parlor’s note? i’m going through my nanami brainrot era as i’m writing this. please excuse my thots.
bon appetit!
“here,” he says.
he’s already dressed for work, hair all gelled up in the style he always does when he hands you his credit card.
“go buy some new sets for me, angel.” he leans down to whisper into the shell of your ear. the gravel and timbre of his voice makes goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver to run through your spine, and your pussy pitifully clench around nothing but air.
“what’s the budget?” your voice is small and meek when you ask him the question, clearly affected by his actions and his words. there were plenty of tells that you were getting aroused already: the way you were breathing heavily, the way you shifted your weight from leg to leg making your thighs graze one another and giving you the friction you desired, to the way you to gulped when he did something as simple as quirk an eyebrow at you – at the words that just left your mouth. and if you didn’t have a firm grip on yourself like you did, you’d have a firm grip on his beige blazer – a telltale side of want and lust from you that he knows all too well.
“no budget, baby. whatever you want, you get.” he murmurs, large, warm hand tracing the side of your face, to your cheekbone, to your jawline, and finally to your lips. he did not need to say a word, you sucked two of his fingers - his index and his middle finger - into your mouth via your own accord, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them, letting a soft moan escape you that made his slacks - that’s probably more expensive than the rent fee in the apartment you lived in before moving in with him - tighten at once.
“how many d'you want?” the words were slightly muffled due to his digits in your mouth, but he could still understand what you asked just fine. and he threw you the same look he did a few seconds ago.
“dumb lil baby you are.” he murmurs, but it’s said saccharine sweet, as sweet as the doe eyes you stare up at him with. “as much as you want, darling. whatever your pretty little heart desires, alright? after all, it’s a present for me as much as it is for you.” he pulls his fingers from your mouth - a silky string of your saliva connects them even when doing so - and smears your spit all over your face, but you do not have it in you to complain, only whining at him in surprise. “when i come home tonight, i want to see you being a good little angel for me and wearing one of them to bed, alright? and prepare for me to wreak that pretty cunt of yours too.
and with that, he’s gone off to work leaving you dripping wet, sleek, black card in hand for you to use as you desire.
synopsis: in all of the guidebooks and official notices about the dangers of adventuring, nobody has ever warned you about one particular danger associated with the mirror maidens. but... well, you guess you can’t really blame them.
— content warnings: afab!gn!reader (pussy used to describe genitalia), monsterfucking (ish?), extremely dubious consent, soft mindbreak / mind control, lactation kink (reader drinks mirror maiden's milk), aphrodisiacs, chest/nipple play (reader giving), fingering (reader receiving), "pet" as a pet name, possessiveness
helo! happy halloween! please enjoy some mirror maiden smut :] as u can tell, my kinktober is not yet complete, so it will continue on into november! call it smutvember ehe <3 or perhaps even smutcember if we get there ashdfkj
minors, i DO NOT CONSENT to u interacting with me. 18+ only, please. THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. PLEASE HEED WARNINGS.
for those with visions, mirror maidens are easily incapacitated. for the visionless, many who come into contact with mirror maidens do not survive to tell the tale. the rest are known to disappear. there have been reports of the voices of the fallen echoing in eerie moans through chinju forest, but the missing have never been found, nor have their bodies been recovered.
you suppose you'll become one of them, another missing poster on the bulletin board. somehow, as the mirror maiden coos at you at pushes your face further into her ample cleavage, you can't bring yourself to mind.
a mirror maiden's milk has many properties. for one, it's thicker and creamier than regular milk. it's sweeter, too, hitting all the pleasure centers in your brain that make you want more, more, more. but... the sweetness serves a darker purpose.
under the sugary, rich flavour of the milk lies a cocktail of chemicals that is specifically intended to ensnare and capture new playthings— a muscle relaxant, a mild sedative, and an aphrodisiac strong enough to tempt even the most powerful beings in teyvat.
once a mirror maiden has you in her clutches, all she really has to do is guide your mouth right over her pretty tits, and nature takes care of the rest. she doesn't have to push or use force— all she needs to do is gently cradle the back of your head to her chest, a tantalizing distance away from her skin, and you’ll latch on to her like a fly to honey.
you try to resist. you really, truly do, but with the way she’s trapped you in her lap, there’s not much you can do but wiggle and glare at her. even then, as time passes, you begin to relax, your eyes tracking the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she hums a soothing tune.
slowly, insidiously, the thought of fighting drains from your consciousness. resistance is but a long-forgotten dream in your mind, fogged over by her scent, her pheromones. every small brush of her skin against yours sends a pulse of heat straight between your legs, melting the tension from your body. you look up at her through your lashes, a small pout on your lips, and she just smiles at you, nudges your head gently towards her tits. helplessly, hopelessly, you press a chaste kiss to her breasts.
she tastes... good. more than good, actually. her skin is smooth and soft, and you moan out loud at the taste of her under your tongue.
“there you are,” she says, voice dripping into your brain and coating it, honey-sweet. it’s the first time you’ve heard her speak. under her sibilant overtones, she’s seductive, encouraging, and you whimper in response to her praise, pressing another messy kiss to her chest. “that’s right, sweet pet. just relax, and submit to your instincts, and let yourself feel good.”
in your haze of worshipping her chest, you finally, finally lick over one of her pretty nipples. a single drop of milk lands upon your tongue, and your eyes fly open. her milk is ambrosial. it could be the food of the archons themselves, and you pull back, hesitate.
“what’s wrong?” she smiles down at you, something distinctly smug and triumphant in her expression. your hesitance doesn’t phase her. it’s almost like... it’s almost like she knows she’s already won. what she’s won, you aren’t sure. you can’t bring yourself to mind, though— not when that hint of something darker in her gaze has liquid heat pooling in your stomach.
“is... is this for me?” the taste of her milk lingers on your lips, and you absentmindedly press another gentle kiss to her nipple, secretly delighting in the dribble of milk that spurts out in a thick, creamy gush. she's too good to be true— too good for the likes of you. surely, you’re not worthy of this divine drink.
her smile softens at your question, and she cups your face in her hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“from now on, it’s all for you,” she murmurs against your skin, and you go dizzy at her proximity. “if you drink now, you’ll be mine forever, and all of me will be yours as well. doesn’t that sound nice?”
you can’t nod quickly enough, and you’re rewarded by the sound of her beautiful, eerie laughter.
“then drink up, sweet pet. drink up, and become mine.”
finally, finally, your lips close around the soft flesh of her nipple, and you suck. a burst of fresh milk flows into your mouth, thick and rich and creamy, and your eyes roll back in your head as your focus narrows down to the taste of her milk, the softness of her skin under your tongue.
your resistance dwindles with every long suck. time moves strangely in the cradle of her lap. you might spend hours pressed against her, suckling at her breasts, or it might be days. all that matters is the ooze of milk from her swollen, kiss-slick nipples. all that matters is becoming hers.
you lose yourself, going more mindless and obedient as your tummy fills with her delicious milk. it settles heavily in your stomach, heating you from the inside out. the warmth spreads slowly, diffusing through your limbs, and pools in between your legs.
