it caught you off guard, because in the moments where you were sure he was going to finally kiss you, he never did.
you two went on dates to the park, to the movies, to restaurants, and after all that, he’d always drop you off at your door. so many perfect opportunities to kiss! but he never even hinted that he wanted to, so you thought it would just be better to wait.
you figured he was probably just nervous, and you can’t blame him since you are too! but he can’t expect you to wait around forever when all these perfect and romantic opportunities are popping up all the time.
but of course, he picked one of the least romantic times to actually kiss you.
the two of you were at his house sitting on the couch, and you were mindlessly playing some game on your phone. he was watching and teasing you about it, his eyes looking over your shoulder. the two of you were sitting so close, but you didn’t really think about it since you do that all the time.
"what’s with you and your dumb little games?" he huffs, though you can hear the slight amusement in his voice.
"shut up— what’s wrong with my games?" you retort, scrunching your nose, though your eyes stayed glued to your phone. he doesn’t respond for a moment, and you honestly thought he wasn’t going to, but then you hear him mumble almost absentmindedly, like he’s distracted.
"..nothin', i guess," he murmurs, and it sounded like he was right next to your ear, so you instinctively turned to look.
his eyes bore into yours, looking so determined and intense you almost ask him what’s wrong. he beats you to it though, cutting off any thoughts going through your brain when his lips connect with yours.
it’s quick— so quick you didn’t even have a chance to close your eyes— and then it’s over, and he’s pulling away. he leans back against the couch, tugging his own phone from his pocket. it’s obviously just something he does to distract himself so you won’t see his pink cheeks though.
you just blink at him, your own face feeling warm as you replay it in your head, your stomach flipping each time.
seriously? now?
"..you’re the worst," you grumble, your brows furrowed in both embarrassment and slight annoyance.
he scoffs, looking back at you with his own similar expression. "what do you mean? why?" he demands, trying to sound more confident than he really feels.
"you kissed me in your living room," you deadpan, like it’s obviously why you’re upset. did he really think you’d swoon over something like that? i mean… you did, but he doesn’t know that!
"be grateful i kissed you at all," he rolls his eyes, looking back down at his phone. he honestly isn’t really comprehending anything he’s seeing as he scrolls, he’s just doing it so he doesn’t feel as awkward.
"that was hardly a kiss. it didn’t even last two seconds," you argue, intentionally trying to annoy him about it.
he can feel his cheeks grow hotter at your words, and he gives you a glare (one that does nothing to deter you).
"fine then, asshole," he murmurs, leaning closer again just to prove you wrong. he’s more competitive and stubborn than he is nervous, that much is clear.
you try to pull back, your heart jumping in your chest, but he just slips his hand around the back of your neck, tugging you closer with a forcefulness you’ve grown used to.
his lips are on yours again, more firmly this time, but still as clumsy as the first. he makes sure to linger longer so you won’t tease him again, and he stays close when he parts from you as well, watching your reaction closely.
you’re looking at him with those eyes he loves so much, and it’s even better with that blush on your face. he’s positive he doesn’t look much better though, so he can’t really make fun of you for it.
"better?" he breathes out, and he’s so close you can smell the mint gum he’s chewing. you can taste it when your tongue instinctively darts out to wet your lips too.
"…better."
this is a little rushed, is it bad?! 🙁 another part to the kyotani series though (finally) also may or may not be based off mine and my boyfriends first kiss
PLEASE I NEED MATSUKAWA OR KUNUMI OR EVEN MADDOG PLEASE IM BEGGING 🧎♂️🧎♂️🙏
thankz ::3 -🩻
clingy!kentarou x reader (taming maddog)
heyyyy :) finally getting to this hope it's aight
warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI
details. fem!reader / riding maddog / 69 / obsessive!maddog / clingy!needy!maddog / possessive!maddog / loneliness theme / 'i can fix him' trope / libero!reader / johsai girls' team reader / maddog being canonically mean / implied virginity / experienced!reader / emotionally intelligent reader / emotionally stunted maddog / 3.6k words
links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3
"(Y/n), like, I know you've got a type and all..."
"Mhmm," You follow absentmindedly, tracking your latest obsession like a hawk.
Number 16 was different- not just attractive, but he had a threatening, intense, sharp presence about him. He was just about the only member of the guys' team who didn't subscribe to a cheerful, cooperative environment. His little outburst earlier caught your attention, and he was currently benched for pushing Oikawa.
