Hey there! I came across you in the tags and I just wanted to ask if you'd add a note at the top of your fics to specify reader gender? I'm trans and it can be kinda upsetting to settle in to read a fic I think looks good, then lowk get misgendered đ
All the love, have a good day
hiii thank you for brining this to my attention as i didnât realise iâll be sure to make this change going forward. đ
contains: fluff, reader crocheting because i do, sukuna not knowing what to do, readers love language is gift giving?, uncle sukuna
toji x sukuna x reader masterlist
sukuna isnât one to expect people to do things to make his life easier in the way that you do. heâs much happier to complain in a passing conversation and then accept his new reality or change it himself if needed.
he didnât get why you listened to the slightest of grievances and actuallly proposed solutions when it just wasnât that serious. which is how we got here.
sukuna making a recipe that the two of you knew all too well whilst you lingered having been told he liked cooking for you.
you look around the now decorated kitchen from all the gifts youâd gotten and made for him rather than the bleak and boring scene it was. until the round and darkâ presumably coffee stains that litter the kitchen island catch your eye.
âthought you were a clean freak.â you laugh turning back to a now confused sukuna who hums as if asking âwhat?â then looks behind you and mutters a small âyujis fault. canât find a coaster for shit.â
yuji had slowly started to reclaim sukunaâs apartment as his own under the guise of missing his favourite and only uncle when really it was the only place he could play his games freely after getting grounded for eons.
again you look around at the seemingly invisible things then turn back to the chef with a grin that could only be described as plotting.
âdonât look at me like that.â he sighs. the sounds of the knife hitting the chopping board gradually quietens before he moves to face you, palms planted on the counter.
âlike what?â your tone is smooth and taunting. something that makes sukuna look away to hide his own growing smile! its moments like this that he still hasnât become fully invitational of. âiâm just saying that it looks like you canât keep coasters, and maybe if they were made with love them you wouldnât.â
his scoff is incredulous because just like before youâd swoop in like it was moral obligation to kiss his wounds better when he didnât even have any. itâs the same as the scarf you made him when choso stole his, or the oven mitts even though he told you a couple burns werenât that serious.
sukuna was unsurprisingly quiet for the most part but manages to whisper a reassurance that there was no need to but of course you wouldnât listen.
.
.
one day, one skein and 4 new additions to sukunaâs kitchen that were bound to make his heart clench in a way that would render him speechless for a couple hours.
he already knew when he opened the door.
he already knew when you pulled out something neatly wrapped and laid it out for him to open.
and you already knew that no matter his objections claiming it was a waste of time he was more than grateful. despite not being able to string a couple of words together sukuna was willing to show it in other ways.
rafe gets into a fight with his dad and finally makes the call instead of lingering
âyou shut your fuckin mouth rafe! think you can step up for me? fuckin failure that's what you are!â ward's backed rafe into a corner now pushing him with every word. at first rafe tried to defend himself, y'know get a couple words before his fathers became too real. too true.
ward gives him a final look of disgust before pushing rafe's head back once more and slamming the door. rafe screams throwing the lamp beside him causing glass to skid across the polished wooden floors. âfucking failure my ass, i've done the most for this bullshit family. don't see sarah going out of her way to help anyone of us.â rafe continues to shout ignoring the fact that the rest of his family was still trying to fall asleep.
all he could think of was running back to his room and calling you, but he couldn't. not because you blocked him or anything you were too indifferent for that, and it scared him. scared him enough to not call for two months and fall back into his deplorable party life.
everyone noticed because even a blind man could see rafe wasn't as great as he wanted to be. the excess usage and anger, swallowing anything in a red solo cup like it was second nature. but no one cared enough to mention it and if they did they weren't ready to meet his wrath over a simple âare you okay?â
topper and kelce were fine with it because they finally got their friend back from the oh so evil witch that tried steer him on the right path. so as soon as rafe started declining the fancy parties or the borderline aa meetings they decided you ruined him. sarah barely interacted with him due to his violent outbursts becoming more common even when you were with him she kept a safe distance. he'd burnt so many bridges that the only ones that remained were pulling him further down.
rafe hurried up the stairs like his footsteps volume would cover the soft sniffles that refused to stop. to make matters worse whilst running he stubbed his toe and as per usual he made it a problem for everyone in the house. âfuck!â he screams. âstupid fuckin stairs.â
he finally gets to his room and scrambles for his phone before curling up on his bed and hesitantly bringing his finger to call the contact 'my pretty girl'. he didn't change it, couldn't bring himself to because somewhere in that twisted mind of his he held hope that you wouldn't leave. that you guys would get back together and everything would be perfect again.
at the same time he also knew you were always clear on your boundaries but one call for peace of mind was worth whatever punishment he got and if it was from you he'd be fine.
you're forced awake as your ringtone blares in your ears a single 'x' on the screen. âhello?â you yawn. rafe doesn't reply at first; sure he's thought about this moment a trillion times but having it play out the same as his dreams wasn't expected. âi need you.â he cries, trying to calm himself with the sound of soft breaths and muffled jazz on the other side. you roll your eyes having remembered you explicitly instructing him not to contact you again. it was only meant to be for a week or two but seeing how peaceful life was without rafe just extended your timing.
âwrong number rafe you need a therapist.â âno no no i just need you just stay on the phone...please?â his whiny voice brought a subtle grin to your face, after all begging is one of the many ways to your heart so you decided to humour him. âwhat is it rafe?â
he breathes raggedly in attempts to go back to his normal self. âmy uh dad.â he sniffles with every word and it almost makes you feel bad for the guy. almost. âdo i have to remind you of how good you're doing without me?â rafe groans forcing his head further into his pillow, after the breakup he'd spammed you with texts that relayed the same message of him not needing you and when he got no response he just got more embarrassed.
âi don't wanna be better jus' yours i swear. i promise i promise.â he repeats the words like theyâre prayer tiring himself out every time he speaks. you let out a blithe giggle that calls him closer to the phone. âyou were mine rafey.â your teeth caught your bottom lip. âbut you're insensitive and i'm not.â âi know your the kindest most prettiest girl in the world baby and i don't wanna be me if you don't like it.â âdon't flatter me rafe.â you purred rolling your eyes at the smile his words gifted you.
âyou deserve it. not any of the shit i put you through.â âyou can't respect me and not yourself rafe. its not good for you.â he groans ânothingâs good for me except you.â the two of you sit in silence processing the words just exchanged. âyou wanna come over.â he murmurs cautiously hiding his face from the phone as if you were watching his every move. ânow why would i come to you.â âsorry i'm sorry. can i come over?â
you pause already knowing your answer but to have him struggle with the suspense is an opportunity you couldn't pass up. âhmmm. but youâre not nice rafey not to me not to a lot of people.â your words were like a stab to the chest especially with their candied tone. he sat up quickly forcing his brain to find anything to convince you. âc'mon i gotta see you baby. iâll be good iâll be nice ill be whatever you need me to be. iâll apologise to you and anyone you want i swear it.â
âalright alright just bring me some snacks will you?â
sure enough rafe grabs his keys and runs to kitchen grabbing any snack he thought you'd like. he gets to his car dropping the bag in the passenger before speeding off. he almost runs a red with his eagerness but who was to blame him he was gonna see his girl even if it was only for the one night.
the tires screeched against the gravel from your driveway signalling his arrival though it took 10 minutes or so for him to actually open the door. rafe spent the first five telling himself to be normal and strangling the wheel to death and the next pacing infront of your door which was entertaining to watch from the camera.
when he finally grabbed the key from under the plant potâbecause you knew he was never going to disrespect you like that and force you to change itâs placeâhe creeped up the stairs bag awkwardly swaying with each step before reaching your room. ârafe?â he took that as invitation to come in but before you could give him a lecture on how he had to stay on the far end of the bed as tall as he was he crawled over to you and laid his head on your chest.
you laughed softly trying to push the man off of you but he refused taking you sitting up as the opportunity to wrap his hands around you. âmissed you.â his breath fanned across your skin. âyouâre not a dog rafe get off.â âdonât do that. iâd be anything for you.â âyou gotta move rafe the tv.â âjusâ stay there okay tell me what to do.â he was talking like youâd dissipate if you moved an inch but who gives up the chance to boss the âmanliest man everâ around.
the two of you laid on the bed rafe still holding you like he wasnât planning to let you move and âconstantineâ played on the tv. your hand cradled his cheek admiring the remnants of tears stuck to his skin and his puffy eyes. âyou get prettier when you cry.â all he could do was stare at you. your eyes, your nose. your lips.
he raised a hand to squeeze your face and kiss you softly. âneed to stop watching this dc bullshit.â you laughed and swatted his hand away. ânot sure you have speaking privileges if you like marvel.â squishing his own in return.
currently watching constantine if you couldn't tell
contains : reader lowkey cheating but itâs justified imo, toji being sukunas number 1 hater, sukuna being a bad husband but later trying to be better
this is part 1/?
life wasnt all bad considering you were married to the richest man youâd ever known. contrary to the elites words money does by happiness, just momentarily.
because as soon as your back from a shopping spree done rightâ weâre talking laces and silks that are guilt pleasures to the average personâ that happiness disintegrates the moment you step inside somewhere youâre meant to call home and are reminded of the absolute bleakness in every aspect of it.
now your sat in the same dressing room you have been which is starting to make you insane as the stark white light glares down on you. normally itâs the other way around where a husband watches in such great astonishment whilst his wife tries on a plethora of fabrics and hues, not a wife being told to rate 4 different blacks that look the exact same even to a trained eye.