“mmm... so needy, pet.” she sounds amused— delighted, even— and a careful hand slips between your legs, rubbing gently at your wetness. you moan, rocking your hips into her touch, and she shushes you tenderly. “shh, shh, you’re okay. just keep drinking, and i’ll take care of you.”
pleasure washes over you, and you succumb, going soft and pliant under her ministrations. you’re hers, now, and she rewards your mindless obedience with ecstasy the likes of which you’ve never experienced before. she sends you flying, every touch taking you to new heights of bliss.
you sink into the haze, losing yourself in the overwhelming euphoria of her touch between your legs, her milk flowing steadily into your mouth. you’re not sure how many times you cum, but that doesn’t matter. no, all that matters is the mirror maiden. she fills you endlessly, scooping out all of your thoughts and replacing them with her. she molds you, remakes you, taking your vulnerable mind and twisting it to serve her.
it’s a blissful process, one that you welcome gladly. she makes you feel so good, after all. even if you could resist, you wouldn’t want to.
when you finally, finally come back to reality, you’re a shaking, aching mess. your legs tremble, and your thighs are slick with evidence of your pleasure. you’ve been thoroughly, wonderfully claimed, and the feeling of belonging sends a bone-deep satisfaction through your body. you’re satisfied, sated, content, in a way that you’ve never felt before, and in deep in your heart, you know this is who you were destined to be— a sweet, silly little pet for someone infinitely more benevolent and powerful than you.
“mine.”
“yours.” you cling to her, whimpering softly. you feel heady, hazy, greedy for her attention, and she hums fondly, bending down to meet your outstretched arms. she rests her face in your palms. “kiss?”
“mine,” she repeats, and acquiesces, pulling you into a deep, claiming kiss. the taste of her milk still lingers on your tongue, and when you pull back, you’re gasping for breath, mouth still connected to hers by a thin string of spit. you gaze up at her adoringly as she pulls you to your feet, leading you further into the forest, into the shadowy places from which no mortal has returned. you’re not scared, though. not when she’s by your side.
“yours,” you agree. it’s a confession, a promise, a contract. “yours.”
“good.” she takes your hand in hers. “now, let’s go home.”
what’s it? smut
allergen warning/s? fem!reader [no pronouns mentioned], [only brief because these are just headcannons]: hints to masturbation, teasing, oral, hair pulling, body worship
sugar level? 0.6k
regulars? @hanayanetwork
♧ he’s not the most experienced person out there. it comes as no surprise that the only people he sleeps with are his long-term partners. he just isn’t comfortable being that intimate with a stranger. but that being said, he’s still one of the most skilled because he’s so interested in what makes people tick. he can observe his partner and figure out what they like pretty easily, he doesn’t even have to consciously think about it, really.
♧ has a hidden box full of polaroid pictures of his partner nude which he uses when he’s horny and they’re not around. he took those photos and stores them under his bed with their consent, of course.
♧ quite iffy about doing more kinky things at first, but after a discussion with his partner and doing research into it that’s just as thorough, he starts to like it.
♧ once added >///< to one of his tweets on his private twitter. kageyama screenshotted it and sent it to the karasuno boy’s volleyball gc. they will never let him live it down.
♧ smells really warm, like cinnamon. sometimes cinnamon apples. it’s funny because he doesn’t even like those. he doesn’t hate them, but he doesn’t like it either. he simply enjoys their scent.
♧ is so so bad at taking care of plants. he first got the idea of getting some plants after seeing them on tiktok all arranged in a lovely way, brightening up even the most dull rooms and hinata being himself bought a whole load of plants that caught his eye only for them to die one by one. he did everything he could, fertilizer, more water, less water, different types of soil, more sun, less sun, different genres of music - he even sang to one of them - only for them to wilt regardless.
slow dancing in the dark | haitani rindou x afab! reader
warnings: 18+! minors dni, you will be blocked. afab reader, explicit smut, fwb type thing, fingering, oral, kinda dom! rin, spit, cervix fucking? (only mentioned briefly), hurt/angst.
w/c: 2k
a/n: in my angst area or something. listen to: slow dancing in the dark- joji thank you to @nanamis-wifey-reye and @koucaine for beta-reading! 🫶
The sky wept in dark tears, melancholic smoke clouds floating across the horizon in the aftermath. The streetlights blurred the lines against the concrete. The drowsiness of the night weighed against the roof, the shutters, and seeped onto your shoulders that rested against the window as you sat on the seat of the sill and watched the rain streak down the glass.
You’ve been through enough these past few weeks and you just wanted to start over- move away, change your name and forget all about him. If that was the case, then why did you call him? You’re holding your phone to your ear with your shoulder, hearing the faint ring and you hope he doesn’t answer- but he will. He always does.
“Hello?”
“Sorry to call you, Rin… but, can you come over?” your voice is a faint whisper and you cross your fingers behind your back for him to say that he’s busy. But he never seems to busy for you.
“Give me 10 minutes. I’ll be over, soon.” and he hangs up the phone.
You sigh and press your cheek against the cool of the glass and the rain’s reflection on your skin makes it look like your crying- but you aren’t; you can’t.
You brush your hair and decide that’s enough effort, it’s just Rindou. You wait- about 15 minutes pass and you hear a knock on the door, your heart is pounding and you don’t know why, but you rush through the hallway to open it. You’re met with those familiar violet eyes- there’s something so comforting about them yet you still feel uneasy. They meet yours without even searching. Those violet eyes: something startling as they lifted in your direction. The kind of soft purple that makes you ache through your bloodstream until you’re able to look at them again. His hair is slightly damp and drips against the grey hoodie he has zipped to his collarbone but you can still see the intricate design of his tattoo peeking through.
No words are exchanged as he cupped your cheeks and crashed his lips against yours. They’re warm and taste like spearmint toothpaste and Listerine mouthwash. He’s walking you backward into the apartment as he closes the door with his foot- not missing a beat. He knows the way, memorized the footing from your doorstep to your room, stepping over the shoes you left in the hall and haven’t moved from last week. Your hands pull the zipper of his jacket down and shrug it off his shoulders as your nails rake down his now exposed skin. He carefully peels off your clothing as his lips wander over your neck. He’s skilled as his tongue digs into the divots of flesh, running up the vein that shows more prominently when you’re turned on. He knows you, every part of you.
You’re naked when he pushes you down against your bed, cotton sheets rippling under your body. He discards his sweats and is back on top of you leaving open mouthed kisses along your chest. You’re already moaning his name as your skin starves for his touch. His breath skated across your cheek and his scent crawled into your senses, the same drug that intoxicated you not even a week ago.
He lowered his voice against the shell of your ear, turning it into a hoarse, almost sinful version of itself, “If you need me so badly, then beg,” as he bit and tugged on the lobe of your ear.
He was always like this, gravely mumbles in your ear, against your skin- his voice infiltrated any wall you had kept up taking the secret passage through to your heart. You’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to him, no matter how hard you may fight, or try to claw your way out- his grip always tightened. Like how it did now as his hand interlaced in yours under the security of the sheets. His body heat radiating through the cool air conditioner of your room as he pressed himself against you, hardening cock rubbing over your wet cunt. You pushed your head back into the pillows as your eyes fluttered, open and closed, at the pressure he was creating. Unfiltered sounds escaped from your parted lips as you stuttered on pleas of his name.
“R- rin… please.” The way you said his name made his cock twitch and no more words needed to be exchanged as he glides his tongue down your stomach.
