would.”
“why do i have to do that? this is my house— you’re the visitor.”
katsuki only rolled his eyes again, offering no reply as he grabbed one last sausage link from the fridge and headed for the couch in the living room.
ugh. not only had izuku left without saying goodbye, but you also had to deal with katsuki’s stupidity. to make matters worse, you were also starting to feel like you were coming down with a fever. when you opened the fridge and grabbed the milk carton from the top shelf — only to find it empty — the combination of everything made you snap. marching over to where katsuki lounged on the couch, you stood in front of him, carton in hand, as he stared at the tv.
“did you drink all my milk?” you accuse, half tempted to hurl the carton at his head.
“there’s a little left,” he replied, casual as ever.
“there’s like three drops max in here!”
“that counts.”
oh, the nerve of this guy! you stomped towards the trashcan, tossing the empty carton away. “if there’s only three drops left, you might as well just throw it away— no one is desperate enough for that little— it’s insulting! ugh, now how am i going to make my fever feel better?”
“you have a fever?” he asks, ignoring your scolding. “you’re not supposed to drink milk when you’re sick.”
“that’s when you have a sore throat, stupid,” you snap, “but i guess an idiot like you wouldn’t know that.”
he says nothing in response, effectively ignoring you as he kept his eyes glued to some cooking show— even as you continue your tirade.
“i don’t even get why izuku would bring a mutt like you into our home— you have no sense of sharing at all!” you complain, totally not projecting. "like why would you even touch something that you know someone else mostly drinks— doesn't it cross your mind that you should save it for them?"
as you glanced over your shoulder at katsuki, you realized his attention was still fixed on the tv. flabbergasted, you stomped right back in front of him, blocking his view of the screen. “are you even listening to me?!”
he just lounged there, legs splayed across the couch in a manspread, tilting his head to see past you. “yeah,” he says nonchalantly. “bitchin’ about sharing or whatever.”
“oh my— ugh — you —! katsuki, you are the worst!” you shout, clutching at your hair in frustration. “no wonder you were left on the streets— nobody wanted you because you’re inconsiderate, rude, and… and…”
struggling to find the right words to drive your point home, you noticed his eyes flicking up to yours, one eyebrow arched, daring you to push your luck.
at his quiet threat, something inside you stirred, making you stumble back a few steps. the air in the room had shifted and the fever creeping through you was starting to burn hot, clouding your thoughts. a fatigue was setting itself ablaze throughout your limbs, and settling deep in your core. “u-ugh, nevermind," you rasp, "i’m not... not feeling well enough to talk to you anymore.”
katsuki shrugged casually. “sounds good to me.”
as you tried to make your way to your room, your legs felt wobbly, taking only two steps before your knees gave out. you collapse in front of katsuki, who catches your waist just in time before letting you sink gently to the floor. “easy,” he murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. he sucks his teeth when he notices the way you shiver under his touch, your pupils blown wide and unfocused.
drool pooled at the corners of your mouth, and you swallowed hard, quickly realizing that this was no ordinary fever— your heat had come. and judging by the flicker in katsuki’s eyes, it seemed he had realized it too. “shoot… i, i… need izuku to help me feel good,” you mumbled out instinctively.
katsuki’s eyebrow arched once more, this time at your word choice. “that’s what you call it?“
“what’s it s-supposed to be called?”
“sex."
“well, i need izuku to help me 'sex.”
“to have sex,” katsuki corrected you.
"whatever,” you sigh exasperated, not having the patience for all this terminology at the moment. your eyes shut tight as you strained to focus on anything other than the warmth of katsuki’s body in front of you. knees feeling stuck to the floor, you found yourself unable to pull away from him either. was he always this pretty? when did his arms look so muscular? how big were his hands? as thousands of questions flooded your mind, your eyes had opened again, only to have mindlessly trailed down to the imprint of katsuki’s dick in his sweatpants, and you couldn’t believe how your body screamed at you to sniff at it.
your eyes snapped up to katsuki’s, heat rising in your cheeks as you prayed that he hadn’t noticed the way your gaze had lingered. of course, the slight curl of his smirk told you he that he had— as well as that he was thoroughly entertained by your internal battle, struggling between asking for his help and your stubborn hatred. “...you need some help there?” he offered, tone incredibly mocking.
“no,” you say through clenched teeth, breaking eye contact as you looked away, and trying not to take note of how the timbre of his voice was reverberating through your bones. “can— can you shut up? i'm trying to think.”
he shrugged, draping his arms over the back of the couch as he leaned against it, eyes fixed on you with a quiet amusement. “if you say so.”
after a few more moments of hesitation, you finally and reluctantly worked up the courage to ask a favor of katsuki, despite how much you hated him. “katsuki... can we… have 'sex?” you mumble out, eyes shut tight as shame twisted inside you. the gnawing heat in your core was growing exponentially, becoming more and more impossible to ignore.
he pauses, pretending to consider it for a moment, before plainly saying, “no.”
“what?” you ask, incredulous that now he was refusing. “why?”
“not really feeling like it anymore— you were a bitch when i offered.”
a sting of frustration and embarrassment pricks at the corners of your eyes. as hybrids of different species, he wasn’t going to be triggered by your heat in the biological sense you were hoping for, leaving you no choice but to beg. “please?”
“oh, that’s cute,” katsuki laughs, “now, you want to say please.”
you pout, beginning to sniffle. “it hurts a lot…”
“i bet it does,” he replies apathetically.
“…you’re r-really not even going to help me?”
despite how pitiful you sound, katsuki remains stoic. “yep. you’re going to have to wait allll day long for your owner to come home, kitty.”
at his words, the thought of waiting who-knows-how-long for izuku to return to get some relief sends your nerves into overdrive, overwhelming you with a rush of sensation that spills over into tears.
“katsuki… please, can you help me…?” you say in between soft sobs, resting your head on the inside of his thigh, and looking up at him pleadingly.
“thought you didn't even like 'mutts,” he sighs, as if you were bothering him. “why would you want me to help you?”
unable to think of a satisfying answer, you just cried harder, attempting to paw at his dick through his pants. he stops you easily, peeling your hands off of him and holding your wrists in one firm grip. “hey, i'm talking to you,” he says tauntingly, snapping his fingers with his free hand to draw your attention. instead of obeying, you go boneless, face pressing into his thigh as the tears continue to drip down your cheeks, swallowed up by the ache of your heat and the torment of withheld relief.
another sigh escapes katsuki’s lips as he takes a moment to look over your trembling and tearful form, your tears creating a damp spot on his thigh. the moment you hear that thoughtful noise — hm — the kind that makes it seem like he was actually considering it — your ears perk up, shamefully clinging to his every word.
rough fingers find your chin as he speaks, watching your body instinctively lean into his touch. “well,” he muses, speaking slowly, “i'll help you if you promise to help me during my rut. do you know what that is?”
you shake your head, resisting the mindless urge to take his thumb into your mouth and suck on it. “no,” you mumble.
based on the sheltered life you lived here with izuku, katsuki had already seen that answer coming. with a light yet almost chilling sounding laugh, he explains the term for you. “it's like your heat, but for guys. it means that, around next week or so, when my dick needs a warm hole to fuck, you're going to let me use yours all day for about 7 or 8 days straight.”
you hesitate at his words, a moment of sobering clarity cutting through your haze, apprehensive at the thought of being katsuki's plaything for a week. “is it going to hurt...?” you ask, somewhat already knowing the answer.
“oh yeah,” katsuki says, his face mocking the worried expression on yours. “i'm probably going to bite you all over. keep on going even if you're already filled up. probably won't stop if you fall asleep on me or pass out. do you still want me to help you?”
your body was aching for relief, yet your mind kept trying to reason, attempting to weigh his offer carefully. “i.... i don't... l-let me, let me think...”
he sighs at your trepidation, and in one swift motion, the ball of his foot presses against the front of your pussy through your sleep shorts, causing you to cling on to his leg and let out a open-mouthed moan as sparks fly behind your eyes. “ah,” he says, clicking his tongue, “i guess if you don't want to, i can't help you—”
“no, no,” you choke out, cutting him off, too desperate for relief. you let out a hiss as he grinds his foot in a way that presses against your clit, “i'll— i'll do it, please! please, i'll do it!”
“you sure? i don't want you to say yes without knowing what you're getting into...”
"katsukiiii!” you whine, the pressure against your sex, combined with your heat, throwing all sense out the window, and leaving only the single-minded goal of wanting to be bred. “i'm sure! please, please h-help me and i'll do it!”
he sighs, your pathetic behavior softening him ever so slightly. “alright, alright, i’ll help you. but you better not forget our deal. and don't complain when i knot you.”
thankfully, katsuki quickly plucks you up from the wooden floor and eases your back against the couch, but not without taking note of how your body trembles underneath his touch in anticipation. hooking his fingers underneath your waistband, he slides off your sleep shorts, your panties coming off with them when he does. with your glistening arousal left to his disposal, he conducts an experimental press to your clit with his thumb, watching how your folds flutter around nothing, your slick drooling down to seep into the fabric of the couch. at his teasing, you cry out, thighs clamping around his wrist. “please don't play anymore,” you beg.
he laughs softly at your impatience, prying your thighs open to free his wrist, before proceeding to shimmy his sweatpants off, and finally freeing his dick, much to your relief. pre cum leaked from the reddened, flared tip, running down the curve of its length, past his knot near the base, and mixing with the tufts of blond hair framing it. “turn around,” he instructs you with the jut of his chin, and you do so, laying flat on your stomach against the couch. a whine slips past your lips when he pauses to grab handfuls of your ass, and you send a weak back kick towards his chest — part warning to hurry up, part protest for him to quit that. he blocks it easily with his arm, chuckling. as the tip of his dick finally kisses your entrance, you can feel your pussy hoping to pull him in. right before you’re about to nag at him to hurry up, he slowly sinks himself in, forcing out a shameless whimper from you as you revel in the satisfying stretch.
“fuckkk…” katsuki groans, voice low and raspy, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he adjusts to the almost burning hot heat swallowing up his dick. “forgot how good a pussy in heat feels,” he mumbles to himself, his movements slow and deliberate at first, savoring every clench of your walls.
“faster,” you huff breathlessly, to which he can’t help but let out a scoff at.
“faster? whatever you say...” he says, dryly but compliant, now increasing the speed to the point where his balls were slapping against your clit with every stroke.
in tandem with his movements, you push your ass against him, his hands working up your body to cup your breasts as he angles himself to bully his dick deeper inside of you. as you eventually take him to the base, you find your toes curling with every slam of hips against you as they now become more and more brutal. “kats—! wai— slow down,” you slur in between gasps, drool dripping down your chin as he continues the pace.
“isn’t this what you just asked for?” his brows knit together at your indecisiveness before snaking his arm around your throat in a firm chokehold. “jesus… i feel like all you do is ask for more and more...”
your eyes go wide with panic as you splutter and struggle for air, his chest pressing against your back as he buries himself even deeper. the movement of his thrusts now were barely half an inch in distance, yet they were hitting that spot inside your walls that nearly knocked the wind out of you, over and over. eventually, you go limp, deciding just to take it.
“there we go, that’s a good look on you,” he laughs breathlessly, watching how your brain turns to mush under him. as your cheek presses against his bicep, you could feel your orgasm approaching.
“b-bite, please,” you cry out pathetically, voice strained from his chokehold on you.
katsuki raises an eyebrow at that, letting up with his arm in order to let his teeth graze your nape. “here?” he asks, like he wouldn’t know. when you nod mindlessly, he just laughs, teeth sinking in teasingly, but not enough to break skin. “like that?”
you can’t help but let out a sob at his ministrations, desperately craving more. “katsuki!” you choke out.
a snicker leaves his lips before he follows through at last, biting down hard at your nape. as the euphoria from the bite tips you over the edge, a moan is ripped out from your throat as you cum, leaving you whimpering with every wave of the aftershocks.
just a few minutes later, he follows suit with a deep groan, his dick pulsing and throbbing inside you as he cums. as thick warm ropes flood your walls, you can feel his knot swelling and locking you together with an unfamiliar heaviness. feeling satisfied for the moment, you lay there sleepily, your hair sticking to the sweat on his chest. once he catches his breath, katsuki adjusts the two of you, shifting you over so you lay on top of him while you two remain knotted.
as you drift off into sleep, ten minutes or so pass in stillness before katsuki catches the faint rattle of the front doorknob and the soft rustle of grocery bags. he stays still, too drained to move, bracing for whatever lecture izuku might unleash. but as your owner enters the house, there is none. instead, izuku merely casts a brief glance at his pets, more intent on heading to the kitchen, and setting a gallon of milk, amongst other groceries, carefully in the fridge. after he’s finished, he moves to the bookshelf to switch off the camera he had left there.
“nice to see you two getting along,” he says with an amused and knowing smile.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ tag you're it! list: @msbyswife @igotanainhistory
this he said to me: "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return"
****
an arranged marriage to king Oliver isn't as bad as you thought it would be. or perhaps, its even worse?
Oliver Aiku x f!reader
Warnings: reader is referred to as queen, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, cheating allegations (that are resolved happily), cunnilingus, not proofread sowwyyy, and overall pretty gentle marital sex!! lol please let me know if I missed anything and please enjoy!!
Word Count: 6.6k
Also available on Ao3!
Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!
You always knew that you were destined for a life like this; unable to make your own decisions, living in a world that wasn’t yours, always seen as someone else’s property, never fully a person. You had come to terms with it early on. As the sole princess to a dying kingdom, your duty was beaten into you ever since you had hit puberty—that you would be wed to someone you didn’t know, didn’t love, and that you had to be happy about it.
Some nights, you would find yourself dreaming of what your future husband would be like, how he would look. Would your parents be forced to sell you off to someone older? To someone who would never love you? Would they be handsome? Would they be kind?
Almost every suitor you meet is everything but what you hope for. If they’re not some old, decrepit fuck, then they’re young and handsome with a gleam of something evil shining behind their eyes whenever they look at you for too long. You don’t think you’re safe anywhere, and at an early age, you come to terms with living the rest of your life unhappy, unloved, and alone.
That is, until your parents introduce you to Oliver. He’s the new king of a neighboring country, one of the youngest kings in history. There’s some backstory to his land, one you don’t really care to know all about. Your parents just tell you that his own folks went off in search of some treasure years ago, and they still have not returned, and are thought to be dead, forcing Oliver to take over his kingdom in just his early twenties. The words went in one ear and out of the other, your main focus being; who is he? What does he look like? Is there kindness in his eyes, does it hide malevolence?
Your breath is taken away when you are first brought to him in the expansive ballroom in your peoples castle. It hasn’t been used in years, and there are cobwebs lingering in high corners from the emptiness that has pervaded your country. Money started running out long ago. Your parents are only trying to marry you off in hopes that the dowry will be enough to restore your people to their greatness from before. Too bad you’ll be far away, and won’t ever get to rejoice in their revelries.
But…King Oliver is handsome. He stands a head taller than you, and yet he does not look down his nose at you when he speaks. He looks you in the eye with this kind, easygoing kind of smile, a lilt to the corners of his lips when he catches you staring at the fullness of his lips, the feathering of hair under his chin. His eyes are hetero, one a deep, navy blue, akin to the sea at night when the waves are crashing against the shore, the other a verdant green of the hills in his kingdom that he promises to show you once you settle down.
“So this is it, then?” You turn to your parents, your hands clasped in front of you. You don’t shake as much as you thought you would be, in the presence of a potential husband. “He speaks to me about going to his home; so this is done?” You talk about King Oliver as if he doesn’t stand to the side of you. You test him, with your slight, with your turned away head, wait to see his reaction. If he’ll smack you in front of your parents since he already owns you now, if he’ll smile with gritted teeth as his eyes promise ruin and a future filled with pain.
But he only chuckles under his breath, good natured and genuine. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to gauge whether or not his laugh holds hints of malice, of irritation. But Oliver only smiles brighter when he catches your eye, winks at you with something too soft for a strange man who has come to whisk you away from anything and everything you have ever known.
“You are to be wed in a fortnight, yes.” Your father tells you, trying to hold his chin up high so that King Oliver doesn’t catch the glassiness in his eyes. You are his only child; your mother held an illness inside of her that caused her womb to rupture after you were birthed. Your servant, the only friend you have ever known, told you how much this devastated your family; the ache of never being able to have a son to take over the throne. It always put a sour taste in your mouth, the idea that you were the sole reason why your country began to fail and fall apart the minute you took your first breath and robbed your mother of ever being able to give you a sibling. You might’ve loved a sister, if you were to ever have one.
“I am eager for you to see my home, princess.” King Oliver tells you, bowing his head as he takes your hand in his. He presses the gentlest kiss to your open palm, another to each pad of your finger. Your face heats up in embarrassment, a bit of humiliation as your mother coos over how sweet and kind he is, how your father only hums in approval instead of swatting the man over his head for pressing his lips to your skin before you are truly wed.
Oliver stands to his full height after, smiling down at you before he takes his leave. His back is broad in its fitted vest, a deep red color, rich wine, his legs strong as he takes long, languid steps, all the while speaking lowly to a pink haired man whose name you didn’t care to catch. You will have to learn it, soon though, if you are to be wed in less than a month.
Wedding preparations go by quickly. The few possessions you have are packed away in a treasure case, one for your clothing, another for the few knickknacks and things you couldn’t dare be parted with. You wondered if Oliver would let you decorate his room with them, or if you would be banished to your own sector of his castle, forgotten and kept away until it was time to show you off, or—or breed you. Was that expected of you? Of course it was. Its expected of every princess, of every queen.
Your parents hadn’t gone over the stipulations to this arrangement with you; you just knew that you were to wed this stranger, and that was it. You knew that your country would gain an immense amount of wealth from your new husband, but you didn’t know what else was in the deal for them. Did Oliver really want nothing more than a wife, a queen to stand behind him? What was in it for him? Surely, it was so much more than just wanting a companion, but what did your people have to offer him that would be equal in exchange? What would you have to give up in order to please this brokered deal you never wanted to be apart of?
King Oliver sends a nice calvary for you and your people to attend the wedding. It will take five days to get to his country by horseback, and so you all set off barely a week after he first visited you. You’re ashamed to say that you have dreamed of him since then. His kind eyes and his gentle smile, the way he so softly held your wrist in his own grip, the way he spoke to you like a person whenever he referred to you, never counting you out as so many men in power have done before.
The wedding is a long, drawn out process, filled with customs and traditions you had never heard of until that very moment. Your knees hurt from how long you had to kneel, your hands clammy in his own as he gripped you, gentle but firm. You can’t say that you didn’t want to kiss him, in all honesty. He was easy on the eyes, and his mustache tickled a bit when he leaned in to whisper in your ear after the priest announced the time for you to lock lips.
“Can I kiss you, princess?” King Oliver whispered, his breath warm against the inflamed skin of your ears. You felt your entire body shiver, your throat constrict tightly as you shuffled on your feet. You hadn’t expected that. What you had expected, however, was of him to hold you so tight to him that it ripped the breath from your lungs, to dip you back and kiss you until his teeth gnashed against your own, until your breath caught, until his greed allowed him to drain you dry until you became nothing more than a husk of a person that you never truly were.
You don’t expect him to ask you for your permission. He is the king, and while you are now the queen, you know you hold no weight here. He could do whatever he so pleased, right in front of your parents, of your people, of his own, and there would be nothing that anybody could do to stop him or to save you.
“It’s queen, now,” you murmur, your own gaze far away as his words sink in. The room begins to chatter quietly at the lull, at how it has been far too many seconds after the priest announced the time for a kiss. But Oliver pulls you in to your own little world, shared with him, a secret on his lips as he pulls back and chuckles at your words.
“My apologies, my queen.” He teases, winks at you before his eyes fall to your red painted lips. You’ve always hated red lips on you, but you don’t mind the smear of it on his lips when you go in to kiss him, first. Oliver’s surprise hesitates him for only a second before you feel him grin against you, feel how he pulls you in tight against him until the corset of your dress isn’t the only thing that takes your breath away.
His mouth is soft and hot against yours, his lips smooth, his beard scratchy against the skin of your chin. He smears your makeup as he deepens the kiss for only a second, stealing your breath as you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him in deeper, forgetting that you’re strangers, that this man is taking you away from the only life you have ever known.
The priest clears his throat when you let out the tiniest huff of a moan against Oliver’s mouth, pulling away quickly as you look at him with widened eyes. His face mirrors yours before it softens into a grin, as he takes your hand in his own and faces the onslaught of people surrounding you as the priest finishes his spiel. There is cotton in your ears as you catch sight of red brushed against the kings mouth, his grin of pride as he squeezes your palm in his. He winks at you when he catches you staring, and guides you down the many steps as you are introduced as the new queen of his kingdom.
The rest of the ceremony passes by in a blur. Your people are being taken back home tonight, and your parents kiss and hug you tighter than you think they ever have in your entire life. You promise to write to them, and Oliver promises them that the two of you will visit once six full moons have passed from tonight. You don’t know if its an empty promise, if he will change his mind once he realizes that you will not consummate your wedding willingly tonight.
The celebration of your new queenly status is taken well into the night, with people from his kingdom gifting you much more than you have ever been given in your life. They kiss your feet and bow to the both of you, some peoples stares lingering much longer than appropriate when they look at your new husband. Its obvious you’re not the only one who sees him for how handsome he is, and your attitude bristles when one of his commanders for his army gift him three busty concubines to warm his bed on the nights when you’re too tired. They all laugh, and your face heats in anger, in embarrassment, as you turn to your husband and watch him, kindly, thank his general.
You definitely were not going to willingly consummate the marriage tonight.
You expect him to still take you, though. To open your virginal legs and thrust himself inside of you as a gaggle of onlookers watched from over his shoulder. Thats how things are done in your kingdom, and your heart races minutely as your new servant begins undressing you in a huge and lavish room.
But you’re surprised to find out that this is your room and your room alone, that no barbaric voyeurism will be taking place here in this kingdom, that your new husband is still celebrating and drinking with his people. You know you shouldn’t bristle at that, at the thought that he is taking one, if not all, of his new gifts to bed with him, instead of you. But you do, and you shoo away your servant as kindly as you can as you fall into a huge, plush bed that has no right to only hold your body in it.
The weeks pass uneventfully, for the most part. You barely see your husband as he focuses on training, readying his men for a war that he says looms over the horizon by the neighboring country’s king who wanted you first. Oliver seems cocky as he tells this to you, that same pale pink haired general (whose name you still hadn’t learned) boasting about how you were won first, as if you were merely a prize, never a person. Those same feelings of inferiority grip you tightly, and your resentment for your husband, for this kingdom, grows with every passing day that you are left to haunt the halls of his castle with nothing to do, no one to ever really talk to.
That is, until, you run into Oliver one day while planting something in the garden. You do it to busy yourself, mainly, something the groundskeeper tried to keep you from doing until you told of your own garden at home, at how comforting it is to be in the soil. Only then did he relent, but he always made sure to do all of the heavy lifting.
You hear Oliver before you see him, speaking lowly about one of the concubines that he was gifted. Your fingers grow still as you strain your ears to listen, heart falling to the pit of your belly as you hear him discuss how that concubine has fallen heavy with child. Your heart sinks, your throat suddenly constricting as you suck in a shaking, heaving breath.
Your new husband, whom you thought might’ve been better than any of the other suitors who tried to have you, cheated on you? It wasn’t uncommon for kings to have their gaggle of whores, not even uncommon for queens to do the same. But this was a new low. A bastard child, that will be brought into your home, brought into your lives, in the womb of someone who would never raise themselves to the level you had been thrust into.
Oliver had never touched you, hasn’t even kissed you since the day of your marriage. You thought it was a blessing at first, chided yourself whenever you craved the feel of his lips against yours on the more cold and lonely nights that you spent alone in your room. But as the weeks went on, and you saw less and less of your husband, to hear this news was…earth shattering.
Oliver emerges from around the corner, his general (Sendou, you had finally learned his name), hot on his heels. He pauses at the sight of you, genuine surprise overtaking his face before he smiles softly. He bends his knee to fall into the grass beside you, unaware of how you glare daggers at him, at how your eyes grow glassy at the audacity for him to rip out weeds beside you as if everything was fine.
“I used to tend this garden when I was a boy,” Oliver says softly, dirt piling under his nails as he replants the peonies you had taken out from across the grounds so that it now sits underneath the window. “My father told me I shouldn’t do it anymore, that it was manly, nor kingly, to play with the flowers.”
“Maybe he was right,” you spit at him before you can think better of it, petty and harsh. You don’t look at him as he pauses for a second before turning his body toward you. You watch from the corner of your eye as he shares a look with Sendou, who frowns at you, your tone, but you didn’t care much at the moment, hurt still clouding your vision.
“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, wife,” Oliver murmurs to you, reaching a dirtied hand out to grab your own. But you snatch away, quickly rolling to your feet as you dust your palms off on the prettied dress he had gifted you that morning. You didn’t care much for the thing anymore anyway, despite how it softened your heart ever so slightly that morning when you realized the dress matched your eyes. “But war is looming—”
“So if you die in war, am I to be the one that raises your bastard?” You ask him haughtily, chin tilted to the air as Sendou growls at you.
“Watch the way you speak to your king.” He snaps, and you wave him away flippantly as Oliver slowly rises back to his feet, a look of confusion taking over his features (his stupidly pretty, kissable, punchable features).
“Mind the way you speak to your queen.” You snap back, turning on your heels before Sendou could say anything else. But Oliver catches you by the wrist before you could go, holding you firm, but not bruising.
“My wife, I can’t say that I know what you mean,” Oliver murmurs, before he chuckles softly, holding your wrist still as he walks around until his gaze meets yours. “How could you be with child, if we haven’t…?” His words trail off as his eyebrows knit slightly together, glancing down at your belly before his eyes meet your own again. But you scowl, irritated and frustrated at how he plays at being clueless.
“I am not the one who has been unfaithful,” you snap, wrenching your hand away from his before you spin on your heel. “But if that is the marriage that you would like to have, then so be it.”
You’re stomping off before Oliver can fully catch up to your words, leaving him standing there in confusion and hurt as he watches your form disappear into the horizon, servants flocking you when they realize you’re heading to the lake. Tears flow from your eyes as they all squawk around you like headless hens, but your own mind is much too loud to pay anything they say any mind.
You avoid Oliver like the plague in the next few days as you try to hash out your plan on how to get him back. Giving away your virginity to somebody but him, could be a punishable crime, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t fool around in other ways.
You find a knight standing outside of your door one evening, guarding you from any lingering threat. You’ve seen him before a few times, watch the crazed pink flame of his eyes that match the tips of his hair light up whenever he and the other knights parry. He’s strong, you know, and doesn’t mind sharing his bed with whomever interests him for the night, man and woman alike. He’s loyal to the king, but any man can be swayed.
“How come you’re on guarding duty?” You ask him as you emerge from your room, leaning against the opposite wall across from your door. You wear only your nightgown, navy blue and sheer, naked underneath. If the moonlight hits you just right, the knight will be able to see your silhouette—and he does, shameless in how he grins as his eyes rove over your form. “Don’t you have more important things to do with your time?”
“Besides watch my beautiful queen? I don’t think so,” the guard, Shidou, you think his name is, purrs quietly. No one else is in this sector of the castle, your husbands own room on the other side. He put you far away from him. No wonder he got some concubine pregnant without you having the slightest clue. But that was okay; you would get your revenge soon enough for him humiliating you.
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” You ask him, a tilt of your mouth as you spread your legs just so, until the gleam of moonlight highlights the seam of your lips. “Watching me?” Your smile is seductive, devious, and conniving, and you know you’ve gotten the knight, when a sudden, familiar booming voice rings out in the desolate hallway.
“You’re relieved of your guarding duties for the night, pup.” Oliver is suddenly rounding the corner, smiling, tight and close mouthed as his hands are stuffed in his trousers. He’s also dressed for bed, in his loose billowing bottoms and a top with so many buttons undone, he might as well have forgone it in the first place. Your eyes narrow at his interruption, grumbling under your breath as Shidou grins at you before winking and nodding his head at you.