He sure was aggressive. You bit your lip and watched him stretch from the bleachers.
"But I heard he's actually crazy."
The other girls on your team would never understand what possessed you to put yourself in danger, going after the most deviant of guys you could find. It was an endearing joke amongst the team, at this point, but they did worry for your safety.
"What's his name?" You looked to them for the first time, mind already made up.
Whispers of Kentarou, Kyoutani, Maddog, were shared as you settled back to watching him. Lots of horror stories of him getting in trouble, getting into fights, yelling at teachers, other students, getting suspended for a time all encouraged you. The nickname he earned made you significantly more fascinated.
You could fix him. It would at least be fun to try.
You couldn't help but ponder where his true fault lied, how it twisted into so much unwarranted aggression.
Was he not held as a baby? Did he have a bad home life? Had it manifested into some kind of sexual dysfunction? You wondered if he was this big of a presence in the bedroom. You smiled at the strong possibility that he wasn't.
Maybe that was a bit Freudian of you to assume, but your previous diagnoses hadn't steered you wrong yet. The guys you slept with were all weirdos- losers- psychos- and yet, they were all a step closer to normal after a little love.
They couldn't stop you from approaching, especially when nobody had the guts to go anywhere near him.
"Hi," You tapped his shoulder after a bout of hesitation.
He looked to the side, then behind, and realized you were referring to him.
His brow fell from its subtle version of surprise, making all his features look heavier, meaner-- you shuddered.
"Yo." Was all he said.
Though dismissive and already uncomfortable, it was enough to work with.
You smoothed out your uniform with a nervous sigh, "Um- I'm sorry if this is forward, but,"
"I think you're really cute. I'd like to go on a date, sometime."
Kentarou looked angry even when he was shocked. The dark around his eyes made it impossible to look soft, and it seemed he didn't have the capacity to smile yet.
The only way you could deduce that he was embarrassed was the way his hands balled into fists at his sides, how he looked around your face over, over, and over again for an ounce of insincerity.
It was adorable. You giggled at his long silence.
Laughing shut him down. His mouth curled in a sneer, positive you were laughing at him.
The gaggle of girls, filling the entrance to the gym, all clad in your uniform, wasn't great for optics. It looked like you were playing a prank on him.
"Are you kiddin' me?" He rolled his eyes before you could even try to explain, "Go fuck yourself."
It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Though you loved your team, visible swarms of women never put the guys you went after at ease.
That rejection was still tame for what you had seen before from him.
He put his back to you and crossed his arms, watching the game, instead. Getting benched and made fun of couldn't have been a great feeling.
Determined now, you shook out your nerves and tapped his shoulder again.
"Tch-! I said fuck off!" He scowled down at you, but you knew it was misguided. So it didn't hurt as bad.
You purposefully didn't mirror his body language- you didn't want him to cut him off even more. You stood facing him at an angle, trying to catch his eye and take his attention again.
Voice quiet, sweeter, genuine, "I'm serious."
Even if this was a joke, you were the most persistent he had ever seen. Nobody usually got this far. If he told somebody to leave, they did. Especially after the second time, and a girl, at that.
"I mean- I get it if you're not into short girls, that's totally fine," You fixed your hair, glancing away from his overwhelmed, slow expression, "But, please, just... think about it. Here's my number."
For a moment, you were unsure if he would take the paper in your hand. He gave you zero indication that he believed your story, but after just enough time to make you doubt, he took it.
Kentarou held it tight, confused, as you joined your team to leave the gym. He watched them look over and preen you like birds to make sure you weren't hurt.
It could've been a real confession. The gravity of it didn't truly land until he was back home, looking up the girls' team Instagram to find your personal handle. You were following the page and even had a few features in their posts.
Doubts began to grow that it was your real number. He decided he didn't want to use it.
Instead, he lay on his bed, palming himself to the poses of your greatest receives- you were such a pretty girl, with a nice body, cute face--reminded of those things now, it only made him more skeptical at your choice to speak to him.
Luck was on his side once again, because your own profile was public. You even had a few beach posts. Lots of likes, lots of followers. You wouldn't notice if he liked a few of them, unless you were being honest about your interest.
You were all over his signals in a flash.
A follow, a bit of page-stalking that got you nowhere (because he had 0 online presence, other than a couple blank accounts), and a long string of messages that went deep into the night, all earned you a date.