âboring, boring and boring.â you sighed heavily, admiring yourself in the mirror that the brutes unnecessarily large frame dominates. sukuna adjusts his cufflinks for the hundredth time, stares as fondly as someone like him could at his reflection and motions the cashier over.
soon enough the spontaneous dinners and gifts that kept the marriage in its never ending honeymoon phase faded into black. replaced with wordless passings in hallways, strange men filtering in and out of the place you were supposed to call home and the tacky stench alcohol that refused to leave your side.
someone who gave you a promise land that he swore to share with you now practically lives in his office. first you thought sukuna clearly didnât want to be around you, then it was questioning the sanctity of the seemingly pointless marriage and it finally dawned on you that itâs not you he fell out of love with itâs his business that he just loves more.
he ignores your comment picking up his now blaring phone and walks away mumbling something about work as always and disappears. you wait around for a while, browsing your own options as the store clerk saunters over. smiling over the dresses colour and how it would match with yours but before you can even give her a polite smile sukuna is rushing in with a stern âcar. now.â like you were a child. like you had no agency of your own.
the drive is anything but the calm attitude that he tries to portray. his jaw ticks. eyes locked on outside the window like he reminiscing in something that stays forever unchanged. not to mention the wheel almost combusting at the amount of pressure on it.
âyou should speak your mind before you crash this car.â you snide and he lets out an annoyed sigh. âthe more you speak the more iâm inclined to.â the remark isnât foreign to him, almost like he mightâve considered it.
and they say romance is dead.
itâs weird how your lives have come to this, from the most lovey dovey couple that people came to admire and look to for imaginary relationship goals to two people who could only be in each others line of sight for so long before the tension was practically waving a bright green sign for all to see.
the gps chimes and a âREROUTINGâ alert pops up the screen, prompting you to look outside to the now unrecognisable route and then to sukunaâs lack of expression.
âyou havenât forgotten the way to your own house have you?â. taunting the person most cable of cutting your life short wasnât the smartest of things you could have done but heâs become so used to it that he only grunts in response before the car turns left and begins to slow on to a gravel path.
was this finally it? was he bringing you to a secret location where heâd murder you or worse, keep you estranged from anything and everything. he pulls into a discreet house nothing to broadcast really but not a shack just, quaint.
a man is already outside letting a cigarette fall to the ground as smoke clouds around him emphasising the ghastly visual. he smirks and its sharpâ goading like he wants to fight. when he reaches the car heâs already leaning on it like itâs his own, sukuna pays it no mind because thatâs most likely just him but it irks you in the strangest way.
sukuna steps out to talk out of earshot moving further into the unfamiliar territory, the man is barely focused on the conversation staring right past your husband and at you. maybe eye contact wasnât a strength of yours or maybe his was lethal either way you quickly found something on your phone to keep some sort of barrier between the two of you.
the distant voices come to a stop and the sound of gravel shifting towards you starts. âtoji,â sukuna introduces whilst the other stays silent, âprotection until i get some things sorted.â you scoff followed by an onslaught of words that no marigge with an inkling of normality would ever meet. he whispers a faint âyou done?â and youâre already storming away and into your new home.
the place is quiet, has an absence of humanity it it even could; bleak walls that just scream iâm gonna murder you.
you look around almost tripping over a black bag thatâs obviously out of place, but the sound of the door whining open is enough for you to draw your hand back from exploring. âfound something interesting?â toji asks lingering at the door, eyes tracking your slowing movements.
âyouâre staying here?â you ponder turning to meet a smile that is the slightest bit disingenuous.
âno weâre staying here.â
.
it was like you could literally feel the evil swirling around you but it was just toji. draped in all black to look somewhat smart but he managed to ruin that image with his mouth. a series of obscene words that created vivid images which for some reason he couldnât keep to himself. and pet names that no married woman would appreciate.
itâd been a couple days of tiptoeing around the house to avoid anymore interaction than needed but toni revels in the art of making people uncomfortable.
luckily for him sukuna wasnât much of the possessive angry type he was before so it made his stalker level planning safer, just like today.
like normal you woke up, ready to swiftly move in and out of the kitchen as to not be noticed. you stood infront of the stove, oil already splattering onto surfaces, and dragging your hands down your face wiping the sleep away.
mornings in the place were surprisingly calming with the low hums of whatever roamed outside and the hum of the running pond.
toji heard you. he always does. maybe because he wakes up at abnormal times and holds himself stiff against the mattress so you wouldnât be woken up. even though heâs been trained in the ways of sneaking aaround like a literal ninja.
he lies there and listens to your relentless grumbles because fair enough your whole world went to shit, a child that barely know how to run his own business for a husband. but you got a new house with a hot body guard so pros and cons.
thereâs no real answer to why he does small things like that other than itâs intended to bring solace but to you or him?
contains : reader lowkey cheating but itâs justified imo, toji being sukunas number 1 hater, sukuna being a bad husband but later trying to be better
this is part 1/?
life wasnt all bad considering you were married to the richest man youâd ever known. contrary to the elites words money does by happiness, just momentarily.
because as soon as your back from a shopping spree done rightâ weâre talking laces and silks that are guilt pleasures to the average personâ that happiness disintegrates the moment you step inside somewhere youâre meant to call home and are reminded of the absolute bleakness in every aspect of it.
now your sat in the same dressing room you have been which is starting to make you insane as the stark white light glares down on you. normally itâs the other way around where a husband watches in such great astonishment whilst his wife tries on a plethora of fabrics and hues, not a wife being told to rate 4 different blacks that look the exact same even to a trained eye.
âboring, boring and boring.â you sighed heavily, admiring yourself in the mirror that the brutes unnecessarily large frame dominates. sukuna adjusts his cufflinks for the hundredth time, stares as fondly as someone like him could at his reflection and motions the cashier over.
soon enough the spontaneous dinners and gifts that kept the marriage in its never ending honeymoon phase faded into black. replaced with wordless passings in hallways, strange men filtering in and out of the place you were supposed to call home and the tacky stench alcohol that refused to leave your side.
someone who gave you a promise land that he swore to share with you now practically lives in his office. first you thought sukuna clearly didnât want to be around you, then it was questioning the sanctity of the seemingly pointless marriage and it finally dawned on you that itâs not you he fell out of love with itâs his business that he just loves more.
he ignores your comment picking up his now blaring phone and walks away mumbling something about work as always and disappears. you wait around for a while, browsing your own options as the store clerk saunters over. smiling over the dresses colour and how it would match with yours but before you can even give her a polite smile sukuna is rushing in with a stern âcar. now.â like you were a child. like you had no agency of your own.
the drive is anything but the calm attitude that he tries to portray. his jaw ticks. eyes locked on outside the window like he reminiscing in something that stays forever unchanged. not to mention the wheel almost combusting at the amount of pressure on it.
âyou should speak your mind before you crash this car.â you snide and he lets out an annoyed sigh. âthe more you speak the more iâm inclined to.â the remark isnât foreign to him, almost like he mightâve considered it.
and they say romance is dead.
itâs weird how your lives have come to this, from the most lovey dovey couple that people came to admire and look to for imaginary relationship goals to two people who could only be in each others line of sight for so long before the tension was practically waving a bright green sign for all to see.
the gps chimes and a âREROUTINGâ alert pops up the screen, prompting you to look outside to the now unrecognisable route and then to sukunaâs lack of expression.
