˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ I feel so busyy these days and haven’t been that online because of that but it’s okayy no problem I’ll be more consistent from now on trustt
｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡
𐔌 . ⋮ husband megumi includes .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
megumi is the husband who never forgets to refill the water pitcher in the fridge even when he’s exhausted from missions like it’s his life duty he’ll come home at 2 a.m., see it’s low, and quietly fill it before crashing next to you
he still blushes when you call him “megs” in public but secretly loves it the tips of his ears go pink and he ducks his head, but later at home he’ll mumble “say it again” while pulling you onto his lap
every morning he makes you coffee or tea exactly how you like it (black with one sugar or whatever your thing is) and sets it on the nightstand before you wake up no note, no big deal, just there waiting for you
he’s the type to carry both your bags when you grocery shop one in each hand, dogs trotting behind in small form, and when you try to take one he just says “i’ve got it” in that flat tone like it’s not even a question and then continue to also carry your shoulder bag
when you’re sick he doesn’t baby you dramatically he just moves the couch closer to the bed so he can sit there and hold your hand while you sleep, thumb rubbing slow circles on your wrist
he keeps a tiny photo of you two in his wallet (the one where you’re both half-asleep on the couch with the dogs piled on top) and glances at it during long missions like it’s his good-luck charm
megumi is the husband who notices when your nails are chipped and quietly buys the color you usually wear leaves it on the bathroom counter with no explanation, just “thought you’d want it”
he still gets jealous of the divine dogs because they get to curl up on your lap more than he does sometimes “they’re using my spot” he’ll mutter while gently shoving them off so he can lay his head there instead
when you argue (rare but it happens) he never raises his voice he just goes quiet, stares at the floor for a minute, then walks over and hugs you from behind until you stop being mad
he’s the guy who fixes things around the house without being asked leaky faucet, squeaky door, loose cabinet handle you come home and it’s just done, no “i fixed it” brag, just “it was annoying me”
megumi as husband is the one who remembers every tiny detail your favorite season, the exact way you like your rice, how you hate the feeling of wet socks and he never makes a fuss about it, just does it
he still wears his wedding band under his glove during missions because “it’s safer there” but he takes it off the second he’s home and slips it back on your finger like it’s a ritual
at night he’s the big spoon but only after he’s sure you’re comfortable he’ll adjust the pillows, pull the blanket higher, then wrap around you so tight it feels like he’s scared you’ll disappear
he’s not big on words but every once in a while he’ll just look at you across the room and say “i’m glad i married you” in that low serious voice like it’s the most obvious fact in the world
angry love confession in the rain ft. megumi fushiguro
the downpour was deafening, cold water slamming against the concrete and washing the curse’s grime off your boots. you were shivering, your teeth chattering, but the adrenaline buzzing through you had completely curdled into spite.
"are you insane?!" you yelled, wiping rain out of your eyes as you spun on him. "you almost got yourself killed back there!"
megumi didn't stop walking, his back facing you, his uniform soaked through and clinging to his shoulders. "i had it under control."
"like hell you did!" you marched up and grabbed his wet shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "you threw yourself right in front of it! don't you dare baby me, megumi! i'm your partner for fucks sake—let that sink into whatever's left of your brain!"
megumi's jaw clenched. he looked completely exhausted, dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes hard and completely unreadable. "i can't..."
"what do you mean you can't?!" you snapped, shoving his chest. "why do you get to decide when we talk?! you do this every damn time! you can't just fucking disappear on me whenever you feel like it—"
"because i don't know what the hell i'm doing!" he finally yelled back, his voice cracking as his usual stoic composure completely shattered. he grabbed your wrists, his grip tight and shaking. "you think this is easy for me? i don't like being like this either!"
"then stop doing it!" you screamed over the roar of the rain, tears finally hot on your face.
"i'm scared, okay?!" megumi stepped directly into your space, his chest heaving, his face raw with a desperation you’d never seen in him. "i'm terrified that if i actually show you how—how messed up i am, you’ll just realize i’m not worth the goddamn hassle and leave! i love you—i really, really love you! i love you so much and—god, fuck!"
the breath was knocked clean out of you. all that anger just completely evaporated, leaving nothing but the biting cold of the rain and the crushing reality of what he’d just admitted.
before you could even process what he’d said, megumi closed the distance and yanked you against him, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost cut off your breath. he hid his face against your shoulder, his chest heaving as his body finally started to shake. you didn't even hesitate—you just threw your arms around him, gripping the soaked fabric of his jacket and holding onto him just as hard.
the downpour completely drowned out everything else, but megumi didn't let up for a second. you were pressed so hard against him that his erratic heartbeat felt chaotic and loud against your ear.
he pulled back just an inch or two, his hands warm against your wet cheeks. he stared down at you, his pupils dilating as his eyes fiercely held yours.
"please don't leave me," he whispered, his forehead leaning into yours as if he couldn't even hold his own weight anymore. "i need you."
꒰ ♫ ꒱ whisking to ⸝⸝ shape of my heart by backstreet boys
– i played my part, kept u in the dark. now let me show u the shape of my heart.
hey kitten. daddy needs to talk to you. your kink blog is great, but you are not highlighting the words correctly. kitten. stop highlighting. this is shit. did you seriously highlight that period. kitten.
synopsis ➸ five hours of punishment paperwork turns into eleven hours trapped in the office with vice-captain hoshina. a hidden sake bottle and a secret romance novel spark a heated debate about fiction versus reality—especially when it comes to two people who can't decide if they want to strangle each other or do something else entirely
The fluorescent lights of the Third Division office hummed quietly as you signed the final document with a flourish. Five hours of mind-numbing paperwork finally complete. You flexed your cramping fingers, the pen leaving a slight indentation on your skin where you'd gripped it too tightly. The stack of completed forms—mission reports, resource requisitions, personnel evaluations—sat neatly organized before you, a testament to your punishment duty. A week of administrative hell for what Vice-Captain Hoshina had officially termed "excessive initiative in the field" but was really just you ignoring a direct order because you'd seen a better tactical approach. You'd been right, of course, but chain of command was chain of command.
You glanced up at Vice-Captain Hoshina, who was sprawled comfortably on the leather sofa across the room. His long legs were stretched out, his standard Defense Force after-hours uniform somehow looking immaculate despite his relaxed posture. His dark purple hair fell in that perfect bob around his face, not a strand out of place even after a full day. The bandage on his cheek from a recent mission was the only thing marring his appearance. Those perpetually half-lidded eyes were fixed on his phone, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen as they had been for the past five hours. The soft blue glow illuminated his sharp features in the dimming light of the office.
For someone so deadly with a sword, he certainly knew how to waste time. You wondered what was so engrossing—a game? Messages? You'd never know. He'd barely spoken ten words to you during each punishment session, just sliding the stack of papers across the desk with that infuriating little smirk when you arrived each evening.
"I'm finished," you announced, the first words spoken in at least two hours. Your voice sounded oddly loud in the quiet room.
Hoshina didn't look up immediately. He tapped his screen a few more times before his eyes flicked toward you. "Are you now?" His voice was smooth, with that ever-present hint of amusement. He stretched, his broad shoulders rolling beneath the fabric of his uniform, before standing with the effortless grace that made him so lethal in combat.
He approached the desk—your desk, technically his desk that you'd been using—with unhurried strides. You could smell his scent as he drew closer: clean sweat, the detergent from his uniform, and something faintly metallic, like polished steel. The scent of a swordsman.
Hoshina leaned over your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His presence filled the space around you, commanding and intense. He flipped through the completed paperwork with practiced efficiency, his long fingers moving swiftly through the pages. You sat rigid, uncomfortably aware of his proximity, of how easily he dominated the space around you without even trying.
"Well done," he finally said, straightening up and clapping you on the shoulder. His hand was heavy, strong, the calluses from years of swordplay evident even through the fabric of your uniform. "Everything seems to be in order. Congratulations on completing your punishment, Soldier."
You stood, eager to put some distance between yourself and the Vice-Captain. "Thank you, sir."
Hoshina's mouth quirked into that familiar half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Just don't mess up again," he added, voice dropping lower, almost intimate in its warning. "I'll have to come up with something much more... creative next time." The threat hung in the air between you, not entirely professional, laden with something you couldn't quite identify.
You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself. "I'm sure you will, sir," you replied, the honorific carrying just enough sarcasm to be noticeable but not enough to be insubordinate. Again.
He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled from deep in his chest. "Still got that attitude. Some things never change."
You turned away, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the office and painting the walls in shades of amber and gold. The workday was long over; most of the Division had left hours ago. You just wanted to get back to your quarters, shower away the tedium of paperwork, and forget about Vice-Captain Hoshina and his infuriating smirk for at least twelve blessed hours.
You strode to the door, grasped the handle, and pulled. Nothing happened. You frowned, tried again, putting more force behind it. The door remained stubbornly closed.
"Problem?" Hoshina asked, that note of amusement still present in his voice.
"Door's stuck," you muttered, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.
Hoshina raised an eyebrow, crossing the room with those silent, predatory steps that were so at odds with his casual demeanor. "Let me try." He nudged you aside with a firm hand on your waist, his touch brief but unmistakably authoritative.
