the wife they didn't know about (and the captain who kept stealing her)
Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Reader
Genre: Fluff, comedy, chaotic domestic energy
Warning: None. Just Hoshina being a dramatic husband and Mina being a menace.
The first time the Third Division finds out Vice Captain Hoshina is married, it's an accident.
Kafka had asked, offhandedly, "Anyone special in your life, Vice Captain?" while they were eating lunch. Hoshina had grunted, pulled out his phone, and showed a photo.
A photo of you. Smiling. Wearing his jacket. Holding a cat.
"Wife," he said. "Three years."
Kafka choked on his rice. Reno dropped his chopsticks. Kikoru's eye twitched.
"You're MARRIED?!"
Hoshina blinked. "Did I not mention it?"
NO. HE DID NOT MENTION IT. FOR THREE YEARS.
The second time is when you show up to bring him lunch.
You'd texted: "Forgot your bento again. Outside."
He meets you at the gate. Takes the bag. Kisses your forehead. Says, "Thanks, love," and walks back inside.
You wave. Leave.
The entire division watched from the windows.
"WHO WAS THAT?!" Kafka screamed.
"My wife," Hoshina said, already opening the bento. "She makes excellent tamagoyaki."
"YOU HAVE A WIFE?!"
"I literally just told you."
"THAT WAS TWO HOURS AGO. I DIDN'T THINK YOU WERE SERIOUS."
But here's the thing everyone at Division 3 thinks they know.
They think Hoshina has a thing for Captain Ashiro.
Why? Because he's loyal to her. Defers to her in battle. Followed her since the beginning. There are rumors. Whispers. The kind of gossip that sprouts in any workplace where two attractive, competent people work closely together.
Hoshina knows about the rumors. He doesn't care.
Mina knows about the rumors. She finds them deeply annoying.
You know about the rumors. You think they're hilarious.
The truth is far more chaotic.
Mina Ashiro, Captain of the Third Division, fearsome kaiju killer, ice queen extraordinaire, has one weakness.
Your cooking.
It started innocently. You made extra portions one night and told Hoshina to share with his team. He brought some to Mina. She took one bite. Her eyes widened.
"Who made this?"
"My wife."
"Bring more tomorrow."
And because Mina Ashiro does not ask—she commands—you suddenly had a standing Tuesday meal prep for the Captain.
Then Wednesday.
Then Friday.
Then Mina started texting you directly.
"Name. What's for dinner?"
"Captain. You can't just—"
"I'm not asking."
You sighed. Sent her your schedule. She showed up at your door that evening with groceries and a bottle of wine.
Hoshina came home to find his wife and his captain in the kitchen, drinking, laughing, and absolutely destroying a pot of curry.
"What," he said, "is happening."
"Your wife is teaching me to make katsu," Mina said, not looking up. "Sit down or leave."
He sat down.
He had no choice.
This becomes a pattern.
Mina starts "borrowing" you on your days off.
"Captain, I have plans—"
"Cancelled. We're making mochi."
"But—"
"That's an order."
You'd show up at the base with Mina, both of you covered in flour, and the division would stare.
"Is that... the Vice Captain's wife?"
"With Captain Ashiro?"
"Why are they holding grocery bags?"
"They look... happy?"
Reno, the only sensible one, squinted. "I think Captain Ashiro is stealing his wife."
Hoshina confronts her.
"Mina. Stop stealing my wife."
"I'm not stealing her. She chooses to spend time with me."
"Because you ORDER her to."
"I order her to cook. She chooses to stay because she likes me." Mina took a sip of tea. "Your wife told me you leave your socks on the floor. Honestly, Soshiro, she deserves better."
Hoshina sputtered. "She—that's—we're MARRIED."
"And I'm her favorite captain."
"YOU'RE MY CAPTAIN."
"I'm everyone's favorite captain."
The division watches this argument happen in real time.
Kafka: "Are they... fighting about his wife?"
Kikoru: "Captain Ashiro is definitely flirting."
Reno: "With the WIFE. She's flirting with the WIFE."
Mina: "Y/N is coming over again tonight. We're making dumplings. You're not invited, Soshiro."
Hoshina: "SHE'S MY WIFE."
Mina: "Then learn to cook."
The rumor mill goes into overdrive.
"Hoshina has a thing for Captain Ashiro!"
"No, Captain Ashiro has a thing for his WIFE!"
"Is this a love triangle?"
"It's a love SQUARE at this point. Who's the fourth?"
"Kafka. It's always Kafka."
Kafka, who is just trying to eat his lunch: "WHY AM I INVOLVED?!"
You, meanwhile, are blissfully unaware of the chaos.
You're just happy to have friends. Mina is intense but kind. She doesn't treat you like "the Vice Captain's wife"—she treats you like you. She asks about your day. Remembers your favorite tea. Defends you when Hoshina forgets to do the dishes.
"She called me a menace," Hoshina complains one night.
"Because you are a menace."
"I'm your HUSBAND."
"And I love you. But you're still a menace. Mina thinks so too."
"Stop agreeing with Mina."
"Stop giving her reasons to agree with."
He groans. Falls face-first onto the couch. You pat his head.
"I married a traitor," he mumbles into the cushion.
"You married the woman who makes you tamagoyaki. Be grateful."
The final straw happens at a division banquet.
Everyone is there. Officers from other divisions. Important people. Mina is looking stunning in her dress uniform. Hoshina is looming protectively next to you.
An officer from Division 2 approaches. Looks at Hoshina. Looks at Mina. Leans in.
"So, Hoshina. When are you and Captain Ashiro going to—"
"She's my WIFE," Hoshina snaps, grabbing your hand and shoving it in the officer's face. Your wedding ring catches the light.
The officer blinks.
"I'm married. To HER. Not Mina. MY WIFE. HER." He points at you. Then at Mina. "And Mina keeps STEALING her to MAKE DUMPLINGS."
Mina, from across the room: "The dumplings were excellent, by the way."
You wave. "Thanks, Captain!"
"You're welcome, Y/N."
Hoshina makes a sound like a dying animal.
The officer backs away slowly.
Later that night, you're sitting on the couch. Hoshina's head is in your lap. You're running your fingers through his hair.
"They really thought you and Mina had a thing?" you ask.
"It's the worst rumor I've ever faced."
"Worse than the time they thought you and Kafka—"
"We don't speak of that."
You laugh. He cracks one eye open.
"You're not jealous?"
"Nope."
"Not even a little?"
"You come home to me every night. You hold my hand in public. You tell everyone I'm your wife." You lean down and kiss his forehead. "Why would I be jealous?"
He grumbles. But his ears are red.
"...Mina says you deserve better."
"I have you. That's already better."
He goes very still. Then he sits up, cups your face, and kisses you properly.
"I love you," he says. "Even if you keep cooking for my captain."
"Your captain who outranks you and can order me around?"
"Don't remind me."
You grin. "I'm making dumplings for her tomorrow. Want to come?"
He sighs. "Fine. But I'm eating most of them."
"Deal."
The next day, the division walks into the break room to find Hoshina, you, and Mina sitting around a table, making dumplings. Hoshina has flour on his nose. You're laughing. Mina is critiquing his folding technique ("Too much filling, Soshiro. Your wife taught you better.").
Kafka stares.
Reno takes a photo.
Kikoru whispers, "I'm so confused."
And Mina looks up, deadpan: "He's still terrible at dumplings. But his wife is wonderful. I'm keeping her."
you come back fully expecting to be met with an interrogation about the very secret bunnies you smuggled in, but instead—
“soshiro, what the hell are you doing.”
your boyfriend is lying on the floor with the bunnies. one is sitting on his chest. another is curled up by his head. he slowly turns to look at you, completely unbothered, as if you didn’t just catch him bonding with the creatures he was definitely supposed to scold you about.
“they like me,” he says simply, scratching behind the ears of the bunny on his chest. “i think they see me as their leader now.”
you blink. “their leader?”
he nods, completely serious. “yeah. look at them. they follow me.”
as if on cue, the bunny by his head twitches its nose and hops just a little closer to him. there’s just no way this is real.
“so you’re just… fine with this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
soshiro shrugs, finally sitting up, which makes the bunny on his chest slide onto his lap. “well, yeah. you already brought them in. might as well make sure they’re comfortable.”
you stare at him, waiting for something. a warning? a lecture? an anything?
instead, he picks up one of the bunnies and gently places it in your arms. “besides,” he says, smirking a little, “if anyone finds out, i’ll just say they’re yours. i’d never do something as reckless as bringing bunnies onto base, obviously.”
your jaw drops. “you little—”
but before you can finish, he’s already back on the floor, arms behind his head, letting the bunnies climb all over him.
GIRLLL I am so FERAL over how mean you wrote Hoshina in that office bj fic 🫣🤭 obv obv we know he loves us and treats us like a princess butttt I wanna see him lose it again and be more dom/less gentle 😩 could we get angry bf Hoshina after a difficult mission and gf reader offering to be his stress relief pretty please hehe. I feel like he’d refuse bc he’s been raised to be suchhh a gentleman but we end up convincing him bc after all, arent gfs supposed to be there for their bfs (and vice versa) 😘
p.s I am a WHORE for this man
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ 𝕾𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝕳𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Pairing: Soshiro Hoshina x fem!reader
Fandom: Kaiju No. 8
Genre: Smut / Suggestive
Warnings: explicit content, rough sex, choking, mean praise, marking (bites/hickies),messy creampies, possessive language, idk Hoshi already needs a warning to him
Word Count: 9.1k
Summary: He warned you he wouldn’t be gentle. You didn’t realize how much you’d love him for keeping that promise.
A/N: Thank you anon for the idea 🤍 I hope this is close to what you had in mind! Also… I’ve been really into Kaiju No. 8: The Game lately, so if I vanish for a bit, blame that lmao.
The lock turned with the soft, clean click of a mechanism that had been oiled by habit, and Soshiro shouldered the door inward like he was stepping past an invisible line and leaving the worst of himself outside. He didn't slam anything, didn't curse; the quiet that followed him in was the kind that had edges. He set his keys on the dish with unnecessary precision, the metal barely whispering against glazed ceramic, then stood in the entry long enough for the hall light to sketch him in hard planes: hair damp at the temples from a too-fast wash at headquarters, jaw tight enough to notch a muscle along one cheek, mouth composed into that familiar, boyish half-smile that meant absolutely nothing when his eyes looked like that. The compression shirt did him no favors—black, thin, second skin—stretched over the wide, carved shelf of his chest and the compact power of his shoulders, dark with sweat along the collar and sternum where the heat of the night had settled in. Veins ridged his forearms in pale relief when he reached down to tug at the laces of his boots, the backs of his knuckles split in tidy half-moons that had already started to scab; he flexed his fingers once like something in them hurt and refused to give the ache more attention than it deserved.
He toed off one boot, then the other, using the arch of his foot to flip the rubber heel away with a neat, efficient snap. The jacket went next—flicked from his shoulders in a single, practiced shrug, caught at the collar before the fabric could slide to the floor, hung on the hook without so much as a sigh of weight. He moved like a soldier unwinding a ritual: shed, square, stow. And still the anger—quiet, winter-cold, the kind he never showed the rookies—held to him like static. Up close, it had details: the fine salt of dried sweat clinging to the soft points of his sideburns; the clean, expensive bite of cedar and clove that lived in his collarbones and now threaded sharp through the apartment's still air; the tightness in the set of his shoulders that never belonged to him unless something had gone wrong and he was holding it alone.
"Hey," Y/N said softly from the living room, the syllable warm by intention, not by accident. She had not turned on the overheads; the room was all lamp glow and the city's distant, twitching neon through the glass, enough light to gild and not expose. She closed the distance without hurry, the hush of bare feet on wood and the faint sway of her tee at her waist. It took one breath to see everything he thought he had hidden. It took another breath to decide to ask for none of it. Her hands went to him first, not to the face where answers lived, but to the waist—fingers sliding under the hem of the compression shirt at his hips, palms catching on warm skin and the low, hard curve of his obliques; thumbs smoothing slow circles where the band of the fabric bit into him. "You're home," she said, and the sentence did what it needed to—named the place, claimed him inside it.
His chin lowered like the weight of her touch had pulled it there. "Mm." The sound lived low in his chest, clean and even, polite as ever. He tipped a smile at her that could've fooled a stranger. It didn't fool her. Up close, the red cuts on his knuckles were cleaner, the crescents neat as bites; a dark smear of something—rubber? track dust?—lurked along the heel of his palm. The shirt did the rest of the talking: how it clung to the spread of his pecs, how it wrinkled where sweat had dried at his sternum, how it dragged faintly when he breathed deeper than he meant to, outlining every saw-tooth of his ribs for a second before the fabric settled again. He smelled like outside and the training floor and the particular warmth that was only his, something skin-deep and impossible to bottle. He looked at her then, all the way, and the focus there was surgical—affectionate, yes, but also the kind of precise attention he gave a threat, a wound, a blade. "Sorry I'm late."
