Billy Hargrove was always provoking the quiet and sweet reader after finding out he seems to have never had a relationship. He assumes he has no experience, specially since he looks so flustered about his dirty comments, that is until the day noone is around when he teases him and it being just the two of them, the reader decides he is done with it and it's time he tell Billy he has much more experience than he thinks and show him just how good he can be with his mouth, turns out the reader is not so shy and awkward when he goes to bars and clubs out of town, where he feels like he can let loose since noone he knows is around
— not so innocent
pairing: billy hargrove | male! reader
warnings: mdni, oral (reader giving), shy but not actually shy reader, kinda bully billy, teasing
(y/n) (l/n) was quiet.
Too quiet, Billy thought as he leaned against the locker beside him, arms folded, chewing on a toothpick like he had a right to be bored.
(y/n) was the kind of boy who wore oversized sweaters in the summer, kept his eyes down, and jumped any time someone brushed too close in the hallway. His hair flopped into his eyes. And when Billy made dirty jokes, real ones, the kind that made girls roll their eyes and guys snicker, (y/n) would go red. Not pink. Red.
So of course, Billy couldn’t resist.
“Hey, (l/n),” he drawled one afternoon after gym, towel slung over his bare shoulder, eyes heavy with heat. “Ever even kissed someone, or do you just read about it in those nerdy little books you carry around?”
(y/n)’s ears turned crimson as he fumbled with the strap of his messenger bag. “I-I’ve..shut up, Billy.”
Billy grinned, walking backward in front of him, shirt half-buttoned. “Didn’t say no, did you? What, you scared of a little tongue action? Or are you still saving yourself for marriage?”
He expected the usual, head down, shy mutter, maybe an awkward shuffle away.
He didn’t expect (y/n) to stop walking.
Didn’t expect him to look up from under those lashes with a slow, dangerous smile that didn’t match the soft-boy image at all.
“You know,” (y/n) said quietly, tilting his head, “for someone who runs his mouth so much, you don’t actually know shit.”
Billy blinked. “Excuse me?”
(y/n) stepped closer, voice still sweet, gentle. Dangerous. “I go out, Billy. I get out of this town, drink at real bars, clubs that don’t card if you flash the right smile. And I don’t go home alone.” A pause. “I’m very good with my mouth. You just wouldn’t know it, because you’re too busy trying to get reactions instead of results.”
Billy’s throat went dry. “Bullshit.”
“Come find out,” (y/n) whispered.
Later that night, (y/n) texted him an address, some shitty little motel just outside town. Billy showed up half out of disbelief, half out of something else he didn’t want to name.
When he knocked, the door opened almost instantly.
(y/n) wasn’t wearing a sweater. He was wearing tight black jeans and a mesh shirt that clung to him in ways Billy didn’t know sweaters could hide. His hair was styled back, lips a little red, maybe glossed, maybe bitten.
Billy stepped inside without a word, adrenaline spiking.
“You were serious,” he muttered, eyes flicking down (y/n)’s frame. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
(y/n) shut the door, locked it, and turned to face him. “That’s your problem, Billy. You think everyone’s a fucking stereotype.”
Billy smirked. “And what are you? A soft little tease who suddenly grew claws?”
(y/n) stepped in close, fingers ghosting over the buckle of Billy’s jeans. “No. I’m the guy who’s gonna blow your fucking mind.”
And then he dropped to his knees.
Billy’s cock twitched in his pants, but he still tried to play it cool. “You sure you know what you’re..-”
He choked on the end of the sentence when (y/n) undid his fly with practiced ease and pulled him free.
“No talking,” (y/n) said softly, licking a slow stripe up the side before pressing a kiss to the head. “You’ve talked enough for both of us.”
Then he wrapped his lips around the tip and slid down, deep.
Billy groaned, hand flying to (y/n)’s hair, but the other boy didn’t flinch. He took him almost to the base, throat relaxing like he’d done it a hundred times. And maybe he had.
“Fuck, (l/n),” Billy gasped. “Where the hell have you been hiding this?”
(y/n) pulled off just enough to speak, his breath hot. “Out of your league. Until now.”
Then he went back down, bobbing his head slowly, sucking hard, tongue swirling under the head. One hand stroked what he couldn’t fit while the other cupped Billy’s balls gently, massaging like he knew what made a man lose control.
And Billy was losing it.
Every filthy sound filled the room: wet, obscene slurps, the stuttered gasps from Billy’s chest, the tiny hums from (y/n) like he was enjoying this.
“Jesus, fuck, you’re good,” Billy groaned, hips twitching despite himself. “All that shy-boy bullshit and you suck cock like a fuckin’ pornstar.”
(y/n) smirked with his mouth still full, and that. that was what undid Billy.
He came with a sharp, strangled moan, fingers tightening in (y/n)’s hair, body trembling as heat spilled into that wicked mouth.
(y/n) swallowed everything.
And when he finally pulled back, lips red and glistening, he looked up with a calm, sweet expression like they’d just had a polite conversation over coffee.
Billy was still breathing hard, brain scrambled.
(y/n) stood and leaned in close, whispering against his ear: “Still think I’ve never kissed anyone?”
Billy’s eyes darkened, fire reigniting.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “you’re not leaving this motel until I’ve made you forget your name.”
open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.1 – huntrix]
they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.
paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader
warning(s): some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative
request: here ! this is part 1 – i loved it so much i had to make 2 parts hehe ,,, part 2 is here !
your family worked with the demon hunters for generations – mortals who studied the demons, found their strengths and weaknesses, worked as field researcher on demonology alongside the hunter to keep the honmoon safe.
unfortunately, your ancestors were unpowerful beyond their intellect and aura vision. physically, they were weak – protected only by the hunters. because of this, there was .. an accident. the demons found the weaknesses of the hunters – their darling researchers, so they did what demons would do.
thousands of years of pages and books and studies were lost in their attack. most information was mentally stored by hunters, but a substantial amount was still lost in physical ink. in modern times, these researchers are almost myths to hunters – legends. however, mythology tales say that the descendents of the researchers have all knowledge of the honmoon and the demons sealed away by it. of course, it remained apart of the stories celine told rumi, mira, and zoey growing up ... all until they met you.
they met you at a hidden pastry shop in seoul, hidden in an alleyway around the same area as that wack doctor zoey had so much faith in
it was the only place open after practice and rumi, as tired as she was, guided the girls in to enjoy the warm lighting and atmosphere
after declining the offers to go to the bathhouse for the 100th time, she thought this could be the perfect way to make it up to them
she ordered a few treats – mochi for herself, a little apple pie for zoey, steamed red bean buns for mira, and matcha for them all
the girls talked quietly, waiting for their order, until you called rumi up to retrieve the neatly wrapped box of sweets
when she came up to you, your fingers wrapped around her wrist, cold and startling
"i'm not sure how you got in here..", her eyes met yours, now void of the warmth you once held when she walked in, "but if a demon is ordering pastries from me, times must have changed." she shuttered under your hushed voice.
"d-demon...?" her skin was fully covered. even though her markings hadn't spread too far yet, she took precautions regardless, worried of the news that might ruin her relationships.
"i noticed your aura when you sat down. though, you don't seem that threatening... and the honmoon is completely intact aroun–"
"how do you..?" her eyes shook, almost pure horror behind them. there's tension between you two, fueled by her anxiety of being seen, of being exposed when her members were just right by the door. you studied her, her friends, and their auras alike, before you half smiled at her.
"my ancestors and yours were... very close." your voice rose, catching the attention of the pink and black haired girls. "do hunters not teach about researchers anymore?"
the three of them surrounded you quickly, eyes bright and curious
things like "we thought they were myths!!" and "you know about the honmoon!?" were thrown at you immediately
you debunked their mythology left and right, spending an hour after closing chatting with them
they felt.. seen? YOU felt seen!
you could finally talk to others about your aura vision and they could FINALLY get their hunter secrets off their chest
maybe it wasn't the best idea to spill it all in such a public place but who else would listen ?
celine got a very chaotic phone call later that night
and you? you got an invite to a luxurious penthouse and a few new friends
since then, you've helped them immensely
your memory was working like an endless library of information
you'd show them old diagrams your greatest great great great great grandparents had tucked away
discuss old journals that survived the attacks that became family heirlooms
told them fun facts about demons
especially to zoey, who seemed very intrigued by the fact that all demons had a weak spot in their chests due to their lack of personal souls
even, eventually, helped rumi tell the girls about her marks
zoey and mira were stunned in silence. rumi's arms were exposed, hands shaking in anxious terror, but you were right by her side. celine told her to always hide them but .. you understood. you accepted her mere minutes after meeting her. maybe the girls would do the same.
"rumi is.. something fascinating." you admitted. it sounded blunt, but you expressed it with a look of soft excitement. "she has mixed blood – the marks of a demon, the voice, soul, and heart of a hunter. she's never once lied about the kindness of her heart... the traits of hunters overpower any demon urges." you spoke for rumi as she stood there, feeling naked and scared under the judging eyes of her closest friends. "she's a pure experiment – but she's no less rumi. her aura proves that."
it took a few hours of conversations, explanations from both you, the expert, and her, the secret holder, but eventually, zoey and mira engulfed her in a hug – promising to keep the secret contained between the four of you. not even telling celine, in case she got them all in trouble. the golden honmoon was so close.. they'd be able to do this together, especially now that they have you.
during the events of the movie, they needed you a lot
but the last thing they wanted was a repeat of the accident
so they kept you their secret weapon ! working with you behind the scenes and away from the actual action
when the saja boys grabbed everyone's attention with their beautiful bodies and alluring voices, you were staring at their markings, especially at the joint fansigning they held
jinu noticed you about as much as he noticed bobby – just another person on staff
that is until he noticed how you stared at him
not ogling, but studying,, writing things down in the notebook you carried, covered in huntrix stickers
be lucky he noticed you over baby or mystery, otherwise you may have been targeted by their powers to throw you and huntrix off
he asked about you to rumi once .. the "mysterious person" on their staff that "always wrote in that notebook"
she was more worried about your safety than opening up to him but .. she thought..
if you helped her reveal herself to huntrix, maybe you could help jinu and the saja boys ?
they never expressed wanting help but she couldn't help but think about it
you hopped on board with her plan in secret, working on ways out of their servitude to gwima
it took a while but you figured that if you could channel your aura vision and hold them above the honmoon when it sealed, they could be healed of their marks too, human disguises left in tact.
it was only a matter of time before you tried it out.
When your best friend introduces you to her new “perfect and extremely handsome boyfriend,” all you want to do is run away. There was something terribly wrong with that guy, something no one seemed to notice. But, of course, after all the horrors that haunt you since Tomie broke into your life, what other option is left besides clinging to him?
Tags: English is not my first language. Psychological horror. First time writing about the character. Curses. Blood. Yandere character. Manipulation. Isolation. Body horror. Traumas.
W.C. 11k
Your phone’s alarm is annoying. The voice you programmed for the device is loud enough to be heard anywhere in your house, repeating the time again and again.
“5:30 am. 5:30 am.”
You sigh, dragging a hand over your face in a dumb attempt to wake up before blindly looking for your phone, tapping the nightstand until the shape of the device is under your palm. You press the side button, holding it until the buzz of the phone indicates the microphone is on.
“Turn the alarm off.”
Another loathsome Monday morning.
Your body feels stiff, probably because you stayed up late last night, and you had to make use of all your willpower to get out of bed and drag yourself to the bathroom. You wash your face and grab the toothbrush from the same usual place as always, washing your teeth since you didn’t feel like making breakfast this morning. You would buy something on your way to class, yeah, that sounds good.
You open your closet and grab the first thing your hands touch, knowing all your clothes look almost the same since Toru, your best friend, was the one who helped you buy them, just to avoid the hassle of having to ask a stranger for the color —why would you want colorful clothes? It’s not like you could see the awful color combination you would be wearing for the day. No thanks, wearing grey was safer.
You take your phone and your bag and head to the door, hitting your side with a chair that you were sure shouldn’t be there, in the middle of the hallway, blocking the way. You curse and put it away, wondering why your best friend is never able to remember that order is such an important concept in a house like yours. You grab your cane and leave the house while rubbing your ribs.
Shit, that was going to leave a bruise.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
The college’s hallways were loud. You didn’t like them. People were always walking without minding their surroundings, and it was almost like your cane was nothing but an accessory, since you already bumped into three different guys just this morning. One even tried to start a fight.
Well, until his friends muttered that you were carrying a cane.
Yes, that’s why you didn’t like college. Too many people, too much noise, too many smells, just being there made your head hurt. You look for your phone, holding the side button until you hear the buzz you grew so used to.
“Time?”
“It is 6:31 am.”
You sigh. There was a half-hour window before your first class. You let yourself fall into a couch hidden in the corner of the library, glad that you didn’t have any more obstacles in your way there, and you let your cane rest on the floor.
Then you hear her.
You memorized the way her steps sound, no matter how careful she tries to be. Yes, you always noticed her attempts to be sneaky, but her walking was too heavy, her breathing too loud, and her perfume always left an imperceptible trace behind her.
“Toru,” you hum, without turning to her.
It’s not like you can see her anyway.
She huffs, and a pair of arms wrap over your shoulders from behind. Her chin rests on top of your head.
“That’s not fair. Why can I never scare you?”
“You have a long way to go before being able to.” After all, you’ve been developing your senses for years now. There’s always something that gives people away: their breathing, the rustle of clothing when they move, their perfumes, all of which are hints that help you localize others around you. All are hints you depend on if you want to stay sane.
It was your only defense mechanism.
People don’t understand how terrifying it is to wake up one day and open your eyes to find only darkness. The panic of not knowing where you are, who’s around you, or even if there’s someone around. The desperation, the complete horror, the need to protect yourself when not knowing what’s safe and what isn’t…
Hell, you don’t even want to remember it.
The timid laugh of your friend saves you from reviving the traumatic memories.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“Guess!”
“You failed another exam?”
She hits your shoulder and you laugh.
“Rude. But no, I got a boyfriend!”
“You? A boyfriend? The apocalypse starts tomorrow.”
She hits you again. Harder this time.
“I’m serious! And he’s really cute, too. Every girl in my department has a crush on him.” She lets out a dreamy sigh before starting a monologue about how beautiful this man is, how perfect his face is, how well-built his body is, and blablabla. You stop paying attention too soon to hear much more than that.
“Ops,” you interrupt her, playing dumb to get out of there. “Have you seen the time? I gotta go to class.”
“Are you joking? You can’t even se—”
“See ya!”
You don’t let her answer. You take your stuff and bolt out of there the fastest the dumb stick allows you to, knowing she was not going to chase after you.
“We’re not done yet, [name]!”
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Unfortunately for you, no, you were not done yet.
Lately, the only thing you talked about with Toru was about her oh-so-perfect boyfriend. Heck, you can’t even ask where she would like to go eat later because she will find a way to drag her boyfriend into the conversation. You’ve never seen her so into someone, and even though you are happy for her, damn, can she change the subject for five minutes?
“You’re not listening to me!”
You shrink into yourself, covering your ears when her yell threatens to leave you deaf, too.
Blind and deaf. Ha, what a joke.
“You don’t have to scream, for god’s sake,” you grumble. “I’ve been hearing the same thing for over a week.”
“But…! You would get it if you just met him.”
“I’ll pass.”
“No, wait, that’s great! I’ll introduce you both.”
“I’m good.”
“Thanks for the idea!”
“I just told you that…” She ignores you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You feel her steps moving away fast, almost like she’s running, and then you hear the front door of your house open before being slammed shut. You sigh. “Never mind then.”
All you wanted to do was to let yourself root in your sofa while the TV was left as background noise. Yes, that was the perfect plan. You drag your feet from the kitchen to the living room, taking the remote and pressing the circular button at the top left corner of the device. The sound of the TV gave life to the room, a random romance movie that you didn’t feel like paying attention to. You put the remote back in its place and throw yourself into the cushioned surface, letting your mind roam around until you can catch any sleep. And you were about to, when the bell rang.
You curse, pulling yourself up and opening the door. Toru’s characteristic perfume hit you in the face.
“If you were planning on coming back so soon, why did you leave?”
“[name], this is Tomie!”
“...what?”
No.
No, no, no.
It was impossible.
If there is someone besides Toru, you would have noticed way before she announced his presence.
You always do.
Damn, even when people are completely still, there’s always something that gives them away.
Smell, breathing, steps.
Something.
Anything.
“Toru, you know your pranks are not…”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” a voice cuts you off. A voice that is not Toru’s. A guy’s voice. “My name is Tomie.”
You flinch, pointing your face towards where the voice came from. Whoever it was, he is tall. More than Toru. More than you. Your legs suddenly feel like jelly, and pretending to be calm becomes a difficult task.
Why can’t you…?
“So you are…?”
“[name]...” You manage to mutter, clearing your throat to try to pull yourself together. “I'm [name].”
Toru squeals and grabs your arm, pulling you to the living room, where the TV is still on. You suppose she’s dragging her boyfriend, too, but you don’t ask. She pushes you onto the sofa and mumbles something about bringing coffee before her steps disappear into the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. Your only indicator as to where he was is the sensation of the couch sinking next to you, and you don’t know if having him close enough to notice him makes you feel better or worse.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Tomie comments, his voice closer than what you expected, making you flinch.
“Thanks.”
“It looks cozy.”
“Yeah.”
“Who did the decoration?”
“Toru.”
He stops talking, and you let go of the air you didn’t know you were holding, thinking the guy got the hint.
“You don’t seem interested in me.” The new question, if you can call it that, nearly gives you a heart attack. This time, his voice was way closer than before, as if you were face-to-face. You swear you could feel his breath on your lips when he talked, but that was all: no smell, no breathing, nothing.
“Am I supposed to?” You answer, swallowing the knot that starts to form in your throat.
“It’s weird.”
“Your questions are weird. You’re dating Toru, why would you ask something like that?”
But Tomie laughs, an almost angelical laugh at a more decent distance from you, and you relax just a little. You would have enjoyed the sound similar to the ringing of a bell if your heart wasn’t about to explode in your chest, warning your senses and screaming that something was not right.
“Coffee is ready!”
You just wanted that lunatic couple to leave so you could take a nap.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Even though you rarely run into Tomie, you would be way happier if you didn’t run into him at all. Being near him makes your skin crawl. Something about the way you can never know where he’s at unless Tomie speaks, unless Tomie wants you to know where he’s at, it gives you goosebumps. It’s like going back to the day you woke up after the accident: lost, alone, not knowing where you were or why everything was so dark, even when you could feel the sunrays over your skin.
You don’t like, no, you hate that sensation.
It drives you crazy.
Tomie drives you crazy.
And that isn’t the only thing; Toru is acting strange, too. Yes, her boyfriend is still the subject of every damn conversation, but now she doesn’t just brag about him. Now she complains, too.
It started with little things: Tomie doesn’t pay attention to me, Tomie said he won't go out with me today; what you would expect from someone who ends the “honeymoon face.”
But it escalated fast.
“Tomie talks with too many people.” “Tomie has too many friends.” “Why did he smile at that one girl?” “He’s clearly planning something.” “He shouldn't. He can’t.” “He is my boyfriend. He should just look at me.” “Why?” “I have to make him look at me.”
“What the hell, Toru?” You start to freak out. “You sound crazy.”
But she laughs.
“Of course not. I just love him so much, I have to do this for him, for us. You will get it when you find someone special.”
“Toru, I really don’t think…”
She cuts you off, her voice rougher, her tone implying she wouldn’t take any more criticism.
“I said, you will get it when you find someone special,” you don’t answer, not wanting to expose your slight fear out loud. “Nice!” She takes your silence as an agreement and goes back to her happy demeanor. “I need your help with something important.”
“What do you need?” You sigh, exhausted. You need a break. Maybe vacations.
“Let’s pay a visit to my beautiful boyfriend. He will be staying at your place.”
“Huh? Why my place?”
“It’s bigger, and since you live alone, it will be easier to hide him.”
“Hide him?” Now you're confused. “I don’t think I’m understanding.”
Toru sighs.
“I came to the conclusion that Tomie is too perfect. People around him will end up ruining him.” Her tone tenses with anger, her voice changed to something you have never heard before. “I have to save him, [name]. I can’t let them contaminate him.”
“...you’re messing with me, right?” But she doesn’t answer. “Is it another prank? Toru please tell me it’s a prank.”
“Are you helping me or not?”
The world around you starts to spin, and the only reason your knees don’t tumble you straight to the ground is that you are already sitting down.
“Are you talking about fucking kidnapping someone?”
“It’s different! It’s out of love!”
“It’s kidnapping, for the love of God!”
Something in her attitude changes. She becomes more hostile, more willing to attack where she knows it will hurt.
“Are you really abandoning me? After all I’ve done for you? After staying by your side when you lost everything in the crash?”
“I’m not helping you with this.” You don’t want to fight with Toru. Hell, she was the only one who stayed when everyone left. The only one who helped you when you needed it the most. But this… this was out of limits. “If you don’t promise me you won’t do anything, I’m gonna call the police.”
“You…!” The rage in her voice is terrifying. “How dare you!? Without me, you have no one! You hear me!? No one! Not your fucking dead parents, nor your shitty hypocritical family!
The scream makes you curl up into yourself, the words hurting more than anything you’ve heard before.
She is right. Without her, you’re alone.
You stretch your trembling hands, grabbing the sleeve of her sweater softly.
“Toru, please…” You beg, eyes starting to burn.
But she pulls her arm back harshly, snatching the piece of cloth to which your last hopes were clinging.
“Forget it. If you’re not planning to help, then I’ll do it alone.”
And she left. All you hear is the door being slammed angrily, and then just silence.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
You feel useless.
You couldn’t stop Toru. You couldn’t warn the poor guy. You couldn’t even call the police because you are a damn coward.
So you just stay there, next to the window in your room, listening to the rain hit the glass and feeling depressed like a fool. The downpour outside sounds almost as if the sky is angry, and if it wasn’t for your good hearing, you would have missed the knocks on the door.
You run to the front door, hoping it was Toru saying she changed her mind and that she was sorry, but you stop before opening it. What if it actually was Toru? What if she tries to do something to you?
You bite your lip and weigh your options, wondering how in the world you would defend yourself if she tries to attack you. Yes, you’re stronger, but she has an advantage: she can see.
“Who is it?” You ask foolishly.
“Help me…” But a guy’s voice answers. That angelic and frightening voice. A voice that sounds shaky and in pain, as if the guy is hyperventilating. “Please, I couldn’t think of any other place, just…”
And you open the door without thinking too much. Probably out of guilt.
The bigger body collapses on top of you, throwing all his weight onto you as if he’s not able to hold it by himself, and you barely manage to catch him without letting you both fall to the ground. Yes, you knew the guy was tall because of the direction his voice came from when he talks, but you never thought he was this tall. You don’t know why, but every time Tomie is around, your body tenses. The idea of being alone with someone bigger and stronger than you is anything but comforting.
If he attacks you, you won’t stand a chance.
You feel like panicking, before feeling something wet in the guy’s clothes. He was out in the rain; it is obvious he is soaked, but this feels different. Warm. Even a little thick. Then the smell of iron floods your nose, and you realize the guy in your arms is bleeding out.
“Shit! What happened!?” You barely manage to close the door and drag him to your room, letting him lie on your bed somehow and taking your sweater off to press it against the open wound in his abdomen, not caring about it getting stained by blood.
“Taking me to your bed as soon as I step in?” He jokes, his voice weak and raspy. “I guess my charm finally caught you. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not that easy.”
You press into the wound harder, getting a pained whimper out of him.
“I’m serious.” You keep pressing with one hand while you reach for the phone in your pocket with the other, holding the side button. “Call—”
But you feel the phone being snatched from your hand before you can finish your sentence.
“Don’t do that.”
“What? You’re bleeding out, for fuck’s sake!”
“I hate hospitals.” He sighs, and you swear you feel the irritation in his voice. His hand stops on top of yours, pressing harder into his stomach while he sits down with a groan. His skin feels freezing, and you worry about how much blood he lost for his body temperature to be this cold. “I’ll be okay.”
“But you are—!”
“Do you have bandages?”
You groan in frustration, forcing him to hold the sweater while you run to the bathroom for the first aid kit, stumbling a few times and heading back the fastest you can.
“Here. Do you know how to do it?”
“I’ve never bandaged myself before.” You feel how he takes your hand again, the cold sensation worrying you even more. “You should help me. Please?” Tomie asks, his voice softer as if he were trying to act cute to receive help.
Or getting what he wants.
You sigh, telling him to take his shirt off and clean the wound the best he can. It’s not like you’re going to refuse to help a guy who was stabbed and bleeding out in your bed. You have experience with bandages, after all; after the accident, you had to learn how to use them daily for months.
But you’ve never bandaged someone who wasn’t yourself.
“It’s off.”
You prepare mentally, tapping around his abdomen until you find the wound. Shit, you can feel how deep it is by just touching the borders. Will he really be okay with just a few bandages?
“Are you going to bandage me, or…?”
Tomie’s voice distracts you. You shake your head in an attempt to regain your composure before wrapping the gauze around his torso, trying to apply enough tension but not too much, trying to ignore the contour of his muscles or why they feel so perfect. Trying to ignore that those thoughts are yours.