He chuckled darkly at the way your body squirmed and writhed under him as he pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit. He kissed up the inside of your thigh, nipping at the plush skin as his thumb began to move in slow, tight circles. Your thighs shook gently at his touch, he’s always known how to make you come undone so easily. Hot breath against your core as he watches you start to drip and clench around nothing. He removes his thumb, just for a moment, as your arousal seeps out steadily. A subtle smirk forms on his pink lips before he spits against your clit, making you gasp and he slides two fingers into your warm hole. He easily moves his digits around in the wetness he created, scissoring you open and gliding ghosted fingertips along your gummy walls. He knows your pussy like the alphabet, knows every spot that makes you shake and moan those pretty words.
He thrusts his fingers all the way in and out a few times before pulling them out to spread your folds and use his tongue to prod and circle your entrance, collecting your juices and flattening his tongue to lick up to your clit. Unabashed moans fall from your mouth as he continues his ministrations. It wasn’t long before his suckling and pinching got more fervid, as you were swimming in throes of ecstasy, your hips grinding up against his face. He reaches a hand down to grab his cock, tip angry and red as he swipes at the leaking precum with his thumb before pumping. Fuck, you were ready for him and you wanted him. He moved his tongue skillfully with every abrupt stroke inside your drenched hole followed by his fingers, pinching and pulling at your now, swollen clit. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to that euphoria and you knew he knew it too.
“Cum.” His voice was deep and it wasn’t a request, it was a demand.
The tension in your stomach snapped as you cried his name. Back arching up as you tried to pull yourself from his grasp, but he was quick to place a steady hand on your stomach as he kept you in place, continuing to gather your slick on his tongue. He was desperate for you, to taste you, his hand pumping his cock with more vigor as he pulled off your clit with a pop! He didn’t waste a minute before driving himself into you, unfiltered curses leaving his mouth as you clenched around him. He’s fucked you so many times before, the shape of him is ingrained into your flesh. He falls into the mold so perfectly, like he always does, veins rubbing along your gummy walls, his thick tip hitting the soft spot that drives you wild.
If you were made of fire, he would be the gasoline- adding to the rage of red flames as he leaned forward to capture your lips again. It was messy, and rushed as he mercilessly thrusted into you. Teeth clashing and saliva dribbling over your lips as you tried to follow his movements. You could feel yourself pulsating, aching, and crying out for him softly through the eye contact you now held. It was intimate for a moment, too intimate for you. You turned your head to the side to break it but he gripped your chin and made you look at him again, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. In that moment, he thrusts hard into you, tip hitting deep into your cervix and you cry out. Small tears prick the corners of your eyes but you quickly blink them away before he can notice. His hips snap hashly against your own as he coaxes closer to another orgasm. You know he’s close too by the way his hips move sloppily, and his dick twitches at each snag on your walls. He removes his hand from your chin and grips your hips, slamming into you as he tosses his head back in ecstasy. His thrusts are now pure instinct, wanting nothing more than to feel you clench around him, taking every ounce of him as you can.
“Cum with me.”
He doesn’t have to say anything else as the internal knot snapped again and you creamed all down his length. He looked down as he pulled back for a moment as he felt you relax, seeing the thin white ring of slick dripping down to the base of his cock. He slams into you a few more times before keeping his hips pressed tight against you, as ropes his cum spurt out and paint your insides. It’s warm and thick as you start to droop against the bed letting him ride out his high and fill you to the brim. Your breaths are heavy as they weave in and out against each other when he drops down against you, careful to not let his body weight fall against you. He litters wet kisses along your collarbone and your neck before pulling out slowly. You wince at the loss of contact and the small pain you now feel below.
He knows the drill by now. He walks to the bathroom to grab a washcloth as he daintily cleans your thighs and anything that still drips out of your abused cunt. You lay there, letting him do as he pleases with you as you try to straighten out your breathing. You pull the sheets up to cover your naked body when he finishes. You watch him toss the towel into the hamper and as he shrugs his jacket back on, lazily zipping it up half-way and looks at you- his eyes seemingly a shade lighter than when he first got here though the only light is the faint moonbeam that spreads it’s fingers across the sheets through your curtains.
“Don’t look at me like that,” You mumble through tight lips as you pull a tshirt over your head.
He scoffs, “like what?”
You’re serious in your response, “like you love me…” you can almost hear the faint tear from the top of his heart as it rips towards the center.
He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs as he drops his head, “Why do we keep doing this?”
“Elaborate, Rindou. I can’t read your mind.”
“This! The late night phone calls and the meaningless fucks” - at least on your end, he thinks- “I’m over it. Why can you just admit things? How many nights do I have to press up against you, hold your hand under the sheets? How many times do I need to breathe your name against your neck for you to understand?!” He’s almost yelling at this point, arms flung out on either side of himself as he stares at you with those violet eyes.
“Because I’m afraid!” You shouted back, then in a much quieter voice, “I’m afraid and you completely unravel me until I feel vulnerable, and it hurts.” Your voice is raised but trembling as your hands grasp each other at your chest and your heart starts racing at fraying at the seams.
He lets out a pained exhale as he pulls his hood over his head and heads towards the door. His hand reaches the knob and before leaving he turns back to you, just enough to see his face from the side of the hood, “Get your foot out of your ass, and don’t call me until you can look me in the eyes and say you feel the same way that I do about you.”
“R- rin! Wait, come on, don't be like that!” You rush out of your room to the hall but your cries fall on deaf ears as he’s already closed the door on you. You drop to your knees in defeat and silent tears tumble over your cheeks. They’re wet and somewhat cold against your flustered skin and you wonder if the sky feels the same way when it cries.
parlor’s note? most of the time, i’m pretty happy with being single. then i get ideas like this and i’m like AAAAAAAAAA.
bon appetit!
you told him about it before you moved in with him, then reminded him of the fact a few minutes before you two went to bed.
you didn’t really like to cuddle while you slept.
you changed positions a lot while you slept, especially during nights where you found it hard to fall asleep. it seemed like the only remedy was to twist and turn around in bed, until your body found a comfortable enough position to find sweet solace in. funnily enough, a lot of the time, this position was how you laid when your body first met the cushion of the bed, yet during that time, it was not deemed worthy of being the position you slept in. things really didn’t make sense at times, but that’s just how it is, and you’ve come to accept it.
so when satoru first invited you to move in with him, you told him about it. and now that all of your things were transferred to his house and you were about to spend a night together in the same bed, side-by-side, you reminded him of it again, not wanting him to think that you were mad at him or any of the likes. you were not only doing it for yourself so your limbs were free to roam as they wish throughout the night, but you also did it for him. you didn’t want to accidentally kick him because he was laying down too close to you while you tossed around, perhaps tangling yourself within the blankets. besides, if he ever felt needy and touch starved, you were always enjoyed cuddling when you weren’t about to go to sleep.
despite all that, satoru found himself with his arms crossed and a small pout on his lips as he gazed at your form sleeping across from him – too far away from his own body, might he add. his eyebrows were knit into a furrow when his eyes traveled from your face, so pretty and holding no stress within the skin, to the stuffed toy you had in your arms. that should be me!
♧ one of those people that has wake up alarms set every five minutes (5:30am, 5:35am, 5:40am) because he doesn’t get up at the first alarm. you realize why osamu is so annoyed with him.
♧ two words: retail therapy. whenever this man gets stressed, he will spend his entire savings account jk, man is rich-rich on random things that catches his eye, ranging from clothes he’ll probably never use, useless trinklets, and albums from bands he doesn’t listen to.
notes: i published this story for the first time in october 2021 on wattpad, and i'm so thankful for and overwhelmed by the support and love that sex therapy has received over the past year. thank you for watching me and my story grow. xoxo
This would be the mantra Naoya would live by tonight.