âyou havenât forgotten the way to your own house have you?â. taunting the person most cable of cutting your life short wasnât the smartest of things you could have done but heâs become so used to it that he only grunts in response before the car turns left and begins to slow on to a gravel path.
was this finally it? was he bringing you to a secret location where heâd murder you or worse, keep you estranged from anything and everything. he pulls into a discreet house nothing to broadcast really but not a shack just, quaint.
a man is already outside letting a cigarette fall to the ground as smoke clouds around him emphasising the ghastly visual. he smirks and its sharpâ goading like he wants to fight. when he reaches the car heâs already leaning on it like itâs his own, sukuna pays it no mind because thatâs most likely just him but it irks you in the strangest way.
sukuna steps out to talk out of earshot moving further into the unfamiliar territory, the man is barely focused on the conversation staring right past your husband and at you. maybe eye contact wasnât a strength of yours or maybe his was lethal either way you quickly found something on your phone to keep some sort of barrier between the two of you.
the distant voices come to a stop and the sound of gravel shifting towards you starts. âtoji,â sukuna introduces whilst the other stays silent, âprotection until i get some things sorted.â you scoff followed by an onslaught of words that no marigge with an inkling of normality would ever meet. he whispers a faint âyou done?â and youâre already storming away and into your new home.
the place is quiet, has an absence of humanity it it even could; bleak walls that just scream iâm gonna murder you.
you look around almost tripping over a black bag thatâs obviously out of place, but the sound of the door whining open is enough for you to draw your hand back from exploring. âfound something interesting?â toji asks lingering at the door, eyes tracking your slowing movements.
âyouâre staying here?â you ponder turning to meet a smile that is the slightest bit disingenuous.
âno weâre staying here.â
.
it was like you could literally feel the evil swirling around you but it was just toji. draped in all black to look somewhat smart but he managed to ruin that image with his mouth. a series of obscene words that created vivid images which for some reason he couldnât keep to himself. and pet names that no married woman would appreciate.
itâd been a couple days of tiptoeing around the house to avoid anymore interaction than needed but toni revels in the art of making people uncomfortable.
luckily for him sukuna wasnât much of the possessive angry type he was before so it made his stalker level planning safer, just like today.
like normal you woke up, ready to swiftly move in and out of the kitchen as to not be noticed. you stood infront of the stove, oil already splattering onto surfaces, and dragging your hands down your face wiping the sleep away.
mornings in the place were surprisingly calming with the low hums of whatever roamed outside and the hum of the running pond.
toji heard you. he always does. maybe because he wakes up at abnormal times and holds himself stiff against the mattress so you wouldnât be woken up. even though heâs been trained in the ways of sneaking aaround like a literal ninja.
he lies there and listens to your relentless grumbles because fair enough your whole world went to shit, a child that barely know how to run his own business for a husband. but you got a new house with a hot body guard so pros and cons.
thereâs no real answer to why he does small things like that other than itâs intended to bring solace but to you or him?
summary: toji was supposed to stay an unshakeable and unsociable person but you come by threatening to change his assigned destiny
song recs: vanilla sky. wrong faces. butterflies. peter pan. by brent faiyaz things and such by PND art of war by avenoir breathe by malcom todd trillions by alicia keys & brent faiyaz
part 1
leading you up the stairs tojiâs his grip was surprisingly soft considering the scowl on his face. well you couldnât see it directly because he was making sure to hide it from you but with how tense he was walking (stomping like the stairs had very personally offended him on his way up) it was obvious.
silence gave you time to look at the pictures decorating the walls. surprisingly it wasnât something youâd thought to do before because seeing a real time glare seemed more important thanâ âbaby toji in a pumpkin patch!?!â you squealed already untangling yourself from him and running back.
toji doesnât hear you properly, thinking itâs something random youâll get distracted by and then leave alone in a minute or so. but he remembers the what might be the most embarrassing thing for you to see is hung up right there. âw-wait fuck donât look at it.â with anyone else he could brush it off and leave it there. but not you when most of your compliments were how he was so un-baby like if thatâs even a thing.
how big his arms were, how he looked so strong. it was probably just things you said to see if you could make him flustered or something but now heâs hearing you coo over his younger self and itâs making him want to hide in a different kind of embarrassment.
to you it was the cutest thing ever. his face was so chubby and cute back then; nothing like how defined it was now but you werenât complaining. you spot megumi in his mothers arms and if you didnât know any better youâd think they were identical, same long raven black hair and tired eyes that would make the adult trying to befriend them cry.
âbut this is sooo cuteee.â you sing pointing at it like youâre trying to enter it.
âitâs not,â he huffs trying to change your course to his room again. letâs just say it took way longer than expected for the two of you to make it inside, and by the time you were finished doting on his younger self his face felt like it was on fire and looked a searing red. maybe it was whatever that was in your cup that made you so oblivious to his very visible reaction but you carried on like nothing happened at all.
tojiâs room isnât the stark white hospital prison that you thought it would be. instead itâs painted a dark navy blue; not something you wouldâve expected but it was very him regardless. âsooo,â you start eyes quickly exploring the space, darting to his desk thatâs decorated with textbooks and pens. âthis mean you ready to express your undying love for me?â you tease dragging a hand down his chest painfully slow.
âstop reading into everything.â he grumbled eyes staring at your hand trailing before so cruelly leaving him. âcanât blame me. i thought iâd never get an invite to your house let alone your room.â he stares at you wandering for a moment, watching every movement you made thinking about how everything about one person could be so impulsive yet graceful.
but you werenât supposed to be someone he thought about like this so he shakes his head free of the thought and resumes his usual stoic demeanour. âiâm pretty sure you wouldâve followed me home anyway.â he states matter of factly like you were actually that weird. which is crazy because he definitely didnât start tagging along with yuji to the very prestigious fushiguro house just to catch a glimpse of him before he sulked back into his cave. and you absolutely did not spend your time walking past his room 20 or so times until you got scared because he was his face got so angry when annoyed.
or when his mother offered you dinner and you quickly refused because you werenât sure what youâd say or do if he was sitting opposite you.
âdonât insult me when iâm trying to be kind.â you chime, already setting your eyes on the rest of the room. who knew he was such a spider-man fan? posters, the biggest lego figure youâd ever seen. you pointed at it wordlessly smile playing on your face as per usual. he stutters before falling silent and this might be the shyest toji has been in his life at this point.
âyou made that?â examining the details toji instinctively flinches as you move closer. he doesnât respond, not because of arrogance but he couldnât figure out what he could say without sounding too desperate or too indifferent.
why did talking to people have to be so difficult?
he shakes his head and moves toward the tv opposite his bed. scrolling through movies though he knows heâll watch the same one as he did last night, and the night before, and the night before that. the previews almost muffle your never ending questions that for some reason he just couldnât answer.
âwhereâs that from?â he groans.
âhow long did that take?â he rolls his eyes.
âwhy would you get that?â and you were talking about a collectors spider-man comic that he spent three weeks in a bidding war for. surprisingly he has no intention of telling you to shut up or giving you a mean remark like he was used to. instead heâs already steering you back to his bed and âMARVELâ is appearing on the screen before you and heâs practically ordering you to stay focused on it like heâll quiz you on it after.
.
.
its been 20 minutes. 20 minutes and you were already sleeping, curled into yourself like you were freezing which couldnât be possible because he felt like he was in a sauna. he slipped away when you started asking questions already knowing youâd be to stubborn to tell him you were cold.
like the times you sat in the library with him, tank top and a mini skirt that no one could survive in but somehow you did. hugging yourself whilst you looked pissed until he offered you his hoodie, then you were smiling and laughing at the fact he had to hide his face in his hands because he turned red so quickly. embarrassing how words alone so quickly became his undoing and worst of all he couldnât control it to save his life.
mourning the loss of conversation that he wanted to have he stared longer than he shouldâve, contemplating if waking you up was the best option. giving up the bed was the most gentlemanly thing to do plus heâs slept at his desk hundreds of times.
heâs about to get up he swears! just.. maybe till he finishes the movie because itâs his favourite and not because having you next to him whilst his mind wasnât thinking about every possible situation felt better than it shouldâve. comfort.
thatâs it, comfort.
the movie is less interesting nowâ something toji would never say in his life. the sounds of webs shooting and mystical humming that used to radiate off the walls and provide sweet solace to him every time he hit play. but it was lost to the back of his mind when your rhythmic breathing was right next to him.
you shifted in your sleep a lot which was news to toji, he imagined youâd be one to lay back with your hands delicately laid across your stomach. of course you would sleep perfectly when everything you did was. of course he moved each time. accommodating for each new piece of mattress you chose to conquer next, slowly easing him out of his own space.