You finally finish, sealing the bandage and putting away the rest of the things into the kit, throwing away what you suppose is soaking with blood and washing your hands to your elbows in an almost anxious frenzy. Then you go back to your room, sitting next to Tomie.
“What happened?” You finally ask when you can't stand the silence.
You know you are not going to like the answer. You know you shouldn’t ask. But you have to. You will never forgive yourself if you don’t, and his words just confirmed your biggest fear.
“Toru.”
It seems like the sweet girl that your best friend used to be called her boyfriend, asking for things that just a crazy stalker would ask for, telling him he’ll be safe if he decides to go with her, away from the world’s corruption, saying things more and more creepy, until Tomie stopped her, telling her he wouldn’t go with her and that he wanted to break up.
She didn’t like that.
She charged towards him, acting like a completely different person, and the guy was barely able to escape, running to the first place that crossed his mind.
The guilt punches you in the guts.
Nothing would have happened if you had decided to do something, tell someone. Nothing would have happened if you hadn't fallen for the manipulation of your “best friend.”
Nothing would have happened if you weren’t a fucking coward.
But a chilly touch in your cheek drags you out of your thoughts. You jump backward, almost falling off your bed, remembering the damn guy moves as if he doesn’t exist, without leaving any hint that indicates where he is.
“Don’t do that.”
“I thought this before, but you really can’t see anything, can you?” He ignores you. “Absolutely nothing.”
“What? Do you have a problem with that?”
It’s been years, yes, but it still was a sensitive topic.
“Makes sense…” He mumbles, more to himself.
“What do you mean?” You ask, but you just get some kind of hum for an answer. You ignore it, standing up. “You can crash out here today. I’ll sleep on the sofa. It will be better if you don’t leave this room.” You pause. “Please, don’t leave this room.”
It is more for your mental peace than for his health, but he doesn’t have to know that.
You walk to the door, ready to try to sleep, but Tomie’s voice stops you.
“[name]? You should burn that sweater.”
“My sweater? I can just wash it.”
“Just trust me.”
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Trying to sleep was hell.
All night, you couldn’t brush off the feeling of being watched, and just thinking about the guy roaming around without you even noticing did nothing but make your insomnia worse. You don’t feel safe in your own house, and the blanket that covers from your feet to the top of your head is barely helping. You won’t take it off, though. You are too scared to do that, regardless of the suffocating heat.
At some point in the night, after turning around for hours, you fall asleep. Probably due to exhaustion, and in some weird exorcist-like position. You wake up the next morning completely drained, with neck pain —everything-pain, really—, and a feeling that your head will start hurting at any moment.
You yawn, sitting down on the sofa and dragging your hands over your face, trying to shake off drowsiness. Then you sigh again. How many times have you sighed between yesterday and today? At this point, you were just speeding up your aging.
“Let’s get this over with quickly.”
The faster you can be alone and wrap yourself in your blankets, in an actual bed, to sleep and forget these shitty last few days, the better.
“Good morning…” You step into your room and stand next to your door. But no one answered. “Tomie?”
Silence again.
God, you were starting to loathe that damn silence.
You rush to your bed, looking for the guy you left there last night, but it is empty. Your nerves explode, alerting all your senses and making them useless at the same time. How are you supposed to hear anything if your heartbeats are pounding into your ears?
“No, it’s fine. Maybe he felt better and left.” You tell yourself, trying to believe it regardless of how stupid that sounds. He is hurt. Why would he leave? But hell, if that’s not what happened, then Tomie is still in your house, somewhere, maybe watching you, maybe behind you, and there’s no way for you to know.
There’s no way for you to know.
There’s no way for you to defend yourself.
You are completely defenseless, and that unnerves you.
“Tomie!” You call, louder, hoping for him to give any signal: a sound, a laugh, anything. You rush to the door, trying not to hyperventilate. “Tomie! Where—!?”
But before crossing, you bump into something that shouldn’t be there. It is soft and smooth as porcelain, but fairly firm.
And cold. Too cold.
“So early in the morning and you’re already eager to touch me.” His voice is mocking, but more importantly, it comes from above. That gives you a basic idea of the space, and you suppose what you crashed into was the guy’s chest.
You make use of all your willpower to take a step back. Not because you want to be close to him, but because when you are touching him, you can at least know where he is. He isn’t able to surprise you so easily.
It makes you feel a little more in control. Just a little, but enough.
“You are hurt. You should lie down.” You make up an excuse for your frenetic actions.
“Hm? But I feel fine.”
“Tomie, I’m serious. If you don’t want me to call a hospital, at least don’t be the cause of why your bleeding gets worse. And in my house, nonetheless. What am I supposed to say to the cleaning services?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I made sure to clean all the… residues.” You decide to ignore how weird that phrase sounds, or why it gives you a bad feeling. “And the wound is almost closed.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” You answer with sarcasm. Such a deep cut as yesterday’s? That would take at least a few months to heal. “Can you at least lie down?”
“I’m serious!”
“That’s impossible.”
“Jeez, why are you so stubborn?”
You didn’t have a chance to answer. A pair of cold palms grab your hands and place them over the torso that was supposed to be bandaged. You try to pull your hands back, surprised by the sudden action and not wanting to touch yesterday’s cut again, but your fingers brush against the partially healed skin, and the shock stops your movements. Tomie lets go of your hands, giving you a free pass to verify it for yourself; at the start, you barely skim it, dragging your fingers over the borders. They have a harder texture, as if the scab is already appearing there. You touch the actual wound, feeling both extremes of the cut closed against each other, as if the stabbing occurred a few weeks ago and not last night.
You pull your hand back, feeling your face twist into a shaken frown. A faint “That’s not possible…” escapes from your lips, making the other guy laugh.
“If it wasn’t possible, it wouldn’t be happening right now.”
“How do you…?”
“I just heal faster than others.” He says as if it’s nothing.
That small interaction is enough to make the discomfort you were feeling since you woke up spike. Your head starts pounding, making you wobble, and your thoughts seem to be covered with a thin smoke curtain. You curse, pinching the bridge of your nose, face contorted in a pained expression while you try somehow to relieve the pressure that makes you feel like your head is going to explode.
“You okay?” You don’t know if Tomie is asking because he’s worried or if he’s just making fun of you. At this point, you don’t even care. “Wait, I have an idea!”
You don’t like how that sounds.
“You took care of me yesterday, so today I will take care of you.” The voice moved. Now it was roaming around the room, adding an arrogant remark. “You should make the most out of it, because I never do this for just anyone.”
“You don’t have to.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose harder.
“Why not?” The voice is dangerously close again, and before you can take a step back, the traces of the overly sweet smell of peaches fill your nose. “People would kill for a chance like this.”
“You…”
“Me… did you change your mind?”
“Did you eat my peaches?”
“What?” The surprise in his voice is enough to know that wasn’t what Tomie was expecting to hear. Your question didn’t even come out angrily, more like completely exhausted.
“My peaches.”
“Oh, well, there were just a few, and they looked good, and I have to eat, you know, to get better and everything, so…”
You sigh. Again. And even when it is weird to hear Tomie embarrassed, all you want to do is lie down and take a nap.
“If you are feeling better, can you please leave?”
“What? But I—”
“Please.” Yes, Tomie feels humiliated when you basically kick him out, but you sound completely wrecked, as if you’re going to collapse at any moment. “Please, I’m begging you.”
And silence. You think he left, until there’s another sigh, and this time it wasn’t you.
“Okay, yeah. But I have one condition. You have to save my number.”
And if that is all you need to kick that crazy bastard out of your house, you would gladly do it. It’s not like you plan on using that number anyway, so it doesn’t matter, and not even a minute after he saved his number in your phone, you hear the front door open and close.
You finally breathe, getting ready to recover all the sleep you were not able to get last night.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
You tried.
You added extra blankets, took them off, walked around your house, and even made yourself a tea. You rolled around your bed for what felt like hours just to check your phone and find out barely ten minutes had passed. You even played calming music and tried to meditate.
Nothing worked.
It doesn’t matter how tired you feel, how heavy your eyes are. It doesn’t matter how many times you yawned or the headache that just got worse after Tomie left. Nothing was working.
You want to ignore the reason. Pretend you don’t know. Think it’s just a casual case of insomnia, and you can’t sleep because of shock, guilt, anything that contradicts last night’s feeling that doesn’t want to leave.
You want to ignore the fact that you feel like you’re being watched. Lock it away in a box in the deepest corner of your head and use ignorance as a defense mechanism because, what if you’re right? What if there’s someone? What if you’re not alone?
You wouldn’t stand a chance.
No. No, no, no. It’s all right, it’s fine. It’s just paranoia. It’s just your head playing tricks on you. It’s just the sensations of the accident repeating themselves too realistically to mess you up like they always do every time something goes wrong. Yes, just that. You don’t have to worry. Just ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist, and it will not be able to hurt you. Imaginary monsters are harmless. They are just real if you give them the power to be.
You keep repeating the same thing while you grab your phone instinctively, catching a “call…” in the air before finishing the sentence, feeling the words way too heavy in your mouth.
“Call Toru.”
It almost came out before you even noticed, desperate to find shelter in the only person that has been a constant in your life since you lost everything: the only person you have left.
You bite your lip, feeling the hand that’s holding the phone start to tremble. The headache clouds your judgement, and the fear of being alone forces you to act recklessly. You curse, holding the lateral button of your phone.
“Call Toru.”
You need her. You don’t have anyone else. You are going crazy, and you need someone desperately.
“The person you are trying to reach is not available at the moment. Please leave your message after the tone.”
But your desperation didn’t reach her.
You stay still, almost too still, listening to the beeping sound crash into your walls while the device records your silence.
“But she always… She never…”
You call again.
Again, and again, and again.
You keep calling for what feels like an eternity, letting your despair get worse, grow, feed from the tension in the air to make it so heavy it becomes hard to breathe.
Why isn’t she answering? Toru always answers. It doesn’t matter how many times you two fought or how bad the fight was. Toru always answers.
But Toru had never stabbed someone before, either.
You shake your head, pushing the thought away, playing dumb to not let it affect you, but you know it’s too late. The thought is there and it will never leave, feeding on the rest of your ideas like a parasite.
The tone of the call beeps again.
You turn your phone off, trying to calm yourself to not smash the device against the nearest surface because, how are you going to find it later?
The name of that guy comes to mind for half a second, and you even consider it. But you discard the idea fast, cursing at yourself for thinking stupid things before placing your phone in your nightstand and closing your eyes, pretending to sleep until your alarm sounds so you can get ready for class.
Maybe, if you act like it doesn’t affect you, as if you don’t notice, that won’t harm you.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Toru didn’t make it to class the next day.
At least, if she did, she is avoiding you.
It makes sense. Why would you want to talk with someone after you confessed to them that you were going to kidnap your boyfriend? And the kidnapping was a failure, too. You try to ignore it, pretend it doesn’t bother you, and go on about your day as always, too tired to think of an immediate solution: you would figure it out later.
Or that was the plan.
For some reason, Tomie stuck to you like gum the whole day. When he first appeared, you almost had a heart attack; he whispered a “good morning” directly to your ear and laughed when your jump almost made you drop your cane. Then he followed you around, starting small talk over anything he could think of, regardless of your dry responses, making sounds every few minutes to let you know he was still there every time the conversation died, “accidentally” touching you now and then.
It drives you crazy.
Having Tomie so close makes your skin crawl. The sensation of something being wrong is still there, and not knowing where he is, not being able to feel his presence unless Tomie makes a sound on purpose… It’s too much for you.
You are desperate—No, terrified. You won’t say it out loud, but you are terrified. Being able to notice he is there just when Tomie wants you to is more than frustrating. Distress is eating you alive. And despite everything, you feel yourself grow closer to him; you are getting used to his presence little by little. You don’t know if that scares you more than not hearing him.
It was a long day before making it home, and the traces of paranoia from yesterday still flow around you in the air particles, suffocating you. Enduring the silence today will be hard.
You hang your bag behind the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the sofa. You reach for the remote to turn on some background noise and feel like hitting something when you can’t find it.
Really? Today, out of all days?
You sigh, exhausted, before patting the surface of the coffee table. You always leave it in the same place, but somehow it wasn’t there. Your hands go to your face, and you take a deep breath to keep your sanity before looking for the remote on the couches, feeling some kind of inexplicable annoyance when you find it between its pillows. You turn on the TV and throw the device to the same frustrating couch, hoping you won’t forget where it is later, and you head towards the kitchen to get something to eat with the noise of the news in the background.
“In more recent news, the college student ‘Toru Nakamura’ was reported missing this morning by her guardians, who said they haven’t had any news from her since she left her house last Saturday while…”
Your mind disconnects for a moment, feeling everything around you tremble and the ground you were stepping on disappear. You feel like falling; the vertigo, combined with the darkness your eyes got used to, spikes up your heart rate. You cling to the kitchen aisle, trying to regain your balance before throwing yourself to the living room, tripping over your foot, and falling over the couch with the remote, turning the volume to the maximum.
“The victim has dark hair to the shoulders and brown eyes. The last person who saw her was her mother that same Saturday at approximately 9 am, wearing a purple dress. There haven’t been any details that indicate where to find her since then.”
Saturday? At nine in the morning?
Just before she appeared in your house.
Just before she asked you to…
“Please, if you have seen her, report to the authorities. Her family insists that—”
You turn the TV off, not wanting to hear more. It feels like you can’t think straight, like the fog in your head doesn’t let you read your ideas clearly. You drag yourself to the kitchen somehow, operating on autopilot while the fear wraps around your body once again.
Missing?
Your trembling hands grab a cup that slides and hits the floor, bouncing against the tiles and making you jump, reminding you why you didn’t own any glass tableware. Accumulated tears start to threaten to pour out, and the instability in your legs makes picking up the cup a task almost impossible.
“Breath, damn it. Put yourself together.”
You open the sink, letting the cup fill with water until it overflows, the liquid spilling between your fingers. You didn’t care about making a mess before taking the cup to your lips and downing it in one sitting. The plastic was smashed against the aisle while you breathed heavily, trying to restore the oxygen you denied yourself while you forced the water down your throat.
And then you hear it.
‘Click.’
It was gentle, almost nonexistent, but you heard it: the sound the switch makes when the lights turn on.
But of course it isn’t anything. You are being paranoid. The news about Toru was a huge hit, and that is all. You are imagining things. Why would the light turn on by itself? It’s absurd.
It’s absurd, but you need to check.
You cling to the wall, walking to the living room with your hand pinned to the cold surface.
Hell, you hate yourself for this, but you have to check it isn’t real.
The walk feels endless, an absolute torture. Since when is your house so big?
You need to confirm it is just in your head.
You slide your hand up and down, looking for the switch you never used, so you always had a hard time finding.
You need to prove you’re going crazy.
Your fingers touch the shape, and both your hands hurry to it.
Because going crazy was by far the best scenario you could imagine.
But your hopes break when the shape of the small lever forms in your head, answering to what your fingers were touching. Every attempt to remain calm disappears and gives its place to absolute panic when, in the image inside your head, the lever is pointing upwards.
The light was on.
Your pulse shoots up in seconds, the adrenaline pumps to your head while your legs start running before you ask them to, dragging you to your room in a distraught attempt to find shelter, wanting nothing else than to hide in the bathroom and call the police.
But you never make it to your room.
The pain expands from your head like a virus, making you lose your balance and fall on your back. Your forehead starts throbbing painfully, and your nose burns, the sensation of a warm liquid spilling to your mouth and shin, and the taste of iron throws you off for a moment.
You ran into a wall.
“What…? Why…?”
Why now? Why today? You know your house from memory; you have been memorizing the place for years, and it’s been an eternity since the last time you messed up and took a wrong turn. Making such a stupid mistake today… shit.
You pull yourself to the wall you just slammed into and use it to stand on your feet, sliding both hands over the surface when the sensation under your fingers feels strange, as if the material of the wall was wrong.
“Wood…?” Your fingers scrub the texture, feeling the shapes wood leave when being cut. “But my wall isn’t…”
It isn’t a wall.
It is a door.
Your walls aren’t made out of wood.
Your doors are.
You didn’t take a wrong turn.
The door was closed.
You feel your heart stop in your chest, tears and blood running down your face, while you feel the bile creeping up your throat. Why was the door closed? You never… You can’t…
Who…?
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
“I never thought you would actually call me, let alone in the middle of a storm like this one. Do you not care that I get sick for coming here to…?” The mocking attempt gets cut when you turn your head in the voice’s direction, sitting outside next to your front door, and hugging your knees against your chest. Your lips tremble, the tears won’t stop, and the dried blood in the bottom half of your face just makes you look worse. “Shit, what happened to you?”
A pair of cold hands takes your face, moving a few strands of hair away. You just let him, the physical contact somehow comforting you, leaning onto it because you need to feel that you’re not alone. It doesn’t matter if what anchors you to reality are Tomie’s hands, as long as something is anchoring you.
“Your face… What the hell happened?”
But how can you tell him? Technically, nothing happened. Technically, you’re not sure of anything. Maybe it was just the stress from the last few days that combined with your condition to play with your head.
And even so, the sobs are not stopping. Even so, you can’t stop shaking.
“My house… I… someone… something…” The weeping doesn’t let you talk, the hiccups take your breath away.
“Is there someone in your house?”
Your mouth seems to be useless, so you nod. You feel the hands in your face disappear, and the panic attacks you again. You launch forward, clinging onto whatever you can take, closing your hands around the guy's shirt as if your life depended on it while you babble stupidly and your sobs increment.
“Hey, I’m just going to look around.”
“No, I, no, please,” you stutter with a broken voice, words barely forming. “I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave me alone. Please. Please.”
You feel his arms wrap around you. You cling to that because you don’t have anything else to cling to, and if you don’t cling to something, you feel like you’ll die.
“I’ll be quick, okay? I promise.”
And he lets go. You remain lost, waiting anxiously while you hug yourself, clenching your fists so hard they hurt, biting your lip until you feel it bleed, waiting and waiting and waiting for what you feel is an eternity.
“[name]?” He calls, and never before have you been so happy listening to that angelic voice. You drag yourself to the sound blindly, grabbing what seems to be his jacket and not letting go. Tomie doesn’t push you away. On the contrary, he wraps his arms around you again, helping you stand up. “I didn’t find anything.”
And he guides you inside. You don’t talk, too lost to focus on something other than not letting go of Tomie’s jacket. You sit on the same sofa you sat on when you met him for the first time, and you let him pull you closer, hugging you. You don’t refuse, don’t try to pull back, you snuggle closer and let the tears keep falling until they run dry.
You stay like that for what feels like hours, in complete silence, until your shaking stops and the sobs wear off. Then Tomie pulls back, just enough to look at your face without breaking the embrace.
“Can I use your first aid kit?”
You nod, following him when he stands up to go look for the same kit he used just a few days ago. You walk behind him around the house, still holding onto the jacket because you don’t feel prepared to let go. You go back to the sofa, and the texture of wet cotton slides down your face while Tomie focuses on cleaning you.
“So what happened?”
But, again, how can you tell him?
“...I ran into a door.”
This is easier.
“Then why were you…?” But the question dies before leaving his lips. “Never mind, it’s not important. Are you breathing okay?”
You nod, glad that at least you didn’t break your nose. You stay in silence again until he’s done, and you hear the sound of the kit closing. Tomie speaks again.
“You feel uncomfortable around me, don’t you?”
Your eyes snap open, surprised by the sudden affirmation.
“Well, I just…” You bite your tongue, not sure how to explain it. “You are… hard to perceive.”
But Tomie snorts.
“I think you’re the first person to tell me that in decades.” You were about to apologize when he talked again. “But you’re fine. Honestly, I already knew. That’s why I found a way to fix it.”
“Fix it?”
How can you fix something like that?
The sound of a bell distracts you, chiming softly. Tomie takes your hand and places it over the strange object. Cloth, no, leather? It seems to be some kind of bracelet, and you can feel the small bell that hangs from it.
“Do you like it?” Tomie hums proudly, almost cocky. “I got it to help you, so you should be grateful.”
“I don’t get it.”
You can hear the ‘Tsk’ coming out of his lips, and suddenly Tomie is asking for your help to put it on. You do it without really questioning him, tying it around his wrist. When you’re done, Tomie shakes his hand, making the chiming much more evident.
“You see? Now I’m not ‘hard to perceive’ anymore, am I?”
You finally understand the meaning of the bracelet and why he suddenly decided to include it in the conversation. You don’t know why your chest feels so warm, nor why the chiming of the bells sounds so comforting. You don’t know why such a simple gesture makes you so happy, and honestly, you’re too tired to ramble about it.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
That day was as awful as useful. Awful because you still have nightmares about it. Useful because now you have someone every time you wake up screaming at night, and the feeling of being observed comes back. Tomie always comes to you. Time, weather, weekday, it doesn’t matter. He always makes it to your house just a few minutes after you call, staying by your side because you don’t like to be alone, stealing your peaches, and roaming your house every time he has the chance just because. It’s fun, and the fear of being near him disappeared completely the day the guy put the bracelet on. He never takes it off, and listening to the chiming of the bell around your house becomes something comforting, as if the sole sound makes you feel safe.
It’s a sensation you don’t want to let go of.
It was funny; at the start, you wanted nothing to do with Tomie, and now you call him so much he practically lives at your house. He even has his spare key, and if he stays the night two or three times a week, that is already not enough. You got so used to his presence in a matter of weeks that not having him near you became unnatural.
“I swear! That woman was crazy.” Like now. The guy sits beside you on the couch, the TV playing something in the background. “When I told her I wasn’t interested, she became hysterical. If it wasn’t for the people in the street who restrained her, I’m sure she would have attacked me.”
Tomie sighs, exhausted from the situation that, surprisingly, happens way too often. You laugh, squeezing the cold hand between your fingers. Physical contact became an unusual thing, too: it comforts you. It is a different kind of reminder that Tomie is here, with you. An anchor to earth that you don’t feel like letting go of.
“How do you always end up in the same scenario?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s because I’m beautiful. It would be weird if I didn’t end up in this scenario.”
You snort, not knowing if he is joking or if his ego is really that huge. You can’t help but want to mess with him a little.
“Nah, you’re making it up. No one is that beautiful.”
But Tomie doesn’t answer, and if it is not because your hands are still tangled, you would have doubts about whether he is still there.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“What?”
Tomie’s tone is playful, even flirty. But instead of an explanation, the hand you were holding takes your wrist, and then you feel the same cold touch in your opposite hand.
“About me. Don’t you wanna know what I look like?” He doesn’t let you answer before guiding your hands to his face, letting go just when he’s sure you won’t pull back. “Check the rumors for yourself.”
You almost pull away, telling him he’s crazy, laughing to hide the awkwardness, and changing the subject clumsily. But, honestly, you are curious. Hell, of course you are, but it’s not like you can walk up to him and go: “Hey, can I grope your face? You see, I want to know what you look like, and as you’ll know, that’s the only way.” No, never, not even in a million years.
But now you have the chance served on a silver platter, and you’re not going to miss it.
Your fingers slide carefully, shy at the beginning, hesitating with each touch. The skin is smooth, delicate as porcelain, and the characteristic cold that his body gives off complements that so perfectly that you want to know if all his features are equally as perfect. You let your fingers explore, feeling the pair of thin lips so soft to the touch, ignoring the smirk he has on and how red your face feels when you imagine it, knowing Tomie is analysing —and probably making fun of— every single reaction your face makes. You go to the nose, delicate and rounded, creating a mental map of the face of the guy in your head, and you finally slide to the eyes; they are almond-shaped, imitating a fox-like stare that is adorned by long eyelashes. You can feel some texture under the left eye that you attribute to a mole.
“You said your hair was black?” You mutter, mesmerized, finishing the painting of his face in your head and feeling your cheeks warm. He hums in affirmation, and by his tone, you know for a fact he has that same annoying smirk he was wearing when you touched his lips. Your face burns even more when you imagine it.
“So? Do you think I’m as beautiful as they say?”
The question brings you back to reality. You take your hands off his face as if it is on fire, even when it’s you s the one that feels a few seconds from combusting, and you try to move your face away from the voice.
“They lied to you. You’re not that cute.” You mutter, even though you know your lie is completely transparent, and Tomie bursts out laughing. The bell sounds when he falls on his back on the soft surface of the couch.
“Yes, yes, whatever you need to say to keep your pride.” The spot next to you feels empty now, as if some weight has been removed, and the chiming tells you the guy is standing up now. “I’m hungry.”
Tomie mumbles, the sound of the bell disappearing into your kitchen. You hold your legs against your chest and feel as if embarrassment is eating you alive. Shit, shit, shit, you were shameless enough to grope a guy’s face, and you even blushed while doing it. You don’t need to see yourself in a mirror to know how red you are; the burning sensation in your cheeks was enough.
“Don’t you have peaches?” Tomie yells from the kitchen, stopping your self-nagging.
“I should. I bought some two days ago.” You yell back.
“There’s none.”
“Didn’t you eat them all? You are a little obsessed with those.”
“I don’t think so. Did I?” You hear him mutter to himself, and the chiming is back. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I guess I’ll just go buy some.”
“Sure.” But Tomie doesn’t move, and you know why. You sigh, rubbing your nape, defeated. “My wallet is in my room. Don’t spend my whole salary on peaches, could you?”
