Bloody
Bloody
Hellhound Umemiya Hajime x female reader
tw: blood and gore, hard vore (not reader), mentions of miscarriage and domestic abuse, physical abuse, yandere-ish
Fairy & Rhi’s Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters
“Girl, take the beast into town.”
You nod mutely. Speak when spoken to, not spoken at, a lesson imparted swiftly and one you do well to remember.
The Magister gestures at a stuffed knapsack with a roll of parchment, undoubtedly serving as your list for the day, by the door. “Be back by nightfall.”
You’re dismissed with a flick of his wrist, the Magister already poring over the heavy tome on his desk, a gnarled, ancient finger trawling across the page, muttering to himself in a language you don’t understand. Before the metal collar around your throat can wake, you turn and shoulder the knapsack, gently stuffing the list into the pocket of your dress, and off to find the beast you go.
The cemetery grounds sprawl around the manor, with the sun burning high, you don’t have the time to waste searching for the hellhound. A quick glance tells you he’s not in the immediate vicinity, and, well, you’d know it if he was. There’s nothing for it. From your boot, you pull a small, thin blade and quickly slice it across your palm, biting back on a hiss. Blood wells to the surface – not much, it wasn’t a deep cut, but enough. Tilting your hand, three drops spill to the earth, soaking into the dirt.
“Umemiya.”
The clouds don’t part and the ground doesn’t shake, one moment there’s nothing, and the next–
“You rang?” The growling rasp of a voice behind you almost immediately dissolves into a bark of laughter, the hellhound endlessly amused by his own quip.
“I need to go into town for the Magister’s deliveries,” you say, eyes fixed to the ground, your own voice quiet. “Would you come with me? Please.” Magister’s orders or not, you don’t dare presume to command anything from a creature who could rip you apart with a single, lazy swat.
A gust of warm breath billows over you, tousling your hair; an amused chuff. “I suppose I could be convinced.”
This is the part you hate. You squirm on the spot, blunt fingernails biting into the palm of your hand. “There’s a man in town, the baker’s son,” you eventually mumble. A name – not even that. You aren’t condemning him, although he certainly deserves it, merely pointing out his existence.
Although, you suppose that excuse wears thin when, once night falls and you’re safely returned to the manor, Umemiya will take your words to heart and hunt him like prey to devour.
The first time, with the guard you’d seen tormenting one of the stable boys, he’d left the arm on the ground beneath your window, partially chewed, but unmistakable. Proof, you suppose, of his end of the deal.
He always leaves something. An arm. A mangled foot. Once, part of what you think was a man’s liver. If you weren’t so deathly afraid of him, you might’ve considered asking him to stop, but you haven’t and so he doesn’t.
“The Baker’s son.” He sounds like he’s mulling it over, weighing the taste of your choice in his head. “You sure?”
No. “Yes.”
The Magister’s never given any indication he’s aware of the demands his pet hellhound makes every time you’re sent to fetch him. If you give the name of someone the Magister has plans for and he finds out, the punishment won’t be pleasant. If you refuse to make the choice and leave Umemiya behind, the collar around your neck will burn through skin and mangle your throat. You’ll live, and wish you hadn’t.
But the baker’s son beats his wife and she lost their baby. His name is as good as any.
You turn. The hulking mass of muscle, teeth and claws behind you sits on his haunches, ash white fur wreathed in smoke, two thick horns cracked with veins of glowing red protrude from the top of his head, reaching skyward. He grins, as much as a hellhound can manage, and chuffs again. “No one else?”
Your blood runs cold. Another?
Does he– is he–
You don’t have anyone else on your list. Not yet. You need time, you need– you can’t just condemn another person, someone who might be innocent. “N-no?”
Umemiya snorts, leans forward and jolts you into motion with his snout. You take it as acceptance of terms struck and re-shoulder the knapsack.
The journey into town is at least two hours on foot. Dawdling is not a luxury you can afford.
—
“You’re late. Idiot girl.”
The crack across your face sends you to the floor, ears ringing. Blood, hot and coppery, coats your tongue, your teeth. Seeps from the scratch his garnet ring left behind and drips into the ground below.
The Magister said nightfall. You know he said nightfall.