Now that the game had officially begun, you needed to curate each move carefully. If you waited too long to take advantage of any clear signs of interest, he wouldn't find you worth the trouble. You needed some dick.
Kentarou was lonely, too.
It was as you suspected, monitoring him during that practice match. People who had a good support system didn't act that way he did.
He wasn't wistful, or desperate, and didn't invite friendship. Shit, he barely let you court him, and the only way you could convince him to meet you for coffee was if you sent a few pictures 'to prove it was just you.' And yet, after the one misunderstanding, he didn't deny you any opportunity to get close.
His experiences shaped him to be incredibly firm, mistrusting, and overly cautious, yes; It all fell short though, when it came to the very simple, universal longing for companionship.
The cafe wasn't too quiet, thankfully.
You were most worried about the possibility of him causing some sort of commotion and being asked to leave, but other patrons were lively enough to drown him out, if he did raise his voice.
To your surprise, that also wasn't much of an issue.
He ordered for the two of you, even -begrudgingly- accepting that you wanted a more intricate drink, too. He didn't let you do much for yourself. When he told you to go find a seat while he waited at the counter, you stayed with him so you could be close. He still didn't argue.
Though he wasn't polite, he wasn't a monster. He was just brimming with attitude, and that rubbed people the wrong way. When unprovoked, he was mean-looking, sure, but docile.
A predatory gaze watched the skirt of your casual dress flutter up- just a little, not quite enough- as you sat down next to him with your elaborate drink in hand. He set his cup down and you felt his leg flex as you closed the distance to snuggle up to him.
"You're taking this joke pretty far."
Insecurity filled the quiet between his words, and it took a sensitive ear to detect under all the venom. Was he testing you? Probably. Was he still trying to protect himself? Absolutely.
"Mm," You considered how to respond while sipping on your coffee, staring forward, not really minding his intensity, "I don't have the kind of time to go on fake dates, you know."
It was an argument less emotional in nature, but due to its legitimacy, it left him stumped enough to drop the subject.
In its wake remained discomfort. Mostly at your thigh, busy rubbing against him as you pretended to be more invested in the ambience of the cafe, or the flavor of the drink in your hands.
"What're you doing it for?" He pressed, different, but still carried with a grumbly, shitty attitude he always spoke in.
That took some getting used to, but once you understood he just talked that way, you were able to take his words at face value and waste less time miscommunicating.
A warm hand, palming the squish of your bare thigh encouraged your desire to be honest.
You waited for him to stop scanning the cafe, for the right moment to tell him.
His eyes dipped first to your pretty thighs, all soft and warm and new in his hand. Then he was taken by the all the sweetness in the way you looked at him.
"I wanna sleep with you."
You expected him to not believe you, like the first time, but his surprise was now pretty conventional.
His mouth hung open, just a little, and you noticed a tongue piercing. How did you miss it before? Did he not wear it at school? Your thighs tightened and he met it with a firm squeeze as he took a sobering drink of his coffee.
It was obvious he wanted to know why. But he was looking for something better to say, instead.
"The fuck are we doing here?"
That was a good question. Such a good question, in fact, that after a bit of conversation about where to go to fuck, you landed on going back to your place.
He made himself comfortable on your bed as you shut the door and locked it, just in case. Your room didn't have a whole lot of conversation starters, so he took a while to really examine it.
He wasn't witty, or spontaneous, or chatty.
There was no value in sitting around, acting like you wanted to delve into a discussion about each other's families, or grades, or volleyball.
His brow softened as you dropped the straps of your dress down.
There was a small attempt to look you in the eye, which you appreciated in a very limited context, but once you kept going, he might as well have been wearing a collar.
A half-sigh, half-laugh pushed out of his open mouth, brow furrowed again, as he tried to speak a few times while you posed for him, drunk on such a cute, endearing reaction.
There were a lot of things for him to think about. You could almost smell the smoke of grinding gears when you stood in front him and rubbed your hands against his shoulders.
He kept getting his fill, eyes unable to stay in one place too long, practically trying to back up so he could keep looking at all of you.
You giggled, "Kentarou?"
His breath stopped. You couldn't feel it, tingling across your skin, anymore.
You took some fingers to his curly hair, playing with it, "Aren't you gonna touch me?"
"I-," He didn't know what to do with himself for a moment, "Where?"