He makes a soft sound of affirmation before the chiming disappears in the halls. You hear the front door open and close. You sigh, mourning your well-earned money and how it seems like lately you’ve been spending it all in that guy’s whims.
“Maybe I do have some, but he didn’t search well enough.” The thought makes sense. It’s not like Tomie is someone who is used to putting a lot of effort into things, even if it’s something as basic as looking for peaches. It was obvious he was used to other people doing everything for him, and the sole fact that he offered to go buy the fruit himself was already a miracle.
You walk to the kitchen, confident you will find what Tomie couldn’t, but you don’t. You search in the place they always are, you search in the fridge, you search in the cabinets, and even in the cereal aisle, but there was none.
“That’s weird…” Tomie wouldn’t eat them all so fast, would he?
Well, if you think about it, he did eat five of them in one sitting last week. He could easily finish all your peaches in two days. You sigh again, feeling melancholic for the loss of your scarce salary as a broke college student, and you decide to go back to the living room while you wait for Tomie. You grab your phone from your pocket, not expecting it to slide from your hand and smash itself somewhere on the hallway’s floor.
“Shit.”
Again? How many times have you dropped your phone this week? You are close to destroying the screen.
Your salary hurts even more.
You crouched, annoyed, tapping around you while searching for the device. Where is it? Why did it fall so far away? You finally feel something, and you grab it, convinced it’s your phone. But the texture confuses you.
Why is the shape so odd? It’s obviously not your phone, so what is it?
You keep tapping it, trying to give it a shape. A piece of furniture, maybe? You can’t really visualize it. It stretches backwards, and the sole is…
The sole…
It’s a shoe.
A fucking shoe.
And the fucking shoe just moved.
You fall backwards, retreating the furthest you can, forgetting how to breathe and how to stand up and how to talk and how to…
“Why do you look so scared?” Tomie’s voice can calm you so easily that it’s embarrassing. “It’s me.”
“Tomie?” You want to believe it’s him, you want to believe you’re safe, but why didn’t you hear him? Why didn’t you feel him come back? The same sensations of when you just met come back to hit you in the face. “I didn’t hear you coming back.” You lean forward, towards the voice, ignoring every warning sign that your head is yelling to you because it’s Tomie. He is your safe place. He is your anchor to earth, and you need your anchor to save you from going mad. Your hands reach for his face impulsively. “Where is your…?”
But you can’t finish the question, your words cut by the strange sensation that your fingers transmit to your brain.
“Why is his face…?”
In your hand, there is no sign of the face with perfect skin and almond-like eyes that you just touched today; no, this one is different. The skin is still smooth, but more like in strips, the kind of texture you would feel from a burning scar that is recovering, as if it’s still healing, allowing you to feel the raw flesh under your fingers instead of the perfect porcelain. One of the eyes seems to be lower, as if melting, and instead of the almond-like design, it appears as if it doesn’t have a specific form. The nose was partially made, and where those beautiful lips were supposed to go, there was a missing piece, allowing access to the gum and part of the teeth. The mole was still in the same place, ignorant of the deformity of the place it was placed into. You feel the disgusting mouth twist into a smile that makes your blood run cold.
“Oops, looks like you found out. I should have been more careful.”
You scream. You can’t help it. The panic wants to make you burst, and the scream was the only way to relieve pressure. Your body jumps to the opposite direction of whatever this thing is, crawling away in an attempt to escape when your legs don't answer.
You didn’t get too far.
You feel the weight of that thing slam on top of you, keeping you restrained against the floor, preventing every attempt to run away or fight. His breath collides against your ear, making you feel dirty. Tears form in your eyes, and your heart beats so hard against your chest it hurts.
“Why are you crying? Is it because I’m not pretty enough?” The voice mocks you, so close it’s disgusting. “It’s alright, it will look perfect again soon.” He pets your hair softly, a huge contrast with the brutality of his grip. Then his tone changes, filled with such hate that it makes you want to become smaller, invisible. “I would have been perfect long ago if it weren’t for that damn copy. He had to try and get rid of me the day I had everything planned for our first encounter.”
Our first encounter?
The day of the storm?
The door… was he the one who closed the door?
You feel like throwing up, and the dizziness makes you feel like floating. This… thing, was it in your house since then? Was it in your house before?
Desperation forces you to the limit, struggling pathetically under the taller men in a dumb effort to break free. The pressure in his grip grows; the weight over your ribs is such that you feel like they’re gonna break. Tears run down messily, and the panic runs through your veins faster than ever before.
What to do? How to escape?
“Am I going to die here?”
And then the sound of the front door opening brings you back. You can hear the rustling of a plastic bag and the chiming of a bell.
“Tomie!” You yell, you tear your throat open with that scream. You use all the air you have left to call the last person you have left.
But a cold hand covers your mouth, the putrid breath clashes against your ear again.
“I’m here, baby. Why are you calling someone else?”
You cry.
You can’t do anything but that.
You sob and wrench and fight and struggle even more, until the pressure over your torso is so heavy you feel like you’re going to lose consciousness.
But the sound of a plastic bag falling to the floor and peaches rolling on the tiles keeps you awake. You hear a sigh, one that comes with the chiming of a bell and a tired laugh.
“I thought I got rid of you that day.”
And suddenly, the pressure over your ribs isn’t there anymore. Suddenly, the weight that kept you pinned against the floor disappears. You crawl, seized by panic, until a wall blocks your way. You lean into it as much as you can, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to disappear, trying to survive. You can hear the wrestling; the bell moving from one side to another aggressively, and the sounds people make when beating each other. You can feel them crashing into the surfaces, smashing one another against floors and walls, making the whole place and you shake all the same. They stay like that for a while, too long for you, and then there’s just silence.
You were terrified of the fight, you were terrified of being stalked by that thing, you were terrified of not being alone and hearing them fight against each other. You were terrified of being the next target.
But there was nothing more terrifying than this silence.
“Tomie…?”
The chiming of a bell approaches, and the voice answers at centimeters from your face.
“I’m here.”
You recoil, leaning more into the wall, wanting to run away, wanting to melt into the surface, insecure about everything, and with your heart in your throat. He takes your hands and puts them in his face. You close your eyes tightly, paralyzed and waiting for the worst, but the porcelain skin invites your fingers to confirm his identity by yourself. You loosen little by little, exploring his face, gaining more confidence, finding the perfect features you felt a few hours ago, and the soft lips pressed against each other in what you imagine is a worried face. You also feel the warm liquid that scatters over his cheeks, staining your hands with a color you are not able to see. It’s better that way. It becomes easier to ignore.
“I’m sorry. It was my fault. I should have made sure to finish the task correctly the last time.”
“What?”
You are confused. You are terrified. Your hands give the impression of pulling back, but a pair of cold hands stops you, resting on top of yours and stopping them from moving.
“You are special, after all.”
“Special?”
“Mhm.” Tomie hums. “You are the only person I’m sure will never try to attack me.”
He says it so calmly, like it is not important.
“I could never…”
“I know, I know.” He stops your babbling. “Is almost like fate: I need you because you can’t see me, and you need me because you’re alone. Isn’t it perfect?”
You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. You haven’t even processed what was happening. You don’t even know if your brain would be able to process everything or if it’ll just turn off and leave you unconscious and at someone else’s mercy.
“And it took me so long for you to get used to me…” Tomie continues. “I had to get rid of so many… obstacles.” The word is said with distaste, repulsion, which just leaves you wondering what he meant by that. “That’s why I can’t let a cheap copy steal all my hard work.”
“Copy?” The panic doesn't seem to go away; it keeps coming back stronger and stronger. Your body trembles more violently, and your eyes burn. “What are you talking about? I don't get it.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” The hands that were holding yours suddenly let go, grabbing your face softly instead and caressing your cheeks. “I’ll take care of everything from now on. This won’t happen again.” You feel the delicate lips press against your forehead, draining all your doubts and questions with no answer. “Just leave it to me.”
You don’t want to accept it. You want to yell at him and fight and escape and run away. But, run away where? Who else would you go to if it wasn’t Tomie? Who else would appear at your house, no matter the time, because you called him, or would get rid of weird copies of himself?
Tomie is right in one thing: You are alone.
You are on your own. Isolated, abandoned, vulnerable. What could you do if you don’t have anyone?
You were so tired, so scared. Maybe listening to him was for the best. Maybe all you had to do was give up and leave everything up to him.
“So?” Tomie asks, hands still in your face.
You melt in his touch, putting down your walls completely, leaving yourself exposed in front of him because what else could you do?
Tomie is your anchor; you have to cling to that.
“Mhm…” you mumble, feeling the exhaustion catching up. Your body won’t stay awake for much longer, so you trust leaving everything to Tomie is the best option, the only option.
Tomie is your anchor; you have to cling to him.
Regardless of whether that sinks you to the bottom of the ocean.
When your best friend introduces you to her new “perfect and extremely handsome boyfriend,” all you want to do is run away. There was something terribly wrong with that guy, something no one seemed to notice. But, of course, after all the horrors that haunt you since Tomie broke into your life, what other option is left besides clinging to him?
Tags: English is not my first language. Psychological horror. First time writing about the character. Curses. Blood. Yandere character. Manipulation. Isolation. Body horror. Traumas.
W.C. 11k
Your phone’s alarm is annoying. The voice you programmed for the device is loud enough to be heard anywhere in your house, repeating the time again and again.
“5:30 am. 5:30 am.”
You sigh, dragging a hand over your face in a dumb attempt to wake up before blindly looking for your phone, tapping the nightstand until the shape of the device is under your palm. You press the side button, holding it until the buzz of the phone indicates the microphone is on.
“Turn the alarm off.”
Another loathsome Monday morning.
Your body feels stiff, probably because you stayed up late last night, and you had to make use of all your willpower to get out of bed and drag yourself to the bathroom. You wash your face and grab the toothbrush from the same usual place as always, washing your teeth since you didn’t feel like making breakfast this morning. You would buy something on your way to class, yeah, that sounds good.
You open your closet and grab the first thing your hands touch, knowing all your clothes look almost the same since Toru, your best friend, was the one who helped you buy them, just to avoid the hassle of having to ask a stranger for the color —why would you want colorful clothes? It’s not like you could see the awful color combination you would be wearing for the day. No thanks, wearing grey was safer.
You take your phone and your bag and head to the door, hitting your side with a chair that you were sure shouldn’t be there, in the middle of the hallway, blocking the way. You curse and put it away, wondering why your best friend is never able to remember that order is such an important concept in a house like yours. You grab your cane and leave the house while rubbing your ribs.
Shit, that was going to leave a bruise.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
The college’s hallways were loud. You didn’t like them. People were always walking without minding their surroundings, and it was almost like your cane was nothing but an accessory, since you already bumped into three different guys just this morning. One even tried to start a fight.
Well, until his friends muttered that you were carrying a cane.
Yes, that’s why you didn’t like college. Too many people, too much noise, too many smells, just being there made your head hurt. You look for your phone, holding the side button until you hear the buzz you grew so used to.
“Time?”
“It is 6:31 am.”
You sigh. There was a half-hour window before your first class. You let yourself fall into a couch hidden in the corner of the library, glad that you didn’t have any more obstacles in your way there, and you let your cane rest on the floor.
Then you hear her.
You memorized the way her steps sound, no matter how careful she tries to be. Yes, you always noticed her attempts to be sneaky, but her walking was too heavy, her breathing too loud, and her perfume always left an imperceptible trace behind her.
“Toru,” you hum, without turning to her.
It’s not like you can see her anyway.
She huffs, and a pair of arms wrap over your shoulders from behind. Her chin rests on top of your head.
“That’s not fair. Why can I never scare you?”
“You have a long way to go before being able to.” After all, you’ve been developing your senses for years now. There’s always something that gives people away: their breathing, the rustle of clothing when they move, their perfumes, all of which are hints that help you localize others around you. All are hints you depend on if you want to stay sane.
It was your only defense mechanism.
People don’t understand how terrifying it is to wake up one day and open your eyes to find only darkness. The panic of not knowing where you are, who’s around you, or even if there’s someone around. The desperation, the complete horror, the need to protect yourself when not knowing what’s safe and what isn’t…
Hell, you don’t even want to remember it.
The timid laugh of your friend saves you from reviving the traumatic memories.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“Guess!”
“You failed another exam?”
She hits your shoulder and you laugh.
“Rude. But no, I got a boyfriend!”
“You? A boyfriend? The apocalypse starts tomorrow.”
She hits you again. Harder this time.
“I’m serious! And he’s really cute, too. Every girl in my department has a crush on him.” She lets out a dreamy sigh before starting a monologue about how beautiful this man is, how perfect his face is, how well-built his body is, and blablabla. You stop paying attention too soon to hear much more than that.
“Ops,” you interrupt her, playing dumb to get out of there. “Have you seen the time? I gotta go to class.”
“Are you joking? You can’t even se—”
“See ya!”
You don’t let her answer. You take your stuff and bolt out of there the fastest the dumb stick allows you to, knowing she was not going to chase after you.
“We’re not done yet, [name]!”
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Unfortunately for you, no, you were not done yet.
Lately, the only thing you talked about with Toru was about her oh-so-perfect boyfriend. Heck, you can’t even ask where she would like to go eat later because she will find a way to drag her boyfriend into the conversation. You’ve never seen her so into someone, and even though you are happy for her, damn, can she change the subject for five minutes?
“You’re not listening to me!”
You shrink into yourself, covering your ears when her yell threatens to leave you deaf, too.
Blind and deaf. Ha, what a joke.
“You don’t have to scream, for god’s sake,” you grumble. “I’ve been hearing the same thing for over a week.”
“But…! You would get it if you just met him.”
“I’ll pass.”
“No, wait, that’s great! I’ll introduce you both.”
“I’m good.”
“Thanks for the idea!”
“I just told you that…” She ignores you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You feel her steps moving away fast, almost like she’s running, and then you hear the front door of your house open before being slammed shut. You sigh. “Never mind then.”
All you wanted to do was to let yourself root in your sofa while the TV was left as background noise. Yes, that was the perfect plan. You drag your feet from the kitchen to the living room, taking the remote and pressing the circular button at the top left corner of the device. The sound of the TV gave life to the room, a random romance movie that you didn’t feel like paying attention to. You put the remote back in its place and throw yourself into the cushioned surface, letting your mind roam around until you can catch any sleep. And you were about to, when the bell rang.
You curse, pulling yourself up and opening the door. Toru’s characteristic perfume hit you in the face.
“If you were planning on coming back so soon, why did you leave?”
“[name], this is Tomie!”
“...what?”
No.
No, no, no.
It was impossible.
If there is someone besides Toru, you would have noticed way before she announced his presence.
You always do.
Damn, even when people are completely still, there’s always something that gives them away.
Smell, breathing, steps.
Something.
Anything.
“Toru, you know your pranks are not…”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” a voice cuts you off. A voice that is not Toru’s. A guy’s voice. “My name is Tomie.”
You flinch, pointing your face towards where the voice came from. Whoever it was, he is tall. More than Toru. More than you. Your legs suddenly feel like jelly, and pretending to be calm becomes a difficult task.
Why can’t you…?
“So you are…?”
“[name]...” You manage to mutter, clearing your throat to try to pull yourself together. “I'm [name].”
Toru squeals and grabs your arm, pulling you to the living room, where the TV is still on. You suppose she’s dragging her boyfriend, too, but you don’t ask. She pushes you onto the sofa and mumbles something about bringing coffee before her steps disappear into the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. Your only indicator as to where he was is the sensation of the couch sinking next to you, and you don’t know if having him close enough to notice him makes you feel better or worse.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Tomie comments, his voice closer than what you expected, making you flinch.
“Thanks.”
“It looks cozy.”
“Yeah.”
“Who did the decoration?”
“Toru.”
He stops talking, and you let go of the air you didn’t know you were holding, thinking the guy got the hint.
“You don’t seem interested in me.” The new question, if you can call it that, nearly gives you a heart attack. This time, his voice was way closer than before, as if you were face-to-face. You swear you could feel his breath on your lips when he talked, but that was all: no smell, no breathing, nothing.
“Am I supposed to?” You answer, swallowing the knot that starts to form in your throat.
“It’s weird.”
“Your questions are weird. You’re dating Toru, why would you ask something like that?”
But Tomie laughs, an almost angelical laugh at a more decent distance from you, and you relax just a little. You would have enjoyed the sound similar to the ringing of a bell if your heart wasn’t about to explode in your chest, warning your senses and screaming that something was not right.
“Coffee is ready!”
You just wanted that lunatic couple to leave so you could take a nap.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Even though you rarely run into Tomie, you would be way happier if you didn’t run into him at all. Being near him makes your skin crawl. Something about the way you can never know where he’s at unless Tomie speaks, unless Tomie wants you to know where he’s at, it gives you goosebumps. It’s like going back to the day you woke up after the accident: lost, alone, not knowing where you were or why everything was so dark, even when you could feel the sunrays over your skin.
You don’t like, no, you hate that sensation.
It drives you crazy.
Tomie drives you crazy.
And that isn’t the only thing; Toru is acting strange, too. Yes, her boyfriend is still the subject of every damn conversation, but now she doesn’t just brag about him. Now she complains, too.
It started with little things: Tomie doesn’t pay attention to me, Tomie said he won't go out with me today; what you would expect from someone who ends the “honeymoon face.”
But it escalated fast.
“Tomie talks with too many people.” “Tomie has too many friends.” “Why did he smile at that one girl?” “He’s clearly planning something.” “He shouldn't. He can’t.” “He is my boyfriend. He should just look at me.” “Why?” “I have to make him look at me.”
“What the hell, Toru?” You start to freak out. “You sound crazy.”
But she laughs.
“Of course not. I just love him so much, I have to do this for him, for us. You will get it when you find someone special.”
“Toru, I really don’t think…”
She cuts you off, her voice rougher, her tone implying she wouldn’t take any more criticism.
“I said, you will get it when you find someone special,” you don’t answer, not wanting to expose your slight fear out loud. “Nice!” She takes your silence as an agreement and goes back to her happy demeanor. “I need your help with something important.”
“What do you need?” You sigh, exhausted. You need a break. Maybe vacations.
“Let’s pay a visit to my beautiful boyfriend. He will be staying at your place.”
“Huh? Why my place?”
“It’s bigger, and since you live alone, it will be easier to hide him.”
“Hide him?” Now you're confused. “I don’t think I’m understanding.”
Toru sighs.
“I came to the conclusion that Tomie is too perfect. People around him will end up ruining him.” Her tone tenses with anger, her voice changed to something you have never heard before. “I have to save him, [name]. I can’t let them contaminate him.”
“...you’re messing with me, right?” But she doesn’t answer. “Is it another prank? Toru please tell me it’s a prank.”
“Are you helping me or not?”
The world around you starts to spin, and the only reason your knees don’t tumble you straight to the ground is that you are already sitting down.
“Are you talking about fucking kidnapping someone?”
“It’s different! It’s out of love!”
“It’s kidnapping, for the love of God!”
Something in her attitude changes. She becomes more hostile, more willing to attack where she knows it will hurt.
“Are you really abandoning me? After all I’ve done for you? After staying by your side when you lost everything in the crash?”
“I’m not helping you with this.” You don’t want to fight with Toru. Hell, she was the only one who stayed when everyone left. The only one who helped you when you needed it the most. But this… this was out of limits. “If you don’t promise me you won’t do anything, I’m gonna call the police.”
“You…!” The rage in her voice is terrifying. “How dare you!? Without me, you have no one! You hear me!? No one! Not your fucking dead parents, nor your shitty hypocritical family!
The scream makes you curl up into yourself, the words hurting more than anything you’ve heard before.
She is right. Without her, you’re alone.
You stretch your trembling hands, grabbing the sleeve of her sweater softly.
“Toru, please…” You beg, eyes starting to burn.
But she pulls her arm back harshly, snatching the piece of cloth to which your last hopes were clinging.
“Forget it. If you’re not planning to help, then I’ll do it alone.”
And she left. All you hear is the door being slammed angrily, and then just silence.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
You feel useless.
You couldn’t stop Toru. You couldn’t warn the poor guy. You couldn’t even call the police because you are a damn coward.
So you just stay there, next to the window in your room, listening to the rain hit the glass and feeling depressed like a fool. The downpour outside sounds almost as if the sky is angry, and if it wasn’t for your good hearing, you would have missed the knocks on the door.
You run to the front door, hoping it was Toru saying she changed her mind and that she was sorry, but you stop before opening it. What if it actually was Toru? What if she tries to do something to you?
You bite your lip and weigh your options, wondering how in the world you would defend yourself if she tries to attack you. Yes, you’re stronger, but she has an advantage: she can see.
“Who is it?” You ask foolishly.
“Help me…” But a guy’s voice answers. That angelic and frightening voice. A voice that sounds shaky and in pain, as if the guy is hyperventilating. “Please, I couldn’t think of any other place, just…”
And you open the door without thinking too much. Probably out of guilt.
The bigger body collapses on top of you, throwing all his weight onto you as if he’s not able to hold it by himself, and you barely manage to catch him without letting you both fall to the ground. Yes, you knew the guy was tall because of the direction his voice came from when he talks, but you never thought he was this tall. You don’t know why, but every time Tomie is around, your body tenses. The idea of being alone with someone bigger and stronger than you is anything but comforting.
If he attacks you, you won’t stand a chance.
You feel like panicking, before feeling something wet in the guy’s clothes. He was out in the rain; it is obvious he is soaked, but this feels different. Warm. Even a little thick. Then the smell of iron floods your nose, and you realize the guy in your arms is bleeding out.
“Shit! What happened!?” You barely manage to close the door and drag him to your room, letting him lie on your bed somehow and taking your sweater off to press it against the open wound in his abdomen, not caring about it getting stained by blood.
“Taking me to your bed as soon as I step in?” He jokes, his voice weak and raspy. “I guess my charm finally caught you. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not that easy.”
You press into the wound harder, getting a pained whimper out of him.
“I’m serious.” You keep pressing with one hand while you reach for the phone in your pocket with the other, holding the side button. “Call—”
But you feel the phone being snatched from your hand before you can finish your sentence.
“Don’t do that.”
“What? You’re bleeding out, for fuck’s sake!”
“I hate hospitals.” He sighs, and you swear you feel the irritation in his voice. His hand stops on top of yours, pressing harder into his stomach while he sits down with a groan. His skin feels freezing, and you worry about how much blood he lost for his body temperature to be this cold. “I’ll be okay.”
“But you are—!”
“Do you have bandages?”
You groan in frustration, forcing him to hold the sweater while you run to the bathroom for the first aid kit, stumbling a few times and heading back the fastest you can.
“Here. Do you know how to do it?”
“I’ve never bandaged myself before.” You feel how he takes your hand again, the cold sensation worrying you even more. “You should help me. Please?” Tomie asks, his voice softer as if he were trying to act cute to receive help.
Or getting what he wants.
You sigh, telling him to take his shirt off and clean the wound the best he can. It’s not like you’re going to refuse to help a guy who was stabbed and bleeding out in your bed. You have experience with bandages, after all; after the accident, you had to learn how to use them daily for months.
But you’ve never bandaged someone who wasn’t yourself.
“It’s off.”
You prepare mentally, tapping around his abdomen until you find the wound. Shit, you can feel how deep it is by just touching the borders. Will he really be okay with just a few bandages?
“Are you going to bandage me, or…?”
Tomie’s voice distracts you. You shake your head in an attempt to regain your composure before wrapping the gauze around his torso, trying to apply enough tension but not too much, trying to ignore the contour of his muscles or why they feel so perfect. Trying to ignore that those thoughts are yours.
You finally finish, sealing the bandage and putting away the rest of the things into the kit, throwing away what you suppose is soaking with blood and washing your hands to your elbows in an almost anxious frenzy. Then you go back to your room, sitting next to Tomie.
“What happened?” You finally ask when you can't stand the silence.
You know you are not going to like the answer. You know you shouldn’t ask. But you have to. You will never forgive yourself if you don’t, and his words just confirmed your biggest fear.
“Toru.”
It seems like the sweet girl that your best friend used to be called her boyfriend, asking for things that just a crazy stalker would ask for, telling him he’ll be safe if he decides to go with her, away from the world’s corruption, saying things more and more creepy, until Tomie stopped her, telling her he wouldn’t go with her and that he wanted to break up.
She didn’t like that.
She charged towards him, acting like a completely different person, and the guy was barely able to escape, running to the first place that crossed his mind.
The guilt punches you in the guts.
Nothing would have happened if you had decided to do something, tell someone. Nothing would have happened if you hadn't fallen for the manipulation of your “best friend.”
Nothing would have happened if you weren’t a fucking coward.
But a chilly touch in your cheek drags you out of your thoughts. You jump backward, almost falling off your bed, remembering the damn guy moves as if he doesn’t exist, without leaving any hint that indicates where he is.
“Don’t do that.”
“I thought this before, but you really can’t see anything, can you?” He ignores you. “Absolutely nothing.”
“What? Do you have a problem with that?”
It’s been years, yes, but it still was a sensitive topic.
“Makes sense…” He mumbles, more to himself.
“What do you mean?” You ask, but you just get some kind of hum for an answer. You ignore it, standing up. “You can crash out here today. I’ll sleep on the sofa. It will be better if you don’t leave this room.” You pause. “Please, don’t leave this room.”