"You're right on time," she answered, because the clock was irrelevant and the body in front of her was not. One hand left his waist for his jaw, her thumb settling into the shaved-smooth notch under his ear. "Sit."
His mouth bent, pleased at the authority in it, the fox showing a flash of white teeth; then he let her turn him by the hips, obedient not because he had to be but because he could. The mattress took him with a quiet, expensive sigh when the backs of his knees found its edge. He sat where she put him—the compression shirt pulled tight across his chest, the hem rucking an inch to show a cut slice of lower ab when he spread his thighs without thinking. He set his forearms on his thighs the way he always did when he was about to pretend he was fine. The lamp caught the glossy pull on his lower lip where he had been biting it, the faint shadow of beard that always showed after nineteen hours, the iron line of control drawn clean from temple to mouth.
She climbed into his lap as if there were no alternative configuration for their bodies in this room. Her knees bracketed his hips, the soft weight of her on his quadriceps making the muscle jump and then settle under her. Up this close, he was unbearable to look at in that very specific way—everything too much and exactly enough: the corded slope of his neck disappearing into the dark, sweat-damp collar; the press of the shirt over nipples that were already pebbled with leftover cold and fresh heat; the way his breath caught for a bare quarter-second when her thighs sank and the soft skin of her inner knee kissed the hard seam of his hip bone. She brought both hands to his shoulders and dug her thumbs into the rope of muscle where it met the neck, kneading with deliberate, measured pressure. His eyes half-lidded; his mouth parted just enough to show a sliver of teeth. She stroked down—over the rounded cap of deltoid, over the sweep where tricep feathered into tendon, over the road-map veins that ran like bright cords along his forearms—and the gooseflesh rose in a slow wave that her palms warmed flat.
"What's wrong?" she asked, not to pry the story out, but to give the anger a name if it wanted one.
He exhaled and chose the easier lie. "Long day." The timbre of it was wrong—too level—and the knuckles told the truth anyway, small as they were. He lifted one hand and set it on her outer thigh and squeezed—firm enough to anchor, firm enough to warn. "I don't want to put it on you." The courtesy was real; the warning was too. He angled his face, saw her in three-quarter profile, and let the smile sharpen into something that wasn't quite safe. "You sure you want me like this?"
"I want you," she said simply, and the word was touch when she said it. Her fingers slid along his jaw, slow, to his mouth; she traced the bottom lip once, watched him track the movement from under lashes that made him look much too soft for the thoughts living behind them. "Here," she added, and guided his hand to the line of her waist and held it there until his palm molded itself to the curve as if the muscle underneath belonged specifically to that spread of fingers. "With me."
He didn't move for a beat. He just looked at her and weighed the cost of that permission like a man who had spent the last twelve hours paying for everyone else's mistakes and wasn't sure he could afford even the things he wanted. Then the decision clicked somewhere behind his eyes, small and final. The smile went away. His hand on her waist tightened; the other slid to her jaw and bracketed it, fingers spreading to her ear, thumb tilting her face a fraction. He didn't bother with preamble.
"Open," he said quietly.
Her lips parted on instinct, as though her body had been waiting for the word, tongue curling helplessly against the pad of his thumb. His gaze tracked the movement with a kind of brutal tenderness, then his palm left her jaw and pressed down, steady, directing her lower until her knees sank into the rug at his feet. The compression shirt pulled tight across his chest as he shifted forward on the bed, thighs spread, cock already heavy and straining against the thin fabric of his sweats. The lamplight turned the curve of muscle into a sculpture, veins rising faintly along his forearms as he pushed the waistband down with unhurried precision.
He freed himself with a hiss between his teeth, thick and flushed, precum already beading at the head. The heat of him was immediate, obscene in its nearness as he rested himself against her waiting mouth. His fingers curved under her chin again, tilting her face up until her eyes met his. Crimson, sharp, unwavering.
"Good girl," he murmured, satisfaction cutting low through the words. He pressed forward, parting her lips with the heavy weight of him, feeding inch after inch onto her tongue. Her jaw stretched, spit catching at the corners of her mouth, and he groaned softly, head tipping back, as though the sight alone unraveled him.
Her throat fluttered, and he felt it—tight, desperate, clutching at him like it wanted to keep him there. He exhaled through his nose, rough and shaky for the first time all day, and guided her head with one broad palm at the base of her skull, controlling the angle, the depth, every shuddering swallow. Tears gathered bright at the corners of her eyes from the stretch, catching the honey light of the lamp. He wiped one away with his thumb almost lazily, like he was collecting proof of how perfect she looked like this.
"Pretty," he said, voice husky with approval, and pushed just a little deeper, watching her lips shine around him, watching composure slip from both of them in real time.
His palm settled heavy at the back of her head, fingers threaded through the strands like reins, and that was all it took to turn patience into rhythm. He drew her down slow the first time, savoring the stretch of her lips around him, the wet glide of spit slicking his cock. Then he set the pace—brutal, uncompromising, but never careless. Each thrust was measured, a soldier's precision, sinking her mouth onto him until the head nudged deep against the back of her throat and her body seized around the intrusion.
She gagged softly, throat convulsing, and he groaned at the feel of it, low and dangerous. His hand tightened in her hair, not enough to hurt but enough to remind her she was his to move, his to use, his to break down into the perfect mess kneeling at his feet.
"Yeah," he rasped, voice rougher now, smoke-edged. "That's it. Take it, sweetheart. Take all of it."
Tears slipped hot from the corners of her eyes, streaking down her flushed cheeks, catching on her chin. Saliva strung between her lips and his cock, dripping down her throat, soaking the collar of her shirt. He tilted her face just so with his grip, forcing her to look up at him through the blur of tears. The sight nearly undid him—the glassy sheen of her gaze, the wet ring of her lips stretched around him, her throat working to obey every push of his hips.
"Look at you," he said, a laugh curling through the words, low and merciless. "My perfect little thing, crying on my cock like you were made for it." His thumb swiped under her eye again, catching a fresh tear. "Fuck, you look beautiful like this. Ruined, dripping, all mine."
He set the tempo harder now, driving her down with a sharp snap of his hips, then dragging her back only to do it again, ruthless in the pace. Every wet choke, every muffled gag, was a hymn to him, a pulse of heat that made his grip iron at her skull. His thighs flexed under her hands where she clung for balance, muscles taut and unforgiving.
"Don't you dare stop," he muttered, breath hissing through his teeth as she gagged again. "You wanted this—now take it. Take what I give you, baby. Show me how good you are for me."
Her nails bit crescents into his thighs, her chest heaving as she fought for each breath he allowed her between thrusts. Her spit soaked him, glistening down his shaft, coating his balls, a messy crown to her devotion. And still he praised, mean and sweet in the same breath.
"That's my girl. Cry for me. Choke on it. God, you're perfect like this—obedient little mouth, watering for me like you've got nothing else to live for."
Her moan vibrated around him, broken and raw, and his eyes rolled back for a heartbeat before fixing on her again, hungry, unrelenting. He rocked into her throat once more, deeper than before, and held her there just long enough to feel the desperate flutter of her body fighting for breath. Then he eased back, letting her gasp through swollen lips, tears spilling faster down her cheeks.
"Breathe," he ordered, gentle only in the word, then shoved her back down with a groan. "Now do it again."
Her throat worked around him, the slick walls convulsing each time he drove himself deep, and he swore the sound of her gagging was louder than the clock ticking on the wall. He fed her his cock like it was oxygen, measured thrusts that pressed his length to the very back of her throat, pulling back only to slam forward again. Her body shook with the effort, spit bubbling from the corners of her mouth, tears cutting raw tracks down her cheeks.
Soshiro tilted his head back, teeth clenched, a growl ripping low from his chest. He looked down again almost instantly—he couldn't not look. She was too beautiful wrecked like this. His perfect girl on her knees, glassy-eyed and ruined, drool slicking her chin, hands clutching at his thighs like she'd fall apart without the anchor.
"Fuck, sweetheart..." His voice cracked into a groan, rough and guttural. "You're a sight. My sight. Nobody else gets this. Nobody else ever sees you like this—on your knees, gagging, crying—only me."
Her moan buzzed against him, vibrating through the thick vein of his cock, and his hips stuttered forward on instinct, his composure fraying at the edges. His hand cupped the back of her skull and held her steady while his other thumb stroked over her damp cheek, smearing the tears he'd made like war paint.
"That's it," he panted, eyes dark, jaw sharp as he fed her every inch. "Good girl. Take it. Take it all for me—fuck—you're perfect like this. My perfect mess."
Her throat convulsed again, choking, but she didn't pull back. Didn't flinch. She looked up at him through her tears, lips swollen around his cock, and the sight tore the last of his control to shreds. His hips snapped hard, brutal, rutting into her mouth with a pace that left her gasping between thrusts. He felt himself throb against her tongue, heavy and hot, the tight coil in his gut burning fast toward release.
"You're mine," he snarled through his teeth, voice breaking into a groan as his body tightened. "Every fucking tear, every breath—mine." His thrusts grew frantic, shallow and fast, his cock twitching hard as the pressure broke.
He came with a guttural growl, hips jerking forward, spilling thick and hot down her throat. His hand pressed her flush to him, forcing her to take every pulse of it, filling her mouth until she gagged around the flood. Cum dripped from the corners of her lips when she couldn't keep up, streaking her chin, stringing down to her chest. The sight alone nearly undid him again.
"Swallow it," he ordered, voice wrecked but firm, thumb tugging at her jaw to make her look up at him. "Every drop, baby girl. Show me."
She swallowed shakily, throat working around the mess he'd given her, a sob breaking into the motion. The tear-streaked, cum-stained picture of her hit him so hard his chest ached, his cock twitching even as he softened in her mouth.
"God..." His voice dipped, softer but still rough, thumb brushing a wet streak of spit and seed from her lip. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. My good girl. My perfect girl."
He leaned down, catching her mouth in a messy kiss, uncaring of the taste of himself smeared there, groaning low into her swollen lips. He kissed the tears at her cheeks, her damp lashes, her jaw, marking her not with cruelty now but with devotion.
Pulling her up from her knees, he crushed her against his chest, his arms banded around her tight. His cock still dripped against his sweats, his thighs wet with spit, but he didn't care. He buried his face in her hair, breathing hard, voice muffled but fierce.
"If you ever cry, it'll be for me," he rasped, raw devotion bleeding through the roughness. "And only like this."
His grip eased just enough to let him kiss her temple, tender and trembling in contrast to the brutal edge of his words. "My girl. Always my girl."
His eyes lingered first—slow, cutting, crimson fixed on her body like he was memorizing every inch he was about to uncover. When he finally moved, it wasn't rushed. Soshiro Hoshina was never rushed when he didn't have to be. He let his hands speak for him, broad palms sliding to the hem of her shirt, calloused thumbs brushing deliberately against the bare skin of her waist. He dragged the fabric upward with unhurried precision, baring her inch by inch until the cool air kissed the underside of her breasts. His lips curved faintly when goosebumps followed in the wake of his touch.
"Arms up, sweetheart," he murmured, not asking so much as expecting.
She obeyed, and he peeled the shirt over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside without a glance. The sports bra followed, his thumbs slipping beneath the elastic and stretching it wide before he tugged it upward, letting her breasts fall free into the cool air. His eyes lingered on the sight—soft curves, peaked nipples already tightening under the weight of his gaze—before his hands came up to cup them briefly, thumbs brushing hard across the tips until she shivered.
Then he moved lower.
Fingers hooked in the waistband of her shorts, dragging the fabric down slowly enough that it was closer to torture than a favor. The cotton clung to her skin, peeled away from her thighs inch by inch, until it joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. He crouched lower as he worked, his mouth brushing deliberately along the bare skin of her stomach, her hip, the sensitive inside of her thigh as he knelt fully. Her panties were the last barrier, a small, soaked thing that he didn't remove immediately. He tugged them aside with his thumb just long enough to glance at the wetness already gathering between her folds, and his smirk sharpened at the sight.
"Look at you," he muttered, voice dropping to a husky rumble. "Already dripping, and I haven't even touched you yet."
He slid the panties down her legs, let them fall, and then guided her carefully backward until the backs of her thighs pressed against the edge of the mattress. He steadied her there with a firm hand, pushing gently at her hip until she perched right where he wanted her—spread, waiting, helpless in the face of his focus.
Then, finally, he dropped to his knees between her legs.