Your charmed, bitten back smile made his ears bright, bright red. Instead of telling him, you settled onto his lap and felt for his hands, gently guiding them towards your hips.
It was slow, natural, and gentle how you decided to kiss him.
You could feel how heated he was, with one hand on the back of his neck, the other cooling off the side of his face. One second to part for some breath, which he needed, badly- you waited for him to say something.
But he was forcing his mouth back onto yours quicker than you thought he would- his fingers dug into your flesh, and he brought you down onto his hard-on with a sudden loss of reservation.
It didn't take long to start catching that little tongue piercing against your lip- you groaned against his mouth, "Fuck, I really like that."
He was a fast, eager, and very rough learner. Kentarou was also laughably easy to please, because it was obvious he had no preferences built up yet. Everything you did left him stunned and hungry.
You reveled in your private victory and helped him undress. He wasn't shy about his own body, but you made it clear that he had a nice figure by taking the time to kiss along his muscular arm, then shoulder, and up to his neck.
His quickness to mirror you, kissing the same places on your body, was cute. He never once smiled, but he showed his investment in other ways.
When you offered to 69, he immediately fell onto his back from his upright position, rubbing his warm face.
A weak, "Yes," from under his palms was all you got, but it was so sweet from a guy like him. He sounded broken in, in a way.
You pressed a deserving kiss to his jaw and turned around.
His cock looked just as angry as he was, normally. Twitchy, leaking a bit of precum on his toned tummy, tinged dark with the all the time it had been waiting.
"You're- so fuckin' wet," He sounded stunned to say that aloud, understand what it actually meant, and that he was obsessed with it.
You smiled and pressed a kiss to the base of his cock as you settled into a good position.
How long had it been since you got laid? Apparently too long, because you were dripping with anticipation at the salty taste of his tip sliding past your teeth.
That was the downside of having such a specific type. Not many options.
He was still figuring out how to use his own mouth when you took the breath out of him- a strangled gasp at the sound, the sensation of your lips and tongue sucking off the slickness there. You held him by the base, briefly.
"You should let me know if you like it," You teased, just before bobbing your head back down.
"Mm-mmnh-! Fuck! Do I-ahh, have to?"
With that whiny tone?
You slowly came back up, careful to leave no spit behind. He was flexing in your jaw, his stomach twitching against your chest. Poor thing wouldn't last very long, he was so sensitive.
"Uhh, yes," You grinned, tongue darting out to lick him all the way down his shaft.
"Fuuuck- whatever- augh, just keep doin' that," His groan broke into a murmur of sorts, against your pussy.
From there, he was starting to find what worked with you. It was curious, and not great, but you didn't need it to be; something about the clingy way he held you, the shift in his attitude, was making you feel like you could take him already.
It made your nails dig, deep into his thighs, your already sparse breath grow a bit shorter.
Though his desperate tone and slow, gentle tongue made some parts of you tighten, it helped your throat relax and take more of him.
He started to come apart long before you wanted to be done.
Breathy, incomplete "Stopstop-sta-aah," every twenty seconds flattered you, letting you take more frequent breaks to ride his face and break in that little metal ball.
You thought about his nickname during one of these breaks. It was one of those instances where it seemed fitting, but for more than just surface-level aggression.
Nothing about him scared you. Not after you showed him that you had no ill-intention. He was like a dog. He wasn't vicious because it was in his nature; he just had a thorn in his paw.
He 'bit' people because they didn't give him a chance.
All of these chances you were giving him proved that he was worth all the effort to get close. It wasn't even much work, in hindsight.
You showed him the mechanics of the condom you brought for the occasion, and managed to talk him through some important sex-centered courtesies.
"So, y'know, you'll want to yield to whatever she's ready for--,"
Kentarou kept you from sitting on his cock, for just a second-- his eyes grew narrow, darting around your face.
"You mean: 'you.'" He corrected.
He looked like he was about to bite through your face.
"Right!" You smiled, growing a bit warm at your inconsiderate slip in language, "Yeah, of course."
Your apologetic kisses, smattered all along his sensitive face and neck, calmed him. His grip softened, slowly, as he became convinced that this was sacred again.
As you started to take him, he forgot all about it.
"Aughh- my go-d," He couldn't stop watching where you came together with a knotted brow, at how slick, and tight, and hot you were.