Like a dog, he kicks at your stomach, and like a dog, you curl up to make yourself small and whimper into the dirt. Your face throbs and stings in equal measure. Tears burn unshed and it feels like you’re going to throw up with every shallow, wheezing breath.
The sun hasn’t set. The collar at your throat lies cold.
You haven’t broken the rules; the Magister doesn’t care.
“Next time you’ll do as I say, hm?” Always condescending. Dismissive. Cruel, because whatever shrivelled up inside of his chest surely isn’t a heart.
You did nothing wrong. You never do and it never makes a difference.
In that moment, it isn’t pain or shock or despair for the unfairness of it all that sparks in your chest and bleeds through your veins like poison. Spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva into the dirt, you screw your eyes shut and surrender to it, for better or worse.
“Umemiya.”
This time, a growl precedes his arrival. Dark and thunderous, it rattles at your ribs, you feel it down to your core. His shadow sweeps over you, blocking out the dying daylight, and still, you keep your eyes squeezed shut.
“What, you think the beast will help you? Foolish, stupid girl.”
The insult misses its mark, fuel to the black pit seething inside of you.
Give me a name. The words aren’t spoken aloud, you hear them in your head, whisper soft but unbending and unflinching. An order. A plea. And it occurs to you then, what Umemiya was pushing for earlier. What he’d been trying to pull from the first time you’d summoned him. He isn’t loyal to the monster who collared you.
The hellhound belongs to the cemetery.
“The Magister.”
You don’t open your eyes when the screams begin, savage snarls and snapping bones. The wet tear of muscle and flesh, the agonised gurgles of an old, dying man.
The crunching continues long after the cries die out, but you don’t move an inch. You don’t dare look, certain that if you do, you’ll lose the battle you’re waging with your stomach. Violently. The sounds are bad enough.
The padding of his steps is near silent, but the purring rumble as he approaches gives his presence away, and when something wet and heavy drops to the ground in front of you, you slowly crack open an eye.
Umemiya, maw dripping with red, great splatters of it marring his coat, slowly lowers his head to nuzzle at your cheek.
“Give me a name,” he pleads.
His tongue laps at the drying blood, and as your hands sink into the soft, smokey fur, and you gingerly ease yourself upright, you look to the gift he’s laid before you.
The Magister’s heart, a little chewed up, but unmistakable.
“The parents who sold me.”
More Posts from Maboiisuga and Others
I WANT IT. ¹
PAIRING | miya atsumu x fem!reader + kageyama tobio
GENRE | angst, smut (18+)
AU | YANDERE
WARNINGS | TIME SKIP MANGA SPOILERS + NSFW + YANDERE! DARK CONTENT AHEAD. minors dni! pwp, yandere behavior, stalking, voyeurism, kageyama fucking you from atsumu's point of view; atsumu being a creep, light degredation, light mocking, tobio being cocky, public sex, public masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected car sex, recording sex without consent, light corruption fantasies, etc. DO NOT IGNORE WARNINGS.
DISCLAIMER | this is a yandere au. dark content ahead. minors do NOT interact.
WORD COUNT | 8.4k
SUMMARY | in which you are the only female manager that has not fallen for the MSBY black jackals' flirty tactics, and after two years of constant rejections and shut-downs to flirty comments, the entire team quit their tactics. excluding miya atsumu and sakusa kiyoomi, whose obsession, feelings, and want to be with you only got stronger and more unhealthy by the day even when you were already taken by another man. and, as a manager, you have to take care of your team members no matter what... right?
BONUS | inspired by this flaming hot ash song called i want it by two feet. FUCK.
PART ONE [ 1/4 ] | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR
MIYA ATSUMU WAS A PLAYER IN EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF HIS LIFE. And he loved the feeling of being able to gain something new due to his mechanism of work and his ability to gain whatever he wants due to his status as well. He was not a workaholic, per se, but he loved taking things from working hard for them. He loved the thrill of having the ability to take what he wants when he wants. He loved seeing his hard work pay off. He loved letting certain things go after they became useless. And it didn’t help that he was the precise same way when it came to his sex or love life.
As if everything came easy to him, the idea of getting anyone he wants is not something far out of his reach. He’s a firm believer that he could get anyone he wanted due to his status as a player in every aspect.