You stepped back, watching as he gripped the handle and pulled. His forearm tensed, the muscles visible beneath his skin as he applied steady pressure. The door didn't budge. His expression shifted, the perpetual amusement fading into something more focused, more serious.
"Damn it," he muttered, releasing the handle and running a hand through his hair. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "I forgot about the new security protocols."
"What new protocols?" you asked, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of your stomach.
Hoshina sighed, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, his posture deceptively relaxed despite the situation. "After the Kaiju No. 9 attack and the office rebuilding, they installed an automated security system. After hours, all doors lock automatically to secure the facility." His eyes met yours, and for once, they were fully open, alert. "We're locked in."
You stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking."
"I wish I were," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the lean strength of his frame.
"Can't we override it? Break the door down?" you suggested, already calculating the force needed. You were strong, and with Hoshina's help, a simple office door shouldn't be a problem.
He shook his head, the purple strands of his hair swaying slightly. "Breaking it down would trigger the emergency protocols. The entire building would go into lockdown, security teams would be dispatched..." He fixed you with a pointed look. "Not great for either of our records, especially for a senior recruit already on thin ice for 'acting out.'"
You winced at the reminder. "Fine. What about calling someone? Surely you can reach Captain Ashiro?"
Hoshina's expression shifted to something resembling chagrin. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and held it up. The black screen remained stubbornly dark. "Dead. Five hours of use will do that."
You stared at the useless device, then at Hoshina, feeling rage bubble up inside you. "You've been playing on your phone for five hours while I did your paperwork, and you didn't even bother to charge it?"
He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, though the expression was fleeting. "In my defense, I wasn't planning on getting locked in my own office."
Your hands clenched into fists. "And my phone?"
"Protocol for punishment duty. No personal devices," he reminded you, as if you could forget the way he'd held out his hand at the beginning of each session, waiting for you to surrender your phone like a schoolchild caught texting in class.
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. When you opened them again, Hoshina was watching you with unexpected intensity, as if gauging your reaction. The last rays of sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting striped shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
"So we're stuck here," you said flatly. "Until when?"
"Until someone comes to open the office in the morning," he replied. "The cleaning staff, probably. Around 0600 hours."
You checked your watch. It was barely 1900 hours now. Eleven hours trapped in this office with Vice-Captain Hoshina. Eleven hours of that penetrating gaze, that subtle mockery, that overwhelming presence.
With a defeated sigh, you moved back to the couch, dropping onto it heavily. "This is just perfect," you muttered, staring up at the ceiling.
Hoshina remained by the door, his tall figure silhouetted against the fading light, watching you with those unreadable eyes. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and the dawning reality of your shared predicament. You were trapped here, together, until morning. No escape from each other, from the tension that had been building between you since your first day in the Third Division, from whatever this night might bring.
The first thirty minutes of your forced confinement stretched like cold taffy—slow, uncomfortable, and increasingly brittle. You sat at opposite ends of the office, you on the couch, Hoshina leaning against his desk, both of you pointedly avoiding sustained eye contact. The silence settled between you like dust, occasionally disturbed by your attempts at conversation that quickly died away.
"So... how long have you been in the Defense Force?" you asked, knowing perfectly well it was in his file, which you'd read multiple times out of professional curiosity.
Hoshina's expression didn't change, those perpetually half-lidded eyes regarding you with tolerant amusement. "Eight years. Four in the Third Division."
"Right," you nodded, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on your thigh. "And before that, you were—"
"In the training academy, like everyone else," he finished, his tone not unkind but definitive, closing that particular avenue of discussion.
You tried again. "I heard that Captain Ashiro is thinking of implementing new training rotations for—"
"She mentioned it," he said, his eyes drifting to the window, where the last glimmer of daylight had finally surrendered to the night. Stars were beginning to emerge, distant pinpricks of light against the darkening sky.
Another five minutes passed in stifling silence. You attempted to discuss the weather (pathetic), recent kaiju activity (too much like work), and even ventured into asking about his family (his expression had hardened immediately, and you'd backtracked so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash).
Finally, as you opened your mouth to make yet another doomed attempt at small talk, Hoshina held up a hand. The gesture was swift and authoritative, like he was directing troops in the field rather than stopping your babbling.
"Enough," he said, his deep voice resonating in the quiet office. "This is painful for both of us." There was no cruelty in his words, just an acknowledgment of the obvious.
You closed your mouth, heat creeping up your neck. "Sorry," you mumbled, wishing the couch would simply swallow you whole.
To your surprise, the corner of Hoshina's mouth quirked upward. Not his usual smirk, but something closer to genuine amusement. "I have something that might help with..." he gestured vaguely between the two of you, "...this."
Before you could ask what he meant, he moved behind his desk, dropping to one knee with unexpected grace. He reached beneath, arm disappearing into the shadows. There was the sound of something being moved, a soft scraping noise, and then Hoshina emerged with a bottle in hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light as he straightened, holding it up with a look of subtle triumph.
Sake. Expensive sake, by the look of the bottle.
"That's against regulations," you pointed out automatically, then immediately regretted it. Eight days of punishment duty for insubordination, and here you were, quoting rulebook infractions at your superior officer.
Hoshina's eyebrow arched elegantly. "Is it?" he asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "Then I suppose I shouldn't share it with someone so concerned with regulations." He twisted the cap off with practiced ease, the subtle pop of the seal breaking unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
You bit your lip, watching as he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow. His throat worked as he drank, the strong column of his neck moving beneath smooth skin. When he lowered the bottle, his lips were slightly wet, and he ran his tongue over them in a brief, unconscious gesture that caught your attention for reasons you didn't want to examine.
"Changed your mind yet?" he asked, his voice slightly rougher after the drink.
Pride warred with practicality. Eleven more hours in this office. Eleven hours of awkward silence or stilted conversation. Or...
"I take it back," you said, holding out your hand. "Pass it over."
A genuine smile spread across Hoshina's face, transforming his features from merely handsome to something that made your stomach do a strange little flip. He crossed the room with that predatory grace, the bottle dangling from his long fingers, and handed it to you with a flourish.
"To being stuck," he offered, his voice carrying a warmth you'd never heard before.
You accepted the bottle, your fingers brushing against his briefly. "To poor planning and security protocols," you countered, bringing the bottle to your lips. The rim was still warm from his mouth.
The sake burned pleasantly down your throat, spreading liquid heat through your chest. It was good quality—smooth with just enough bite to remind you of its potency. You took another swallow before handing it back, already feeling a slight loosening in your shoulders.
The next fifteen minutes passed in a rhythm of shared swigs and increasingly comfortable silence. The bottle passed between you like a peace offering, each exchange accompanied by a brief touch of fingers, a moment of connection that grew less accidental each time. The office seemed to grow smaller, the space between you on the couch less pronounced.
When Hoshina passed you the bottle for the fifth time, you tilted it back and attempted to drain what remained—a desperate bid to make this situation more bearable. The sake burned as you gulped it down, but before you could finish, Hoshina's hand closed around the neck of the bottle, pulling it firmly from your grasp.
"Easy," he warned, his voice a low rumble. "We have a long night ahead of us. Getting drunk in the first hour isn't a strategy I'd recommend."
You relinquished the bottle with a groan of frustration. "Being sober for eleven hours with you isn't a strategy I'd recommend either," you muttered, immediately regretting the honesty that the alcohol had loosened from your tongue.
Instead of taking offense, Hoshina laughed—a genuine sound of amusement that you realized you'd never heard before. It transformed his face, softening the sharp angles and making him look younger, more approachable. Something shifted in your perception of him, like a lens being adjusted to bring a blurry image into focus.
"If I'm such terrible company," he said, setting the nearly empty bottle on his desk, "perhaps you should find something to entertain yourself."
You stood, stretching arms above your head, feeling the slight buzz of the sake warming your veins. "Fine. There's got to be something interesting in this office."
You began to wander the room, examining the sparse decorations—a few medals in a frame, a certificate of commendation from the Defense Force High Command, a traditional sword mounted on the wall that you knew wasn't just for show. Hoshina watched your exploration with hooded eyes, his posture relaxed but attentive, like a predator at rest but still aware of every movement in its territory.
The bookshelf in the corner drew your attention. It was modest, containing various tactical manuals, reports bound in leather covers, and a few historical texts on swordsmanship and martial strategy. You ran your fingers along the spines, reading titles, getting a glimpse into the professional mind of Hoshina Soshiro.
And then you saw it, partially concealed behind a thick volume on ancient battlefield tactics. The spine was black with blood-red lettering, the title barely visible in the dim light. You slid it out carefully, curious what the Vice-Captain would be hiding.
Your eyes widened as you read the title. "Bound by Honor: A Warrior's Forbidden Desire." The cover featured a stylized illustration of a woman in traditional Japanese clothing, her kimono slipping from one shoulder as she gazed up at a shadowed male figure wielding a katana. It was unmistakably a romance novel—and judging by the suggestive pose and the tagline ("Her body surrendered what her lips denied"), not a particularly tame one.