It is more for your mental peace than for his health, but he doesn’t have to know that.
You walk to the door, ready to try to sleep, but Tomie’s voice stops you.
“[name]? You should burn that sweater.”
“My sweater? I can just wash it.”
“Just trust me.”
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Trying to sleep was hell.
All night, you couldn’t brush off the feeling of being watched, and just thinking about the guy roaming around without you even noticing did nothing but make your insomnia worse. You don’t feel safe in your own house, and the blanket that covers from your feet to the top of your head is barely helping. You won’t take it off, though. You are too scared to do that, regardless of the suffocating heat.
At some point in the night, after turning around for hours, you fall asleep. Probably due to exhaustion, and in some weird exorcist-like position. You wake up the next morning completely drained, with neck pain —everything-pain, really—, and a feeling that your head will start hurting at any moment.
You yawn, sitting down on the sofa and dragging your hands over your face, trying to shake off drowsiness. Then you sigh again. How many times have you sighed between yesterday and today? At this point, you were just speeding up your aging.
“Let’s get this over with quickly.”
The faster you can be alone and wrap yourself in your blankets, in an actual bed, to sleep and forget these shitty last few days, the better.
“Good morning…” You step into your room and stand next to your door. But no one answered. “Tomie?”
Silence again.
God, you were starting to loathe that damn silence.
You rush to your bed, looking for the guy you left there last night, but it is empty. Your nerves explode, alerting all your senses and making them useless at the same time. How are you supposed to hear anything if your heartbeats are pounding into your ears?
“No, it’s fine. Maybe he felt better and left.” You tell yourself, trying to believe it regardless of how stupid that sounds. He is hurt. Why would he leave? But hell, if that’s not what happened, then Tomie is still in your house, somewhere, maybe watching you, maybe behind you, and there’s no way for you to know.
There’s no way for you to know.
There’s no way for you to defend yourself.
You are completely defenseless, and that unnerves you.
“Tomie!” You call, louder, hoping for him to give any signal: a sound, a laugh, anything. You rush to the door, trying not to hyperventilate. “Tomie! Where—!?”
But before crossing, you bump into something that shouldn’t be there. It is soft and smooth as porcelain, but fairly firm.
And cold. Too cold.
“So early in the morning and you’re already eager to touch me.” His voice is mocking, but more importantly, it comes from above. That gives you a basic idea of the space, and you suppose what you crashed into was the guy’s chest.
You make use of all your willpower to take a step back. Not because you want to be close to him, but because when you are touching him, you can at least know where he is. He isn’t able to surprise you so easily.
It makes you feel a little more in control. Just a little, but enough.
“You are hurt. You should lie down.” You make up an excuse for your frenetic actions.
“Hm? But I feel fine.”
“Tomie, I’m serious. If you don’t want me to call a hospital, at least don’t be the cause of why your bleeding gets worse. And in my house, nonetheless. What am I supposed to say to the cleaning services?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I made sure to clean all the… residues.” You decide to ignore how weird that phrase sounds, or why it gives you a bad feeling. “And the wound is almost closed.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” You answer with sarcasm. Such a deep cut as yesterday’s? That would take at least a few months to heal. “Can you at least lie down?”
“I’m serious!”
“That’s impossible.”
“Jeez, why are you so stubborn?”
You didn’t have a chance to answer. A pair of cold palms grab your hands and place them over the torso that was supposed to be bandaged. You try to pull your hands back, surprised by the sudden action and not wanting to touch yesterday’s cut again, but your fingers brush against the partially healed skin, and the shock stops your movements. Tomie lets go of your hands, giving you a free pass to verify it for yourself; at the start, you barely skim it, dragging your fingers over the borders. They have a harder texture, as if the scab is already appearing there. You touch the actual wound, feeling both extremes of the cut closed against each other, as if the stabbing occurred a few weeks ago and not last night.
You pull your hand back, feeling your face twist into a shaken frown. A faint “That’s not possible…” escapes from your lips, making the other guy laugh.
“If it wasn’t possible, it wouldn’t be happening right now.”
“How do you…?”
“I just heal faster than others.” He says as if it’s nothing.
That small interaction is enough to make the discomfort you were feeling since you woke up spike. Your head starts pounding, making you wobble, and your thoughts seem to be covered with a thin smoke curtain. You curse, pinching the bridge of your nose, face contorted in a pained expression while you try somehow to relieve the pressure that makes you feel like your head is going to explode.
“You okay?” You don’t know if Tomie is asking because he’s worried or if he’s just making fun of you. At this point, you don’t even care. “Wait, I have an idea!”
You don’t like how that sounds.
“You took care of me yesterday, so today I will take care of you.” The voice moved. Now it was roaming around the room, adding an arrogant remark. “You should make the most out of it, because I never do this for just anyone.”
“You don’t have to.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose harder.
“Why not?” The voice is dangerously close again, and before you can take a step back, the traces of the overly sweet smell of peaches fill your nose. “People would kill for a chance like this.”
“You…”
“Me… did you change your mind?”
“Did you eat my peaches?”
“What?” The surprise in his voice is enough to know that wasn’t what Tomie was expecting to hear. Your question didn’t even come out angrily, more like completely exhausted.
“My peaches.”
“Oh, well, there were just a few, and they looked good, and I have to eat, you know, to get better and everything, so…”
You sigh. Again. And even when it is weird to hear Tomie embarrassed, all you want to do is lie down and take a nap.
“If you are feeling better, can you please leave?”
“What? But I—”
“Please.” Yes, Tomie feels humiliated when you basically kick him out, but you sound completely wrecked, as if you’re going to collapse at any moment. “Please, I’m begging you.”
And silence. You think he left, until there’s another sigh, and this time it wasn’t you.
“Okay, yeah. But I have one condition. You have to save my number.”
And if that is all you need to kick that crazy bastard out of your house, you would gladly do it. It’s not like you plan on using that number anyway, so it doesn’t matter, and not even a minute after he saved his number in your phone, you hear the front door open and close.
You finally breathe, getting ready to recover all the sleep you were not able to get last night.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
You tried.
You added extra blankets, took them off, walked around your house, and even made yourself a tea. You rolled around your bed for what felt like hours just to check your phone and find out barely ten minutes had passed. You even played calming music and tried to meditate.
Nothing worked.
It doesn’t matter how tired you feel, how heavy your eyes are. It doesn’t matter how many times you yawned or the headache that just got worse after Tomie left. Nothing was working.
You want to ignore the reason. Pretend you don’t know. Think it’s just a casual case of insomnia, and you can’t sleep because of shock, guilt, anything that contradicts last night’s feeling that doesn’t want to leave.
You want to ignore the fact that you feel like you’re being watched. Lock it away in a box in the deepest corner of your head and use ignorance as a defense mechanism because, what if you’re right? What if there’s someone? What if you’re not alone?
You wouldn’t stand a chance.
No. No, no, no. It’s all right, it’s fine. It’s just paranoia. It’s just your head playing tricks on you. It’s just the sensations of the accident repeating themselves too realistically to mess you up like they always do every time something goes wrong. Yes, just that. You don’t have to worry. Just ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist, and it will not be able to hurt you. Imaginary monsters are harmless. They are just real if you give them the power to be.
You keep repeating the same thing while you grab your phone instinctively, catching a “call…” in the air before finishing the sentence, feeling the words way too heavy in your mouth.
“Call Toru.”
It almost came out before you even noticed, desperate to find shelter in the only person that has been a constant in your life since you lost everything: the only person you have left.
You bite your lip, feeling the hand that’s holding the phone start to tremble. The headache clouds your judgement, and the fear of being alone forces you to act recklessly. You curse, holding the lateral button of your phone.
“Call Toru.”
You need her. You don’t have anyone else. You are going crazy, and you need someone desperately.
“The person you are trying to reach is not available at the moment. Please leave your message after the tone.”
But your desperation didn’t reach her.
You stay still, almost too still, listening to the beeping sound crash into your walls while the device records your silence.
“But she always… She never…”
You call again.
Again, and again, and again.
You keep calling for what feels like an eternity, letting your despair get worse, grow, feed from the tension in the air to make it so heavy it becomes hard to breathe.
Why isn’t she answering? Toru always answers. It doesn’t matter how many times you two fought or how bad the fight was. Toru always answers.
But Toru had never stabbed someone before, either.
You shake your head, pushing the thought away, playing dumb to not let it affect you, but you know it’s too late. The thought is there and it will never leave, feeding on the rest of your ideas like a parasite.
The tone of the call beeps again.
You turn your phone off, trying to calm yourself to not smash the device against the nearest surface because, how are you going to find it later?
The name of that guy comes to mind for half a second, and you even consider it. But you discard the idea fast, cursing at yourself for thinking stupid things before placing your phone in your nightstand and closing your eyes, pretending to sleep until your alarm sounds so you can get ready for class.
Maybe, if you act like it doesn’t affect you, as if you don’t notice, that won’t harm you.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
Toru didn’t make it to class the next day.
At least, if she did, she is avoiding you.
It makes sense. Why would you want to talk with someone after you confessed to them that you were going to kidnap your boyfriend? And the kidnapping was a failure, too. You try to ignore it, pretend it doesn’t bother you, and go on about your day as always, too tired to think of an immediate solution: you would figure it out later.
Or that was the plan.
For some reason, Tomie stuck to you like gum the whole day. When he first appeared, you almost had a heart attack; he whispered a “good morning” directly to your ear and laughed when your jump almost made you drop your cane. Then he followed you around, starting small talk over anything he could think of, regardless of your dry responses, making sounds every few minutes to let you know he was still there every time the conversation died, “accidentally” touching you now and then.
It drives you crazy.
Having Tomie so close makes your skin crawl. The sensation of something being wrong is still there, and not knowing where he is, not being able to feel his presence unless Tomie makes a sound on purpose… It’s too much for you.
You are desperate—No, terrified. You won’t say it out loud, but you are terrified. Being able to notice he is there just when Tomie wants you to is more than frustrating. Distress is eating you alive. And despite everything, you feel yourself grow closer to him; you are getting used to his presence little by little. You don’t know if that scares you more than not hearing him.
It was a long day before making it home, and the traces of paranoia from yesterday still flow around you in the air particles, suffocating you. Enduring the silence today will be hard.
You hang your bag behind the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the sofa. You reach for the remote to turn on some background noise and feel like hitting something when you can’t find it.
Really? Today, out of all days?
You sigh, exhausted, before patting the surface of the coffee table. You always leave it in the same place, but somehow it wasn’t there. Your hands go to your face, and you take a deep breath to keep your sanity before looking for the remote on the couches, feeling some kind of inexplicable annoyance when you find it between its pillows. You turn on the TV and throw the device to the same frustrating couch, hoping you won’t forget where it is later, and you head towards the kitchen to get something to eat with the noise of the news in the background.
“In more recent news, the college student ‘Toru Nakamura’ was reported missing this morning by her guardians, who said they haven’t had any news from her since she left her house last Saturday while…”
Your mind disconnects for a moment, feeling everything around you tremble and the ground you were stepping on disappear. You feel like falling; the vertigo, combined with the darkness your eyes got used to, spikes up your heart rate. You cling to the kitchen aisle, trying to regain your balance before throwing yourself to the living room, tripping over your foot, and falling over the couch with the remote, turning the volume to the maximum.
“The victim has dark hair to the shoulders and brown eyes. The last person who saw her was her mother that same Saturday at approximately 9 am, wearing a purple dress. There haven’t been any details that indicate where to find her since then.”
Saturday? At nine in the morning?
Just before she appeared in your house.
Just before she asked you to…
“Please, if you have seen her, report to the authorities. Her family insists that—”
You turn the TV off, not wanting to hear more. It feels like you can’t think straight, like the fog in your head doesn’t let you read your ideas clearly. You drag yourself to the kitchen somehow, operating on autopilot while the fear wraps around your body once again.
Missing?
Your trembling hands grab a cup that slides and hits the floor, bouncing against the tiles and making you jump, reminding you why you didn’t own any glass tableware. Accumulated tears start to threaten to pour out, and the instability in your legs makes picking up the cup a task almost impossible.
“Breath, damn it. Put yourself together.”
You open the sink, letting the cup fill with water until it overflows, the liquid spilling between your fingers. You didn’t care about making a mess before taking the cup to your lips and downing it in one sitting. The plastic was smashed against the aisle while you breathed heavily, trying to restore the oxygen you denied yourself while you forced the water down your throat.
And then you hear it.
‘Click.’
It was gentle, almost nonexistent, but you heard it: the sound the switch makes when the lights turn on.
But of course it isn’t anything. You are being paranoid. The news about Toru was a huge hit, and that is all. You are imagining things. Why would the light turn on by itself? It’s absurd.
It’s absurd, but you need to check.
You cling to the wall, walking to the living room with your hand pinned to the cold surface.
Hell, you hate yourself for this, but you have to check it isn’t real.
The walk feels endless, an absolute torture. Since when is your house so big?
You need to confirm it is just in your head.
You slide your hand up and down, looking for the switch you never used, so you always had a hard time finding.
You need to prove you’re going crazy.
Your fingers touch the shape, and both your hands hurry to it.
Because going crazy was by far the best scenario you could imagine.
But your hopes break when the shape of the small lever forms in your head, answering to what your fingers were touching. Every attempt to remain calm disappears and gives its place to absolute panic when, in the image inside your head, the lever is pointing upwards.
The light was on.
Your pulse shoots up in seconds, the adrenaline pumps to your head while your legs start running before you ask them to, dragging you to your room in a distraught attempt to find shelter, wanting nothing else than to hide in the bathroom and call the police.
But you never make it to your room.
The pain expands from your head like a virus, making you lose your balance and fall on your back. Your forehead starts throbbing painfully, and your nose burns, the sensation of a warm liquid spilling to your mouth and shin, and the taste of iron throws you off for a moment.
You ran into a wall.
“What…? Why…?”
Why now? Why today? You know your house from memory; you have been memorizing the place for years, and it’s been an eternity since the last time you messed up and took a wrong turn. Making such a stupid mistake today… shit.
You pull yourself to the wall you just slammed into and use it to stand on your feet, sliding both hands over the surface when the sensation under your fingers feels strange, as if the material of the wall was wrong.
“Wood…?” Your fingers scrub the texture, feeling the shapes wood leave when being cut. “But my wall isn’t…”
It isn’t a wall.
It is a door.
Your walls aren’t made out of wood.
Your doors are.
You didn’t take a wrong turn.
The door was closed.
You feel your heart stop in your chest, tears and blood running down your face, while you feel the bile creeping up your throat. Why was the door closed? You never… You can’t…
Who…?
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
“I never thought you would actually call me, let alone in the middle of a storm like this one. Do you not care that I get sick for coming here to…?” The mocking attempt gets cut when you turn your head in the voice’s direction, sitting outside next to your front door, and hugging your knees against your chest. Your lips tremble, the tears won’t stop, and the dried blood in the bottom half of your face just makes you look worse. “Shit, what happened to you?”
A pair of cold hands takes your face, moving a few strands of hair away. You just let him, the physical contact somehow comforting you, leaning onto it because you need to feel that you’re not alone. It doesn’t matter if what anchors you to reality are Tomie’s hands, as long as something is anchoring you.
“Your face… What the hell happened?”
But how can you tell him? Technically, nothing happened. Technically, you’re not sure of anything. Maybe it was just the stress from the last few days that combined with your condition to play with your head.
And even so, the sobs are not stopping. Even so, you can’t stop shaking.
“My house… I… someone… something…” The weeping doesn’t let you talk, the hiccups take your breath away.
“Is there someone in your house?”
Your mouth seems to be useless, so you nod. You feel the hands in your face disappear, and the panic attacks you again. You launch forward, clinging onto whatever you can take, closing your hands around the guy's shirt as if your life depended on it while you babble stupidly and your sobs increment.
“Hey, I’m just going to look around.”
“No, I, no, please,” you stutter with a broken voice, words barely forming. “I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave me alone. Please. Please.”
You feel his arms wrap around you. You cling to that because you don’t have anything else to cling to, and if you don’t cling to something, you feel like you’ll die.
“I’ll be quick, okay? I promise.”
And he lets go. You remain lost, waiting anxiously while you hug yourself, clenching your fists so hard they hurt, biting your lip until you feel it bleed, waiting and waiting and waiting for what you feel is an eternity.
“[name]?” He calls, and never before have you been so happy listening to that angelic voice. You drag yourself to the sound blindly, grabbing what seems to be his jacket and not letting go. Tomie doesn’t push you away. On the contrary, he wraps his arms around you again, helping you stand up. “I didn’t find anything.”
And he guides you inside. You don’t talk, too lost to focus on something other than not letting go of Tomie’s jacket. You sit on the same sofa you sat on when you met him for the first time, and you let him pull you closer, hugging you. You don’t refuse, don’t try to pull back, you snuggle closer and let the tears keep falling until they run dry.
You stay like that for what feels like hours, in complete silence, until your shaking stops and the sobs wear off. Then Tomie pulls back, just enough to look at your face without breaking the embrace.
“Can I use your first aid kit?”
You nod, following him when he stands up to go look for the same kit he used just a few days ago. You walk behind him around the house, still holding onto the jacket because you don’t feel prepared to let go. You go back to the sofa, and the texture of wet cotton slides down your face while Tomie focuses on cleaning you.
“So what happened?”
But, again, how can you tell him?
“...I ran into a door.”
This is easier.
“Then why were you…?” But the question dies before leaving his lips. “Never mind, it’s not important. Are you breathing okay?”
You nod, glad that at least you didn’t break your nose. You stay in silence again until he’s done, and you hear the sound of the kit closing. Tomie speaks again.
“You feel uncomfortable around me, don’t you?”
Your eyes snap open, surprised by the sudden affirmation.
“Well, I just…” You bite your tongue, not sure how to explain it. “You are… hard to perceive.”
But Tomie snorts.
“I think you’re the first person to tell me that in decades.” You were about to apologize when he talked again. “But you’re fine. Honestly, I already knew. That’s why I found a way to fix it.”
“Fix it?”
How can you fix something like that?
The sound of a bell distracts you, chiming softly. Tomie takes your hand and places it over the strange object. Cloth, no, leather? It seems to be some kind of bracelet, and you can feel the small bell that hangs from it.
“Do you like it?” Tomie hums proudly, almost cocky. “I got it to help you, so you should be grateful.”
“I don’t get it.”
You can hear the ‘Tsk’ coming out of his lips, and suddenly Tomie is asking for your help to put it on. You do it without really questioning him, tying it around his wrist. When you’re done, Tomie shakes his hand, making the chiming much more evident.
“You see? Now I’m not ‘hard to perceive’ anymore, am I?”
You finally understand the meaning of the bracelet and why he suddenly decided to include it in the conversation. You don’t know why your chest feels so warm, nor why the chiming of the bells sounds so comforting. You don’t know why such a simple gesture makes you so happy, and honestly, you’re too tired to ramble about it.
⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆
That day was as awful as useful. Awful because you still have nightmares about it. Useful because now you have someone every time you wake up screaming at night, and the feeling of being observed comes back. Tomie always comes to you. Time, weather, weekday, it doesn’t matter. He always makes it to your house just a few minutes after you call, staying by your side because you don’t like to be alone, stealing your peaches, and roaming your house every time he has the chance just because. It’s fun, and the fear of being near him disappeared completely the day the guy put the bracelet on. He never takes it off, and listening to the chiming of the bell around your house becomes something comforting, as if the sole sound makes you feel safe.
It’s a sensation you don’t want to let go of.
It was funny; at the start, you wanted nothing to do with Tomie, and now you call him so much he practically lives at your house. He even has his spare key, and if he stays the night two or three times a week, that is already not enough. You got so used to his presence in a matter of weeks that not having him near you became unnatural.
“I swear! That woman was crazy.” Like now. The guy sits beside you on the couch, the TV playing something in the background. “When I told her I wasn’t interested, she became hysterical. If it wasn’t for the people in the street who restrained her, I’m sure she would have attacked me.”
Tomie sighs, exhausted from the situation that, surprisingly, happens way too often. You laugh, squeezing the cold hand between your fingers. Physical contact became an unusual thing, too: it comforts you. It is a different kind of reminder that Tomie is here, with you. An anchor to earth that you don’t feel like letting go of.
“How do you always end up in the same scenario?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s because I’m beautiful. It would be weird if I didn’t end up in this scenario.”
You snort, not knowing if he is joking or if his ego is really that huge. You can’t help but want to mess with him a little.
“Nah, you’re making it up. No one is that beautiful.”
But Tomie doesn’t answer, and if it is not because your hands are still tangled, you would have doubts about whether he is still there.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“What?”
Tomie’s tone is playful, even flirty. But instead of an explanation, the hand you were holding takes your wrist, and then you feel the same cold touch in your opposite hand.
“About me. Don’t you wanna know what I look like?” He doesn’t let you answer before guiding your hands to his face, letting go just when he’s sure you won’t pull back. “Check the rumors for yourself.”
You almost pull away, telling him he’s crazy, laughing to hide the awkwardness, and changing the subject clumsily. But, honestly, you are curious. Hell, of course you are, but it’s not like you can walk up to him and go: “Hey, can I grope your face? You see, I want to know what you look like, and as you’ll know, that’s the only way.” No, never, not even in a million years.
But now you have the chance served on a silver platter, and you’re not going to miss it.
Your fingers slide carefully, shy at the beginning, hesitating with each touch. The skin is smooth, delicate as porcelain, and the characteristic cold that his body gives off complements that so perfectly that you want to know if all his features are equally as perfect. You let your fingers explore, feeling the pair of thin lips so soft to the touch, ignoring the smirk he has on and how red your face feels when you imagine it, knowing Tomie is analysing —and probably making fun of— every single reaction your face makes. You go to the nose, delicate and rounded, creating a mental map of the face of the guy in your head, and you finally slide to the eyes; they are almond-shaped, imitating a fox-like stare that is adorned by long eyelashes. You can feel some texture under the left eye that you attribute to a mole.
“You said your hair was black?” You mutter, mesmerized, finishing the painting of his face in your head and feeling your cheeks warm. He hums in affirmation, and by his tone, you know for a fact he has that same annoying smirk he was wearing when you touched his lips. Your face burns even more when you imagine it.
“So? Do you think I’m as beautiful as they say?”
The question brings you back to reality. You take your hands off his face as if it is on fire, even when it’s you s the one that feels a few seconds from combusting, and you try to move your face away from the voice.
“They lied to you. You’re not that cute.” You mutter, even though you know your lie is completely transparent, and Tomie bursts out laughing. The bell sounds when he falls on his back on the soft surface of the couch.
“Yes, yes, whatever you need to say to keep your pride.” The spot next to you feels empty now, as if some weight has been removed, and the chiming tells you the guy is standing up now. “I’m hungry.”
Tomie mumbles, the sound of the bell disappearing into your kitchen. You hold your legs against your chest and feel as if embarrassment is eating you alive. Shit, shit, shit, you were shameless enough to grope a guy’s face, and you even blushed while doing it. You don’t need to see yourself in a mirror to know how red you are; the burning sensation in your cheeks was enough.
“Don’t you have peaches?” Tomie yells from the kitchen, stopping your self-nagging.
“I should. I bought some two days ago.” You yell back.
“There’s none.”
“Didn’t you eat them all? You are a little obsessed with those.”
“I don’t think so. Did I?” You hear him mutter to himself, and the chiming is back. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I guess I’ll just go buy some.”
“Sure.” But Tomie doesn’t move, and you know why. You sigh, rubbing your nape, defeated. “My wallet is in my room. Don’t spend my whole salary on peaches, could you?”
He makes a soft sound of affirmation before the chiming disappears in the halls. You hear the front door open and close. You sigh, mourning your well-earned money and how it seems like lately you’ve been spending it all in that guy’s whims.
“Maybe I do have some, but he didn’t search well enough.” The thought makes sense. It’s not like Tomie is someone who is used to putting a lot of effort into things, even if it’s something as basic as looking for peaches. It was obvious he was used to other people doing everything for him, and the sole fact that he offered to go buy the fruit himself was already a miracle.
You walk to the kitchen, confident you will find what Tomie couldn’t, but you don’t. You search in the place they always are, you search in the fridge, you search in the cabinets, and even in the cereal aisle, but there was none.
“That’s weird…” Tomie wouldn’t eat them all so fast, would he?
Well, if you think about it, he did eat five of them in one sitting last week. He could easily finish all your peaches in two days. You sigh again, feeling melancholic for the loss of your scarce salary as a broke college student, and you decide to go back to the living room while you wait for Tomie. You grab your phone from your pocket, not expecting it to slide from your hand and smash itself somewhere on the hallway’s floor.
“Shit.”
Again? How many times have you dropped your phone this week? You are close to destroying the screen.
Your salary hurts even more.
You crouched, annoyed, tapping around you while searching for the device. Where is it? Why did it fall so far away? You finally feel something, and you grab it, convinced it’s your phone. But the texture confuses you.
Why is the shape so odd? It’s obviously not your phone, so what is it?
You keep tapping it, trying to give it a shape. A piece of furniture, maybe? You can’t really visualize it. It stretches backwards, and the sole is…
The sole…
It’s a shoe.
A fucking shoe.