Of course, that was until you came along. The newest female manager to the MSBY Black Jackals of Japan.
For the first few weeks with you managing their team, he wanted to get in your pants— much like every team member who worked their asses off and wanted to use a woman for their own pleasure. Nearly every year their managers would quit due to the fact they realized the team members only wanted to get in their pants and didn’t truly appreciate their work as actual managers. They didn’t feel wanted because of their skills in managing, they just felt like used property. And it wasn’t like they would force the managers to do anything, they all fall for their little tricks to blow off steam every time, which is why it was expected that you would be an easy fuck for them much like the rest.
Not you, though. You’ve been the only manager that has not given into their flirty comments and has blatantly rejected every single one of the team members in a moment they’d approach to ask you of anything but your tasks or volleyball expectations.
They can vividly recall the day you were introduced to the team and how they all mentally shared knowing glances to each other, expecting another manager who’ll fall right for their tactics. It started off as inviting you for team dinners after practice, to bars, and even to their own homes and to play it off as celebratory for game winnings. And yet— you still refused.
You weren’t the blushy or flustered type of manager when it came to their endless flirting, you would brush it off and bluntly state that you are uncomfortable with their actions, politely asking them to refrain from asking you out or flirting with you as it is unprofessional and you would prefer they maintain their distance or comments unless it had to do with their needs as team members for volleyball and nothing else. It came off as a shock to the majority of those who attempted to pursue you, but they eventually quit the acts and gave you your space, knowing fully well that a no is a no and that you are here to manage their team, nothing more.
And it worked, they all quit their acts and began to respect your work ethic and you as a person, eventually becoming close to you as friends and the fact you took great care of them as a manager. In fact, you are the longest manager in terms of duration that they have had, having managed their team for two years now, all of their acts have faded into more playful-ness.
You were just so kind and hardworking, they truly appreciated your work ethic for the good of the team. You had a smile that sent jolts of motivation each game, and overall they’d all just grown to admire you. You were just so perfect, and they knew you weren’t one to give in to easy things. So they all quit.
Well, not all of the team members, unfortunately. Your attitude of rejection could barely faze only Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu. The smallest things you did, especially having known you for two years now, sent that addictive feeling rushing into their body to pursue you in the filthiest ways imaginable. And it grew stronger daily, to the point it became an unhealthy obsession for both. Physically, you could assume they are no longer interested in you that way anymore because their flirty attitudes have died down, but oh were you wrong.
Their desire for you grows stronger by the passing minute of each day, and two years have been a major change in their perspective over you than the first day you started off as their manager. It’s as if the first day they met you they realized you’re different and you’re unlike the other managers they’ve previously had. You always stood your ground, had a deep understanding of volleyball and strategies, and you took great care of the team during their biggest slumps.
It’s kind of hard not to fall for you. But, alas, they knew you couldn’t feel the same. You’ve practically rejected them or distanced yourself each time they crossed a few lines. So they resorted to their own fantasies for the time being.
In most cases, obviously, it is okay to fantasize about who you like or admire, in fact, it’s normal to have a crush. But after two years, a normal person would say that it’s not really a ‘crush’ anymore. Instead, it’s become this unhealthy form of infatuation to have you in every way that one small taste of you can feed into it. Although they both seem to be unaware at the given moment that their goal— they both have the same exact goal of pursuing you, no matter the cost— to have you. And you wouldn’t know a single thing about it.
At first, Atsumu was confident you’d fall for his tactics. He couldn’t care less about you rejecting the others, he was just sure you wouldn’t reject him. He was confident he’d be able to get you in his bed and call it a success.
However, the day he tried it did not go very well. His confidence practically broke his ego.
One night, after practice, Atsumu wanted to stay and practice his serves more when the rest of the team left. Although, he mostly just had the plan of purposely being left behind so that he was alone with you. And just because you’re the manager and you were always left to lock up, he finally wanted to experience that first time of his heart beating realizing he was going to be left alone with you.
So when the team left and Atsumu stayed behind, he watched you scribble down a few notes into your clipboard. You looked strangely attractive to him when you seemed to be in deep focus, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip and your brows furrowed. He wondered… if you would make that face of focus if you were to get fucked dumb—!
Sadly, his fantasy was cut off the moment you looked up and noticed that he was still here and hadn’t left with the rest of the team.