Your confidence read in the form of slow, rolling motions of your hips, the cloudy look in your eyes as you were finally getting filled up again after such a dry spell of no dick. You put your hands over his, already on your hips, and encouraged him to squeeze harder.
"Mmn-ah-h," You placed your hands on his chest, to keep yourself upright.
It hurt, how much he reciprocated that squeeze, but you quickly learned to like the sting.
Like most everything else, he replicated what you showed him. He started fucking you back, his hips able to take you faster, harder--
The pretty little pout on your lips was enough to make him screw his eyes shut, just to try to settle down.
He was getting so worked up at your tight little cunt that he was forced to let you keep your slower pace, contribute a little less, for fear he'd finish too soon.
His breath was like a stutter- so shallow and huffy that you rubbed your hand across his cheek, to check if he was okay. As you did this, the look in his eyes burned into the back of your skull.
You had seen that somewhere before. Not in someone you knew personally.
"Mm-mnh-!"
You were careful not to look away from it, and you only closed your eyes when it was too intense, too good to see straight.
The way he gripped you was like a lifeline, clawing, leaving rough and raised lines across you-- It wasn't intended to hurt, but more or less to make sure he left you with some lasting impression. He didn't understand that he didn't need to do it.
He couldn't take the concern on your face. Not as you fucked him so close, not with that perfect body taking his cock so well. Nobody ever looked at him with so much warmth.
"Ah! Just- just like that," You gasped, shaky all of a sudden.
"Fuck-," He sighed, suddenly having to remember what exactly he was doing.
He grimaced, face twisted in the pain of trying not to cum, head thrown back so he didn't have to look at you.
But your hand left his chest to grasp him by the jaw- it wasn't hard, but it was enough to move him. You begged him to look at you. You wanted him to watch you, and it looked like he was just short of a confessing something sinful.
Worship.
That's what you saw. In those narrowed eyes were praise, an exaltation of the love you had spared for him.
It filled you with a dizzying, raw confidence- you took in a breath through your nose, getting railed so hard, so close that your eyes started watering.
"Fuck- I'm-Ah--!" You couldn't quite finish your sentence before you crashed over, your body seized up, firm, grabbing and gripping him like you needed, wanted him so bad.
It left him a groveling, panting mess underneath you. He was watching in awe just like you told him to, only allowed to cum after you were done.
He fucked it all out of you, thanks to the timing. Your slow wave-riding kept you pleasant and buzzed as he fucked you hard for his own orgasm.
You even egged him on, breathless, a little smirk only interrupted by a pleasurable wince a couple of times.
"You wanna cum for me?"
"Yeah? Yeah?"
After finishing so loud and performative, nothing could have prepared you for how cuddly and silent he got.
You shouldn't have given into the desire to hug him, because he wouldn't let you move to pull him out.
"Mm-mm," Was pressed in a sloppy kiss against your neck.
Those muscular arms were shaking a little, just barely, around your waist.
"I'm- not going anywhere," You laughed, returning a few light kisses against his temple, "But we need to clean up."
He made it difficult, almost impossible, to separate and throw the condom away. You opted to just tie in a knot and throw it closer to the trash can so you didn't have to get up.
The way he watched you was careful, intense, looking for any opening to get closer to you again.
You finally sighed, smiling, "Okay."
Kentarou pulled you back down to lay next to him at the soonest opportunity. He kept an arm heavy over your chest, his leg kicked between yours, his eyes never leaving the side of your face.
His intensity was what you signed up for, but now, warm under his persistent and acute attention, you realized: maybe you hadn't thought this through the whole way.
kyoutani kentarou knows it’s difficult to love him.
he snarls, he fights, he insults, he ignores and avoids—he bites, and he doesn’t know why. well, he does, actually, but he’ll never let anyone else know that.
except you, it seems.
you, his polar opposite. bubbly and full of giggles. a social butterfly in all aspects of the title. witty remarks and easy conversations. someone who can make friends with anyone, no matter what circle they run in.
and because of that, because of your innate ability to make friends, because you refuse to give up on him after the first time he bites, he ends up talking to you at lunch.
about anything, really.
practice the night before, the pop quiz in math, the shows your watching, the shows you want him to watch, your favorite kind of music, his childhood and how he grew to love volleyball so much—anything and everything is up for grabs.
so, of course, he catches feelings for you. it’s a bit weird at first; kyoutani almost feels sick when it finally hits him, like there’s a pit in his stomach. his head starts to hurt from how hard he’s thinking, his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
he tries to push you away at first. he thinks that, if he hangs out with you less, the feeling will go away.