And the fucking shoe just moved.
You fall backwards, retreating the furthest you can, forgetting how to breathe and how to stand up and how to talk and how to…
“Why do you look so scared?” Tomie’s voice can calm you so easily that it’s embarrassing. “It’s me.”
“Tomie?” You want to believe it’s him, you want to believe you’re safe, but why didn’t you hear him? Why didn’t you feel him come back? The same sensations of when you just met come back to hit you in the face. “I didn’t hear you coming back.” You lean forward, towards the voice, ignoring every warning sign that your head is yelling to you because it’s Tomie. He is your safe place. He is your anchor to earth, and you need your anchor to save you from going mad. Your hands reach for his face impulsively. “Where is your…?”
But you can’t finish the question, your words cut by the strange sensation that your fingers transmit to your brain.
“Why is his face…?”
In your hand, there is no sign of the face with perfect skin and almond-like eyes that you just touched today; no, this one is different. The skin is still smooth, but more like in strips, the kind of texture you would feel from a burning scar that is recovering, as if it’s still healing, allowing you to feel the raw flesh under your fingers instead of the perfect porcelain. One of the eyes seems to be lower, as if melting, and instead of the almond-like design, it appears as if it doesn’t have a specific form. The nose was partially made, and where those beautiful lips were supposed to go, there was a missing piece, allowing access to the gum and part of the teeth. The mole was still in the same place, ignorant of the deformity of the place it was placed into. You feel the disgusting mouth twist into a smile that makes your blood run cold.
“Oops, looks like you found out. I should have been more careful.”
You scream. You can’t help it. The panic wants to make you burst, and the scream was the only way to relieve pressure. Your body jumps to the opposite direction of whatever this thing is, crawling away in an attempt to escape when your legs don't answer.
You didn’t get too far.
You feel the weight of that thing slam on top of you, keeping you restrained against the floor, preventing every attempt to run away or fight. His breath collides against your ear, making you feel dirty. Tears form in your eyes, and your heart beats so hard against your chest it hurts.
“Why are you crying? Is it because I’m not pretty enough?” The voice mocks you, so close it’s disgusting. “It’s alright, it will look perfect again soon.” He pets your hair softly, a huge contrast with the brutality of his grip. Then his tone changes, filled with such hate that it makes you want to become smaller, invisible. “I would have been perfect long ago if it weren’t for that damn copy. He had to try and get rid of me the day I had everything planned for our first encounter.”
Our first encounter?
The day of the storm?
The door… was he the one who closed the door?
You feel like throwing up, and the dizziness makes you feel like floating. This… thing, was it in your house since then? Was it in your house before?
Desperation forces you to the limit, struggling pathetically under the taller men in a dumb effort to break free. The pressure in his grip grows; the weight over your ribs is such that you feel like they’re gonna break. Tears run down messily, and the panic runs through your veins faster than ever before.
What to do? How to escape?
“Am I going to die here?”
And then the sound of the front door opening brings you back. You can hear the rustling of a plastic bag and the chiming of a bell.
“Tomie!” You yell, you tear your throat open with that scream. You use all the air you have left to call the last person you have left.
But a cold hand covers your mouth, the putrid breath clashes against your ear again.
“I’m here, baby. Why are you calling someone else?”
You cry.
You can’t do anything but that.
You sob and wrench and fight and struggle even more, until the pressure over your torso is so heavy you feel like you’re going to lose consciousness.
But the sound of a plastic bag falling to the floor and peaches rolling on the tiles keeps you awake. You hear a sigh, one that comes with the chiming of a bell and a tired laugh.
“I thought I got rid of you that day.”
And suddenly, the pressure over your ribs isn’t there anymore. Suddenly, the weight that kept you pinned against the floor disappears. You crawl, seized by panic, until a wall blocks your way. You lean into it as much as you can, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to disappear, trying to survive. You can hear the wrestling; the bell moving from one side to another aggressively, and the sounds people make when beating each other. You can feel them crashing into the surfaces, smashing one another against floors and walls, making the whole place and you shake all the same. They stay like that for a while, too long for you, and then there’s just silence.
You were terrified of the fight, you were terrified of being stalked by that thing, you were terrified of not being alone and hearing them fight against each other. You were terrified of being the next target.
But there was nothing more terrifying than this silence.
“Tomie…?”
The chiming of a bell approaches, and the voice answers at centimeters from your face.
“I’m here.”
You recoil, leaning more into the wall, wanting to run away, wanting to melt into the surface, insecure about everything, and with your heart in your throat. He takes your hands and puts them in his face. You close your eyes tightly, paralyzed and waiting for the worst, but the porcelain skin invites your fingers to confirm his identity by yourself. You loosen little by little, exploring his face, gaining more confidence, finding the perfect features you felt a few hours ago, and the soft lips pressed against each other in what you imagine is a worried face. You also feel the warm liquid that scatters over his cheeks, staining your hands with a color you are not able to see. It’s better that way. It becomes easier to ignore.
“I’m sorry. It was my fault. I should have made sure to finish the task correctly the last time.”
“What?”
You are confused. You are terrified. Your hands give the impression of pulling back, but a pair of cold hands stops you, resting on top of yours and stopping them from moving.
“You are special, after all.”
“Special?”
“Mhm.” Tomie hums. “You are the only person I’m sure will never try to attack me.”
He says it so calmly, like it is not important.
“I could never…”
“I know, I know.” He stops your babbling. “Is almost like fate: I need you because you can’t see me, and you need me because you’re alone. Isn’t it perfect?”
You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. You haven’t even processed what was happening. You don’t even know if your brain would be able to process everything or if it’ll just turn off and leave you unconscious and at someone else’s mercy.
“And it took me so long for you to get used to me…” Tomie continues. “I had to get rid of so many… obstacles.” The word is said with distaste, repulsion, which just leaves you wondering what he meant by that. “That’s why I can’t let a cheap copy steal all my hard work.”
“Copy?” The panic doesn't seem to go away; it keeps coming back stronger and stronger. Your body trembles more violently, and your eyes burn. “What are you talking about? I don't get it.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” The hands that were holding yours suddenly let go, grabbing your face softly instead and caressing your cheeks. “I’ll take care of everything from now on. This won’t happen again.” You feel the delicate lips press against your forehead, draining all your doubts and questions with no answer. “Just leave it to me.”
You don’t want to accept it. You want to yell at him and fight and escape and run away. But, run away where? Who else would you go to if it wasn’t Tomie? Who else would appear at your house, no matter the time, because you called him, or would get rid of weird copies of himself?
Tomie is right in one thing: You are alone.
You are on your own. Isolated, abandoned, vulnerable. What could you do if you don’t have anyone?
You were so tired, so scared. Maybe listening to him was for the best. Maybe all you had to do was give up and leave everything up to him.
“So?” Tomie asks, hands still in your face.
You melt in his touch, putting down your walls completely, leaving yourself exposed in front of him because what else could you do?
Tomie is your anchor; you have to cling to that.
“Mhm…” you mumble, feeling the exhaustion catching up. Your body won’t stay awake for much longer, so you trust leaving everything to Tomie is the best option, the only option.
Tomie is your anchor; you have to cling to him.
Regardless of whether that sinks you to the bottom of the ocean.
synopsis: When a broke college student takes a babysitting gig, he signs up for snack time and bedtime stories—but ends up with bloodstains, cryptic employers, and an unsettling crush on the kid’s disturbingly hot dad.
content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, blackmailing, blood, anal, breeding, creampie, missionary, mating press, dubcon, mentions of kidnapping, too much plot
word count: 5.2k (good lord)
It was a typical Wednesday afternoon when you found yourself perched in the corner of the campus café, a half-empty cup of cold coffee sweating onto the table beside your laptop. Bills, tuition, and the general weight of adulthood had a way of pressing down on your shoulders, leaving you in a constant state of mild panic. You scrolled through job listings with the desperation of someone clinging to a lifeboat.
Barista? You had already been rejected twice due to your “lack of experience.”
Retail? They wanted you available on weekends, which wasn’t feasible with your study schedule.
Dog walker? Allergic to fur.
The list grew more depressing as the minutes ticked by, until one particular post caught your attention:
There was no company name, no attached image of a smiling family, not even a hint about the age of the child you’d be babysitting. The simplicity of it screamed sketchy, but the promise of payment dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick.
“Desperate times,” you muttered, clicking on the post.
The application form was equally bare-bones, asking only for your name, availability, and a short paragraph about why you wanted the job. You quickly typed something generic about being responsible and good with kids, then hit send without much hope.
To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.
"You’re hired. Start tomorrow at 3 PM. Address: [Redacted]."
You stared at the screen, bewildered. No interview? No background check? Either this was the world’s most desperate parent, or you were walking into a scam. A friend texted you moments later, asking if you’d found a job yet, and you decided to leave out the details when you replied,
"Yep, starting tomorrow."
The afternoon sun was scorching as you made your way up the steps of the quaint suburban house. The place had a sort of storybook charm—a neat lawn, pastel shutters, and a small porch swing swaying lazily in the breeze. If it weren’t for the suspiciously vague job listing you’d answered, you might have thought you were walking into a feel-good rom-com instead of a potentially shady situation.
You knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by. You shifted awkwardly, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting hidden cameras. But just as you were about to knock again, the door flew open with surprising force, revealing a little girl standing barely taller than the doorknob.
“Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice so cheerful it nearly gave you whiplash. “Are you the babysitter?”
“Uh… yeah,” you replied, startled by the sheer intensity of her enthusiasm. “That’s me.”
“I’m Su-an,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Come in! I was just having a meeting with my council!”
Before you could even ask what she meant, she grabbed your hand and tugged you inside. The house was warm and cozy, if a little cluttered, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings taped haphazardly on the walls.
---
“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Su-an announced, holding up a ragged teddy bear with one ear chewed off. “He’s the president of my council.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding solemnly. “And what does the council do?”
“Important stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was letting you in on a state secret. “Like deciding who gets cookies after dinner. Also, they voted to make you the assistant.”
You blinked. “I don’t remember running for office.”
“Well, you didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “But Mr. Snuggles said you looked like you’d be good at it.”
Before you could protest, she shoved the bear into your hands and pointed to a tiny table covered in a chaotic mix of crayons, plastic teacups, and a single half-eaten cookie.
“Sit,” she ordered. “The council meeting is starting!”
---
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirlwind of nonsensical games and increasingly bizarre “council decisions.” At one point, you were ordered to wear a paper crown (which barely fit) and were dubbed the “Official Snack Prince.” Your royal duties included distributing Goldfish crackers and ensuring everyone—stuffed animals included—got an equal share.
“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Su-an said, eyeing you critically as you handed Sir Fluffington his crackers. “Better than my last babysitter.”
“Oh?” you asked, curious. “What happened to them?”
“They couldn’t handle the council,” she said gravely.
---
After the meeting adjourned, Su-an decided it was time to “train” you in the art of hide-and-seek. You played along, even though she kept hiding in the same spot: under the dining table, her giggles giving her away every single time.
“Found you again!” you said, crouching down to peer under the table.
She gasped, genuinely shocked. “How are you so good at this?!”
“It’s a gift,” you deadpanned, earning another round of giggles.
---
When hide-and-seek got old, she declared it was “dance party time.” She dragged you to the living room, where she plugged in her favorite playlist on an ancient speaker. The first song was a pop hit you vaguely recognized, and before you could even protest, she was already twirling around like a whirlwind.
“Come on!” she yelled over the music.
“I don’t dance,” you started, but she shot you a look so devastatingly adorable that you had no choice but to join in.
What followed was ten minutes of the most ridiculous dancing of your life. Su-an moved like she was powered by pure chaos, flailing her arms and jumping around, while you attempted something resembling the robot. She laughed so hard she tripped over her own feet, and you had to catch her before she face-planted into the couch.
---
As the day wore on, you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of boundless energy that made you wonder if kids ran on caffeine instead of juice boxes.
By the time bedtime rolled around, you were exhausted. Getting her into pajamas was an ordeal—she insisted she couldn’t sleep without her “lucky socks,” which turned out to be mismatched and buried at the bottom of her toy chest. When you finally tucked her in, she stared up at you with wide, sleepy eyes.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be here.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
---
As you made your way back downstairs, you felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Babysitting wasn’t what you’d imagined yourself doing, but something about Su-an’s infectious energy and genuine joy made it worth it.
You tidied up the living room, stepping over plastic dinosaurs and rogue crayons, and couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. If every day was going to be like this, maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.
---
And so, your days with Su-an became a routine. Every afternoon, she greeted you at the door like an excited puppy, launching into a new scheme or game. One day, she decided you were a dragon and she was a brave knight. The next, you were her art teacher, helping her draw increasingly absurd animals like “dog-o-sauruses” and “cat-icorns.”
One particularly memorable day, she tried to teach you how to braid her hair. It did not go well.
“Why are there so many strands?!” you groaned, your fingers tangled in her hair.
“It’s easy!” she said, giggling. “You just go over, under, over, under!”
“You sound like a cryptic math teacher,” you muttered, earning another round of giggles.
---
The days passed in a blur of laughter and chaos, and soon, you found yourself looking forward to your afternoons with Su-an. She made you forget about your stress, your bills, and your endless to-do list.
Still, a question lingered in the back of your mind: where was her dad during all of this? But for now, you were content to let the mystery be. After all, it was hard to worry about much when you had a six-year-old demanding you be her “Royal Snack Advisor.”
It was one of those rare evenings when the air felt just right—not too cold, not too warm, with a soft breeze that carried the faint smell of grass and distant barbecues. Su-an had begged to go to the park after dinner, and you’d caved, eager to get some fresh air and give her a chance to burn off her endless energy.
“Push me higher!” Su-an squealed as she swung back and forth, her legs pumping excitedly. You stood behind her, laughing as you gave the swing a gentle push.
“Higher, huh? What are you trying to do, touch the clouds?”
“Maybe!” she shouted, giggling as the swing reached its peak.
The park wasn’t crowded—just a few other families and joggers scattered around. It was peaceful, the kind of evening where you could almost forget the strange tension that sometimes hung around the house, the questions you tried not to ask about her father’s late-night comings and goings.
But the peace didn’t last.
As you helped Su-an off the swing and she dragged you toward the monkey bars, a commotion near the edge of the park caught your attention. At first, you thought it was just a group of people arguing—a not-uncommon sight in the city. But then you saw him.
Your heart stopped.
There, in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, was a man—the man. His tall frame was unmistakable, even in the shadows. He stood over a small group of disheveled, huddled figures, who you quickly realized were homeless people. A plastic bag lay torn at his feet, loaves of bread spilled across the ground.
He wasn’t just standing there. He was stepping on the bread.
Your breath caught as you watched him stomp down with deliberate, almost mechanical force, grinding the food into the dirt. The homeless group stared in silence, some in shock, others looking away as if too defeated to protest.
“Isn’t that Daddy?”
The innocent question cut through the haze of disbelief like a knife. You snapped your head down to look at Su-an, her wide eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of curiosity and confusion.
“No,” you said quickly, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not.”
“But—”
Before she could finish, you crouched down and gently placed your hands over her eyes. “Let’s go, Su-an. We’re leaving.”
“Why can’t I look? What’s wrong?” she whined, squirming in your grasp.
“Because it’s not safe,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you picked her up and started walking away, her protests muffled against your shoulder.
Your mind raced as you carried her toward the car. What had you just witnessed? That couldn’t have been him—could it? But the silhouette, the way he carried himself—it was all too familiar.
You buckled Su-an into her car seat, doing your best to distract her with promises of ice cream and cartoons when you got home. But even as she babbled happily about her favorite flavors, your hands trembled on the steering wheel.
By the time you got back to the house and put Su-an to bed, your heart was still pounding. You paced the living room, replaying the scene over and over in your head. The way he’d crushed the bread underfoot—there had been no hesitation, no anger, just cold, calculated precision.
Who does that?
And more importantly, why?
The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between your classes, assignments, and Su-an’s boundless energy, exhaustion had taken its toll.
It was the sound of the front door slamming that jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked into the darkness, the faint glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows across the room. Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate, and nothing like the hurried, near-silent ones you were used to from the man of the house.
You sat up, your heart beginning to race. Something wasn’t right.
When he appeared in the doorway, your stomach twisted into a knot. His usually pristine white shirt was drenched in blood, the vivid crimson staining the fabric and dripping in thick, uneven streaks. His face was ashen, his dark eyes wild and unfocused, like a man teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name.
“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, instinctively backing away as the metallic tang of blood reached your nose.
“It’s not my blood,” he said curtly, his voice gravelly and sharp.
As if that was supposed to make you feel better.
“That doesn’t answer my question!” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.
He staggered toward the kitchen, his movements unsteady but purposeful. Against every ounce of self-preservation screaming at you to stay put, you got up and followed him.
“Are you hurt?” you asked, your tone softer this time.
He didn’t respond, instead gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unapproachable than usual.
“Sit down,” you said, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.
He turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you thought he’d ignore you, but then he surprised you by obeying. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step cost him.
You grabbed a damp cloth from the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you wrung it out. You weren’t sure why you were doing this—why you weren’t running out the door or calling the police. Maybe it was the way he looked, like a man who had seen too much, or maybe it was the faint vulnerability hiding behind his hard exterior.
“This... isn’t normal,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you began wiping the blood from his face. The cloth came away dark and sticky, and your stomach churned.
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with things you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warning edge.
You paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unreadable—a mix of exhaustion, anger, and something else that sent a shiver down your spine.
“I’m here,” you said, almost defiantly, as you moved to clean his hands. “So I’m already concerned.”
He didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.
The silence between you grew even heavier, the only sound now being the soft movement of the cloth against his skin. Your hands were shaking slightly as you worked, wiping the blood from his face, his hands, but his eyes never left you. They were intense—piercing, almost as though he were searching for something in your expression.
You couldn’t look away for long. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second, your heartbeat picking up, each thud echoing loudly in your ears. It was like being drawn into a web you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.
When you finally stepped back, giving him space, you thought you’d be able to breathe again. But then, his hand shot out, quick as lightning, wrapping around your wrist. The touch was firm, deliberate, sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through your veins. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His fingers were cold against your skin, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart race.
"Why are you helping me?" His voice was low, gravelly, and for a moment, you wondered if he was testing you—seeing if you’d reveal the truth, or maybe if you’d run.
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was hammering, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to his proximity. The heat between you both felt suffocating. His touch was grounding, yet it stirred something dangerous inside you. “Because someone has to,” you replied, your voice steady, though you could feel the words slipping off your tongue more as a defense than truth.
His gaze deepened, darkening in a way that sent a chill down your spine. The air between you was thick, electric, as if there were an unspoken promise between you both—a promise you knew you were too afraid to fully acknowledge. Then, before you could even react, he pulled you in close. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.
And then his lips were on yours.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision, desperate and overwhelming, like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long and was finally breaking free. His kiss was messy—almost violent—as if he needed to consume you, to claim you in a way that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your body tremble.
You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop, told him that this was wrong. Your mind screamed at you to break free, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead, matching the fervor of his kiss. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, his grip tightening. Your breath was ragged between kisses, and your pulse pounded in your ears as the world outside of the two of you seemed to vanish.
When he pulled away, just far enough to catch his breath, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the lingering heat of his touch, the undeniable thrum of desire that still buzzed beneath your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something in them—something dark, dangerous, but...hungry.
His lips curved into a smirk, and it sent a jolt of unease running down your spine, mingled with something else, something deeper.
“You’re in over your head, kid,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your back.
The words should’ve been a warning. They should’ve sent you running. But instead, they only lingered in the air between you, wrapping themselves around you like a noose. You should’ve known then, but you didn’t want to listen.
And for the first time, you realized: you were already tangled up in his web, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to escape.
The obsession grew in subtle ways. You’d arrive to find unexpected gifts waiting for you on the kitchen counter: a sleek leather wallet, a watch so expensive you didn’t dare wear it, a bottle of cologne that smelled like a storm breaking over the ocean.
When you tried to protest—“This is too much” or “I can’t accept this”—his expression would shift. His jaw would tighten, his eyes darkening with something that made your chest tighten.
“Take it,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. And you’d always comply, your words catching in your throat as he gave you a look that said refusing wasn’t an option.
Your feelings about him became a tangled mess of contradictions. Every instinct screamed that something about him was wrong. The blood, the cryptic way he spoke, the chilling bread incident in the park—they all painted a picture of a man you should stay far away from.
But then there were the moments that left you reeling. A lingering glance, a brush of his hand against yours, the way he could soften—just slightly—when he saw you with Su-an.
The first time he kissed you, you felt like your world had been turned inside out. It was sudden, overwhelming, and left you breathless. His lips were rough but urgent, like he was staking a claim rather than asking permission. And when it happened again—and again—you didn’t push him away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, craving the heat of his touch despite every rational thought telling you to run.
But his obsession wasn’t content to simmer beneath the surface. It began to consume him, bleeding into the delicate balance of your day-to-day life.
He started showing up during your babysitting hours, a presence that was impossible to ignore. At first, he’d just watch from the doorway as you played with Su-an, his dark eyes following your every move with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.
Then, his involvement escalated. He’d dismiss you early—always with some excuse about needing to talk to you. But the moment Su-an was out of earshot, his demeanor would shift. He’d pull you into his room, his hands firm but not rough as he guided you inside.
“You’re spending so much time with her,” he’d say, his voice low and rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t forget who’s paying you.”
His lips would crash against yours before you could respond, his kisses urgent and messy, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else but with him.
The final straw came on a night like any other—or so you thought. Su-an had already gone to bed, and you were tidying up the living room when your gaze drifted toward the slightly ajar door of the man’s study. It was a room he rarely used in your presence, a space he kept locked most of the time.
You hadn’t intended to snoop. But the door was open, and your curiosity, already inflamed by the strange events surrounding him, got the better of you.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and faintly bitter cologne. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the mahogany desk and the shelves lined with books and files. One particular folder caught your attention—it was open, papers spilling out as if hastily shoved aside.
Your heart sank as you picked up the first page. It was your class schedule, neatly printed and highlighted. Beneath it were receipts from your favorite coffee shop, notes about your usual order scribbled in the margins.
And then there were the photos.
They weren’t candid shots taken on the street or at the park. They were intimate, the kind of photos someone would take if they were watching closely—too closely. You recognized the outfits, the moments. One was of you laughing as you pushed Su-an on the swings. Another showed you sitting on a park bench, earbuds in, entirely unaware of the camera.
The air in the room felt too thick, like it was choking you. Your fingers trembled as you shoved the papers back into the folder, heart hammering in your chest.
“What the hell is this?”
The words left your mouth before you even realized he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something intense.
The folder in your hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents seared into your memory. Photos of you, notes about your life, details no one should know unless they’d been watching you for far too long. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, standing so calmly in the doorway as if this was all perfectly normal.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice shaking.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his movements slow, deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in with the man you were starting to realize you knew far less about than you’d thought.
“I warned you,” he said, his voice low, almost soothing. “I told you not to go looking where you shouldn’t.”
“This—this is insane,” you stammered, backing up until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. “Why do you have these? Why are you—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” he interrupted, his tone softening as he drew closer. His gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in place. “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re... important to me.”
“Protecting me?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “This is stalking. This is obsessive. This—this isn’t normal!”
He stopped just a breath away from you, his height and presence overwhelming. His eyes, dark and piercing, searched yours for something, though you couldn’t tell what. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.
“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me–and to my daughter? You’ve become... everything.”
The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your body tensed, torn between the instinct to pull away and the undeniable pull of his closeness.
“Stop,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength it should have had. “This isn’t—this can’t—”
But he didn’t stop. His other hand moved to your waist, firm but not forceful, as he leaned closer.
“You keep saying it’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips. “But you don’t push me away.”
His lips brushed against yours, testing, as though giving you one last chance to stop him. But when you didn’t move, when your breath hitched and your hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, he took it as permission.
The kiss was slow at first, deliberate and searching, as though he was memorizing every inch of your mouth. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.
You gasped against him, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt. The heat of him, the sheer intensity of his presence, was dizzying. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you couldn’t suppress the small sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.
His movements grew more desperate, more consuming. He pressed you back against the desk, his body caging you in as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent sparks of sensation racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your head tilted to give him better access.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost guttural. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”
You swallowed hard, your mind racing even as your body betrayed you, leaning into him. His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact.
“This... this isn’t okay,” you managed, though the words came out weak, shaky.
“No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, filled with something you didn’t dare name. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”
The words hung between you, heavy and charged, as he leaned in again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left no room for argument. And though your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, your body betrayed you, pulling him closer instead.
His hand slowly trailed to the hem of your sweatpants, lightly tugging on the strap, you flinched when his cold hand suddenly went under your boxers.
“We shouldn’t be doing this– Su-an might-” you were interrupted with his other hand covering your mouth.
“Hush now, this room is soundproof,” he merely stated before harshly pulling your pants and boxers down with one tug. He then picked you up and placed you on the desk, pushing aside all the files and paper, which now seemed so insignificant.
“You’re hard. Are you still telling me you don’t want this?” He questions, his warm breath fanning your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, not knowing what to say, or what to do.
Before you could form words, he wraps his hand around your aching cock which was standing erect, partly due to the cool air, and partly due to what was happening.