.
.
the sun that streaked through the room forced you to open your eyes. one leg pendulous off the side of the bed. dress ridden halfway up your body. and this was definitely not your room. you standâwith a lot of internal motivation neededâ and make your way down the steps you were trying to not get closely acquainted with.
you can hear a pan hit another, a splatter and clearly irritated sigh. tojiâs eyes flick to you as the wood creaks, eyes squinting at the lights and your hands drag down your face in protest. âi donât think anyone thatâs normal is cooking this early.â you groan. âitâs not early.â the words are clipped probably because heâs been at this stupid recipe for an hour.
âyou went to class without me?â you shriek memories of your history professor goading you about your attendance. âi didnât go.â curt yet in his own way kind. âyou mean you sacrificed your 100% attendance for me?â the smile you wore was almost enough to make him smile. almost.
âi waited because iâve never seen you hungover,â he pauses pouring different things into a mixer, âmaybe you become deranged and commit arson.â
âyou have a horrible way with words toji.â
he doesnât look up, only replays what you said whilst telling his brain not to think about it.he wasn't much of one to start up a conversation and especially with you. for someone that found a 10,000 word minimum essays easy heâd always end up going silent, staring into the distance because maybe with enough determination he could just dr strange himself out of there.
heâd hoped that he could get his point across in other ways. when he wasâin his mindâstaring at you through a reflection on the glass because why wouldnât you. or when he saw you in the hallways and looked like he was about to start a conversation before his eyes immediately ran from yours and suddenly it was like he never saw you in the first place.
you said it was him being shy as normal the last time it happened.
yuki walked beside you attention off her phone for a millisecond to catch what you were so captivated by; barking out the loudest laugh which more than likely scared him (however much a guy like to toji could be) from ever interacting with you again. being herself she brushed it off saying âthe only thing he cares about was getting all aâs, not some random girl laughing at him.â
âbut that random girl was next to me and he might think i was laughing as wellâ he might think im evil and trying to get with him as a jokeââ âbreatheeeee,â she interrupts as comforting as the most sarcastic person you know could be. âiâm pretty sure he wasnât even looking.â
âitâs easy to think that when you have not one empathetic bone in your body.â
toji walked away from that awkward ordeal and straight to the other most talkative person he knows, unfortunately.
yuji lies starfish on the bench table nobara and megumi on either side seemingly uncaring. âyuji.â he peeks up instantly finding the approaching voice. âfinally not embarrassed be seen with me?â
ânot in a million years.â
toji spends his time being laughed at by three idiot he should have never tried to consult, especially the one that he could easily murder in his sleep considering he was only next door. they gave advice that was too outgoing, like him going up to you and saying hi and complementing you. in what world is that not the worst way things could go.
âyou⊠you look nice.â
âno i donât.â he sounded like he was questioning himself and you shot back because you were sure. maybe context clues needed be his next lesson.
How about we switch things up a bit đ I always see Dabura written super dominant like Sukuna⊠but what about a devoted Dabura with a dom female reader instead? Not gonna lie, I fully support powerful ladies taking the lead here you get it đ„đ
Dabura the Deskunte warrior, the one who once made entire clans kneel with a single look turns into the softest, most obedient mess the second you take control. This man is not just willing, he craves your dominance like itâs the only thing that quiets the storm inside him after centuries of carrying everything alone.
You donât need chains or cuffs to bind him. sometimes all it takes is your voice. He loves it so much it was low, firm, saying âkneelâ and he drops to his knees instantly, head bowed, horns tilted forward in perfect submission. His red eyes lift to meet yours with that quiet, reverent hunger, waiting for your next command like itâs the only thing that matters.
He loves when you tie his wrists behind his back with soft silk ropes (he could snap them in a heartbeat, but he never does). You straddle his lap while heâs bound, grinding slow and teasing against his aching cock, denying him entry until heâs trembling and whispering broken pleas: â Please⊠let me feel you⊠iâll be good.â you cup his face, thumb brushing over his sharp cheekbone and murmur âyouâre already so good for me, baby,â before finally sinking down on him inch by torturous inch.
The impact play is sacred between you. You love spanking him, hard, deliberate swats across his ass while heâs bent over the edge of the bed, muscles flexing under obsidian skin. each strike makes him groan deep in his chest, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Afterward you soothe the red marks with gentle kisses, licking slow circles over the heat, telling him âlook how pretty you mark up for me⊠my perfect warrior.â
Collaring him is your favorite ritual. you have a custom black leather collar, it was simple, elegant, engraved with a tiny flame on the inside tag. When you buckle it around his thick neck he exhales like a weight has lifted. You tug the o-ring lightly to guide him where you want him: between your thighs, mouth on your clit, tongue working slow and worshipful while you card fingers through his hair and praise him: âsuch a good boy⊠making me feel so good⊠donât stop until i tell you.â
He has a massive praise kink when youâre in charge. call him âmy good boy,â âmy sweet warrior,â âso strong and still so soft for me,â and he melts. His cock twitches every time you say it. Edge him for hours stroking him slow, stopping right before he comes, only letting him finish when heâs shaking and begging with small tears in his eyes. When he finally spills across your hand or your stomach, you kiss him through it, whispering âyou did so well⊠iâm so proud of you.â
Aftercare is non-negotiable and ridiculously tender. Once the scene ends you untie him immediately, pull him into your lap (yes, you make this 7-foot alien curl up on you like a giant puppy) and wrap him in blankets. you stroke his horns, kiss every inch of his face, rub salve into any marks you left and hold him while he comes down. He buries his face in your neck and mumbles soft, shy things like âthank you⊠for seeing me⊠for wanting me like this.â you always reply âi love every part of you, especially the parts only i get to see.â
When you dominate dabura, itâs fierce, filthy, and full of power exchange, but underneath every command, every rope, every slap, is the sweetest trust. He gives you his submission because youâre the only one he trusts to hold it gently and you take it because you know exactly how precious it is.
He is hot, sweet and so perfectly yours.
My devoted Dabura is kinda my favorite to write lately he is so sweet and hot. Actually I can imagine him like that in a few situationsđ
if youâve got any requests, drop them, Iâm always open for more smut stuff đ
If I have any Cross and Maru fans here I am also open to write of them some smut stuff
Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using âdonât kink shameâ and âitâs fictionâ to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I donât engage with things fictionally that I donât like/wouldnât want to do in real life. Yes, Iâm judging you.
Summary:Well known for working with some of the top A-listers in manhattan, doesnât say much, when he does he has very strong opinions that not very many people wanna hear them. Protected countless people over the years, the reader's father gets into some financial trouble due to getting revenge on his late wife's death. You hate everything about the life you have been forced into, but keep it to yourself as you knows how much image is important to your father. Ben gets requested to look after you due to your father being too involved in money frauds, after they killed your mother he instantly goes to protect you by hiring a bodyguard for you.
Warnings: no use of y/n, MDNI , language, mature, soldier boy need I say more, mention of parent death.
A/N:So excited for the start of this new series, please lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist of this fic or my permanent taglist for everything I upload!!!
The house had never truly felt like yours, even though one day your name would inevitably become attached to it in the same suffocating way generations before you had been tied to the estate, because despite how breathtaking people always claimed it was whenever they stepped through the front doors for the first time, there had always been something hollow about the place that no amount of wealth could soften. Guests spoke about the house with the same reverence people reserved for museums and historical landmarks, their voices lowering instinctively beneath towering painted ceilings imported from Italy decades before you were born while their eyes wandered across marble floors polished so perfectly that the crystal chandeliers overhead reflected across them like pools of liquid gold. The estate itself sat tucked far enough away from the rest of Manhattan that silence settled unnaturally over the grounds once the gates closed behind arriving cars, hidden behind wrought iron fencing, ancient trees wrapped in delicate white lights throughout every season, and security so discreetly placed around the property that most visitors never even noticed it existed.