“Whatever you say, my king.” The pink haired man calls out nonchalantly before he’s moving away from the door, walking around the corner and out of sight. Oliver stands in the same spot, eyes drinking you in as the moonlight gives him the barest peek of the roundness of your areola, the perkiness of your nipple in the cold castle. He smiles lazily at you, like he’s won something, like he’s figured out all the pieces of this puzzle and is ready to move on to the next one.
“Are you ready to talk to me now, princess?” Oliver’s voice is deep, reverberating through the quiet hallway. It shouldn’t do things to you, but it does, and that infuriates you even more. With a scoff, you push off of the wall and stomp back into your room, intent on slamming the door shut in his face, but he catches it before you can fully close it.
He gently eases his way inside, despite your tiny resistance. He smiles at you fondly, as if you were some feral cat that he actively tries to catch and tame. It only makes your hackles rise more, as you cross your arms over your chest, not letting him walk more than five feet inside of your room.
“Nobody will be carrying my child, but you.” Oliver tells you flat out and honest, his smile dropping as seriousness takes over. You falter ever so slightly before your eyes narrow at him accusatorially.
“What tea did you make her drink to lose the baby?” You spit at him, cruel, your teeth bared. But Oliver only frowns at you, at the hurt that lingers behind your eyes as he takes a step closer to you. You don’t take one back but you do narrow your eyes at him in warning.
“She didn’t drink any tea, and she is still with child,” he says slowly, soft, making your hackles rise again but he’s disarming you before you can speak. “Because that is not my child that she is carrying.” You blink once. Twice. Oliver continues on as he watches the questions roll over your face.
“Sendou is an idiot,” he starts and you immediately agree, which makes him laugh under his breath. “He didn’t think that I would approve of his relations with a known concubine from another kingdom, and used our wedding as a ploy to get her in the castle. He pretended that she was a gift to me, so that he could be with her, because he knew I would never sleep with anyone else that was not the person I married.”
You’re quiet for a few beats as you explore Oliver’s face, wanting to see any hint of a lie lingering behind his eyes, in the crook of his mouth. But you find none, and release a long, deflating sigh as your head hangs and your arms fall to your sides.
“I’m going to fucking murder him.” You state plainly, barreling forward as your new mission is to rip Sendou’s face clean off of his body. But Oliver catches you as you try to pass him, laughing heartily as he holds you in his arms, nuzzling his face into the crown of your head as you grumble under your breath.
“I wish you would’ve just spoken to me clearly about what you thought was going on.” Oliver whispers when you relax ever so slightly into his arms, pouting as you hesitantly wrap your arms around his thick waist. The bare skin of his fuzzy chest presses against your cheek, as you grumble some more, to which he laughs again.
“How could I tell the king of a land where I am not native, that I don’t want him to be unfaithful and fill another woman with his child?” You ask him softly, your voice muffled by his skin. But Oliver hums, deep in his chest as he nods, pulling you away so that he can look clearly at you.
“You will never have to worry about that, wife.” Oliver says truthfully, his face serious as he his gaze roams over your face for anymore signs of insecurity or worry. When he finds none, he kisses your forehead gently before stepping out of your embrace. He’s grinning now, big and fox like as he shoves his hands in his trousers again.
“It was attractive, though, how jealous you got over me,” Oliver admits, reaching forward to brush his thumb against your cheek. “Maybe I should consider unfaithfulness in order to catch that sparkle in your eye once more.” He teases, and for a singular moment, you see just a hint of red in your vision.
Oliver’s cocky grin is quickly wiped away by the palm of your hand connecting to his cheek. You both pause. He blinks. You just slapped the king, one of a foreign land, one who you are bound to, one that holds the fate of you and your people in his hands.
And yet, you have slapped him.
You’re at a loss for words yourself, as Oliver’s face is still tilted to the other direction, his jaw slack ever so slightly. You should apologize; should throw yourself down at his feet, beg for his forgiveness, his mercy, plead for him to spare you and your people. But you only stand there, a gasp caught in your throat, your hand, trembling lightly now, still raised in the air.
You flinch when Oliver is suddenly on you, expecting to receive a slap back yourself, sure that his calm and levelheaded demeanor were only ever a ploy to get you to cozy up to him. But when he grabs you by both of your cheeks, a kiss is not what you expected, not what you at all prepared for.
Oliver is ruthless in how he kisses you, akin to his fight in battle. He eases himself into your mouth with his own tongue before he controls you, reads you for your next move, counteracts your own grapple for dominance, for control. He laughs when you bite at his lip, when your hands find purchase in deep navy locks and pull until you’re left with a few strands in your wake. Oliver doesn’t let up, doesn’t let your fight and your growl scare him.
Instead he forces you backward with his body, his hand grasping your nape, the other on your hip, his lips on yours all the while. His mouth smacks against yours, his teeth grazing your chin when you lean back to hiss at him, but he’s spinning you on your feet before you can spit your venom at him. His hands are rough, but he’s almost gentle as he maneuvers your body, twisting you around until your front is pressed against the wall of your bedroom.
His scruff tickles your cheek as he buries his face against your flesh, breathing in your scent as he ruts his hips forward against the swell of your ass. You gasp as your hands claw at the stone wall for purchase, nails scraping, your teeth gritted as you try not to moan at the size of him, at how his trousers leave little to the imagination, let you feel just how big, how thick and perfect he is against you.
“Wife,” Oliver groans, humping against you like some—
“Mutt,” you spit into his mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder to lap at your lips, your gums. “Mangy, rotten, dirtied mutt.”
Oliver only laughs under his breath, always fucking good natured, the bastard. Your own breaths gets hitched in your throat when you feel him take the barest step away, and begins shucking up the thin silk of your nightgown, exhaling when you can feel more than hear his moan of pleasure. You wear nothing underneath, the softness of your lips peeking from where you ever so slightly bend at the waist, spread your legs for him just the tiniest bit.
“Is that anyway to speak to your king?” Oliver teases, his actions a juxtaposition to his words as he drops to his knees behind you. His thick, scarred palms grab the fat of your ass, squeezing, pulling each cheek away from the other, his thumbs pressing upward to encourage you to bend just the slightest bit more. You want to fight him, bite at him, stay as you are, but he scrapes his stubble against your cheek and breathes and licks over the drooling arousal slipping down your inner thigh. You cave in, bending more at the waist, your palms splayed about the stone wall in front of you, as thick webs of your arousal split and slap against you warmed flesh. Oliver groans at the sight, lips pursing as he kisses away the mess, licking his lips to taste it.
“I’m speaking to my husband, right now.” You try to bark at him, but your tone has gone breathy from where he licks at your cunt, gentle, tasting, explorative, as if searching for the venom that still pervades your every word. “In this bedroom, there are no kings and queens.”
You expect that to be Oliver’s breaking point, for those words to be the catalyst that finally makes him put you in your place; that you are a mere foreigner in his lands with absolutely no control, no escape, no happiness in sight. But Oliver only hums against you, kissing at your lips in apology, akin to how he kissed the ones on your face earlier. Your nails dig into the wall before you as you feel your knees weaken ever so slightly at the wet smacking sound from between your legs.
“Wife, how could I ever forget?” Oliver’s tone is regretful, almost, sweet, placating. You reach back and tug at his hair, forcing his face further into your cunt to shut his stupid, fat mouth. He only laughs before kissing again at your lips, mouth splitting open to tongue at the arousal that slips from inside of you, lolling his wet muscle inside of you until you quiver.
“Bastard.” You gasp as you press his face closer.
“Lover.” He mutters as his cock throbs at the mere taste of you. His fingers hold the fat of your ass tightly, his stubble scratching against you addictively, before he eases one hand away until he’s snaking a thick digit inside of you. You pull at his hair even harder as you gasp at the foreign intrusion, hissing as he works his way inside of you until he’s two knuckles deep.
“Relax, princess,” Oliver coos against you, mouth wetted with slick and spit as he purses his lips to suck your clit into his mouth. You gasp, feet flexing as you stretch away from him, from the overwhelming pleasure that you’re not sure you’d ever get used to. But Oliver eases you back down onto his finger, lets his tongue join the digit as he slides another finger inside. You keen at the feeling, at how he stretches you out so gently, his mouth soft and hot, his fingers thick and knowing which spots to hit to make you moan.
“Have you ever came on anyone else’s fingers, my love?” Oliver asks you softly, before emitting a smacking sound from how hard he sucks at your clit, tongue lathing over the sensitive nub until your eyes squeeze shut and your nails break from how hard you claw at the stone wall before you.
“No,” you mewl, honest, embarrassed despite the way Oliver downright moans at your answer. His free hand kneads at the fat of your ass, fingers scissoring to open you up as you start to near your climax.
“Good,” he mutters, letting go of your ass so that he can rub at your clit with his free fingers, working you over until you start throbbing uncontrollably, a high whine emitting from the back of your throat as your voice starts to staccato. “Then that means I’ll be the only one who’s cock you cum on, too.”
His words take you over the edge, and you orgasm so hard your legs give out from under you, a fully body shiver wracking your body as you struggle to catch your breath. Oliver slows his ministrations until its overwhelming, and you whine with a push to his hands and face as he kisses at your swollen clit once, twice, laughing when you grumble at him and tug his hair once more.
He spins you around as he stands, caging you in against the wall as he takes your mouth in a kiss, filled with your arousal, messy and wet, his fingers holding your face as he claims your tongue with his own. You moan at the taste of yourself, at how he fucks his tongue inside, just how he did with your pussy, and wrap your legs around his waist as he so effortlessly holds you up.
“Take me to your room,” you gasp against his mouth as he begins walking you to the four poster bed. “I want to consummate our marriage in our bed, on our sheets.” You moan, writhing against him with a frown when he slowly lowers you down onto the silken sheets despite your protests.
Oliver unbuttons the rest of his shirt, slow and deliberate as he sits on his knees before you, his silhouette outlined by the pale moonlight surrounding his thick form. You slowly as you rake in his body with a hungered gaze; at the smattering of chest hair, deep and rich in color, the happy trail that leads down to the swell of his cock, where it is barely confined by the expanse of his trousers, a leaking, reddened tip kissing the base of his belly. You swallow again, unknowing if its from fear at the size, or excitement to finally be split open by your husband when you were ready to be.
“This is our bed,” Oliver chuckles, leaning forward to help pull your nightgown over your head. You let him, confusion tightening your face as you watch him toss the garment over his shoulders as he drinks the sight of you in. Your pubes are wet and heavy from how much he licked over you, your nipples pert from the coldness of the room, from the weight of his gaze on your body.
“What do you mean?” You ask breathlessly as you watch him unlace his trousers, pulling them down thick thighs until he’s kicking them off and looming over you on the bed once more. He’s so big this way, and yet looks so kind as he kisses you gently on the mouth, before trailing feather soft touches down the expanse of your throat.
“This was my room, at first,” Oliver mutters against the column of your throat, easing your thighs over his hips as he slots his body between your legs. “I took the room across the castle in order for you to feel more comfortable. I’ve been sleeping in one of our guest bedrooms.” He confesses, although he doesn’t seem to mind much at being displaced.
You pull him away from your throat by the hair at his nape, eyes softening as you catch his lidded gaze, his wetted bottom lip from where he licks it repeatedly. His eyes take you in, slow and sensual, and you can feel his cock throb where it rests on your mound. You cup his cheek, sucking in a sharp, shuddering breath as he slaps the tip of his cock against your swollen clit, before pressing it to your arousal-soaked lips.
“So this is our bedroom now?” You whisper, gasping when Oliver, ever so slowly, starts to split you apart on his fat, leaking cock until your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. He moans as he presses his mouth to yours, eyes fluttering shut as he nods his head, wrapping you up in his embrace as he pulls you flush against his body.
“Ours, wife. Always ours.” He whispers, pulling out halfway before he gently thrusts himself back inside of you. The feeling is pure bliss, the way he fits so perfectly inside of you, like he was made for you. You can’t help the cry that pulls from your throat, your nails clawing at his shoulders as you pull him in closer and closer until your bodies move as one.
Oliver consumes you in a passionate kiss as he wraps his arms under you until he’s hugging you, his body arched over yours as he thrusts inside of you evenly until you’re mewing for more. A smile tips up his lips as his hips smack against yours, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as he takes you, as he takes his wife.
Maybe, he thinks to himself, it was all secretly worth it; the fighting, the silent treatment, the resources used to have you, the slapping. He wouldn’t mind the slapping a bit more often, as foreplay. He tells you this under his breath as you’re nearing your climax again, and he thinks its the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you since you became his
“Husband,” you whimper as Oliver presses his thumb to your clit when you near another orgasm.
“Wife,” he calls back, content, happy as you cum all over him and he spills himself inside of you. His wife, his queen—just his. You don’t think you mind too much, being kept, not if it ends with you being looked at like you hung the moon itself in your husbands arm. No, you don’t think you mind at all.
thank you all so much for reading! kind comments/asks/likes/reblogs are all so greatly appreciated! <3
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students, with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds that this was a purely sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ Fratboy!Sukuna FWB Series ]
[ PAIRING ] — fratboy!sukuna x f!reader (college au)
[ TAGS ] — 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. fwb. angst. hurt/comfort. slow burn. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family trauma. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — shoko/utahime make u doubt your fwb label so now you’re desperate to prove them wrong
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — his brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — (coming soon)
✮ chp 1 — how this fwb thing started
✮ chp 2 — (coming soon)
✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
✮ ask tag ✮ music tag ♪ ✮ tiktok tag
[INFO] — parts vs chapters: chapters is where the series story will start from the beginning and progress on, adding an a, b, and c plot and so on. parts exist in the same universe as small drabbles, before the angst blows up in their face. [ they can be read separately. ]
series taglist open ✮ comment on this post if you want to be tagged. age should be visible on your blog.
taglist is only for chps not parts — (art by @/to00fu, dividers by @/cursed-carmine)
Summary: You get into a stupid fight with the Blue Lock boys, and later, when they’re dressed for an event, they show up with their ties undone—dramatically demanding you fix it for them as their way of making up.
Includes: kaiser x gn!reader, reo x gn!reader, fluff, a little crack if you squint, a little flirty, little steamy at times, but nothing crazy wc: 824 for kaiser, 770 for reo
Note: trust me guys click on the link! "your eyes only" is an amazing song. i love enhypen
Michael Kaiser
The fight had been stupid. Really stupid. You told him he takes too long getting ready, “No one cares if your hair is styled at a perfect 37 degree angle.” He shot back, “Of course you’d say that, your hair has never looked as good as mine.” Now you weren't speaking to him. It was silly, ridiculous even, because his words were true. Kaiser was infuriatingly flawless. Every strand of his stupid platinum hair was in place, gleaming under the lights like it had its own telenovela. Even the fuckass rattail he had somehow worked for him, like the universe had conspired to make sure he could pull off the one haircut no other man alive should dare attempt.
He had an event, and you made it very clear you weren’t going. Crowds, fans, lights, paparazzi—you hated all of it. And you most certainly didn’t want to deal with all that when you were pouty and upset at him. So, when he strutted out of the bedroom in his immaculate suit and made his way into the kitchen, his tie hanging loose around his neck, you didn’t even bother looking up.
“Schatzzzzz,” he groans, placing his hands on the counter and caging you in like he was trying to get you to put money in his Ponzi scheme, “do you even realize what you’ve done to me? Two days, two whole days, without holding your hand and now.. now.. my fingers.. they’re useless! Lifeless. I can’t tie my tie. I can’t breathe properly. I can barely… exist.” He whispers that last part, getting close to you for dramatic effect with his pretty face, “This, Schatzi, is on you. You ruined me. So now..” he leans in even further, lips inches from yours, eyes darting down to your lips before up to your eyes and glinting with an exaggerated tragedy, “...you’ll have to take responsibility.” He murmurs. Your breath hitches, and you look like the human equivalent of a shocked lemur.
The corner of his mouth curls as he studies your wide-eyed face, and a low chuckle escapes him. “Gott. You’re so fuckin’ cute when you’re flustered,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. Yet, there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s reserved only for you. He looks at you like you’re his moon and stars, as if you’re the angel that saved him from his own misfortune. Then softer, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it, he murmurs, “Makes me want to forget the event and just stay here with you instead..”
Meanwhile, you’re trying to recover from the lethal visual attack he just gave you. Your face is red, your heart is beating out of your chest, and you’re certain you rank lower than a prokaryote on the visually attractive scale right now. So naturally, you blurt, “Can’t you just tie your tie yourself? Don’t be dramatic!”
You don’t want him to see you right now, because Kaiser is a man who loves teasing—and your reactions are like a drug for him. However, Kaiser, ever the opportunist, notices the higher pitch of your voice, your eyes avoiding his, your throat bobbing as you turn the color of a tomato. He smirks. “But it’s not the same if you don’t,” he says smoothly, leaning in again with that infuriating smile that makes your knees weak. You groan, spin on your heel, press your palms against the cold counter behind you, and take one deep breath before turning back to face him.
You give him the glare of the century and he throws his hands up in mock surrender. With a groan dramatic enough to rival a dying opera singer, you loop the fabric around his collar. To be extra petty, you yank on it to bring him down to your level. Unfortunately for you, Kaiser seems to like that. He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, “Don’t be so rough, Häschen. I might get turned on~” You try to focus on the tie instead of the way his breath fans across your skin. He doesn't make it easy though. Kaiser leans in closer than necessary, his eyes fix on you like he’s drinking in your every move. When you finish and try to pull back, his hands fly to your waist and keep you there effortlessly.
He dips his head into the crook of your neck and inhales softly. His cologne wraps around you, something woody and cold. “Perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, softly nipping it. You yelp and tug on his hair, but he doesn’t move. He soothes the area with his tongue, and his voice takes on a lower, more sincere edge. “You’re perfect. Don’t ever let anything I say make you think otherwise.”
The moment is soft, almost unbearably tender—until he ruins it in true Kaiser fashion, lips brushing your cheek as he adds, “Now hurry up and put on your lipstick. The outfit’s incomplete without your kiss as the finishing touch.”
Mikage Reo
The argument had been over snacks. Not just any snacks—imported specialty chocolate bars he had flown in from Switzerland because he’d caught you looking them up once after watching a TikTok. And yes, maybe that’s part of why you’re extra salty about it. Reo eats the last one without asking, and you accuse him of “never respecting the sanctity of the kitchen stash.”
He swears up and down he’ll buy more, that he can literally have a private jet bring them by tomorrow morning, but that isn’t the point. The point is that you’re pouting at him, and he hates it. Operation: Turn-That-Frown-Upside-Down begins, and Reo is determined to see it through like he’s starring in his own Mission Impossible spin-off.
He comes downstairs in a suit worth more than the rent he pays for that stupid formal soccer event he’s supposed to attend later. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his grin nervous and boyish. You’re sprawled across the sheepskin couch with a book, deliberately ignoring him. You turn your head away.
“My princess pumpkin pie sweetie bell sugar sapppppp,” Reo whines, dragging out the syllables like he’s been sentenced to death. Then he flops—yes, the six-foot-tall pro athlete actually flops—onto you and nearly crushes you. You curse. Maybe attempt to hit him once. He dodges, laughs, and props his chin on your chest with eyes wide and pitiful. “I need help with my tie.”
You stare at him flatly. Reo Mikage, heir to the Mikage Corporation, can’t tie his own tie? Puh-lease. He was practically born in one, probably swaddled in silk at the hospital. You try to push him off again, but he clings like Velcro.
“You can do it yourself,” you mutter, tilting your book higher to block him from view.
He plucks it neatly from your hands, folds the page corner, and sets it on the table with infuriating care. Gentleman, even when being a pest. “It’s not the same if you don’t!” he insists, voice dipping into a whine as he buries his face into your chest like a puppy demanding attention. And then, because he’s dramatic, he slides off the couch and kneels beside you. The spoiled Mikage heir, on his knees, staring up at you with those devastating violet eyes like you’ve just told him that his private jet emissions are fucking the entire world over.
You groan, sitting up and giving him a pout that could rival his. He pouts harder. You try, but fail. Reo Mikage wins.
“You’re impossible.” You huff, but your hands already betray you, reaching for his tie. Reo’s grin blooms wide, triumphant before you’ve even begun. He leans closer than necessary, his cologne, something expensive that smells like cedar cut with citrus, curls around you until your chest feels too warm.
“You know,” he says softly, his breath brushing your cheek as you work the knot, “I could hire a hundred stylists to tie this for me. But…” He tilts his head, lips quirking upward. “None of them are you.” You roll your eyes so hard you nearly see the inside of your skull, but the twitch of your lips betrays you anyway.
When you finish, you try to lean back, but Reo catches your wrist. His fingers are warm, gentle but firm. “Hey,” his voice drops lower now, stripped of theatrics, “thanks.” Before you can retort, he lifts your hand and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your wrist, right above your pulse point. He then brings your wrist to his forehead, lashes brushing your skin as his eyes stay locked on yours. His lips find every single finger and knuckle on your hand even as he maintains eye contact with you. They all get a kiss, slow and devoted. The grin fades into something softer, something so private it feels like it belongs only to you.
And then, before you can even process it, he tugs you forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath is hot, uneven, his voice cracked with boyish desperation. “Don’t stay mad at me,” he whispers. “I can’t stand it, baby.” Your chest tightens, your breath hitches, and the fight over candy bars dissolves into nothing.
When he finally straightens, adjusting his suit jacket like nothing happened, the smirk slides back into place. “By the way, I already ordered more of your stash. Five boxes. Private shipment. First-class cargo.” He brushes his thumb over your knuckles before letting you go. “So technically, I win.” But then, quieter, almost sulky, he adds, “And if you’re still mad, I’ll cancel the whole event and stay here until you forgive me.”
This is all GREAT. I turned 40 last week, so permit me to add what I learned in my 30s:
keep on not working for startups
sometimes there comes a point where the thing (fandom, hobby, friendship, romantic relationship) you loved no longer brings you joy. And that's okay. Try to mourn the loss, take joy in the memories, and don't burn any bridges in case ten years go by and you find yourself back in that fandom/hobby/relationship again
it turns out that (ugh) moderate regular exercise is (spit) good for you. The sooner you make it part of your life, the easier it'll be
related: if you throw yourself into a new exercise regime too hard and too fast, without stopping to rest or consider whether a particular move is good for you ... well, shoulder injuries are painful and consults with orthopedic surgeons are expensive
knees are bastards too
don't even get me started on ankles
there may come a time when your digestive system is too fragile for ibuprofin. I'm sorry
one day you're gonna wake up and realise you no longer give any fucks about some things that used to bother you
on the other hand, you might be alarmed to realise what you still give a fuck about
never get down on the floor without an exit strategy for getting back up
I turn 50 this year. what I have learned in my 40s:
"loving yourself" is less of a feeling and more of an action. you can start doing it any time and it will make your life better and better as you go on
this will happen incrementally - be patient
along those lines, if you haven't started making an active effort to quit shit-talking yourself, suck it up and do it
no, shut up. do it. "but it's haaaaard!" don't care. do it.
whether you like it or not, you are mortal and you need to go to the doctor for an annual checkup
stretch regularly - your future self will thank you
at some point you will encounter people much younger than you arguing passionately and incorrectly about history you personally remember and experienced
this will be infuriating and annoying
otoh, most other things just... will not matter to you as much
at some point you will shift from wanting to go out to being like "eh" and deciding to stay in. this is okay.
you will have absolutely no idea what The Youth are talking about and you will not care
but if you keep your mind open to new ideas you'll never be irrelevant
your company still doesn't love you - don't give them more than they pay you for
get a fucking hobby, especially a hobby that involves physically creating/handling something and/or moving your body in physical space. it will do you more good than you can imagine
I'm talking that massive, never-ending Discord chat with your bestie? The one that makes you giggle through the day? It's not a "waste of time," it's what time was made for
If that's fanfic for your favorite characters who never even met on screen celebrate that!
If that's building a tiny fleet of snake villagers for your snake town and they just cover your mantel hell yes!
If that's collecting pillows and making a fort of them every weekend I'll be right over
꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ ⌞hiya! i'm yocchan, your guide to this masterlist! it's my job to tell you to please proceed with caution! wttcsms has created a blog that is a designated space meant only for those 18 years+! there's a high likelihood that the content below is nsfw/dark content. ⌝
⌞ if you understand and are willing to still continue, then you should know that this masterlist is organized by tumblr posting date! ⌝
⌞this masterlist was last updated on jan. 23, 2025! ⌝ ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱
RIN ITOSHI !!
rin with a breeding kink (thirst post)
rin itoshi is not emotionally stable enough for missionary (concept)
domesticity with rin (headcanon)
alone together (series masterlist)
jealous!rin (headcanon)
rin's good luck charm (headcanon)
single!dad rin (concept post)
rin x publicist!reader (concept post)
why are you at my door at 10:57 pm? (sfw drabble)
rin x scaredy cat gf (headcanon)
rin itoshi eats it like a champ confirmed (nsfw drabble)
lover! (headcanon)
bark like you want it! wag!reader (headcanon)
rin's stamina (headcanon)
hallmark holiday! (headcanon)
KENYU YUKIMIYA !!
why kenyu stares at you so often (headcanon)
adore me, mark your territory (nsfw/dc one shot)
YOICHI ISAGI !!
ravenous (nsfw one shot)
jealous!isagi (headcanon)
yoichi's good luck charm (headcanon)
isagi when reader wears lingerie (headcanon)
isagi = 'she can ride my face i don't want nothing in return' core (nsfw concept post)
dad!isagi fluff (drabble)
coach's daughter!reader x isagi (nsfw concept)
isagi's grimy kid (headcanon)
lover! (headcanon)
bark like you want it! wag!reader (headcanon)
if you feel like falling (series masterlist)
isagi is the best bf confirmed (headcanon)
teacher!reader (concept)
silly bf isagi (headcanon)
let you lock me down tonight (nsfw one shot)
isagi's idea of aftercare (headcanon)
do it softly now, baby! (headcanon)
hallmark holiday! (headcanon)
post-game hard-on (headcanon)
SHOUEI BAROU !!
jealous!barou (headcanon)
do it softly now, baby! (headcanon)
hallmark holiday! (headcanon)
HYOMA CHIGIRI !!
chigiri's good luck charm (headcanon)
SAE ITOSHI !!
it always leads to you (series masterlist)
sae + victory sex (nsfw drabble)
secretly clingy bf (headcanon)
do it softly now, baby! (headcanon)
situationship warriors (concept)
i want all your tomorrows (drabble)
RENSUKE KUNIGAMI !!
kuni + idol!reader (concept)
lover! (headcanon)
bark like you want it! wag!reader (headcanon)
do it softly now, baby (headcanon)
SEISHIRO NAGI !!
nagi x reo's younger sister!reader (concept)
lover! (headcanon)
bark like you want it! wag!reader (headcanon)
now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night (nsfw one shot)
it's the little things (concept)
hallmark holiday! (headcanon)
ZANTETSU TSURUGI !!
shoujo-esque tropes with zantetsu (concept)
OLIVER AIKU !!
oliver with a john tucker must die plot (concept)
hallmark holiday! (headcanon)
REO MIKAGE !!
lover! (headcanon)
bark like you want it! wag!reader (headcanon)
you let out a soft, satisfied sigh, and finally roll off of enjin, your legs, jellied from exertion (even if he was admittedly controlling the pace just as much as you were), scooping below disorganized bedsheets for comfort.
enjin smiles to himself, a spread of his lips just as soft as your sigh, and helps the rest of the blanket over your naked body.
“so you’re done using me?” he jokes, a taunt that’s followed by a contradictorily doting peck on the exposed skin of your shoulder. you’re turned away from him, a position he won’t admit he hates the most from you except in jest, but today there is small comfort in the fact that he already knows you plan to stay the night.
there’s nowhere else for you to turn in at this time of night, the trek back to your own humble abode far too treacherous. of course, you just have to settle for him and the warmth of his bed and what he can offer you with his body.
he’d offer you his heart too, if you would believe him when you say it’s yours to keep.