His movements were minimal, slowly moving his hand along your shaft, while his other hand fetched a packet of lube from his back pocket. Where he managed to get that, you couldn’t tell.
He ripped the packet with his teeth, and spread the substance all over his fingers, before swiftly flipping you over, so that your ass was facing him.
Before you could utter a word of process, he had slipped a lubed finger in you. A wanton moan left your mouth at the sudden intrusion.
“Fuck–don’t stop, please,” the man only smirked at this, slowly sliding in another finger, and then another. Three of his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, and oh, it felt heavenly. His other hand held you up just a bit, to keep you from falling off the study desk.
Your hands gripped onto the desk, frantically trying to keep yourself upright, but to no avail. You kept slumping off, the pleasure being too overwhelming.
“Stay still for me pet, that’s it–good boy,” the praise went straight to your dick, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Soon, the man determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his fingers. You whined at the sudden emptiness, wanting to feel full once more.
He stared at your twitching hole, clenching around nothing. The sight did nothing but turn him on even more.
He removed his belt and cast it aside, while tugging down his pants and boxers with a sense of urgency. He easily flipped you over with his strong arms, now getting a clear view of your already fucked-out face.
He merely grinned, and before you could respond, he slid into your awaiting hole. You gasped at the intrusion, the head of his cock bullying its way into your hole. He groaned feeling the way you clenched around his length.
Without waiting for you to adjust, he fucked into you like an animal in heat, holding your legs in such a way that your knees where at your shoulders.
The new angle made his length hit your prostate with every thrust, making your head fall back on the table, a loud moan leaving your lips.
The man was savouring every single reaction, every little noise you made. “Such a sweet little thing,” he cooed. “Can’t even keep a straight head while getting fucked, hm?”
The only thing that left your mouth was a string of garbled noises. Your brain had quite literally turned to mush with how well he was fucking you.
Soon, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, but the man didn’t stop. Instead, he fucked into you harder, a bulge forming in your stomach with every thrust.
He lightly pressed on the bulge, which made you squeal– the overstimulation doing too much to your head.
He kept rutting into you until he felt his climax. When it came, his thrusts slowly started to stutter. Without warning he emptied his load in you, painting your gummy walls white.
He kept you on the desk, without pulling out as you whimpered, feeling so, so full.
With your mind in such a disarrayed state, you didn’t notice him slip a small ring onto your finger.
“Now you can’t leave me–or Su-an, ever. Poor thing needs a mother after all.”
ꗃ Summary: Every champion has its perks and gratuity, whether it'd be money, medals, trophies, fame, luxuries and other opulence you could ever name, but it's different for him. For him you are everything, you're his. Just imagine what would he feel seeing you getting touch by some insolent fan of his, that filthy and grubby fingers entangled in your hair, caressing the crown of your head, and you only let them do it? Are you aware of the consequences? You should.
ⓘ Warnings: porn with plot, description of boxing, blood and violence mentioned, possessive toji, marathon sex, bathtub sex, size kink, belly bulge, mating press, manhandling, degradation, fingering, creampie, overstimulation, breeding, cumflation, choking, dirty talk, dacryphilia, dumbification, missionary, body worship, slapping, spanking, fucking over a phone call, uses the term: cunt, pussy, somnophilia, not proofread.
Murmurs, gossips, rumors and half-baked claims. That's all you hear and all you see, whenever you go out for groceries, draped with long coats, a pair of masks and a black sunglasses, when you scroll throughout the media, hell you barely go out because of your relationship but still, it's all the same thing.
Your eyes scanned the screen of your phone, softened yet saddened, reading articles and headlines of your lover's success and immediate bad remarks,Toji Fushiguro.
In the care of his home as it was yours as well, spacious condominium and multiple rest houses, the comfortable humming pf the air-conditioning set a cozy atmosphere within the room, there hanged and displayed his awards, medals, trophies and championship belts, but there was your picture with him sat beside of all his hard-earned opulences, glimmering brighter than any of it.
You met Toji even before he started to pursue boxing, you were his first. His beloved, The one that softened his brute and hardened heart. You remembered, no, you reminisced the times.
There you sat in the golden hour, sunset bleeds, seeping through the window as the curtain danced in the breeze, the crisp of the pages when anyone flips it, the incoherent murmurs of the students sets you to mood, though you pondered as you gently glided your pen on the paper. He stared at your form for hours, you felt it, the burning holes on your back. Toji Fushiguro.. he was a complex character in your book though harmless most especially to you, unconsciously you guys became friends, mutuals, the way his gaze dripped into your form like he's carving the every crevice of you into his memory, immortalizing you. even when the teachers are calling for him he wouldn't budge, he bugged you, the large pad of his palm pats your head tenderly, will tease you, he shares his lunch with you even when he's not that blessed financially, Toji noticed that you don't eat so he reminds you so, You were top of the class afterall, you kept studying until the sun is down, Someone that was definitely not on his level, You were classmates, high-school sweethearts if you may.
Toji's definitely not the one to start a fight.. well not until you came into his life. Not only that you were top of the class, you also get people to cling on you, and he didn't like it, not one bit.
Though he does understand why people would cling on you, you were smart, pretty, and handsome, that's literally it, what's there to not like? Though one thing that he didn't like about you is that you're too kind.
You let people touch the places that he caressed, you let people touch the every fiber of you ever so carelessly. Toji felt his stomach churned as his jaw locked, teeth gritting at the sight.
His patience finally ran out, he felt something inside of him ignited when he saw you, cornered at the corridor with some lousy student who reeked cigarettes and failed hook-ups, you look uncomfortable and scared, pressing your textbooks in your chest, avoiding eye contact, pushing the man away as the he forced his way to kiss you as he slithered his hands on the small of your back.
Then it collided.
A clean punch, straight to the face.
The man flew to the ground with a thud, he was knocked-out.
OH MY GOD, HE KILLED HI—
You screamed internally as your mouth agape in shock, dropping your textbooks on the ground, eyes widening when you saw Toji clasps your wrist gently, telling you to follow him.
“ Calm down, pretty. He's not dead. ”
You heard his voice, deep and gravelly, you listened. You then noticed the texture of his hand gripping your wrist, it was large, the pad of his palm were rough, you also felt the line of his scars, yet they were warm and clean.
Toji led you to a place, part of the campus that you've never been to, It was quite hidden after all. It was full of wild flowers and grasses, trees standing tall, shielding the grassy pasture from the sunlight, the atmosphere were calming, as the cold wind greeted you.
“ How did you know of this place..? ”
You asked in wonder, as you saw Toji already sat down, leaning his back beneath a tree, patting to the ground beside him for you to sit.
“ Let's just say that I like to explore. ”
“ And go skip classes? How adventurous. ”
“ Wow. I just saved your ass and this is what you're going to pay me back? ”
You giggled at the dry sentiment, eyes crinkled into a crescent like shape, blinking only see Toji's gaze upon you, you breath hitched as you stayed silent.
Toji liked you, whether you believe it or not, he was smitten even. But the question is how? Yes your overwhelming good qualities is there but there's just something about you that he couldn't get enough. He never found it on anyone else he ever encountered.
Toji remembered the day he met you. He was utterly miserable and battered with gashes and bruises, his hair was a storm from the brutal training he experienced, he sat down on a swing at some random playground and there was you, who offered him some water and a towel with your name initials sewed, wafting the fabric conditioner and a light conversation, treated him like a human in need, the way your eyes held such gentle gaze, your fingers treading to his entangled inky black strands, Toji never felt so safe from someone who's your size.
He bit his lip, as he tasted the metallic taste of blood from his freshly opened scar on his lip. His family was quite famous when it comes to sports and enterprises, The reign of prodigies, The Zenin family, but he rebelled against them, changed his last name, he gained freedom, though under one condition, he'd pursue boxing and win championships.
You noticed the forming scar on his lips, it bled out, abruptly standing up to buy some medicine or antiseptic cream some of sorts only to feel a warm yet rough palm grasping your frigid arm from the temperature, looking down to see Toji's gunmetal irises, almost in a pleading way, pleading you to not leave him alone.
“ Stay. ”
The arena roared like thunder, while the broadcasters gossiped, and joked through the mic, echoing throughout the stadium, sharing their insights about the possible outcome of the fight.
The fans shouted his name, chanting it like some prayer, they cheered for him like he already won, he saw signs and a tons flirtatious messages and innuendos.
It is not a surprise that Toji has down bad fans and a few stalkers in the span of his boxing career, he's big, broad shoulders that can easily tower over someone, slender waist, rippling mounds of muscles across his arms and thighs down to his strong legs.
To be honest, Toji never really cared about some obsessive fans and stalkers bothering him, because in reality, they wouldn't even try to get close, because they can't, Toji is already capable of handling himself to some minor inconveniences and danger of the disrespectful fans, Yes they could post some of his thirst traps online for clout or something, they don't matter to him, they could dwell on his past for all he care, make insane headlines about him but one thing that the publicity could never touch is his lover, you.
Toji's refined and smooth skin glistened beneath the gleaming lights, his sweat dripping down his chin down to his chest, his dark strands sticking in to his forehead, sharp eyes, his pinkish, plump lips forming a thin line as his scar parted, smirking from the sight of his opponent, as he pounded his gloved fist together— bouncing off his feet, to warm up.
Whenever he was in a match, he would think of you, waiting for him at the backstage, sitting prettily as you watch him through the big screen, wearing his olympic jacket draping over your small figure, so when he wins, he would hang his gold medal adorning your neck as it shines.
He snapped out of his trance when heard his coach yell at him, signaling him and giving him instructions, Toji merely hummed as his adjusted his black mouth guard and head guard in place, answering his coach, muffled.
“ Do you hear me, Fushiguro? ”
“ Loun n’ clear, boss. ”
You shuffled at Toji's temporary quarters, fixing and tidying up his mess as you guys will go home together, stuffing his clothes and other necessities in his duffel bag, you hummed, hearing your lover's PR team scramble on their feet as the fight finally starts, leaving you alone, you were contemplating if you're going to the manager's office, there hanged the enormous screen to watch.
After you finished tidying up, you went to your own bag, prada. It was gifted by Toji on Valentine's Day, reaching inside to get your so called essentials, mask, sunglasses and a cap, to cover your image, unlike Toji, you would actually like to entertain fans though he never lets you, he never did, though you understand why.
You went your way to the manager's office room, the air conditioning hits your face gently, sitting down at some chair.
The match finally started as you sat down.
You watched Toji swung his fist with accuracy and impact, as it collided to his opponent's cheek, tilting his head guard to the side, you winced.
“ Yikes—! That will sent me to coma, immediately. . .”
After a few rounds, the tension is getting too high, hot even. Everything's on the flow until the bastard opponent purposely spat on Toji's foot, just to anger him, spoiling his mood, only for Toji to land a final blow on him that took a tooth from him in the process, knocking him out, he must've seen stars.
You barely contained yourself from laughing, remember.. you need to stay behaved, you watched through the screen as the referee finally took Toji's bulging arms up, declaring his victory, you squealed from your seat in glee.
You stood up from your seat, turning off the television, making your way out only to bump into someone.
“ Are you Toji Fushiguro's manager, can I please get his autograph? Is he here?! ”
Your eyes widened at the sight, you scanned his appearance, he was tall, his body was quite toned as well, greyish hair, tanned, lime eyes, he was wearing a backstage pass, though he might've got it wrong, it was a fan, you never met a fan before. Wait, why is he here..?
“ Oh.. I think you've mistaken me for someone else, though Toji isn't here yet, this is the manager room as you can see, kindly get out please. ”
You politely dismissed the fan, only for him to clasp your hand together, you gasp.
“ Uhm, Sir.. I think this is not a great ide— ”
“ Would you please accompany me to the backstage? ”
This. . .This man is really stubborn and quite irritating.
You internally thought, as you retreat one of you arm from his grip, you gave him the look.
“ Fine, follow me. ”
“ Woah, you're really kind...”
“ Quiet. ”
You led him to backstage room, only to found the PR team already tidying up the place, some of the staff greeted you.
“ This is the backstage, you may sit right over there.. ”
You pointed at the chair beside the coffee table, only to feel a hand patting your head rather harshly, messing your hair in the process, with one hand pinching your cheek even with the mask on.
“ You're really kind y'know that, though what's your name and why are you wearing a mask, are you sick? You're quite cute too. ”
Once again your eyes widened as you mouth agape, as the staff froze on what they're doing and tried to warn the man as if he was asking for his early death (he is).
You tried to tell him to stop but your words only go into his ear and comes out to the other side, you also tried smack his hands away, the staff also tried to help, but it was too late, you felt it from a mile away.
He's here.
And he saw it, the way that the man is holding you.
Oh you fucked up.
Your legs feel like jelly, they're shaking as you take it, your chest heaved, whimpering as you drooled into his broad chest,
“ What'd I tell ya about meeting my fans, hmm. . .? You dumb boy. ”
His words slurred into your head as you felt his long and think fingers, pump in and out of you covered in slick, his other hand smacked the globe of your ass, watching it jiggled in friction as you let out a wonton moan.
“ Fuuck— look at you, clenching your cute little cunt on my fingers. ”
You merely buried your face into his neck, arms scratching his back, the cold surface of the gold medal pressed up against his broad chest, it was hanging on your neck, muffled whimpers was heard, feeling his long fingers curling inside your gummy walls.
“ Nghh— m'sorry. . . won't do it again! ”
You lift your head to apologize, tears filling your eyes, only to choke on your own saliva, you felt his fingers protruding and bullying your prostate dead on, rubbing against your walls, as you writhed and shake uncontrollably.
“ NGHH— ”
Toji pushed his thick fingers in and out of your creamy hole, slick dripping and coating the globe your ass, making obscene sounds, slippery and wet delicious noises, your thighs throbbed.
“ Such a greedy slut, aren't you, doll? ”
You bucked your hips, grinding down into his fingers, straddling his strong arm, locked, you felt Toji's hands gripping your legs together, lifting it up to your head, pulling his fingers out of your tight fucking hole, dipping his head down to suck your creamy hole, his slick tongue licking the stripe of your ass, slipping his long tongue in your warm walls, frothy spit dribbling down his chin down to his neck, glistening, your felt his plump lips ghosting just righton top of your tight ring, his scar, feeling heat in your tummy.
Toji pushed apart your legs, going for your lips, kissing you sloppily, you tasted the slick, feeling his large hand slithering in your neck choking you in the process, you whimpered.
“ I'm gonna fuck you so hard the only thing that your mouth will babble is my fat fucking cock. ”
His gravelly voice ranged through the heavy tension, the smell of sex reeked on the air, his pearly whites peaking, a quirk of his lips, smirking as he looked down at your form, his glimmering gunmetal irises stared sharply, helplessly.
You can't stop twitching and moaning uncontrollably, you bit your lips, almost bleeding out, pretty little tears rolling down your cheeks, as your eyebrows knitted together.
“ P-please you're too— deeeep. . .”
Toji held your wrist together, upwards, his other arm held down your hips, your weight dipping down into the mattress, he merely dismissed your complaints, angling his hips, hitting the bundle of nerves, his thick, veiny cock abusing your prostate, the creamy and bubbly loads of his cum made an obscene white ring on your rim, dripping down the globe of your ass.
“ Shut up and take it— you dumb boy. ”
You drool into your pillow, like some cheap whore, you yearn— no, chase for it, the coiling heat inside of your tummy, your consciousness almost blearing out from the sheer impact of Toji's thrust.
His thrust was brutal and passionate, he fucks it deeper inside, Toji watched his cock go in and out of your tight cunt, the creamy and frothy cum coating his shaft, deliciously.
Toji groaned, almost whimpering when he felt you clenched around his dick.
“ Are you trying to snap my dick in half, Doll? ”
Toji then gathered your legs together, your thighs collided, lifting your legs over your head, gripping it tightly, he sloooowly— pulled out his cock, the thick and veiny shaft, almost pulsing.
He then slip it back in a heartbeat almost knocking out the air out of you, you felt so full, so filled, you let out a silent scream.
“ Sooo big— too muchhh nghh. . .”
You babbled, trembling, knees weak, you felt him in your tummy, Toji noticed, as he pressed down the forming bulge below your bellybutton, rubbing it, you moaned and whimpered loudly, you tried to remove his palm, your tongue lolling out like a slut.
“ Look honey, Daddy's sooo— deep inside of your boy pussy. . .”
Toji's brutal thrust was consistent, the bed kept creaking, hitting the headboard on rhythm, he trained for endurance, plenty of stamina, he wasn't close to done, even after multiple orgasms, he could go for days— weeks, even.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
But you can't, you weren't built for it, but he was willing to shape your body, he will train you to take his dick, to take his heavy loads, he wanted to breed you until you're so full of his creamy cum, his seed, he wanted to see his hole full of hot cum, dripping down your ass, plugging it back in with his fingers.
Your stomach was covered in cum and slick, your cock ached from so much cumming, your chest heaved, your body was covered in sweat, the bed was also covered in slick, sweat and cum that dripped out of you.
Toji then glided his fingers, combing his hair into a slick back, few of his inky dark strands sticked onto his forehead, huffing gently, he then slipped his strong arms on your back, lifting you, as your head lulled down into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him for support, straddling his waist with your legs.
Toji immediately got the memo, securing your form against his warm body, he leaned in to kiss the crown of your head softly.
“ Doing so good for me, aren't you my angel? ”
You melted, burying your head deeply into his neck, your arms slithering around his neck, lifting your head to kiss his jaw, tenderly, in return.
Toji's eyes widened, as it softened, grinning softly, kissing the tip of your nose down to your swollen lips.
“ Two can play that game. . . ”
His rough voice ranged throughout your ears, you felt his steady heartbeat with yours, your smooth and soft tummy against his toned stomach.
He then walked his way into the bathroom, there sat a pristine bathtub, the shower was surrounded with glass, the light, almost dimmed, illuminated with serenity, Toji sat you down on the stool, as he prepared the bathtub, turning on the warm water combined with cold.
Your legs were still wobbly, the aching feeling in your back was still lingering, you almost winced.
Toji lifted you once again, dipping his foot first to test the water's temperature, now dipping his whole body in with you in his arms, the water sloshing and engulfing your tired body, his strong thick thighs down to his legs surrounding your sides, you leaned onto his chest.
Toji grabbed the bottle of shampoo, pouring it into his palm, lavender.
He glided the liquid into your scalp, meticulous fingers entangling the knots of your hair, he also got your favorite body wash, gliding it over your supple skin, the foamy and bubbly soap, glistening all over your body, you massaged your neck, shoulders, arms, down to your back, and stomach, grabbing the shower head and rinsing you.
After a while, you decided.
“ Baby, can I wash you as well. . ? ”
You timidly asked your lover, playing with the water beneath you.
Toji's eyes widened, as he grinned, his hand slithering up to your jaw, tilting it to face him, he kissed your jaw to your lips, his tender gaze drowning you, sweetly.
“ Aren't you a sweetheart? ”
Your eyes softened at his gesture, you made your way, facing him, you knelt down, it was wobbly, you tried to grip onto the sides of the tub for balance, you almost slipped, yelping until you felt warm hands kneading and pressing up to your hips.
“ Careful now, wouldn't want you to drown and hit your head, angel. ”
“ Shut it. . .”
His rough and gravelly voice was heard, you blushed profusely, you took the bottle of shampoo, gliding it to his scalp, pulling his dark hair into a slick back, you stole a sweet kiss on his forehead, you also used your favorite body wash, gliding it over his refined arms, and his toned body, his scars, you felt his gunmetal irises stared at you, he's gorgeous.
Toji merely stared at your form, taking good care of him, the tender touches, the way you kissed his forehead, tracing his scars that he once hated, you loved them, and he learned to love it as well, he felt the coiling heat on his stomach, he didn't flinch, when he felt your fingertips ghosted above his tip, he felt blood rushed to his cock, fuck.
Once you were done, you leaned onto his broad chest, until you felt it.
He was still hard.
“ You think we're done yet? Nuh uh. . . ”
Your eyes widened, looking beneath the water, only to see the crown of his bulbous tip poking between your thighs.
Toji then slipped his hands to caress your stomach down to your neglected cock, his other hand fingering your creamy and warm cunt, you mewled into your palm.
He lined himself up, guiding his cock to your entrance. Thick, hard, veined— he thrusted upwards, hitting your sweet spot, you drooled, pushing it deeper.
He knelt down in the tub, standing up, lifting you up, with your knees up to your head, folding you in half, as he lined up his shaft to your slick hole, thrusting inside, hitting your prostate, you moaned and whimpered profusely, your toes curled.
He fucked you in long, steady strokes, pushing deep with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch, every vein of his dick. The girth of him inside you was torment, your cock spurt out thin sheen of cum. head tipped back, neck full of fresh bruises, mouth drooling, his shaft was coated in creamy cum from the previous loads of cum he fucked into you earlier, it dripped out, making wet squelching noises when he thrusted in and out, he filled you to the brim just like a creampie.
“ Fuuuck— you're so fucking tight. ”
Toji cursed, buried himself deep, and came inside you—hot, thick spurts of his creamy load that made your thighs spasmed.
“ No matter how many times I fucked this pussy, it's still so fucking tight. ”
He pulled out only to thrust back in with a deep, filthy squelch, and you moaned—a raw, high-pitched moan that echoed in the room, he gripped your thighs tighter, he pushed you down to his shaft pushing the cum deeper, fast, you saw the tip of his cock bulging in your tummy.
“ NGHH— s-slow down. . ! ”
You whine. He grabs your hips and slams in again, fucking you with the weight of his cock, his heat, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.
“Fuuuck— fuck— take it— ”
He snarls, his rough and gravelly voice gets you intoxicated, you're too cock-drunk to even comprehend, slamming in and staying there as his cock throbs. And pulses, his every vein dragging along your velvety walls, he painted it white.
Toji’s voice is low, his breath hot against your ear, and his cock is buried deep inside you, pulsing with each heavy and fast grind of his hips, clinging to him as he starts to thrust, brutal and deep, it hits your prostate, making your cock spurt out loads of smooth cum dripping down your shaft, you moaned loudly, the remaining energy in your body leaving.
You passed out after you came, consciousness leaving your system, you felt your ears ringing, and Toji's inaudible voice.
You woke up, in your room, it was dimmed, dark curtains surrounded the glass windows, the coldness of the room hits your body, your hair and body was warm and dry, except your hole.
Your bleary sight is finally vivid, your eyes widened, you saw Toji still thrusting inside of you, you whimpered when your mind finally functions.
“ Well look who's finally awake. . . ”
He kissed your lips, with your mouth open, almost in instinct, slipping his warm pink tongue inside, he grips your thighs, pushing them up, folding you until you’re fully exposed under him. His cock hits that spot that makes you gurgle in the process, choking in your saliva, your hole feels so raw.
“ Did you sleep well, angel? You passed out. ”
“ Ngh— how long was I asleep. . ? ”
You barely nodded as you asked, your voice was hoarse and gravelly, with your swollen lips and eyes.
“ Almost for five hours. . .”
Your mouth agape, your eyes widened in fraction, you gripped onto his biceps.
“ Baby, what about your training. . ! Mr. Shiu w-would be so livid! ”
Toji merely dismissed you, thrusting his cock in and out of you, the cum is overflowing from the amount of loads that he dumped inside of your boycunt, he pressed down the bulge in your tummy, his canines peaking once again.
“ Training can wait, angel, I'm not done breeding you yet. . . ”
He starts thrusting harder, faster. His heavy balls still filled with his seed, he's so pent up from the days that he didn't get to fuck you because of those stupid trainings, from the times that he'd get so horny, wet dreams about you bouncing up and down his dick with his cum dripping down his shaft from your sopping wet cunt, his balls slap your ass with every thrust, creamy squelches, looong deliberate thrust dragged along your hole, like some cheap fleshlight, his personal cum dump.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
You can only moan and whimper as you take it all, you felt something vibrate on the bed, it was Toji's phone with an unfamiliar number displayed on the screen, Toji noticed as he smirked,he accepted the call and put it on speaker, you stared curiously at him, he stared at you with his phone on his ear, you heard a quite familiar voice, annoying even.
“ Hello, Mr. Fushiguro? Again I apologize for what happened yesterday, It wasn't my intention to discover your lover, and harass him at that, your management told me to apologize to you and your lover, I signed the contract that I wouldn't reveal these events on the public eye, may I please apologize to him, If I may. . ? ”
“ Why of course? here he is. . . ”
Your eyes widened as you finally get what he was planning, you frowned at him, Toji merely smiled at you, mocking you, you flushed when he put the phone beside your ear, your hands weren't exactly available right now as it was restrained by his vice grip.
“ Ah, hello, I would like to apologize to you as well, as I said, it wasn't my intention to harass you, I was just so excited to see Mr. Fushiguro, and I didn't know that he has a lover, you were quite a beauty, I can see why he's so protective of you. . . ”
Toji gritted his teeth and jaw, he felt something inside of him, possessiveness and jealousy, his eyebrows knitted in irritation, that made him thrust upward inside of you, deep and hard, you tried to muffle your noises as you bit your lips, he gripped your hips down with his other hand onto the mattress, but you still tried to answer.