“May I help you, Miya-san?” You asked, with an eyebrow raised as you secure your pen into your clipboard.
“L/N-san,” He cleared his throat. “I got permission from Foster-sensei to stay after for a few minutes to practice a couple of my serves, ya saw in last week’s game it was off, I need more practice.”
“Alright,” You nodded, and went back to jotting away at your clipboard. “But, please hurry it up in about twenty minutes so I can lock up early, it is the weekend after all and I do have somewhere to be as well, Miya-san.”
Atsumu was taken back. You were telling him to hurry it up? Just who did you think you were ordering him around to fit around your own schedule? You manage his team to fit their criteria, not the other way around. Who gives a fuck what you have planned, you’re supposed to stay here for as long as it takes because in the end, Atsumu is the star, and you’re just left to run errands for him. He doesn’t hurry it up for you, rather, you must hurry it up for him.
So why did he simply nod at your words without arguing like he wanted to? Why did he keep his mouth shut?
Just who did ya think ya were?
“Yeah, of course, L/N-san,” Atsumu nodded, before jogging up to the net where the basket of the volleyballs was, and he immediately went back to his serves and tosses.
Still, as he faced away from you and continued with his own personal practice for the next thirty minutes, he smirked as he decided to put on this exterior that he always uses and manages to work with every other girl. He had to give it a go at the moment, this is what he was here for; this is what he stayed later after practice for.
He had to try.
Atsumu spun around, holding the ball, and seeing you still deep in focus at your clipboard, he frowned lightly before resorting back to his smirk. It was going to work, he knew it—!
“L/N-san?” He spoke up, you looked up momentarily to his calling before looking back at the clock in the corner of the wall, and standing up abruptly.
“Shoot, it’s been over twenty minutes, I need to go—!” You started softly, before turning back to Atsumu standing in the middle of the court with a ball in his hand, simply looking at you.
“Miya-san, it’s been over twenty minutes! Please put away the ball, so I can lock up!” You ordered as you grabbed the keys from the bench, turning back to see him still standing there with an amused look on his face.
He doesn’t know why he wanted to walk closer and make sure you knew your place… Seriously, what could be more important than him?
“Jus’ a few more minutes,” He started, lightly swallowing his nerves before smirking and slowly approaching you, causing you to raise your brows in confusion. “How about this time, ya watch me do a few serves since ya’ve had yer pretty little head buried inside that stack of papers all day?”
You were taken back by his words and the way he clearly thinks he has the upper hand here. Did he not hear you when you said you had other plans?
“Miya-san, I have plans that I have to tend to. Please put away the ball so I can lock up,” You stated, turning away from him to pick up your clipboard, completely missing the way he caught up a few feet from behind you.
“Yer plans can wait, L/N-san,” He interjected behind you, you stood back up and turned to face him, taken back once again by his stubborn attitude. “I need to practice more and I need ya to watch me do a few serves!”
“I apologize Miya-san, but as I said earlier I have to lock up and I have to be somewhere else by now. I will watch them next week,” You shook him off as you grabbed your bag, gasping as Atsumu decided now would be a good time to grab it from your hold.
Your mouth was left agape, and impatience adorned your features.
“Miya—!”
“I don’t think ya heard me well, L/N-san,” He tsks, his gaze intense as he was holding the bag out of your hold. “I asked ya if ya want to watch me do a few serves and give me feedback.”
“What—?” You stated in confusion. “Hand me back my bag!”
“Stay first,” Atsumu stated, causing your patience to be non-existent at this point. “Then maybe I’ll consider giving it back!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you not hear what I said? I don’t want to!” You exclaimed. “Now give me back my bag!”
Atsumu took a step back and lowered your bag in his hold, causing you to lurch forward and grabbing it from his hold.
No, no—! Did he just ruin everything—?
“I’m sorry, L/N-san! I- I was just messing around! That’s all...” Atsumu trails off after exclaiming with his hands in the air, the ball was long forgotten on the floor.
You look away from his pouting gaze that only now just seemed playful, earlier it wasn’t. As he was clearly trying to keep you in place when you stated multiple times no. Yet, he’s your team member and you have to treat him with respect since he said he was just joking… right?