“you can hardly call this using with your track record,” you murmur, a gentle shiver running down your spine with the trail of his finger tips along the dip of your spine. salty sweet sweat on his tongue as he kisses your neck again, but stops himself there, instead limiting himself to pressing himself close to you, an arm wrapped around your hip.
he scoffs.
“are you trying to call me a whore again? you can be more direct than that.”
you reach back behind you, somehow intimating his body despite not seeing it and pulling gently on his ear.
“are you denying it?”
he says nothing, but the fingers of his closed fist splay open, cupping your belly softly.
“i don’t think anything i say now will change your opinion, will it?”
you pull his fingers off of you carefully enough not to bruise his ego, holding them in your hand for a moment, before moving them upwards to rest on your right breast.
“how many since the last time?” you ask.
“no one.”
your hand presses firmer on top of his until he squeezes, coupled with a light graze of the teeth against your nape. you pay attention to his exhale, the pace of his heartbeat against your back.
he’s not lying. something low in your belly quickens, a different sensation than strokes of his cock inside you.
“i wouldn’t care either way. we use each other.” you remind him, albeit in a quieter voice.
his voice, lower, raspier, and somehow deafening against your skin.
— you’re known for giving your fans whiplash, whether it’s going viral at the club, subtweeting your haters, or leaking an album— no one can keep up. but just days after dropping the album of your career, you’re chosen to be a contestant on the new survival show, heatcheck. only issue is, so is your sworn enemy and you’re told to play nice, no matter what.
or; she’s sworn never to fall for the enemy, but the cameras are rolling, her group is watching, and he looks so good on the beach in the moonlight; it’s a million degrees, and her heart? definitely not in check.
A/N: kicking my feet over this one because I just love second chance romances and couples coming back together (literally and figuratively) • divider credit @/saradika-graphics!
CW: 13.8k • NSFW • MDNI • second chance romance • pwp • missionary • prone bone • dresser sex • reader comes a lot ok • oral (F!receiving), stretch mark worship • messy sex • slow, intimate sex • creampie • mild angst • some references to reader’s past mental health struggles but vague • fluff • Sanemi is still pathetically in love with his ex-wife • pathetically yearning man
On the evening of what should have been his eighth wedding anniversary, there is a gentle knock on Sanemi Shinazugawa’s front door.
It’s late. The tiny digital timer on the over blinks 11:30, and the house is quiet. Dark. Nothing like it was at a quarter ‘til eight, when bath time had been in full swing and his youngest had gone tearing down the upstairs hallway, whooping and hollering, naked as the day he’d been born, while his older sister shrieked with laughter from the bathtub. Sanemi had run himself ragged charging his son down to make the boy dry off before he could try and take a flying leap into his father’s bed. Last time that happened, his son landed squarely in the middle of his father’s great king bed, leaving a nice, fat wet spot Sanemi hadn’t been able to avoid an hour later when he’d finally dragged himself to bed.
Tonight, however, his sheets are dry and his children are fast asleep, tucked away in their respective rooms, happy. Really, it’s all he can ask for.
But him? Well, he’s miserable.
A bottle of wine sits uncorked on the counter, waiting. Sure, he’s throwing a pity party for one, but Sanemi deserves to wallow a bit. He’s not sure which is more pathetic: this lonely observance of an anniversary that is no more, or the fact he immediately sets down the wine bottle in favor of answering the door for the one he should’ve been celebrating with, had he not let it all fall to pieces.
“I’m late, I know.” You greet him the second he opens the door. You twist your hands nervously together and hide them behind your back when you realize he’s watching. “I’m sorry, I got caught up at the firm again – I swear, Mr. Kibutsuji does it on purpose – oh, are they asleep already?”
“Yeah.” And Sanemi sounds sorry because he is. He takes no joy in the way your shoulders slump forward or how your head hangs with disappointment and guilt.
One week on, one week off. That was the informal arrangement the two of you agreed to a year earlier, raw and bruised and newly separated. Neither of you had the stomach to litigate custody in court, just as neither of you wanted to make your children pawns in the game neither of you really wanted to play. The divorce itself hurt enough; both of you silently agreed to keep the damage strictly to yourselves, for the sake of keeping your kids whole.
“Dammit.” You sag against his doorway in defeat. “I’m ruining your Friday night. I’m sorry. I can get them first thing in the morning. I’ll even keep them an extra day next weekend, and I’ll cover drop off, I swear –”
Sanemi holds his hand up, shaking his head. “Stop. We agreed. Teamwork no matter what. You’re not punishing yourself for bein’ a little late. Shit happens.” Lord, didn’t he know it. “And I ain’t gonna throw a fit over having extra time with them. I wasn’t doing anything tonight, anyway.”
Nothing save for toasting his first anniversary without you, like the pathetic asshole he is. But you don’t need to know that, just like he doesn’t need to remind you what tonight should have been.
The relief that floods your eyes – or maybe it’s gratitude – makes his chest tighten. Not with hatred or anger, but something far more sinister.
Longing. Love. Everything a divorced man shouldn’t feel toward his ex-wife, yet somehow all he knows how to feel. Then again, falling out of love isn’t always the catalyst for a divorce. Sanemi knows that. And it isn’t always because one person becomes unrecognizable to the other. You’re still plenty familiar to him.
Sometimes, divorce happens because what one person needs isn’t what the other knows how to give. Sometimes, a person just isn’t enough.
Like him.
It was quick; uncontested, at least on paper. Sanemi had fought it – hotly, passionately behind the walls of the bedroom at the house that was no more. He’d hurled a thousand alternatives your way: counseling, even moving to a new place and getting a fresh start. He’d offered them to you on his knees, but you wouldn’t hear any of them.
Sanemi, I’m drowning. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t breathe. Please.
That’s all it took to make him fold. You, crumpled on your bedroom floor, staring up at him with swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, pain etched into every line on your face. Broken and exhausted and resigned. Your pain had always been his limit. Knowing he was the cause of it was all it took to make him crumble with you.
It seems nothing has changed all that much. His intolerance to your pain still has him in its grip the longer he looks at you, really looks at you, half-curled in on yourself on his front stoop.
It’s not that you look bad. Your clothes are fine; expensive, he can tell by the stitching on your blouse, and no doubt new. Your hair is tidy and your makeup, neat, like always. Your heels are appropriate for an office even if he thinks they’re inappropriate for your abilities, having spent years watching you teeter and stumble around on shorter heels far too many times before.
On the surface, you’ve fashioned yourself into the perfect picture of corporate propriety. Success.
Sanemi knows better.
You look exhausted.
Mommy’s been crying, your daughter had said at dinner earlier that evening, pushing her rice around with her spoon.
Sanemi had kept his face neutral and his tone light. Why’s she been crying, sweetheart?
She’d paused, frowning at her plate. I don’t think her boss is very nice.
No, Muzan Kibutsuji is a world class asshole and bully. The very antithesis of nice. While Sanemi might not have been able to stop your marriage from fracturing, it’d been Kibutsuji and that damn job of yours that cracked its foundation in the first place. It wore you down until there was nothing left but a fragile shell, one that shattered too often, and Sanemi hadn’t been able to build you back up.
Doesn’t look like things have changed all that much.
Mommy’ll be okay, he’d promised your daughter, so sweet, so concerned for others and so very like you. She’s tough.
Looking at you now, though, slumped against his doorway with circles bruised under your eyes, Sanemi isn’t so sure.
Against his better judgment, Sanemi stands aside, opening the door wider. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.” Or ten.
Only half a moment’s hesitation passes before you’re striding past him and into the house. You navigate the open concept floor with ease, heading right for the kitchen with the same confidence of someone who’s visited him a hundred times, despite the fact you’ve never set foot in this place.
Sighing, Sanemi shuts the door and follows behind the trail of your perfume – light, airy and sweet in a way that makes his stomach hurt. Indulging too many memories at once upsets his digestion, and your scent unlocks a plate’s worth of them. Ones of you leaning your head on his shoulder; of him burying his nose into the side of your neck, sweaty and panting and sated, the feel of your skin the only grounding thing in the world.
Your voice cuts through his reminiscence. “It looks great in here. Spacious.” You run your hand over the edge of the kitchen counter, taking in the smooth marble and neat, black fixtures. Everything in his kitchen is painted in hues of black and white: the refrigerator, the cabinets, even the lights switched off overhead. The only color in the room comes from the warm, orange stove light that bathes the darkened first floor in its watery glow, softening the hard edges of his house. Classy. Neat. Modern.
And bare. So very bare. You’d always been better at decorating; at making a house a home.
Sanemi waves off the compliment. “It does what it needs to do. The brats’ rooms are the most important.”
You lean against the counter and Sanemi almost suggests you kick your heels off. They’re far too high for your comfort, and he’d bet his bank account that your feet are screaming. But that sort of suggestion is too comfortable for an ex-husband to make, so he says nothing.
“I know. Shizu tells everyone who’ll listen that her daddy painted her room pink, all by himself.”
“Yeah, well. Couldn’t really fight her once she discovered there was such a thing as Princess Pink. I thought things were gonna come to blows when the renovator asked to hold onto the paint swatch.”
Your laugh is a soft, delicate thing, a quiet puff of air out your nose. Polite, but guarded. Sanemi watches as you eye the opened bottle of wine with mild interest. No doubt trying to figure out whether his earlier assurance that he had no Friday night plans was true, given the slight tilt of your brow as you note the single glass sitting out on the counter, empty and waiting.
You should try doing something for yourself tonight. Dr. Himejima had told him earlier in the day. The first milestones after a death are always the hardest – especially those you associate with the person lost.
She’s my ex-wife, not dead. He’d responded miserably, picking at a loose thread on the arm of his therapist’s pink, floral-patterned couch. An interesting choice, given how the rest of his office had been decorated in earth tones, save the handful of odd, cat-shaped tchotkes sporadically placed on shelves and atop the doctor’s large, oak desk. Then again, Himejima was blind, so Sanemi supposed interior decorating wasn’t really within his skill set.
A divorce is the death of a marriage, Sanemi. You grieve it the same way you’d grieve the death of a loved one.
There hadn’t been much he could say to counter that, and so, grumbling, Sanemi asked for suggestions. It wasn’t like there was a grave he could visit, no headstone reading Here Lies Sanemi Shinazugawa’s Marriage, that he could lay flowers before and commemorate the loss of the only thing that had ever given him meaning, apart from fatherhood.
The good ol’ doc’s suggestion, however, was far from ideal.
Sanemi liked Himejima just fine; respected him, even. But that amiability didn’t keep him from telling his therapist to fuck right off when he suggested Sanemi try going on a date.
He didn’t get it. Sanemi made a vow.
“It’s all I’ve got,” Sanemi offers by way of explanation, nodding at the bottle. “Not a big drinker these days.”
The wine had been his compromise to appease Himejima. But pitiful celebrations aside, Sanemi won’t let himself lean on any vices to avoid thinking about his fuck ups. His own old man had done that and look how the sorry bastard ended up: alone and miserable, nursing his cirrhosis until he croaked, not a single one of his children willing to stand by his casket and mourn him. The scars on Kyogo’s liver may have been deep, but not as deep as the ones the Shinazugawa kids had born. Sanemi won’t inflict the same damage upon his own children.
You know him too well to offer any platitudes. “Got an extra glass?”
“Cabinet.”
“Up here?” You’re already reaching for the cabinet to the right of his refrigerator. Though your back is to him, Sanemi can hear your smile when you spy the row of wine glasses on the third shelf. “Color me surprised.”
Sanemi shrugs. “You know how it is. Math is blue, Thursdays and November are the same, and wine glasses go at the top.”
He watches with quiet amusement as you stretch as tall as you can, hand reaching, reaching for one of the pristine stemmed glasses arranged in a neat row at the top of the cabinet, but your fingers just barely graze the base of the nearest one.
A curse slips free before you mutter, “Only the height-blessed puts breakable things so damn high out of reach.”
Sanemi thinks to let you struggle for a moment longer, but then he sees you wobble – those damn heels of yours – and he opts to intervene sooner rather than later. He tells himself he’d prefer it if you didn’t break his glasses; if you didn’t wake the kids up. Repeats it over and over in his head until he almost believes it while he eases up behind you, letting his hand graze your lower back so you know he’s there.
“Here,” he pulls the glass easily from its spot, his fingers just grazing yours. Your spine tenses, and slowly, you turn against the counter to face him, careful not to let your body accidentally brush up against his.
A wise move on your part. It’s never taken much to get him going, and you know that. You’re at least trying to mind the boundaries he’s ignoring.
Smugness blooms in his chest at the sight of the flush creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks as you lower yourself back to normal height. The shadowy ambience of the kitchen can’t hide the way that flush deepens the longer he holds your gaze, and Sanemi is all too aware he’s treading dangerous waters.
Maybe that’s why he can’t help wading into them a bit further. This line between you has stretched dangerously thin, and Sanemi has always been a bit reckless. And maybe, he just can’t resist wanting to make that heat spread, and that’s why he lingers, reaching to your left to grab the uncorked bottle of wine. His hand doesn’t brush by your waist, but it could, and that’s enough to make your fingers tighten almost imperceptibly over the counter’s edge.
Good thing he notices your bare left hand. Otherwise, he might have done something stupid, like smirk, or flirt. But the sight of your left ring finger bereft of the diamond he hadn’t been able to afford when he purchased it, or the delicate wedding band he had, chafes at him.
Even a year later, he’s still not used to it. This.
Sometimes, he wishes it’d gone down in a blaze of glory. One truly marvelous knock-out of a fight, with yelling and screaming and resentment. Words sent flying that couldn’t be taken back, no matter how many apologies were exchanged. If he’d just had a good reason, one moment upon which he could definitively hang the hat of his marriage, then maybe Sanemi wouldn’t feel so hollow a year later.
Instead, it started with distance. Not the kind that was immediately noticeable, at least, not at first. Shrugs of shoulders whenever he asked how your day was, bypassing details that mattered with the excuse of not wanting to rehash the stress. You were working later and later, too, coming home each night more exhausted than the last. He’d noticed and tried to talk to you about it, of course, but you brushed it off as the result of busy season. But then the busy season became a busy year, and the next one more so, and you’d only grown more brittle by the week.
And you were anxious. So anxious, so withdrawn, so jumpy, even with him. He’d never so much as raised his voice at you, yet every comment was taken as a criticism, every compliment, backhanded. You questioned his affections and shied away from his touch, curling in and in on yourself until there was nothing for him to reach.
Sanemi has long suspected Kibutsuji’s reputation as a ruthless, callous businessman had made him a cruel executive to his subordinates. He’d never been able to get you to share the things that had been said, the insults and degradation you’d endured for the sake of your family and the sizeable paycheck your humiliation apparently had been worth. Oh, he tried. Argued with you about the walls you’d thrown up, even threatened to march down to that shining, corporate hi-rise and confront Kibutsuji himself, demand to know why his wife returned home to him with hollowed cheeks and deadened eyes. Why she cried herself to sleep that never seemed last more than a couple of hours at a time, and picked herself apart over ever minor mistake.
Your begging and sobbing had been the only roadblock to his impulsivity, and he reneged. Only, he never figured out an alternative to getting you to open up and that only exacerbated your loneliness. He couldn’t be the partner you needed, and he didn’t know how.
Now, Sanemi regrets tempering his anger. And he hates Muzan Kibutsuji almost as much as he hates himself. But Kibutsuji hadn’t been married to you, so he forces himself to swallow those bygones, washing them down with discount pinot noir.
“Not bad,” you hum, swirling the burgundy wine he’d poured for you in your glass. You take a sip and then another, swallowing nearly half its contents in one go. “Good, actually.”
Sanemi snorts, taking a place beside you. He figures this is safe – you’re facing the counter while he leans back against it. “Wine usually is, when it’s not out of a box.”
“Hey!” You laugh and it’s a damn pretty sound. “My tastes have matured over the years. Somewhat.”
“Clearly.” Sanemi smirks over the rim of his own glass and takes a drink, studying you out the corner of his eye.
Your earlier flush still lingers, and you push your sleeves up before leaning into your arms atop the counter. Your smile comes easier now, loosened up by the wine staining your lips a pretty maroon.
He can’t remember the last time you smiled at him. Not one of those brittle, polite, fake it for the kids smiles, but a real one. Genuine.
“So, what have you been up to, lately?” You drum your fingers on his countertop. There’s a too-casual lilt in your tone that makes Sanemi perk up. “Are you…have you been seeing anyone?”
Talking to you has always been easy – after all, before he’d hotly confessed his feelings in the quiet corner of the library at the university you both attended, you’d been friends. Best friends, really. But this small talk feels unnatural. Wrong, the same way putting his right shoe on his left foot felt wrong. Backwards.
Superficial conversation isn’t you and it sure as shit isn’t him. So, Sanemi opts to tease you a little, because that feels familiar and he’s desperate for a bit of normalcy. “My therapist. Every other week, at nine.” At your wide eyes, he adds, “He’s a cool guy. But no. I’m not dating anyone.”
“Oh,” you reach for the wine bottle and avoid his knowing gaze by pretending to inspect the label. “Well, you keep busy, I know. You’ve never been good at doing nothing for too long.”
You set the bottle back down, letting it demarcate the invisible line between you.
Sanemi indulges himself with another drink, but he rolls his head toward you, his gaze seared into your profile, unapologetic thanks to the warm buzz of the wine in his veins.
Fuck, you’re beautiful.
Shyly, you glance his way, lashes fluttering under the intensity of his stare. Your eyes drop away from his in favor of dragging down the length of his body, pausing somewhere around his chest and lingering again when you get to his lower abdomen. You look away before you dare to venture any lower, and Sanemi shifts against the counter, folding his arms across the breadth of his chest.
And sure. Maybe he flexes his biceps a little. Maybe you notice, and maybe that’s why you take another hurried sip of your wine.
It’s no surprise you’ve asked him about his free time. Drop-offs are cordial but quick affairs. Usually, he’s so busy helping the kids get out of one car and into another that there isn’t a lot of time left for more than an exchange of pleasantries with you. Superficial and friendly, of course, but terse. Not a lot of opportunity to discuss how the two of you have coped with the other’s absence.
You’ve been dating, or so he’s heard. Nothing significant, though, and no one consistent either. It’s a recent thing, too, something that’s only come up whenever he’s gone out to dinner or for drinks with mutual friends in the last two months or so. While he doesn’t have the right to care, he still does, and the thought of you eating dinner, laughing with some faceless man sours his already bitter mood. Jealousy grumbles to life in his chest, a monster clawing at his sternum that Sanemi has to shut up with another gulp of wine.
And him? He hasn’t gone on a date since before the divorce. Hasn’t slept with anyone, either. The only thing that gets any action in this house is his fist, and that’s become more of a chore these last few months. Something to do because his body demands it, even if his mind – or heart – can’t really give a fuck one way or the other.
There’d be nothing wrong with it, he supposes – dating. You’re doing it, after all, so there’s no reason to abstain. Hell, he’d probably feel less lonely, less hollow if he did, even if only for a little while.
Except, Sanemi made a vow. Eight years ago, Sanemi promised to be yours for the rest of his life, to honor and cherish you above all others. Maybe he’d fucked up on the last part, but the first half of his oath still holds.
Sanemi Shinazugawa won’t break that promise.
“You look good,” you admit after a moment, setting your glass on the counter. “You always do.” Even in the muted kitchen light, he can see your cheeks flush as you hurry to explain. “I mean – you’ve always taken care of yourself, you know? It’s good for you, keeping up with the kids can be a real chore –”
Sanemi lets you babble your way out of embarrassment as his nearly non-existent ego raises its head, swelling just enough to give him a taste of hope, but it deflates too quickly for him to let it mean anything.
This is for the best, you’d repeated again and again the morning he moved out of your old home. The sky had been dark and gray when you’d arrived to help him load the last of his boxes into his car. The kids had been sleeping at your mom’s house, unaware of the final nail being hammered into the coffin. It’s for the best.
You’d looked to him, eyes red and puffy but cried dry, as though waiting for him to confirm it wasn’t all some colossal mistake. Had Sanemi held any resentment about it, he might have shot back that it was too late to correct course now; the papers were signed and the realty sign in the front yard had SOLD stamped across it in thick, red letters.
But he didn’t, so instead, he only forced his lips into a small, half-smile that made the muscles in his cheeks twitch. We’re still friends, y’know. Always will be, especially for them. It’s the only way this’ll work.
The sound of his trunk lid slamming shut muffled your choked sob. Friends. Of course. You returned his smile-grimace with a bland one of your own. It’s for the best.
Thinking back, Sanemi can’t quite figure out whether you’d said it to convince him or yourself. That confusion only deepens the dent in his brow now because you’re looking at him the way you used to – eyes shining, lashes fluttering. And though you keep the topic of conversation light, you’re leaning close to him. Very close. Either one of you could easily close the space between your bodies.
Hope is a dangerous fucking thing. Sanemi makes a mental note to talk to Himejima at his next session about ways to keep it from running wild. Because he knows, when you leave tonight, you’ll be taking that flutter of hope right out the door with you, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.
For now, he drowns it with another swig of wine. First glass, empty. He reaches for the half-full bottle near your hand to refill his glass at the same time you do, and his fingers accidentally brush yours.
Both of you jolt.
“Sorry,” he flexes his other hand to ward off the electricity that zips up his arm and shocks his heart. “Want a refill?”
“Sure,” you push your glass toward him. As you wait, he spies your thumb rubbing over the knuckles of your index and middle fingers – the same ones he’d touched.
His own hand burns.
The two of you wade through different topics of conversation, part catch-up, part stalling. He tells you about the trip his coworkers are forcing him to go on at the end of the year while you detail the new hobby you’ve been eyeing. Some of the heat in his blood is replaced by a fondness at that, Sanemi recalling the crafts closet you used to keep, stuffed full of half-finished projects you kept swearing you’d return to, once work got a bit easier. It never did, and the closet was packed up a long time ago, but Sanemi managed to swipe an embroidery set you’d started before the moving boxes were sealed up. He’s got it in his dresser, two-and-a-half flowers messily stitched across white fabric. A pillowcase, he thinks you claimed once. He takes it out when he wants to smile.
A quick glance at the clock on his stove reveals it’s nearly midnight, but Sanemi is still wide awake. Apparently, you are too, even halfway through your second glass of wine. At least, you’re awake enough to finally chance bringing it up.
“I know what today is. Strange, isn’t it? How much things change?”
He swirls the liquid in his glass, but he does not take a drink. “Have they? I mean, here we are. Just like last year. And the years before that.” He meets your faint surprise with a small smirk. “Maybe things don’t change all that much.”
For a moment there is nothing but silence and Sanemi curses himself for putting stock into tonight’s turn of events. This is not the night to challenge you, to dig up old bones you’d begged him to bury. This friendship between you is tenuous at best, and here he is, crossing boundaries left and right because he can’t stop picking at the scab over your relationship.
“Huh. You’re right.” And you’re smiling at him. “I guess it’s more ironic, than anything. Kinda funny, isn’t it?”
Not the word he’d use, but Sanemi chuckles anyway. It is ironic, and if he doesn’t laugh about it now, he’ll only sulk about it later.
Besides, he’s getting his wish, right? He’s spending his anniversary with you, drinking wine and reminiscing. It’s better than nothing.
He lifts his glass to you. “To change, I guess. And to things staying the same. Sorta.”
“To irony.” You toast him back.
The two of you drink quickly from your glasses, each avoiding the other’s gaze. But the pull between you is too electric, too strong, and Sanemi only notices he’s edged closer to you along the counter when his elbow bumps against yours.
He needs to stop drinking the wine. Not that he’s drunk by any means; hell, he’s not even tipsy. Just…loose. The lid he keeps secured over his emotions is unscrewed, and he can’t quite bring himself to tighten it.
You fill the silence with chatter. Mostly about the kids: little league practices and teacher conferences. All things he already has on his calendar in color-coordinated print, yet all the things he lets you instruct him on anyway because fuck, he’s missed hearing you talk. Missed the normalcy of being two parents instead of one half of a broken whole.
And as you talk, Sanemi lets himself look.
Damn, if you aren’t still a sight for his sore eyes. Wrapped in a sleek, knee-length skirt that hugs the curves of your hips just right and a silk button-down that makes his hands twitch with the urge to reach out and feel it for himself. To see whether it’s as soft as what he used to know so well. What the broken pieces of his heart still yearn for.
You reach for your wine glass and a small gap opens in your blouse. There, right where the third button begins, Sanemi catches a glimpse of lace. Dark green, he thinks, though in the dimness of the kitchen, he can’t be sure.
You’d bought green lace lingerie for him, once. Wore it on his birthday, made him lay out on the bed while you climbed atop him and tied his wrists to the bed frame. The lace had scratched against the skin of his stomach and his groin as you’d slowly dragged down his body, grinding your hips over his aching cock only for you to twist out of the way each time he’d tried to buck his hips.
You’d kept the lingerie set on as you rode him through his first high of the night. Even after you’d released him from his binds, Sanemi hadn’t dared to rip the sinful lace from your body. Not when the panties included a hidden opening in the back, one that allowed him to part the emerald garment right around your perfect ass and take you from behind.
Sanemi has always been fairly certain that’d been the night your son was conceived, given his bouncing arrival the following September. He wonders if you remember it, too.
You straighten and the glimpse of your bra disappears under the fold of your blouse. Sanemi hides his warming cheeks by snatching up his wine glass and taking a deep drink, swallowing his earlier reservations. It’s wishful thinking and nothing more. He’s lonely and pathetically in love with you, and that’s making him see things – colors – he knows better than to hope are there. You’d probably thrown out most of your old wardrobe once you moved. New beginnings and all that. The things normal people do when they get divorced.
Sanemi rolls his shoulders and tries not to think of the chain hidden beneath the collar of his shirt.
“I applied to a different firm.” The confession slips out of you without preamble and stuns him stupid. “I accepted an interview at the end of the month. I don’t want to work for him anymore. I can’t. It’s destroying me.”
Destroyed a lot more than that, but Sanemi doesn’t voice it. There’s a shine in your eyes that looks a whole lot like regret, and he thinks you know it just as well as he does.
“I’m happy for you,” he says instead, because he is. Really. “You always deserved better than the shit he put you through.”
That’s what this whole last year has been about, right? You getting the better you deserved. A better job. A better home. A better man. He can’t fault you for that.
You drain the rest of your glass. A dent appears in your brow and you frown at the burgundy dregs left behind. “Thank you for not hating me.”
Sanemi’s own glass pauses before it can meet his lips, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
You shake your head, your faint chuckle as dry as the wine you share. “That’s horrible of me to say, isn’t it? So selfish. I’m the one who caused this –” you gesture limply between you. “Yet, I still couldn’t bear it if you did.”
If you’re waiting for him to assure you he doesn’t resent what’s happened to your marriage, then you’re left hanging. Sanemi is still stuck on the fact you think he could hate you.
Him, hate you?
It’s absurd. Ridiculous. Borderline offensive, yet Sanemi knows that’d been the expectation. He fell in love with you when he was twenty and dumb and didn’t have a fuck to spare toward his future. You’d given him a reason to start trying; to start living. As though that wasn’t enough, you’d given up your body to give him two of the most precious gifts a man could ever receive. Even if his purpose as a husband has ended, Sanemi is still a father because of you.
His feelings for you will never change.
“Never.” He clears his throat to hide the way his voice cracks. “Like I said, right? Shit happens.”
To his bewilderment, you’re shaking your head like he’s given the wrong answer. “You’re too good to me, and I don’t deserve a bit of it. I show up late on our ex-anniversary –” Sanemi winces. “And you’re still nice enough to invite me in and talk and I’m horrible. And late – how could I have been late?”
Sanemi straightens. His wine glass is pushed aside, every nerve in his body now on alert and attuned to you. Buzzing.