“ Y-yes. . . It's a-all good now— mhnghh— ”
“You like this. You like being used and stuffed full to the brim while that bastard hears us, don’t you? What a whore. . . ”
Toji leaned in to your other ear, he whispered with his hot breath fanning in the surface of your ear, every time his hips slam into yours, you feel the slap of his skin, the obscene slick of his cock grinding inside you, you really tried to muffle your moans but the heavy and squelching noises says it anyways.
“ O-oh, Is that so? I'm glad then. . . Though are you alright? you seem to be distracted. ”
“ No worries, I-i just pulled a muscle—! ”
He pressed his hips flush to yours, his cock still twitching inside your soaked hole, he then grabbed the phone back to him.
“ Alright, that's enough. bye, sayonara or whatever. ”
“ Ah— Goodbye— ”
Turning off the phone and tossed it on the side, he stared down at you, watching his thick shaft still piercing you for almost a day now.
“ Haaaah. . .ngh—Tojiiiii—”
He thrust in, hard, You jolted, a delicious moan spilling from your lips as he grinds his hips deeper, refusing to pull out, you’re shifted on your back, legs trembling while you're folded in half, gripping the sheets, while his cock pulses deep inside you—raw, hot, wet and creamy.
“ Such a good boy you are. ”
He breathes, and panted, his voice rough and almost hoarse, while he caressed your hips tenderly.
“ Took me so well and letting me fuck you dumb and fill you up just like you deserve. . .”
You merely nodded profusely, accepting your fate, because you're so sure that he wasn't done yet.
ꗃ Inspired by: @dabisbratz, check out their works! they're actually the holy grail for male readers omggg ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) !!
Hiyaaa can I ask for Ayato from Genshin with a kitsune reader who steals pieces of his clothing as a secret crush on him but one day Ayato catches them and punishes them.
A Punishment ?
Ayato x kitsune! bttm male reader
Content warnings: spanking, anal tongue fucking (receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, creampie , slight predator prey dynamic (if you squint), slight dubcon because reader wasn’t really into the spanking at the start
Note: This fic has been marinating in my inbox for 2 weeks so I hope you enjoy! Also I haven’t played Genshin in a year so this might be a tad bit ooc 😭. Enjoy!
You had always been someone in the background, shadowed and sheltered under the protection of your sister, Guuji Yaemiko. Few to none knew of your actual existence as centuries passed, except for the Raiden Shogun and the clans themselves. Her influence stretched far, wrapping around you like a protective veil.
The Shrine was your haven, but also your cage. Every decision, every move you made, was watched, controlled. It was always for your safety, she would say. The sister who would tease and always play you like a fiddle to her silly whims became firm and unmovable when it came to exploring beyond the Inazuman city. You had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, never given the freedom to truly explore it. Yet, that defiant streak within you had only grown stronger. You didn’t want protection. You wanted to live.
However, what your sister could not shield you from was unforeseen. A little crush you had harboured for the Yashiro Commissioner himself, Kamisato Ayato. A man who carried himself with grace and power — a man who like your sister, commanded respect wherever he went. The very man that made the Kamisato name arise from its ashes and make it the prestigious clan today. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nothing better than those maidens who chased after him relentlessly for marriage offers. It stung to think of yourself in that way, to admit that you were drawn to him with the same intensity that they were.
It wasn’t just his power or his elegance. It was the way he moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the sharpness in his gaze that made you feel seen even when you wished to remain hidden. You were drawn to him with a fascination that bordered on obsession, an allure that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Due of your crush, you found yourself resorting to a silly yet strangely satisfying ritual—stealing Ayato’s clothes. It was an odd way to cope with the intense feelings you harbored for him, but it was the only outlet you could manage. Each stolen item, whether a glove, a ribbon, or a sash, became a cherished possession, a physical connection to him that you could hold onto.
Each piece of clothing was a wishful reminder of him—a way to keep a part of him close, even if you could never have him completely. You would fold his garments carefully, press them to your face, and imagine the moments he had worn them, his scent of sandalwood and rain with the lingering warmth, It was your own secret fantasy. It was harmless really. A secret way of indulging in the hopeless crush you’d harbored for the head of the Kamisato clan.
However, tonight, the air felt different—charged with something you couldn’t quite place. Strangely, there weren’t any guards present that were on patrol. The estate was quiet. A little too quiet.
Still, you pressed on.
The thought of what you were about to do made your fox ears twitch in excitement. Ayato’s chambers were silent as you nudged the door open, the dim light of a single candle casting long shadows over the room.
You crept inside, eyes scanning for something to take. His haori lay draped neatly over a chair, and without hesitation, you reached for it. The silk fabric slipped through your fingers, smooth and cool to the touch. Your breath caught in your throat as you brought it close, imagining, just for a moment, what it would feel like to be wrapped in it—surrounded by him. The thought made your cheeks warm, but you pushed it away, carefully folding the haori over your arm.
It was a ridiculous thought, you knew that.
You allowed yourself a small smile. Another successful heist, another piece of him to add to your collection. You moved toward the door, your escape clear and easy.
But as you turned, something stopped you.
A faint rustle. Barely a sound, but enough to make your ears twitch with alert. You froze, eyes darting toward the corner of the room. Nothing.
You waited, heart racing in your chest, every instinct telling you to bolt but curiosity kept you rooted in place. Slowly, you scanned the room again, your gaze lingering on the bed. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a figure sitting in the shadows.
Ayato.
He was leaning casually against the headboard of his bed, his body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. His lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours with a calm intensity. Those eyes were striking—like shards of amethyst, reflecting the light in a way that made them almost glow. They watched you with a calm amusement, though the glint in them suggested he was far more aware of the situation than you were.
Your heart raced as you took in his appearance. His long, pale blue hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose strands that framed his angular face. The moonlight accentuated his porcelain skin, making him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream. Yet there was nothing soft about the way he held himself—he stood with a quiet strength, the grace of a nobleman who knew his power.
“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it. It sent a shiver down your spine.
You swallowed hard, clutching the haori tightly. Ayato’s tall, lean frame was still relaxed, but every movement he made was deliberate. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as he spoke, drawing attention to his hands—hands that could command armies or, in this case, one mischievous kitsune.
“I… I didn’t mean—”
Ayato’s lips curled into a faint smirk, revealing a glimpse of his sharp wit. “Didn’t mean to what?” He interrupted, stepping forward, the soft rustle of his clothing barely audible. “You seem to have a habit of taking things that don’t belong to you,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too calm.
“Lord Ayato,” You squeaked softly, ears flattening as you clutched the fabric in your hands. He approached, slowly, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name. “What were you planning to do with this, hm?” He gestured toward the ribbon in your hand, his voice soft but laced with authority. “Stealing from me, Yae Miko’s brother no less… What would she say?”
You bristled at the mention of your sister, but there was no escape now. “I just wanted—”
“To see if I’d notice?” Ayato finished for you, his amusement deepening as he tilted his head slightly. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Up close, you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the quiet authority he carried in every word.
His hand reached out, brushing lightly against the fabric of the haori. “I noticed,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers grazed yours, cool to the touch yet searing with the unspoken threat of control.
Ayato’s smile was small but devastatingly confident. “But there’s a price to pay for stealing from the Yashiro Commissioner.”
Your heart raced as he stepped even closer, the close proximity making your tail swish back and forth with nervousness and anticipation. “And I think you know what that means.”
“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for just a moment, but the look in his eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unyielding—was enough to make you comply. Your legs gave way almost instinctively as you dropped to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of adrenaline coursing through you drowned out everything except the sound of your own breathing, loud and uneven in your ears.
He took another step, his movements so fluid that his bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, as though he was one with the shadows. You could feel the heat radiating from him even before he stood directly in front of you, the faint scent of sandalwood and rain lingering in the air—intoxicating and impossible to ignore.
A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his lips—a smirk that sent a thrill of both fear and excitement rushing through your body. The expression was playful, yet there was something undeniably dangerous in it, like he was silently toying with you, fully aware of the power he held over you. Up close, you could see the cool, detached amusement in his eyes—like a predator toying with prey, knowing full well you were already caught in his web.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. You hesitated again, but the silent disapproving look in his eyes was enough to make you move. You stood up slowly, your hands trembling as you began to undress. Reluctantly, your robes slipped off, leaving you stark naked and cold, shivering in the cold night air. Truth to be told, you were a virgin, never having the chance to even have a sexual outlet besides from fingering yourself and masturbating on rare occasions when your sister wasn’t at the shrine. Even with your crush on Ayato, you were rather reluctant and admittedly, a tad bit fearful.
He watched you, his expression unreadable, but the fire in his piercing eyes made your skin tingle with anticipation. That calm, calculating gaze burned with something primal even though his face remained impassive. When you were done, he simply gestured for you to turn around. You hesitated briefly, but his silent command left no room for question.
Your heart pounded as you moved, his authoritative presence looming behind you. “Hands on the bed,” he demanded, his voice brushing dangerously close to your ear. The soft, commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, making you feel small beneath him.
You obeyed, placing your palms flat against the cool surface of the futon. The fabric felt grounding under your trembling fingers. You could hear him moving, the quiet rustle of his robes as he adjusted himself, his body heat brushing ever closer. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension, until—
Without warning, the first blow landed hard across your ass. The sharp, stinging pain rippled through you like a wave. You gasped, your body jerking forward from the sudden impact, your tail instinctively going taut. The burning sensation lingered, intensifying with every passing second, until all you could do was grip the sheets, struggling to steady yourself against the onslaught.
“Ayato, I don’t think I want to — Ah!”
He wasn’t done.
The second blow came even harder, the sharp impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. This time, you couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped your lips, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic taste of blood faint on your tongue as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over.
“Count,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “And call me Sir. Stay still,” he added, the warning in his tone unmistakable, “Or this will be even worse.”
You could feel the power in his command, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.
“Two, Sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, doing your best to remain still despite the lingering sting.
The next few blows came in quick succession, each one more painful than the last. Your ass was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that was building inside you. You could feel yourself getting hard, your body betraying you as it responded to the punishment. The next few blows came in quick succession, each one landing harder than the last. Your skin burned, a searing pain spreading across your ass with every strike, and it felt like your entire body was on fire.
Tears slipped down your cheeks, and no matter how hard you fought them back, they kept coming, blurring your vision. You mutely counted the blows between occasional cries of pain and ragged gasps for air. The room spun around you, the sensation too much, too fast.
Each smack to the ass only intensified your horror at your arousal and your arousal. You could feel your dick twitching and getting stiffer as the pain resonated throughout your body. Precum was beginning to pool beneath your cock as the electric sting that the pain brought felt even more pleasurable than the last.
“T-ten,” you whispered shakily, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep from collapsing under the pressure. Finally, he paused, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the tension in your body slowly unwinding as the sting of the blows lingered. Your skin was still ablaze with the aftermath.
You could feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his fingers brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier actions. The touch was almost tender, a strange gentleness that sent a confusing wave of emotions through you.
Suddenly, with a swift motion, you found yourself turned around, now facing him. Despite the harsh punishment you had endured, you felt your heart race and then falter as the close proximity of Ayato became overwhelming. Your traitorous tail, betraying your true feelings, swished involuntarily with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
However that did not distract him from the hard on you sported, much to your embarrassment. His slender hand crept down your body and dwarfed your cock. He rhythmically rubbed your length, making you shudder and feel the sparks and the familiar hum of pleasure beginning to ignite.
“Yes,” you gasped as Ayato purposefully tightened his grip around your sensitive tip, never stopping his pace, “Oh—fuck—” as that mischievous hand closed around you, there was a playful air about Ayato as he let out a soft melodic laugh while mumbling something under his breath and then shifting his grip.
The next slide up was a tight, demanding fist. You threw your head back.
“Does that feel good, (Name)?” There was an amused lilt in his voice that made you flush head to toe.
The rush of blood and desire to a point low in your stomach was overwhelming. The movement was growing slicker, better , so tempting to lean fully into. You had never been this turned on.
“I don’t know, ” you cried through a strangled whine, you felt Ayato’s laughter directly through your skin, and somehow that made him suddenly very close.
There was something so exciting and arousing about it the way the man you had dreamt about, the very Yashiro Commissioner, himself was helping pleasure you. The very thought had you moaning, once, and falling slack like a puppet with cut strings.
You were gently pushed back onto your back against the soft surface of the futon with both your legs are hoisted up, hanging against Ayato’s shoulders. Your body folded in half as you saw his head buried in your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin as your tail hairs brushed against his chin.
“Ayato?!” You struggled for the commissioner to release his grasp on your legs, but to no avail, as he tightened his grip to hold you still. You flushed red in embarrassment, the thought of Ayato seeing everything too much to bear.
And then you felt something warm and slimy breach past the ring of muscles, causing you to yelp in surprise.
Holy fuck. Was Ayato actually doing what you thought he was?
You shuddered as waves of pleasure traveled up to your core. Gritting your teeth to try and contain the shameful moans from escaping you, afraid to realise that this was all a dream, afraid that Ayato would be turned off by you.
“Hnnn…Ayato….” You groaned, eyes clenching shut and face wrinkled as you bit back on a pathetic whine. All of a sudden, you jolted.
Ayato’s tongue had prodded at something deep inside you that made you melt into a puddle of arousal and shame. You unconsciously gripped his head tight with your thighs, messing up his perfect tidied hair. He had found your prostrate. And then he stopped, a gossamer thread of saliva connecting his lips to your hole as he retreated.
You couldn’t help but notice the shy mole that hid beneath his spit shiny lips — he was absolutely ethereal even with his messy and tousled hair. An unnatural pink flush decorated his fair and porcelain face and you realised that he was aroused.
By you.
The thick tension hung in the air as he silently gazed at you, the hunger in his amethyst eyes almost engulfing you on the spot like he was a man gone wild.
Shadows danced on his face as he meticulously removed his robes, still carrying himself with the same grace and dignity as if the air wasn’t imbued with the electric undercurrent of arousal and the fact that he had just tongue fucked you. He stood above you, full mast and you felt your breath get stolen away from you.
Ayato had a picture perfect physique, lean, almost like a statue carved out and had come to life. Your eyes immediately dove down to his abdomen, to be greeted with his cock, hard, already pressing against your rim, twitching invitingly. Both hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself.
“We will not stop now, (Name). Your pleas and cries will be unheard. This is a punishment.” He stared at you with an unyielding gaze, one that you were ready to challenge. “This is the lesson you must learn, the price of your rebellion,” he concluded. “One I accept.” You let out a hoarse giggle. His eyes darkened almost simultaneously as what seemed like another amused smile tugged at his lips before he let his actions speak for himself.
He did not give any mercy. Ruthlessly driving into your hips with a force like he wanted to merge into you, you felt his girth stretch and force your walls to mould into its shape. “Huh...?” Your mind went blank with pleasure, and for a while you couldn’t comprehend what happened. Your insides clenched down hard on his cock as slaps of skin punctuated the silent night air.
“Ah! Ggh- Aah! W-wait! Ungh —!” You slurred inaudibly as you felt your body rock to his merciless pace, your cock dribbling endless pre-cum uncontrollably. He promised your pleas and cries would be unheard and he served his promise, not even a single word could leave your raw throat. Only guttural whines and moans would escape your bitten lips as you fell into the throes of pleasure.
Alas, decisions were made and you could not regret what you said. Here you were, getting your deserved punishment in the form of a ruthless fucking.
Everything was too hot, too sticky and hummed with the sound of distant sobs, you groggily thought. Oh. Those were from you. Your skin was sticky with the sheen of sweat and cum and the futon beneath you was drenched. You felt unusually full, like something sloshing in your tummy. Your hole felt sore. And he wasn’t done. But you would never admit defeat….was the last thought that echoed in your muddled mind as you gave into the embrace of sleep.
“(Name)? Learnt your lesson now? Oh. The silly thief has admitted defeat.” He pushed back his sweat soaked hair as he glanced upon your slumbering form. Letting out a grunt, he pulled out of your red, swollen hole as semen immediately began dripping out your gaping rim. Humming an exasperated sigh, a fond expression appeared on his face as his lavender eyes crinkled into crescents as he gently ruffled your hair.
The little kitsune had fallen into his trap.
Sometime ago, Ayato had noticed his belongings going missing. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t deserve the title of Yashiro Commissioner. The thief clearly had no ill intent, but it became particularly vexing when he realized that the pair of gloves Ayaka had gifted him had mysteriously disappeared as well.
Then one day, by sheer coincidence, he noticed the little kitsune who had caught his eye more than once, wearing a familiar ribbon in their hair— his ribbon. And on their hands, the very gloves he had been missing. Amusement flickered in his usually composed gaze as everything clicked into place.
It seemed someone had developed quite the habit. But Ayato wasn’t the type to let such things go unaddressed. Oh no, if this little fox thought they could slip away unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. Someone was in need of a lesson, and he would be more than happy to provide it.
So he plotted.
note: ajskskskk, I’m finally done 🙏 my first ask so I hope this was done well!
Meeting: Inei stumbles into Cobra's Public Admin class by accident and instantly brightens his day—he just won’t admit it.
Chapters:
Wrong Class, Right Person – They meet, Cobra’s annoyed but intrigued.
Coffee & Rainy Days – Accidental study sessions begin.
Jealous? Me? – Inei talks to Noboru, and Cobra can’t handle it.
Rooftop Secrets – Inei comforts Cobra when he’s overwhelmed.
The Grump Melts – Cobra finally confesses—with blushes.
Boltverse(University) Masterlist
University Boltverse — Chapter 2: Coffee & Rainy Days
Cobra × Inei
(grumpy × sunshine dynamic)
The next morning, the campus was wrapped in a gentle drizzle, the soft patter of rain tapping against windows and the pavement. Cobra wasn’t thrilled about the wet weather, but it gave him a good excuse to grab a coffee before his early lecture.
As he stepped into the small campus café, the warm scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries immediately cut through the damp chill. The bell above the door jingled softly as he pushed inside, eyes narrowing through the steam of his own breath.
That’s when he saw Inei, sitting at the corner table, head bent over a notebook, scribbling furiously.
Cobra froze for a moment. What was Inei doing here? Was this some kind of coincidence or planned?
Before he could decide, Inei looked up, caught his eye, and grinned like they’d just spotted sunshine breaking through the clouds.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite grump,” Inei teased, closing the notebook with a flourish.
Cobra tried to scowl but failed. “You’re everywhere.”
Inei patted the seat across from them. “Come sit. We have a study date now.”
Cobra hesitated, but the warmth of the café and Inei’s bright presence was surprisingly inviting. He slid into the chair with a reluctant grunt.
“What are you working on?” Cobra asked, nodding at the notebook.
“Child Development project,” Inei said, eyes sparkling. “It’s about community support for at-risk youth. Thought it might help with your Public Administration stuff, too.”
Cobra glanced down, impressed despite himself. Inei’s neat handwriting circled important points, accompanied by colorful doodles of smiling kids and trees.
“Not bad,” he muttered.
Their banter was light but easy, and before long, they were deep in conversation—debating ideas, sharing notes, and laughing at silly jokes neither wanted to admit they enjoyed.
Outside, the rain thickened, drumming against the windows like a steady heartbeat.
“I should probably get going,” Cobra said reluctantly after an hour.
Inei grabbed his arm. “Stay a little longer? I brought snacks.”
Cobra looked down at the small paper bag with a smirk. “You planned this.”
“Maybe,” Inei admitted with a playful wink.
They shared the snacks between sips of coffee, and the cozy warmth of the café felt like a bubble shielding them from the world outside.
Later that week, the rain returned with a vengeance, flooding the sidewalks and sending students scrambling for cover. Cobra was halfway across campus, textbook clutched under his jacket, when he spotted Inei standing under a narrow awning, drenched and looking helpless.
“Oi,” Cobra called, quickening his pace.
Inei looked up, eyes wide. “I wasn’t expecting this much rain.”
Cobra pulled his jacket off without thinking and draped it over Inei’s shoulders.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said gruffly.
Inei shivered but smiled warmly. “Thanks. You’re not so bad for a grump.”
They moved together under the small shelter until the rain eased. The silence stretched between them—comfortable, filled with something unspoken.
When it stopped, Cobra offered his arm. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
They navigated puddles and dripping trees, sharing quiet jokes and stories. Cobra found himself laughing, the sound low and rare.
“Inei,” he said suddenly, voice softer than usual. “Thanks for sticking around.”
Inei bumped his shoulder gently. “You’re welcome. Someone’s got to keep you from turning into a full-time grouch.”
Cobra smirked. “Don’t push your luck.”
That evening, back in his small dorm room, Cobra found a folded piece of paper tucked inside his notebook. On it was a drawing—simple but full of life—a stick figure with wild hair and a crooked grin, holding an umbrella under pouring rain.
Underneath, in bright letters, it read: “For when the world gets too grey.”
Cobra stared at the drawing longer than he wanted to admit. A slow warmth spread in his chest, chasing away a loneliness he hadn’t realized was there.
The next day, at their usual spot under the oak tree on campus, Cobra found Inei already waiting, their notebook open and pen in hand.
“You’re early,” he grunted.
Inei shrugged with a smile. “Can’t wait to get back to the best study partner.”
They fell into an easy rhythm—sketching plans for their joint projects, sharing insights, and teasing each other with gentle jabs.
During a pause, Inei glanced up and said softly, “You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”
Cobra’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need help.”
“But you want it,” Inei countered gently.
Cobra looked away, the stubborn wall around him cracking just enough.
“Maybe,” he admitted.
Inei reached over and touched his hand lightly.
“Then let me be part of your fight.”
Over the next few weeks, their accidental meetings turned intentional. Coffee dates became study sessions, and study sessions became moments of quiet understanding.
Cobra found himself looking forward to Inei’s sunshine—even on the days when he wanted to be left alone.
One rainy afternoon, as thunder rolled over campus, they sat huddled in the library, textbooks open but attention drifting.
Inei looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”
Cobra snorted. “I’m plenty scary.”
“Maybe,” Inei grinned. “But I like scary.”
Cobra’s lips twitched into a rare smile.
The rain outside softened to a drizzle, but inside, something between them was growing stronger—something neither of them wanted to ignore.
And as the campus lights flickered on, casting long shadows over the emptying halls, Cobra realized that maybe, just maybe, having Inei in his life wasn’t a mistake after all.
Meeting: Inei stumbles into Cobra's Public Admin class by accident and instantly brightens his day—he just won’t admit it.
Chapters:
1. Wrong Class, Right Person – They meet, Cobra’s annoyed but intrigued.
2. Coffee & Rainy Days – Accidental study sessions begin.
3. Jealous? Me? – Inei talks to Noboru, and Cobra can’t handle it.
4. Rooftop Secrets – Inei comforts Cobra when he’s overwhelmed.
5. The Grump Melts – Cobra finally confesses—with blushes.
Boltverse(University) masterlist
University Boltverse — Chapter 1: Wrong Class, Right Person
Cobra × Inei
(grumpy x sunshine dynamic and subtle protective vibes)
Cobra sat stiffly at the back of the lecture hall, arms crossed, trying not to let the dull drone of the Public Administration professor get to him. The last thing he wanted was to be here, but this was the first step if he wanted to lead the Hoodlum Squad into a better future.
He scanned the room with a quiet scowl, noting the usual mix of students half-listening, half-pretending to take notes. The only sound that truly caught his attention was the soft tap of hurried footsteps at the door.
The door swung open, and a bright figure stumbled in, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. Inei.
Inei was the exact opposite of Cobra: an energetic splash of color against the dull monotony of the class. Their smile was like a sudden burst of sunshine on a cloudy day. But what really got to Cobra was how unapologetically themselves they were—non-binary, confident in their own way, with a streak of mischief hiding behind that cheerful facade.
The professor barely glanced at them before muttering, “You’re in the wrong class.”
“I’m so sorry!” Inei said, cheeks reddening even more as they fumbled with their books. “I was looking for Creative Writing, but this room looked… interesting.”
Cobra wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, he found himself leaning forward just enough to catch their words.
“Well,” the professor continued, “if you’re going to stay, you might as well pay attention.”
Inei gave a small, grateful smile, pulled out a notebook, and sat down two seats away from Cobra. As the lecture resumed, Cobra noticed Inei doodling in the margins of their notebook—bright sketches that didn’t fit the serious tone of the class.
Cobra’s usual irritation softened a fraction. They were an odd one, but somehow, that made the day feel a little less heavy.
During the break, Cobra was packing up when Inei tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” they said brightly. “You’re in Public Administration, right?”
Cobra nodded, raising a brow.
“I’m actually doing Child Development, but I thought maybe I could sit in on this sometimes? It looks… intense, and I like hearing about leadership stuff.”
Cobra frowned, trying to hide how intrigued he was. Most people avoided this class because it was dry and filled with bureaucratic jargon.
“Why?” he asked, voice rough but curious.
Inei shrugged, flipping a page in their notebook. “I like learning how people work together. And leaders like you? You seem like you know what you’re doing.”
That surprised him enough to pause.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said quickly, trying to sound gruff. “I’m just here because I have to be.”
Inei smiled wider, clearly unimpressed by his grumpiness.
“You’re kind of adorable when you’re annoyed.”
Cobra blinked, caught off guard.
“Whatever,” he muttered, brushing past them. But even as he left the classroom, a small part of him hoped Inei would keep showing up.