You turned slowly, holding the book up with a growing smile of disbelief. "Vice-Captain Hoshina," you said, your voice lilting with barely contained laughter, "I had no idea you were interested in... forbidden desires."
Hoshina's eyes widened fully for the first time since you'd known him, his usual mask of calm indifference replaced by an expression of genuine alarm. He was across the room in three swift strides, reaching for the book with uncharacteristic haste.
"That's not—" he began, his voice tighter than you'd ever heard it. "It's not what it looks like."
You danced backward, keeping the book out of his reach, your earlier discomfort forgotten in the joy of having discovered something so unexpectedly human about the always-composed Vice-Captain. "Oh? Then please explain why you have a steamy romance novel hidden behind your tactical manuals, sir."
The honorific dripped with playful mockery, and for a moment, you thought you might have gone too far. Hoshina's face darkened, his jaw tightening in a way you'd only seen when he was preparing to face a particularly dangerous kaiju. But then, unexpectedly, his shoulders dropped, and he ran a hand through his purple hair in a gesture of surrender.
"It's was a goddamn gift," he muttered, his voice lower and rougher than his usual measured tone. "Okonogi thought it would be hilarious to give me that trash for my birthday. Said I needed to 'loosen up.'"
You blinked in surprise, both at the casual profanity and the revelation. The Vice-Captain never spoke about personal matters. "But you kept it," you pointed out, your finger still wedged in the book, marking a particularly explicit page you'd glimpsed while flipping through.
Hoshina's eyes narrowed. "I meant to throw it out."
"Sure you did," you said, unable to help the smirk spreading across your face. The sake was warming your blood now, making you bolder than you'd normally dare to be with your commanding officer. "That's why it's hidden like a dirty magazine instead of in the trash."
"I gave it a chance," he admitted with visible reluctance. "Absolutely hated it. The writing is atrocious, and the plot is—"
"Whoa, whoa," you cut him off, waving the book. "You actually read it? The great Hoshina Soshiro, master swordsman and terror of the Defense Force, read a smutty romance novel?"
His eyebrow twitched. "I didn't say I read the whole thing."
"But parts of it," you pressed, delighted by this unexpected discovery. The Vice-Captain who seemed above such human indulgences, caught red-handed with cheap erotica.
Hoshina snatched for the book again, but the sake had slowed his reflexes just enough for you to dance out of reach. You clutched the novel to your chest, backing toward his desk.
"I'll be the judge of whether it's garbage or not," you declared, settling into his chair with deliberate insolence. You opened the book to a random page, making a show of getting comfortable.
Hoshina looked genuinely appalled. "You're not seriously going to read that trash right now? When there are actual books worth reading on my shelf?"
You shot him a look over the top of the page. "What's wrong, Vice-Captain? Afraid I'll find out what gets you off?"
The words hung in the air between you, far more provocative than you'd intended. Hoshina's eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed to dangerous slits. For a heartbeat, you thought he might actually snatch the book from your hands, but instead, he circled the desk and dropped heavily into the chair opposite you.
"Fine," he said, reaching for the sake bottle. "Suit yourself."
You began to read, keenly aware of Hoshina's presence across from you. The story was exactly what you'd expected—overwrought prose describing the forbidden passion between a warrior and the daughter of a rival clan leader. The plot was thin, serving mainly as a vehicle to get the characters into increasingly compromising situations. But the writing wasn't actually terrible, and you found yourself getting pulled into the story despite your initial skepticism.
Hoshina took small sips of sake, his eyes occasionally drifting to the pages you were reading. You could feel his gaze tracking your progress, and it sent an unexpected thrill through you, knowing he was watching, perhaps remembering the scenes you were now discovering.
After about twenty minutes, you reached a particularly explicit section where the protagonist finally gave in to his desires for the heroine. The description was graphic and detailed, leaving little to the imagination as they tore at each other's clothes in a garden at midnight.
"That's not how it works," Hoshina said suddenly, breaking the charged silence. He was leaning forward now, pointing at a specific paragraph describing an impossibly athletic position against a cherry tree.
"Nobody's spine bends that way," he continued, his voice deadpan but his eyes glinting with challenge. "And the physics are all wrong. She'd fall on her ass."
You looked up, surprised both by his comment and the casual crudeness of his language—so different from his usual precise diction. "How would you know?" you countered, the sake making you bolder. "Have you tried it?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I don't need to try it to know it's physically impossible unless she's double-jointed and he has three hands."
You laughed, the sound bursting from you unexpectedly. "Maybe he does. Maybe he's a mutant. A sexy mutant with... extra appendages."
Hoshina's mouth quirked despite himself. "Is that what you look for in a man? Extra appendages?"
"Depends on which appendages we're talking about," you shot back, then immediately felt heat flood your face. The sake was definitely loosening your tongue.
Rather than being offended, Hoshina actually chuckled—a low, rich sound that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. "Continue," he said, gesturing toward the book with his sake bottle. "I'm fascinated to hear your scholarly analysis."
You returned to reading, hyperaware of his presence across from you. The novel grew increasingly explicit as you progressed, the forbidden nature of the relationship driving the characters to ever more desperate and passionate encounters. You found yourself reading certain passages twice, your body responding traitorously to the vivid descriptions despite the company you were keeping.
"Here's another one," Hoshina said after a while, leaning across the desk to tap a paragraph. His finger brushed against the page just as you were reading a particularly graphic description of the heroine's pleasure. "Complete fantasy. No woman comes five times in three minutes just from penetration."
You stared at him, momentarily speechless at hearing Vice-Captain Hoshina casually discussing female orgasms. The sake was definitely affecting both of you now.
"Maybe you're just not doing it right," you retorted, the alcohol bypassing your brain's usual filters.
His eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you noticed that they weren't just dark, but a deep, midnight blue—the color only visible when you were this close. "Trust me," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble, "that's not the problem."
Something hot and liquid pooled in your lower belly at his words, at the absolute certainty in his tone. You forced yourself to look away, back down at the book, but the words swam before your eyes.
"It's fiction," you managed, your voice not quite steady. "It's supposed to be a fantasy. That's the point."
"A fantasy that perpetuates unrealistic expectations," Hoshina countered, leaning back in his chair. "Which leads to disappointment in reality."
You flipped forward a few pages, determined to prove him wrong. "Not all of it is unrealistic. This part, for instance—" you paused, realizing too late that you'd turned to one of the most intense scenes in the book. The protagonists, after a heated argument about clan loyalty, were tearing at each other's clothes, their anger transforming into raw passion.
Hoshina's eyes skimmed the page, his expression unreadable. "Hate sex," he said flatly. "Another tired trope."
"What's wrong with it?" you challenged, an unexpected defensiveness rising in you. "People who argue often have intense chemistry. All that tension has to go somewhere."
"Into a rational discussion," he replied, though his eyes remained fixed on the explicit passage. "Not... whatever that is." He gestured dismissively at the description of the warrior pinning the heroine against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as they devoured each other.
"That's exactly what someone who's never experienced it would say," you scoffed, the sake making you reckless. "Sometimes arguing is foreplay."
Hoshina's eyes snapped up to yours, dark and suddenly intense. "You think people who want to strangle each other also want to fuck each other?"
The crude word in his refined voice sent a jolt through you. "Sometimes," you insisted. "The line between rage and passion can be thin. Haven't you ever been so frustrated with someone that you wanted to either shut them up or shut them up?" You made a vague gesture meant to distinguish between the two types of shutting up.
"That's not how it works in real life," Hoshina said, but there was a new tension in his voice.
"So you've never argued with someone and felt that... charge?" you pressed, leaning forward. "That electricity? That moment when you're in each other's faces and suddenly you realize how close you are? How you can feel their breath? How their eyes drop to your lips?"
Hoshina was very still now, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "That's just in books like this," he said, but his voice had roughened. "Written by people who've never been in an actual fight."
"I've been in plenty of fights," you countered. "And in training. With you, in fact. And there's definitely a physicality to it that isn't entirely different from what they're describing." You gestured toward the book, to the scene where the warrior had the heroine pressed against the wall, his hand in her hair.
"That's adrenaline," Hoshina argued, though his eyes had darkened. "Combat chemistry. It's biological, not sexual."
"Is it, though?" You felt like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, but couldn't seem to stop yourself. "The racing heart, the heightened awareness of the other person's body, the rush when you make contact? Sounds pretty similar to me."
Hoshina's jaw tightened. "You're comparing life-or-death combat to... to fucking."
"I'm saying they tap into similar primal instincts," you insisted. "The fight-or-flight response isn't so different from arousal. The body doesn't always know the difference."
"Bullshit," Hoshina said, but there was less conviction in his voice now.
"So you've never, ever, been arguing with someone and had the thought cross your mind?" you challenged, the sake making you relentless. "Never wanted to shut someone up with your mouth instead of your words? Never looked at someone who was driving you fucking crazy and thought about grabbing them by the collar and just—"
"Yes."
The single word sliced through the air between you, stopping your tirade cold. Hoshina's eyes had gone from half-lidded indifference to something dark and focused, like the moment before he drew his sword in combat. His gaze pinned you to your seat.
"What?" you managed, your bravado faltering under the intensity of his stare.