Everything about the house screamed old money in the most intimidating way possible, not the kind of wealth people flaunted desperately through designer logos and social media attention, but the kind that had existed for generations and therefore never felt the need to prove itself to anyone. Imported artwork lined the walls beneath antique sconces glowing softly against dark wooden panels, fresh flowers were replaced every morning before the previous arrangements had the chance to wilt, and chefs moved through the industrial kitchen preparing elaborate meals for guests who would ultimately pick at the food more than they actually ate it. Every single detail within the estate had been perfected carefully over time until the entire place felt less like a home and more like a monument dedicated to power itself. Your father preferred it that way.
He liked permanence, tradition, and control in equal measure, and the house reflected all three perfectly.
âYouâll greet everyone personally tonight.â
His voice cut cleanly through the music and conversation drifting upward from downstairs while you stood beside him at the top of the grand staircase overlooking the entrance hall below, one hand resting lightly against the polished banister as black cars rolled steadily into the circular driveway outside. Women draped in diamonds stepped gracefully onto marble floors while men in perfectly tailored suits laughed loudly over glasses of whiskey older than most of the people serving it, and somewhere in the background a pianist played softly enough that the music blended seamlessly into the atmosphere rather than standing out from it. You glanced toward your father beside you, already knowing exactly what kind of evening this was going to become before he even continued speaking.
âI always greet everyone personally.â you replied carefully. âYes,â he answered calmly while adjusting the cuff of his jacket, âbut tonight I need more than politeness.â That immediately told you enough. Business. Everything in your family always circled back to business eventually, no matter how elegant the setting surrounding it happened to be. âThere are people attending tonight who are considering partnerships with us,â your father continued while his eyes briefly shifted toward the front doors where another group of guests entered the house. âPeople whose trust matters greatly, and I expect you to make them feel comfortable while theyâre here.â You swallowed the sigh threatening to rise in your throat because there was never any point arguing during conversations like these, especially not when your father had already decided exactly how the evening would unfold before either of you even stepped downstairs.
Appearances had always mattered more than anything else in your family. Appearances mattered when your mother died. Appearances mattered during the funeral where politicians offered carefully rehearsed condolences while reporters crowded outside the gates waiting for statements nobody in your family ever intended to give. Appearances mattered every single day afterward while your father slowly buried himself beneath grief, revenge, and business so completely that sometimes you barely recognized the man standing in front of you anymore. You looked back toward the crowd gathering downstairs beneath the warm glow of chandeliers, watching strangers drift through the entrance hall holding expensive drinks while pretending corruption did not exist within the very circles they occupied so comfortably. âOf course.â you said quietly. Your father seemed satisfied enough with the response because he rested a hand briefly against your shoulder before nodding toward the staircase stretching downward beneath you.
âYou look beautiful tonight.â The words sounded less like affection and more like approval, which somehow made them feel heavier. The gown you wore had been selected earlier that afternoon by someone your father paid specifically to understand how wealthy women should present themselves publicly, black silk fitted elegantly enough to attract attention without appearing desperate for it, paired with understated diamond earrings and the necklace that had once belonged to your mother before it became another object preserved carefully inside the house after her death.
You hated wearing her jewelry, not because you disliked it, but because every piece felt like carrying around fragments of someone you could never get back no matter how tightly your father tried preserving her memory inside these walls.
âGo downstairs.â he told you softly.
And like always, you obeyed.
The staircase curved dramatically beneath your heels while conversations lowered subtly around your arrival, heads turning instinctively toward you the same way they always had for as long as you could remember. You had grown up surrounded by people wealthy enough to recognize one another instantly through posture, clothing, and surnames alone, and you already knew exactly what most of them saw whenever they looked at you. Privilege. Luxury. Perfection.
Another polished daughter raised carefully inside Manhattanâs elite circles. You smiled gracefully through introductions while guests kissed your cheeks and complimented how much older you looked now, how strikingly you resembled your mother, and how proud your father must be every time you entered a room. Every conversation eventually blurred into the next until they all sounded identical, filled with rehearsed observations and compliments nobody genuinely meant beneath layers of practiced sophistication.
âYou look stunning tonight.â
âYour father speaks so highly of you.â
âYouâve become the image of your mother.â
You wanted to scream every time someone said that last one because nobody ever understood how exhausting it felt constantly being compared to someone whose absence still haunted every corner of your life, but instead you smiled politely because girls raised like you learned very early how to perform no matter how disconnected they actually felt inside. You let investors monopolize conversations while pretending interest in stories you barely listened to, laughed softly at jokes that were not remotely funny, and thanked women dripping in diamonds for compliments you had heard hundreds of times before. Nobody ever noticed how detached you truly were because nobody expected someone surrounded by luxury to be unhappy, and from the outside your life looked far too perfect for anybody to question whether you actually enjoyed living it.
Hours passed beneath the haze of expensive wine and low conversation before the pressure of constant socializing finally became too suffocating to tolerate any longer, so you excused yourself quietly and slipped upstairs toward the quieter side of the house before another stranger had the chance to ask whether your father planned on arranging your marriage anytime soon.
The second floor remained dimmer and far calmer than the chaos downstairs, with antique sconces casting soft golden light across thick carpets stretching beneath polished floors while enormous oil paintings stared down from the walls in ornate frames older than half the city itself. Generations of carefully preserved wealth looked back at you from every portrait lining the hallway, and despite how elegant each painting appeared, not a single person immortalized there had ever looked genuinely happy. You moved toward the secondary staircase near the library, intending to return downstairs through the less crowded side of the estate when you rounded the corner too quickly and collided directly into someone hard enough that the force nearly knocked you backwards completely. A hand closed firmly around your arm before you lost balance.
âWatch your step.â
The voice was low, rough, and entirely unimpressed. You looked up instantly, irritation flashing through you before embarrassment had the chance to settle in properly. The man standing in front of you looked nothing like the guests downstairs. He was taller than almost everyone you had spoken to that evening, broad shoulders outlined beneath dark clothing that looked practical instead of fashionable, with sharp eyes fixed on you in obvious annoyance rather than forced politeness. Faint stubble shadowed his jaw while strands of silver threaded subtly through his hair near his temples, and there was something about him that felt harsher than the carefully polished people crowding your fatherâs parties downstairs. Dangerous, maybe. Or perhaps simply honest in a way most wealthy men were not. Either way, he looked at you like you had personally inconvenienced him. âYou were standing in the middle of the hallway,â you replied coldly while pulling your arm from his grip. âIt was kind of difficult to avoid you.â
His gaze moved over you once, slow and completely unimpressed. âThen maybe pay attention next time.â The harshness in his tone caught you off guard because people rarely spoke to you that way, especially not inside your fatherâs house where most guests either tried too hard to impress you or avoided offending you entirely. This man looked like he could not possibly care less about either. Something about that irritated you instantly. âMaybe move next time.â you shot back. One corner of his mouth twitched slightly, though it looked more sarcastic than amused. âYeah,â he muttered. âYou definitely sound like a rich kid.â Your expression hardened immediately. âAnd you sound incredibly rude.â He leaned casually against the wall beside him, completely relaxed despite the tension beginning to sharpen between you.
âOccupational hazard.â
You opened your mouth to respond again when another voice interrupted sharply from further down the hallway.
âThere you are.â
Your father approached quickly, relief crossing his face almost immediately when he noticed who you were standing beside. âIâm so glad you finally met Ben.â You blinked once in confusion.
Ben.
Before you had the chance to process the name properly, your father rested a hand against your shoulder and continued speaking casually.
âBen will be keeping you safe for a while until I have some business matters sorted.â For several seconds all you could do was stare at him while embarrassment flooded through your chest so quickly it felt physical. A bodyguard. The man you had just argued with was apparently your bodyguard. Perfect. Beside you, Ben looked amused enough that you caught the faintest smirk tugging briefly at the corner of his mouth before he looked away again, like he already found the entire interaction entertaining. âI can protect myself.â you said tightly. Ben finally spoke again then, his voice dry enough to scrape directly against your nerves. âBased on what Iâve seen so far, probably not.â
Your eyes snapped toward him instantly while your father laughed lightly, completely unaware of how badly you wanted the floor beneath you to split open from humiliation.