(spoiler alert, future kyoutani: it doesn’t).
he finds himself thinking about you all the time: when he’s doing his homework, when he’s at practice, when he’s going on a rare early morning run, when he’s eating lunch (by himself, again), during class and when he’s showering, when he’s trying to go to sleep, as soon as he wakes up—it’s a problem.
so, he does something about it. he finds you after school one day, as you’re walking with your friends, and drags you away from them. he hates that he’s nervous, hates that bis palms are sweating and that he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
and when he finally spits the words out, finally confesses his feelings, teeth gritted, hands balled into fists, you just smile at him. man, he’s missed that.
you tell him that he’s an idiot at first, punching his shoulder lightly, and then you tell him that you like him, too. and kyoutani doesn’t quite know what to do with the information.
he knows he bites. he know that it’s difficult to love him. but you’re bubbly and full of giggles and—and you don’t care that he bites. you just want him, you say, you can work through the kinks after he takes you out on a date.
'mad dog' knight x crown princess reader part 4 (final)
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]
You stared at the dagger in your hands. Blood dripped off the edge in a slow and constant rhythm, like a persistent reminder of what you've done.
"Murderer..." He rasped, so soft you could barely hear him.
You rushed forward to save him. But your hand was covered in blood. His blood. Did you do this?
"No...I-" you muttered to yourself, your heartbeat starting to race. "No, no, NO!"
You gasped, jolting awake from the sound of your own voice.
A dream. Right. That's all. That's all, you murmured to yourself, although it brought little comfort to you.
You brought your knees to your chest, curling yourself up into a tight ball.
'It wasn't real.' you repeated to yourself, over and over again.
Unlike the other nights, your usual method didn't work. Your heart continued to race, and the irrational thoughts continued to linger.
You found yourself getting out of bed, and walking to the room next door. You stood outside, hesitating. What, knocking on Isaiah's door in the middle of the night, just because of a stupid nightmare? How childish.
You found yourself knocking anyway. You just had to see it for yourself. That he's alive and breathing, in front of you. That the dream wasn't real. After confirming it with your own eyes, you'll go right back to sleep.
The door swung open, and you were greeted with a sleepy knight. "Princess..? Is everything okay?" Isaiah asked, his words slightly slurred and his voice lower than usual as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He wore a loose shirt and soft linen pants that hung low on his hips, a different look from the knight's uniform or metal armour you've seen him in.
You let out a soft sigh. Good.
Nodding, you replied. "Yes, everything's fine. Sorry I woke you. I just wanted to... check something." Heat started to rise up your neck, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I'll just... go back now. Uh, goodnight then,"
He blinked once before stepping out of his room, now fully awake. "I'll escort you back."
Even though your room was only a few steps away, you didn't decline his offer.
--------------
He stood beside your bed as you tucked yourself back in. You moved slowly, adjusting and readjusting the pillows until they felt just right.
"How long has it been happening?" He asked as his eyes followed your movements, analyzing.
You brought your gaze to his, sighing. There was no fooling him, was there?
"Ever since we came back," You replied, finally laying down in bed.
Isaiah hummed. He didn't ask further about what you saw in your nightmares, or why you never mentioned it earlier. He simply nodded.
"Does it ever get easier?" Your voice, barely above a whisper.
"They'll stop soon. The mind needs more time to recover." He reassured. "You should try and go back to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you, master."
Isaiah turned to leave, but your hand tugged at the corner of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
"...Don't go. Can't you stay? Just a while longer, I promise." You asked softly, hesitant.
He looked down at your hand before running a hand through his hair.
"Just until you fall asleep," he sighed, his jaw clenching with restraint.
You shuffled over, making space for him on your bed before patting the empty spot next to you. This way, you could hear his breathing clearer, giving you all the confirmation you needed to trust that he was still alive.
Isaiah stared for a long moment. He let out another long sigh, resigned. "One day, master, you'll be the death of me. You know that?"
You stiffened. "I know," you replied dejectedly, a sad smile on your face. Working as your personal knight, the possibility of Isaiah facing his end while protecting you was something you have not fully accepted yet.
He shook his head. "What I meant was, what were you thinking, inviting a man up on your bed?" He sat down on your bed despite this, his back leaning against the headboard.