"Yes," Hoshina repeated, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the desk between you. "I've thought about it."
Your mouth went dry. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to dismiss the idea, to maintain his perfect composure while you needled him. Instead, he was looking at you like he was considering devouring you whole.
"I was just making a point," you stammered, suddenly desperate to backtrack. "About the book. It's not—"
"Bullshit." Hoshina cut you off, rising from his chair with fluid grace. "You don't get to throw that out there and then pretend you were just making conversation."
He circled the desk with predatory slowness, each step deliberate. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs so loudly you were certain he could hear it.
"I didn't mean—" you tried again, but the words died in your throat as Hoshina reached you, bracing one hand on the arm of your chair and the other on the desk, effectively caging you in.
"Yes, you did," he said, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. This close, you could see the flecks of midnight blue in his dark eyes, smell the sake on his breath mingled with something essentially him—steel and sandalwood and danger. "You've been pushing since the moment we got locked in here. Testing boundaries. Seeing how far you could go."
Your breath caught in your throat. He was right. You had been pushing, needling, prodding at his perfect composure, curious what lay beneath. And now you were finding out.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for.
"No, you're not," Hoshina said, his voice dropping even lower. "But you might be."
The threat—or promise—hung in the air between you, charging the space with electricity. Your eyes dropped involuntarily to his mouth, to the perfect curve of his lower lip, and you realized with startling clarity exactly what you'd been pushing for all along.
"Tell me to back off," Hoshina said, his voice rough with restraint. "Tell me I'm misreading this, and I'll go back to my side of the desk, and we'll forget this happened."
But you couldn't. You didn't want to. Instead, driven by sake and adrenaline and the culmination of months of tension, you reached up and grabbed the front of his uniform, yanking him closer.
"Fuck you," you breathed, the words lacking any real heat. "You know exactly what I want."
Something flashed in Hoshina's eyes—triumph, desire, or maybe both. "Say it," he demanded, his face now so close that his breath feathered across your lips. "I want to hear you say it."
Pride warred with desperation in your chest. "I want you to kiss me," you finally admitted, the words barely audible.
Hoshina's mouth curved into a dangerous smile, all sharp edges and dark promise. "That's not what I heard," he said, his hand moving from the arm of the chair to your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His fingers were callused from years of swordplay, rough against your skin. "I heard you talking about shutting someone up. About grabbing them and—what was it you were about to say?"
Heat flooded your face, but there was no going back now. "And kissing them until they can't think straight," you finished, meeting his gaze defiantly despite the tremor in your voice.
"Is that what you want?" Hoshina asked, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip, sending sparks skittering down your spine. "For me to kiss you until you can't think straight? Until you forget all about that fucking book and your smart mouth and everything except my name?"
Your breath hitched at his words, at the raw intent behind them. "Yes," you admitted, beyond caring about pride or rank or professionalism. "Please, yes."
Hoshina's eyes darkened further, his pupils blown wide with desire. "Good," he murmured, his voice a rough caress. "Because I've been thinking about shutting you up since the day you walked into my office for your punishment."
And then his mouth was on yours, and thinking became impossible.
There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration, his hand sliding into your hair to hold you exactly where he wanted you. You gasped against his lips, and he took immediate advantage, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming, conquering.
You clutched at his uniform, at his shoulders, at anything you could reach, desperate to anchor yourself as sensation overwhelmed you. Hoshina kissed like he fought—with precision, intensity, and absolute focus, as if nothing else in the world existed but his target. Only now, that target was you.
He tasted like sake and something darker, something essentially him, and you were instantly addicted. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, mussing the perfect purple strands, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
Hoshina made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a groan, and suddenly you were being lifted. In one fluid motion, he picked you up and deposited you on the desk, scattering papers and knocking the empty sake bottle to the floor with a dull thud. He stepped between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the desk until you were pressed flush against him.
The hard length of his arousal pushed against the seam of your uniform pants, and you moaned into his mouth at the contact. Hoshina broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes nearly black with desire as he looked down at you.
"Still think it's just fiction?" he asked, his voice rough and strained. "Still think it's unrealistic?"
You couldn't form words, could only shake your head, your hands still tangled in his hair, your body burning with need.
Hoshina's mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "I haven't even started yet," he promised, his hands sliding up your thighs to your waist, then higher, tracing the curve of your ribs through your uniform. "By the time I'm done with you, that fucking book will look tame."
The threat—the promise—sent liquid heat pooling between your thighs, your body responding to his words with embarrassing eagerness. You could feel yourself getting wet, your underwear already damp beneath your uniform pants. There was no hiding it, no pretending this wasn't exactly what you'd been angling for since the moment you realized you were trapped together.
"Prove it," you challenged, your voice breathy but defiant. You weren't going to submit easily, even now. Especially now.
Something flashed in Soshiro's eyes—approval mixed with savage hunger. His hands moved to the fastening of your uniform jacket, deftly undoing the clasps that ran down the front. "I'm going to taste every inch of you," he said, his voice rough as he pushed the jacket off your shoulders. "I'm going to find out exactly what makes you scream my name."
Your breath caught as cool air hit your skin, the thin tank top you wore beneath the jacket offering little barrier between his gaze and your body. Your nipples hardened instantly, visible through the fabric, and Soshiro's eyes fixed on them with predatory focus.
"Already so responsive," he murmured, his thumb brushing over one hardened peak through the tank. Even that light touch sent sparks shooting through your body, and you couldn't suppress a gasp. "I wonder how you'll react when I really touch you."
He bent his head, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, and bit down—not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to make you cry out. The sharp sting was immediately soothed by his tongue, hot and wet against your pulse point.
"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back to give him better access. "Soshiro—"
His name on your lips seemed to break something loose in him. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back further, exposing more of your throat to his mouth. The other slid beneath your tank top, his callused palm rough against the soft skin of your stomach, then higher, until he was cupping your breast.
"Say it again," he commanded against your skin, his fangs grazing your collarbone.
"Soshiro," you repeated, the formal barriers between you crumbling with each touch. No longer Vice-Captain Hoshina, but Soshiro—the man who was currently thumbing your nipple with maddening precision, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
He rewarded you by taking the hardened bud between his fingers and pinching, just hard enough to make you arch into his touch. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending an unexpected thrill through you.
You reached for him, desperate to feel his skin beneath your hands, to see if the body that moved with such deadly grace in combat was as hard and honed as you'd imagined. Your fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his uniform jacket, your coordination hampered by the sake and the overwhelming sensations he was creating with his mouth on your neck, his hand on your breast.
Soshiro stepped back just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, then pulled his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion. You'd seen him shirtless before—during training, during medical checks—but never like this, never with permission to look, to touch. His body was a weapon, honed through years of rigorous training and combat: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined without being bulky, skin marked here and there with the scars of his profession. A particularly vicious scar curved around his left side, the legacy of a kaiju's claw that had nearly ended him two years ago.
You reached out, tracing the raised line of that scar with your fingertips. Soshiro went still under your touch, his eyes watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch.
"I thought we'd lost you that day," you admitted, the words slipping out unbidden.
Something softened momentarily in his expression. "Takes more than that to kill me," he said, catching your hand and bringing it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to your palm, surprisingly gentle, before nipping at the sensitive skin of your wrist hard enough to make you gasp. The tenderness vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that hungry focus. "Now, where were we?"
He didn't wait for an answer, instead grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Your bra followed, his deft fingers making quick work of the clasp. And then you were bare from the waist up, exposed to his gaze in the dim light of the office.
Soshiro's eyes raked over you, hot and appreciative. "Fuck," he breathed, the crude word somehow more affecting in his refined voice. "Look at you."
Self-consciousness warred with arousal as he studied you, his gaze lingering on your breasts, your waist, the curve of your hips still partially hidden by your uniform pants. But any insecurity was banished when he moved forward again, his hands spanning your waist, his mouth descending to capture one nipple between his lips.
The wet heat of his mouth made you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you as he sucked and licked and gently bit, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your clit. Your hips rocked forward unconsciously, seeking friction, seeking relief from the building pressure between your thighs.
Soshiro responded by grabbing your ass, pulling you harder against him, the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your core through the layers of clothing that still separated you. He was huge, bigger than you'd imagined in your most private fantasies, and the thought of him inside you made you whimper with need.
"Please," you gasped, beyond pride now, beyond anything but the desperate need for more. "Soshiro, please—"
He lifted his head, his pupils blown wide with desire, his usually perfect hair mussed by your hands. "Please what?" he asked, his voice a rough growl. "Tell me exactly what you want. I want to hear you say it."
Heat flooded your face, but you were too far gone to care about embarrassment. "I want you inside me," you said, meeting his gaze defiantly despite the tremor in your voice. "I want you to fuck me. Hard. Right here on this desk."
Soshiro's eyes darkened further, his hands tightening on your ass. "No protection," he pointed out, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "We should stop."
The rational part of your brain knew he was right, but every other part of you screamed in protest at the thought of stopping now. "I'm on birth control," you heard yourself say. "And I'm clean. I get tested regularly." It was true—the Defense Force required medical checks every three months.