âYouâll get along eventually,â your father said distractedly before turning toward Ben again. âExcuse us for a moment because there are people downstairs asking for introductions.â Ben nodded once. âOf course.â Then his gaze shifted back toward you briefly beneath the soft hallway lighting before he stepped aside to let both of you pass, his expression unreadable except for the unmistakable judgment sitting quietly behind it.
Cold.
Dismissive.
Like he had already figured you out completely within the span of five minutes, and standing there inside the same mansion everyone else envied from the outside, you realized with growing irritation that Ben saw you exactly the way the rest of Manhattan probably did. Spoiled. Privileged. Blind to the blood stained reality funding every luxurious detail surrounding your life. The worst part was knowing you could not entirely blame him for believing it because from the outside looking in, your family had spent years making sure the lie looked flawless.
By the time you returned downstairs, the party had somehow grown even louder and more suffocating than before, the atmosphere inside the house thickening beneath layers of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, low conversation, and laughter that sounded rehearsed the longer you listened to it. The entrance hall had become overcrowded with people drifting effortlessly between rooms carrying crystal glasses and perfectly practiced smiles while waiters moved carefully through the crowd balancing silver trays beneath chandeliers large enough to flood every polished surface in golden light. Somewhere near the piano room, a woman laughed too sharply at something a politician had said, the sound briefly cutting through the endless hum of conversation before dissolving back into the noise surrounding it, followed immediately by the clinking of glasses and another wave of empty praise exchanged between people who treated wealth like both entertainment and power.
Usually you could survive nights like this without issue because you had spent your entire life learning exactly how to move through rooms filled with influential people without ever truly engaging with any of them, but tonight something felt entirely different in a way you could not properly explain no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. Or maybe the difference simply had a name now.
Ben.
You hated how aware of him you suddenly were. Even while trying to focus on the conversations happening around you, you could still feel him somewhere nearby like an unwanted pressure sitting against the back of your neck, the constant awareness of someone observing too closely. Every time you moved between rooms, every time another guest stopped you for conversation, every time you forced yourself to smile politely at another joke you did not care enough to actually listen to, there remained a part of you painfully conscious of the fact that somewhere inside the house, Ben was watching. Not because he cared. That somehow would have been easier to tolerate. No, Ben watched you the way someone studied a situation they had already decided they disliked, cold and detached and entirely convinced he understood exactly what kind of person you were before you had even spoken more than a few sentences to him. You could practically see the assumptions sitting behind his eyes every time he looked at you. Spoiled. Sheltered. Another rich girl floating comfortably through a life funded by blood stained money without ever questioning where any of it came from.
The thought irritated you enough that by the time another older businessman stopped you near the dining room to begin an exhausting conversation about âfamily legacyâ and investment opportunities, your patience had almost completely disappeared.
âYou must feel incredibly lucky,â the man remarked while slowly swirling amber liquid around the bottom of his glass. âYour father built an extraordinary life for you.â You smiled automatically because years of conditioning made it impossible not to. âYes.â you answered softly while ignoring the bitterness rising quietly inside your chest.
Lucky.
The word echoed unpleasantly around your mind long after the conversation finally ended. By midnight, the house had become unbearably warm from the number of people crowded inside it, heat gathering beneath expensive fabrics and dim lighting until every room felt smaller than it actually was. Conversations overlapped endlessly while soft piano music drifted through the hallways in elegant melodies that somehow only made the entire evening feel more artificial, and eventually the pressure of pretending became too exhausting to tolerate any longer. So you began avoiding people. Not obviously enough for anyone to notice because disappearing entirely during one of your fatherâs events would immediately raise questions you had no interest in answering, but subtly enough that your conversations became shorter, your smiles less convincing, and your movements quicker between rooms. You lingered near doorways instead of standing in the center of crowds, excused yourself before anyone could trap you in another painfully long discussion, and avoided eye contact whenever possible.
Still, no matter where you went, you felt watched. At one point while crossing the ballroom, your eyes lifted instinctively toward the staircase overlooking the lower level, and there he was. Ben stood near the balcony rail above the crowd dressed entirely in black, broad shoulders outlined sharply beneath dim golden lighting while his gaze moved slowly across the room below with the kind of alertness that made him look entirely separate from everyone else surrounding him. Unlike the guests drifting carelessly through the house pretending nothing ugly existed beneath Manhattanâs wealthiest circles, Ben looked aware of everything, every movement, every entrance, every conversation hidden beneath lowered voices and expensive smiles. Then his eyes landed directly on you. Even from across the room, the weight of his stare felt heavy enough to stop you in place for half a second longer than necessary. There was absolutely nothing soft about the way he looked at you. No admiration. No curiosity. Only observation. Like he was still trying to determine whether you were genuinely naive or simply pretending to be. You looked away first, and somehow the realization irritated you immediately afterward.
Needing distance from both the crowd and the growing anxiety tightening steadily inside your chest, you moved through the ballroom toward the bar positioned near the west sitting room where the noise became slightly quieter beneath softer lighting. Crystal glasses lined the marble counter while one of the bartenders poured champagne for a group of women laughing nearby, and thankfully most people seemed too distracted by their own conversations to notice when you slipped quietly onto one of the empty stools near the far end. âFor once,â you murmured softly toward the bartender while resting one hand against the cool marble surface, âI would really appreciate something stronger than champagne.â The older man smiled knowingly before immediately reaching for a bottle without asking any further questions.
You exhaled slowly while waiting, finally allowing yourself a brief moment to breathe beneath the noise surrounding you. From this distance, the party almost looked beautiful in a detached sort of way, guests drifting through enormous rooms beneath chandelier light while music wrapped itself carefully around conversation like another decorative detail added to the evening. Everything looked effortless from the outside. Perfect. That had always been the problem with your family. Everything looked perfect from the outside. The bartender slid the glass toward you before moving away to help another guest, and you lifted it immediately, welcoming the sharp burn of whiskey against your throat more than you probably should have.
âHeâs getting desperate.â
The unfamiliar voice cut through the noise around you so suddenly that your attention shifted instinctively toward the partially closed doorway beside the bar leading into one of the smaller private sitting rooms. You could not see clearly inside from where you sat, only faint shadows moving beyond the narrow opening in the door, but something about the tone alone made cold unease settle heavily inside your stomach. âHeâs not desperate,â another man answered quietly from inside the room. âHeâs angry.â
âAngry men make mistakes.â You should have ignored the conversation. You should have looked away immediately and returned to the party before hearing something you were clearly never meant to hear. Instead you remained perfectly still. âHe already made mistakes,â the first voice continued. âThat revenge bullshit after his wife died cost him more money than anybody expected.â Your grip tightened automatically around the glass in your hand.
Wife.
Mother.
The room suddenly felt too warm again. âHeâs trying to recover it.â
âAnd dragging Manhattan into his mess while he does it.â A low scoff followed somewhere inside the room before the first voice spoke again. âThey already took his wife. You really think his daughter stays untouchable forever?â Your stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt. For a moment you genuinely thought you might be sick. The glass trembled slightly between your fingers while the words repeated themselves endlessly inside your head. They already took his wife. His daughter stays untouchable. You could barely breathe suddenly, not because you fully understood what they meant, but because somewhere deep down you already did. Your father had enemies. Of course he did. You had always known that much.
But hearing strangers discuss your motherâs death so casually, like it belonged in the same category as money, revenge, and business deals, made something inside your chest tighten so sharply it became painful. You stood abruptly before the men inside the room could continue speaking, pulse hammering violently against your ribs while panic spread through you faster than logic could catch up to it. The hallway outside the bar suddenly felt too narrow. The music too loud. The people too close. You needed air. Distance. Anything. Your heels struck sharply against polished floors while voices blurred together around you, guests turning slightly as you passed through the crowd faster than before, though you barely noticed any of them because the only thing repeating inside your head was that sentence.
They already took his wife.
Your mother.
Your chest tightened harder.
Had she really been killed?
Not an accident.
Not random.
Killed.