"You're not just 'some man', are you? I trust you. You would never hurt me." Your words seemed to have calmed him, seeing how he stopped pushing on the matter and let it slide with a non-committal hum.
Silence enveloped you, save for the sound of your breath intertwined with his. You felt yourself slowly drift away and welcomed sleep with open arms.
"Good night, princess."
--------------
The morning sun shone through the gaps of the curtains. Groaning, you snuggled further into the warm and firm pillow in an attempt to hide from the light.
"Master," the pillow spoke. You don't remember buying a talking pillow but the voice was rather pleasant on your ears, so you didn't question it.
"Hmm?"
"As much as I want to stay, I suggest you get up and remove your hands from me..."
You recognise this voice.
"...unless you're prepared to finish what you started."
The memories from last night flood back into your head.
Jolting awake, you release your grip from him, clutching your hands as if you've been burned. You keep your eyes fixed on his face, not daring to look anywhere below his neck. A familiar smirk greeted you as he lounged lazily against your headboard, one arm draped along the frame. Your felt a familiar heat warm your cheeks.
"And she has risen." Isaiah teased, resting his head on a closed fist. "Good morning, princess."
You cleared your throat awkwardly, nodding. "Well, uh- yes, I should go and um, prepare for the ball later. Goodbye." You tumbled out of bed, making a quick escape for the door as the sounds of his chuckles filled your ears.
--------------
Between getting ready for the ball and overseeing the final preparations for the night, you were swamped. Not that you disliked it, as it served as a wonderful distration from thinking about last night.
Isaiah, continued to follow you around as you went about your day, even helping out with sorting through the documents and relaying your orders. Everything was normal. Everything was fine.
Until you were greeted by the sight of your knight, your escort for the night, waiting patiently for you outside the ballroom. His hair slicked back and neatly styled. His suit, freshly pressed and tailored to perfection, complimented by an elegant and regal half-cape that draped from his shoulder. Your eyes travelled back up to his face. His features were sharp and deadly, much like the sword that was strapped on his hip. The usual smirk and devillish smile you were oh so familiar with was gone, only the dark and brooding expression of a veteran knight remained. The Mad Dog, in his full glory.
And yet, seeing this imposing figure waiting for you, seemingly lost in thought, made your heart race. Not from fear, but a kind of fondness and tenderness you had long forgotten the feeling of.
You set your fluttering emotions aside, filing them away for your brain to pick apart and process later. Your heels clacked against the marble floor as you walked, announcing your presence to him.
Isaiah turned, his eyes travelling up and down your figure unabashedly. "Master," he said at long last, bowing. "Shall we?"
You nodded, placing a hand on his outstretched arm, allowing him to escort you.
The double doors swung open, letting the light, laughter and music from the banquet surround you. It's been months since you last attended such an event but the muscle memory kicked in. Back straightened, smile platered on your face, and one hand waving to the crowd—you were back in your element.
Everything faded into the background as you made your way around the ballroom, your focus entirely on getting acquainted with the various nobles and royals from the Solaris kingdom. The familiar warmth from Isaiah grounded you, making everything easier than if you had been alone.
One after the other, you greeted your guests. At some point, you had lost count of how many people you've interacted with. Dukes, barons, royals from the Solaris Kingdom, your father and his ministers...
"A break," you finally declared, your voice soft enough so only Isaiah could hear. "If I have to talk to one more person I might just go insane."
"The balcony seems to be empty," Isaiah remarked, his gaze turned towards the quiet upstairs area.
You nodded, quickly excusing yourself from the current conversation you were stuck in for the past ten minutes with some random prince and escaping to the back staircase for a breather.
--------------
You breathed in the cool fresh air as you stepped out to the balcony. Resting your hands on the ledge, you titled your head up, basking in the moonlight. Isaiah stood beside you, gazing into the distance.
"Thank you." You said softly, breaking the comfortable silence you two shared. You watched as the clouds drifted in the wind, covering up the moon which plunged the sky into darkness.
"What for?" Isaiah replied, curious.
"For saving me that day." You paused, turning to face him but your eyes looking everywhere but him. "And for what happened last night. I, uh, don't really know what came over me but I just... I just needed to know you were okay. That you were alive."
You finally looked up at him, only realising how close you were.
"You don't have to thank me, master. It's what I'm here for." Isaiah reassured you. "Besides, I told you, I won't die so easily. Not unless you command it."