“It’s alright, Miya-san,” You resort to saying, looking away as you clutched your clipboard and bag. “Your coach asked me to lock up, and that’s what I’m here to do. Please put away the ball so I can do that.”
Again? You seriously just repeated that?
Atsumu was taken back, and girls paid thousands to watch him. He’s offering for free... how come? But he has to understand, due to the fact he almost scared you away.
Almost.
“Yeah, of course,” He bowed, looking at the side of your face as you organized your items in your bag. “I’ll do that right now.”
And he did as you asked, he walked away and put away the ball into the basket and pushed it back into the storage room, watching in admiration as you followed him to lock it. He allowed a girl to control him like that. And for what? What was the reason?
As you stood locking the main door of the gym, he stayed behind you and allowed himself to smirk again, and let his own words linger.
“Ya know, L/N-san...” Atsumu started. “It is pretty late, I can walk ya home if ya’d like!” He offered suddenly, you looked at him in confusion once more and shook your head.
“I am quite alright, I am not walking home yet,” You shook your head frantically, honestly flattered by his kindness but he’s so insistent. “Thank you, though, Miya-san.”
“Are ya sure? Maybe we’re headed in the same direction—!” Atsumu edges you on, and you shake your head.
“I’m good, thanks,” You say bitterly, pulling the door and making sure it’s locked you start to walk away, Atsumy tailing behind you.
“Oh okay,” He frowned. “No worries.”
You gave a weak smile before turning the corner of the street, letting out a puff of air and hoping he wasn’t walking with you anymore. Atsumu's pride was severed, he doesn’t know why he won’t take no for an answer.
He has to try again… and like they say, the third time’s a charm… right?
“L/N-san!” Atsumu called out from the end of the street, causing you to grumble in annoyance and whip your head back, forcing a friendly smile on your face.
“Yes?”
“If not today, then maybe next week—we could grab some onigiri or somethin’? Or whatever you might like—?” Atsumu fidgets with his jacket, cursing himself mentally when you raise a hand and interrupt him.
“Miya-san, with all due respect, I am your manager. I hope I have emphasized that enough. Please refrain from asking me out again, if you don’t mind.” you bluntly stated, impatience adorning your features. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way.”
Atsumu froze in his spot... did he just get rejected? Again? As if the rejection wasn’t enough to convince him that he’s lost his shot, his eyes became clouded with red.
“I understand,” He stated coolly, however, the boiling rage that struck into his ego is at its near maximum. Any second now, he would blow up.
“Thank you,” You bowed respectfully, waving off with a smile as you bid him goodnight.
Atsumu’s gaze sharpened as he watched you walk away. Seriously, what was more important than spending time with him? And rejecting him at once? Do you really have to play hard to get? He was just being nice and offering a spot for only you to watch, it’s like a free ticket to a private game! And on top of that, one of the most powerful setters you manage his team for. So what was it that caused you to reject watching the Miya Atsumu practice his receives when they’re near perfected at his matches? People pay a fortune to get front row seats to one of the best teams of Japan, especially for the top setters in the nation!
You can’t just reject him… do you even know your place?
Atsumu eyebrows unfurrowed, and he puts a small smile on his face. However, nothing about it screams kind. It’s the unsettling sort of smile that adorns his features, the one accompanied by wide eyes bulging out as they watch your figure leave the gym. The face of a person who’d just gotten slapped in the face and knows damn well that he’ll absolutely corrupt whoever slapped them… That he’ll make them regret their choice of words. That’s what it felt like, especially since Atsumu’s knuckles turned white by the way he’s formed his hands into fists on his sides.
This has never happened to him. Just who the fuck were you?
Atsumu’s smile widens, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.
Looks like he’ll have to teach you some manners.
When the following week had come and Atsumu saw you walk into the gym with an innocent-looking smile, he presumed you’d completely forgotten about the encounter that happened between the both of you last week. But that’s okay, he’ll have to remind you about it later since it meant a great deal to him. It was the day Atsumu decided he’ll just have to try harder. It’ll mean a greater deal to you in time, he hopes.
It’s honestly just like a match. He’d practice harder if he lost, that’s all. That’s what it is. It’s the same thing. You and volleyball are the same thing, basically.