"Me too," Soshiro admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Clean, I mean. But are you sure? Because once we start, I'm not going to be able to stop. I'm not going to be gentle."
You grabbed his face between your hands, forcing him to look directly at you. "I don't want gentle," you said, emphasizing each word. "I want you to fuck me like you've been thinking about it for months. Because I have."
Something feral flashed in his eyes at your confession. "Months?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.
"Since the day you put me on my ass in combat training," you admitted, past caring about how pathetic it might sound. "You pinned me down, and all I could think about was how you'd feel on top of me in a very different context."
Soshiro cursed, the sound raw and heartfelt. "You have no idea how hard it was not to take you right there on the training mat," he growled, his hands moving to the fastening of your pants. "Every time you challenged me, every time you pushed back, I wanted to show you exactly who was in charge."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You lifted your hips, helping him as he yanked your pants and underwear down in one impatient motion. And then you were completely naked, perched on the edge of his desk, while he stood between your spread thighs, still half-clothed, his eyes devouring you.
"Fucking perfect," he murmured, one hand sliding up your inner thigh, his thumb brushing tantalizingly close to where you needed him most. "Spread wider for me."
You obeyed without hesitation, past shame, past everything but the desperate need for his touch. Soshiro's eyes darkened as he looked at you, at the glistening evidence of your arousal.
"So wet already," he said, his thumb finally, finally, brushing over your clit. Even that light touch was enough to make you buck against his hand, a broken sound escaping your throat. "And so sensitive. I've barely touched you."
"Then touch me properly," you demanded, frustration making you bold.
Soshiro's mouth curved into that dangerous smile again. "Still giving orders, even now?" he asked, his finger circling your entrance, teasing but not entering. "Still challenging me?"
You glared at him, even as your body trembled with need. "If you're not up to it—"
The taunt was cut off abruptly as he thrust two fingers inside you without warning, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. Your body clenched around him, adjusting to the stretch, to the delicious friction as he began to move his hand.
"What was that?" Soshiro asked, his voice deceptively mild even as his fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your vision blur. "I didn't quite catch it."
You couldn't answer, couldn't form words as he fucked you with his fingers, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. Pleasure built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your lower belly, your thighs beginning to shake.
"That's it," Soshiro encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go. Show me how good it feels."
Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, washing over you with unexpected intensity. You cried out his name, your body arching off the desk, clenching rhythmically around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
Before you could fully recover, Soshiro was undoing his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. He was huge, thick and hard, the head already glistening with pre-cum. Your mouth watered at the sight, your body clenching in anticipation despite having just come.
Soshiro positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your still-sensitive flesh. "Last chance to back out," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
In answer, you wrapped your legs around his waist, using your heels to pull him closer. "Fuck me," you demanded, past pride, past everything but the desperate need to feel him inside you. "Now, Soshiro."
He surged forward in one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch burned deliciously, your body struggling to accommodate his size. Soshiro groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
"So tight," he muttered, his voice raw. "So fucking perfect around my cock."
He gave you a moment to adjust, his self-control evident in the trembling of his muscles, the tension in his jaw. But you didn't want control—you wanted him wild, unleashed, all that deadly precision focused entirely on your pleasure.
"Move," you urged, rolling your hips against him. "I won't break."
Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. "No," he agreed, pulling back slowly before slamming back in with enough force to make the desk creak beneath you. "You won’t."
And then he was fucking you in earnest, each thrust deep and hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force to hold you exactly where he wanted you. The desk shook beneath you, papers scattering to the floor, but neither of you cared.
Soshiro's control was slipping, his movements becoming more erratic, more primal. One hand left your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his mouth. He bit down on the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder, marking you, claiming you.
"Mine," he growled against your skin, the possessiveness in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "Say it."
"Yours," you gasped, the word torn from you as he hit that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. "Fuck, Soshiro, I'm yours."
The admission seemed to break something loose in him. He redoubled his efforts, his pace punishing, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust. His free hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling it in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me again," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion and need. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
The dual stimulation was too much. Your second orgasm crashed over you with even greater intensity than the first, your inner walls clamping down on his length, milking him as pleasure consumed you. You screamed his name, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks that would still be visible tomorrow.
Soshiro followed you over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, his release hot and pulsing. He collapsed forward, bracing his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing you, his forehead pressed against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath.
For a long moment, the only sound in the office was your mingled breathing, harsh in the stillness. Reality began to seep back in slowly—the hard surface of the desk beneath you, the chill of the air on your sweat-dampened skin, the realization of what had just happened.
You'd just had sex with Vice-Captain Hoshina. On his desk. During punishment duty. After arguing about a romance novel.
Panic began to bubble up in your chest, but before it could take hold, Soshiro lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. To your surprise, there was no regret in his gaze, no coldness, just a satisfied gleam and something else, something almost tender.
"Don't," he said, correctly reading your expression. "Don't overthink it."
"But—" you began, uncertainty creeping in as the haze of lust receded.
Soshiro silenced you with a kiss, this one gentler than before but no less thorough. "We still have..." he glanced at the clock on the wall, "...about eight hours until someone comes to let us out." His mouth curved into a smile that was more genuine than his usual smirk. "Plenty of time to continue this debate about fiction versus reality."
his massive frame covering yours completely as he drives his thick cock deep inside you with a powerful thrust that forces the air from your lungs.
he is so big, stretching you open around his girth until the outline of him presses visibly against your lower belly, a prominent bulge rising and falling with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips. you gasp sharply at the sight, fingers clutching at his scarred shoulders while your walls flutter helplessly around the heavy intrusion, the pressure so intense it borders on overwhelming yet feels impossibly good.
he notices immediately, green eyes darkening with raw satisfaction as he watches the way his cock distends your tummy, the bulge shifting upward each time he sinks to the hilt.
toji groans low and rough, one large hand sliding down to press firmly over the swell, feeling himself move inside you through your soft skin. it sends a fresh wave of heat through both of you, your body tightening around him in response while he grinds deeper, savoring the way you struggle to take all of him. his voice comes out gravelly and teasing, murmuring how perfect you look stuffed full like this, how he can see every inch of what he is giving you right there beneath his palm.
the rhythm builds steadily, his hips snapping forward with controlled strength that makes the bulge in your abdomen more pronounced with each thrust.
you moan loudly, back arching as the head of his cock nudges against that sensitive spot deep inside, the visible proof of his size only heightening the pleasure. toji leans down closer, his muscular chest brushing your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he keeps one hand pressed to your tummy to feel the way he rearranges your insides. sweat glistens on his skin, muscles flexing with every movement, and he drinks in your reactions, the way your eyes glaze over and your lips part in breathless cries.
he fucks you like that for what feels like endless minutes, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, watching the bulge disappear and reappear with each stroke.
your body trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness and the relentless drag of his thick length against your walls and toji growls softly in approval, thumb circling over the raised outline as if marking his claim, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until pleasure crashes through you in shuddering waves.
he follows soon after, burying himself to the base and holding there while he fills you, the bulge lingering even as he softens slightly, his hand still resting possessively over your swollen tummy in the quiet aftermath.
olderbf!toji makes you squirt for the first time ♡
toji has you right where he wants you — pinned beneath him, cunt fluttering around his thick cock as he snaps his hips against yours, one of his large hands firm on your hip to keep you from squirming.
because with what he’s about to do, he knows you’ll try to run.
your older boyfriend has had you on the edge of squirting countless times — not that you knew that. every time you get close, you run from the feeling, squirming away from him nervously. the feeling was so familiar, yet so foreign. you just couldn’t allow yourself to let go.
toji won’t allow that tonight. if there’s one thing he desperately wants, it’s to see his pretty girlfriend squirting all over his dick, to watch you make a mess.
“aahhhnnn! — toji! — feels s’good,” you babble, both of your legs draped over his broad shoulders, cock buried deep inside of you as he hits every sensitive spot. spots only he could reach.
toji leans in, almost pressing his chest to yours, folding you into a filthy mating press — cock angled upwards to hit your g-spot with devastating skill. “that’s my girl, doin’ so good." he knew he had to praise you, relax you, convince you not to run.
then, the familiar pressure builds, legs beginning to shake as you draw closer to the edge. "baby, wait — mnghh — feels weird," you whine, pushing his chest with your palm, yet he doesn’t budge. not even an inch.
"don’t run from it, just trust me, atta girl,” he rasps, balls slapping against your skin, fucking you with fast, shallow thrusts. "y’can do it, doll."
you furrow your brows, desperately trying to fight the feeling. "toji, i’m serious! mnnn — feels like i’m gonna pee, please j-just — ahhh!" you whimper.
he takes both of your wrists in one of his large hands, pinning them above your head. “you ain’t gonna piss, — hah — just let it happen, baby,” he encourages, a knowing grin on his face.
his other hand snakes between your bodies, down to your clit, rubbing it side to side. your eyes widen as you feel it, that final push, that weird sensation that you desperately want to run from. but you don’t. it happens too fast, too soon.
a gush of clear fluid spurts out of you, spraying toji’s abs, his dick, and especially the sheets below you. your cheeks burn as you moan his name shamelessly, legs shaking on his shoulders. "that’s it, baby — shit — make a mess."
toji was almost possessed by the sight, pounding you faster, harder, determined to draw out every drop, to fuck you through every pulse. "o-oh my god, toji!" you pant, pressing your forehead to his, trembling from overstimulation.
he slows his pace just a little, leaning back to admire the mess you’d made, abs glistening with fluid and sweat. it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
"got no idea how fuckin’ hot that is," he pants lightly, removing his hand from between your legs, using it to rub your thigh soothingly instead.