This is not good. You’re no longer looking at him, your eyes instead fixed on some point near the microwave, but there’s distance, too. Like you’re not really seeing the quiet gleam of his kitchen appliances, new and barely used. Wide eyed and slightly manic, Sanemi watches as you slip further away from him and into an anxiety he learned to dread a year ago. He opens his mouth to interject, to assure you again that life happens, and he isn’t mad, but a weak little sound stutters out of your chest.
Fuck.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You start, wineglass rattling as you set it back on the counter. “I don’t know how I got to be so broken and pathetic. Who puts up with that shit for as long as I have? I’ve been a doormat. What sort of person does that make me? What sort of mother? What sort of wife?”
“Y/N –”
It’s too late; your eyes are already bright with tears, your breath shaky and uneven. “And I know, I know, Sanemi that you’ve blamed yourself for the last year, but it’s me. I’m the awful one. I crumbled and you were trying and I wasn’t, and I broke it.”
You wipe furiously at your eyes and Sanemi thinks a part of him might die.
“Don’t cry,” he croaks, reaching for you before he can think the better of it. It’s reflexive, just as much so as the way baby slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. But you’re broken and exhausted and it’s tearing him up inside. Maybe he couldn’t fix it before, but he’s desperate to try, now.
Sanemi has always hated his hands. They’re massive and ugly, his fingers thick with calluses and nicked with a thousand scars. But he hates them a little less right now because your face fits perfectly between them, like it always has.
His thumb wipes away the few tears that escape down your cheeks while he croons soft assurances and soothing whispers. Your fingers wrap around his wrists, anchoring his hold in place while your cheek presses lightly into his palm.
For a while, the two of you stand like that, close enough that your breaths mingle, warming the space between you. When the last tear is brushed aside, Sanemi pulls his hands away and you let him, but he hesitates, his hand lingering close – so damn close – to your face.
You linger too, and he supposes it would be easy to chalk your hesitance up to the effects of the wine. But Sanemi has seen you drink far more, and while there may be shadows under your eyes, you’re watching him steadily enough. You’re not swaying; you’re pressing closer, pushing against his body’s pull. Orbiting him, like he’s always orbited you.
There’s nothing pure about his motives. He’s not trying to help you wipe away tears that aren’t really his to worry about. When he reaches for you again, it’s pure indulgence; the desire to pretend, for just a moment, that he’s allowed to be this close.
Your eyes flutter at the gentle caress of his knuckle against your cheek, your eyelids lowering so that your gaze becomes something sultry, something needy. Wanting.
“Sanemi.”
How it happens, he’s not quite sure. One moment, he’s brushing his knuckle over your cheek and the next, the two of you are falling into each other, lips moving with uninterrupted fervor. Like nothing has changed; like you haven’t just spent the last year pretending to be strangers connected only by your shared children.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to tread beyond the bounds of quiet need and into the more dangerous waters of desperation. Possession. It’s hot and heavy; greedy nips at each other’s lips, demanding the other open up, and as usual, Sanemi is the first one to crack. It never took much to wind him up, and his year of celibacy means that it takes even less, now. So, with a moan, he parts his lips and lets you in, lets you take whatever you want from him because god dammit, he loves you. Always has, always will, not matter how much it hurts you both.
It didn’t always hurt. Actually, it used to feel like this all the time – butterflies flitting in his stomach, heat licking up his veins as he got drunk on you and your love.
It used to feel like home.
Part of him thinks it still does, as he yanks you closer by your hips, hands dropping to cup your ass. You’ll always be home to him. You taste like it too, an intoxicating blend of rich, bodied pinot noir and a hint of the cinnamon gum you always chew flooding his tongue as he hungrily explores your mouth. It’s a taste he hopes will linger on his lips in the days to come, long after whatever this is between you has returned to its strange normal.
For now, Sanemi gets lost in you and you, in him.
Pawing at each other, though, only satisfies so much. A deeper need charges you, as electric as the hum in his veins as you tug the collar of his shirt, signaling you need more of what only he can give.
The two of you are a whirlwind tearing through his kitchen, the living room. You lose your heels somewhere between the coffee table and the adjacent half-wall that separates his bedroom from the rest of the main floor. The loss in height doesn’t interrupt the urgency of your kiss; it only makes you lean into him harder, your fingers tangled in his hair.
A minute and a desperate moan from you later and Sanemi has you bumping up against the doorway to his room, his hands running up and down the sensuous curves of your hips. You break the kiss long enough to whisper his name and the next thing he knows, he’s hauling you up and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.
The dresser shudders when he hoists you atop it, a bottle of cologne rattling in the small tray where he keeps his keys and wallet. You tear away from him with a gasp, but don’t dare to push him away. The loss of your lips is temporary and Sanemi gets his fill of you elsewhere, his mouth hot against your neck, sucking and biting and breathing, breathing you in. Every part of him buzzes for you. His cock is already stretched painfully against the seat of his pants, desperate for the relief of your body. He needs to be closer and yet, he cannot rush this. Not when it’s been so long.
Not when you might leave him the moment it’s over.
Groaning, Sanemi’s hands push your skirt further up your thighs, fingers greedy as they map your skin. You pull and tug at his hair, haul him closer, closer than he’s been to you in a year. Your lips find his and you slip your tongue back into his mouth with a moan that makes his knees quake.
Make no mistake: he might have you on the dresser, but he’s putty in your expert hands. Malleable and yielding to your every touch, every squeeze. You work him with proficiency, the kind that only develops after years of centering your entire world around one person. It’s how you know that scraping your teeth along the spot below his ear makes him arch into you, throat bared so you can take more. How raking your nails over his pectorals and down his abdomen will make him snare his fingers in your hair and yank you back in for another bruising kiss.
“Sanemi,” you murmur, and he nearly whimpers. “Sanemi, please –”
He pulls back long enough to survey you perched on the dresser’s edge, skirt rucked up your hips, blouse gaping from opened buttons he can’t remember having undone. Your hair is a mess, and your lips are swollen from his kiss, but your eyes are bright; shining with the same desire that makes his cock throb behind his zipper.
Never have you looked more fucking beautiful.
His eyes fall to your heaving chest. Whatever control he tried to maintain over his breathing falters as he beholds lace.
Green lace.
The exact same shade of green as that birthday set you’d worn for him, once upon a time, now here, again, on his would-be anniversary.
Seeing it again nearly makes him fall to his knees.
Some universal force has thrown him a bone after spending the last year beating him to death with it. Call it alignment of the stars, planetary retrograde, divine intervention or whatever other cosmic event people blamed their blessings and curses on, Sanemi doesn’t care one way or the other. He’ll thank them all after this is over, prostrate himself again and again, once he’s done worshipping you.
You shift on the dresser, urging his attention. “Sanemi.”
Fuck it. No more thinking. Now’s not the fucking time.
His mouth is on yours with a gasp, tongue and teeth clashing together as each of you breathes the other in, desperate. The hand you use to clutch the collar of his shirt drops to palm the hardness straining against the crotch of his pants, and if Sanemi wasn’t so committed to being inside you as soon as fucking possible, he just might cream himself right there.
He’s pathetic, but he’s yours. For now.
Slow it down, some voice whispers in his head, but his body won’t listen. It’s too greedy to mold itself back to you. His hands are already fixed in the perfect position he needs to grasp your thighs, silky smooth and pliant, unrestrained by the rigid silhouette of the skirt he now has pushed up to your waist. There’s no slowing this down; all Sanemi can do is lay his foot on the gas pedal and crash right into you.
Still, he does have enough self-control to know you need to be properly prepared, regardless of how long or quick this takes. He’d told you, years ago, that he doesn’t even think about coming before you do. Usually, that meant pulling at least two or three orgasms out of you first, only giving into his own need once you’re thoroughly spent and halfway to tears.
It’s a rule he’d steadfastly adhered to well throughout the marriage, right up until the moment it ended. But the death of your union didn’t terminate his vows, and this one is no exception.
His mouth covers yours right as he hitches your leg over his hip, letting him swallow your gasp of surprise. He breaks away only to watch your face – how your eyebrows pinch together, and the sensual way you bite your lower lip – as Sanemi’s fingers tease across your inner thigh. The little jolt of your body when he brushes against the sensitive skin of the joint makes that possessive monster in his chest purr; the heat radiating from your center make it roar as you draw his hand in like a magnet.
“Jesus fuck,” he whispers, letting his forehead rest against yours while he catches his breath. “You’re this fuckin’ soaked already?”
Through the panties, he notes with a moan as his fingers slide over the fabric separating him from paradise. You probably don’t even need prep when you’re this wet, but while Sanemi is desperate, he is not careless. However this starts, it won’t be gentle. Maybe there’ll be time for that later, but it’s not now.
“Sanemi – fuck.” Your head drops back as he works expert circles right over your cloth-covered clit. The dampened material beneath his fingers is unexpected. It’s soft; cotton, maybe. Nothing like the dark green mesh-lace he knows matches your bra. The one with that glorious hidden seam.
This doesn’t disappoint him one bit. In fact, it only makes the hope burgeoning in his chest blossom. If you’d worn the full matching set, then that would’ve meant you’d planned this – getting fucked. Maybe by him, maybe by someone else. If it had been him, it would’ve only been by chance, because he’d been available when you’d been in need. Nothing more and nothing less.
But the underwear beneath his fingertips instead confirms that everything about this – the fact you’re spread out on his dresser, one hand buried in his hair while the other palms at your breast, a whine vibrating on your pretty lips – is organic. Desire, not just for desire’s sake, but for him.
He’ll take it. Even if it’s just for tonight, he’ll fucking take it.
With a growl, Sanemi yanks your panties to the side and plunges two fingers into your dripping heat, swearing at the way you clench around him. His thumb works your clit, swirling your stickiness as he pumps his fingers in, curls them forward, and pulls them back out, repeating the movements again and again.
The sounds of his hand squelching in and out of you are lewd; obscene. He smothers his groan by sliding his tongue into your mouth, rocking his body against the dresser and into you as he works you open.
It’s unreal, the feeling of your tight, wet heat pulsing and throbbing and clenching around him. He’ll be luck to last five minutes inside you. Just like you’ll be lucky if you last thirty seconds more under the relentless pump-push-pull of his hand. Already your legs are vibrating atop the wood, your moans melting into pitchy warbles of his name.
You’ve dated; it stands to reason you’ve slept with other people, too. It surprises him, how little this bothers him given the surge of jealousy he’d felt earlier. Maybe, he thinks before his brain smooths out beneath the expert flick of your tongue against his, it’s because he knows you stopped being his the day he signed those papers. He can’t be mad that you’d sought out company when you no longer had his. He’d forfeited his right to you in a few strokes of blue ink, signed, dated, and notarized.
His hand works between your thighs with ease, your breath growing less and less steady as you clench around him. Or maybe it’s because he knows it ultimately doesn’t matter. He won’t bother asking if any of the others you’ve dated in your year of singledom were able to make you feel the way he could.
None of them know you the way he does.
None of them could have made you cry out like he can, fingers pumping and scissoring inside you. That broken gasp of yours and the arch in your back only happens when someone presses right there, curls their fingers right against that rough patch of flesh in time with the press of his other hand to your lower stomach.
Besides, it’s his name you’re moaning between his fervid kisses. Sanemi knows from past experience that when you sleep around, your vocabulary tends to grow. You’ll force out a string of yeses and fucks and right there babys! to avoid risking a name that does not belong to the body you’re sharing.
You must have been holding his in for quite a while. That or, he thinks with a smirk, maybe you didn’t hold it back at all. Maybe you called your other dates by his name, too, and that’s why it feels so natural rolling off your tongue now.
Regardless, this won’t be the last time Sanemi hears his name tonight. He’s going to make you scream it.
“Sanemi –” the whine in your voice freezes his hand, his lips. “God – please, baby – please, I need you. Now.”
Who is he to deny his wife anything?
Slowly, he withdraws his hand from between your legs, fingers thoroughly coated with you. A spot of it smears on your hip as he hooks under the band of your underwear and tears it down your legs, quick and messy. He manages to get it off your left leg, but he’s too impatient to work it off your right, and he leaves it dangling around your ankle.
He’s too wound up to really give a fuck.
A pleading whimper falls from your lips, so heartbreakingly desperate that Sanemi feels his chest crack. “Sweetheart, please!”
Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. It clangs around his head in perfect beat with his heart as it pounds against his sternum.
There’s no room for hesitation; for thought. Sanemi simply unbuckles his belt and reaches into his pants to pull his cock free. Some part of him reels at how quick he is to comply, screaming at him to drag this out, make it last because his luck has never been particularly good at lasting and he won’t get this chance again.
You scoot a little closer to the dresser’s edge, widening your thighs and that defiant part of him falls silent. Desire and a base need to make you his guides his cock back to your dripping entrance, the heating radiating from your center forcing his eyes to roll back into his skull.
One, quick snap of his hips later, and Sanemi is home.
“Fuck!” He snarls, head dropping into the crook of your shoulder. Your body bows into his at his intrusion, lace-covered breasts pushing against his chest while your fingers seek purchase in his back.
It’s almost too much, having him buried to the hilt inside you like this, his too-full balls pressed flush to the underside of your ass. This reunion has knocked the wind right out of him, and he can’t remember how to breathe. How to think. How to do anything but move, fast and deep.
“Oh god, oh god --!” You gasp into his mouth, nails buried into the fleshy part of his shoulder. “Sanemi!”
The way you repeat his name like a prayer sends him into a frenzy. There’s nothing soft about this reunion. It’s delirium: one you both readily give into, hands tearing at each other’s hair, clothes, while your mouths meet in bumping clashes of lips and teeth. Sanemi isn’t fucking you with any sort of rhythm and you won’t let him; you only cry for more, more, more and he only knows how to oblige you.
The dresser creaks and knocks against the wall as Sanemi fucks you. It’s sloppy; rough. Deep, bruising thrusts that border on something frantic, and his mouth is no better. It can’t decide what it needs more – your lips or your neck. Your legs are vices around his hips, heels dug firmly into his ass to rock him harder into you, and Sanemi settles on the sensitive spot beneath your jaw, nipping and sucking until you yield to him.
The cologne bottle tips over, glass rattling against the wood, but Sanemi doesn’t stop. It could vibrate right off the dresser top and shatter on the damn floor, and it still wouldn’t be enough to pry him away from you.
He’s just a man fucking his wife. He doesn’t care about anything else beyond that.
And why should he, when you’re seconds from unraveling around him? He knows why your nails are clawing at his back like that, why you press closer and closer as your head falls back. He knows what that strangled gasp that can barely make it out of your throat, means.
“Do it,” he goads, teeth at the side of your neck. “Give it to me. Give me what’s mine.”
You do; with a shuddering cry, you do, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen. Lips parted and back arched, you come apart hard enough that your thighs vibrate against the dresser, Sanemi watching hungrily all the while.
“Fuck.” His exaltation slips out with a moan as he savors how your tight, wet heat seizes around him. The wave of sticky warmth gushing from between your thighs makes him go cross-eyed. “There you go, baby. That’s it. Come on down.”
Carefully, he slows his pace into a steady rock as he eases you through the last echoes of your high until you finally go slack in his arms. He gives one, final churn of his groin against your clit and stills, still embedded inside you and rock hard.
But Sanemi’s just getting started.
Screw screaming his name; he’s got a very good shot at making you squirt all over him before the night’s over, and fuck if that wouldn’t be the goddamn cherry on top of this sinful cake he isn’t supposed to be having. Even if he doesn’t, he knows he’s got the stamina to work you through at least two more orgasms, and he knows you well enough to bet you’ll be crying by the second.
Gasping, Sanemi presses his forehead to yours, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. “You want more?”
You’re trembling still, and Sanemi’s hands smooth over your legs, fingers tracing calming patterns into your slick skin. Finally, you catch your breath enough to peer up at him, your gaze heavy-lidded and hazy with pleasure, and nod.
Sanemi kisses the bridge of your nose. “Good.”
With his grip secured under your thighs, Sanemi hoists you up against him and walks you to his bed, cock still buried deep in your heat. You’re clinging to him like a lifeline, arms wrapped firmly around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder.
He pauses with you at the edge of his bed. Post-orgasm you is something he always savored, even if he knew he was about to fuck you to heaven and back. This one moment of quiet, when you’re needy and desperate and completely his, is something he’s more reluctant than ever to lose.
Because for the moment, he can just pretend.
The moment of respite ends, in no short part because of the way you shift in his arms, the friction stirred by your body being held flush to his becoming too electric to tolerate. He nuzzles once against the side of your head and then carefully sets you atop his neatly tucked sheets, wincing as he withdraws from the warmth of your body.
God, he’s coated with you. He can’t help but marvel at the way the coarse hairs stretching from his navel to his groin are matted down and sticky, and his cock bounces against his navel as he settles over you, smearing his pleasure into his skin.
More. He needs more.
There’s no slowness in how he strips you. No sexiness, either. Clothes are only a distraction, particularly when he’s already been inside you and is aching to get back to business. Now is not the time for a tease. Still, it doesn’t matter that he’s seen you nude a hundred times before. The sight of your body is as exhilarating as it is familiar.
Your blouse goes first. Then your skirt, and you fall back against the bed in nothing but that maddening green bra.
That’s his next target.
“It –” your breath hitches with a moan under the caress of Sanemi’s hot mouth at your neck, his weight sealing you to the mattress. “It unfastens –”
His fingers tease down your sternum and come to a rest over the front clasp of your bra. “I know.”
He flicks it open with ease. Silly woman. Like he’d forget. Just like he could never forget the sound you make when his hands cup your bare breasts; the little squeak that bubbles past your lips when his fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, again and again, as the lace bra is tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. It’s almost as good as the moan vibrating in your throat when he wraps his lips around your soft mound, suckling at you the way he knows makes your back arch as his hand works your other breast with equal diligence.
Only when both breasts are thoroughly covered in blotches of purple and maroon does Sanemi continue his descent of your body. He means to keep going until he reaches the heaven between your thighs, but small, silvery lines etched into the skin surrounding your navel draw his attention, just like they always have. About a dozen of them, only noticeable as the shadows dancing along your abdomen shift as you struggle to keep your breathing even.
Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.
Stretch marks. Earned from carrying the two halves of his world. Once, his worship of them bugged you, made you squirm and shift beneath him until he was forced to move on.
Now, you stroke your fingers through his hair, cradle his head against your stomach as he nuzzles your skin, his lips brushing over each one, lauding them with the attention he’s always known they deserved.
Eventually, he moves on, leaving you just long enough to kick his pants the rest of the way down his legs and letting them fall to the floor. You frown a little when he climbs back atop you still wearing his rumpled shirt, but you’re moaning before he can say anything as he knocks your legs apart with his knee.
“You wanna give me a taste, baby? Show me what I’ve been missing out on?” His voice is coarser than gravel as he settles between your thighs, lips traipsing messily up your leg and toward your center. “Think I need the reminder?”
Sanemi scoffs, warm breath fanning over your heated flesh as you writhe. He knows what you want, of course. Those feeble little rolls of your hips that you try and hide don’t fool anyone, least of all him. But he’s enjoying this too much to give in just yet.
He hesitates long enough to let his eyes flutter shut, long lashes tickling the inside of your thighs while he breathes you in. Lets your scent cloud every thought, every bit of rationality he’s spent the last decade pretending to have when it comes to you, until it all floats away.
His eyes open and lock with yours. Whatever it is you see – hunger, darkness, possession – it makes you gulp.
“As if I’d forget.”
And Sanemi is on you like a man starved.
The first pass of his tongue over your pussy floods his mouth with a sweetness that nearly makes him come on the spot. The second has his fingers sinking into the meat of your thighs hard enough to leave marks as he jerks you forward, sealing his mouth to your center. Even his nose is covered with you, buried in the neat thatch of silken curls at the apex between your thighs.
Good. Sanemi doesn’t need to breathe. He just needs you.
His name is tossed out in a half-yelp, half-cry that you silence too late, hand clapping over your mouth.
Instinct tells him to let his eyes roll back so he can get lost in you, but Sanemi refrains. It takes every last bit of his restraint to do it, but he manages.
Because he wants – no, needs – to watch you watch him.
Everything about his movements is slow; deliberate. It’s about coaxing those moans out of you with his tongue and lips rather than diving right into your entrance and fucking you blind. A steady build rather than a catapult.
Your thighs quiver around his head when he begins softly grunting and moaning against your center, the sounds vibrating with the wet smacks his mouth makes as he feasts on you. As breathy and high as your feeble pants and cries are, you refuse to drop his stare, and Sanemi takes it as a challenge – one he’s determined to win.
And he knows exactly how.
“Fuck,” he grunts against your sticky cunt, sweetly kissing your clit. His hand moves from its bruising hold on your hip to join his mouth, thick fingers spread into an upside-down v to help part you and make way for his tongue. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”
You jolt when he lightly smacks your clit and he sees it – the faint twitch in your eyes, nearly rolling up into your head out of sheer reflex.
He does it again and rocks his head, smearing you deeper into his jaw, his cheeks. “And so fuckin’ pretty.”
You whimper as Sanemi slows the pace of his tongue, hips lightly bucking against his mouth. He almost smirks. You just need one more little push.
Slowly, Sanemi lets you catch a peek of his tongue as it dips and swirls through you. He does it again when he works his way up to your clit, noting the way the hazy flush on your cheeks deepens.
A single, harsh stripe licked over your center followed by a plunge of his tongue into your entrance does the trick.
For the second time this evening, you come and you come hard. Sanemi catches only a glimpse of the whites of your eyes before you throw your head back into the mattress and arch up, fingers working desperately at your nipples while you chant his name.
Good; he’s won this round. He fucks you harder with his tongue in celebration. Massages the seam between his mouth and your thighs with his free hand too, for good measure.
That’s when you scream his name. A broken, stilted cry that vibrates in his ears, works its way down his spine and settles in his groin. Though he wouldn’t dream of quieting you no, Sanemi can’t help but send a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening that the white noise machines in his kids’ rooms were worth their exorbitant price tags.
Not that the two of you had practiced being quiet while sleep-training them. Even without the aid of over-priced machines, the odds of them sleeping through their parents’ antics are still good. He hopes.
A final lick, and Sanemi rips away from you, panting and drunk on your taste; your smell. He rests his cheek against your inner thigh while he catches his breath. And he studies you; traces his eyes over your sweaty features and commits them to memory.
The ache in his groin is too pronounced for him to ignore any longer. His cock is throbbing, twitching against the mattress, screaming for relief and Sanemi doesn’t have it in him to drag this out further.
He twists to plant a kiss inside your leg and then he’s standing, fingers skimming the hem of his shirt. He spies the quick flick of your tongue along your lower lip at the first glimpse of his abs and Sanemi’s mouth goes dry. He’s gotten you off twice; you’d have every right to call it quits and head back home. Though he knows better than to put any stock into the fact you’re still here, on his bed, legs open and ready for him to take you again, Sanemi can’t help but hope. Just a little.
You want him just as badly as he needs you. Not just sex; him.
The mattress dips beneath his knee as Sanemi settles back over you, his cock resting heavily against your hip. The romp on the dresser had been driven by desperation; hunger. Now, it’s time for the softer part. The reconciliation. It may not extend beyond the confines of his bed, but Sanemi will be okay with that. As long as he can show his contrition to you, now.
You moan into his mouth as he reclaims your lips, your taste flooding your mouth as his tongue sweeps in, tangling with yours. His shirt is gone and there is no barrier left between your bodies. There is only your skin, soft as silk pressed to his, hot and feverish; no space to be found. Sanemi doesn’t want to think about how or why your bodies may separate later; he wants to hold you until you melt into him and he, into you. Nothing, nothing at all, can come between you. He won’t let it.
Nothing, save the chain around his neck and the item it bears. It slides down his neck and bumps against your chin.
Your lips part with a quiet gasp and Sanemi goes rigidly still above you.
Fuck. He forgot to take it off.
Sanemi’s promise dangles between your bodies from a single, silver chain. One that usually sits comfortably below the collar of any shirt he wears, close to his heart but out of sight from all others, including you. The golden band glints dully in the lower light from the lamps dotted around the room, but it draws your attention like a magnet.
The silence that settles over the room smothers your short, choppy breaths and the pounding beat of his heart in his ears. He should explain; he knows he should by the way your eyes go wide, your pupils contracted to pinpoints as you pant.
Never one to be particularly adept with his words, Sanemi swallows hard. Slowly, he takes the ring between his thumb and forefinger and brings it to his lips, his eyes never straying from yours. It’s a silent confirmation as much as it is a challenge. A renewal of his vows that he dares you to object to, to cut this off, now that you know where he stands. Still, after all this time.
Your gaze shifts to his mouth and down to the necklace. He releases the ring, lets it swing on the chain dangling above you, back and forth, your eyes following it in perfect time.
Sanemi doesn’t dare breathe; not as you reach for his wedding ring and tug him by its chain back to your lips.
Acceptance, he thinks with a groan, has never tasted so fucking sweet.
There’s a renewed vigor to your kiss and the way your bodies twist and write together on his bed. Every second that passes makes Sanemi acutely aware of his need throbbing against your hip, and he can wait no longer.
He starts on top of you, your legs wrapped around his waist, his chest pressed to yours. Your knees draw up against his sides while his lips hover over yours as he resets the pace. It’s deep and sensual in every way what happened on the dresser, wasn’t. Every movement is calculated: the long, slow draw of his hips out until just the tip of him remains in you before he lets his full weight drive him forward, embedding himself back inside your heat. Each thrust back in is punctuated by a firm grind of his groin, pushing himself deeper, deeper, while the coarse trail of hair descending from your navel stimulates your clit.
It's a reclaiming as much as it is a reunion. Every press of his fingers into your skin will leave marks for days to come, ones that will remind you that for a night, there were no walls. No failures, no divorce papers. You can’t escape his lips; if you throw your head back, he’s moving them to your throat. Your breasts. Re-familiarizing your skin with his mouth, letting his teeth nip and his tongue soothe. Marking you like you’ll still be his in the morning, just as he has always been yours and always will be.
He hopes; dammit, he knows better, but he hopes anyway.
But it’s still not enough.
The room grows thick with the scent of sex and it clouds over every regret Sanemi has ever had. The parameters of his bedroom grow fuzzy and fade from view until there is nothing but the sight of you, spread out beneath him, your hair spilled over his sheets and your breasts bouncing in time with each of his movements. Nothing but your flushed, sweat-dampened cheeks and your lips, parted around the syllables of his name as you moan it like a prayer.
When your hand falls away from his hair and drops back against the mattress, Sanemi takes it for himself, Tangles his fingers in yours and brings your arm over your head, squeezing your hand in perfect time with his thrusts.
Your left hand, he realizes. Without your wedding rings, sure, but he’s claimed it for himself nonetheless. He’ll hold onto it for as long as he can.
The third time you come for him is abrupt; there’s no build up, no warning. Only a weak cry of his name as your head thrashes against the messy sheets, your nails biting into the thick, ropey muscles of his shoulders while your thighs quiver around him.
And dammit, Sanemi makes it last. Draws it out, angles his hips so he can push right against that spot that makes you gush all over him, your mouth slack and a thin line of drool sneaking out the corner of your pretty mouth.
He holds you the way you like when you come: tight, no room for space between your bodies while his mouth moves hotly against your neck. “I got you, baby. I got you.” He pants into your throat, rolling his hips as the last wave of your orgasm shudders through you.
“So good,” you praise in his ear again and again, voice syrupy and warm as it drips over his skin. “So, so good, baby, so good –”
With you limp and feebly moaning the last of your approval, Sanemi can finally work toward his own release. He gives you one last, shallow thrust and pulls out, rolling you to your stomach while he grabs a stray pillow from near his headboard to shove under your hips. He’s back inside you before you can finish your mournful plea, your head thudding against your forearm as you rest it beneath your cheek.
Warmth spreads from the nape of his neck down his spine at the way your body takes him. Your soft whimpers are muffled against the sweat-dampened sheets, their rhythm interrupted periodically by a short little gasp. After a handful of orgasms, it’s no wonder you’re so sensitive. But you take him like it’s the first time all over again, the dip in your spine deepening to push your hips higher for his taking.