The sight alone could have undone her: Soshiro Hoshina, Vice-Captain, the soldier who never faltered in battle, kneeling bareheaded and hungry in front of her. His eyes flicked up, crimson locking on hers as his big hands slid up the length of her thighs, spreading her wider until there was no mystery left between them.
"Better savor this," he said, his grin slow, dangerous, voice velvet-edged steel. "Because tonight, sweetheart, this is the only mercy you're getting out of me."
And then he bent forward, mouth hot and devastating as it closed over her clit, tongue circling with unerring precision until her head tipped back and a broken sound tore free from her throat.
His mouth sealed over her like a man who had been starving all day, all week, all his life and only now had been allowed to eat. The first drag of his tongue was deliberate, slow from the bottom of her folds all the way up until it curled around the swollen peak of her clit. She jolted at the contact, thighs quivering, hands immediately reaching for his hair. His short, dark strands were damp still from the shower earlier, and she curled her fingers tight in them without thought, desperate for something to anchor herself to.
Soshiro didn't complain. He leaned into it, the pull at his scalp only deepening the growl that reverberated low in his chest. His hands clamped firmer around her thighs, spreading her further, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just shy of bruising. He angled her hips subtly upward, pinning her in place on the edge of the mattress, ensuring she couldn't wriggle away even if the pleasure burned too sharp.
He was precise. Of course he was. The same man who could split a kaiju in half with a single swing now used that focus on her body, tracing every flicker of reaction, every gasp, every tremor. His tongue circled her clit in a steady rhythm—tight spirals, fast flicks, then a long, flat drag that made her choke on a whimper. He knew exactly when to switch, exactly how much pressure to apply, like he'd mapped her nerves down to the millimeter.
Her breath hitched again, sharp and desperate, and he pulled back just enough to murmur against her, voice thick with amusement. "That's it. Shake for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it."
Then he was back at it, this time sucking gently, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it until her thighs clamped reflexively against his head. He only chuckled against her, the vibration shooting straight through her, and pried her legs back open with merciless ease.
Her thighs trembled under his grip, every muscle strung tight as a bowstring, and still he held her open, mouth locked to her like nothing in the world could pull him away. His tongue worked in relentless patterns—flicking, circling, dragging slow and hot until every gasp that broke from her throat was sharper than the last. The mattress creaked faintly beneath her, the sheets gathering in her fists as she writhed, but he pinned her there, unmovable.
When she choked on his name—half moan, half sob—he hummed low in his chest, and the sound vibrated against her clit until stars burst behind her eyes. His crimson gaze flicked up briefly, locking with hers through her haze, and the raw hunger there nearly undid her.
"Beautiful," he muttered, lips brushing slick against her. "All mine."
He buried himself deeper then, tongue plunging past her folds to thrust inside her, curling with precise, devastating strokes. One of his hands left her thigh to press flat against her stomach, pinning her hips down when she tried to buck up into his mouth. The weight of it made her feel trapped in the best way, every nerve lit up and helpless under his mercy. His tongue fucked her with the same skill as his blades—measured, relentless, merciless—until wet sounds filled the room, obscene and slick.
Her legs kicked weakly, her voice breaking into a keening cry, and still he didn't stop. He swallowed everything she gave him, groaning into her like her taste was the only thing keeping him alive. His hand on her stomach slid higher, until his broad palm pressed just beneath her ribs, pinning her flat. His other hand tightened on her thigh, spreading her wide again when instinct tried to curl her in.
"Stay open for me," he growled against her, his mouth never ceasing. "You can take it. I know you can."
And then he latched onto her clit again, sucking hard, his tongue flicking mercilessly against it until her body bowed sharp off the bed, a sob breaking ragged from her throat. Her orgasm hit sudden and brutal, tearing through her so hard her vision whited out, and he didn't let her go. He held her there with his mouth, dragging her through every spasm, drinking down every drop of slick that spilled against his tongue.
When her body finally collapsed back onto the mattress, trembling and boneless, he didn't stop. He slowed, yes—long, lazy licks that teased and soothed, his tongue broad and heavy as he cleaned her up—but the promise in his eyes said he was nowhere near finished.
Her chest heaved, damp hair plastered to her temples, voice barely a whisper when she gasped, "Soshiro—please—too much—"
He looked up at her again, chin glistening, mouth swollen and slick, and grinned that sharp fox's grin that carried no mercy.
"Too much?" His voice was dark velvet, amused and dangerous all at once. He leaned back in, kissing her clit with obscene tenderness, then whispered against her, "Sweetheart, I'm only getting started."
Her chest heaved like she'd just been dragged out of deep water, the shine of sweat glistening down her sternum. Every nerve still twitched with aftershocks, her thighs trembling where he held them wide. She reached weakly for his hair, as if she could plead with touch alone, but Soshiro only caught her wrist midair, pressed a kiss to her pulse, and set it back down against the sheets.
"I told you to savour it," he murmured, crimson eyes gleaming up at her from between her thighs. His voice was rough velvet, every word soaked in promise. "Because that was the only soft thing you're getting from me tonight."
Before she could answer, his teeth sank gently into the tender flesh of her inner thigh. She gasped, the sharp sting cutting straight through the fog of pleasure, and his tongue soothed over the mark instantly. Another bite followed, higher this time, harder—enough that her hips jerked, her voice breaking into a desperate cry. He growled against her skin, low and satisfied, before laving over it again, painting the ache with his tongue until a bruise began to bloom.
"Fuck, look at you," he rasped, pulling back just enough to admire his handiwork. His mouth was wet, chin glistening with her slick, lips swollen from the force of it. He dragged his teeth up the length of her thigh, biting, sucking, marking his way toward the heat of her cunt again. Each bruise bloomed under his mouth like a claim, his chest rising sharper with every sound she made. "Mine. Every inch of you. Mine to mark, mine to ruin."
She tried to plead—his name spilling weakly from her lips, her thighs twitching like they might close—but he pinned them down again, broad hands bruising into her flesh as his mouth sealed back over her. No warm-up this time, no slow indulgence. He devoured her, tongue thrusting into her with brutal precision, groaning like she was feeding something starved in him.
Her body convulsed, raw sensitivity tearing sobs from her chest, but he didn't relent. He sucked her clit hard, teeth grazing just enough to make her scream, then plunged his tongue inside her again, fucking her with wet, merciless strokes. She was shaking, voice breaking into incoherent cries, tears sliding down her temples to dampen the sheets.
And he loved it.
"God, you're beautiful like this," he muttered against her, before latching on again, dragging her up another peak. "Crying for me. Falling apart just from my mouth. You were made for this, sweetheart—made for me."
When she shattered the second time, her body clamping down around his tongue, he growled into her, drinking it down like he'd never get enough. Her thighs clamped tight around his head this time, but he only pressed harder, grinding his face into her until she sobbed his name like prayer.
Her body was still twitching when he rose, mouth slick, chin shining, eyes dark as fresh blood. He wiped the back of his hand across his jaw only to smear her wetness further, then caught her chin in that same hand, tilting her face up. She was dazed, lips parted, cheeks blotched pink from crying, and he smiled—sharp, dangerous, hungry.
"Good girl," he rasped, voice shredded from groans he hadn't bothered to hide. "You took it all. But you think I'm done with you?" His thumb pressed into the spit-slick bow of her bottom lip, forcing her to keep her mouth open as he leaned down. "Not a fucking chance."
He guided her back onto the bed, her body pliant under his hands, and stripped off what little he still wore. His cock stood flushed and thick, the tip gleaming, heavy veins running down its length. He stroked himself once, deliberate, letting her watch how his fist barely closed around the girth, then lined up at her entrance without preamble.
The first push stole both their breath—her body, soaked and trembling, clenching around him, his jaw locking tight as he sank in inch by inch. He didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, her walls fluttering madly around the stretch. Her scream cracked into a sob, arms wrapping around his shoulders, but he didn't move. Not yet.
"Feel that?" he growled, breath hot against her ear. "That's all of me. Splitting you open. Filling you so deep you won't remember what it's like to be empty." He pressed a kiss to her temple, tender for one heartbeat, then bared his teeth at her neck and bit down hard enough to make her cry out again. His hips flexed once, shallow, just to feel the way her walls clung. "Better hang on, baby."
Then he pulled back and slammed into her.
The bedframe cracked against the wall, the sound obscene as his pace turned brutal, each thrust sharp and claiming, his pelvis grinding against her clit with every snap of his hips. Her voice was wrecked instantly, babbling pleas tangled with his name, tears streaking hot down her temples. She clung to him like she'd fall apart otherwise, nails raking down his back, but he only groaned at the sting.
"That's it," he snarled, one hand sliding up to her throat, palm wide and warm as it pressed down—not cutting her air, not fully, just enough to make her eyes roll at the pressure. His thumb caressed her jaw even as he squeezed. "Take it, sweetheart. Take every fucking inch like you were made for me. God, listen to you—can't even talk. Just whimpering my name like you're cock-drunk already."
He bit at her shoulder again, sucking hard until another bruise bloomed purple-red. His hips didn't falter, driving into her with vicious precision, her slick coating his length, dripping down between them, making every thrust loud, wet, filthy.
"You love this, don't you?" he hissed, tightening his grip on her throat, watching her mouth open on a silent moan. "You love when I ruin you like this. Love when I fuck you so hard you forget your own name. All you know is me. My cock. My marks. My fucking voice in your ear."
Her answer was incoherent, just a broken sob that made his grin sharpen. He leaned close, lips brushing her damp cheek.
"That's right, baby. Cry for me. Beg without words. You're mine—my perfect girl, my cock-drunk mess—and I'm never letting you forget it."
The pace he set was merciless. His hips crashed against hers with a rhythm so sharp the headboard rattled in protest, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room, filthy and loud. Sweat ran down his temple, slid into the hollow of his throat, then further down the carved lines of his chest and abs, catching in the dips of muscle before dripping onto her trembling body beneath him. It was nothing but hot skin against hot skin now—her nipples dragging over the hard planes of his torso with every brutal snap of his hips, her slick smearing messily down his thighs as he fucked her deeper, harder, like he was carving his name into her with every thrust.
Her voice was nearly gone already, cracked to breathless whimpers, moans spilling without control. Her nails left red crescents down his back, but he only groaned at the sting, his body shuddering with it, driving into her harder. Her head tipped back against the mattress, eyes glazed and unfocused, lips parted, and he laughed—low, cruel, delighted.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice ragged with lust and heat, his hand clamping back down on her throat, steadying her head so he could watch her fall apart. "Eyes rolling back, drooling on yourself, too cock-drunk to even beg. Fuck, baby, you're perfect like this." He leaned closer, dragging his teeth over her jaw, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out. "Maybe I should always use your pretty little body like this. Bend you open, fuck you stupid, leave you wrecked so all you can do is lie here and take it."
Her answer came out as nothing but a sob, the sound vibrating against his palm. He chuckled darkly, the fox's grin curved mean and hungry above her. "That's it. Don't even think, sweetheart. Don't even try. Just be good and let me fuck you."
He adjusted his grip, one hand braced on the headboard now, the other holding her throat steady, and changed the angle of his thrusts. The thick head of his cock ground against that spot inside her that made her body convulse, and the cry she let out was raw, guttural, the sound of someone undone. Her walls squeezed around him like a vice, fluttering wildly, and he groaned deep in his chest, the sound rough enough to scrape.
"God, I can feel you clenching... you're close, huh?" He drove harder, his brutal tempo never faltering, every thrust punching the air out of her lungs. "Yeah, I know. This tight little pussy's screaming for me. Begging for me. You want to cum on my cock, don't you? Want to soak me, make a mess all over me while I pound you into the mattress?"
Her nails clawed helplessly at his shoulders, words gone, only broken gasps spilling from her swollen lips. He laughed again, dark and triumphant, biting at her collarbone until another bruise bloomed under his teeth.
"Go on then, baby. Cum for me. Show me how good I fuck you. Show me how much you love being ruined by me."
Her body convulsed under him, shuddering violently as her orgasm ripped through her, back arching off the bed, her cunt clamping down so hard he cursed aloud. He didn't stop—didn't even slow—just fucked her through it, his pace still brutal, hips slamming against her trembling body until her eyes rolled back again, tears streaking down her temples.
"Yeah, that's it," he groaned, his own voice breaking now, forehead pressed to hers as his thrusts turned ragged, relentless. "My perfect girl. My cock-drunk mess. You'll take everything I give you. Every fucking drop."
The pace built until it was nothing but fury and devotion made flesh, his cock pounding into her with a brutal rhythm that left her voice broken, eyes glassy and rolled back. Every sharp cry she let out only drove him harder, the sound threading straight through his veins until his jaw clenched and his muscles locked tight.