"gonna do it again f’me, yeah?" he rasps, beginning to thrust into you again — mean, deep, hard.
you knew the entire bed would be drenched before he’s finished with you.
a/n; thank you for 4.2k MWAH 🖤 (sorry this one’s a little short i wrote it on my break)
“ WHEN YOUR CAPTAIN RUINS YOUR LIFE (AND YOUR LEGS) ” #Narumi Gen
synopsis: you wake up in narumi's quarters, completely unable to move after last night's activities. panicking about being late to morning training (where you're supposed to lead drills as a platoon leader) you frantically text gen — only to discover he's already at hq and has conveniently excused you from duty for "medical reasons."
a/n: to whoever requested this — you’re seriously a little freaky (in the best way), but I had a lot of fun writing it. don’t be shy about sending me more nsfw requests or ideas — i promise i don’t scare easily, and i love trying out different scenarios or dynamics you want to see written.
is it just me who absolutely LOVES smaus. Like they are such a fun read. It feels so much more interactive and fun than the usual fic and it makes me sm more entertained. Especially when the plots good too like YESSSS. Has me staying up till late just to finish reading one.
pls recommend smaus from any fandom I will literally read it no matter what they r SO FUN.
cw: joking ab breaking up, very stupid roblox games, suggestive texts from reader, tsuki being a big ole baby who misses his gf, job mention, plotting to put tsukishima in a sexy nurse costume 👅
— tobio’s nothing but a love-sick teenager with hormones except everything is directed to you.
kageyama tobio x telepath!f!reader
c: suggestive content (just an urge to bite the reader), hair description(s), cursing (a few)
i did put hinata and kageyama in the same class, yes, reader needs emotional support.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you don’t notice it right away.
at first, it’s just little things — you’re walking down the hall, and someone thinks ‘god, i should’ve studied for that math quiz,’ and you swear you heard it even though nobody said it out loud. you figure you’re sleep-deprived. nothing new.
but then, during lunch, hinata’s across the table from you shoving rice into his mouth like a vacuum cleaner, and you distinctly hear: ‘if i eat faster maybe kageyama won’t steal my meat bun.’
you choke.
“you okay?” hinata asks.
except the thoughts keep coming. they’re clear, loud, and sometimes very dumb. so dumb you consider asking a teacher if there’s, like, a brain parasite that makes you hear other people’s mental commentary.
and then comes the real test: gym class.
the boys’ volleyball team is practicing, which means hinata drags you along to “watch my sick jumps!!” you sit on the bleachers, doodling in your notebook, when a cold front settles nearby.
aka: kageyama tobio exists in your line of sight.
he doesn’t even look at you. he never looks at you. in fact, he’s the kind of guy who could sit next to you on a deserted island and still manage to act like you’re invisible.
you’ve tried to be friends before — said hi in the hallway, offered gum once, even smiled when hinata introduced you properly. every time, he just stared through you like you were a particularly boring wall.
so naturally, you’re bracing yourself for awkwardness when suddenly—
‘don’t sit so close to hinata. what if she likes him. no. no no no. shut up. don’t think about it. she smells good. crap. what shampoo is that. no. volleyball. think about volleyball. think about serves. don’t think about her mouth. oh god.’
…you blink.
the fuck.
‘she’s smiling. stop it. don’t smile at hinata. smile at me. no, don’t smile at me, i’ll combust. fuck. my hands are sweating. why are my hands sweating, i’m not even near her. oh my god, what if she hates me. she probably hates me. she should. i’m acting like a freak. i should talk to her. no, if i talk i’ll sound stupid. volleyball. volleyball volleyball volleyball—’
you almost fall off the bleachers.
because holy hell. holy hell.
kageyama tobio, the human brick wall, the guy who can’t even bother to acknowledge your existence, is apparently running a 24/7 internal radio show titled “i am catastrophically into you and it’s ruining my life.”
outwardly? stone-faced. inwardly? begging the universe to not let you catch him staring at your earlobe.
and the thing is… he’s not wrong. you’ve had a crush on him for ages, even though you told yourself it was hopeless. he’s talented, tall, ridiculously good-looking, and has that weird puppy-dog intensity that makes you want to pat his head and also run away.
you grip your notebook so tight it almost crumples.
this is either the best day of your life or the start of your villain arc.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you start testing it.
whenever hinata calls you over to hang out by the court, you sneak glances at kageyama, just to see if his brain is still malfunctioning. spoiler: it is.
‘she’s walking over. don’t look. no, look a little. too much. she caught you. oh god. i’m sweating again. why is she standing closer. her knee almost brushed mine. i would die. i would literally die if she touched me. is she listening? she’s not listening. thank god. wait, is she?’
he shifts away like you’re contagious.
you smile, because you’re evil.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the thing about kageyama is, he tries so hard to act like he doesn’t care. but his brain? his brain is a live feed of him spiraling every time you breathe. it’s actually kind of flattering.
and also terrifying.
yesterday, you wore your hair up.
‘her neck is out. her NECK is OUT. who told her she could do that. i can see her pulse. i could bite—NO. STOP. think about sets. think about serves. don’t think about biting. what’s wrong with me.’
you choked so hard on your juice box that hinata had to smack your back.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the end of the week, you’ve come to terms with it:
you can read minds.
kageyama tobio is mentally unwell, and you are the illness.
you kind of… like it.
okay. more than like it. your crush has officially upgraded from “he’s cute” to “i might need to start a diary just to process the things he thinks about me.”
the real problem? pretending you don’t know.
because kageyama is still acting like you don’t exist — glaring, grunting, ignoring your attempts at small talk — even while his brain is writing love letters in 4k resolution.
you’re not sure how long you can keep a straight face.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by now, you’ve learned to brace yourself whenever kageyama’s around.
not because of him, really — no, if it were just the face, the sharp eyes, the arms that look unfairly good under a t-shirt, you’d be fine. but the thoughts? his thoughts are like turning on the tv at midnight and stumbling across a channel that shouldn’t exist.
case in point: you walk into class one morning, half-asleep, hair a little messy because you rushed.
he’s already there. you don’t look at him. you try not to.
‘bed hair. she has bed hair. she rolled out of bed like that. oh my god. what if she was dreaming. who was she dreaming about. no. don’t think about her dreaming. stop. her pillow probably smells like her. what if—’
you nearly slam your head into your desk.
“you good?” hinata whispers, side-eyeing you as you drop into the seat beside him like your soul just left your body.
“peachy,” you croak, because explaining that kageyama just mentally narrated your entire morning vibe is not an option.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it gets worse at lunch.
hinata waves you over, patting the empty seat at the table. you’re about to sit down when you hear it:
‘don’t sit next to hinata. sit here. sit next to me. oh god, she’s coming. she’s actually—her knee’s almost touching mine. her thigh—’
you sit.
kageyama immediately shifts away, scowling at nothing.
you blink at him. he refuses to meet your eyes.
his brain, though? absolute chaos.
‘why did she sit next to me. why. is she doing this on purpose. she’s too close. i can smell her. she smells like fruit. what fruit is that. peach? strawberry? i’d eat it off her—NO. shut up. eat your rice. don’t look. don’t look at her lips. stop. volleyball. volleyball volleyball volleyball—’
he stabs his food like it personally wronged him.
hinata chats with you like nothing’s weird, but you’re fighting for your life not to snort-laugh into your lunch.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you start noticing things.
like how kageyama somehow always ends up behind you in the hallway, trailing a few steps back. or how he never talks directly to you, but his eyes flick toward you whenever he thinks you’re not looking.
and then there are his thoughts — wild, yes, but… scarily observant.
‘she always chews her pen when she’s thinking. she’ll get ink on her lips like that. does she know she tilts her head when she reads. her shoelaces are loose. what if she trips. i’d catch her. i’d—NO. shut up. don’t think about holding her. idiot. stop it.’
you drop your pen mid-homework.
there is no reason on earth for him to know that much.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the true horror, though, comes in the form of p.e.
you’re sitting out with a couple girls, watching while the class runs laps, when kageyama’s brain decides to become pay-per-view horror content:
‘she’s sitting. her skirt’s riding up. i can see her knee. don’t look. don’t look. crap, i looked. don’t imagine what’s under. STOP. oh god. what if the wind—NO. kill me. kill me right now. run faster. distract yourself. volleyball. volleyball. but what if she bent over— NOOO.’
you nearly eat dirt from laughing so hard.
the other girls side-eye you like you’ve lost it.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
that night, you can’t stop thinking about it.
your crush is bad enough already — he’s unfairly good at everything, tall, athletic, with that dumb serious face that makes your stomach flip. and now? now you know he’s secretly losing his mind over you.
but he’s also insane. in the funniest, dumbest, most teenage-boy way possible.
you bury your face in your pillow.
this is going to kill you.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you don’t even notice at first.
practice runs late, the gym is emptying, and you’re waiting for hinata, scrolling on your phone while kageyama lingers behind to put away equipment.
it’s quiet.
too quiet.
and then — footsteps. fast, uneven.
before you can look up, he’s standing right in front of you, chest rising like he just ran a marathon.
you blink. “uh—”
“i can’t stop.”
oh no.