But he most likely inferred that your smile has to do with the new shiny diamond ring that circled your ring finger perfectly, the one he may or may not have seen you wear for the first time with tears of joy.
The tears of joy he may or may not have seen as he allowed his footsteps to keep moving in your direction that night right after your rejection.
The footsteps that padded behind you all the way to the fancy restaurant where a handsome and dreamy man in a suit sat at a beautifully decorated table with fancy silky cloth and rose petals, the faint smell of sparkling champagne in the air.
He saw the way you gleefully approached the man. Running into his arms, as if it was your safe haven you’d fall into after a hectic day at work. He dressed very nicely, while you remained dressed in your gym and manager attire, not as fancy. Atsumu mentally curses himself for being selfish for once and taking up extra of your precious time that you probably would have used to change out of these clothes and probably wore something fancier and out of what he’d see you regularly wearing. He could have stayed behind and watched you wear that, slowly but surely every inch of the fabric stuck to your skin and if he had wanted to rip it off. (He imagined it to be like that one purple dress that hugged your curves and cupped your tits that he saw while mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram he follows from a secret account. Nothing crazy though, it’s not even under his name.) But he’d never rip it off the first day, the first time will be consensual. And that’s important!
But Atsumu thought the manager's clothing kept your modesty and your true beauty since you’re clearly out with a rich man and you didn’t want that to be something people looked at you for. You’re you, not what your relations paint you out to be.
A rich man… from an opposing team?
Wait…
What the fuck is going on?
Atsumu’s eyes seem to widen more the moment he realizes that the man’s arms you just ran into… were Tobio Kageyama’s; the opposing team of the Schweiden Adlers' official setter.
He also happened to be Atsumu’s rival since high school. The moment he saw his neutral expression soften at your appearance, his knuckles turned white from the clenched fists he formed again. Atsumu could physically feel his blood boil at the sight of the opposing setter.
It’s like knowing that your significant other is none other than Tobio Kageyama made this entire situation of infatuation significantly worse. Now Atsumu just had to get you.
However, he wonders what Kageyama thinks. You’re managing his opposing team’s match. He wonders how Kageyama feels about you spending hours with his team; traveling and taking such… good… care of them. Atsumu knows he’d never trust his own girlfriend to be around so many men. So much could happen. He’d keep her just to himself, and pay no other man attention. But it seems as if Kageyama is unfazed, clearly the way he held you in the middle of the restaurant as you seemed to be pressed flush against his chest and sighing from fatigue just shows his amount of trust and love for you that it’s nothing to him. Especially when Atsumu caught sight of the chaste peck he placed on your forehead as he held you. Clearly, he’s a popular setter too, getting attention from millions of girls on the daily.
Atsumu internally gags at the idea of putting so much trust into one another in a relationship. Seriously, who doesn’t get worried and paranoid that the other might be cheating? It’s only normal.
However, it wasn’t until you gave Kageyama a sweet kiss on his cheek and he sat down to wait for you, that Atumu really reached his limits. He was waiting on literally anything to hold against Kageyama, to show you that he’s not the setter you should be with. He’s got to be flawed. That it should be Atsumu; it should be his arms that you run into after a long day at work for him as well—!
Okay, he was getting ahead of himself. First, he wants to fuck you. He wants to see if the moment he released all of himself inside you that it’d be a worthy investment of his time and love into you. Do you really deserve it when you’re rejecting him like a brat?
Anyway, he was waiting for a moment to seize— and as if the gods answered his prayers, a group of young women who were sitting at a table nearby got up from their seats and walked over to approach Kageyama. He looked up in confusion and Atsumu could barely hear what they were saying as they tried to surround him. However, he could only assume that they were fans and probably wanted a picture with him.
Oh-ho?
Atsumu felt a dark smile form onto his lips the moment he saw a girl latch her hand at his Kageyama’s shoulder. Atsumu couldn’t let this go to waste— this was his chance! This was his chance to prove to you who’s the real setter you’re managing! Not this cunt who’s letting a girl touch him.
The moment Atsumu whipped out his phone to take a picture, however, he saw Kageyama swat the girl’s hand from his shoulder, standing up abruptly and faintly demanding they leave even though he’s flattered.