"Fuck—" The word tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward in one last, vicious thrust, burying himself to the hilt. He came with a guttural snarl, thick and hot spilling deep inside her, each heavy pulse wringing another helpless clench from her wrecked body. His hand gripped her throat as if to hold her still for it, forcing her to take every drop, and when she whimpered around the stretch, his groan deepened into something feral.
Warmth spilled out around him, slick and messy, streaking her thighs and the sheets beneath, but he didn't move, didn't soften. He ground himself in deeper, grinding his cock against her swollen walls as if to brand her from the inside. His teeth found her jaw, biting down hard enough to bruise, his voice hot and ragged against her ear.
"Look at you... dripping full of me. My perfect little mess. You were made for this—made for me."
She shuddered under him, whimpering broken nonsense, already glassy-eyed and undone. He watched her with something close to reverence, chest heaving, cum still leaking warm between them—then gave a sharp, wolfish grin.
"Don't think I'm finished, sweetheart," he rasped, pulling back just enough to slam into her again, the wet slap obscene. His cock was still iron-hard, still hungry. "That was just the first. You've got a long night ahead of you."
He didn't give her a chance to catch her breath. One second she was limp under him, still trembling from the mess he'd made inside her, and the next she was gasping as he hauled her over, face down into the sheets with a roughness that bordered on cruel but never tipped into harm.
She barely managed to shift before his hands were already moving her, spreading her across the bed like he owned every inch of her body. He shoved a pillow under her hips, lifting her ass high until she was open and waiting, his cum already trickling down the insides of her thighs in sticky trails. The sight made his cock twitch violently, his chest heaving as he lined himself up again.
A sharp smack cracked across her ass, the sting blooming hot under his palm. She yelped, face burying into the mattress, and he laughed low, a dangerous rumble in his chest. "That's right, baby. Keep that pretty head down for me. I want you face-first in the sheets while I fuck you stupid."
He pushed in with one hard thrust, the stretch even rougher this time, his earlier release slicking the way. The wet sound of him forcing his cock back inside her made his teeth grit, his eyes dark as he watched his own cum spill out only to be shoved right back in by the brutal rhythm of his hips.
"God, look at that..." he groaned, voice jagged with lust. "Already fucked full of me, and this pussy's still taking it—greedy little thing."
His hands found her shoulders and shoved her harder into the mattress, her cheek pressing into the damp sheets, muffling her broken cries. The pillow under her hips kept her ass high, perfectly angled for every ruthless snap of his hips. The headboard slammed against the wall, the slap of skin echoing in filthy rhythm, punctuated by the occasional smack of his palm against her ass until the skin there burned under his touch.
"You feel that?" His voice was sharp, mean, but trembling with how hard he was holding himself together. "Every thrust—pushing it deeper. Making sure you don't waste a drop." His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough so her cries spilled free again, her voice wrecked and trembling.
Her walls fluttered helplessly around him, already clenching hard, already begging for more without words, and he leaned over her, pressing his chest to her back, his mouth at her ear. "You're mine like this. No one else will ever get to see you ruined this way. No one else will ever get to fuck you this full."
Her answer was a strangled sob into the sheets, her body giving out against the brutal tempo, every thrust rocking her forward until her arms collapsed under her. He just pinned her harder, pushing her head down into the mattress with one big hand while he pounded into her from behind, relentless, a starving man taking what was his again and again.
Her arms gave out, her cheek pressed into the sheets, but Soshiro wasn't done—not even close. He caught one of her wrists, dragged it behind her back, and pinned it there in his fist like she was nothing more than a doll. She gasped, hips jerking helplessly as the new angle made him hit even deeper, harder, every thrust punching the breath out of her lungs.
"Stay right there," he growled, tightening his grip until she whined. "You don't move unless I move you."
His other hand slid low, rough fingertips finding the swollen bud of her clit and circling it with brutal precision, exactly how he knew would shatter her fastest. The contrast made her scream into the mattress—the ruthless tempo of his cock pounding into her from behind and the sharp, deliberate pressure of his fingers on her most sensitive spot. Her thighs trembled violently, knees threatening to give out even though she was already pinned down and helpless.
"That's it," he rasped against her ear, sweat dripping from his temple onto her back as he leaned over her, his cock dragging through her slick heat like it owned her. "Come for me, sweetheart. Make a mess on me. I want to feel you lose it all over my cock."
Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. The orgasm tore through her, violent and consuming, her walls clenching so hard around him he nearly lost his rhythm. She sobbed into the sheets, trembling uncontrollably, her body convulsing as his hand never let up, his thrusts just as punishing, milking every last spasm out of her.
"Fuck—look at you," he groaned, voice wrecked but thick with satisfaction. He pressed her wrist harder into her back, holding her down through the quake of her climax, his fingers grinding relentless circles against her clit until her scream broke into raw, breathless whimpers. "So fucking perfect like this... shaking on my cock, crying for me."
He finally eased his hand off her clit, but not off her wrist, his grip still unyielding as he continued to rut into her soaked, fluttering pussy, his chest heaving against her back. "Good girl," he murmured roughly, biting down on the curve of her shoulder hard enough to leave the mark blooming. "My good girl. I could fuck you like this all night."
Her body was still trembling, her pulse still scattered from the orgasm he'd wrung out of her, when his grip shifted. Without warning, Soshiro grabbed her other wrist, yanking both arms behind her back and locking them in one brutal fist. She gasped, body arching as he hauled her upright by her bound arms, her chest pressing into the sheets, ass high, legs spread wide and trembling.
"Mine," he growled into the shell of her ear, and then he drove into her with the kind of force that rattled the headboard against the wall.
The new angle was devastating—his cock slammed into her with every stroke, thick and merciless, filling her so deep she could feel him in her ribs. She couldn't move, couldn't fight it if she tried; he used her body like it was built for him alone, dragging her back onto him with the leverage of her pinned wrists. She cried out, the sound muffled against the mattress, her body bouncing helplessly with every brutal snap of his hips.
"Fuck—just like that," he groaned, voice dark and raw, his chest heaving against her back. "You feel that, baby girl? You're nothing but a pretty little sheath for my cock right now. Taking me so fucking deep, letting me use you."
Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open around broken, incoherent noises. He didn't slow. Every thrust was harder than the last, his balls slapping wetly against her with obscene sound, sweat dripping from his temples to her skin. Her arms strained in his grip, but he only pulled them tighter, holding her steady as he fucked into her like she was his ragdoll, pliant and perfect.
"You love it," he snarled, biting down on her shoulder, sharp enough to make her squeal. His cock twitched deep inside her, dragging over every trembling spot until her legs shook violently beneath him. "You love when I take you like this. Don't you?"
Her answer was nothing but a sob, high and wrecked, her body clenching tight around him as though begging him not to stop.
"That's it," he muttered, mean praise pouring from his lips as his thrusts turned reckless, chasing his own pleasure now, hips slamming into her with bruising force. "That's my good girl. Letting me fuck you like a toy. Letting me ruin you."
Her arms were useless against his grip—both wrists pinned in one of his hands, wrenched back until her spine curved into a perfect arch for him. He moved her like she weighed nothing, like she was just an extension of his own body, dragging her back into every thrust until the sound of his cock slamming into her was drowned in the wet slap of skin on skin. Her voice was wrecked already, breaking into hoarse, high sounds that barely formed words, her cheek pressed into the sheets.
"Christ..." he groaned low, every breath hot against her ear as he bent over her back, "look at you, sweetheart—can't even keep your head up, can you? Just lying here letting me use you. Fucking perfect for me."
She whimpered, body jolting forward with each vicious snap of his hips. The pillow he'd shoved beneath her stomach only lifted her higher into the relentless rhythm, letting him hit deep enough that every stroke punched a broken cry out of her lungs. Her hands twitched helplessly in his hold, but he only tightened, the veins standing out on his forearm as he pulled harder, keeping her open for him.
Her walls clenched hard around him, slick and needy, and the sensation made his head spin. Sweat dripped down his temple, rolling off his jaw to dampen the soft skin between her shoulder blades, and he pressed his mouth there without slowing. A kiss first—hot, almost tender—then a bite, sharp enough to make her flinch and moan.
"Yeah..." he rasped against her skin, his teeth grazing the mark he'd just made. "That's it. Give me every sound. Don't hold back. I want it all."
Her voice cracked, babbled nonsense spilling into the sheets, and he groaned deep at the sound. He tugged her arms higher, forcing her deeper onto him, his thrusts turning shorter, rougher, driven by pure hunger.
"God, I love you like this," he admitted, raw and low, almost reverent despite the brutality of his pace. "Fucked dumb on my cock, tears in your eyes, too wrecked to even beg right." He pressed her head gently into the mattress with his free hand, his hips slamming forward with punishing rhythm, the slick mess of him and her coating their thighs, dripping down to the sheets.
The sight nearly undid him—her flushed skin glowing under the low light, her body quaking with each thrust, her pussy clenching around him like it was made to keep him there. His chest swelled, his voice catching as he bent low over her.
"Sweetheart... fuck, you don't even know what you do to me," he panted, his pace unrelenting. "You're everything. My perfect girl. And I'm not stopping until every part of you knows it."
He drove into her harder, sharper, his groans mixing with her broken cries, and he knew he was close—too close—but he didn't care. Not when she was trembling like this under him, not when she was squeezing him so tight he thought he might break apart inside her.
"Not gonna last, baby girl. You're too fucking good—"
The dam broke with a growl that tore from his chest. He buried himself to the hilt, holding her locked against him as his release hit in hot, heavy pulses. His cock jerked inside her with every spurt, thick cum spilling deep, spilling so much it slid back around him, wetting the insides of her thighs. He ground into her, slow, savage, as if to push it all higher, to make sure she kept every drop.
Her body convulsed beneath him, shivering from the force of it, and he couldn't help but laugh—a breathless, cracked sound of pure disbelief at how good she felt. He bent over her, his chest pressed to her slick back, his lips dragging over the flushed shell of her ear.
"That's it. Take it, sweetheart. Fuck—you're milking me dry."
When the aftershocks tore through him, he stayed buried, still pinning her wrists, still holding her like she belonged to no one else. His cum spilled out around the base of his cock in messy streaks, and the sight nearly undid him all over again.
Finally, finally, he let her arms fall, her body collapsing limp against the bed. He kissed the sweat-damp curve of her shoulder, a softer mark in contrast to the bruises and bites he'd already scattered. His breath still came rough, but his voice had dipped low, reverent, even as he was still inside her.
"Fuck... you're everything, you know that?" His hand slid over her hip, squeezing tenderly where he'd gripped too hard before. "My perfect girl. Mine."
Slowly—reluctantly—he eased out of her. The sound was obscene, wet, and his cum spilled down the insides of her thighs, streaking her skin, staining the sheets. He hissed low in his teeth at the sight, some greedy part of him already aching to put it back inside, but he forced himself to still. Not yet. Not again.
She was trembling faintly, hair stuck to her flushed face, her lips parted as she dragged in shallow breaths. Her body looked wrecked—marked with his bites, his bruises, her thighs quivering from his brutal tempo. Beautiful.
"Hey." His voice was softer now, the roughness sanded down but still warm in her ear. He smoothed his palm over her back, broad hand following the line of her spine, steadying her trembling muscles. "With me, sweetheart?"
She made a sound, something halfway between a hum and a sigh, and it made him smile. He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of her shoulder, letting his lips linger there.
Then he moved. Gentle now. He slid his arms beneath her, one under her knees, the other cradling her shoulders, and lifted her from the bed as if she weighed nothing. She curled into him on instinct, her arms draping weakly around his neck, her cheek pressing against the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. He carried her into the bathroom, nudging the door open with his foot.
The soft light flicked on, casting warm gold over the tiles. He set her carefully on the counter, steadying her with one hand at her waist while the other turned on the tap. Warm water filled a cloth, steam curling up between them.
"Easy," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. He crouched between her knees, parting them with gentle hands, and began to clean her. The wet cloth was warm, soothing against her skin as he wiped away the mess he had made—his cum streaking her thighs, the sweat dampening her body. His touch was precise as ever, but tender now, lingering in soft strokes rather than bruising grips. He kissed the inside of her knee when she flinched at the sensitivity, whispering, "I know, baby. I've got you."
When she was clean, he pressed the cloth aside and leaned forward, kissing the inside of her thigh where he'd left his bite marks earlier. His mouth was soft this time, reverent, like he was apologizing to her skin with every touch.
Back in the bedroom, he tucked her into fresh sheets, smoothing the blanket over her bare body. He joined her a moment later, sliding in close, wrapping himself around her. His arm draped heavy over her waist, pulling her back to his chest, his lips brushing over the crown of her head.