‘she’s so close. she doesn’t know what she does to me. every day. every second. i count how many times she looks at me. i know her laugh by heart. i know the way her hands shake when she’s nervous. i know how long she spends tying her shoes in the morning. i know she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s concentrating. i know everything. i watch everything. i shouldn’t. i shouldn’t. but i can’t stop.’
your phone slips in your hand.
you stare at him.
he’s staring at you, trembling, like he’s physically holding back an earthquake.
“kageyama—”
“you don’t get it,” he blurts, voice too loud, too raw. “i tried to ignore you. i tried to act like you weren’t there. but i can’t. i can’t think about volleyball, i can’t sleep, i can’t do anything without you being in my head.”
his brain is spiraling, a live firestorm:
‘she’s gonna run. i sound insane. i AM insane. but i don’t care. i’d burn my whole life if she asked. i’d quit volleyball if she told me to. i’d kneel if she told me to. i’d follow her anywhere. i’d chain her to me if it meant she’d stay. she has to stay. i’ll make her stay.’
your breath catches.
he steps closer, too close, eyes wild.
“i like you,” he grits out, then shakes his head like that’s not enough. “no. it’s worse than that. i’m—i’m messed up about you. i think about you all the time. the way you laugh, the way you smell, the way your lips look when you’re eating, when you’re—” he cuts himself off, face blazing red, teeth clenched.
‘don’t say it. don’t say it. i can’t tell her i think about her mouth at night. i can’t tell her i want to kiss her until she cries. i can’t tell her i want her so bad it hurts. she’ll hate me. she’ll hate me. but i can’t stop.’
he fists his hands at his sides, shaking.
his eyes dart to your mouth.
then away.
then back again.
“say something,” he rasps. “please. i’m gonna lose it if you don’t.”
and god, you should be scared.
this is insane. this is kageyama tobio cracking open like a dam, drowning you in everything he’s been swallowing down for months.
but you’re not scared.
your heart’s racing, your face is hot, and all you can think is finally.
finally, he said it. finally, he’s not pretending you don’t exist. finally, the boy whose brain has been screaming your name for weeks is letting it spill out where you can see it.
you stand, so close your chest brushes his, and whisper, “then lose it.”
he freezes.
‘lose it. lose it? she said lose it. oh god. she wants me to. she actually—i’m gonna explode. i’m gonna kiss her. no. yes. no. i can’t hold back. i can’t.’
and kiss you, he does.
his mouth crashes onto yours, messy, desperate, nothing like the movies. he kisses like he sets — sharp, precise, but with terrifying force, like if he doesn’t pour every ounce of himself into it, it won’t land.
your knees nearly give out. you grab his jacket, dragging him closer, and he groans against your lips, thoughts spiraling out of control:
‘she’s kissing me. she’s kissing me. she’s mine. mine. mine. i’ll never let her go. i can’t. i won’t. she’s all i want. all i need. i’ll die like this and i’ll be happy.’
when he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, he presses his forehead to yours, whispering like a confession in church:
“i don’t just like you. i want every piece of you. all the time. and i know it’s too much. but i can’t make it less. i can’t make you less.”
and with his thoughts still screaming your name like a prayer, you realize you don’t want him to.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: i have a bonus for this but i might get burned at the stake if i put it here.
— kageyama kept your relationship a secret because he wanted to protect you; but he’s probably the one that needs protection.
timeskip!kageyama tobio x IT GIRL!reader
@kageyamasluvrgirl’s request, i can't mention for some reason.
this was like in 2018+ or something so still twt.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
if you asked anyone on the adlers, or anyone who played volleyball in japan, or hell—even anyone who had seen kageyama tobio’s face plastered on a sports magazine cover—what it was like to date him, you’d probably get the same answers.
“must be hard.”
“he’s so serious all the time.”
“athletes don’t have free time.”
“he probably forgets anniversaries.”
wrong, wrong, wrong.
being kageyama tobio’s girlfriend was easy. effortless, even. he gave you everything without realizing he was giving it: his trust, his time, his ridiculous need to feed you every new snack he discovered. and he loved you in the only way he knew how—direct, blunt, without a single filter.
no. the hard part wasn’t him.
the hard part was being you.
because you weren’t just a normal girlfriend. you were THE it girl.
and unfortunately for kageyama, that meant the entire world wanted you, too.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the first problem was the games.
people swore they came to watch volleyball, but the moment you took a front-row seat, it was over. the match was background noise. the main event was you: sunglasses perched on your nose, outfit coordinated like you were walking a runway, legs crossed casually like the stadium belonged to you.
and the tweets proved it.
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
@volleychokehold: i’m supposed to be watching adlers vs black jackals but i can’t stop staring at the girl in the front row.
@kneepadsandknees: WHO is she?? how do we get her instagram??
@netblock69: she looked at kageyama once. i’d sell my soul to be kageyama.
@hotpotboy: that girl is dressed like she’s going to brunch with god.
@thirstydinner: respectfully i would bark for her. unrespectfully i would cream for her.
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
meanwhile, tobio was on the court trying not to implode.
he saw you in the crowd, staring at him like he gave you the milky way. and he loved it, god he loved it—but so did everyone else.
and he hated that.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
his breaking point wasn’t even volleyball-related.
your agency had set you up for a food/lifestyle campaign. nothing crazy—just a cute shoot for onigiri miya, osamu’s restaurant. the plan was simple: pose with the twins, eat some onigiri, laugh for the camera.
except… the pictures dropped and suddenly everyone online was screaming because the it girl was sitting between two miyas.
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
@onigirifan: wait wait wait… she’s collabing with OSAMU and ATSUMU????
@kneepadsnheels: nah bro this feels like a sitcom episode.
@vballtea: the way kageyama’s prolly crying rn.
@boke4life: the twins look like they’re fighting for joint custody of her.
@fashionstan88: she makes eating an onigiri look like a runway walk. i want her to eat me next.
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
kageyama saw the post mid-practice.
at first, he froze. then he frowned. then he squinted at the screen like it was a physics problem.
“…why are there two ats—”
“don’t say it,” hinata groaned, he just wanted to practice with kageyama after awhile.
“no, seriously,” kageyama jabbed his phone at him. “why are there TWO atsumus??”
“that’s osamu! his twin!”
“his WHAT?”
“his twin brother! he owns the restaurant!”
“…you’re lying.”
“i’m not lying!”
“then why do they look the same?”
“BECAUSE THEY’RE TWINS.”
“…so… one’s fake?”
“oh my god.”
hinata gave up.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the time he got home, kageyama had worked himself into a state. his instagram blew up that night with a carousel so uncharacteristically dramatic people thought his account got hacked.
you in his hoodie, hair messy, holding a mug of tea.
you asleep on his chest with his arm around you.
a selfie of you glaring at him because he snuck a photo mid-bite of ice cream.
the two of you in matching slippers.
caption: mine.
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
the replies were instant chaos:
@liberolover69: KAGEYAMA STRAIGHT UP WENT “SHE’S MINE” LMAO
@spikemeup: man saw the twin collab and blacked out.
@bestmiyatsumu: BRO???
@onigirimiyaofc: imagine beefing with me just bc i let her eat my onigiri 💀
@hinatashoyo010: kageyama, SAY THEIR NAMES. who’s who??
@kageyamaofficial: …atsumu 1 and atsumu 2.
@onigirimiyaofc: BROOOOOOO.
@bestmiyatsumu: i’m just that good??
𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
home
you were lounging on the couch when he stormed in, tossed his bag, and immediately crawled onto you like a man starved.
“…tobio?” you laughed, caught under his weight. “what’s with the dramatics?”
he muffled into your neck: “why were there two atsumus.”
you blinked, then started cackling. “oh my god. babe. they’re twins.”
“no, that’s impossible.”
“tobio. they’re brothers. twins. literally born together.”
“then why do they look the same?”
“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT TWINS ARE.”
he groaned, tightening his arms around you like he could squeeze the embarrassment away. “don’t care. mine. you’re mine.”
“you’re actually insane.” you carded your fingers through his hair.
“good.” his voice was stubborn and muffled. “stay here. cuddles now.”
and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, but you still pulled him closer anyway.
— tobio forgets his jersey number but remembers the exact time you first sneezed in front of him.
ts!kageyama tobio x f!reader
c: fluff!!
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
kageyama tobio is the kind of man who could probably forget his own shoe size if volleyball didn’t require footwear. which is fine. understandable. tragic, even—because he’s a professional athlete, his body is the business, and yet his brain… sometimes takes detours.
like the time during practice when he blankly stared at the back of his own jersey as if someone had written quantum physics instead of a simple number. his teammates swore they saw smoke leaving his ears.