The thought alone made nausea twist violently inside your stomach. You reached the staircase almost too quickly, gripping the banister harder than necessary while moving upward toward the quieter second floor, desperate to escape the suffocating noise downstairs before your breathing completely lost control. You barely noticed him until you nearly collided with him again. Ben stepped aside instantly at the top of the staircase, his eyes narrowing the second he properly saw your face, and for the first time since meeting him earlier that evening, his expression shifted completely. Not softer. But sharper. Alert in a way that immediately made it obvious he noticed far more than most people did. You tried moving past him immediately without speaking, but his voice stopped you halfway down the hallway. âWhat happened?â You kept walking. âNothing.â The word came out too quickly, too strained to sound convincing. Behind you, footsteps followed almost immediately. You should not have been surprised. âI donât think thatâs true.â The sound of his voice closer behind you only made your pulse spike harder because suddenly the entire house felt wrong in a way it never had before, every hallway colder, every shadow heavier. You reached the far end of the corridor near the library before stopping abruptly beside one of the enormous windows overlooking the front grounds, gripping the edge of the windowsill tightly while trying to steady your breathing without humiliating yourself completely in front of him.
Outside, black cars still lined the driveway while lights glowed softly across the estate grounds, everything appearing painfully normal despite the chaos unraveling violently inside your head. Ben stopped several feet behind you. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then quietly, âWhat did you hear?â Your eyes closed briefly. Of course he knew. People like Ben noticed everything.
âI didnât hear anything.â you answered automatically. âRight.â The sarcasm in his voice sounded quieter now, less mocking than before. You turned sharply toward him then, anger finally breaking through the panic flooding your chest. âWhy does everyone keep acting like Iâm incapable of understanding things?â Benâs expression remained unreadable. âDepends what things youâre talking about.â
âMy mother.â The words escaped before you could stop them. Something shifted almost imperceptibly across his face at the mention of her. You swallowed hard against the sickness still twisting violently inside you.
âI heard people downstairs talking about her,â you continued quietly, your voice unsteady despite how hard you tried controlling it. âTalking about revenge and money and-â You stopped abruptly because saying the words aloud suddenly made them feel horrifyingly real. Ben watched you carefully for several long seconds before finally speaking. âYou shouldnât listen to conversations that arenât meant for you.â The response instantly made anger flare through the panic. âThatâs your advice?â
âMy advice,â he answered calmly, âis to stop wandering around this house alone while your fatherâs business falls apart around him.â The words hit harder than they probably should have. Your fatherâs business falls apart. So it was true. Something really was happening. You stared at him, searching desperately for answers he clearly had no intention of giving you. âYou know something.â His jaw tightened slightly. âI know enough.â
âAbout my mother?â
Silence. That silence told you more than any answer possibly could have. Cold dread settled heavily inside your stomach. Ben looked briefly toward the staircase before returning his attention to you again, and for the first time all evening he seemed less irritated by your presence and more concerned by your reaction.
âYou need to calm down.â The statement almost made you laugh. âCalm down?â you repeated softly in disbelief. âYou expect me to calm down after hearing people talk about my mother like she was some kind of warning?â His expression hardened slightly again. âThis isnât the place for this conversation.â
âThen where is?â Another silence stretched painfully between you while downstairs music continued drifting faintly upward through the mansion and laughter echoed somewhere below, completely detached from the tension thickening inside the hallway around both of you.
Finally Ben stepped closer, not enough to touch you, but enough that his presence suddenly felt impossible to ignore. âYou really donât know anything, do you?â The question landed somewhere deep enough to hurt because no, you didnât. Your father had spent years keeping you carefully separated from every ugly part of the family business while simultaneously trapping you inside it, protecting you from truths you were apparently old enough to become collateral damage for but not old enough to actually understand. And standing there beneath dim golden lighting while panic and confusion twisted violently inside your chest, you realized how humiliating that truly was. Ben studied your expression for another second before exhaling quietly through his nose. Then his voice lowered. âGo to your room and stay there until your father finishes downstairs.â The order immediately reignited your frustration. âYou donât get to tell me what to do.â
âNo,â he replied evenly, âbut your father is paying me to keep you alive, which gets significantly harder when you start overhearing conversations from people who absolutely do not care whether youâre standing nearby.â The bluntness of the statement stole the remaining breath from your lungs. Keep you alive. Not safe. Alive. The distinction mattered far too much. You stared at him while the reality of the night finally settled heavily around you piece by piece, and suddenly the mansion no longer felt elegant or familiar beneath the warm lighting and expensive decor. It felt dangerous.
And somehow the most unsettling part of all was realizing Ben had known that from the moment he walked through the front doors.
Part 2
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this one! Pls lmk if you like to be added to the taglist for this fic or my permanent taglist for all of my fics!!!
photographer!rafe was one of the best trained photographers to come out of his school. teachers loved him because he was punctual and always wanted to go the extra mile to be better and thatâs why they gave him the work experience of taking moviestar!reader promo shots!
moviestar!reader who quickly mesmerised photographer!rafe when you marched onto set screaming at your manager. stilettos clicked ruthlessly against the ground as you walked across the set letting the cameras catch a blur of you; not even caring about the shots you mightâve ruined but in photographer!rafeâs opinion the pictures would look much better that way.
during the shoot photographer!rafe stared bashfully through the detailed lens. mentally preying on each curve and dimple that you sported, often having to get screamed at by his manager. heâd scratch his head looking all star struck before getting snapped out of his daze with a frantic hand waving infront of him.
you laughed at his shy appearance; teasing his thin gold rims and inability to hold eye contact or a conversation but photographer!rafe didnât mind in the slightest. heâd give a soft âyeahâ in response just to see you laugh.
it was clear he had some sort of degradation kink because he never retaliated. maybe it was because photographer!rafe replayed each remark in his head when he was drifting off to sleep. smiling like a teenager about a girl that asked his name every time she saw him.
photographer!rafe who called your manager asking for your number under the guise of needing to revise what photos were best to use. of course your manager declined but after a few jokes about your pickiness which made him feel sick to say he got it.
photographer!rafe paced around his kitchen, counter decorated with your magazine shots wondering if he could build up the strength to call you. eventually he did after some moral support from a fellow photographer nerd with the advice of âif it gets awkward you can always hide from her when the shoots over.â
the conversation with moviestar!reader wasnât as difficult as he thought itâd beâ sure he stuttered for majority of it and as hard as he tried couldnât avert his eyes from your lips or your cleavage but nonetheless better than what he expected.
for you photographer!rafe was amusing. the slight quiver in his lip when you told him your eyes were higher than where he was looking, the profuse apologies that flooded out making him more nervous. after the teasing was over photographer!rafe noticed that talking to you was the one time his brain wasnât flooded with a million words and pre-anticipated answers.
when the topic finally came back to the photos photographer!rafe was useless when it came to deciding which ones were best for the front page. for anyone else the statement âyou look beautiful in all of themâ wouldâve been something moviestar!reader rolled her eyes at but coming from photographer!rafe it settled more heartfelt with her.
moviestar!reader was utterly stunned when photographer!rafe came in the nexts day with a beautiful collage of all of the photos complied together. so beautiful that as soon as she saw them photographer!rafe had lipliner smudged onto the side of his cheek and hundreds of compliments about the sheer creativity rushing his way.
if it was up to him he would never wash it again.
moviestar!reader who started specifically requesting photographer!rafe for everything she did, wether it was a movie or another photoshoot because he simply knew her best. it got so bad that other crew members often described him as a puppy from the way it was nearly impossible to see him away from you and you.
moviestar!reader and photographer!rafe started hanging out outside of the work aspect of things. getting to know each other when everything wasnât so professional but then again the way you two joked (more so you) wasnât very professional anyway.
soon enough that cafe became your place to go, strangely where the two of you found out that you understood each other more than you thought. moviestar!reader who thought it would be a casually flirting thing. youâd lean close get him flustered maybe trace his fingers with your own thinking it would only affect him.
if it was so casual why did moviestar!reader start to become nervous of what she was doing; less touchy and definitely less talkative when photographer!rafe was around. she used to grant him monologues about a world that he wasnât in but had come to understand and now the best he could get was a unusually shy greeting.
photographer!rafe who was hoping he didnât score things up by never reciprocating anything. laying awake replaying every moment there was an opportunity and instead he froze up and turned red. cursing himself for being too awkward.
normally the two of you would have your breaks together but then he could never find you. little did he know moviestar!reader may have been absolutely was hiding in her stylists room complaining about his inability to get hints and asking if she was being delusional about this.
moviestar!readerâs stylist comforted her telling her she wasnât too much and the guy was too shy. that eased your tension for a bit but the thought was still lingering in the back of your mind. turns out your stylist was friends with one of the camera guys that photographer!rafe was always going to for advice and specs and asked him to put in a good word for moviestar!reader
photographer!rafe who came up with an idea on how to show you he was just a stuttering ball of nerves. so he spent some time creating what mightâve been his masterpiece.