"Too much?" he asked, his voice a murmur against her hair.
She shook her head faintly, nuzzling back into him, a tired smile tugging at her swollen lips. "Perfect."
The word melted something inside him. He buried his face in her hair, inhaled the faint sweetness of her shampoo still clinging there, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
His big hands smoothed down her thighs beneath the sheets, thumbs working slow circles into the sore muscles he'd pushed past their limit. She shivered at the touch, but it wasn't from overstimulation this time—it was from the gentleness of it, the way he touched her like she was something sacred even after he'd been so rough.
"I needed this," he murmured against her hair, voice low and hoarse with honesty. His lips brushed her temple with every word, reverent, almost like confession. "Needed you." His hands kept kneading her thighs, steady and grounding, as if he could pour gratitude straight into her skin. "Thank you, sweetheart... for letting me take it, for giving me all of you."
The moonlight poured pale silver over the sheets, over the planes of his back as he bent to kiss the curve of her shoulder. She sighed, sinking deeper into his chest, her breathing evening out under the warmth of his arms. And only then—only with her safe and steady against him—did Soshiro let his own body finally unclench, his heartbeat slowing in rhythm with hers.
Work has been draining me beyond belief, but here are some fluffy headcanons that sprouted in my mind yesterday, and I had to share them!
Dividers by: @thecutestgrotto
What it would be like to wake up to ...
Soshiro Hoshina
1. A certified cuddlebug. His head lies snug against your chest, your arms around his shoulders as you both sleep facing each other.
You wake to the feel of him burrowing further into the blankets, or against you, still sleeping like a stone. Such luxury is reserved for your exclusive time together, when he has days off, when a kaiju alert is still a distant dream.
2. You wake to his warm weight settling between your legs, his chin propped on your stomach so he can watch you slowly come to wakefulness.
He may flick your nose and grin as he compliments your 'radiant' morning face. Even in the most tender moments, Soshiro is an inescapable and ruthless tease.
3. You wake, disoriented, perhaps after a fleeting and disturbing dream, to the full length of his back pressed to yours. It's grounding, warm, and you often drift back to sleep, finding reassurance in the slow cadence of his breathing.
4. He rouses you by nibbling on your ear, or kissing your cheek softly. It's his favourite way to wake you when he wants to spend the day with you.
You must, of course, start early, so that every precious hour is bracketed, preserved, stolen moments of bliss layered between the golden mundanity of walking along a sun-warmed pavement, hand in hand.
5. Your head is tucked against his shoulder, one arm draped over his solid abdomen as the first light of dawn breaches the gap in the curtains.
He likes resting his chin on top of your head. It affirms his role as a protector, the contact assuaging any doubts about your safety. You're always most secure when you're with him, of course.
You half-wake to him slipping out from beneath you to get ready for work.
6. You wake fully, half an hour later, to the feel of him kissing the top of your head, the edges of his unbuttoned jacket draping cool against your skin. Every goodbye should be a proper one, after all.
7. You wake at midnight, or some other ungodly hour, to the feel of him climbing in beside you, his cool skin warming against yours.
For the first time that day, he shows his exhaustion, sighing and hissing slightly as you ease your hands over sore muscles, carefully feeling for the edges of bandages.
Soshiro never speaks of his pain, and you've taken it upon yourself to seek it out, to soothe it in the ways that only you can.
8. You wake to the sight of him, naked, the firm, sinuous lines of his bare back visible above the blanket where he lies sprawled out, in the kind of dreamless sleep that comes after a night of lovemaking.
His hair is tousled, mouth half open, deep breathing audible, a rare sight. He cracks one eye open the instant you brush his hair away from his brow, his smile lazy, content and utterly yours.
Gen Narumi
1. A cold foot shoves against the back of your knee, the rest of Gen's body spread out away from you. This is how he sleeps when he's been restless, eager for a new challenge, until the desire inhabits him, body and soul. He dreams vividly, tossing and turning.
2. Gen can mimic a koala bear with frightening strength. His arms surround your waist as you sleep on your side, his head planting solidly against the middle of your back. It is his breathing that tickles you awake.
This usually occurs when he comes in tired from a mission. He knows he's going to wake you, but the weight and warmth of his body, the security of his arms, will lull you back soon enough.
3. After he's well fed, showered and ready to hit the hay, Gen can also resemble quite a fetching starfish, lying on his back, arms outstretched, light snoring waking you in the middle of the night.
There is, however, plenty of room on that chest for you lie on. Gen may tuck one arm around your shoulders as you sleep, nose buried in your hair.
4. You may wake up to an empty bed. Beating the next level on his new game is sometimes worth forfeiting sleep.
He's been surprisingly considerate, though, by shoving a pillow between your arms and bent knees. You've had a blissful sleep, and your annoyance evaporates when you find a steaming mug of coffee on the counter as he mutters over the muted sounds of the game.
5. You might wake up to cackling befitting a foggy Scottish moor before Macbeth makes an entrance, Gen's elbow lodged in your ribs.
He's posted something else on social media that has gone viral, and he's risen early to see the number of likes and comments. As soon as you're awake, he launches into a rundown of the highs and lows. His elbow stays wedged against your side, in case you fall asleep while he's gloating.
6. You rise a little late, and can tell, immediately, that he is pretending to be asleep. You play the game and shake him awake, aware that he was watching YOU sleep. He grumbles about how pushy you are, as if his voice isn't gruff with early morning tenderness.
7. Gen doesn't really have preferences on whether he's the 'big' or 'little' spoon. Both positions have their merits.
If it's post-coital, he's usually the big spoon. You wake up to his body pressed against yours, nose buried against the back of your neck, and impossibly soft kisses pressed to your shoulder.
This is Gen's most precious, private self, the face only you get to witness, and neither of you break the silence spun by unspoken intimacy.
8. He brings you cup noodles and an onigiri in the morning. The scent wakes you, and if it doesn't, he waves the cup under your nose until the spice makes your nostrils twitch.
He calls it the breakfast of champions, and he would know, because he's the strongest in Japan, even when dressed in rarely-viewed fleece pyjamas with a bear embroidered on the front (they were comfortable).
He sits cross-legged across from you and eats his own cup ramen. He splashes a bit on the bedcovers, and you scold him, half-heartedly, already plotting ways to steal his pyjama bottoms.
Please we need more Hoshina x fem reader fics, I read your previous 2 and they were amazing 🫶🏻 I LOVED IT SMMM , could we possibly see Hoshina x commander wife fem reader 🙏🏻
The storyline is up to you! 💗
hoshina's overjoyed that you hold the same rank. he's not overjoyed about who your captain is, though.
feat. hoshina soshiro
+ (name) is the vice-captain of the first division
──── ⟢
there are two things that hoshina soshiro holds the utmost pride for. he's proud of a lot of things, but this is on another level. as long as those things stay standing beside him, he has no problems facing even the strongest of kaijus everyday.
one of them is you as his wife. making an oath to your vows and you taking his surname, his goals became your goals, your hardships became his hardships and your love grew infinitely bigger. to him, there's nothing more rewarding, nothing more perfect than creating a worthy life with the one person he'd go above and beyond for.
you've been married for perhaps a year, and he won't admit it, but he still gets a little giddy whenever somebody says, "vice-captain hoshina!" but they don't mean him, they mean you. it may not be a huge deal to others, but it's everything to him.
his second pride is that you're a well-respected vice-captain, loved by all and praised for your perseverance. you seldom get into arguments but that's only due to contradicting habits as high-ranking officers like how you deal with certain situations. nevertheless, that doesn't discredit you as a tough worker day and night, which hoshina scolds you for, claiming that you need your rest on the days you've already done enough, but when is there ever 'enough' when you're fighting for your lives?
despite that, though, he's full of joy whenever he sees you rushing back and forth between offices, leading training sessions or squeezing your hand before a meeting. he wants to tell the person next to him, "did ya know, that's my wife?" even if it's a known fact in the entire force.
the problem, however, is the division you're under. apparently it was the only position fit for your skills. it's no other than that─
"vice captain hoshina! captain narumi is looking for you!"
the third division office is currently occupied by you, hoshina, okonogi and captain ashiro, where you're pouring over the results of last week's experiments. not only do you have kafka's emergence as kaiju no. 8 in your minds, you still have to stay on track with the other issues that seem never-ending.
you sit up from your desk and point to yourself. "you mean the me hoshina, right?"
the officer standing at the door nods. "yes, ma'am. the captain is currently asking for you."
to your left, mina snorts lightly but doesn't look away from her documents. "of course it's (name). as if narumi would ever be looking for the other hoshina."
"now," hoshina says, slinging an arm around the back of your chair, "captain narumi doesn't need to be looking for any hoshinas."
you shake your head and rise from your seat, but hoshina suddenly grabs your hand, running his thumb along your wrist. he twists in his seat more so that his knees bump against your legs.
"ya really leaving so soon?"
you can hear a hint of pleading, like he's asking you to stay. completely or just a little longer, you're not too sure, it depends on if the task narumi has for you is a genuine one or something trivial like fetching a yamazon package.
if it's the latter... this'll be the ninth time.
"let her go, hoshina," mina speaks up. "narumi will get in a strop."
"with all due respect, captain, i do not care if captain narumi gets in a strop."
"honestly," you say with a small chuckle, swinging your arm with hoshina's fingers still clutched around it. "there are so many things i want to say to him, but i can't because he's my superior officer."
"say it all respectfully, he's too slow to understand the difference anyway."
"hoshina," mina interrupts. "both of you. behave." she looks at you and gestures at the door. "i'd love for you to stay with us, too, but if narumi needs you, you'll have to go."
you collect your share of the documents and with a quick salute, you're about to exit the office when the wheels of hoshina's chair screech back.
"at least lemme walk my darlin' wife there. i'll be back, captain."
he walks towards where you stand in front of the door and touches the small of your back. "off we go."
the first division isn't too far from the third. you have to travel across multiple hallways and fields to get to it, so alone, it sometimes feels like a treacherous hike. one where you have to prepare for the hurl of insults between the first and third officers because of course, they just have to have the most irritating rivalry in the entire force.
with hoshina, though, no walk is ever boring. he doesn't like to hold hands as much on-duty, but the way he voices his opinions, funny or serious, always makes you laugh until your stomach aches. right now, as you move across the muddy field towards the main entrance of the first division, he instructs you on how to deal with the maniac of your captain, with ideas like replicating hasegawa's personality, cancelling his yamazon orders or even rebooting his games. all which would make narumi go ballistic.
"i can't do that, soshiro," you laugh when he suggests stomping on narumi's controllers. "d'you want me dead?"
"he's too obsessed with them," he retorts. "i even beat him once, ya remember?
"i do, he wouldn't stop screaming about it. a fighting game, right?"
"huh, it was pretty hilarious. it was my first time, too."
and you finally arrive, but you're met with the surprising presence of the captain himself as if he was waiting all this time. he has some of his subordinates glued behind him, but he saunters over with his neck jerked outwards.
"hoshinaa!" he growls, glowering at your husband. he digs deep in his pockets and trudges towards you. "who said you can come here?!"
you sigh. you're absolutely no stranger to the intense antagonism between your husband and captain. you hear it from the both of them all the time. hoshina would never badmouth narumi directly, but his choice of words holds venom and you have to actually use your brain to understand the masked insult. narumi, on the other hand, straight up disses hoshina with whatever vocabulary he knows.
hoshina keeps his hands behind his back as he bounces up and down on his toes. "captain narumi, what a pleasure to see you."
"shut up, it's NOT a pleasure," narumi snaps. he waves his hands as if he's shooing him away. "i only need my vice-captain. leave."
"i only came to drop her off."
"i don't care! she's capable of coming here on her own!" he shoots you a look along with a pointed finger. "aren't you, (last)?"
you're about to respond when hoshina steps forward, his smiling expression never changing. "i'd very much appreciate if you'd use her legal name, captain. it's like that in the papers, no?"
"GET OUT! i don't wanna say it! why'd you have to be the same as this guy?!"
figuring that this is going to last forever, you politely excuse yourself and guide hoshina over to a nearby bed of flowers, a good distance away from narumi. they were almost a second away from starting a brawl and today isn't a day you want to mop up blood.
you smooth down the side of his hair before cupping his face. "c'mon, don't aggravate him while i'm literally standing there." your eyes flick between his eyes and lips. "do you know how awkward it makes things?"
hoshina only shrugs. he leans in, wrapping an arm around your waist. "i'm not aggravating him. he's just taking it too sensitively."