Sanemi holds his weight up on one arm, stretched taught beneath him as the other curls under your body, his hand resting heavily beneath your breast. It’s the only contact between your bodies he can allow now, save the sticky claps of his hips against your ass each time he pushes his way back into heaven.
The distance is necessary. Not only because he’s a slippery, sweating mess, but because the prickle at the bottom of his spine is too hot, the knot in his stomach, too tight, for him to pretend like he isn’t a handful of strokes away from blowing his load.
And, though he’s spent the last couple of hours pretending like nothing has changed, Sanemi cannot forget everything has. No matter how much he wishes otherwise, you are no longer his wife, and that means he doesn’t have any of the privileges that come with being a husband.
He’ll have to pull out.
A growl rumbles in this throat before he can stop it, but he smothers it against your shoulder, his teeth adding yet another mark to the tapestry of maroon he’s left on your skin.
You try and look behind your shoulder at him, but exhaustion drops it into the bed and your hips begin to falter beneath his. Sanemi takes his cue and maneuvers one leg over your outstretched one, stilling its feeble twitches with his shin pressed to your calf, his ankle hooked over yours.
“Shhh, just feel it.” He soothes when you try and whimper your protest. Thick fingers slide up your throat and Sanemi nudges your head back by your chin. “Look at me.”
Bleary, fucked-out eyes find his and Sanemi kisses you, hard and messy and deep. When he pulls away, you watch him with a moon-eyed adoration that flays him to the bone.
You looked at him like that eight years ago, too. First at the altar and again in a closet before the reception, when he’d gotten on his knees and flipped the delicate skirts of your wedding dress up, swearing he wasn’t waiting until the hotel before he began making good on his husbandly obligations.
Seeing that look again does him in. Sanemi can’t hold back anymore, and there’s no point in trying.
“Baby, I –” he groans, the vein in his neck popping as he hits it deep again, the coil in his stomach growing impossibly tight. “Fuck, I – I gotta pull out. Gotta pull out –”
It’s a strange feeling, pulling out of the woman who has birthed his two children. But it’s necessary; he didn’t bother asking you about condoms when this started, and god knows he doesn’t keep them in his house. He doesn’t need to complicate this mess further.
His arms lock and his body stiffens, and Sanemi readies to wrench away from you when you reach behind and snatch him by the back of his neck, yanking him down.
Possessive. Desperate. Demanding, in the way your nails dig into his nape, and Sanemi is a lost cause.
With a rumbling groan, Sanemi collapses atop you with his full weight, managing a few, last jerking rolls of his hips before he unravels.
“Fuck – oh fuck, baby –” Sanemi pants against the side of your head, moaning at the sting of your nails biting into his skin, grounding him against the way his climax knocks him right off his axis.
There’s nothing left in his orbit; no planets, no stars, no gravity. There is only white hot pleasure licking up the length of his spine, a flare that catches and zips through his veins until his entire body is set ablaze, cast into the fiery pits of the ecstasy that is you. There is only your body, soft and warm and so fucking tight around him; the scent of your hair, your skin.
There is only you and him. Sanemi, pressed deep, so fucking deep inside you while he rocks and cants his hips, his biceps bulging against your ribs as he cages you under him, desperate to hold onto your lifeline. And there’s you, twisting your head back to capture his lips again, swallowing the ragged moans that he couldn’t quiet if he wanted to. Another dizzying wave of pleasure spills hot into you, and suddenly Sanemi can’t remember if you begin where he’s supposed to end, or it it's the other way around.
Your teeth nip at his bottom lip and Sanemi supposes it doesn’t matter, anyway. Because there’s only you and him. Just you and him, as it always was. As he thought it always would be.
As it still is, here, in these last few, precious moments.
The sporadic jerk of his hips against your ass slows allowing him to settle his pace into a lazy pump. You break away from his lips with a gasp and collapse face-first into the bed, your ass feebly grinding back while you flutter and pulse around him, squeezing out every last drop of his cum for yourself.
You’ve always been greedy in bed.
At last, his hips give out, leaving Sanemi spent and breathless atop you. A bead of sweat steals down the back of his neck, stinging at the nail marks you’ve left behind but Sanemi can’t really be fucked to care. Your hand has moved on to his hair, your fingertips rubbing against his scalp while you mewl your approval into the sheets.
All too aware of the way you bear his weight, Sanemi pulls out of you. Gentle hands latch onto your hips and roll you over to your back before his exhaustion catches up to him, and Sanemi collapses next to you.
Panting, you run a hand through the tangled mess of your hair. “That was –”
“Yeah,” Sanemi agrees, staring dazedly up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
Incredible. Hot. The best sex he’s had in a long fucking time, maybe ever.
You prop yourself up on an elbow, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. “You don’t think the kids heard, do you?”
Sanemi rolls his head toward you. “Nah. I bought ‘em their own white noise machines as soon as I got this place. A dump truck could speed through here and they wouldn’t hear it.”
You nod and settle back down into the blankets in an exhausted heap. The air is punctured only by the sounds of your mutual breathing, gradually evening out as you both come down from your highs.
A laugh works its way out of his chest, and you look to him in alarm. “Can’t imagine this is what my therapist meant when he said I should try doin’ something for myself tonight.”
A beat of silence, and then you snort. “Mine either.”
Sanemi’s gaze settles near the end of the bed. There, hanging from the bed post by a single strap is the green bra, a flag of surrender.
You follow his line of sight and a small, choking sound sputters out of you.
“It’s not what you think –” you prop your head on a fist, eyes suddenly wide and pleading. “It’s just…well, you see –”
Sanemi smirks. “Just a bra, right?”
“No. Yes, I –” you throw your hands over your heated face, exasperated. “Dr. Kanroji said I needed to work on my confidence. And, well….”
Sanemi nearly rolls his eyes. How the most beautiful, intelligent, caring woman he’s ever known could ever possess a shred of self-doubt was beyond him, yet that’d been a monster of yours he’d never been bale to fully fight. He almost tells you as much, but you roll on your side into his, your hand splayed lightly across his chest.
For a moment, Sanemi forgets how to breathe.
“I knew I was going to take the plunge and accept the interview today, and needed a little boost. And – oh, I don’t know.” You rest your chin on his ribs and lower your eyes. “It’s hard not to feel confident when you feel beautiful. And no one ever made me feel beautiful the way you did.”
It’s suddenly very hard for him to breathe; to swallow. To do anything but gape at you like a fish out of water, his tongue swollen stupid.
Say something, you fucking idiot, his brain hisses at him, and after a few, painful moments of nothing, Sanemi finally manages a croaky, “C’mere.”
He reaches for you, tugs you back up into him and you let him. You let him kiss you, too, or maybe you kiss him. Soft. Sweet. A thousand feelings passing through the gentle caress of your lips, none of which the two of you know how to name.
The kiss never steps beyond the bounds of chaste sweetness, and soon, your head is tucked into the crook of his shoulder, your hand sleepily exploring his chest while his fingers lope up and down your spine. Savoring. Feeling.
Anxiety forms a knot in his throat, but Sanemi forces himself to speak past it, for both of your sakes. “This doesn’t have to mean a thing.”
It does and you both know it, but he doesn’t want to risk scaring you off by insisting on slapping a label on you.
You nod, and Sanemi feels the blossom of hope he knows better than to feed begin to wither. “But…” you trail a finger across his chest and frown. “It could?”
No longer is the hope in his chest a mere blossom; it blooms into a lush garden, fills his lungs with oxygen he hadn’t realized he’d been starved for these last twelve months.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “It could.”
You finger the chain around his neck, ghosting over the ridges of his wedding band. “I still have mine, too. I keep them in a little jewelry bag under my pillow. Sometimes –” your voice catches and Sanemi spies the familiar glimmer of tears shining in your eyes. “Sometimes I hold them. When I can’t sleep, or when I really miss you – which, lately, has been all the time. Some mornings I wake up and I’m holding them.”
Sanemi’s hand slows its comforting stroke along your spine. “You miss me?”
“All the time.” And suddenly you’re looking at him again with the same, blazing earnestness that made him fall head over heels for you in the first place. “You weren’t just my husband, Sanemi. You were my best friend, too. And that’s really not fair of me.”
He doesn’t answer; you’ve stunned him silent for the third or fourth or whatever fucking number time tonight, and Sanemi’s having a hard time keeping up. He’s spent the last year trying to patch together the timeline of events leading to the breakdown of your marriage, just enough that he could make sense of it and accept that it was gone and over, because he’d ruined it the way he ruined most things. Yet, here you are, offering him the needle to restitch the shredded tapestry.
Hope really is a dangerous fucking thing. But it’s beautiful, too.
Cowed by his silence, you drop his gaze, cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I can leave,” you offer, though you make no effort to get up. Or I can sleep on the couch – I can be out before the kids wake up, or act like I’ve just come over –”
Sanemi’s arms tighten around you, keeping you firmly beside him where you belong. “Let’s try it.”
Gently, Sanemi helps turn you to your side, your back to his front, curving your body against his. He drapes his arm over your middle, and you pull his hand up to your chest, cradling it close.
He presses his lips to the dip of your shoulder. “I missed you too. Fuck, you don’t know how much.”
The curve of your lips against his knuckles is followed by the moisture of your tears. “Let’s try it.”
You’ve both got a lot of work to do, separately and apart, to make any thing between you work. Sanemi knows this.
But the foundation is there. The love. And, as he drifts to sleep with you in his arms, Sanemi thinks – hopes – this time, it’s enough.
"i do not dream of labour" is one of the worst pseudo-marxist taglines that western leftists have co-opted because when you ask them what they do dream of, they say traveling, studying, and creating art. broski, who's flying the plane to take you to prague? who's the security at the library with the texts you're studying? who are the clerks in the museum showcasing your art? like bro, you do dream of labour. you just dream of someone else doing it so you don't have to! you merely want to outsource the labour and make it invisible.
I am BEGGING you all to read Useful Work v. Useless Toil by William Morris.
“Even the most irksome labor can be made less so by making it short and intermittent… We must begin to build up the ornamental part of life—its pleasure, bodily and mental, scientific and artistic, social and individual—on the basis of work undertaken willingly and cheerfully, with the consciousness of benefiting ourselves and our neighbours by it."
Labor is good. Being useful is good. Jobs, as they are currently framed, are pretty terrible. Morris does a good job of making these distinctions and explaining how we can deal fairly with the types of work that truly do suck and are necessary.
Want more? Le Guin also deals with this in The Dispossessed.
synopsis: your marriage was perfect up until the moment your husband didn't remember it anymore. and now, two years and a hell of a lot of heartbreak later, you're still picking up the pieces - with two new additions to your life you never planned for. how exactly does your ex-husband fit back in the puzzle?
pairing: amnesiac ex-husband!Gojo x f!Reader x rebound!Sukuna
content: mdni, angst, light fluff and smut, emotional hurt, like LOTS of it, amnesia, divorce, unplanned pregnancy, hidden child trope, secret baby, dad-who-stepped-up Sukuna, lots of pining and yearning, very complicated and messy feelings, nostalgia, reminiscing, more tags will be in each chapter
“It was all of it. The cracks of society, organised crime, hitmen, roulette tables in back rooms, even blood money. It was over before you even knew they’d make you bleed on the way out.”
⟢ ﹒ the 2025 seedy underbelly themed collab ♱’¡! an open collab for my birthday !!! you can take the theme as wide or as narrow as you want, as long as you’re inspired by it in any way come on in the water’s great!!! im sooo very excited to see people do fandom events again so I decided to do my own aaaaah
⟢ ﹒ status. LIVE!!
*ੈ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒
this is a dark content and nsfw event! everyone is welcome to create for this event, as long as you are pro dc. tw’s will be added accordingly
♱’¡! RULES ❖
this is an +18 collab for +18 people by +18 people. you must have your age in your bio or your pinned, easily visible
dark content, nsfw, pwp, sfw and artworks are all welcome; please tag and contain trigger warnings for anything that needs warnings when you post
to join, please send a dm, ask or comment under this post; include the fandom you’ll be creating for + character/s (+ trope) (example: jjk + hitman geto x fem!reader, haikyuu + daichi + corrupted cop, wind breaker kiryu + arranged mafia marriage); only aged up, 18+ characters!
characters can only repeat up to two times; it’s first come, first serve. if you want to change characters later send me a dm! you can create multiple pieces if you want
no minimum or maximum word count
the masterlist will be live the 15th of june (6pm CEST) but early and late submissions are okay!
please please please link back to this masterlist and tag me on your piece so I get notified when you post ! if I miss your fic in the notifications please feel free to send me a dm as well!
reblogs are very much appreciated !! when you join, please reblog the masterlist so it can reach other creators ♡︎ reblogging when it goes live would also be amazing
⟢ haikyuu + loan shark! iwaizumi by @iwaasfairy
⟢ haikyuu + yakuza! kyoutani x hostess! reader by @amalainse
⟢ bloody knuckles + mafia enforcer! kyoutani by @yanderecrazysie
⟢ haikyuu + hitman! osamu by @semisgroupie
⟢ shortcircuit + yan! akaashi by @depravitycentral
⟢ jjk + yakuza! yuuta by @seijorhi
⟢ epistle to the wolves + yakuza! sukuna x journalist! reader by @ccazimi
⟢ jjk + mafia bookkeeper! nanami by @eevwrites
⟢ jjk + boss! gojo x right hand man! geto by @astraloverflow
⟢ jjk + mafia enforcer! choso by @yubishi
⟢ part of you knew + yakuza! megumi by @amalainse
⟢ lads + mafia heir! caleb by @cosmicties
⟢ lads + mafia boss! sylus x hybrid! reader by @cosmicties
⟢ tokrev + cannibal ! sanzu by @inkytoru
⟢ tokrev + haitani ran x news reporter!reader by @viboraneno
⟢ bllk + hitman! nagi by @manicwriting
⟢ scarlet ink + arranged mafia marriage! sae by @mangostarjam
⟢ skmd + hitmen! sakamoto x target! reader x nagumo by @maddyguru
tw. a/b/o, forced cheating, alpha!umemiya is sort of sleazy, noncon/dubcon, a lot of alpha/omega, spit, breeding, knotting, size kink, reader called short/tiny/little, squirting, snowballing, calling ume daddy, pseudo-cesty, niichan, unrelated vomit mention, possessiveness, praise, degradation, a lot of orgasms, (belly bulge), fighting
wordcount. 9.1k
a/n. alternate title: oh is she?,, a million thank yous to mel @gimme-hiragi for helping me with my wb questions and rhi @seijorhi loml you’re the best for always reading my writing through for me ur the backbone of my life couldn’t do nothing without you ♡ and thank you aki for letting me joIN yOUR LOVELY EVENt it is adorable i had such a good time writing!!!
for @xrux’s into the omegaverse collab
umemiya hajime x fem!reader x kaji ren
“Let go, I’m over it!” Everyone’s looking at the way you yank up the edge of your top to make sure you’re covered, yank the edge of your ripped jeans skirt a bit lower. You’re wobbling side to side on your heels as you bend to take one off, almost falling in the process only to lean your head against Kaji’s lower stomach, whimpering all the while. You hick, and pout— ungraceful in a way only drunk people can be.
The icy blond by your side still has his sweater held out to you, as he pants, fists balled to his side with gritted teeth. “Don’t made a scene. Put it on.”
They’d been out on their own, ‘til Kaji suddenly slammed his phone down on the table and left behind their orders of yakiniku. To drag his very sloppy girlfriend, you, out of some sleazy bar lined with jerks smoking enough to make the entire alley cloudy. Now he has a forming black eye to match his bad attitude, but the other guy was worse off. The -not getting up, nose crooked and bloody- kind of worse.
You’re not Hajime’s girlfriend, so he’s in no position to judge, but at the very least he’d also feel sort of uncomfortable leaving any girl in a place like this. Former gang territory. Whole lot of grimy types, the kind they protect people from. If you’re dating Kaji, he’s sure you know that.
You bend over your knees to gag up nothing, pushing away Kaji’s hand when he reaches to hold your hair back.
You’re a mess, from what he can tell perched against the wall along with Sakura, Nirei and Hiragi. The former two who look mildly uncomfortable, the latter who’s own distracted hands search his jacket for his phone. “What do you wanna do? Call it a night?”
Umemiya’s honestly off as bad as you are, curtesy of the badly mixed drinks he’d been throwing back, and he guesses none of the guys are any better off. Sakura can’t hold his drinks at the best of times, and it’s been a long night of celebrations. 5:08, the display of Hiragi’s phone shows.
His mind ticks a bit slower than he’d like.
A moment where he debates getting involved, but then sighs. “I’d like to let them fix it on their own, though~”
You’re still leaning against your boyfriend’s hip as you try again to work something out with your shoe, hair flopped forward all over your face. Round and soft and totally out of place in a spot like this, though the way you’re dressed you definitely could have him fooled if you tried. It’s in the way your eyes flick up all big and innocent-like at your boyfriend’s call, that he can tell.
Kaji’s already draped the sweater over your shoulders, something you don’t seem to realize— because when he tries to help you up you only snap more. “Stop touching me, I’m gonna go home!”
“Go home faster then.” Kaji fumes, though one hand remains around your waist until you’re done with whatever needed adjusting on your terribly flimsy looking heels. “Can’t you just once do what I ask of you? You make me crazy,” he breathes back, and you get- what he supposes should be nose to nose. You’re a couple inches too short to square up to anyone.
“You know what, Ren.” Your pretty lips sound out the words slowly. “Fuck you.”
At that, one of the onlookers hoots enthusiastically, and Kaji’s brows get even more furrowed— but he only stares you down. With neither side backing down, he eventually plops one of his signature suckers in his mouth to cut the conversation short.
You turn and start wobbling down the stairs of the club, not even sparing them a glance.
Your big eyes are dark and blown and you’ve got a nose that’s bitten by the cold with tears, or snot, dripping— he’s not sure when you started crying, but you definitely are now. “‘M so sick of your goddamn attitude.” You breathe. Kaji’s close behind to pull you back by your wrist, but this time you let out a whimper. You yank your arm out of his grip as you plant both feet against the way he tries not so graciously to drag you, and the sandy blond has a vein that thumps in his temple.
“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone. Go be a possessive prick to someone else.” You take the sweater from around your shoulders and shove it back into his chest hard enough to make him step back. Then you finally start walking off down the wet, littered street under the encouraging whistling of the drunkards lined up against the other wall.
When Kaji no longer makes an attempt to stop you, the few of them slowly make their way over to the young man— and Umemiya places an empathetic hand on the other’s shoulder. Kaji’s steely blue eyes trace you even as you swing your hips, eye twitching. “Stubborn fucking-,” he pants, “Omega brat- can’t hold a drop of her liquor.” Ah. Kaji runs a frustrated hand through his hair, making it stand up every which way, before he finally grits his teeth.
“Someone please fucking go after her. She’s days out from heat and restless to shit, she’ll get herself hurt.” Yeah, that’ll do it. That explains the big blinkers and the sweetness. Hiragi’s quick to start looking for his motorcycle keys, but the oldest waves his hand at that.
“You can’t drive in this state, Hiragi. You’ll hit someone. We still have to pay and our food is waiting for us, too.” Sakura and Nirei wouldn’t speak up about it, but leaving the food behind must’ve stung. He hands his card to Kaji with a smile. “I got ‘er. You guys are staying at my place anyway, right? Take a few hours to round off a good night.” He winks. “Leave it up to your niichan!”
He only has to follow you about two blocks before you crouch down and start sniffling, and he stops a few feet short of you as not to scare you. Even without Kaji’s explanation, he’d be able to tell that the honeyed, enticing scent emanating from you is too sugary to be anything other. With how close he comes to a halt by your side it’s almost choking on his lungs. Umemiya clears his throat. “Hey, you remember me?”
You’re crying into your palms, skirt halfway up your ass and exposing your panties— he’s just glad it’s just you two here. “I- hck- didn’t mean it. ‘M sorry, Ren kun. Jus’ wanna- I’m all over the place. Just- feel weird right now. I’m sorry, I really am.” Pre-heat mood swings. You’re cute, even cuter when you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth and wipe the tears to look up at him. When you notice he’s not in fact ‘Ren-kun’, you get a bit embarrassed.
Even though he doesn’t know you too well, he does notice you’re definitely pretty. Hot, even. Despite the mascara and eyeliner smudged onto your lower eyelids, your lips look soft as they open to say -nothing-, and you breathe in and out.
He can’t help but let eyes flick down to your ass resting on your ankles, how your plush thighs stick out from under the tightened skirt and you’re not even thinking of covering up. It’s not your fault. He’s trying not to get too much of your scent down deep into his lungs, but way he’s guessing, you’ve probably got a day before your body will start heating from the inside out- leave your pussy a wet, wanton clenching mess to get bred full-
He needs something else to think about. Something other than those sheer lace panties that show all of your pussy if he really tries to look.
“You’re… Kaji’s friend. Bofurin, right? We’ve seen each other before, though it’s the first time we’ve really talked.” You’re calmed down enough to get flustered when he too comes to sit on his heels, nice leather jacket brushing the floor. Good to know that the presence of an Alpha doesn’t scare you off. If anything, you’re calm enough to get affected by him, and it makes pride bloom inside his chest. “It’s Ume…”
“Umemiya Hajime.”
Since you’ll be staying at his place with your boyfriend for a good two weeks anyway, you might as well stay a little sooner. He’s pretty sure that’d be fine, but he’ll have to text to check. “Kaji asked me to take you home since he can’t. When you’re ready.”
You start gathering your hair into a pony as you nod. “Sorry about earlier, Umemiya-san. Don’t know what came over me. I think I’m just a little -overly emotional right now. I- might’ve drank too much too.” Probably Kaji’s frustration about the situation that set you off in the first place. You stare at a dent in the road with a lidded look as you talk- then clear your voice. “Mh.”
He smiles, before reaching out to pet your head. Being this close to an Omega getting into heat just feels electric, he can’t help it. He wants to pick you up and lick your tears from your face. Not that he will. You’re a precious kouhai’s, and that’s stronger than anything his animalistic nature demands he do. You’re quiet until he pulls his hand back, holds the urge to wind it down to your little neck and bite down on soft skin. You’re just so affected right now.
He’s sort of surprised Kaji didn’t start an all out brawl with whoever was no doubt drooling all over you in that club. He’s about halfway there himself, and he’s only got honourable intentions.
If you’re bothered by his silence, you don’t say anything. So he nods.
“Kaji said something about holding your liquor, yeah- but I-” A guttural groan rings between you two. When he looks back at you, you’re bending over your own knees to gag, placing both hands on the dirty street to hold yourself. “Oh- whoops,” he chuckles, and reaches out to hold your hair back, as you throw up away from your nice shoes as best you can. “You got it, sweetheart. I’ve got water in my car.”
+
He’s halfway through a cup of coffee when he hears you rummaging in the other room. A bit of shuffling, before you put your clothes from last night back on, probably. He only got you halfway through the door before you started stripping against the warmth. “Ren? Huh- babe?” You ask into the hall, and your cute, little voice rings out. You’re scenting up his whole apartment, have been since he woke up first thing at daybreak. It’s definitely stronger than it was even last night when he dropped you into his bed with the explicit intention of washing the sheets as soon as you woke up.
He clears his voice. “Ren said he’d be over in the afternoon. Apparently Sakura puked all over his car…”
”Oh.”
It doesn’t take too long for you to come out of his room wrapped in a blanket over the terribly short mini skirt, and the definite glow of a sheen of sweat on your cheeks as you process.
In the morning light it’s even easier to see that you’re an Omega through and through. Every part of you is soft and rounded and supple for grabbing, flushed face blinking away sleep. Truth is, he really doesn’t know you all that well. He knows you met Kaji through Enomoto in high school. Knows you started dating somewhere around university— and that some of the Furin guys got into a bit of a scuffle over it. Didn’t think you should be dating Kaji, or Kaji you- he can’t remember.
Seeing how you pop your hip out to watch him, blink those big doe eyes up at him— he think he sort of understands. After a few seconds too long where you start to giggle at the silence, he stops studying you to grin. “Coffee? A cold water?”
“I appreciate that you’re so willing to brush my behavior from yesterday aside, but I’m still sorry. That you Bofurin lot always have to step up. And that I ended up causing trouble for Ren again...” It might be the heat in the room, but his collar feels a bit too tight when you rest your ass against the cupboards with a little smile. Your heat is not just close, it’s full-on started. His chest feels heavier, and skin a bit tight.
You hum. “…Something cold would be great, thank you. I’m feeling a little hot.”
The way you look up at him from under your lashes tells him you aren’t entirely unaware of it, either. He can’t decide if you’re coy, or just trusting. He pulls his sweater over his head and tosses it onto the table, smoothing his shirt out in agreement. “Might be hot in here, yeah.”
It’s so quick he almost misses it. But you eyes definitely slip to the sliver of skin that shows when the fabric rides up. It makes his groin stir in his shorts to watch how you catch yourself, and heat makes its way up to the tips of your ears and nose.
He hums as he bends for the fridge, not bothering to watch you as he talks. Your scent is so strong you could hide across the street and he’d be able to sniff you out. A thought that, however guilty he feels about it, sounds really fucking good right about now. Chasing you down to sink his hot cock into that needy, fertile Omega cunt. His heart’s pounding like you’ll run any second, and he’s no longer as sure as he was last night that he could stop himself from chasing. Was it like this when his ex was going into heat too?
The cold water drips condensation down his arm when he hands it over to you. “You mean you cause trouble for Kaji often?”
You bite your lip. “We just have …discussions like that a lot, even though I love him very much. I guess we just still aren’t entirely used to each other.” When he lifts his eyebrow in question, you rub your both palms over your cheeks to get rid of the heat, dragging them through your hair. “You might’ve noticed that I’m an Omega.” Baby, ‘might’ve’ isn’t the word he’d use. It’s all he’s been able to think about since you stepped foot into his apartment yesterday.
His mind flashes to his precious kouhai for a moment, but the way your throat hitches snaps it out of him instantly.
You seem to get even hotter as you talk, and your voice pitches up into a softer sort of noise that makes the hairs on his neck stand upright. “It’s not like we’re a dying breed or anything… But ratio wise, people are used to Beta’s. Ren- would know how to handle a Beta. Most heat blockers don’t work too well on me,” you confess, “and Ren can’t just sit pretty for a week every other month to… s-service- me-”
You’re struggling on the words, like even mentioning the possible sex you’ll have pains you.
It’s so fucking cute. Poor little Omega doesn’t know what to do with herself. You’re not wrong though. He doesn’t know what it’s like for you, but without effective blockers, it’s not hard to imagine it really is all consuming.
“We’re still- trying to find our rhythm, and last time we couldn’t, a whole bunch of Furin got dragged into it because I couldn’t contain myself. It’s just embarrassing.” His breathing gets laboured just seeing you shift uncomfortably. Watches how your eyes dialate as your lashes flutter desperately up and down. You’re a fruit ripe for picking, baby. He tastes sugar in the air when he smiles, and your gaze finds his.
A stray sane thought reminds him he should back up. Open a window or something.
The Alpha in him is pounding on his brain though, making everything hard to stomach. He licks his bottom lip. “I don’t know, maybe he should consider it.”
“Wh- taking time off for me every heat?” You ask back, as your brows furrow. As you back up against the cupboards and squeak in surprise when you knock your heels against them.
Fuck, he’s getting so hard. If only he could lean you back a little further. He reaches out to take your face between his fingers and watch how your lips drop open. “Are you saying Kaji doesn’t want to?” Pretty, pink little tongue darting out to wet them. It’s only when you stop talking wide-eyd, that he notices he closed the distance at some point and is now basically towering over you, feet to feet with your face at his chest.
”I-I’m saying I don’t want him to- pu- put his life on hold… and- Umemiya-san.” Fuck. He can hear the way your heart beats like a hummingbird in your chest. “You’re too close,” you’re starting to get that signature scared bunny look. Your eyes go anywhere but up at him where he wants you, as you swallow and ignore the cold shiver going through your body. The blanket’s pooled at your feet. “Where’s my phone, Ren should come now.”