moviestar!reader tried to be lowkey with her silent confusion to photographer!rafeâs newfound unavailability. thinking he must have found something or someone else to with his time.
it showed with how easily irritable you became, making you the hard to work with actor all over again.
photographer!rafe who was not at all busy with anything else but moviestar!reader and called her as soon as he had everything perfect asking her to come over.
moviestar!reader who was pissed at first, declining every call but never blocking him. when she finally did pick up he was quick to apologise and beg for forgiveness; telling
moviestar!reader that if it was the last the you did with him then he would leave you be.
the drive with photographer!rafe was quiet apart from your heavy sighs signifying he really messed up. the two of you stood outside of his apartment as he asked you to close your eyes.
photographer!rafe led you inside reminding you to be careful with every step you took. when he finally brought you to a halt and you were finally able to see again you were met with to most gorgeous canvas made. stepping closer to inspect it you saw candid's you didnt even notice being taken, cute pictures of the two of you together. one of some random walk the two of you went on, only seeing the DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS sign after finishing the whole loaf of bread.
you laughed softly at the memory turning back to see rafe with the most cliche confessions ever. a poster with a tick box yes or no to the question âwill you be my girlfriend?â
âi-i know that iâm not the best walker but i really like you and i was wonderingââ
âyes! yes!â you exclaimed, pulling him into a kiss to stop his rambling which he did not disagree with.
i saw this art and it did something lowkey strange to me......
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maid!toji was only in this situation because of an assassination attempt gone wrong. standing at the foot of his new bed with a maid attire placed delicately on the sheets as if it would soften the shattering blow to his very evident masculinity.
âthatâs what those old hags were looking for.â he grumbles remembering how after he was caught old hags with measuring tape came into the makeshift cell and surrounded him noting every length that they could. saying some dumb shit about the clan heads daughters wishes and he knew it was you.
the not being dead yet confused him because the stories shui told him about how trigger happy the clan head was. shui ward him that the job he was offering was practically a suicide mission but maid!toji got too prideful. he laughed in his face and reminded him of how many times heâd been told this before and still deposited the lengthy checkâ even though he lost more than half to the races you get the point.
all he had to do was get in and kill the sack of skin and get out but no his mission became laughable in a matter of minutes.
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maid!toji already made it onto the clans grounds and into the main building. the place was like a fucking maze and he didnât study those blueprints shui handed for shit. he gave it a quick glance the morning before and thought heâd be ok; couldnât even take a picture for a hint because the place had signal jammers surrounding it.
âfuckâ he gruntedâone of manyâ blade scoring the wooden planks below as he struggled to make sense of the layout. it was sharpened just so it could be a one and done, not making any sound as far as he knew but he was wrong. you were walking the hallways as you always did, making your daily rounds if you will.
and you heard it the faint yet continuous sound of creaking. most likely from the palace being slowly sliced by the brute wielding deathly steel. you slid into one of the nearby room not bothering to check its occupancy but waiting. waiting so you watch the foreigner walk by so you could investigateâ not for the clan but your own interests. his massive frame was marvellous and considering the weight he carried he treaded along lightly.
a small âpsstt!â came from his left side, sure itâs just a clan member doing whatever inside a room he continues forward; eyes closed trying to imagine the layout until everything goes black.
maid!toji finally comes to with a sharp exhale and roll of his neck. looming over him is the man he was sent to kill in all his cocky glory and his little followers crowded around him. he knew he couldnât move but that didnât stop him from trying to finish what he came for; he struggled against the binds that tightened as he moved. and the other men forced him to stay put. âfuck you.â he manages through heavy breaths.
the clan leader smiles in response reminiscing on how he caught him or how you alerted the clan guards of his arrival. âthe fact you got around my security means youâll be talent wastedâŠâ he pauses looking between his advisors and with the wave of his fingers heâs lifted from the floor and escorted out.
he doesnât go willingly no he screams obscenities that the women and children should have to be shielded from and. but you, this lurking predator that saunters past him and back into the room with a devilish smile. nightmarish shouts flood his thick voice once again through out his journey to the private cells before he is eventually gagged.
you went into the room pleading with your father to keep him and though he was skeptical the soldier may prove useful for other things.
like doing his daughters bidding.
it was such luck he planned the assassination just 3 days before you were to travel outside the extremely claustrophobic grounds.
the duration of the time you spent getting to know your new bodyguard, though he couldnât really speak you established a nodding system for a yes or no. you could feel his not so silent begs and constant thrashing for the gag to be removed but you only met those please with a deliberate and unhurried swipe over his bottom lip and a breathy âaww i wish baby.â
and every time he couldnât help that slow blink at your touch, maybe even the occasional hushed moan through the gag that made you force your thighs closed from their subconscious opening.
it was going to be his last night in here and it unexpectedly made you sad that you wouldnât see him so pathetic any longer. âso fucking pretty arenât you.â you cooed, in response he turned his head feeling his cheeks burn with a furious heat. âcâmon mister,â you sighed hand forcing his face back, âgive me a smile and iâll give you a minute of free speech.â
his sharp eyes locked in on yours and he mustered up the biggest one he could; wincing in pain from the limited movement. âgood boyyy.â you praised bringing your hands to undo the straps laced at the back of his head.
a broken exhale fills your ears as it falls down into your hands and his eyes flutter open. he stretches his jaw readjusting to his new found freedom not even taking notice of your admiring gaze. âam i gonna hear your voice mister? maybe even learn your name?â your tone is hopeful and it settles weirdly in his chest, like he wants to listen to what you say. maybe your ceaseless talking rewired his brain somehow.
âtojiâ he awnsers with his gravelly voice obviously hoarse from the lack of use. âthen iâll call you âji hmm?â he gave a slow nod in response.
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that was the night before when he didnât know how much you got off on treating him like he was a baby maybe even a girl.
ââm not fucking wearing this shit.â he growled turning back to see your smug grin, hands hidden behind your back holding something he feels like he doesnât want to see. âyouâd look so cute for me!â you beamed as your voice ran saccharine through his head.
he was actually considering itâ no he wasnât. heâs toji the guy thatâs been killing sorcerers for years. thereâs nothing stopping him from turning around and choking you you it right⊠right? this was supposed to be he last mission for a long time and now it feels like heâs just getting started. god when was this fucking nightmare gonna be over.
âso?â you drawled, inching closer until your hand was splayed out on his back subtly encouraging him. âdâya wanna clean in a little skirt or take your chances with the guards outside?â
maid!toji who begrudgingly accepts your little ultimatum and wears the skimpy outfit when preforming his maid like duties.
itâs like the roles reversed because instead of him being the perverted old man making you shy away from him it was maid!toji that jumped at every time the two of you made contact of any kind. and more than often it was you initiating it.
itâs been weeks since this whole ordeal yet could feel your eyes burning through the humiliating outfit whenever he found himself in a compromising position like it was fresh. âyouâre sick.â heâd growl not even knowing if you were truly there but that looming presence was unforgettable. âcan a girl not admire her work now? after all it was me making sure it looked soâŠinviting.â
âsick and depraved.â he reiterated, âjust for you âji!â this wasnât the first of your declarations and it would be the last. it was the opposite of anything romantic it was twisted and lustful and seemingly never ending. âyou could leave at anytime, i know it and so do you.â he shakes his head as if it discredits what youâve said. you move closer like you always did but this time it feels like all the tension and suspense that has been piling may finally feel some sort of relief.
your mouth is next to his ear now, words taunting him worse than ever. âiâll be in my room mister fushiguro,â you plant a kiss underneath his ear before retreating and toji shivers at the loss of warmth.
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toji enters your room with a heavy exhale, like you forced his legs to walk up the stairs and to the farthest room in the building.
youâd already changed into a teal robe one that proved no use if it was so see through. sat at the edge of the laid sheets with a smirk even he couldnât replicate. âi called⊠you came.â you pause hand lifting to toy with the hem of the fabric. you let out a light chuckle before resuming, âits like you want me like i you.â you tut tugging him closer and looking up at him with eyes that forced his on yours.
he doesnât reply. just moves as you want him until heâs already standing right infront of you. itâs a relentless internal battle that forces his mouth shut. makes him unable to share his words.