The little date he was taking you on was merely a prequel to the chain of bedroom events he had schemed for the evening. Because warming up first was important, no?
As a wonderful husband, Naoya took his precious wife out to dinner at Shibuya’s Cé La Vi, a top-floor restaurant that may not be as vertigo-inducing as its famous Marina Bay Sands counterpart in Singapore, but offered a menu and skyline views second to none.
He had even requested an outdoor table under the fairy lights for the romantic atmosphere, where both the amber hues and soft jazz washed the vicinity with warmth and peace. Exactly what Naoya also needed after his last twenty hours filled with hurried negotiations with publishers, a long flight back to Tokyo, and many private lectures from his outraged father.
At least that was all done now.
Sighing, Naoya gestured at a nearby waiter, who disappeared and returned with a glass of expensive tequila several minutes later. Eight in the evening might be far too early for Naoya to down his third shot of Don Julio, but he needed to reward himself for completing a hectic itinerary without a wink of shuteye in between.
With the drink, he quietly soaked in the low hum of chatter that mingled with the gentle clinking of cutlery. The ambiance was so miraculous that Naoya didn’t know why he hadn’t taken you here earlier.
Now that he thought about it, when was the last time he had taken you out on a proper date anyway?
Oh, when he took you out two weeks ago to skydive in…
No, wait that was with Karina.
He was only two and a half glasses in, but the liquor was already messing with his memory.
So when…?
“We haven’t done anything like this in a long, long while,” you commented when you must have noted his extended silence at the dinner table, although Naoya found it quite funny that you seemingly read his thoughts instead.
He swirled the liquor in his glass but decided against another sip. “You think so?” he asked as harmlessly as possible. “When was the last time?”
Cutting into a scallop on your plate, you bit your inner cheek. “Our…honeymoon.”
Holy crap, that Caribbean trip was months ago. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” you deadpanned.
Oh.
Okay, he might have thought a lot more about spending time with his mistress, and he hadn’t exactly been keeping track of every single date he went on with you, but he certainly did not expect to have such an abysmal track record with his own wife.
Not that he felt guilty about his absence in your life.
Besides, you had the money to entertain yourself as you wished. Whether because you were blinded by sheer stupidity or his bank account, you thankfully didn’t complain much either. All Naoya had to do was to keep you happy and ignorant because—to paraphrase his father’s own words—if Naoya flopped this marriage with the COO's daughter, he would not be welcomed in the Zenin household again.
The difficult part, however, was that you were hard to please.
That was what happened to little girls who grew up spoiled by daddy’s money, Naoya supposed. Karina, on the other hand, would have absolutely been overjoyed in your position. Hell, even Naoya himself—who merely grew up as a spare heir—would have shown some gratitude.
“Sorry that I’ve been so occupied.” The Zenin CEO had to inject whatever sympathy and sincerity he had into his apology before sampling his risotto. “I’ve been buried in work ever since I joined the executive suite earlier this year. I’ve had a lot to catch up on.”
“I know,” you responded very matter-of-factly. “And I understand. You’ve been busy with meetings.”
Right. Meetings with his board in addition to his, well, other more discreet ‘meetings’ where he pounded his paramour into oblivion (but let’s not talk about that, shall we?).
As he pushed the thought away, he placed his fork down in exchange for his drink. “That’s why I invited you for dinner—to spend extra time with you. I’ll make things up to you even more later.”
You glanced up from your meal, blinking rapidly but the ambivalence apparent in your gaze. “Really? Like how?”
Sex, you motherfucking dimwit.
How much more obvious did he have to be?
Of course, he instead replied with, “You’ll see.”
He hadn’t told you his idea to rail your brains out because he didn’t feel obligated to, but if he wanted to a) get his father off his ass and b) be a baby daddy by morning, he had quite the mission to accomplish. Besides, if he calculated the numbers correctly in his head, today was still within your fertility window. A later day in the schedule, but still a fertile time for his wife, nonetheless. This was the perfect time to focus on you, particularly since he wouldn’t be distracted by Karina for some time. Perhaps arriving early from Mexico wasn’t too much of a bad thing.
Tonight, the deed didn’t seem too difficult to do either, thanks to how provocatively you dressed. Since when did you wear off-the-shoulder mini dresses? Was this from your New York fashion haul three months back?
“It’d be nice if you could apologize to me first.”
Naoya froze with his glass by his mouth at your unanticipated comment. What were you even going on about? “Didn’t I already say sorry for not spending time with you?” This was what he meant by how ungrateful you were.
Curling your lips inward, you inhaled sharply. “That wasn’t what I was—”
When the conversation was unexpectedly interrupted by a buzzing at the table, Naoya reached for his phone only to be greeted with a blank screen. Rather, he looked up to see you wiping your hands and staring at your device, mirroring Naoya’s own confusion as your brows creased at an unsaved number.
“Spam,” you concluded and pushed the device away once the caller eventually reached voicemail. “What I was saying,” you began even as your face contorted momentarily with reluctance, “was that you never told me you were away from Japan. I didn’t even know where you were or when you would be back had I not called your secretary.”
Wow, that was what you wanted an apology for?
What an entitled brat.
Admittedly, Naoya should have texted you before he vanished into thin air, but a homemaker like you certainly had no business in his personal schedule. Had he truly had an investor conference to attend, Naoya was certain you would have been just as meddlesome, which was why he found the situation even more sardonic when you confirmed his suspicions by adding, “Sending me a text isn’t too difficult, you know.”
Just who the hell did you think you were?
Don’t think he had not noticed how confrontational you had been as of late, criticizing his actions and then dishing out instructions as though you were anywhere near the place to do so. This change from your typically submissive nature was uninvited, to say the least. Like, at the bare minimum, you could look at your own husband as you spoke, and Naoya wondered if your actions were simply a phase in the relationship or a reveal of the real you. Whatever the reason, he wanted his good and obedient wife back.
“Well then, my apologies." His eye twitched as he spoke, and nothing now could hide the contempt rising in his tone. “Next time, I’ll make sure my assistants send you my entire itinerary from when I sleep to when I use the restroom to—"
Naoya couldn’t even think through his annoyance because, at this point, your phone was ringing for what must be the third time and that irked him even further.
“Please!” he scoffed, his vexation bursting through his voice. “Just excuse yourself and pick that shit up, good lord!”
At least that much you listened to. You pardoned yourself, stepping away just as Naoya pinched the bridge of his nose. On the one date he finally organized with his wife, you just had to ruin his mood with your shit attitude and table manners. Fantastic.
After one long huff, Naoya swung around in his seat and caught the attention of a nearby waiter.
The fuming executive then pointed at his glass.
“Another shot, ASAP."
As much as you were guilty of self-deprecation, you were not masochistic enough to simply swallow your husband’s insults over dinner.
‘Sex, you motherfucking dimwit.’
Simply thinking back to that line sent tiny pricks to your chest.
Did Naoya really think that, just because he mumbled that to himself under his breath, you wouldn’t hear him? What made you even more upset was that, when you asked for an apology, he could not even recognize his wrongs. There was more that you hoped to confront him about, too—particularly about the rumors of his extramarital affairs—but you had half the mind to shut up given his splenetic fury.