"Good. You're not going anywhere." You huffed. The clouds parted to reveal the full moon once more, illuminating the flush on your face.
Your breath hitched as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. The sliver of skin where his finger brushed past burned. There was no hope of hiding the blush on your face now. You could feel the heat rising up your neck.
"Careful, princess," Isaiah teased, noting your reaction. "Or I might begin to think you've fallen in love with me."
Time seemed to stop for those two seconds.
"...And if I have?" Your voice barely a whisper.
His eyes bore into yours, pupils dilated, flashing with longing and something darker you couldn't place.
"Then you should know that I've been waiting for you to say those lovely words," He replied, one arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him.
"Since the very beginning."
***********
a/n: it's over... after four long parts that spanned way too many months, a happy ending! i've been procrastinating writing this for so long simply because i love writing isaiah so much and i didn't want things to end. but alas. i hope yall enjoyed this last part, thank you so much for all the lovely comments it really fuelled me and allowed me to write this. love yall!
Not the kind of thing you read about in books or whisper under moonlight. That’s never been his style. He doesn’t know what to do with delicate. Doesn’t trust the way it trembles in his hands.
But this?
You—half-dressed and breathless, bent over the edge of his kitchen counter? That, he understands.
You’re on your toes, hands pressed flat to the cool marble, back curved just right—the shape of you etched into his fucking skull. He could draw it in his sleep. He dreams in the sounds you make when he pulls your hips back, the way your body jerks with every thrust like it’s wired to his own.
He doesn’t say much. Never has. His words come out in grunts, growls, the rough slap of skin meeting skin. But if he did speak, it’d be something filthy. Something true.
You were made for this.
His hands are gripping your hips so tight his knuckles are white, fingers bruising into your skin because he can’t help it. Because when you're moaning into the countertop, head down, begging without even using words—he loses every last bit of control. He needs to hear it. Needs to see the way your thighs tremble and your breath hiccups and your voice cracks when he hits that spot, again, again, just to see how long it takes until you’re shaking.
He watches your back arch. Watches your fingers claw at the edge of the counter. Watches your mouth fall open when he pulls out just far enough to make you whine and slams back in harder, teeth gritted, forehead slick with sweat.
You always take it so good. Too good. Like you want to be ruined by him.
And fuck if that doesn’t make his brain go static.
Sometimes, he bites.
Okay—a lot of the time.
Your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your spine—he leaves marks where no one else can see, but he knows they’re there. And you do too. Every bruise is a reminder. A signature. His. And no one else’s.
“Mine,” he says, voice low and rough, more growl than word. You nod, half-gone already, and that’s not enough.
“Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasp, all wrecked and breathless and perfect.
He groans like it hurts. Like it breaks something in him.
And then it happens.
You clamp down around him, a sudden, high-pitched cry leaving your throat like it caught you by surprise. You shudder, full-body, like your nerves short-circuited—hands scrambling, thighs locking around nothing as your orgasm crashes into you so hard it’s almost violent.
He freezes.
Just for a second.
Because something about the way you shake isn’t just pleasure—it’s raw. Guttural. Almost like you’re crying. Like something inside snapped loose and let everything spill out at once.
“Hey,” he mutters, voice still rough, but quieter now, buried in your hair as he slows, just slightly. "You good?"
You nod too fast. Too many times.
“‘M fine,” you whisper, breath hitching. "It just... surprised me."
You’re still trembling under him, and he can feel the way your pulse is racing. He leans over your back, mouth brushing your shoulder as he steadies his grip and moves again—but this time, slower. Controlled. Still deep. Still rough. But different.
Measured.
Because Kyōtani’s not good at talking, but he can listen. And he knows you. Knows what panic sounds like under pleasure. Knows the difference between a scream and a sob.
So he gives you something steady to hold onto. Gives you his breath against your skin, his hand tangled with yours now instead of holding you down.
He bites your shoulder one more time—gentle this time. Just enough to remind you he’s there. That he’s with you.
Because if you trust him to take you apart, then he’ll make sure you don’t fall all the way through.
There’s nothing in the world like this. Like you, bent over and begging, taking everything he gives without flinching. Trusting him, even when he’s rough. Even when he’s mean.
Especially then.
You’re the only thing that makes him feel like maybe he’s not a monster.
But right now? He still fucks you like one.
But if you fall, he’ll catch you—teeth, hands, bruises and all.