Classes went by in a blur, but throughout the day, Cobra kept catching glimpses of Inei. They were everywhere—talking to friends with effortless charm, doodling in their notebooks, laughing at jokes no one else seemed to get.
Later that afternoon, rain started falling softly as Cobra headed toward the campus library. He was lost in his thoughts about budget proposals and community meetings when a familiar voice called out.
“Cobra! Wait up!”
Inei was jogging to catch up, their umbrella forgotten in the rush. Cobra sighed, knowing he shouldn’t get involved, but when Inei brushed against his sleeve, he didn’t pull away.
“You left your umbrella,” Cobra said gruffly, handing it over.
“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver,” Inei said, eyes sparkling.
The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to force them to share the small umbrella as they walked together.
“So,” Inei began, “what made you choose Public Administration?”
Cobra glanced sideways, hesitant.
“I want to make a difference where it counts,” he said quietly. “Not just fight on the streets but change things from the inside.”
Inei nodded thoughtfully. “That’s cool. I want to help kids grow up strong and safe. Maybe that’s why I’m in Child Development.”
Their words hung between them, the rain tapping rhythmically on the umbrella like a quiet soundtrack to something new beginning.
That night, Cobra found himself replaying the day’s events in his head. Inei’s sunshine wasn’t something he was used to, but maybe, just maybe, it was something he needed.
Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel alone.
In a University Boltverse where all the HIGH&LOW characters and my OCs attend the same university, each gang's culture, values, and personality traits would influence their chosen college courses/majors. Here's a breakdown based on their personalities and backgrounds without the kids:
RUDE BOYS
Smoky – Architecture or Environmental Engineering
He cares about the Nameless Street and rebuilding or protecting it. Architecture suits his artistic but practical side.
Yuu – Fine Arts or Urban Studies
Quiet and expressive, Yuu would thrive in a course that lets him express himself or understand cities better.
Takeshi – Kinesiology or Fire Safety Engineering
Physical, dependable, and brave—he’d want a hands-on, protective role. Fire safety suits his sense of duty.
Pi – Mechanical Engineering or Street Design
Quiet and precise, likely to enjoy working with machines or underground infrastructure.
M! Reader – Media Studies or Psychology
Given your role in the gang, you'd be the observant type, great at reading people or documenting stories.
SANNOH RENGOKAI (Hoodlum Squad)
Cobra – Public Administration or Law Enforcement
Leadership, justice, and protecting others. A future police officer or community leader.
Yamato – Physical Education or Construction Management
Strong, athletic, and loyal. Great at organizing people physically and mentally.
Noboru – Law or Political Science
Smart and calm, especially after his ordeal with Ichigo-kai. Aiming to change things from the inside.
Inei (Cobra’s partner) – Child Development or Creative Writing
Sweet and nurturing, but creative. They’d likely want to help kids or express themselves through stories.
WHITE RASCALS
Rocky – Fashion Design or Business Management
Stylish, a leader, and knows how to run a brand. Could open a fashion label or club.
Koo – Graphic Design or Music Production
Silent but strong, with a mysterious aura. Might love creating album covers or beats.
Kuina (Rocky’s partner) – Marketing or Theater Arts
Mean-girl and stylish. She’d run the most iconic social media accounts or star in campus plays.
OYA HIGH / PART-TIME SCHOOL
Murayama – Education or Sports Therapy
Surprisingly thoughtful, he'd love mentoring troubled kids or helping athletes heal.
Furuya and sekki– Martial Arts Studies or Auto Mechanics ( I like to called them Furuya brothers because they treat each other as brothers along with Murayama)
All brawn and chaos, but maybe into fixing bikes or opening a gym.
Keiro (Murayama’s partner) – Home Economics or Nursing
He’s the “male mom,” so he'd shine in caregiving or practical life skills fields.
DARUMA IKKA
Hyuga – Criminology or Theatre
Loud, and always ready to stir the pot—he’d thrive in drama or criminal psychology.
Mirai (Hyuga’s partner) – Communications or Fashion PR
Baddie vibes, knows how to talk and make an entrance. Would dominate in marketing or public speaking.
Here's a plan for each couple in the University Boltverse, including their love tropes, how they meet, and what each of their 5-chapter arcs will explore. Each chapter will be around 1,500 words, making them mini-stories.
1. Cobra x Inei (Non-binary OC)
Love Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine / Protective Crush
Meeting: Inei stumbles into Cobra's Public Admin class by accident and instantly brightens his day—he just won’t admit it.
Chapters:
Wrong Class, Right Person – They meet, Cobra’s annoyed but intrigued.
Coffee & Rainy Days – Accidental study sessions begin.
Jealous? Me? – Inei talks to Noboru, and Cobra can’t handle it.
Rooftop Secrets – Inei comforts Cobra when he’s overwhelmed.
The Grump Melts – Cobra finally confesses—with blushes.
2. Murayama x Keiro (Male OC)
Love Trope: Domestic Partners / Slow Burn Friends-to-Lovers
Meeting: Keiro offers to tutor Murayama after seeing him struggle in class.
Chapters:
The Tutor Agreement – Keiro proposes a study schedule.
Homemade Bentos & Shared Notes – Intimacy through routine.
Panic & First Aid – Murayama gets injured; Keiro panics.
“You Don’t Even Realize” – Someone flirts with Keiro; Murayama reacts.
Morning Coffee, Finally Yours – They move in together.
3. Rocky x Kuina (Female OC)
Love Trope: Power Couple / Mean Girl x Gentleman
Meeting: Rocky catches Kuina in the fashion wing criticizing a design—and loving her flair.
Chapters:
The Red Lipstick Threat – She makes fun of his shoes. He smirks.
Frenemies at First Sight – Paired for a fashion competition.
You’re Hot When You’re Angry – Heated argument leads to sparks.
Eyes Only for You – Club girls flirt with Rocky. Kuina declares war.
Queen Meets Her King – They win the show—and each other.
4. Hyuga x Mirai (Female OC)
Love Trope: Chaotic x Chaotic / Ride or Die
Meeting: Mirai throws a drink in someone’s face at a party. Hyuga helps her escape security.
Chapters:
The Great Escape – They run across campus at midnight.
Two Devils in Class – Both prank their prof. Chaos ensues.
Jealous Bitch Energy – Mirai gets real about her feelings.
Characters: Murayama × Keiro with their lazy son Kuro
Genre : family bonding and fluff
Word Count: ~1,100
Summary :
Murayama Yoshiki drags his lazy son Kuro out to play baseball—his favorite game—despite Kuro’s total lack of enthusiasm. With Keiro stepping in as catcher, the three share a chaotic but warm family moment on the old Oya High field. Murayama, staying true to his rough, pushes Kuro to hit just one decent pitch. After much groaning and drama, Kuro surprises everyone with a solid hit, proving he has a spark of his parents in him. As the sun sets, the unlikely trio walks home, teasing and bickering—just like a real, imperfect family.
Masterlist
The sun hung low over Oya High, casting long shadows across the abandoned baseball field behind the school. The bleachers were chipped, grass peeked between cracks in the concrete, and the old netting was half-torn—but none of that mattered to Murayama Yoshiki.
He stood on the pitcher’s mound, rolling a baseball between his fingers. His black hair, slightly messy, ruffled in the wind. His white button-up shirt was wrinkled and untucked, collar loose, black school jacket hanging off one shoulder. His face held that usual smirk—half boredom, half amusement. No one could tell when he was serious, and he liked it that way.
Across from him, lounging lazily on the dusty bench near home plate, was a black-haired teenager in a baggy hoodie, his face half-hidden behind an arm.
“Kuro,” Murayama called out, voice flat. “I didn’t bring you out here to nap.”
Kuro cracked one eye open. “Then why’d you bring me here at all? Baseball’s boring.”
Murayama scoffed. “It’s not boring. It’s precision. Timing. Like a fight, but with rules.”
“Exactly why I hate it,” Kuro muttered.
From behind the makeshift catcher’s spot, a voice cut in—warm, patient, but firm. “Come on, Kuro. Just stand and swing a little. We only need a few hits.”
Keiro knelt behind home plate in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, catching glove on one hand, catching helmet half-slipped on his head. His black hair was tied in a low, messy bun. He smiled at his son—one of those "I’ll feed you later if you behave" smiles.
Murayama turned the ball in his hand. “Don’t make me drag you to the plate.”
Kuro sighed dramatically but pushed himself up. “I swear, if this gives me a tan, you’re paying for my skin cream, papa.”
“You’re like a damn cat,” Murayama muttered, smirking wider as Kuro took a lazy stance near home plate, bat dragging in the dirt.
Kuro didn’t even bother adjusting his grip properly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Murayama leaned back, eyes focused. He wasn’t one for delicate bonding, but baseball was his thing. It wasn’t just a sport—it was discipline, control, rhythm. He’d spent countless afternoons throwing pitches against a wall back when no one wanted to hang around Oya’s unpredictable leader.
Now he had a family. A strange one, but his.
He pitched.
The ball sailed cleanly, cutting the air with purpose.
Kuro didn’t swing.
Thud—the ball smacked into Keiro’s glove.
“Strike one,” Keiro said gently.
“Didn’t even try,” Murayama growled.
Kuro yawned. “I’m calibrating.”
“You’re what?”
“My timing. Gotta wait for the perfect pitch.”
Murayama barked a short laugh. “You’ve got my blood. I know when you’re bluffing.”
“Yeah, but I got Keiro’s chill. That balances it out.”
Keiro chuckled from behind the plate. “He’s not wrong.”
Murayama shook his head and readied another pitch. This time, he moved a bit slower, letting Kuro see the windup.
The ball came in again—straight, clean.
Klak!
It connected, barely. The bat wobbled in Kuro’s loose grip, and the ball rolled pathetically a few feet.
Kuro dropped the bat like it offended him. “See? I hit it. Can we go now?”
Murayama walked toward him, slowly. “You call that a hit?”
“It made contact.”
“You barely moved your arms.”
“I’m conserving energy.”
“From what? Blinking?”
Keiro stood up, brushing dust from his pants, walking toward the pair. “Okay, okay,” he said, hands raised in mock peacekeeping. “Let’s just reset. Kuro, try gripping the bat a little higher, and Murayama—ease up on the heat. It’s just practice.”
Murayama looked at Keiro, then at Kuro, who was now crouched on the ground, drawing a cat in the dirt with the bat’s end.
“You’re raising him too soft,” Murayama muttered.
“And you’d have him doing pushups before breakfast.”
Murayama considered that. “...Not a bad idea.”
Keiro smiled faintly and gently tousled Kuro’s hair. “He’s got your instincts. Just not your obsession with violence.”
Kuro leaned into the touch a little, pretending not to care. “I’m not lazy,” he mumbled. “I just don’t like doing things unless they matter.”
Murayama tilted his head. “You think this doesn’t matter?”
“To you, maybe. But I’m not you.”
Murayama stared at him for a moment—then chuckled. “You’re right. You’re not me.” He looked to Keiro. “He’s worse.”
Keiro laughed.
But something in Murayama’s chest shifted—something small and quiet. Kuro was right. Baseball didn’t matter to him the same way it did to Murayama. And yet here he was, standing under the sun, half-asleep but still trying—because Murayama asked him to.
That counted for something.
“Alright,” Murayama said, turning back to the mound. “One more pitch.”
Kuro groaned.
“No complaints. This one’s coming fast.”
Back on the mound, Murayama pulled up his sleeve slightly, cracked his neck, and focused. The wind picked up a little, rustling the weeds at the edge of the field.
He wound up—and threw.
The pitch came in sharp and fast.
This time, Kuro’s arms moved.
Crack!
The ball flew higher than anyone expected. It soared in a clumsy arc toward the edge of the field, bounced off the rusted fence, and dropped into the grass.
Kuro blinked.
Keiro grinned. “That’s a hit.”
Murayama let out a loud, sharp laugh. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
Kuro blinked again, then gave the faintest of smirks. “Guess I’m better than I thought.”
“Guess you’re not totally useless,” Murayama shot back, walking toward him with that cocky gait, hands in his pockets. “You just needed the right pitch.”
Kuro held out the bat. “Don’t expect me to join a team or anything.”
Murayama snorted. “Please. You’d fall asleep in the dugout.”
Keiro gathered the gloves and ball, walking over to them. “Let’s go home. I’m making curry.”
Kuro immediately perked up. “The spicy one?”
“If you wash the dishes after.”
Kuro groaned, but nodded. “Fine.”
As they walked off the field together, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long golden shadows behind the three of them. Murayama glanced over at Kuro, walking lazily with the bat resting on his shoulder.
He didn’t say it out loud, but a thought crossed his mind:
He really is mine, huh? Even if he swings like a sleepy cat.
And somewhere behind that smirk, a quiet warmth settled.
Cobra and Inei spend a peaceful day with their energetic twin daughters, Shimmer and Shine, balancing quiet strength and tender family moments in the heart of Sannoh.
Masterlist
The metal of Sannoh Street still carried the scent of old dust and motor oil, but to Cobra, it was home.
He stood outside the bike shop, arms crossed, eyes scanning the empty road like he always did—quiet, collected, unwavering. Even in the still morning, his sharp presence seemed to cut through the silence. He wore his signature jacket with dragon embroidery, collar popped just enough to defy, red patterned shirt tucked underneath. Cobra didn’t need words. His silence said enough.
Behind him, laughter broke through the garage walls.
Inside, Inei was sitting cross-legged on the shop floor, a bright grin on their face as they played “Princess Pit Crew” with two tiny whirlwinds. Shimmer and Shine—mirror-image twins save for the blue clip in Shimmer’s hair and the red one in Shine’s. One was bold, the other clumsy, but both inherited their papa’s fire.
“I fixed it!” Shimmer declared, holding up a plastic wrench like a trophy.
“Nooo,” Shine pouted, “you twisted the wrong bolt! Papa said the left side first!”
Cobra walked in, shadow falling over the little workbench the twins had built from cardboard boxes and scattered bolts. Both girls looked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes.
“Did we do it right, Papa?” Shine asked, tugging on the hem of his pants.
He crouched down slowly, inspecting the cardboard contraption with the seriousness of a SWORD leader reviewing battlefield strategy. “Hmm,” he said in that quiet, deliberate tone. “Looks like the front tire’s loose.”
Shimmer gasped. “We’ll fix it! Don’t worry!”
“You have five minutes,” Cobra said, and stood up with the faintest ghost of a smile.
Inei leaned against the workbench, watching him with warm eyes. “You’re too soft on them,” they teased gently.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Cobra didn’t answer. He walked to the corner where an old radio sat and turned the dial until a slow melody drifted through the garage—low, familiar, and gentle. Not Sannoh’s usual soundtrack, but something softer. Something that only played when it was just them.
“Shine fell yesterday,” Inei said as they walked beside him. “Scraped her elbow. She didn’t cry.”
Cobra raised an eyebrow.
“I think she’s trying to be like you,” Inei added, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. “All stoic and cool.”
“She doesn’t need to be like me,” he said. “She just needs to be herself.”
Inei smiled.
Shimmer and Shine eventually finished their project—barely held together with tape and determination—and proudly presented it to Cobra. He inspected it with all the seriousness in the world before giving a single approving nod.
“We’ll build a real one next time,” Shimmer grinned.
“Yeah! And ride it too!” Shine added, jumping up.
“No riding until you’re tall enough to reach the pedals,” Cobra said without looking up.
“Aw, Papa…”
Later that afternoon, the four of them went to the nearby scrapyard—a hidden place of color and ruin the girls loved to explore. Cobra watched quietly as Inei helped the twins climb the rusted frame of a junked van, pretending it was a castle. Their laughter filled the wind like a lullaby.
Cobra didn’t laugh. He rarely did. But the edge in his shoulders softened whenever he saw Inei look at their daughters with that gentle, protective warmth. Like they’d guard their little world with open arms and a crooked smile.
As the sun began to dip, bathing Sannoh in hues of honey and fire, Cobra carried Shine on his back while Shimmer clung to Inei’s side.
“Papa,” Shine mumbled sleepily, head resting on his shoulder, “will we always be together?”
He looked at the horizon for a long moment before answering.
The story follows Cobra’s younger brother, a Sannoh Rengokai member, as he finds himself repeatedly crossing paths with Yuu of RUDE BOYS—a quiet, mysterious fighter dressed in his signature red layered shirt, patched olive jacket, and wide pants. What begins as tension slowly grows into mutual trust and emotional connection.
Masterlist
The streets of SWORD buzzed with flickers of tension, like wires ready to snap.
You weren’t just anyone walking them, you were Sannoh Rengokai.
And more than that, Cobra’s younger brother.
People expected you to fight like him.
Think like him.
Lead like him.
But you weren’t him. You carried your own weight, your own bruises.
Still, there was one person who always made you feel like a shadow again.
A quiet ghost moving through ruins and alleys: Yuu of RUDE BOYS.
Always dressed like the streets raised him:
A red layered shirt rumpled under a patched olive jacket, its sleeves frayed and decorated with deep indigo patches.
Loose black pants brushed his shins, tucked into worn black boots.
He looked like a painting half-forgotten in the corners of Tokyo.
And yet, he moved like smoke, hard to hold, easy to remember.
It started on a rooftop.
You chased down a bike thief through alleyways until your lungs burned, the kid scrambling up a rusted fire escape like a rat.
When you got up there, ready to drag him by the collar.
He was already on the ground.
Yuu stood over him, hands deep in his pockets, face unreadable.
“Took your time,” he said in a low murmur.
You blinked. “I had it handled.”
He glanced at you, eyes lazy but sharp. “Sure.”
Then he walked past you.
His patched coat fluttered slightly in the rooftop wind.
That should’ve been the end.
But somehow, it wasn’t.
You kept seeing him.
Everywhere.
Under bridges where graffiti whispered gang names.
Outside convenience stores.
On rooftops again, always rooftops.
And he kept talking to you, like you were some puzzle he liked to unsolve.
Never loud.
Never with full smiles.
Just a small tug at his lips, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.
“You stare a lot,” he once said as you passed each other on a rainy street.
You rolled your eyes. “Because you dress like a collapsed thrift shop.”
Yuu only shrugged. “Better than looking like a borrowed legacy.”
That stung.
Because it was true.
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
You didn’t expect him to show up when you got jumped.
But he did.
Three guys from an anti-RUDE gang caught you near the warehouses. They fought dirty, one with a bat, another with a knife.
You fought back harder, but one cut along your ribs made your knees go weak.
Just as the knife rose again.
A blur of red and olive stormed in.
Yuu didn’t yell.
He didn’t rage.
He just moved.
Precise. Ruthless.
Like he was built from silence and instinct.
When the last guy ran limping, Yuu turned to you.
His patched coat was streaked with dust, his eyes scanning your wound.
“You bleed too easy.”
“I save the hard bleeding for special occasions,” you grunted.
Yuu crouched beside you, pulling fabric from his inner pocket.
Pressed it gently against your side.
“Why…” you muttered, “Why do you keep showing up?”
He tilted his head, black hair curling over one eye.
“Because you matter.”
“To Cobra?” you asked bitterly.
He stared at you, unmoving.
“No. To me.”
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
Back at the Sannoh hangout, Cobra paced like a storm while you got patched up.
“Why didn’t you call backup?”
“I didn’t think I’d need it,” you grumbled.
Yuu leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, red shirt still rumpled from the scuffle.
Cobra glared at him.
“You again.”
Yuu didn’t flinch. “He was bleeding.”
“Still not your business.”
You cut in. “It is if he saved my life.”
Cobra’s jaw tightened but he looked away.
You looked at Yuu.
And for once, you saw something behind his eyes.
Not just calm, but concern.
Like he hadn’t moved on from that alley fight in his head yet.
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
Night fell soft and slow a few days later.
You found yourself wandering the border of RUDE BOYS’ turf.
Maybe looking for trouble.
Maybe looking for him.
And there he was.
Leaning against a railing, one boot propped up, moonlight flickering over the patched shoulder of his coat.
“Lost?” he asked without turning.
“Maybe,” you replied.
He looked over his shoulder. “You always chase ghosts?”
You stood beside him.
Your elbow brushed his.
“Only ones that matter.”
He didn’t smile. But his eyes softened.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That I’m already yours.”
You choked a little. “What?”
“You think I keep showing up for anyone?”
His voice was a whisper, but it shook you more than any shout could.
You looked down at his hand.
Scarred knuckles. Fingers rough from climbing ruins.
Your hand reached out before you could think.
When your fingers brushed, he didn’t pull away.
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
You kissed him behind the ruin of an old vending machine.
Cans rusted. City buzzing in the dark.
His lips were dry but warm.
Familiar. Like you already knew them.
His coat smelled of earth and wind.
His breath was slow, calm, just like him.
It wasn’t perfect.
You were both shaking.
But it was real.
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
People talked.
RUDE BOYS and Sannoh weren’t supposed to mix.
But you weren’t just gangs.
You were two kids who found peace in ruins.
Yuu never changed for you.
He still wore that oversized patched jacket, the deep red shirt like dried roses, and those wide pants that brushed his black boots.
Still quiet. Still cutting.
But sometimes, he’d lean his head on your shoulder.
And in those moments,
you felt more alive than you ever had fighting beside Cobra.
Spring arrives gently, and Pi brings the reader a flower to add to the mural—a quiet symbol of new beginnings. When the flower is painted, Pi smiles genuinely for the first time. As they walk together, Pi admits he's remembering what it feels like to want. The reader responds with honesty, and for the first time, Pi holds his hand—choosing him without words.
As winter settles over the city, Pi grows quieter, burdened by Smoky’s worsening illness. The reader senses his pain but waits patiently until Pi opens up one night, revealing his worry. Instead of offering empty comfort, the reader simply stays close, and Pi leans on him for the first time. Their silence shifts from distance to comfort—marking a turning point in their bond.
Masterlist
Part V: Ash and Silence
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
Winter came quietly.
Not with storms,
but with a stillness that felt sacred.
The city froze at its edges,
and even the fires of RUDE BOYS burned lower,
smoldering like breath on cold glass.
Pi grew quieter.
Not distant—
just deeper into himself.
You still painted.
He still watched.
But the silences lengthened,
as though something heavy had entered his lungs.
You wanted to ask,
but you didn’t know how.
And Pi didn’t offer.
Until one night,
he arrived late to the mural—
eyes rimmed red, hands scraped raw.
You didn't ask what happened.
You just handed him a brush.
And in silence, he painted beside you.
Color on top of ash.
Hope shaped like wings.
Then finally—
as the moon leaned low—
he said,
“Smoky’s coughing more.”
It explained everything.
The tension in his jaw.
The ghost in his gaze.
The way he looked at you like you might vanish,
too.
You stepped closer.
Close enough that the cold stopped touching you.
Close enough that your breath joined his in the air.
The reader and Pi begin wandering the city together, sharing quiet, intimate moments where their hands nearly touch. Though no words of affection are spoken, the feelings grow deeper. On a rooftop overlooking the city, Pi opens up about needing to feel something real. Their bond becomes undeniable, even if unspoken.
Mastelist
Part IV: Where Hands Almost Touch
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
Some nights, you wandered the city with him.
No destination—
just the rhythm of footsteps against sleeping asphalt.
He’d tilt his head to listen to wind chimes or the distant hum of trains,
and you learned to listen, too.
You never held his hand.
But sometimes,
your fingers brushed when he passed you a drink.
Or when you helped him over broken fences.
Or when neither of you moved away fast enough.
You asked once,
“Do you ever wish things were… easier?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stopped walking,
looked at the sky—
where stars were barely breathing behind city smoke—
and said,
“Easiness isn’t freedom.
I’d rather feel something real… even if it’s hard.”
You didn’t reply.
But you looked at him longer that night.
Long enough for your chest to ache with wanting—
not just his hand in yours,
but his world beside yours.
One evening, he took you to a rooftop—
above the ruins, above the gangs, above the noise.
“You can see everything here,” he whispered.
“This is where I come when I want to remember I exist.”
Their bond deepens as autumn arrives. Pi invites the reader into his world, and though the RUDE BOYS remain wary, Pi’s presence speaks for his trust. They begin sharing memories, philosophies, and soft moments. The reader opens up about his past, and Pi listens without judgment, strengthening the unspoken closeness between them.
Masterlist
Part III: The Heat Beneath Cold Skies
♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
Autumn sank its teeth into the city.
Leaves turned to rust.
The sky hung low, heavy with unspoken things.
You met Pi more often now, though you still called him Smoke.
He let you.
Sometimes he’d bring you to the ruins he called home—
where the RUDE BOYS built sanctuaries out of sorrow.
They watched you like you were fire—
dangerous, flickering, warm.
Especially Smoky.
The king in the ash.
He said nothing, but his eyes never left you.
But Pi always stood between you and them.
Not protective—
just present.
As though he didn’t need to say it:
“This one… is not a threat.”
You learned things in quiet moments.
That Pi liked the color green—
not just any green,
but the green that clings to life through cracks in concrete.
That he believed in ghosts,
but not in promises.
That he never remembered birthdays—
but always remembered the way your voice dipped when you were tired.
You told him about your mother’s paintings.
How you used to sit beneath her easel,
waiting for the scent of turpentine to turn into a lullaby.
He listened.
You told him about how you used to be angry all the time.
He didn’t ask why.
Just said,
“It’s okay to be fire, as long as you remember not to burn yourself.”