"yeah, well, a sensitive captain narumi is not easy for me."
he lets out a small hum before resting his head on your collarbone. he pulls you closer, taking in your scent, your company, almost like he's recharging himself. "why can't you just move to the third with me?"
you press your lips to his ear. "what, and leave the first div in shambles? no one will get any work done."
"well, that's their problem."
"i'm still tied to the third with these experiments anyway. i'll be seeing you in the office─wait, soshiro, i literally moved into your residence."
you feel him laugh against your chest, but when he finally raises his head, he steals a kiss, pushing forward while keeping you steady. a tingle of warmth floods throughout your body as you keep a hand on his shoulder. hoshina's never this affectionate, especially during work-hours, so you take it all in this moment.
when he pulls back, you find yourself face to face with his gorgeous eyes, and you can't help but run a thumb over his cheek.
"i'll see you in the evening. we're getting dinner together!" you chirp, stepping back. "we'll have your favourite."
he opens his mouth, but you hear the yell of narumi from afar.
"HOSHINA!"
both your heads whip around and you see your difficult captain fuming in the same spot where you left him. he jerks his head towards you and repeats the waving motion once more at hoshina.
"NOT YOU!" he screams at your husband, who adorns a massive smirk on his face. "THE OTHER ONE!"
"ok, now i really have to go," you say, turning back around. you give hoshina one quick kiss before you begin jogging over to your captain. "see you later!"
and he watches you enter the first division base with narumi, and although he can't ignore this tinge of envy and jealousy in his stomach, which he'd rather die than admit, his heart still pulses with confidence. he's so lucky to be with someone like you.
contents: female reader, Hoshina's being gentle, repeatedly asking for consent, fingering.
One undeniable truth was that Hoshina was completely smitten with you.
During training, his eyes always, almost involuntarily, found their way to your silhouette. In the operator room, he'd quietly scan the camera feeds, always searching for a glimpse of you. He never said it out loud—his eyes simply wandered in silence, betraying what he wouldn’t admit.
He always found a moment to talk to you, to share a laugh, even if just in passing.
Today was no different. As you stood in line at the cafeteria, he came up to greet you, baring his canines in that familiar grin.
"Come on, I learned a new move." he said, waiting for you to join him so you could head to the training room together.
"I can’t. I’m in line." you replied simply — which, honestly, was just a fact. You had no intention of starving.
Hoshina groans, rolling his eyes playfully at your response. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space as he takes your hand.
"Well, good thing I'm the Vice Captain and can cut you in line anytime, right?"
His tone is a little bit cheeky, as he shoots you a playful wink while pulling you with him towards the front of the queue, much to the grumbling in annoyance of the soldiers who were just lining up behind you.
"Mr. Hoshina!" it sounded like plea as you felt piercing gazes of soldiers.
"Don't worry about it," He says nonchalantly, his grip on your hand remaining firm. "They know very well I'm their superior."
Reaching the front of the queue, he gives the cafeteria lady an apologetic smile, before turning back to you.
"What would ya like?"
"Anything." you said embarassed by whole situation.
He lets out an amused chuckle at your response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Anything?" He echoes, raising an eyebrow teasingly. "That's awfully vague."
His gaze scans over the assortment of food and drinks on the counter, before his focus lands back on you. "C'mon, just pick something that you're cravin'. I'm buying."
Hoshina notices the look of disbelief on your face, understanding your sentimentality. His smirk softens into a kind smile, as he gently squeezes the hand he's still holding.
"Hey now." he says lightly. "Don't look at me like that."
He knows you, your tendency to be independent and self-sufficient. It's one of the things he finds admirable about you, but right now, he's not gonna let you refuse.
"Let me treat ya." he adds, tone almost pleading.
"Then spaghetti and beer." you said shyly.
Hoshina cocks an eyebrow in mild surprise, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's not the food or drink of choice he imagined you would pick, but he doesn't judge.
"Spaghetti and beer, huh?" He repeats, the smirk transitioning into a small amused smile. "Interesting combo. Never took you for a beer lover."
He lets go of your hand, but not before giving it a light squeeze, and turns to the cafeteria lady.
"Two beers and a serving of spaghetti, please."
The cafeteria lady gives a nod, preparing the food and drinks as ordered. Hoshina turns his attention back to you, leaning against the counter with a casual grace.
"Didn't know you enjoyed drinkin'," he says nonchalantly, a playful gleam in his eyes. "And here I thought you were the disciplined, health-conscious type."
You involuntarily twirled a strand of hair around your finger as you averted his gaze.
"I thought about you like that too..."
Hoshina's eyes softened at the sight of you twirling your hair, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. He notices the slight flush in your cheeks as you shy away from his gaze, and it only piqued his curiosity even more.
"Oh?" He prompts, raising an eyebrow at your response. "And what else did you think of me, hmm? I'm curious now."
His gaze remains locked on you, studying your expression with a hint of lightheartedness.
Your mind, for a split second, wandered back to that one night when you accidentally caught a glimpse of him training. In a compression shirt.
You remembered the way the fabric clung to his form, the way his muscles moved with precise control. His canines, those sharp eyes... but you shut the thought down before it could linger. You’d never admit — not out loud — that you found him attractive.
Instead, in a dismissive tone, you said;
"You have...an interesting choice of hairstyle."
A small, amused chuckle escaped his lips at your nonchalant comment about his hairstyle. He runs a hand through his purple locks, as if he's considering your words, before his smirk returns.
"Any specific thoughts about it, or is it just 'interesting'?"
"Rather just interesting." you said, slightly reluctantly.
Hardly anyone could pull off a hairstyle like that — it was, quite literally, a bowl.
The next time, you found yourself in the training room, where he was helping you use a bladed weapon.
He stood beside you, offering verbal guidance —
"Loosen your grip a little," he said, gently. "You’re not trying to strangle the handle."
There were times when words alone weren't enough to correct your form, and Hoshina would step forward to physically adjust your movements.
He stood behind you, his warm breath fanning gently against your neck, as his hands gently guided your arm into the correct position.
"You need to be a bit more fluid here," he murmured in a low tone, adjusting the angle of your elbow. "Don't keep your body too stiff. Let it flow with every move."
His touch was surprisingly gentle for a vice-captain. His calloused hands moved over your body as he guided you, correcting the tilt of your waist, the alignment of your feet, the position of your shoulders.
"Relax a little," he said softly, his breath near your ear again. "You look like you're about to snap. The sword is an extension of your body. Move with ease, not tension."
"I know, but it’s heavier than I thought." you replied with a soft sigh.
You were trying — really — but deep down, you had the feeling that without him, you wouldn’t have made any progress at all.
Hoshina couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at your complaint.
"I know it is," he replied, his hands still gently adjusting your stance. "That's why we're here, after all. Practice and patience...and maybe a little bit of yelling from me." His tone was light-hearted, almost teasing as he smirked down at you.
"I don’t recall you ever yelling at me." you said, looking at him with a hint of surprise.
Hoshina's smirk widened into a lighthearted smile at your response. He stepped back a little, studying your form once more.
"Maybe 'yell' is a strong word," he conceded, the playful glint in his eyes never leaving. "Maybe it's more like, sternly motivating encouragement."
He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the wall with a casual air.
"But trust me, if you do something completely off, I'll make sure to correct you...loudly."
A small chuckle escaped his lips as he watched you scrunch your face in thought, trying to recall the past months' training sessions.
"Oh, I definitely have," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and mild pride. "A few times, actually."
Hoshina pushed himself off the wall, walking over to stand in front of you. He rested a hand on his hip, his smirk still in place.
"I remember one time you were holding the sword too loosely," he recalled with a smirk. "One of the worst stances I've ever seen."
It hit you like a truck.
Yes, you definitely remembered now. Kafka had tried to help you… in his own way. But he only made it worse.
You were a rookie back then — clumsy, unsure, eager to learn but too proud to ask twice. Kafka had shown you that stance, convinced it would work.
And it didn’t.
But you never told Hoshina. Never said a word. You weren’t the kind of person to rat someone out, especially not a friend. So you took the fall in silence.
Hoshina noticed the realization dawning upon you, the memory flooding back into your mind. He could see it in your expression, the way your eyes widened slightly, and the slight twitch in your stance.
He stepped a little closer, studying your face with a knowing smirk.
"Ah, you remember now, don't you?" he said, his tone slightly teasing. "That disaster of a stance from months ago. You tried to mimic Kafka, right?"
Before you could even stop yourself, your hands flew up to cover your face, only your eyes peeking through your fingers to look at him.
"How… did you know?" you asked, your voice slightly quieter than usual — laced with disbelief.
You were certain he’d never picked up on it.
Hoshina chuckled at the sight of you hiding your face in your hands, finding it incredibly endearing. He could see the slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking through your fingers.
He casually leaned against the wall, crossing one leg over the other as he answered.
"Well..." he began, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For one, it was obvious."
He paused for a moment, studying your flushed face, before continuing.
"And two, I could recognize Kafka's sloppy technique a mile away."
The smirk on Hoshina's face widened as he continued. "And the way you were holding that sword was a disaster waiting to happen. It was a complete lack of balance and precision...and it was a dead give away that you copied Kafka."
He pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer to you, his playful demeanor still present. "But I'll give you credit - at least you tried. Even if it was an absolute mess."
You took a step back from him involuntarily, as if your body needed space to steady itself — to calm down from the sudden rush of memories.
Memories of when you were new to the Third Division. Trying too hard not to fall behind.
Hoshina noticed your step back, your body's subtle movement betraying your attempt to remain composed. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening slightly as he studied your expression.
He took a calculated step forward, closing the distance between you once more.
"You're still embarrassed about that, huh?" he teased, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It was months ago. No one's gonna remember that disaster of a stance except me."
You could swear a wave of heat spread through your body at his words.
It was even worse than that. You didn’t want him to remember. Without a word, you turned your back to him, hiding the flush burning your cheeks.
Hoshina's smirk grew wider as he took in your reaction, noticing the way you averted your gaze and turned your back to him. He could almost see the heat radiating from your body, which only fueled his playful nature.
He took a few more steps forward, his footsteps light and quiet. He came to stand behind you, his presence looming over you.
"Why so shy, huh?" he teased, his voice a whisper near your ear. "It was just a little mistake. Everyone makes those, especially rookies."
"I know, but…" you began, taking a few steps forward to put a little distance between you and him.
Hoshina chuckled at your attempts to put some distance between you two, following you with a casual stride. His smirk remained firmly in place, enjoying this little game of cat and mouse.
"But what?" he prompted, his tone slightly teasing. He continued to follow you as you moved around the room, his eyes never leaving your form.
"You afraid I'm gonna make fun of you?" he asked, a hint of playful mockery in his words.
"You’re mean, Hoshina." you said, as you noticed him quietly tailing your every move, closing the distance despite your efforts to keep some space.
His smirk grew wider as you called him out on being mean, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. He continued to follow you around the room, matching your every movement.
"Mean? Me?" he replied, feigning innocence. "I prefer the term 'playful' or 'teasing.' It's all in good fun, you know."
He took another couple steps closer, closing the distance again, his eyes glinting devilishly.
"You know you can't escape me, right?"
You could practically feel the heat radiating off of Hoshina as he continued his playful pursuit, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He was enjoying this little game, watching you squirm and evade his advances.
"You're so skittish," he remarked, a smirk on his face as he closed in. "Do I make you nervous or something?"
He reached out, gently grabbing your wrist, preventing you from retreating further.
You gasped silently at his sudden grip.
You hadn’t expected it. Or maybe you’d been deluding yourself, thinking he’d actually let you "run away".
Hoshina relished in the small gasp that escaped your lips at his touch, feeling the soft thud of your pulse against his fingers. The grip on your wrist was firm yet gentle, a subtle display of his strength.
He chuckled at your shocked reaction and tugged lightly on your wrist, slowly reeling you in.
"Got ya," he said with a sly smirk, watching as you stumbled back towards him. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Just give me a break." you muttered between breaths, still flushed from his earlier teasing.
You could feel how close he was behind you, his presence pressing quietly against your back.
Hoshina chuckled lowly at your muttered words, finding your flustered state endlessly amusing. He took another step closer, his chest now almost pressed against your back. The scent of his cologne, a subtle mixture of citrus and spice, filled your senses.
He spoke in a low tone, his lips dangerously near your ear.
"Why should I give you a break when this is so entertaining?" he teased, his grip on your wrist not loosening. "Besides...you look adorable like this."
You couldn’t help it — your hand instinctively rose to cover your ear as you tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze.
Your pupils were slightly widened, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.
Hoshina's smirk widened as he noticed the subtle, flustered reaction in your actions. He appreciated the sight before him, taking in the details. The way your eyes widened slightly, the faint blush on your cheeks, the fact that you were covering your ear, all these little details sent a thrill through him.