Whoever called you, however, thankfully provided you with a reason for reprieve.
You rushed out of the main restaurant venue as you curiously stared at your phone, noticing the missed calls from an unknown number. When the same contact information appeared on your screen in its fourth ring, you pressed the ‘Accept’ button only for the other line to greet you first.
“I still have your dress, kiddo.”
Kiddo.
Only one person called you that.
“Choso?” you nearly shouted in disbelief, unintentionally garnering the attention of some bystanders.
“That’s me alright,” the therapist answered, his reply cool and composed as though he never questioned the fact that his hands landed on your phone number. “I was just about to give up on reaching you.”
Overwhelmed, you sighed. “Sorry, I’m rather busy at the moment.”
“Right, right,” he mulled, a faint rumble sneaking in his tone. Choso then clicked his tongue against his teeth, and you could almost picture the blasé manner in which he would recline in a seat as some shuffling echoed over the line, which would have normally been irrelevant until he added, “Well, I’m downstairs.”
“What?!” was your first reaction. Now, you were certainly getting weird stares. Downstairs, as in, where? “Are you in—”
“Yes, Shibuya. You’re at Cé La Vi right now, aren’t you? Take the elevator down to the first floor. My car’s parked right outside the building’s main doors. That Dolce & Gabbana outfit I made you change out of before the club, I didn’t have a chance to return that since you stormed out of the meeting last night.”
You shut your dropped jaw. “The dress I remember but,” your gaze then narrowed, “how do you know where I am?”
The call suddenly grew quiet, the lull stretching for what must be an hour as Choso carefully contemplated his next words. “When you’re in the right business,” he hinted darkly, no doubt making a reference to his underbelly occupation, “information isn’t hard to come by once you know the right people.”
An assassin with eyes all over the city, huh?
Well, that explained how he got your number as well, albeit you would not be surprised if he had dug through the therapist office’s database for that instead. Sometimes, you had to wonder how an upper-class lady like you got entangled with a man like him, but a five-minute round trip to the first floor could not possibly hurt, right?
“I’ll meet you, then,” you eventually replied and ended the call.
Catching the first elevator car down, you had no trouble spotting the iconic blue Corvette convertible that stood outside the building’s entrance. Upon your approach, Choso rolled down his window and stuck his head out. This evening, his jet-black strands were pulled back into one low ponytail rather than two, his prominent jawline appearing even sharper against the nighttime backdrop.
No wonder this man had a whole harem in the club.
“Hey,” he hummed as his inky eyes ran down your figure, his gaze lingering a little longer on your exposed collarbone before traveling down to your legs. “I like your style.”
At the compliment, you looked away, feeling a bizarre prickle in your stomach. “I’m on a dinner date.”
“With Naoya?” Given how the therapists have recently revealed their disdain for your husband, you were not surprised to see Choso grimace. “Why…would you do that to yourself?”
Great question. “He’s paying, so I can’t complain.”
Choso pressed his lips outward, nodding when he could not argue against that. “I see.”
During the silence that ensued, you clicked your heels together, too busy floundering in the burning presence of your companion that you almost forgot the reason you were here in the first place. “Do…you have my dress?”
Nonchalantly, the man pointed to the back with his thumb. “In the trunk. What? You’re in a rush or something?”
You nodded slowly. “Naoya doesn’t know I’m down here," you explained but, given the psychological pain that your husband had inflicted on you, there was no good reason for guilt to be tugging at your lungs.
Even Choso narrowed his eyes. “You’re going back to that asshole?”
Another great question.
Without saying much, Naoya already made clear that his intention with you tonight was grounded only in sexual gratification, that he viewed you as nothing beyond—as he had put it—‘a motherfucking dimwit.’ Despite the pain, you never failed to find a reason to crawl back to the husband that lashed at your heart.
“Naoya is already angry at me,” you eventually remarked, twirling the edges of your dress. “If I don’t get back...”
“Then what? Even more of a reason to ditch him, to be honest. Maybe that will teach him a lesson for all the times he left you.” Choso was not the type to talk much, but he inevitably had the uncanny ability to leave you dumbstruck once he did. Oblivious to your state (or not), he then casually adjusted the braided bracelet at his wrist. “Better things to do with your time than stay with him.”
Funny that your first instinct was to defend Naoya again. However, even if you were to dutifully return to your husband, he would internally welcome you with apathy, his only goal to leave you smitten as a kitten just so he would have a pussy to play with.
Abandoning Naoya also came with one other problem, though. “There isn’t much else for me to do.”
How pitiful was that?
Sure, you had a stack of invitations to various charity dinners and networking parties, but—even with all the riches and respect in the world—you found those events pretentious, repetitive, and dull.
You half-expected Choso to mock you. (Because, really, who were you to complain about first-world problems?) However, the man just paused slightly, a dash of sympathy running over his expression as he then motioned to the empty shotgun seat.
“I could take you out for a ride.”
Your brows shot up. Tempting. “Where to?”
“Since I’m free tonight, I was going to take myself somewhere by Tokyo Bay—one of my favorite spots around,” Choso explained as he ran both his hands through his hair. “Although, if you’re interested, I could show you the area, too.”
At the proposal, you tried not to smile too obviously. Who knew that a hardened part-time hitman actually had such a soft spot?
“Then I’d love to.”
Choso drove off the second you jumped into the Corvette, the convertible greeting you with its familiar ashy honeysuckle scents and a The Neighbourhood tune. With a long exhale, you sank into the red leather seat and stared out the window, watching the nearby scenery transform from skyscrapers to highway signs.
Quietly, you relished the soothing silence in the car that was a refuge from the charged cacophony over dinner, reflecting on the steps that brought you to this moment. What a twist of fate, how the man who had detested you weeks ago was now a warm beacon that offered light in the merciless sea, providing you more comfort than you'd like to admit.
When you unconsciously turned in his direction, you tried to not stare too obviously at the metal on his ears, the piercings gleaming as they caught beams from bypassing streetlamps. You might have had a rough start with Choso Kamo, but you still found him ridiculously attractive with his oversized white sweater and black jeans, hiding his athletic physique underneath.
“Need me to pull up Google Maps?” you asked upon realizing your extended ogling.
“No,” he shot back. “I know this city like the back of my hand.”
And Choso sure seemed like he did.
He was focused solely on driving, his palms clasped around the steering wheel as his fingers drummed to the bass of ‘Sweater Weather.’
This close to him, you noticed how his hands were rough and calloused—almost definitive sign of working out. Right where he rolled up his sleeves, veins also weaved beneath his forearm tattoos, the inked vines something you never had the chance to examine extensively either.
This time, you weren’t too discreet given that he caught your gaze. “What?”
Oops. “Nothing.”
You turned away to look ahead, trying to calm your frenzied heart by observing some uninteresting cars on the expressway. A proper lady like you knew better than to gawk at someone for a prolonged time, yet you still got caught red-handed. How embarrassing.
Slumping further into your seat, you pouted as your weird way in mitigating the internal humiliation. “Just…keep your eyes on the road.”
While Choso did as he was told, he held back a low chuckle. “And you could keep your eyes on me.”
“But I wasn’t—!" A complete lie, but you still shouted with flailing arms, defenses hopeless.
Yet, what really disarmed you was Choso’s faint smirk.