“Hm, I put it somewhere…” He does try to think. It’s just that you’re looking so woefully vulnerable and flushed and desperate to get rid of that itch that’s starting to build in your belly. He leans in, you push against his chest. It honestly only turns him on more. He shouldn’t be this eager to take a bite of you right from under Ren’s nose, right? His hands wind down your waist and you honest-to-God mewl like a fucking kit- whining when he leans in.
Just a few little kisses won’t kill either of you. His shorts feel way too tight, and a nagging little voice in the back of his head asks him to just fill you up, knot inside you. Bite an ugly mark right over the faded one Kaji gave you. “Umemiya-san.” He’s big enough that he could take your boyfriend on if he had to. He pushes in and grabs the back of your neck. “Umemiya!” You force out, before his mouth finds yours and he hikes you up against the kitchen cupboards for better access.
Your head falls back instinctively, letting his lips push against you, tongue pushing against yours as he steps up to your body. Large hands that glide up under your top and brush the sensitive skin under your tits- until you moan softly into his mouth, arching your back. He can’t help but chuckle. It’s not exactly proper to use a girl’s heat against her, feeling you spread your legs wider to make room. He kisses deeper, licks against your gums to make you taste of him, before whispering. “So vocal. What would Kaji say?”
It only takes a second of instinct, thump ringing out.
You punch him in the cheek. More surprised than anything, he grunts low and drawn out as he grabs his jaw, and watches how you scramble back to the floor and far away from him. The punch didn’t actually hurt much, you didn’t put any weight into it. Your anxious energy is what really does it, searching for his eyes with tears in your own. “My phone,” you beg more than say, hands now protectively around yourself.
He blinks a few times, until he can store away that predatory scow for long enough to speak. “Sorry. I got carried away.” Your face gets hot again, shoulders dropping. “You’re okay, I promise. The strength of it just took me aback, ‘is all. You did good socking me out of it.” The silver blond puts on a smile.
Besides that, he just wanted it more than he wanted to stop it.
He can’t exactly say that though, instead perching himself back against the cupboards. A safe distance away from where you’re rubbing the backs of your hands over your cheeks full of embarrassment, trying not to push your thighs together. It only makes him want to pin you down even more. His eyes glide down your body again. “We were switching apartments, right? You should probably head over there now. Tell Ren to head over quicker, that my heat came early.” You swallow heavily.
He definitely can’t tell you that right now, he’d rather do anything else. That would make him a bad guy. Someone Kaji shouldn’t have trusted with you. He’s got better things to do than obsess over some animalistic breeding instinct, doesn’t he? He should be worrying about making sure his little brothers are alright, that Sakura isn’t dying.
He nods as he stands to make his way past you. The scent is so heavy now that it’s taking everything in his power not to drool, and his chubbed up cock twitches to life in his boxers at the way you stare him down.
+
“Umemiya.” The dinner place is too loud, or the call too quiet for him to pay attention the first time. “Umemiya.” Hiragi repeats louder, and when that still doesn’t get results, he punches his arm softly. A bit harder than he could, for good measure. “Umemiya, what’s up with you? You keep spacing out on me midway conversation.”
Hiragi pops the cigarette back between his lips, watching him through his eyelashes as he sparks the lighter with one hand. In response, the blond wafts away some of the smoke, then hums. “My bad. You know the girl from the bar this morning, right- the cute, little thing… big eyes, short skirt, uhm- y’know the Omega,” he distractedly picks up his beer to tilt it edge to edge as Hiragi lifts a brow.
“Are you talking about Kaji’s girlfriend?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s the one.” He makes a bit of a show of tapping his fingers on his bottom lip, before resting his head in his palm. “I’m just trying to figure out where I’ve seen her before.”
“Uhuh.”
If his long lasting friend thinks anything about his sudden curiosity, he has enough sense not to say it. Hiragi’s a good guy. Probably good enough to put a stop to Umemiya himself if he acted out too much. When the silvery blond doesn’t elaborate, Hiragi just clears his voice, tapping ash into the tray. “Not sure. I know she didn’t go to Furin or San Middle though.” He furrows his brows when Umemiya only drinks. “Didn’t you run into her with Kaji before? They’ve been dating for a good while now.”
“No, no, I would’ve remembered that. It was before Kaji. I could’ve sworn…” He swings his arms next to his chair, before tapping his hand on the table when he ‘remembers’. “Oh, wasn’t she- one of the Shishitoren girls back when.” A genial smile tugs at his lips before taking another sip. “Before, when they were still using girls like expensive cars and Togame would drag them around town to patrol our borders. Would drive all the Beta’s up the walls. I think I even remember Kaji getting-”
“-Into a fight over it with some of our guys, yeah.” Hiragi suddenly clicks his fingers, “that might’ve been her, after all.” He takes a drink of his own glass, humming along the rim. “I scolded him for it back then, but looking back, he was probably just protecting the person he loved. In his way.”
Sure… Umemiya stares off into the rest of the bar instead of replying. Always so genuine, Tamon’s team captain. Can’t fault the guy. But his honesty really does get in the way. Across from him, Hiragi lifts his own bottle. “So?”
He knows his eyes are too sharp in the low light. Umemiya puts on his best smile. “No, nothing. I’m just glad Togame turned a new leaf since then.” He finally allows himself to grab one of the delicious looking skewers, humming around the mouth full. “I mean, it would be some real shit for Kaji if Shishitoren suddenly wanted their Omega pet back.”
+
He crashes his mouth to yours, hands either side of you ass to lift you off the floor and drop you ask into bed, grunting. “Mh-hgh, came as,” he growls against your mouth, tongue tasting so much like strawberry lollipop, “soon as I fucking could. Stupid extra patrols gettin’ in my way.” His hands grab anywhere he can reach, digging in deep.
He’s short of breath, and you know it’s your scent that’s got him all rattled. Sinking his cock into you is one of the few moments he allows himself to let loose- you can tell by the way he’s chubbed up in his pants he’s been thinking about you for a while. He grunts into your mouth, tongue tasting yours. “Knew- you were- mhm-gonna get there. Been twitchy all day.”
“Uhuh, missed you. Missed you so much, all day- wan’it.” Your nails rake along his back to pull him closer, all his weight on top of you, and obnoxious kissing noises fill the room. You can’t help yourself, the heat travels down every vein, settles in your toes, your hands, in your tongue. The tongue currently being sucked into your boyfriend’s mouth as he grunts your name and makes you rock your center against the seam of his jeans until he pulls back. “Ren, Ren, Ren~”
Umemiya’s bed squeaks under the weight as he gets on top of you halfway, one thigh straddling you against the mattress.
More. You want more. Your heart is banging like a battering ram against your ribs as you slide your hands under his sweatshirt, and drag your fingers up the ridges and dents of his muscles, the thin scars. All while whimpering like an animal, something you might not be aware of, but is driving your Alpha absolutely insane.
A low rumble falls from his chest as he grips your face harshly, and steely blues flick over your expression. He black eye has started turning pretty purple under his skin, cut still on his brow. “Still a brat? Gonna fight me again for taking care of ya?”
“Nuh uh,” you quickly say back, and press sweet, messy kisses on his pink lips. They’ve gone all puffy, and it’s making it hard to think straight.
“Wanna take some medicine? Just in case,” Kaji pants after a few seconds in concern, hand worming its way between your bodies for his fingers to swipe over the absolute mess you’ve made out of your panties. They’re soaked straight through— something that once he notices, he takes a laboured breath so slow it makes him flush all the way up his chest. “Fu—ck, pretty girl. You’ve been wet and empty all day like this?”
”Mhm.” You nod again. Don’t have even a single thought to tell him that you sat with the terrible ache ever since another blond fought his way out of the door, because that was a stupid accident. Stupid. Single. Accident. “Ren, Ren- please. Mh-ghuh,” you moan, and your body curls to rub against his crotch despite yourself, “can’t take any more. Please~ please, please, please. Want- my Alpha.” Sticky, translucent slick is all over your pussy, ran down your thighs and ass and you’re now getting it all over his pants.
Your boyfriend looks so wild and unfocused it could honestly be kind of scary- if you weren’t already scenting up the whole house and terribly shaky yourself. Your legs wrap around his glutes to pull him closer, as the icy blond tries to stutter out a groan. “Your pills…”
“Don’t want ‘m if you’re here. Ren, I want your cock already~”
The tiniest twitch to his lips proves he’s smiling into another messy kiss he lays on you, before starting to drag his teeth along your neck. “So fucking whiny. ‘S cute. Yeah, you wanna have me fucking you full for days? Get stuffed full of cock ‘til you can’t stand?” Yes. Yes yes yesyesyes. You’re not sure if you’re nodding, because all you can feel is his fingers pressing into your thighs, grabbing your ass and forcing you right up against the seam of his pants.
When he reaches the spot you’re the most sensitive with his mouth, your body stills in anticipation, and almost explodes when instead of bitin down, Ren’s hot tongue makes circles over the tiniest scar he left last time. “My little Omega bitch, mine, mine.”
His eyes have gone all blown out. Your own face is burning hot, and so is everything else as you let him mark up your neck, sniffing around the area without any other thought. You want his bite, you want his cock and his knot in you, filling you up to the brim ‘til you’re nice and full and round and you’re good to nest up— you want to be bred full so bad it’s all you can think about.
”Mh-mghh, Ren~” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It barely belongs to you, pitched and tiny and so fucking desperate.
You don’t notice the way your moans are filling the room or how wet and messy your pussy’s getting his pants. Just that his heartbeat’s in his tongue as he sucks harder and harder until his teeth grate over your throat. Ren grunts as he pulls back, one hand grabbing your one of your tits to kneed greedily in the flesh, as the other starts pulling your underwear off from under your skirt. “Smells too much like Umemiya in here-” It’s angry but not accusing, as he stands back to watch your glistening pussy clench around nothing.
“Turn over.” Your legs shake, and without much will of your own you start rolling over to stick your ass in the air to give him a better view. Kaji’s voice just gets quiet, as two fingers slide the slick around your pussy down to your clit. When you mewl, jerking at the touch, he throws his head back and groans deep and animalistically, before holding the fingers to his nose. His eyes clench shut when they roll back in his skull. “Shhh-Stay down. Everything off- fuck, fucking shit, babe. ‘S fucking hot —all mine.”
It’s instinct that makes you oblige. Not a single coherent thought makes it through your brain. Just him, in you, your pussy, your mouth, you want Ren, Ren, Ren, your Alpha fucking you, over you, breeding you. It’s so hot, but you’re still cold without the heat of his fat cock in you. The top goes first, ungracefully pull it over your face and lose an earring in the process. You want him. Your poor pussy wants to be so full, full full full you can’t walk fo a week.
His headphones land somewhere with a thump as he pulls sweatshirt and shirt over his head in one go, then grabs himself through his jeans with a rumbled swear. You’ve soaked a wet patch through his jeans too. As soon as your skirt’s down the curve of your ass Ren’s already leaning into you, buries his face against your pretty, sloppy pussy and starts to lick and kiss, slurping as he tongue fucks your hole every few seconds.
When he locks lips around your clit you have to force your face down into the blankets to cry out, biting down on the blanket. Spit gets on your cheek when you cry out for him, and grind back against his face. Strong hands and long fingers hold your ass open until he can lick your pussy clean, before pulling back just to spit on it again. “Alpha, alpha, need your c-knot. Please.” You’re babbling to yourself more than to him, because he’s entranced with the way your sloppy pussy winks around nothing, how the slick mixes with his spit to drip down your folds. “Ren, your cock. Puh—lease!”
His long fingers land on your ass a few times, rings stinging upon impact, before he pushes your back down into an even more extreme arch and lets out another groan. “Prettiest Omega pussy I’ve ever seen, only one I want. Ain’t that right? You can act out and be a brat, but this is mine.” You look back over your shoulder just enough to watch him drool, slick down his chin when he pulls back and gives you a look.
Dark eyes almost entirely glossed over, he pinches your clit meanly- and your squeak makes the tiniest curl grace his lips. “Say it for me. Who does this little pussy belong to?”
”You.”
His thumb swipes over your clit before grinding down, two other fingertips pushing into you. “Mh. Who?” He’s mean, he’s so mean it’s making you tear up, forcing your head back into the blankets as your cunt tingles and aches and the touch is making you push back against him.
“You, Ren! It belongs to. My. Alpha. My- aaah-ah- Ren~, fucking please put it in. Ren, Ren please. It hurts.” Tears dampen the fabric, the two fingers sliding in halfway isn’t enough. You need- need more. “Please. Please.” He places another kiss on your clit before his touch vanishes, and you can hear the lewd sound of him licking his own fingers clean. You’re so hot sweat tickles on your hairline, the base of your neck.
And then, the click of his belt makes you moan, loud.
The familiar sound has you biting down on your hand, legs almost giving in. The smell of his musk is making it hard to stay upright. You can barely hear yourself think over the rushing blood between your ears, and the heartbeat thumping in your pussy. He groans, “Look at me. Look here,” and long fingers tangle in your hair to force you. Watch your boyfriend squeeze his pretty, extremely flushed cock a bit too tight. The head’s a blushy purple glossy with precum, that drips as he holds back a little pant.
”Wan’it?”
You don’t speak- can’t. Just back yourself up against him until the cock is rubbing against your ass and the warm pre gets all over you, as you moan. As you try to form a coherent thought, and Ren chuckles. “That’s a sweet way of sayin’ yes. Open your mouth.” He leans in while rubbing geedy circles over your ass, then lets a glob of spit land on your awaiting tongue with another huff. “So good for me.”
His hand spanks you again, hard enough to have you forced forward, before lining up properly. The wet sound of his cock patting on your pussy is the only for a moment, one that seem to last entirely too long— before finally, finally you feel the hot mushroom head push in. Into your slick, wet cunt and pushing past the ring of muscle inside and deeper. Deeper, deeper, until Kaji grunts low and gutturally and his thighs hit against yours as he bottoms out.
It feels so fucking right. Good, full, you want more, wan’ stay like this and your head’s spinning so good— Your breathing only continues when he groans a low ‘breathe’, pulling your hair and shaking your head. “Breathe, baby. Don’t pass out.” Your hands are fisted so tight into the blankets your knuckles show, only managing to lift your head enough to cry out a moan.
”Move, please. Please, move- ghhuh, fuck—ing God.” His hips move back with the squelch of your clamping pussy, then dives back in. The first pump is strained, the second is heaven. It’s only when he starts to move in you that you feel how full you are- how fucking deep he’s hitting inside you and rocking the bed with his weight. He’s moaning so pretty each time he bottoms out- fucking your walls open with each thrust. His balls his against you with a wet ‘pap’, and your tits feel too- too needy.
Your Alpha’s inside, finally, finally, you can’t hold the moaned whimpers. “Ah, agh, ahhRen, t-touch me more, please. Touch me.” You search for his hand that’s holding you down to drag it under your body, making him grunt— only breathing deeper when his nose nuzzles into your neck. Something’s ringing, but you don’t have the free thoughts to think about it.
He’s gonna make you cum. His one hand on your tits, other on your clit, he fucks you like he’s made to be there. Stretches your clenching walls around his curved shaft too perfectly- every thrust makes more slick drip out down your thighs. He feels so good. So- fucking- good. And his panting in your ear, low rumbled voice grating on your brain. He licks along your jaw to wipe some of the sweat, or tears, you can’t tell anymore. “Gonna fuck y’full, breed that stupid Omega pussy like a bunny.”
It just- feels- so so good. You’re gonna cum. You want him to get stuck in you and knock you up. There’s only his breathing and your banging heart, as his cock drives in and out and hits that perfect spot, made for you. His fingers swipe over your clit so good your eyes squeeze shut, and thighs clench. “‘S what you deserve, huh, yeah? You want that? Wan’ me to fuck my knot into you and pump you full of my pups?” You can’t help lock around him, hand digging into his arm. Your entire body stutters and goes white—
Shuddering around his cock as the coil inside you snaps. ”Alpha, R-ah, aghh- ahg, gon’- Mh-ugh Ren!” He drives in again and again and again until your toes stop curling and the desperate hold on his forearm loosens and- the ringing is back. “Mhm-Ren.”
He’s barely conscious as you feel his lashes flutter against your cheek, and he turns to the sound. “Fucking’—” He doesn’t pull out of you, but does reach for the phone just to groan loud, annoyed, clicks his tongue. When he picks up he puts his free hand over your mouth, but presses a kiss to your ear. “Fucking what?” He hisses into the device, rests his head against yours. Still feels good, he still- feels so good. You can’t help clenching around him and making him choke— before he continues. “Short. Enomoto, as short as you fucking can.”
”It’s Kusumi,” you hear him through the phone, “he’s alone, and I’m out of town, so is half of Bofurin. They— it’s bad, Ren. You need to come help.” You know he doesn’t mean to, but a desperate groan is forced out of his throat.
You can tell, it’s entirely instinct the way he desperately tries a little longer to rock himself into you, before letting out a sharp breath through his nose. “W- why is he alone— what are you talking about? What the fuck happened?”
“It’s Shishitoren! Don’t know. They’ve beat his face black and blue, I don’t know either! Hurry to the Ori.” Kaji’s body’s gone entirely tight. Enomoto just says a last, “Umemiya’s orders,” before ending the call, and Ren smashes his phone down into the pillows.
“Ren,” you pant desperately, you want more. “Nhg- Alpha, please, Ren.” You know, it’s not fair, but you’re so- hot. The sane thought that rings through your mind is just so quiet when compared to the budding flower that is your heat. You’re so empty. It’s not enough.
Your Alpha looks like he might burst.
“I- I can’t- fuck,” his hand moves from your mouth to push himself back against you, before he starts sliding out. You turn onto your back to look at him, watch his internal struggle as his thin brows dig such a deep frown it must hurt. Hurt bad— you sit up to grab his hand. You can finish him off! His steely eyes find yours as he clenches his teeth. “Don’t. You say that, I’ll stay and if I stay I won’t wan’ go ever. I don’t wanna go.”
It takes everything in you to keep your mouth shut against the Omega desperately mewling inside you— as a loud bang comes at the door. “Kaji!” It’s Umemiya. “I’m sorry, man. It’s an emergency!”
“Shit- fuck,” the blond grunts out, throws his head back, before grabbing his clothes from the floor. You can’t look or you’ll cry.
“I just heard- came to pick you up. We’re taking my car,” his superior calls through the door, oblivious. It hurts. It physically hurts to watch the way he puts his boxers back on over his incredibly hard cock, breathing deeply all the while. His cock is still so slick it creates a wet imprint through the fabric. “Kaji?”
You hate him a little right now. You hate them both, pushing your hand between your legs to clamp your too little fingers where something much better just filled it— The sound of his quick dressing makes you nauseous. The ache only worsens when your boyfriend sends you an awfully guilty look and wraps his hand around your ankle to squeeze, and you have to shut your eyes against the welling up of an onslaught of tears.
“Coming!” Ren snaps when the fists pound again, and he clicks his tongue.
You know, really, but can’t help but shudder as your fingers rub over your pussy and leave it so unsatisfied. So empty it makes you go cold. Kaji groans out under his breath and opens a new sucker. He leans in to place a kiss on your shin, clenches his eyes shut hard, desperate. “Be right back, baby.”
“Fucking- go, I can’t,” you squeak back, and also cry- there’s no way this is happening. Your skin feels like it’s being turned inside out when his touch leaves you, first slow and then all at once. “Ah-Quickly, Ren, it hurts so bad- hck- agh-ahhh.” You can just manage to clamp your free hand down into the blankets to keep yourself from sliding off the bed in pursuit of more— pushing the image out of your head until you feel the fade of his presence and your body burns.
It hurts so bad.
“You were in the middle of something? Oh. —Oh.”
You hear the latch of the door, but you can’t focus on it, only roll back over to bury your face into the sheets. “Mh-hck—mn hah-Alpha, Alpha, no no no don’t leave, don’t leave. It hurts, it hurts so bad, baby- come back. Come back please. Please, Ren, please, please. Pl- gh-please.” You’re calling your voice hoarse. Your lip is pulled between your teeth at the smell of Alpha all over you, and your whining, needy pussy slicks even more obnoxiously.
“Need t’ fucking leave. Now. I’m gonna -lose it.”
Kaji growls deep and loud, coming from deep in his chest in the other room; even more Alpha scent fills your lungs. Makes you burn from the tips of your ears to your toes, as every cell seems to submit. Another familiar, normally smooth, lithe voice is more raspy when it filters through the wall. “Right behind you, man. You hurry on— I’m just gonna-”
“Where’s Hiragi and the others?”
“I’m calling them now,” Umemiya agrees.
Everything makes your clit thump with blood, your tongue thick and wet licking your lips. The door slams and keys jingle in the lock, and you whine out like a dying welp. “No! Wait, Ren— Alpha, Alpha, please. Please, please I need- I need to- be full. I’m gonna die, hurts so bad.” You’re panting makes everything worse, unsteady, shaking with that horrible feeling of emptiness. “Aw, ah! Don’t leave.”
“Shhh, shh sh shh.”
You claw at the blankets. Alpha scent fills you, and your scenting goes crazy- spiking all over the room. Umemiya’s room. His face flicks through your head, you don’t know why. “Poor pet. Does it hurt that bad?”
You find yourself rubbing your cheek into the blankets up and down weekly, rolled onto your side. Fat tears roll out of your closed eyes. “Hurts. Hurts, please. Help me, I need it- wanna be full. Hck.” A finger drags along your sweaty hairline and makes you mewl, before it's taken away to be sucked clean.
“Fuck, poor, sweet girl. Smell so good in my bed. And you’re dripping sugar-” The hand comes to your neck, down your collar to your tits, and just the single flick of his finger over your perked, puffy nipple makes your pussy gush, mouth dropping open with moans. Drool drips out of your lips and someone wipes it away, as your eyes flutter against the miserable migraine you’re having. “Such a sweet, pretty little Omega. Little breeding bitch ready to get filled up?”
“Please, please, please!” You’re pushed over onto your back, and your legs drop open in response, back curling off the mattress to get a bit closer to the hand dragging down your belly to your leaking cunny. You’re so tired, your eyes won’t work. Someone hooks your leg around them, and two fingertips trace barely sensible over your folds. “Ah! Ah, ah, ah!”
“I know, I know it hurts. Just appreciating the view.” You wanna look. Your cunt aches like the worst cramps you’ve ever had. It takes everything not to start bawling. Luckily, he takes your hand in his and tangles fingers with yours, while the clicking of metal -a belt- and shuffling happens quick. “There we go, pretty baby. Open up, —daddy’s got you.”
“Ah, ah, quickly, hurry~”
It’s only when a warm palm comes to your cheek that you manage to finally force your eyes open, right when a hot, drooling cockhead pushes at your stretched entrance. Blue, gunmetal eyes stare back at yours as an unfamiliar feeling fills you up top to bottom. Your view is wobbly because of the tears, tongue trapped between your teeth. The face before you doesn’t make sense— not until the hand forces your face to his and a kiss is laid on you.
That taste. And he groans, low, rumbly. “Ohh, there- gh- we fucking go.”
An indescribable feeling of relief washes over you so strong that your legs clamp around him and shove him inside up to the hilt, as the coiled spring pulling in your cunt snaps, you claw at him and cry out. “Ume—miya! Ah, agh- Alpha, d-daddy, thank you, thank you, than-gh uhuhh~”
“Come on my -cock, that’s a good cockslut. Such a tight, little whore.”
Your orgasm barrels through you so hard that your feet cramp and you’re locked around him, moans getting swallowed by his tongue. Your vision goes blotchy and black, and the silver blond above you groans out your name as your pussy swallows him to his balls. “Ughd-daddy, more, more, more please! Please! Cum’ feelsso gud.”
“You’re so cute, so- fuck—ing cute.” He chuckles into a messy kiss, bites your lip for you until the tingling makes your legs shake. You can barely feel where you begin and he ends, with the way he’s gripping your thigh so thigh it’ll bruise, pulling you back against his thrusts. “Polite even when you’re cumming. D’ our little Kaji train you like that? Or is that just- for,” every word is accentuated by his cock hitting an entirely different spot, higher up in your belly, “me?”
You’re not sure you even stopped cumming before he starts rubbing your clit hard and fast, but before you know it you’re feeling an entirely different sensation— wetness squirting out around his cock in forceful gushes and getting all over his hands, his thighs and his bed. “Yeah, yeah yeah cum, just like that. So pretty.” Umemiya actually growls at the sight, slipping the wetness over your raw clit over and over and over. “Perfect little Omega whore— fuck.”
”Knew you’d take it if I offered. Isn’t that right, pet?” He yanks your leg up to put it around his bicep, and the thrusts get deeper and harder when he uses all his body weight to slam into you. The sound is filthy. It echoes the walls, and makes your pussy suction around him like you’re willing him to stay. You are, you want to be bred. You want-
“Daddy. Daddy, daddy, please. Want your cum. You need’t cum- hah- in me. Please, daddy. Please, fucking— I need-.”
He’s smiling so wide it looks a bit deranged. Every lewd pap makes you more mindless, and you’re not sure when you laced your hand in his, but they feel molten together. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”
“K-knot, your knot, please. Breed me. I need to be fucked full.”
His laugh is high pitched, a slight bit hysterical before it dies out when staring deep into your eyes. “Does another Alpha’s cock feel that good inside you? Even better?” He’s sucking the taste of your boyfriend off your tongue, before fucking into your puffy, swollen folds with a satisfied hum. You’re floating, as his fingers dig into your tits. As your poor cunt is filled up, stretched in a completely different way.
He fucks in and out, in and out until he pulls out entirely, then forces the swollen head back in with a guttural grunt. “Good enough that you want to get fucked pregnant, fill you up with my kids? Yeah? You want your boyfriend’s bigger brother?”
He angles his hips a little to fold both your legs to your chest, baring teeth. It shifts his cock in you to the spongy spot in you like nothing else did, and has him moaning. “Oh, fuck, little girl. My cock’s reaching your womb, look— right here.” It makes him pant like a dog. Makes his eyes go wide, dipping his forehead to yours. He’s just so much bigger, so much stronger. Alpha in every sense.
“You know,” he chuckles, short before he hisses at the way your cunt squirms around him. “Since you’re Ren’s, you’re also sort of- my- hgh little sister too. Gonna let niichan fuck you ‘til you get bred?” You’re lost to the world as he bounces you up and down and your pussy spills over into the bed. Umemiya doesn’t care. The flush has crept up on his ears, his chest, he’s pink and sweaty to his fingertips and the way they dig into your skin. “Let it take, let it— that’s a good cheating, little cunt- so- pretty. Ask niichan to cum in you.”
“Cum, pl- pleas,” you slur against his mouth, let him get his face all up in yours. Let him nuzzle your cheek aside for purchase on your neck. “Niichan, niichan, nii-”
His cock pulses the last few sloppy thrusts, letting your cervix create a nice little seal around his cockhead— then he grunts. “Ah- that’s it, thatsit- fuck!” His sucking turns into teeth, and then a bite. One that has your entire body shivering, before your legs stretch out around his hips with another orgasm travelling through you. He swells inside you with a moan, and pushes you deep, even deeper onto him.
The weight of his pervic bone rubbing over your clit and his strong, muscular thighs pressing into your own is all you need to ride out another high ‘til you can’t see straight. It all has you wrapping your arms around him in an embrace that has your mouth open, panting and letting drool spill out.
The cum that hits is hot at first, rutting against you like you’re a fucktoy- but it doesn’t stop. There’s so much of it you try to shift, only to have Umemiya bite down harder on the juncture of you neck, until he breaks skin. “Stay,” he grunts, “take it a—ll. Let me fill you up.” Cum that makes you so hot inside, and squelches when he repositions to push more of himself inside, spilling out every which way. His cock is in until the thick base, and has swollen inside so wide you can’t even shift without it aching. “Ugh, so much cum inside that little body.”