"My stance really was that bad?"
.
.
.
Whenever you found yourself walking down the corridors, your path inevitably crossing Hoshina's, you couldn't help but notice the subtle glances he'd throw your way. His purple eyes, glinting with mischief, always seemed to find yours in a room full of people. He knew about your little secret, your secret fondness for his eyes, and he reveled in it.
You could see the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your reaction. It was as if he was silently saying, "I know."
And sometimes… you wondered.
If there was something deeper behind his actions — a meaning tucked between the glances, the teasing, the way he always found his way to you.
As time passed, you began to notice that Hoshina’s little acts of attention weren’t so little anymore — and they certainly weren’t subtle. He’d brush against your shoulder in passing, linger just a moment too long when handing you something, or find the most casual excuse to sit a little too close.
Last time, it was:
"Come closer, Shinomiya wants to sit."
— even though there was clearly space on the other side.
His eyes would linger on you, longer than necessary. His smirk — that half-knowing, teasing curve of his lips — had become a near-constant.
It was starting to feel less like coincidence…
And more like a silent message he was waiting for you to understand.
There was an elephant in the room, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it.
Your mind was in constant turmoil, caught in a battle between hope and doubt.
You kept questioning yourself, wondering if you were overthinking everything. Maybe Hoshina was just being friendly, and you were reading too much into his actions. After all, he was naturally a flirty person by nature.
And so, you decided to lie to yourself — telling yourself it was all imagination. Surely, you were just seeing things.
One afternoon, as the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, you found yourself walking alone through the headquarters. It was a little later than usual, the hallways deserted.
Suddenly, you felt a hand gently grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. The touch was firm yet gentle, familiar. Before you could even look back, a low, familiar voice broke the silence.
"We need to talk."
"Jesus, next time walk a little louder. I’m not a kaijuu." you said, slightly surprised by his presence."
Hoshina rolled his eyes at your response, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn't budge as he still held your wrist, keeping you from moving.
"What, did I scare ya?" he replied with a teasing tone. "Anyway, we need to talk."
"Fine." you replied, glancing at him.
Hoshina nodded in acknowledgement, his grip loosening on your wrist but not completely letting go. He started to lead you down the hallway, heading towards an empty conference room.
Once there, he motioned for you to take a seat while he shut the door behind him, ensuring some privacy.
He leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded across his chest, and regarded you with a serious expression.
"I did something?" you couldn’t help but ask, the question slipping out as you caught the look on his face.
Hoshina chuckled lightly at your initial question. A part of him found it cute how you seemed genuinely worried. But he quickly composed himself, his expression becoming serious once again.
"No, you didn't do anything." he replied, his tone earnest.
He took a deep breath, his gaze fixated on you.
"But we need to discuss something. It's been on my mind for a while now."
Hoshina's gaze remained fixed on you, his expression somewhat stern, but there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes. He pushed himself away from the table and took a couple of steps towards you.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while." he continued, his voice still serious but holding a hint of something else.
He stopped in front of you, standing only a couple of feet away, and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze still locked on you.
"It's about....us."
The moment he uttered the words us.
your heart began to beat a little faster. You could already feel the seriousness in the air, the weight of the conversation coming.
Hoshina let his hand fall back to his side, his expression now more solemn than ever. He was visibly trying to find the right words, a subtle sigh escaping his lips.
"We've known each other for...how long now?" he asked, his eyes never breaking contact with yours.
You broke eye contact for a moment, your gaze drifting involuntarily to the wall as memories surfaced.
"...Slightly over three years?" you murmured quietly.
Hoshina nodded at your estimate, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. There were many memories attached to those three years, countless experiences shared, both good and bad.
"Three years," he repeated, letting the word linger in the air for a moment. "Yeah, it's been that long."
He took another step closer, almost closing the distance between you.
"And during those three years, we've grown pretty close, right?"
Hoshina noticed the shift in your eyes, the anticipation for his next words. Despite his typical playfulness, he was uncharacteristically serious at the moment.
He took another step closer, now stood right in front of you, his gaze intense. He looked you in the eyes, his tone still somber.
"And in that time," he began, pausing for a brief moment. "I've come to realize something, something important."
Hoshina reached out and gently touched your chin with his thumb, tilting it up slightly, so you were looking at him directly.
"I've come to realize," he repeated, his tone soft yet firm. "That my feelings for you have grown beyond a simple friendship."
Hoshina could tell that you were holding back your words, silently listening to his every word.
With a soft sigh, he continued, his hand still gently cupping your chin, keeping his gaze locked on you.
"What I'm trying to say is, I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings."
He paused for a moment, gauging your reaction, his eyes searching your expression.
You started to blush involuntarily, but sighed softly.
"You could be more honest about it, Soshiro. It sounds like a presentation, not a confe—"
Yet your poor little lips couldn’t quite finish the word.
As you tried to add a little levity to the situation, Hoshina's expression suddenly transformed into a smirk, and before you could even finish your sentence, he closed the distance between you in a swift motion.
His lips gently pressed against yours, silencing your words in an instant. The touch was both gentle yet possessive, a silent confirmation of the feelings he had just professed.
He pulled away slightly, still a breath away from your lips, his eyes locked with yours. "Well, there's my honesty."
You stared at him, stunned — completely caught off guard by the unexpected kiss.
Hoshina grinned in response to your surprised expression, clearly enjoying the effect he just had on you. He leaned back a little, giving you some space, but his hand remained gently holding your chin.
"Speechless, huh?" he teased, a playful sparkle in his eye. "Seems I did a good job shutting you up for once."
"S-Soshiro!" you stammered, your voice rising slightly in surprise. You couldn’t believe he’d kissed you just to shut you up.
Hoshina chuckled heartily at your reaction
He loved seeing you flustered like this, the sight sending a wave of affection through him.
Before you could even think, you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips against his.
His eyes opened, revealing those pupils you’d always adored so much.
Hoshina was taken off guard by the sudden pull, but his surprise quickly dissolved into a content smile as your lips met his. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his eyes locked on yours.
"You're looking at them again." he murmured against your lips, a smirk playing on his face.
You traced your tongue lightly over his lower lip.
Hoshina's breath hitched in his throat as your tongue grazed against his lip, his smirk faltering momentarily. But after a brief moment he tried to slid in his tongue into your lips.
The kiss deepened as their tongues met in an intimate dance. Hoshina tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer, his body now pressed against yours.
With a low growl, he bit your lower lip, a silent command. It was a clear sign of his growing desire and affection.
Hoshina noticed the subtle widening of your eyes, and it only fueled his growing desire. He deepened the kiss further, his grip on your waist tight and possessive as he explored your mouth.
He then broke the kiss and moved his mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He left a trail of kisses along your jawline, making his way down to your collarbone.
Hoshina smirked against your skin as he heard the soft sound you made, his heart picking up speed in response. He relished in the fact that he was the one causing such reactions from you.
He continued to kiss and nibble at your collarbone, his focus on your neck now. His teeth grazed against your sensitive spot, eliciting another sigh from you. He found a particular point he liked, and decided to pay extra attention to it, gently sucking on the skin.
You grabbed the hair at the back of his head, unsure whether you wanted more or to push him away.
Hoshina felt your action and smirked against your skin, loving how responsive you are. He continued to suck and nibble at the sensitive spot on your neck, creating a small mark.
At the same time, his hand that wasn't holding your waist began to glide under your shirt, the touch light, almost teasing.
"S-soshiro."
The way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue all breathless and flustered, it fueled the fire within him even more.
He pulled away from your neck, noticing the mark he just made, a sense of pride washed over him. Still keeping a firm grip on your waist, he leaned back a bit, a sly smile on his face.
His hand under your shirt continued to explore, gently tracing circles on your abdomen.
"I love you." You knew that was predictable by now, but you wanted—no, needed—to say it.
Hoshina felt his heart skip a beat the moment you confessed, his smile softening into something more sincere. He lifted his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, his eyes gazing into yours.
"I love you too," he replied, his voice low and sincere. "More than you know."
He shifted your position, moving you so that you were now pressed against the edge of the table, standing between your legs.
"I think you love me too much." you said amused as you felt pressed against the furniture.
Hoshina chuckled at your comment, the amusement in your words not lost on him. He leaned closer, his body now flush against yours, trapping you against the table.
"Too much?" he repeated, his tone full of playfulness. "I'd argue its the perfect amount."
He brought his hand to your thigh, gently sliding it up your skin under your shirt.
"You don't have to literally love me at table to prove it-"
Hoshina chuckled heartily, his hand now slowly moving further up your thigh as he leaned in closer to your ear. He could feel his own breathing quickening as he got increasingly more worked up.
"I'm just making sure you're aware of how much I love you." he murmured, his hand now tracing circles on the inside of your thigh.
"I thought you follow a rule; sex after marriage-"
Hoshina let out a soft chuckle as you brought up the subject, a playful glint in his eyes. He pulled back slightly to look at your face as his hand continued to trace circles on your thigh.
"That rule still stands, don't worry." he assured you.
His hand dangerously traveled higher, close to touch your crotch.
"...Fingering doesn't count as a sex, ya know?"
"Besides," he continued, his voice just above a whisper. "I have amazing self-control."
He punctuated his words by tracing his index finger against your clothed entrance, the touch light but sending jolts of electricity through your body.
"I can stop if you don't want me to," he murmured in your ear, his hand still gently moving against your clothed most sensitive part.
"or I can continue and prove how much I love you."
You started to feel how shamelessly your body reacted. You were getting wetter with each passing second.
The feel of your body's reaction sent a wave of arousal through Hoshina's own body, the fact that he was able to get such response from you was making him more and more impatient. He could feel the heat radiating from you as his fingers moved against your clothed entrance.
"I can tell you're feeling good," he murmured against your ear, his voice low with lust, as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements. "Do you want me to keep going?"
"Please."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Hoshina's lips as he heard you begging, his fingers still tracing circles against you. He was enjoying seeing you needy like this, knowing he was the cause of it.
"Since you're being so polite…"
He added a bit more pressure, his fingers continuing their circular motions.
Hoshina stepped back, his hands moving to the waistband of your trousers. He could see the anticipation in your eyes, the way your breath hitched, and it only added more fuel to his desire.
"Lift your hips."
His words were a low command, spoken in a tone that was both patient and authoritative.
The moment you lifted your hips, Hoshina pulled down your trousers, his eyes drinking in the sight of you now. A low sigh escaped him and he stepped back between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs.
Hoshina's gaze traveled down to the wet spot on your underwear. He loved seeing how aroused you were, the visible evidence of your desire for him only fueling his own growing lust.
"You're so ready for me, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire.
His hand lightly traced the spot, the touch gentle but electric. "Can I continue?"
"Please.."
A shudder of desire coursed through Hoshina at the sound of your plea, the word so sweet in his ear. He slowly pushed aside your underwear with his index finger.
The cool air hit your exposed skin as your panties were pushed to the side, Hoshina's finger still tracing circles on your entrance. He could see the small trembling in your body, the way you were already so wet and eager for his touch.
"I'll make it good for you," he promised, his voice a low rumble. "Just relax and feel how much I love you."
His finger moved lower, slowly, teasingly.
Until it finally found its target, touching your entrance. Hoshina's finger started moving in small, slow circles, the touch just enough to drive you crazy. He leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear, as he murmured in a low voice full of lust and desire.
"Do you want more?"
You nodded in agreement. Hoshina's breath hitched at your confirmation. In a smooth movement, two of his fingers pressed against you, their entry slow and steady.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against your neck, as he started moving his fingers, the pace still slow.
"You're so wet." he murmured, his breath hitching slightly at the sensation, his fingers moving in and out in a slow motion.
"You have no idea how many times I've thought about this," he breathed out, his voice rough with desire. "About how much I've wanted to touch you like this."
Hoshina's fingers continued their sensual rhythm, the pace still maddeningly slow. He nipped at your neck, his lips grazing your skin, before speaking again in a low, rough voice.
"I've thought about how you'd feel around my fingers," he murmured, his words sending shivers down your spine. "About how good it would feel to touch you, to make you feel good, to show you how much I adore you."
The sound of your gasps and moans only fueled his desire, making him move his fingers faster. He wanted to worship you, to show you just how much you meant to him.
"I've craved you like an addiction." he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.
His fingers moved with increasing speed, his touch both gentle and demanding. His lips traveled down your neck, peppering kisses against your skin. He could hear the small gasps and moans escaping you, a sound that only drove his desire further.
"But it's nothing compared to the real thing." he murmured against your collarbone, his voice rough with arousal.