One minute, you were frustrated and flustered; the next, you were simply stunned at the amused tilt in his lips, all because his smile was so rare. There was something enchanting about the cocky way Choso grinned as he stepped on the accelerator, the maniacal gleam in his eyes as he stared ahead, the bright colors of the Tokyo evening that glittered behind him.
“Jesus, take the fucking wheel,” you muttered like a starstruck teenager.
“What’s wrong?” he asked harmlessly because this man definitely heard you over the music. He threw you a quick glance even as the smile on his lips stayed. “I mean, you could keep staring if you want to, bimbo. I won’t judge.”
Mouth opened to back talk, your ambitions immediately got cut short as Choso moved a hand from the steering wheel to your inner thigh. While you hid your gasp at the unexpected contact, you only hoped that he did not notice the way you tensed under his searing touch.
But Choso noticed, alright.
“Hm, why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” Choso pressed again, his focus still on the lane as though he was not caressing you, massaging you, his thumb running in hypnotic circles centimeters away from the dull throb between your legs,
How he managed to maintain his composure in such a situation was a mystery given that you, unlike him, gripped hard at the side of your seat.
“Because…” you hissed after mustering all effort.
Then, you stopped.
How could you respond while completely distracted by the tightening in your stomach, practically holding your breath as his hand crept up higher? It was not helping that his fingers were so thick, that he had a small dagger printed by a knuckle, that his scent was reminiscent of burning maple leaves during a New England fall.
“‘Because…?’ Because what?” Choso asked, knocking your thoughts loose momentarily because he—on the other hand—did not miss your incomplete answer. His nails dug into your skin, nearly making you yelp at the incredible burn. “What’s the issue? I don’t remember you being this shy with the other therapists around.”
The steeliness that underlined his tone…
Was Choso still hung up about your frisky flings with Toji and Sukuna? Even though you should have never gotten sexually involved with them in the first place, you never would have thought that Choso would hold such a grudge.
In response, you cautiously observed his side profile. “Are…you jealous?”
He closed his eyes momentarily at the question, indescribable salaciousness etched on his lovely face, and he shuddered slightly. His eyes opened back as a sharpened glare, Adam’s apple bobbing as the result of a drawn-out swallow.
“Oh, baby,” he growled, and it was the backward tilt of his head that left your mind spinning, “you have no idea.”
Traveling beneath your dress, his hand roamed a little higher, then higher again, his pinky finger brushing at your panties’ seam such that if he decided to travel up any further, he might just feel how miserable and soaked you were.
Just hurt me, you begged silently, legs squeezing together subconsciously as you feel a delicious heat churning through your body, biting back a moan when Choso gripped hard at your thigh before smacking at the flesh.
“Harder,” you accidentally pleaded out loud, immediately clamping your hands over your mouth.
Unsurprisingly, your insanely handsome driver turned to you. When you met his gaze, you only wished that you hadn’t because Choso had a gaze that left you weak in the knees, the murky pool in his eyes enough to leave you whittled to a frantic and blubbering mess.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
“Well, I'm curious what your husband would say,” he interjected, debauchery bleeding in his tone, “when I send you home my handprints on your ass cheeks?”
Wow, that really took you aback.
“‘When?’” you bleated. Not ‘if?’
“Yes, ‘when,’” he confirmed with a hoarse thrum. His overflowing confidence clouded your head with something heady, something intoxicating. As much as you think you should tell Choso to stop, words were lodged in your throat once he forced your legs apart with one firm pull, and while you found pleasure in the pain, it was his next suggestion that sent sweet vibrations straight down your spine: “Because I wonder what would happen once I spread you over the car hood and took you right there.”
Welcome to the Halloween collab presented by the Cosmos! Below is the masterlist for all our wonderful writers and artists to showcase their amazing work! Works will be posted on October 31st!
ATTACK ON TITAN
Eren Yeager - @tendousfingers
JUJUTSU KAISEN
Getou Suguru - @chickentendieboi
Getou Suguru - @asunflowerana
Gojo Satoru - @j-junie
All work belongs to the creators listed above. Please be respectful to them as they have worked hard on these pieces.
warnings: none, a little angsty family relationships but not in-depth to mean anything
wordcount: 925words
content: FLUFF, genderneutral reader, poc!friendly reader, character study, timeskip, pro heroes, soft soft love, drabble, not beta’d
notes: im not sure what this is…….honestly….. kamis family hasnt been disclosed so im rolling w this for fun! i just wanna smooch him tbh, i hope you like it !!
They don’t play favorites at the Kaminari household. Of course they don’t.
Still,
Kaminari Denki’s never tried being a favorite. Being the unplanned third child in a rather complete family, he really wasn’t needed. His oldest brother is from his mother’s previous relationship and therefor her favorite. The second son – who’s only three years older than Kaminari – was subdued and quiet, to the liking of their rather stoic dad. Kaminari likes to describe his father as a person who has the emotional capacity of a rock. He never did have the bandwidth to handle his youngest son’s emotional outbursts and electric personality.
Kaminari’s always been too much and not enough. He doesn’t enjoy thinking of himself as a walking contradiction but at every corner he’s reminded of how he’s short on what’s needed but overflow in what is not. But it’s not like his parents didn’t love him – he never truly lacked anything growing up. He had his Gameboy Advance and his beloved PlayStation1 as early as he can remember. His Gameboy was with him all up until he fried the system by trying to charge it himself after getting to know his quirk. He was always well-fed and properly dressed and they always kissed him goodnight after turning on his night light. But whenever he tried to describe this gap he felt between his brothers and him, they dismissed it and told him that he was simply overthinking it.
Kaminari Denki? Overthinking? He scoffs at the thought, please, that’s not his MO.
So Kaminari has become careful in sharing his observations since then, keeps them to himself and tries to float through life on a breeze of casualty. So when he meets you, his axis turns on itself and for each interaction you have, he feels more puzzled than last.
♧ gets his partner one of those spotify necklaces where they can scan it with the app and it’ll play a song or playlist because he just loves making playlists.
Track: Marshmello, Jonas Brothers – Leave Before You Love Me
A/N: It may not sound like it, but I love him and I hate hurting Oiks, I swear! :D
You were a coward and a hypocrite. You always insisted on solving disagreements and conflicts in person. Not via video calls, not via phone calls and, above all, not via texts. Talking face-to-face avoided misconceptions through miscommunication, keeping these disagreements from turning into full-fledged fights.
That’s also why you always preferred to have that kind of conversation the next day when all parties involved had gotten some sleep and – at best – some food too, so no one would say things they were going to regret later on in the heat of the moment. Communication was key and for you that included everything: from words, over facial expressions, to body language. Hence you never had real fights with the (at least in that regard) likewise level-headed and rational Iwaizumi over the years, as both of you shared the belief it was better to approach differences with calmness and patience.
Oikawa, however, had always been one who wanted to straighten out things as soon as possible – no matter if it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. Because of this, all your discussions had been resolved over breakfast – a compromise the two of you had found between texting in the middle of the night and talking after you had gotten off work and he off practice – and both of you had grown fond of it by now. Until now.
Your phone’s display lit up and Oikawa’s face appeared on the screen. His smile shone brighter than the sun rising on the horizon on your side of the windshield. With an abrupt move, you put the sun visor down but the sun was still to low to be held back. Angrily, you slammed it back against the car’s ceiling.
The buzzing sound of your phone was the only noise in the stuffy air of your car, not counting its engine, but instead of answering the call, you turned your focus back on the road as the speedometer needle moved further to the right and the scenery rolled by faster than it should.