Only after a couple minutes of staying that way, him growling into your skin when you try to escape, does he allow himself to pull back and watch the damage. His knot’s not deflated, but he still slowly starts moving out just to watch his cock flop out over your pussy and let the last squirts of hot cum spill over your clit. The ring of creamy white at the base of his cock and the mess he’s made of your raw pussy is nothing of proof like the bruised, mean bite right between your throat and your shoulder.
You’re too fucked out to notice. It’s cute. You’re cute all over. He squeezes his cock as he lets go of your legs and they stay that way, then laughs when trailing kisses down your thigh. “Kaji had a good thing going. I see why he went to bat over you.” Your eyelids flutter when he thumbs your pussy open, and buries his nose into it. His tongue delves into it just to lap up most of the extra cum, then leans over you to push your lips open. You just let him spill the mess of cum and spit and slick into your mouth, swallow it like a good little pet.
“And I don’t just mean your pussy either. I know you’re more than just that. If you weren’t, Togame wouldn’t bitch so much to see you again.” It makes him hum softly, and lay down beside you with a gentle motion to pull you in. Willing or not, you’re gonna snuggle into him a little longer. This is only the first of many days you two will spend like this. “We’re gonna have to make a visit to your old friends one of these days, ‘kay?”
He feels bad about the situation Kaji’s run into by now, beat hard enough to break a few ribs. It’s not enough to kill him, but Togame doesn’t know when to quit. Or rather, he quits only when he’s been told to quit. Your smell feels so nice wrapped around him, watching how you drift into a dreamless sleep with your cunt full of his cum. He could honestly go again, but maybe not right now.
“Niichan’s promised to make a diplomatic little gesture. You get it, right?”
scarlet ink — blue lock, yakuza boss!itoshi sae x f!reader, arranged marriage, estranged childhood friends, aged up characters, mentions of violence typical for yakuza but nothing graphic, smut, piv sex, oral f!receiving, virginity loss for f!reader, (unrealistic) first time sex, squirting, alcohol consumption, semi public (car) sex, reader is referred to as "my wife" and "greedy girl" and "good girl", honestly a pwp that ended up having some plot, 10.1k words
collab fic for cherry velvet run by @iwaasfairy
Itoshi Sae may be a high ranking member of the yakuza, but you have a foolproof plan.
Step 1: marry him.
Step 2: kill him.
Perfect. Genius. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
"You can drop the act, now," Sae says mildly, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up his forearms. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his irezumi, at the indisputable fact that he belongs to the underworld. Cold teal eyes meet yours and you swallow.
This is not the same man you grew up with.
"Will we consummate our marriage before you try to kill me?"
"Haha…" you laugh weakly. "What do you mean?"
He raises an eyebrow. Drags a hand through his hair. You can't help but stare at his face, his hands, the way his shirt flexes with the movement. At least your new husband is hot.
Sae has always been attractive, but the years apart and… everything in between have made him hotter, somehow.
Too bad he has to die.
"You want to kill me," Sae says evenly. "So you forced your grandfather to offer your hand in marriage, to tie our families together. Once I die, you'll be able to seize control of my assets and reputation. But to do that —"
He takes a step forward, tilting his head so that he looks down at you with those cold, blank eyes. "To do that, we'll need to consummate our marriage. So what will it be?"
Well. Okay. Maybe you've fucked up.
How the hell does he know all of that? Your conversations were always behind closed doors — did someone spill the beans?
But — no, he doesn't know everything.
What are your options here? Deny it, and keep acting like you're deeply in love? Or do you — admit it, and see what happens? He knows your plan and hasn't hurt you for it. In fact, he even went along with it.
… But why?
"You still married me," you say carefully. It's not an admission to the plan, but it's close. It's kind of nice, having it all laid out. You've held these secrets for so long. Even your own family was kept in the dark. "Why?"
Sae pauses in the act of loosening his tie, lithe fingers still caught in the knot. It comes undone at his next tug, the expensive silk trailing down his chest. "… what about it?"
You splutter. You can't help it. Infuriating man.
"Aren't you — I dunno, worried about getting murdered or something?"
"If I took every threat to my life seriously I wouldn't get anything done," Sae says. "I'm aiming for the top. Anything else is irrelevant."
Heat floods your cheeks at the casual statement. It's annoying, but his confidence is… hot. You watch wordlessly as he undoes the top few buttons of his shirt.
"Well? I can still make this good for you, you know."
Ugh. It's a sudden, unpleasant reminder for what comes next. You've heard the stories from your friends in college — the pain, the fumbling hands, the discomfort of losing your virginity.
You raise your chin and meet his eyes. He suspects, but he still married you. Maybe you can drop the act, and his overconfidence will be his downfall. Maybe you can go back to your usual self. "We'll see about that."
Sae looks at you for a moment, those summer ocean eyes unreadable. For a blink, you think you catch the ghost of a smile on his lips, and oh — your heart does something traitorous at the sight.
He almost looks like he did all those years ago.
And then he's close, and his fingers grip your chin, holding you still as he leans down and presses his lips to yours.
Sae kisses you and it's warm. You thought he'd be cold like his eyes, but his hands and lips are warm, and soft, and carefully coaxing, until you can't help but kiss him back. Matching the movement of his lips and his tongue as he tilts your head, as you open up for him, reluctant to give in but forgetting your protests with every warm press of his lips and breath against yours.
He tastes like the sake you shared earlier during the ceremony.
The band around your waist loosens and you suck in a breath of surprise, but Sae keeps kissing you, both hands now working open your kimono until it hangs on your frame. You make a quiet noise of protest when he smirks into the kiss, but before you can object he's removed your hands from his shoulders — when did that happen — and the heavy fabric pools to the ground.
"Is that all it takes?" he asks, eyes half lidded. The way he looks at you makes you feel hot and shivery. "You're behaving already."
Asshole.
"Shut up," you bite out, stepping into his space and releasing a breath at the dense, solid muscle that meets your hands. Sae isn't as tall as other yakuza members you've seen, but he's sturdy, and still taller than you. It should make you feel small, being dressed in your underclothes like this while he's still fully dressed, but the sight of him just makes you want to ruin his stupid suit.
Sae lets you push him to the bed — your new bed, your marriage bed — and you almost think he'll let you get away with it, but as he gets close to the frame he turns, leans down to kiss you again, follows you as your back hits the mattress.
"Play nice," Sae murmurs, lips drifting to your ear. You shiver as he nips at the sensitive skin by your jaw. "You know how this works."
You do, in theory. But you're inexperienced. It was hard finding the energy for boyfriends when you were busy working all the time, trying to keep your family's debt at bay.
Besides, Rin and Sae always stared down boys who would approach you, offering cutting remarks within earshot until boys just stopped trying.
Sae makes you scoot up the bed, until your head rests on the pillows. The movement drags at your sheer under robe so that it hangs off your shoulders, open at the front, exposing your bare skin. You shiver.
He leans down to cover you immediately, lips pressing hot at your throat, your collarbones, the curve of your breasts. A funny sound escapes your mouth and he does it again, lips skimming whisper soft along your skin until he abruptly sucks your nipple between his teeth.
Your back bows as sensation crashes through you. "O-oh!"
Sae tugs your under robe the rest of the way off your body, exposing more of your skin to his touch. He huffs when you squirm, pins your hips still with his own. Your eyes widen at the hard outline of him pressing into your thighs.
"Be good," he murmurs.
"There's no way," you say, ache swirling in your gut. It's so hot. Sae clamps a hand on your thigh and guides your legs open, settles himself between them. The clear difference in strength makes you dizzy. "I-Itoshi-san…"
"Yes?"
What the hell. "Are you going to keep your clothes on?"
Sae raises an eyebrow. "Look at you. Begging already?"
You groan and roll your eyes. If this is how he's going to be, maybe you will ruin his stupid suit, after all. A glimmer of amusement lights up his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again. His breathing is steady and even, and you'd be offended except you can feel his fingers trembling slightly as they skirt the edge of your panties.
"Itoshi-san, this isn't going to work," you gasp, hips fidgeting against the hardness pressing on you. There's no way, right? How is he — even just like this, with your hips aligned — it just doesn't seem possible that he could — fit.
Sae huffs and his fingers catch at your waistband. "It will," he promises. You blink as he sits up to pull your panties down, shivering at the delicate grasp on your ankles as he maneuvers your legs up to slip them off you without moving from his spot between your knees. Your legs drop weakly back to the bed on either side of him. "You can hold on to me."
"Wh-why would I need to?" you ask, voice cracking as he slides a finger through your folds. Oh.
His gaze flicks up to yours as he does it again, something in his expression hungry and smug. You feel frozen, muscles tense, as he touches lightly at the bud half hidden beneath its hood and your curls, but the jolt of pleasure is so strong and sudden you cry out in shock.
Sae hums thoughtfully. You want to wiggle free, to get away from this touch that's driving you to madness, but he clamps one hand firm on your hip and pins you there. Heat rushes through you.
Beyond the sounds of your harsh breathing, you distantly hear the wet squelch of his fingers tracing leisurely patterns through your folds. Your thighs feel tight, your core wound up. You want — something.
Sae sinks down before you can protest, teal eyes steady on yours as he licks a stripe up your pussy.
You choke.
He seems to take it as a good sign, because he does it again. And again. And again — with a careful circle around your clit, his fingers leaving wet messy streaks as he pulls at your skin to expose the hard bud.
Once your clit is uncovered he pays special attention to it, careful about the pressure and sensation and heat. You squirm and wiggle and moan, unable to help it, wanting to escape and get closer all at the same time.
You can't even tell if you're saying words at all, but you know Sae hears you when he slides one finger into your tight walls.
He exhales, hard.
"Itoshi-kun, Itoshi —"
You feel full and empty all at once. Sae keeps his attention on your clit as he fingers you open carefully, reaching spots inside you that you didn't even know existed. You've never brought yourself to completion before — always too scared by the pleasure, too self conscious to fully let go.
But Sae is relentless and unforgiving, and your thoughts unspool into white noise. You whimper when he adds a second finger, but you moan when he adds a third.
Finally — full. Slick and wet and tight, but you're full, and your nerves are singing, and your core feels stuffed with lightning. Sae fucks you with his fingers, careful to graze that spongy bit that makes tears prick from the corners of your eyes. It feels — so good.
Good and scary. A rapidly rising wave of something so good it makes your head spin. You recognize the feeling vaguely and panic starts to set in, makes you grab at his wrist and dig into the delicate bones there.
Sae keeps going. Ignores your weak grip, keeps pressing up into that spot inside you, keeps sucking at your clit as you sob. He somehow manages to get your legs up over his shoulders, keeps you from wiggling away as he lays flat against the mattress.
"S-stop, Itoshi — Itoshi-san, please, stop," you gasp, voice wavering.
He doesn't listen. And then his other hand moves from your hip to your belly, presses down just as he fucks his fingers into you again, and you — crash.
Oh.
You go weightless. Pleasure courses through your body, and from the distant hazy reaches of your mind you hear Sae groaning.
He keeps you from collapsing and lowers you carefully back down on the bed, but you can't think. You barely remember to breathe.
The sheets are soaked.
"What the…"
"You've made a mess," Sae says, but he sounds… hoarse. You squint blearily as he wipes his chin with his forearm, your cheeks heating in embarrassment at the clear evidence that you've ruined his suit.
And the sheets. And your under robe, bunched up beneath your back.
He raises an eyebrow. Stupid stoic man and his stupid suit. You're glad it's ruined — who wears a suit when his bride is in a kimono?
"You can take another," he says, and he catches your ankle when you jerk and try to flail away.
"No, I can't, Itoshi-kun," you yelp, squeaking when he drags you effortlessly back towards him. Your muscles feel like jelly. He pauses, his face unreadable, but you squirm in discomfort. "Ugh, the sheets."
"I'll change them later," he says, and you stop struggling briefly to blink at him. Why would he do it when he has people taking care of his house? "Move over to this side."
Sae moves you himself, when it becomes clear that you're still recovering from whatever he just did to you. The easy way he lifts and maneuvers you shouldn't be hot, but you can't deny the simmering heat in your blood.
"It'll feel better if you cum again," he says quietly. There's no way you can let him do that again. You'll die.
You reach for him. Maybe if he's distracted with kissing you, he'll forget. Your thighs are still trembling.
You can taste yourself on his tongue, his lips. Sae huffs with amusement and nips at your lip when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. "My wife," he says, and the phrase curls hot in your gut.
He breaks the kiss to undress, efficient and methodical. You stare, wide eyed, as the intricate designs of his irezumi come into full view. They start at his forearms, curving around to his shoulders and back. The heavy ink stands stark against his skin, and you shiver.
Sae pauses once he's in his briefs.
"Look at you," he murmurs, grabbing your thighs and forcing them apart. "Still so wet for me."
Heat rushes to your cheeks. It's been ages since you last saw him, and it's like your silly teenage crush has burst back in full force. That, and he keeps rubbing circles into your ankle resting by his lap. It's distracting.
"Will you…" You can't say it.
Thankfully, Sae doesn't seem to care. He sheds his briefs and you swallow hard at the sight of his cock, leaking and heavy between his legs.
"Hold on," he says. You watch, entranced, as the dense muscles of his torso move as he reaches past you for the nightstand. You hear the distinct sound of crinkling and then Sae is back, gripping the base of his cock to roll a condom on.
He keeps his hand there as he leans over you. The head of his cock brushes against your folds and you suck in a breath, heartbeat rattling in your chest. "Itoshi-san…"
Sae keeps going, guiding his cock along your wetness until you can see the sheen and evidence of your arousal coating him. You're aching again, clenching around nothing, sensitive to his touch.
"Hold onto me," he instructs, and you reach up to loop your arms around his neck, biting at your lip with nerves fluttering in your stomach.
You brace yourself for the pain.
It just… feels funny, at first. Sae nudges the head of his cock past the tightness of your entrance and then stops, breathing out slowly. You squirm a little at the unfamiliar feeling, clenching hard at the pressure, and Sae pulls out.
He pushes back in before you can say anything, sliding a few inches deeper. You gasp at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders. Sae doesn't make a sound, merely fucks into you slowly, carefully, his hands bunched into fists by your shoulders.
He bottoms out.
"Oh!" You slap your hand over your mouth. How embarrassing.
Sae looks down at you, his expression blank, his jaw tight. His hips nudge yours, and the stretch to your thighs burns but it's nothing compared to the strange foreign feeling of being so full inside. His fingers earlier helped, but this is… different. "Does it hurt?"
"N-no…"
"I'm going to move," Sae murmurs.
A muscle in his jaw feathers as he begins to thrust. You get used to the feeling slowly, and the discomfort blends into pleasure, into sparks flickering behind your eyelids. Sae shifts and hits a different spot inside you and you gasp, dizzy, the ache in your gut intensifying with every wet smack.
"Nghh —" It's overwhelmingly good. You can't help but try to meet his thrusts, your hips shifting sloppily in search of that mind numbing heat.
"Greedy girl," Sae huffs, his tone still unnervingly even, but undeniably fond. You yelp when he grips your ankles, but the sound melts into a moan when he settles your legs over his shoulders, bending you practically in half. You can't move anymore — you can only take it, fingers twisted in his hair, holding on for dear life as he angles his hips to hit that spot over and over.
You don't even know what you're begging for, because he's fucking you in earnest now, heavy, hard thrusts like he wants to mold your insides to the shape of his cock. You can feel your pussy squeezing around him, bearing down on the hot, hard length of him. Sweat drips from his face and lands hot on your cheek.
"Does it feel good?"
You're going to kill him, just as soon as you can form a coherent sentence. Sae slows down, his hips rolling languidly so that you can feel every inch of his cock dragging through you. It takes effort, but you manage to open your eyes against the onslaught of pleasure.
His eyes flicker over your entire face, as if he's memorizing every expression he wrings out of you. When he meets your eyes, he raises an eyebrow as if he has all the time in the world.
"Can you just — oh, you — bastard —"
Amusement lights up his eyes and he shifts, bracing himself on one elbow so that he can reach down to rub filthy wet circles around your clit. You choke on a sob, thighs burning at the stretch as he presses you down. "Is this what you wanted?"
Stars burst behind your eyelids as you cum.
"Hah — shit."
Sae's thrusts grow sloppy as he cums. You can feel him swell and throb inside you, but it only makes you squeeze harder around him, desperate to feel him lose it. After a long moment, he manages to remove your legs from his shoulders and leans down to kiss you.
It's more like breathing into each other's mouths than kissing, but he keeps close, close enough that you can feel the fast, thumping beat of his heart against your own skin. It's surprisingly romantic, to kiss right after cumming together, but you're too hazy and fucked out to think about it.
After what feels like ages, Sae reaches down to keep the condom in place and pulls out. You squint sleepily at the thick, milky liquid inside, watching with mild interest as he ties it off and rolls off the bed to toss it. You feel boneless, your muscles melted into the mattress, a steady, unfamiliar soreness between your legs.
"Come on," Sae says, but he scoops you up before you can figure out what he wants.
"Itoshi!" you yelp, arms coming up around his neck so you can hang on for dear life. Sae seems unbothered, carrying you to the suite's bathroom as if you weigh nothing.
How he can walk, after all that, is beyond you. If you try to stand right now, you'll definitely collapse like a newborn deer.
Sae sets you down on the wet bath's stool and puts the detachable shower head in your hand. You stare down at it, bemused, until Sae hums. "Want me to bathe you, too?"
"Fuck off," you mumble, suddenly bone deep tired. Getting clean feels like the hardest thing in the world.
Sae disappears once you start to wash yourself off. The warm water is soothing to your aching muscles, and you take deep breaths as you rub soap into your skin. That unfamiliar ache between your legs is still there, but you slowly start to come back to your senses as you wash up.
You nearly drop the shower head when Sae reappears. He doesn't say anything, merely takes it from you and turns it towards his body. You stand on shaky legs with an exhale and exit, snagging a towel along the way to dry off.
He made the bed. He even left a clean pair of underwear and a large shirt for you to pull on.
You stare at it. The house is big for the two of you, even with some of his men staying in the detached buildings dotted around his property. Still, you don't want to go wandering for a spare room right now — who knows which men are out and about — and drowsiness washes through you in waves.
You pull on the clothes, climb into bed, and snuggle beneath the covers. It's a big bed. Even if Sae joins you, you won't even notice.
Besides. The marriage is consummated now. Divorce is out of the question. Your life is forever entwined with his, like it or not. You can handle sharing a bed.
He'll be dead soon, anyway. Just as soon as you figure out the easiest way to kill him. You sigh. You secretly have your doubts that it'll be possible, but you have to hold on. For the sake of your family, and for the sake of Rin.
Then this big bed will be yours, and you can take the house and his money and your family will never have to worry again.
You sense it when he pauses by your side some moments later. "Itoshi…? What're you waiting for?" You yawn widely and snuggle further down. "Come to bed."
The room is so quiet you hear it when he sighs. Is he annoyed that you took his side of the bed or something? Well, tough luck. You're way too comfortable to think about moving now, so he can either join you or find another place to sleep.
The mattress barely dips when he slides into the space next to you. You'll figure out the rest of your plans tomorrow. You still need to get ahold of his financial records to make sure your name is on everything.
You clutch the blanket and sigh. He smells like citrus and sea salt, sharp and clean.
The next morning, he's gone.
Gone. Days turn into weeks. Then… months.
You wander the grounds and snoop around the rooms of the house, hoping to find something good. But the rooms are bare of anything important — clearly he conducts his business somewhere else.
You find evidence of other things, though. Framed paintings on the walls from all of your favorite artists. Your favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen pantry.
You get a delivery every other week of a selection of the newest books and manga volumes you've been keeping track of getting for yourself. It's… weird.
Sae clearly remembers your shared past, and he's kept track of your current interests. Your courtship was short, and you didn't spend much time together before donning your wedding kimono and trading sake cups — but he remembers.
It would be sweet, maybe, if you didn't feel a bit like a tamed wildcat stalking his grounds. It's unsafe for you to wander the city freely, so a couple of his men are always around, but being followed is so creepy you end up spending most of your time on his property or at a nearby river walk.
The men never talk to you, though, and it makes you feel a little invisible. You call your friends, but they were friends of proximity, and you can't exactly tell them about your new yakuza husband. It's a little strange, a little lonely. You spent one night with Sae, but it was real, and you didn't have to hide anything about your circumstances because he knew it all already.
Besides, you'll never be able to murder the man if he's not around. And it could be better this way — if one of his rivals took him out, it would save you the trouble — but you still need to make sure you're the one controlling everything when he dies.
Where the hell did he go?
You stare at your phone and the dial tone droning through the speakers. Your husband won't pick up his phone, he won't come home — there's only one thing to do.
Your friends are delighted at your call, and they're especially excited when you tell them your plans for the night. Sae had given you a black credit card the day you signed your family registration papers, and you tuck it into your wallet before heading out on your mission.
"Hey — oh, are we supposed to call you Itoshi-san now?" Your friends laugh and welcome you back into the group. "Is this dress new? You look hot. Your husband lets you walk around like this?"
A few drinks later and you're on top of the world.
The club pulses and shimmers with light and sound. You can hardly hear yourself think, but that's good. There's no chance for conversation, so you bat your lashes and smile pretty and join the throng of dancers in the middle of the floor.
Your dress is more of a glittery scrap of fabric held together with string and dreams. It clings to your body, the hem resting just below the curve of your ass, the high neckline accentuating the slope of your bare shoulders.
It's almost funny, how quickly he finds you.
"Having fun?" His voice is low and even in your ear, but his grip on your waist is hard. "You should be doing your best not to piss me off."
"What're you talking about?" you ask, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder. It's dizzying, being so close to him again so suddenly. Citrus and sea salt cuts through the haze, makes your thighs clench at the reminder of the last time you were so close to your husband.
Sae sighs, and then he spins you to face him properly.
It's so easy for him to move you. A shiver runs down your spine.
Sae narrows his eyes. "Don't play stupid."
"Dance with me?" You tilt your head and run your hands up his arms, swallowing at the shift of his muscles beneath your palms.
It's unfair, but now that you've remembered, you can't stop remembering — the feeling of his hands on you, of his tongue and fingers dragging you to the peak of pleasure. That feeling of fullness is the worst thing to recall, because now all you can think about is how empty you are.
A fizzle of pleasure washes down your back. Your plan to lure him out worked. And now —
Sae is dancing with you.
He's — no, he's not dancing, he's — bending over and hauling you off your feet, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.
"Ah!" you yelp, and the sound is lost to the dance beat. "What the — let me down!"
Sae wraps a firm arm around your thighs, keeping you balanced as he starts to walk. The crowd doesn't exactly part for him, but he moves smoothly through, and soon you're bursting out of the club and into the crisp midnight air.
"Put me down," you demand, slapping at this back. Your voice sounds loud in your own ears after the heavy beat of the music, but you can still hear Sae clearly when he snorts.
"No."
"I'll throw up on your suit," you threaten. Your stomach protests against the pressure of his shoulder, the alcohol you consumed earlier sloshing around alarmingly. Squirming doesn't do anything — his grip is too strong. "Or I'll — I'll scream for help."
"You can try," Sae says, and he sounds vaguely amused. "But I'm giving you what you wanted."
That makes you pause. A brisk breeze whips through and you shiver, suddenly hyperaware of how short your dress is, and how it's riding up steadily as he walks.
At this rate, you'll moon the whole city. You know you've sunk low, but fuck. You still have some pride. "Put me down!" you wiggle harder, but Sae just huffs. "I'll cut your balls off, Itoshi Sae, if you don't put me down right fucking now!"
Sae readjusts his grip on your thighs, his hand landing so high up you can feel his fingers nudging against the curve of your ass. He tugs your dress down. Heat shoots through your body like a lightning bolt and you feel your cheeks get hot.
"There you go," he says evenly. "Now keep still."
"Watch your hands, you pervert," you hiss. You can already feel bruises starting to form where he's holding you, his grip so tight it's now safer not to move.
"You're my wife," Sae says. There's a tinge of amusement in his tone that makes you flush. "Isn't it a little too late to act shy now?"
"You're the worst," you mutter. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"
"Somewhere private," he says. "Watch your head."
You yelp as you're suddenly tossed into the backseat of a shiny black car, scrambling backwards as Sae enters and shuts the door behind him. The overhead light glows for a moment, illuminating the leather interior and Sae's bangs, gelled back as usual.
Then the light clicks off, and your senses abruptly shift to focus on every stuttering breath leaving your lungs. You hear the shuffle of fabric rustling as he presumably takes off his jacket. "Did you hit your head?" Sae asks.
You can't see him yet, but you feel his fingers trail lightly up your bare legs. You are undeniably sober now. "Where have you been?"
"It's none of your business," Sae says, hands stopping at the edge of your dress. "Do you have a lot of clothes like this?"
You scowl in the darkness and shift to sit up more, dragging your legs away from his warm hands. He clamps a hand around your ankle, stopping you from turning to sit properly in the backseat. "Let go of me."
"You know exactly what you were doing," Sae says. He sounds bored. "Behave."
"Or what?"
Sae's grip tightens on your ankle. "Do you want me to show you?"
Your eyes widen in spite of yourself. The windows are tinted, but you're still in public. He can't be serious.
"Right here?"
"It's not much of a dress," he says. You flinch in the inky darkness, because his voice is much closer than you expected.
His lips graze your cheek. "What was so important that you went out dressed like this?"
"You were ignoring my calls," you mumble, shrinking into the seat and door. He moves with you, and in your slowly adjusting vision you catch a flash of teal before his lips are at your neck. "You disappeared for months! What kind of husband are — hey —"
"Did you really expect me to stick close to someone trying to kill me?" Sae asks, and his tone is so dry it makes you snort in spite of yourself.
"Who says I'm trying to kill you? And besides, I thought you didn't have time to pay attention to murder plans," you say. He sighs and nips at your skin a second later. You yelp. Pleasure sparkles down your spine. "How did you even find me so fast?"
Sae pulls back and you miss the warmth of his body immediately, catching at his shirt before he gets too far. He wraps his fingers around your own, the callouses rough, but — his touch is gentle. "Don't ask stupid questions."
Right. Of course his men told him.
"If I answer my phone, will you stop causing trouble?" Sae asks.
It would be a step in the right direction. But really… "I want to go with you. Wherever you're going."
You don't want to get left behind again.
Sae releases your hand and grabs your waist, lifting you onto his lap with ease. You squeak in surprise, your dress riding up obscenely as your legs spread to accommodate him, until it's practically rucked up your waist. "Itoshi!"
"Is that really what you want?" he asks. Your vision has adjusted enough now to catch the way he raises an eyebrow in quiet judgment.
You have to lean towards him to keep from hitting your head on the car's ceiling, but you brace your hands on his shoulders so you don't collapse too far forward. "Yes," you say, heat rising in your face as he sweeps his hands down to your butt.
"Even when I'm handling business?" Sae's fingers slip beneath your panties and you squirm at the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin. "When I'm dealing out punishment?"
"I want to be with you," you say, fighting for an even tone to match his own. His touch is driving you crazy. "I'm your wife."
"You are," he allows, and he leans forward to brush his lips across yours. "My wife."
Sae kisses you languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. You melt into it, already soft and buzzing with warmth from the alcohol earlier. You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss this, even though he's only touched you once before.
He licks into your mouth and you whine a little, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he pulls back with a huff.
"Fine."
You blink your eyes open, dazed and hot beneath your skin. "Fine?"
"Come along, if you want," Sae says. His voice is low, but in the inky darkness of the car everything feels magnified. He brushes a finger along your soaked cunt. "But don't run away scared at what you see. I won't run after you."
"I know what I've married into," you huff. You can't help your hips sinking, chasing after the feeling. "Why would I want to run?"
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the amusement is so clear in his voice you lean forward to kiss it away.
You forget you're in a car, parked who knows where in public, and that the windows may be tinted but that doesn't mean they're soundproof. You kiss him eagerly, slipping your tongue into his mouth and licking at his teeth, forgetting everything except that this is Itoshi Sae. Everything is hot, your core aches, you want something desperately.