Hoshina continued his ministrations, his fingers moving more firmly now. He wanted to make you feel good, to show you just how much he loved you. His lips continued to trail down your neck, pausing only to nip at your skin, his teeth leaving small marks on your skin.
"I want to make you feel so good, just as good as you make me feel." he whispered against your collarbone, the words a confession of desire. "I love you, more than you can understand."
His words were like a spell, his touch like fire on your skin. Hoshina's fingers moved faster, the pace increasingly erratic as his desire for you grew more intense. He could feel his own breath heaving, his body responding to every gasp and moan that escaped you.
"I love you." he breathed out again, the words like a chant on his lips. "I love you so much, I can't get you out of my mind."
His fingers started to move faster, the pace now more urgent, as Hoshina continued to kiss and nibble at your skin. He wanted, no, needed to show you just how much he loved you, just how addicted he was to you.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmured against your skin, the words punctuated by ragged breaths. "I think about you all the damn time, in every moment of my day."
Hoshina's fingers moved with increasing speed, his touch now urgent. He could feel your body responding to his touch, and it only fueled his desire further. He leaned back a bit to look at your face, taking in the flushed, aroused expression on your face.
"And every night, I dream about you," he said in a breathless voice. "Every night, I dream about being close to you like this. Touching you like this..."
His fingers moved even faster, his touches now bordering on desperate. Hoshina wanted to give you pleasure, to show you just how much you meant to him. He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your ear.
"And it's not just this," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "I dream about the little things, too. Holding your hand, watching the sunset, cooking together...anything, everything. As long as it's with you."
His fingers moved with a new intensity, the pace almost frantic now. Hoshina's breath hitched with every noise that escaped your lips, his own desire for you only growing stronger. His lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small marks on your skin.
"I dream about waking up next to you," the whispered confession came out between ragged breaths. "Seeing your face first thing in the morning, feeling your body close to mine…"
He could feel your body responding to his every touch, and it drove him to move even quicker, desperate to give you pleasure. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, as he continued to confess.
"And I dream about the future," he murmured, the words a low, whispered secret. "About marrying you, starting a family together... growing old with you by my side."
You couldn't help but clench around his fingers as he spoke with so much adoration directed towards you.
Hoshina could feel the moment you clenched around his fingers, and it only increased his desire for you. His breath hitched at the sensation, but he continued to move his fingers, wanting more than ever to give you pleasure.
He let a gasp escape, his words now almost a desperate murmur in your ear. "And most of all, I dream about making you happy…to always see that beautiful smile on your face."
You looked at him pleadingly, asking him to kiss you with your eyes.
Hoshina looked into your eyes, the pleading expression in your gaze like a magnetic pull. He could hardly deny you anything in this moment, and seeing you ask for a kiss with your eyes only reinforced his desire.
"You want me to kiss you?" he asked, his voice low and filled with need, as he continued to move his fingers.
"Y-yes." you confirmed as you started your eyes become watery from sensations.
Hoshina's heart skipped a beat as he heard the need in your voice. He could see the way your eyes began to water, a sign of the pleasure he was giving you. The sight only served to fuel his own desire, and his fingers moved even faster.
He leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your skin. "Are you close?" he murmured, the question spoken in a low whisper. His fingers continued to move, the pace now even more intense than before.
He leaned even closer, his lips just inches from yours.
As he hit your sweet spot, Hoshina couldn't help but notice the single tear that slipped down your cheek. The sight sent a jolt of desire through him, and for a brief moment, he almost lost control.
He let out a low groan, his fingers moving ever faster.
"You're so close," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "I can tell, I can feel it."
He kissed you passionately, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he moved his fingers even faster. He could feel you getting close, the sounds escaping your mouth growing more and more high-pitched.
He managed to muffle them with deepening his kiss. His fingers tormenting your insides.
Hoshina could feel your body tensing, your moans being swallowed by the kiss, as his fingers worked their magic. He could feel your need building, and he was desperate to push you over the edge.
And with final, an exceptional deep thrust, you came. Clenching around his fingers tightly.
He continued to kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours, as he slowly withdrew his fingers.
You ended up falling asleep on the table.
Hoshina carefully dressed you, moving with gentle, careful hands. He knew he needed to make sure you were covered before anyone walked in and saw you in such an intimate state.
He took his time, carefully pulling your pants back up.
He couldn't help but glance at the marks he left on your neck, a small smirk tugging on his lips.
Soshiro's quiet murmur barely breaks the cacophony of chaos, a product of the joint exercise currently underway at Tachikawa base with the First Division.
Fists strike bone. Shouts clash with ego. Bodies collide with the hard, linoleum floor.
And the Vice-Captain surveys his soldiers as he moves to stand beside you, hands tucked in the pockets of his combats. He displays a level of relaxation achieved only by his unwavering confidence that the First Division is not all it's chalked up to be. It's no wonder, really, that Narumi finds the man irritating.
"Doesn't matter," you dismiss and squat down, busy fumbling with the jammed lid of your JAKDF-issued water bottle. When you finally get it open with an annoyed grunt, you tip your head back and pour glugs of lukewarm, mildly metallic water into your mouth.
"You know he's never goin' to make a move, right?" Soshiro's voice is light, but you can hear the undercurrent of warning.
Don't let him break your heart.
"Who do you think I am?" you question, tilting your head in his direction indignantly without being quite brave enough to meet Soshiro's gaze. "I know you're on the older side but jeez Vice-Captain, really would'a thought you to be more progressive than believing that I'd wait around for a guy to make the first move."
Soshiro remains silent for a moment, the scuff of his boot on the training room floor your only indication that you've irritated him. Then, "I'm only a year older than you, brat."
"Okay, but if I were seventeen, suddenly we'd have a slight legal problem on our hands."
In front of you, close enough that you feel the wind of the impact, Kafka gets thrown onto his back by one of Narumi's men. You wince sympathetically.
"If you were seventeen," Soshiro begins, grasping a handful of your uniform collar and unceremoniously hauling you to your feet. You squawk in surprise before stilling under his reprimanding gaze. "I can assure you, I wouldn't be blinking twice in your annoying direction."
"But you'd blink once?" you ask innocently, tilting your head.
A muscle in Soshiro's jaw twitches, and that's all the notice you get before he straightens his elbow, forcing you to turn away from him, and plants his boot square on your back to shove you away from the edge of the training room. He never holds back with you, so the power behind it almost sends you tripping over Kafka, still sprawled out uselessly on the floor. You manage to narrowly avoid him.
Kafka shoots you a tired, amused smile as his gaze flickers between you and the Vice-Captain, who you can feel glaring holes into your back.
"Go," Soshiro grunts behind you.
"Alright, alright," you chuckle, spinning round to fling your arms up in surrender. "Maybe Narumi will spar with me."
Soshiro rolls his eyes. "Maybe he'll knock some sense into ya."
One glance at the man in question has your heart stuttering and briefly, you wonder how much of Soshiro's nagging is coming from the very justified, very well-meaning place of your best friend.
"Maybe," you echo, shrugging. Then you turn, wave a lazy hand over your shoulder without looking back, and pick your way through the bustling room to the Captain of the First Division. "Oi, Narumi!"
You know when you meet that kid that makes you wish you were their parent ? That's me with my neice (╥﹏╥) I'm too young for these feelings ಥ‿ಥ
Anyway , I need to write something for Chuuya , why is he so perfect!? (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ aghhhhhhh
Ever since they got engaged, Hoshina had been stopping by her place every couple of nights — just to spend a few quiet hours together before heading back home.
It became a little routine for them — dinner, some talking, maybe a movie, and him leaving once she started to look sleepy.
He liked the calmness of it. No chaos, no pressure — just her, the warmth of her apartment, and a few hours that somehow always went by too fast.
But lately… something felt a little different.
She’d always been kind, but now she was extra sweet with him — in a way that didn’t quite match her usual calm self.
She’d fix his hair without thinking, bring him snacks every ten minutes, asking if he’d eaten properly and even scold him softly for forgetting to wear a jacket.
One night she even handed him a blanket while he was just sitting there, perfectly fine.
“You’ll catch a cold” she said, tucking it around his shoulders like he was some sleepy kid.
He just stared at her, half amused, half confused
------------
On Tuesday, he showed up with seafood soup still warm in the container.
The moment he stepped inside, though, he nearly tripped from surprise.
She was sitting on the couch, surrounded by yarn and chaos, watching a crochet tutorial like her life depended on it.
And in her hands was… the smallest scarf he’d ever seen.
“No way” he burst out laughing, dropping the bag of soup onto the table. “You? Crochet?”
She glared at him without looking up. “Don’t start.”
That only made it worse — he had to lean on the wall because he was laughing so hard.
“I can’t believe this— you always hated this stuff! You nearly cried once over sewing a button!”
“It’s infuriating, actually,” she muttered through gritted teeth, trying to fix a knot. “But I’m going to learn it.”
That made him laugh even louder, tears almost in his eyes.
He picked up the tiny scarf, still chuckling. “It’s adorable… but it’s way too small for you. Who’s it for? A hamster?”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s practice. And it's the right size, I’ll get it right this time.”
And though her tone was sharp, he could see it — the little spark in her eyes that said she really wanted to learn it, no matter how frustrating it was.
-----------------
On Thursday , they went out together — nothing fancy, just a quiet evening walk and maybe a snack after.
Halfway down the street, he slowed down.
“Hold on a sec, I’ll grab some water” he said, already heading toward a vending machine nearby.
Before he could take a step, she called out, reaching into her bag. “Here, take this.”
He turned, confused — and watched her pull a water bottle out of her bag. A proper, reusable one.
“You… carry that around now?”
“Mhm.”
“Since when?”
She just shrugged, holding it out for him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Well...it wasn't. Because she was the least organized person he knew, she forgot her things all the time and now she was apparently walking around with a water bottle for him.
--------------
Later, they stopped by a small stall and got crepes — his filled with chocolate, hers with strawberries.
Everything was peaceful… until a drop of chocolate sauce betrayed him, landing right on his shirt.
He groaned quietly, reaching for napkins that weren’t there — but before he could even react, she was already leaning over with a tissue in hand.
“Hold still” she murmured, dabbing gently at the stain.
“You carry tissues now too?” he asked, half teasing, half amazed. She NEVER carried them before
“Somebody has to” she said simply.
He just stared at her, baffled and amused all at once.
---------
On Sunday , they visited his family’s house for a small celebration. She didn’t know much about it, except that they did it every year — and now, as his fiancée, she was expected to join.
The place was lively — laughter, clinking dishes, and the usual chaos that came with his relatives all being in one place.
Among them was his cousin’s little daughter, barely four years old and full of energy.
At some point the little girl toddled over and tugged on her sleeve.
Without a second thought, she picked the kid up and kept her there the entire afternoon.
Feeding her snacks, fixing her hair, playing peekaboo, whispering things and fixing her hair with the same gentle touch she’d been using on him lately.
Hoshina watched from the couch, trying not to grin too obviously.
And when she started rocking the sleepy girl gently in her arms, humming something under her breath… he lost it. That’s when it clicked.
Out of nowhere, he started laughing quietly to himself.
When his father asked, “What’s so funny?”
he just brushed it off with a small shake of his head.
“Nothing, really” he said, smiling — but inside, he was completely melting.
Because now he finally understood what all that extra softness had been about.
------------
As the day wrapped up, he approached her with a small smile.
“Alright, time to head home” he said gently. “Come on, I’ll walk you — it’s already late.”
As they reached her doorstep, he glanced at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know” he said, nudging her arm gently “I’m starting to think someone’s… hormones are having a little fun with them lately ”
She raised an eyebrow, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.
“Hmm?” she asked cautiously.
“You’re starting to look like a… very attentive little mom. With all this… extra sweetness lately… I’m starting to think your maternal instincts are kicking in a bit early.” he teased softly, careful to keep his tone warm.
Her blush deepened, and she swatted his arm lightly, pretending to be annoyed. “Shut up” she murmured, though there was a faint smile on her lips.
He chuckled, reaching out to cup her cheek lovingly.
“C'mon now… I kind of like it.”
She shook her head, hiding her smile, but didn’t pull away. And for the first time, he realized just how much he adored all these little layers of her — the quiet, the mischief, the warmth — all wrapped up in the woman he was lucky enough to call his fiancée.
Looking at her now, he couldn’t help but imagine their future: their life together, the children they might have… and based on everything he’d seen from her these past few weeks, he knew, without a doubt, that she would be the most perfect mother — nurturing, patient, and full of love, just as she was with him.
His future children should definitely be thanking him for picking such a great mother. <(￣︶￣)>
Writing in English is harder than I expected... sorry for whatever this is (￣ヘ￣;)