Conflicts between Oikawa and you had always been solved over breakfast. Always. Except for this one. This one wouldn’t.
Your display tuned black again, only to light up with Oikawa’s smile again, barely two seconds later. Your knuckles turned white as your grip tightened around the steering wheel. It was unfortunate he was already awake. You had hoped he would sleep longer, give you more time to get away from Tokyo.
This time Oikawa gave up earlier and your grip loosened around the synthetic leather, your foot easing its pressure on the gas pedal.
You told yourself it was for the better, that he needed this cut. However, you had to repeat these words over and over like mantra to convince yourself of their truth, because in reality you weren’t sure whether you were doing the right thing by leaving Oikawa like this: secretly, after a sweaty night in the sheets, with only a note on the hotel room’s nightstand.
Maybe it was wrong, but you didn’t know what else to do. All you knew was that accepting Oikawa’s proposition a while back to sleep with each other to blow of some stress had been a mistake.
Both of you had agreed to a no-catching-feelings-policy, so you didn’t think about the risk any further. But feelings are nothing you can control and then happened, what had to happen, leading to you fleeing over the National Route 6 from Tokyo to Sendai.
Last night, on the suite’s balcony, while you were gazing at the stars, he had told you about the deadline to decide whether he wanted to go to Argentina or not nearing and how he still hadn’t made a decision. When you had looked at him in disbelief, asking him what the hell was keeping him from going, he had turned to you, your gazes meeting, with his eyes practically screaming ‘you’ while his lips said, “I’m not sure if I’m good enough.”
Struggling for words, you had only stared at him until he had broken the eye contact to watch the stars again, knowing very well you looked right through his lie, but asking whether you believed in parallel universes instead.
The words had found you a few hours later, when you were tossing and turning in the bed while Oikawa was sleeping soundly next to you.
Tōru Oikawa.
Follow your dreams.
Go to Argentina.
I wish you the best.
Your screen lit up for the third time, reminding you how his contact photo was the contrary of what would await you at the other end of the line you didn’t pick up. Despite his pretty face, he was the definition of ugly crying. And you knew that was waiting for you would answer the call: the crying, the sobs, the broken voice. They would drown out the rustling of paper as his hand clenched around your note.
You didn’t know if parallel universes existed. But if they did, there were probably hundreds, if not thousands or millions of universes where you returned the feelings that were currently starting to bloom in Oikawa’s heart.
In this you didn’t.
When he tried to call you a forth time just seconds after hanging up for the third time, your heart clenched. He wouldn’t stop on his own. He needed you to cut the chord, to start moving on.
Once again, your speedometer climbed higher and higher as the scenery flew by faster with every second. You let down your windows; the air was getting to thick to breath. But the chilly morning air wasn’t helping, you were still a hypocrite. Alas, it was for the better. Losing him as a friend would hurt, but it was better to nip his feelings in the bud, kill them while the pain would still be bearable.
allergen warning/s? fem!reader [no pronouns mentioned], contains seperate drabbles with reader being dom + sub, cervix kissing, name-calling, manhandling, unprotected sex, oral-fixation
sugar level? 0.8k
names for the orders? suna rintaro, tendo satori, tsukishima kei, bokuto kotaro, miya atsumu, semi eita
regulars? @hanayanetwork
he groans freely as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, eyes clenched. it’s been so long since the two of you have fucked, the week’s been busy for him and he wasn’t able to spend as much time with you as he wanted, but now that he’s here, he wants to make it up to you in more ways than one – not just with his cock originally, but with the way you jumped into his arms and pulled him in for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue the moment he walked through the front door, he thinks that bullying his fat cock into your aching cunt is one hell of a way to get reacquainted with each other.
♧ has an obscene amount of jackets and rings. like, way too much. one time his old friends from shiratorizawa visited him and they gasped when they saw his closet. he could do nothing but frown and cross his arms. “yeah, i think i have a bit of a problem.” is that a slight pout i see on his lips?
The first few steps off the plane are surreal, never did you think you’d come back here, to this. It takes a few moments to regain your legs, and stop the tingling sensations in your toes as you walk through the airport to the cab ramp. The late autumn sky hovers above you in pieces reflected by the dark clouds and last remnants of evening light. It’s right in between the seasons, just barely the autumn and right before winter peaks. It’s cold, cold enough to see your breath in the morning but warms up in the afternoon sun enough to shed your layers of clothing and be comfortable. The crisp outside air comes in waves and flutters against your cheeks as you find an empty cab down the road. When the sun touches your skin- or more accurately, your eyes- it's a stinging sort of freshness that you welcome as it brings back those memories. The ones you thought you’d lost to the depths of your mind and boxed up in the crevices of your heart.
Your figure was cloaked in black as you rode under the tunnels and down the winding roads to the large plot of land. There was already a large number of people gathered around in the dismal atmosphere. Funerals were never your thing but when he calls you out of the blue to accompany him, your mouth says yes faster than your brain can say no. You step out of the cab and make your way towards the gravesite. Everything looked the same as shadows covered the crowd, except the one thing that stood out, him.
Your footsteps were light as your feet closed the distance between the two of you- only if your heart felt the same. You took delicate inhales as you breathed the same air as him again, like you always used to. You took a good look at his face before speaking, the way silent yet screaming tears rolled over the apple of his cheeks. His eyes, once a vast ocean blue that swallowed galaxies of stars, seemed to have lost their shine and now just devoured any light in their intensity; deep pools of ink that rippled as you dipped your quill. They were glossed over, rippling underneath a sadness you knew he’d experienced too many times.
“Yuta..” his name rolled off your tongue languid, like it was the easiest thing to say, like it was the only word you knew.
He turned his head and offered you a small smile, his chapped lips barely curving up like they used to. “Hey. Sorry for calling you out for this. I just- needed someone..” his voice faltered towards the end, a feeling he didn’t want to admit out loud.
It wasn’t that funerals were particularly hard- the act of allowing yourself to be free under the safety of the ground. To lie in the soft ground, resilient against any sounds as the grass waves above your head. Down below, you don’t have to worry about time- no yesterdays nor tomorrows, just being at peace in the dark silence. You ponder the thought for a moment- death must be so beautiful. For once, you get to forgive and forget the life you had as you dream eternally.
But the act of dying? Awful. Scary. The thoughts that must run through your head as you feel yourself take that last inhale of oxygen, the sights and memories you see that flash to the forefront of your mind and the love in your heart- what happens to all the unused love? Does it fester into something ugly? Does it take on a form of hatred after it goes forgotten? Your breaths become staggered at the thoughts that cloud your mind, then everything stops. The world around you is frozen in time when his hand envelops your own. It’s clammy, wet from wiping unseen tears but you can feel every callous and scar that decorate his skin as his fingers find their home between yours again.
Home.
What an odd idiom. But those few months ago, falling in love with Yuta Okkotsu, was like finding a home you never had to make a key for. The door was always open and welcomed you with a fresh baked pastry smell that wafted through his veins and intoxicated you from the lips to your insides. And here he was again, pulling you in like a grain of sand underneath high tide. It was easy and simple, but it eroded your thoughts to nothingness.
He was your Robin Hood- stealing away everything you gave him. Your skin, your heart, your soul: and he kept it when you parted. You felt rich from his love, bathed in gold that turned out to be nothing but pyrite. The numbness you felt soon faded as you gave in to the feeling of being poor. Every reservation you had melted in his touch though, and you couldn’t let go.