“kageyama,” ushijima asked, patient like a saint. “are you… lost?”
and kageyama, with that blunt honesty of his, replied, “i don’t know what number i am.”
silence. echoing silence. the kind of silence that could age wine.
“your jersey,” hoshiumi said carefully, as though speaking to a feral animal. “has the number. right there. on your back. it’s been the same for so long, kageyama.”
“oh,” he muttered. “right. i forgot.”
the entire adlers team collectively had to sit down, not because the revelation was earth-shattering, but because they could not comprehend how a setter of his caliber could erase his own numerical existence.
but then. oh, then.
someone (a random guy named berto) made the mistake of asking why—if his memory was apparently this hole-ridden—he somehow, without fail, could recall your birthday down to the exact minute.
and kageyama, red in the face, ears blazing like twin traffic lights, shouted so loudly the rafters shook:
“BECAUSE IT MATTERS MORE!!”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and that, dear reader, is when everyone realized: kageyama’s brain runs exclusively on two modes—volleyball and you.
and unfortunately for volleyball, it had to share space with the gravitational pull that is you, his girlfriend, his universe, the reason he knows the exact second you once tripped on a crack in the sidewalk two years ago (“2:47 pm, april 16th,” he recites without blinking, as if the event is carved into marble).
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
kageyama doesn’t just love you. he lives you. eats, sleeps, breathes you.
example:
you once offhandedly mentioned you liked the smell of strawberries. normal boyfriend move would be to buy you strawberries.
kageyama’s next move?
he bought enough strawberries to make the kitchen look like a crime scene. then panicked because “what if she doesn’t like them that much” and ended up googling “can strawberries expire faster if i stare at them” at 2 a.m.
another time, you told him you liked how warm his hands were.
and suddenly, every chance he gets, he’s grabbing your hand, clutching it like he’s trying to convince fate itself that you’ll never let go. even during games. ushijima once had to physically pry him off your wrist before a match because, in kageyama’s words, “her hands get cold if i’m not holding them. what if she dies?”
the dramatics are unparalleled.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the obsession devotion reaches its peak whenever your name comes up around the team.
someone starts, “so, y/n—”
kageyama who’s whipping his head around so fast doctors would warn about spinal damage “what about her? what did you say? do you like her? YOU CAN’T LIKE HER. SHE’S MINE.”
ushijima, calmly sipping water, “i said she made good cookies.”
kageyama blinks, “oh. yeah. she does. really good. amazing. the best. she’s the best. you’re not allowed to have any.”
hoshiumi snickers, hand covering his mouth, “she literally gave me some yesterday.”
kageyama, scandalized, gripping the floor like it betrayed him, “WHAT—”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and yet, despite being a human disaster in love’s clothing, he is also the sweetest kind of devoted.
he sets reminders for every tiny detail you’ve ever given him:
your favorite pen ink color (0.5 mm, black, smooth tip, no exceptions).
the exact shade of sweater you once said made you feel “like a cinnamon bun” (he ordered three in bulk).
the minute you first laughed at one of his lame volleyball analogies (“10:36 am, august 3rd. it was about pancakes. she laughed at pancakes. it was beautiful”).
he doesn’t forget these things because they matter. to him, you are a library of holy scripture and he’s memorized every verse.
and when you ask him why he can’t remember his own jersey number but can rattle off the date and time you first sneezed in front of him, he simply answers—face serious, eyes sharp, heart loud:
“jerseys change. numbers change. but you—” he pauses, as if words aren’t enough. “you don’t. and i don’t want to forget anything about you. ever.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you laugh, because it’s so him. clumsy, blunt, desperate, the kind of love that’s too big for his chest.
“tobio,” you tease, ruffling his hair, “you sound like a stalker.”
he frowns. “no. stalkers don’t care about birthdays.”
and honestly? fair point.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
he may forget his jersey. his shoe size. his locker combination.
but he’ll never, ever forget you.
to him, you’re the game. the victory. the only scoreboard that matters.
and if he has to scream it from the rooftops until the world finally gets it, he will:
❛ gloria, i wanna take you to euphoria ! ❜ ✶ ࣪˖࿐ * sakadays multi characters
꒰ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ──── contents: suggestive, gn reader, making out, spitting, dry humping, hickeys┆ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ how they kiss you…
꒰ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ──── featured on this disc: yoichi nagumo, natsuki seba, shin asakura
╰⪼┆nagumo kisses you like you’re both in a constant game of cat and mouse. it’s competitive and intoxicating with a strong surge of adrenaline bustling through your veins but oftentimes it’s fleeting.
he allows for his bottom lip to gently graze yours then retracts himself from your vicinity with the mere purpose of seeing the dazed look on your face that was anticipating more. he enjoys the shocked gasp and reprimand that comes from you, followed by a murmur of “dickhead.” which he classically retorts with, “hey, that’s not nice!”
the roles switches up constantly, something he indulges in, but a sick part of him can’t help but bask in the sight of you desperately grinding down on his clothed crotch with your forehead littered by sweat as you incoherently rasp in his ear for him to kiss you harder. his mouth twists up in a sadistic manner against the column of your neck, “hm? want more neck kisses?” he feigns innocence.
his playing dumb act grinds your gears to the fullest and makes you want to choke him out till your heart’s content but he’d probably brush off your actions with a snippy comeback.
you loudly groan in frustration and his eyebrows pull up at your outburst, your hips halt against his pelvis, “god, do i have to spell everything out for you?” you grab a fist full of his noir hair to perfectly align his head with your face, “kiss me properly, nagumo.. on the lips.”
he likes seeing you all riled up. he tauntingly smirks, “ah! you should’ve just asked, silly.” before you can argue on that’s what you were doing in the first place, he encloses the space, humming contently. your lips moves together in sync, rapidly harmonizing in a sensual way. his tattooed hands slip under your shirt caressing the bare skin but the small delight comes to a pause once he uses his teeth to gently pull at your bottom lip, teasingly letting it go out from his hold. he drily chuckles at you chasing after his lips for more.
╰⪼┆natsuki kisses you like a pornstar in love. it’s lewd but intimate, igniting an untamed flame in the pit of your stomach, rapidly flickering waiting to be extinguished, but your heart beats erratically against your chest with warmth blooming around the organ.
it can be messy at times with his saliva smearing onto your chin and drippling off, or, it can be sweet and memorable leaving you smitten with butterflies for the rest of the day; pick your poison, he doesn’t mind either way.
he likes to sneak up on you— at first it was an occasional habit he’d done unintentionally but now he uses his airy footsteps to his advantage. slithering his toned arm around your stomach to pull you closer to his broad chest and grips at your jaw with his calloused hand to tilt your head upwards to somewhat face him
“open your mouth.” he calmly instructs, as if what he planned to do next was just a run-on-the-mill activity. you comply and suddenly feel a warm droplet of spit land onto your tongue, your eyes widens and before a squeal could erupt from your throat he captures your lips with his.
natsuki pants heavily against your mouth his hot tongue hastily collides with yours as he subconsciously begins to rut himself into your figure, his eyebrows deeply furrows together. his lips are soft on yours but has intensity far too hot to handle. “s-slow down natsu…” your meek voice trembles in between the heated kisses.
his usual nonchalant complacence crumbles apart. his plump lips glistens once he pulls away, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you. “can’t. sorry. you just taste so damn good.” some darken strands of hair stick to his forehead; he’s dizzy but pushes through to quench his thirst.
╰⪼┆shin kisses you like he’s almost afraid of you. he’s not and he swears by it but the way his body stiffens with his shoulders nearing his ears and rigid lips stilled has you thinking the former. he touches you as if you’re a porcelain doll glossed over with iridescent medium, and that sometimes translates into his fear of messing up.
he gets in his head a lot and stays there. but as the relationship progresses, he gains his confidence within his abilities to please you and once that layer of skin grows, that’s all he dedicates himself to. he’s rough which causes teeth to clash but he’s also sweetly passionate with his movements.
an extremely slow day at sakamoto’s store leads to you on top of the store counter with him between your legs. he disregards the opportunity to flip over the closed sign— the thought of being caught fuelled something dubious inside of him.
his large palms roam from your thighs to grazing over your chest eliciting a choked up gasp from you. he’d become too cocky, perhaps for his own good. his lips moved with delicious vigour against yours, slowly increasing the tempo with every passing second. soft grunts and huffs comes from the blond mixed in with your panting.
“is this too much?” he asked as he departs from your space with antsy eyes. you whine restlessly, “it’s not enough.” you tug at the belt loops of his baggy jeans, pulling him back in your vicinity and his face plants in the crock of your neck instead. suckling and nipping at the delicate skin and swirling his tongue around the area. your whimpers fills his ears like a lullaby.
eventually, his ministrations cause a darken bruise to appear. he ogles at the sight that encourages him to continue but an unfamiliar intruding thought enters his mind. a customer outside was planning on coming in and purchasing pockys. and while shin knows it would be morally ethical to put a stop to your activities, he can’t find the strength to do so. he’s completely and utterly drunk off by your smell and touch; what a bad influence you are.