Sae lets you take the lead for a few moments, swallowing down your gasp when he sinks two fingers into you without preamble. You're so wet he slides in easily, and his breath escapes in a huff.
"Ride my hand," he orders quietly, lips catching at your ear. You make a funny noise, heat and lightning twisting in your core.
He helps — his thumb catches at your clit and his fingers stretch open every time you roll your hips, the ache and drag of your soaked panties clinging to your wet folds only adding to the build up of pleasure.
You're clumsy, but you chase after it, quiet little gasps and moans falling from your lips as you press your face into his neck. Sae keeps fingering you, his other hand roaming up your back to tug at the little strings holding your dress together.
He tugs a little too hard and abruptly the front of your dress falls open, exposing your breasts to the rapidly warming air inside the car. You whine as your nipples graze the firm muscles of his chest, pressing closer to him as every nerve ending sparks with the movement.
"Look at you," he breathes, and his hand returns to grip your hip, guiding you firmly into riding his fingers in rhythm.
Fuck. It's unfair how easily he moves you.
The wet squelch of every thrust of his fingers sounds loud in the confines of the car. The leather seats creak with every rock of your hips, your breaths hot against his neck as you clench your eyes shut tight.
"I think — I'm gonna —"
Sae slides a third finger in.
And you cum. Waves of pleasure crash through you, whiting out your vision as a strangled moan tumbles from your lips. Sae keeps his fingers inside you as your pussy clenches hard around him, the ache in your core lingering even as you sob in relief at the release.
You collapse into his lap. Sae kisses you back when you seek his lips blindly, warm and firm and with a quiet little noise that almost sounds like surprise.
Now that you're pressed up fully against him, you can feel him, the hot length of him hard against your thigh. You can't help but grind on it weakly, giggling a little when Sae grunts.
"Behave," he reminds you, pulling his fingers out and watching you with half lidded eyes as he sucks them into his mouth. You flush at the sheen of wetness dripping down to his wrist.
"Don't you want to…?" You clench down around nothing and frown.
Sae raises an eyebrow. He finishes licking his fingers clean and reaches back down to adjust your panties to cover you up fully again. Your cheeks heat.
"We're in public," he says blandly.
Oh, you're going to kill him. "You just — but we just —"
Sae leans over and knocks on the window. "Take us home."
Embarrassment floods your system as the front door abruptly opens. One of his men slides into the driver's seat and turns on the car, punching a few buttons to begin defogging the windows.
Sae wordlessly pulls your dress back together but keeps you in his lap, deft fingers tying the strings together along your back as you hold the pieces up in the front. Then he grabs his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, tucking you into it and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you from climbing off his lap.
You remain silent during the car ride home, merely shooting him glares every time he catches your eye with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You can feel him, still solid and hard and hot against your thigh, but he makes no move to adjust and lets you keep pressing against his cock.
Sae keeps you wrapped into his jacket once you arrive, merely settles his hands on your ass and carries you inside with your legs wrapped around his waist like a koala. You keep your face tucked into his neck to hide from meeting the eyes of any of his men, inhaling the citrus and sea salt scent of him as your fluttering heart fights to return to a normal rhythm.
"You've ruined another suit," Sae says evenly, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him. You blink, lashes tickling his neck. "Do you always get this wet?"
"I don't know," you huff, irritation furrowing your brows. "I've only ever been with you."
"Hm."
Sae leaves the lights off and carries you over to the bed before dropping you unceremoniously onto the mattress. You bounce a few times with surprise, scrambling to sit up. "What the hell?"
"Did I say we were done?" Sae asks. You blink quickly, trying to get your vision to adjust. Moonlight filters in through the windows and bathes him in a silvery glow, lights up his teal eyes like stained glass. The mattress dips as he climbs after you, and then you feel his fingers wrap around your ankle.
It doesn't scare you, though. Sae has had plenty of chances to actually hurt you, and he seems intent on making you see stars instead.
You aren't complaining.
"Are you… going to fuck me now?"
"Do you want me to?"
You want to shake him by the shoulders until he bites his own tongue or something. What an irritating man. You bite your own lip instead.
"You've been gone for a while," you say. In the darkness of the bedroom, with his lips trailing kisses up your thighs, it feels easier to admit this. You're not — repressed, exactly, but you grew up with no time for boyfriends, no space to experiment, to learn what feels good. And then you married Sae, and he makes you cum so hard you can still feel the echoes of pleasure sinking deep into your bones. Of course you're chasing this feeling.
And in spite of yourself, you trust him.
It's hard not to. He abandoned you and Rin while you were teenagers, showing up only once with the beginnings of his irezumi climbing up his forearms. After that, you never heard from him again, not until you forced your grandfather to make the offer.
He stayed away to keep you all safe. You understand that, now.
"And?" Sae's lips move against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh and you squirm. "Answer the question."
"Don't you want to?"
Sae sighs, like you've disappointed him, and you can't help but clench at the bolt of arousal that shoots through you. He doesn't answer, but he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pauses.
"Itoshi-san?"
"Did you ever wonder why I accepted your grandfather's proposal?"
"Huh?"
Sae rips your panties apart and you swallow hard at the rush of air over your soaked folds. "I could have married anyone," he continues conversationally. "Someone with better ties in the family, someone whose name would create a better alliance. But I accepted your proposal."
"Because… you think I'm attractive?" you guess. Sae snorts and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. You turn your head, chasing him, frowning when he pulls back.
"Guess again."
"Because…" You're distracted. Sae undoes the ties of your dress and pulls it off your body, leaving you bare, skin prickling with goosebumps as he sits back to pull off his own clothes. You blink, mesmerized, as his cock comes free of his briefs, slapping against his pelvis. He's so hard, and leaking at the tip.
"Too slow," Sae murmurs, and then he's grabbing your ankles again and wrenching your thighs apart. You yelp when he leans down to suck your clit between his lips, hips jumping at the sudden sensation.
"A-ah! Hey!"
Sae ignores you, slips two fingers in and curls them upwards. You choke on your next gasp, fingers clutching at the blankets in desperation. You're still soft and wet and hot from your earlier orgasm, greedy walls sucking at his fingers every time he thrusts. Your thighs clench around his head.
Sae eats you out like he's never tasted anything so good in his life, his tongue tracing along every dip and fold, his fingers pumping into you and forcing you to face the onslaught of pleasure. It's messy and wet and hot, overwhelming and too fast.
It's too much and not enough. You cum on his hands and tongue two more times, until your thighs are shaking and your brain feels like mush. Every inch of skin feels sensitive, wired and wound up tight.
Sae crawls over you to grab a condom and you try to remember how to breathe.
He grunts as the head of his cock breaches your entrance, his head dropping into the dip of your neck as he bottoms out. You clench around him, teary eyed and trembling, feeling like you're going to burst with how good it all feels.
"Itoshi, will you — kiss me?"
Sae hums and leans up to kiss you, rolling his hips just to swallow down your moans. You've abandoned all of your sensibility, lost in the haze of his touch. He's so big and hard and you're so full, you feel so good, you can't help sinking your fingers into his hair and keeping him weakly tucked against you, just so that you can keep kissing him while he fucks you deep.
He still smells like sea salt and citrus. He smells like home.
You moan into his mouth and his lips curve against your own. It's been so long since your wedding night, even longer since those late nights growing up together watching the ocean waves, but it all rushes back and you cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.
"I'm — I think I'm —"
"Go ahead," Sae's voice is even, if a little rough.
You sob, voice wrecked, back bowing off the bed as you cum. You lose track of time, everything collapsing down to your pulsing core sending out shockwaves through your body. It's so good you can't help the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, your moans echoing through the room.
Sae is still unnervingly hard when you come to your senses. You squeeze around him, breathless. "Seriously?"
"One more," he murmurs, brushing a kiss to the corner of your eye.
"You're going to kill me," you say flatly. Sae's lips tick up in the corners and he presses another kiss to your cheek.
"You're my wife," he says, like that's an answer.
He rolls his hips again and you sigh. "Missed you," you murmur, because — in spite of yourself — you did. It's been years since he left, but you never forgot the pressure of his shoulder against yours. And the house was filled with things he thought you'd like, but you had nobody to talk to, nobody to needle.
He pisses you off, and you know he needs to pay for what's happened, but you still missed him.
Sae pulls out of you abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing. "Sae!"
He flips you over without a word, pressing down on the space between your shoulder blades to make your back arch. You let him manhandle you, his hands hard on your hips as he angles them up and presses into you from behind.
"Oh, fuck —" you squeeze your eyes shut at the new angle, stars dancing in your vision. Sae huffs, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and then the headboard creaks and he begins to fuck you.
You're going to die. That's what it feels like — an overwhelming pleasure, dangling you teetering over the edge, your body wound up so tightly it's a minor miracle he can even bully his cock back into you at all.
Sae fucks you hard, with deep steady thrusts that rattle your insides, his cock pushing insistently at that spot inside you that drives every thought out of your brain. The headboard keeps creaking but you can't see why — you can only feel his cock dragging at your walls, your face buried in the pillows as the wet slap of skin on skin echoes in the room.
"Sae, oh — fuck," you gasp. "I'm gonna cum, Sae, oh please I'm so close —"
"Go ahead," he says, and his voice sounds rougher than before. "Let go."
You shoot off the edge with a cry, this orgasm somehow sharper and brighter than the rest. You barely hear it when Sae groans above you, but you feel his cock kick inside you, warmth flooding your insides as he fills the condom with his release.
You have the briefest moment of regret that you didn't get to feel it all inside you before you pass out.
This time, when you wake up the next morning, you find Sae standing at the open window, gilded in sunrise gold.
"You stayed," you whisper. You clear your throat and duck beneath the blanket pulled up to your chin, only peeking out with your eyes. Sae turns to face you, wearing only his briefs.
"I have work to do today," he says, eyeing the lump of your body beneath the blankets. "Are you going to come along?"
You nod, still watching him. He doesn't seem to care, turning back to the open window and giving you a clear view of his side profile, of the dips and ridges of his muscles on full display. His irezumi is stark against his skin, but you can see faint red lines along the swirling ink on his back from where you dug your nails in last night.
It's unfair. He's so hot.
Even with his bangs down, his hair sticking up slightly in the back — he's so attractive it makes you squeeze the blankets in your hands.
"Do you need me to carry you to the bathroom again?" Sae asks, crossing his arms over his chest to look at you. Amusement flickers in his eyes and you snort.
"No, I can walk."
At least, you hope you can. Your muscles still feel weak, like jelly. Sae must have cleaned you up last night, because you're wearing a clean pair of panties, but you can still feel the bruises and soreness lingering along your body.
You roll out of bed and groan, tossing the blankets aside to stretch your arms over your head. It crosses your mind a moment later to be shy, but Sae is your husband, and the way his gaze darkens at the sight of your breasts perking in the chill morning air makes you grin to yourself.
It feels like you've crossed some invisible threshold with Sae. Like the night before was a test, and you passed it, and now things will be different.
You manage to get to the bathroom and sleepily get ready for the day, brushing your teeth and staring at yourself blankly in the mirror. It's only after you've spit your toothpaste into the sink that you realize the marks on your skin aren't a figment of your imagination or a sleepy hallucination.
"What are you, Itoshi-san, a vampire?" you grumble, poking at the hickeys blooming along your neck and grimacing at the ache.
"It's too late for that," Sae says evenly as he enters the bathroom. He meets your gaze in the mirror as he wets his toothbrush. "I'm your husband."
"And husbands get to do this?" you wave your hand vaguely at your marked up skin.
"Itoshi-san," Sae says, pausing with his toothbrush by his mouth. He raises an eyebrow. "That's not what you called me last night."
You blink. What…?
Oh.
Heat floods your body and you take a step back, frowning as Sae begins to brush his teeth. He still manages to look smug and it makes you want to throttle him.
You retreat to the bedroom instead, getting dressed like you're preparing for battle. Sae said business, so you pull on something similar to what he usually wears — a button up shirt and nice pants and a suit jacket.
Sae gets dressed and meets you in the kitchen, where you've gotten started making breakfast. Rice and miso soup and rolled eggs and crispy fish — it's simple fare, but you fidget nervously as you set out the plates, suddenly hyperaware that he'll be trying your cooking for the first time since high school.
"It's good," Sae says, pausing after his first bite. Warmth fills your bones. "Thank you for the meal."
"You weren't worried about poison?" you ask halfheartedly, hoping it'll hide your nerves. Sae raises an eyebrow at you and pointedly gulps down his soup.
"Were you planning on poisoning yourself, too?"
"That would be way too much work," you say before you can stop yourself. Sae snorts and brings his cleared dishes to the sink. "Oh, Itoshi-san, you can leave those. I'll clean them — I'm almost done eating."
Sae just flicks on the sink. "Hurry up, and give me your plates."
You finish eating and hand them over, hovering nearby as you marvel at the vision of Itoshi Sae, yakuza boss, washing breakfast dishes. He wipes off his hands with a towel and turns, catching you before you can escape. His fingers are firm as he purses your lips together.
"Are you going to keep calling me that?"
You can't really talk with him holding your jaw like that. You shrug helplessly instead.
Sae watches you, but his teal eyes are sun warmed and careful. "Do I need to remind you how to say it?"
Heat blooms beneath your cheeks, and you know he can feel it because the corners of his lips twitch. "Are you always going to be this shy?" he adds, tilting your chin up so that you can't escape his gaze. "You'll get eaten up."
You pout. Sae huffs and captures your lips with his own, kissing you breathless until you melt into his arms. "Say it again."
"Sae," you mumble, dazed. You blink up at him and he kisses you again, pushes you back against the counter to press lingering kisses to your lips, your cheek, the edge of your jaw.
"Good girl."
You attempt to gather your wits together as he herds you out the door, but he keeps his hand resting on your lower back. It draws your attention like a magnet.
Luckily, your driver is a different man from the night before, and you settle into your seat with a fluttering heart.
It's finally happening.
You'll see him at work, you'll get a chance to find his records and files, you'll be able to secure the safety of your family.
And you'll watch him beat a man senseless.
The crack of bone meeting bone echoes in the cold, dimly lit room. Sae pulls back, flexes his gloved fist and swipes at a drop of blood on his cheek. "Explain."
His voice is so cold. You repress a shiver and stand firm against the wall, hands tucked into your pockets to hide the trembling. You thought you knew, but —
"You had three chances, you piece of shit," Sae says evenly. "Three chances, and you still fucked up something a monkey could have done. Explain."
"I'm s-sorry, Itoshi-sama! I really thought I —!"
You wince as Sae takes a step back. One of his men jumps in at his nod and launches a punch at the man groveling on the ground. You keep your gaze on your husband, tuning out the sounds of the man getting beaten to a pulp. Sae watches impassively, those teal eyes that had been glowing this morning now cold glacial pools.
"Take him away," Sae orders, finally turning towards you as the man whimpers. He gets dragged out without preamble, and Sae raises an eyebrow as the room empties. "Are you cold?"
"No," you shake your head, holding still as Sae hums and brushes his knuckle along your cheek. "Are you hurt?"
"No," a glimmer of amusement dances in his eyes and you breathe a sigh of relief as the cold teal warms into sunlit ocean. "You still haven't answered me, you know."
You blink. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth and you blink again, face warming at the sight.
"Sae?"
He tilts his head. "Let's go upstairs."
You follow him through the halls of the building, passing men in suits and armed with weapons along the way. In spite of the environment, you feel safe. Everyone bows respectfully as Sae passes with you, and nobody seems surprised to see you.
"What's this?" you ask, wandering into the office. Sae shuts the door and goes over to the heavy wooden bookcase set into the wall.
"This is why I married you."
You stare blankly at the thick ledger book he sets on the desk. He flips open the cover.
Inside is a polaroid photo strip, one you remember — the three of you had just finished exams, and you were itching to do something fun. You dragged the Itoshi brothers into a sticker photo booth and forced them to pose with you, making silly faces while they scowled.
"I thought I lost this," you mumble, fingers lightly tracing your younger faces. "What's this?"
You read the numbers and item descriptions on the next page, and the next, and the next. Sae waits, leaning idly against the desk.
"Sae?"
"What does it look like?"
It looks like — an impossibility. You blink a few times, as if that will clear everything up.
It looks like your family's debts have been wiped clean, little by little, through Sae's work. It looks like Rin's university fees, and also —
"He was targeted?"
Your voice comes out hushed. Sae looks bored. "They accepted me, instead."
"Sae."
"When you proposed, I thought it might be a trick," he says, his voice careful and even. "I was going to say no."
"Why did you say yes?"
Sae looks at you. "Why did you choose me?"
He's right. You could have picked any member of the yakuza to clear your family's debts — you know there were other options, other men who would've been thrilled at a young virgin bride.
"I trust you."
And you do. After all those years, you knew that at least — at the very least — Sae knew you. Yes, you were planning on killing him, but that was just to gain control of his assets. To protect your family.
To do the same thing he had done, all those years ago. He's been protecting you and Rin this entire time.
With the proof in this ledger, it's all over. You have no reason to kill him — and your heart feels light.
"Even after what you saw downstairs?"
"I trust you," you say firmly. "Sae."
"I've murdered people," he says flatly. "I'm not a good man."
"You're my husband."
Sae pauses, and then he shrugs, as if it doesn't really matter. You reach over and pinch his cheek, forcing him to look at you. A glimmer of amusement shines in his eyes, and you laugh.
"Sae," you sigh, releasing his cheek to rub your thumb along the smooth skin instead. There's still a little bit of blood on his cheek, so you wipe at it. "Why did you agree to marry me?"
"You chose me," he says simply. His gaze burns into yours, pulls you into summer ocean memories. "I was never going to let you go if you did."
He tugs you close and kisses you, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head the way he likes. You sink into the warmth of him, fingers clutching at his shirt, reaching up to tangle in the sunset red of his hair.
Sae pushes you back against the desk and shoves his thigh between your legs, forcing you off balance so that you cling to him. "My wife," he murmurs, breaking the kiss to nip at your neck. You shiver as he sucks gently at the sensitive skin there, core aching at the memory of the night before.
Someone knocks at the door. "Itoshi-sama!"
Sae sighs against your skin. His fingers squeeze your waist once, and then he releases you and steps back. "Back to work."
You hum, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You've been working hard this entire time."
He tugs his gloves back on and nods towards the ledger. "You can stay here to look at it, if you want."
"You never told Rin."
Sae pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. "It's better that way."
You wrinkle your nose. "Sae, he hates you."
"Do you?"
You look at him. From this distance, his gaze is sharp, like glass. No longer worn smooth with time and affection — a mask as he prepares to work. "No. I'm your wife."
The air feels fresh and clean and bright, as you step back into your shared bedroom, where everything seems to come undone.
Sae shuts the door behind him and pauses. "You want to redecorate?"
"Yeah," you nod firmly. "This house feels like a showcase. Where's the stuff you like? We need to go on some dates and take photos together. Are you free next weekend?"
Sae comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, his lips resting on your neck as his hair tickles your ear. "I can't go to the beach anymore."
Right. His tattoos.
"Haven't you ever heard of skin cancer? It's important to wear protective shirts with long sleeves."
You think you feel his body shake slightly as he laughs into your skin. "You're really my wife."
"Yeah, and you're going to tell Rin everything, someday," you say. Sae's grip on your waist tightens briefly.
"Anything else?"
"You'll only be with me."
"No mistresses?"
"Only if you actually want to die."
Sae's lips curve against your neck. "Never. I can't die — I need to take care of my wife."
You have a new plan. This one is absolutely foolproof, and there's no chance an annoying childhood friend will sacrifice himself to save you all.
Step 1: fall in love with your husband.
Step 2: get him to fall in love with you.
Step 3: live happily ever after.
It doesn't matter that he's a member of the yakuza. Sae's eyes glow like sea glass, fond and warm, every time he looks at you.
Yeah. The plan will come true. You're already done with step one.
the only drawback to making kento a father is the lack of 'alone time' you now get.
he was made to be a dad, there’s no doubt about it. he’s the perfect contender, stern but patient and understanding and so infatuated with fatherhood that you almost don’t mind the nightly interruptions.
almost. the sound of little padding footsteps leading up to your closed bedroom door gives you a trauma response now. how your husband can hold himself above you, inches away from dipping inside your sweet center, and still remain kind-eyed and cheery when your daughter starts banging on the shut door to be let in is beyond you.
he's a good man. you hate him for it.
maybe you just need sex. you've been deprived of your husband's body for so long that you're going stir crazy, in a sense. he did marry you with a vow of servitude, after all.
thank god for takuma and his wide eyes. he looks like a deer in headlights as he stands at your front door, a huge bag of toys and snacks and just-in-case diapers in one hand and your daughters tiny hand wrapped around two fingers of his other hand. she beams up at uncle ino, ready to spend a night away from home (and get unreasonably spoilt in the process).
"no snacks after her teeth are brushed. and she's developed a penchant for climbing—don't let her do that. and if she comes home with even a mark, ino, i will be breaking each and every last one of your bones, starting with the toes and moving upwards until i reach your—"
"i think he gets the point, love," you place a gentle hand on your husbands tense bicep. "please stop threatening to snap takuma's bones."
ino, who is probably going over his last will and testament in his head, forces a grin. "loud and clear, she's safe with me."
"mhm," your husband can only eye him for so long before your daughter is tugging uncle ino away and leaving the two of you in the foyer.
finally alone. just you, your husband, and his teething paranoia. he's darting to the front window and peeking through it like a yappy dog would as their owner leaves. it’s cute. you feel bad for the future-teenage version of your daughter, who will have to deal with a man like kento nanami as her father. but now she’s just a baby and in the safe (albeit shaky) care of uncle ino, and you are vying for an orgasm or six.
“ken, honey."
his eyes are stuck outside.
"kento."
still stuck. you never thought the other woman would be sporting butterfly clips and drool as a statement piece.
"oh my fucking god kento nanami if you do not fuck me right now i will take that little sword of yours and stick it so far up your— oh hi."
he's standing in front of you before you know it, with your face held firmly in his hands and an awfully stern look on his face.
"my love," he drags his thumb from your cheek, down to your bottom lip. "first of all, i have every intention of ravaging you until you're so full of me that you don't have the mind to beg for more. and second, it's more of a cleaver than a sword."
"okay nerd," you pull your man into a deep kiss, one much more intimate than you've been allowing yourself of late. kento takes the lead easily, slipping his tongue past your lips in a way he'd never dare to do over the breakfast table.
before you can register your movements, the two of you are stumbling like drunk teens up to your bedroom, a garment of clothing lost with each step to the door. you loosen your husbands tie and drop it to the ground, and he manages to unclasp your bra just as his back hits the bed and you're falling on top of him in a mess of gross kisses and shared laughter.
it's sweet, until kento tires of the homely teasing and flips you over to press his heavy body (and even heavier cock, it seems) against yourself. your legs part naturally, as they will ever do for the man you love, and kento trails kiss after kiss from your neck all the way down to the dripping mess of your cunt.
when he latches his lips to your clit you gasp and shoot your hand down to his hair. he loves it being pulled, admitted to you after a drink too many that he finds in degrading in a way that is only pleasurable coming from you: he's sensitive to that sort of stuff, so you tug lightly at his blond locks until your fingers snag against something hard.
"what's in your hair?" you manage between moans as ken savours his most favourite meal.
he pulls away for a second, resting his cheek against your parted (and already shaky) thigh as you comb through his hair with your fingers once more and pullout not one, but two hot pink butterfly clips that you were looking for only this morning.
"oh," your husband smiles when he sees them. "i got a princess makeover last night. i stopped her before she could go looking for makeup but she did manage to find those."
"they suit you," you smile, and clip them back into his hair. it look silly, but it keeps his hair from sticking to his forehead in the heat of things, so you look past the glitter. "you're a good dad, you know?"
kento presses a kiss to your clit, which has your breath hitch in your throat, before rising up to climb over you once again. his cock is heavy and pulsing with heat as it rests against you, but ken denies himself for a moment in favour of pressing a very sweet kiss to your lips. you can taste yourself on his smile.
"thank you for making me a dad," he kisses your cheek next, and then your forehead. "and thank you for everything else you have given me in our marriage."
"all those orgasms..." you muse, which earns you a small laugh from your lover.
"oh indeed," he reaches down and lines himself up with you. "you always know just how to set the mood. very sentimental, you are."
"it's what you married me for," you lift your hips a little to help your husband in. "isn't it? you just love the way i—oh god, ken."
he pushes into you niiice and slow, feeling the way you stretch around him. it's been a while, so the usual ache of accommodating his unfair size is more of a burn this time through, but kento's lips against your neck are a nice distraction. he's slow and sweet and so in love with you that you can feel it in the way he fills you up. or maybe you're just delusional from the dick.
"love the way you feel," he finishes your sentence. drawing his hips back only a little to get you used to his movements, he presses his next kiss to your shoulder. "love the way you look."
"you don't need to flatter me. you're already inside of me."
kento bites the skin of your shoulder and picks up the pace to really start fucking you. "love the way you can take a compliment without being a smartass about it."
"god, kento," you can only manage a few words before he's adjusting his thrusts to brush against your g spot with each movement in and out. "it's so much."
"i love how well you take me," he goes on. "i love your heart. and i love your body. and i love your idiotic jokes. and i love how you smell."
"ken..."
"and i love—" kento runs a hand down your left arm to take your hand in his, bringing your knuckles up to his lips before pressing a long kiss to your wedding band "—how i'm all yours."
not his, yours. he's made it very clear since your first date (which was more of a study-situation than anything, that he is all yours. your property. your lover. your shoulder to cry on and your life partner and the man who would burn down cities for you and your kid.
and the only man who could fill you this deep and still be romantic about it. he fucks you like that until your legs are locked around his waist and you're begging him to fill you up with his load.
and of course he obliges, because anything you ask for he will give you enthusiastically. he rubs your clit until you're blanking on your own name and cumming in beautiful synchronisation with him. kento spills deep inside of you with a breathy groan and even then still manages to fuck you through your orgasm until he's softening inside of you and you're trying ultra hard not to cry from the overwhelming love (and pleasure) you're feeling.
and as he holds himself over you, smiling down at you like he didn't just possibly breed you out again, all you can do is look up at him with teary eyes and laugh at the ridiculous pink butterfly clips on his head.
"you're so pretty," you giggle, reaching up between your sweaty bodies to tap on the clips. "my manly husband."
"god," he groans, dropping his head down to your chest. you laugh some more, now with an even better view of his accessories, until he steals your laughter altogether with a sharp bite to your nipple.
just thought about stepdad bakugo being caught off guard the first time your teenage son calls him “dad” 🥺
it’s after years of being with you. their relationship isn’t bad by any means—it’s okay; it’s good. but your son has called him katsuki for the longest time, and he was happy with that, perfectly content even (at least, he thought he was).
it was enough that your boy dubbed his cooking “the best in the entire universe and beyond”; it was enough that your boy trusted him enough with a few harmless secrets that you may never know. it was enough that you’d both welcomed him into your home, into your lives, in a way that’s made him feel like he belongs.
it was enough (at least, he thought it was), until your kid comes home with a group of friends one day and they ask him, “who’s the guy in your backyard?”
between the scrapes of soil against his gardening shovel and mild hearing problems, katsuki shouldn’t have been able to hear anything—but he hears this loud and clear.
your kid tells his friends, “oh, that’s just my dad,” like it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world and it hits katsuki square in the chest.
the next thing he knows, he’s smiling, eyes a little wet but not yet crying (—is what he’ll tell you later). it’s a small curve of his lips, but it stays plastered on until the moment you come home.
you wonder, when the three of you are cleaning up after dinner, “what’s got you all smiley today?”
he looks at you, back a little straighter and chest puffed out just a bit more. then, he glances at your son just an earshot away, wiping the table clean; he turns to you, mumbling, “tell ya ‘bout it later.”
(like he’s got all the pride in the world, like he’s got all the love in the world).