After the crowds had dispersed, the two of you were left under the weeping moss of an old oak tree. The service was a blur, though a beautiful obsidian blur, with the soundtrack being the soft hum of the crows and the grieving people that stood near the headstone. His back was leaning against the trunk as the last of the leaves fell in a whirlwind from the barren branches. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he watches the way your skin flinches.
“I’m a different person now, because of you.” The words felt like hot iron on your tongue as you said them, only being deflated by the icy air that swallowed the steam.
“I know… we were never supposed to let each other go.” His eyes finally met yours, his somber tone ringing through your ears. All you can do is shake your head as you try to pull your hand out of his grasp, but his hold is tight and unwavering.
“Please… One more chance?” And that's when you see it- a small glisten of hope in his eyes as he says those words, colored in the ocean blue you remember. The same soft, but deep, blue that you fell in love with.
Any words you try to speak fail every time you open your mouth. Fumbling around the endzone like a rookie learning to play a new sport. In your moment of weakness and parted lips, he leans down and kisses you. Kisses you like he always used to, and it’s muscle memory when your lips tilt and curve against his. You feel that familiar feeling, being bathed in the finest jewels- but it doesn’t feel wrong or like fool’s gold anymore. It's real.
And when your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, new tears fall into your cuticles and roll over your knuckles, down to your wrist. In that moment, the world paused again, and everything you thought he’d stolen away, he was returning to you- in better condition. He kept it safe; he kept you safe without you even realizing it. Somber tears finally fall from your own eyes and you know you’re once again on your knees for the boy that is Yuta Okkotsu.
Ridiculous. It’s utterly ridiculous, Kuroo tells himself. There’s no way he has a crush on two people. Absolutely not. And two people he doesn’t know well, at that. This has to be some sick prank his body is playing on him. But pranks are supposed to be funny, and not bothersome, right?
So why are there these butterflies in his stomach, this bubbly feeling in his chest and the yearning to see her again? ‘Her’ being the pretty, new roommate Kenma has. Well, technically, she’s not his new roommate. She moved in with him about two months ago, so it’s been a few weeks, but since then he only got to catch a glimpse of her here and there when he was – yet again – hanging out at Kenma’s. She hasn’t even said a word to him yet and he’s somewhat glad because if she did, he’d be done for, surely. All he knows is Kenma offered her his spare bedroom without hesitation when she needed a place to stay. Therefore, the intensity with which his body reacts to her, is astonishing considering how little he has seen of her. But he won’t pressure her, so he continues to cherish the moments when she comes into the kitchen to grab a snack or drink, before scurrying back to her room.
And then there’s you. Kuroo smiles like an idiot every time he hears you say something over the mic when Kenma and the two of you are playing another round of Call of Duty. When you’re laughing, there’s this pang in his heart as if you were shooting him, despite the game mode making friendly fire impossible. Like Kenma, you’re a streamer, playing a variety of games in vastly different genres: a little Ori here, Mario Kart there, sometimes you’re taking care of your island in Animal Crossing – the list is endless. And even if he has no interest in the game you’re currently playing, he turns on your stream anyway because he likes to watch you. Or rather: he likes to listen to you. Because your face is a mystery. You don’t show yourself on stream, on social media or anywhere ever. But he doesn’t mind. At all. He likes to put on your stream, lay down and just listen to your voice clouding his thoughts. It’s so calming and–
The deep rumbling of his controller rips him from his daydream, and he can only watch as his aragami dissolves into thin air. Your laugh comes through his headphones, right to his ears, and he swears his heart is melting on the spot.
“Kuroo, what was that? Why would you walk out of the shadows right when a guard is coming at you?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not even playing. I was just trying to lure him over,” he argues.
The excuse is lame and utter bullshit and he’s seething as Kenma calls him out on it, “Do you remember how I told you he has a crush?”
“Damn...” you taunt him. “Are you gonna tell me, who the lucky woman is?”
You, he thinks.
“No,” he answers the second Kenma says, “How many subs are you offering?”
Kuroo knows, his best friend is kidding, but he still throws him a warning glare across the screens between them, almost followed by a controller.
The both of them are sitting in Kenma’s streaming room with two remarkable gaming systems, so they could game together regularly.
“You’re practically living here already, so it makes no difference,” Kenma had said when he had shown him the new furnishing after a complete overhaul of his studio.
The only thing keeping Kuroo from ripping Kenma a new one – physically or virtually – is the fact that neither you nor Kenma’s are streaming. Oh, the horror had this been streamed live on the internet, for tens of thousands of people to hear, captured forever.
“It’s my roommate.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He expected Kenma to rat him out, to tell you about both of his crushes.
“Although he has barely seen her,” his best friend adds instead.
You chuckle.
“I know it’s stupid,” he grumbles, “How can one have a crush on someone they have only seen so far? Like, I haven’t even talked to her. She only ever greeted me with a nod or something.”
“She’s a lucky woman,” you say to his surprise.
Again, Kuroo’s confused. He wholeheartedly expected you to tease him. Instead, your tone is soft, serious, genuine. No sarcastic undertone, no snarky remark.
“Love is unfathomable, Kuroo,” you add, the tenderness in your voice sending a shiver down his spine.
At the same time a certain guilt gnaws on him. He feels like he’s betraying you and himself with his crush on Kenma’s roommate – or is it the other way around? Which of these feelings are the true ones? The genuine ones? Are the things he experiences for you real and the ones for Kenma’s roommate his mind playing tricks on him? Or does he actually like the roommate and only imagines he has a crush on you?
Then again, does he know either of you good enough to have serious romantic feelings for you? Or is he so desperate for romance or female attention that his heart jumps on the first woman to notice him? But Kuroo was never one who had problems with girls’ attention. Women would ask regularly for his number or give him theirs when he went out for drinks and sometimes even when he was doing trivial things like getting grocer–
A siren going off outside rips him from his thoughts. It’s so loud he swears he hears it coming from Kenma’s and your mic too.
“Kenma, what is up today? That’s like the third one, no?”
“Third or fourth,” Kenma agrees with you. “And every time they’re loud enough to get picked up by my mic, no matter how much I lower the sensitivity.”
Kuroo tries to get back into the game but you’re too distracting, always taking his mind off the objective of crossing through the derelict graveyard, always getting him caught by a guard.
Something hits his head. Kenma threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “You suck. Get a drink or something.”
Grudgingly, he listens and leaves for the kitchen where he stands in front of the fridge, the handle in his hand, staring into the void.
The door to Kenma’s roommate’s room opens and she comes out, but he refuses to look at her. If he did, his body would act up again: he would blush, his hands would get sweaty, and his mind wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence.
She takes a deep breath. “Hey, Kuroo.”
He freezes. Her voice is one he would recognize under thousands – no, millions – despite never having it heard in reality. It’s slightly different than over the mic, but still recognizable. His brain short-circuits. He sees lips moving, but he doesn’t register the words coming out because all he can think about is you. It’s you. You’re her and she’s you. You are one and the same person.
“H-Hey,” he stammers.
There’s a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. His brain is still trying to grasp what is happening, trying to process the new information he just got, but it’s too much. His brain is overwhelmed, and he doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. What you say next, certainly doesn’t help either.
“So... you have a crush on Kenma’s roommate, huh?”