“The bastard’s loyal huh?” Atsumu grumbled under his breath. But the answer to the question of Kageyama’s loyalty to you still didn’t faze him. Atsumu was going to have you and take you from him, obviously.
As if on cue, you opened the restaurant door clutching the same bag from earlier, except this time, the loose cloth was dangling from the bag— your manager's clothing— and you were wearing a petite cream-colored dress that hugged your hips and gentle body so well.
That’s just embarrassing… Atsumu grumbles under his breath in utter annoyance as he feels the material of his shorts tighten with the tent that began to form, leaves of the bush he stood behind ruffling as he began to adjust his legs in a more comfortable position. He couldn’t help it, the thrill of being the only guy among the Black Jackals who’s seen you out with an outfit that only leaves imagination up to the eye.
Anyway, Kageyama stood up and placed yet another kiss on your face, except for the raging fact he placed his lips on yours this time, mentally groaning at the fact you kissed him back just as passionately, your hands tugging at his jacket as he held you.
Seriously, quit it with the PDA it’s pissing him off—!
Atsumu’s wishes were granted as soon as Kageyama’s lips pulled away from yours and feathered the last one for a while on the top of your soft hair. And as you both sat down, Atsumu knew he’d have to just observe incoherent words of you both just conversing with each other, ordering your food together, and whatever else the night may have stored for later.
Atsumu expected something simple and old-fashioned from knowing Tobio. He expected a boring date with just a fancy dinner. He expected this to be just some normal date that couldn’t hint at seriousness between you both. He honestly expected you to fall asleep at one point. But none of that happened.
Tobio Kageyama was an entirely different person from his point of view as he managed to pull that heavenly giggle and smile from your lips throughout the entire night. Even after you both finished eating, you stayed and just talked for what seemed like forever to Atsumu. The gentle touches and soft shoves you both gave each other as you wholeheartedly listened to him and he, you. Atsumu’s mouth only gaped at Tobio’s behavior around you. He looked truly happy and content to be with you at every second that seemed to pass— and the part that stung Atsumu the most was just how happy you looked and felt with him too. He could just tell that this was definitely something that was serious.
It’s a shame he has to ruin something so beautiful for his own benefit. But it must be done— it just has to. Atsumu could care less that you were happy with someone else. Moreso, someone Atsumu has thought of as an enemy since high school. In fact, this just made things easier for him. It would be like knocking two birds with one stone.
He gets to finally defeat the Adlers’ setter in something other than volleyball, and he gets to have you. He gets to take you away from Kageyama. And it made sense anyway, it’s not like you managed the Adlers. No, you managed the Jackals. And it will just have to remain that way forever. He’ll ensure that.
But Atsumu never expected this night to become something he felt that he almost couldn’t take anymore. Or rather something that would complicate his plans just a bit. Because no, the night to Tobio was clearly far from over. He heard your laughs die down and a small gasp escaped your lips. However, from Atsumu’s position, he could barely see what was going on since he could only see you sitting with your hand over your lips, and Kageyama was nowhere near his chair.
Curse the expensive dark-colored sports car that was parked in front of his hiding spot. He could barely see a thing!
Atsumu tch’ed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on his camera to zoom in and get a better look at what was going on. He nearly dropped his phone at the sight of what it depicted. Kageyama had gotten on his knees under the table, oddly enough he did it in a discreet manner that no one noticed. Atsumu could see under the cloth how his hands on your knees parted your thighs slightly enough for his head to peek in right in between them. Atsumu could see the way Tobio looked up at you from under the cloth— he could only guess one thing. Lust. But perhaps lust wasn’t just it, if that were Atsumu under the table, he’d be able to tell it’s deep of love and devotion to you.
But this was so unexpected of Tobio. He never struck Atsumu as the type to be into pleasuring you out in public, the mere thrill of being caught obviously straining his boxers. Atsumu’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you carding your delicate hands through Tobio’s hair… he could… hear you sniffling from far away?
Atsumu zoomed in with his phone and noticed a light reflection coming from… a jeweled ring held in his fingers on top of your thigh... It’s as if he could tell the look on Tobio’s face was daring and endearing at the same time.
He was fucking proposing to you, under the table of a fancy, public, and dim-lit restaurant, with the full intent of marking you with nothing but love mixed with pleasure with his tongue.
No wonder ya both skipped on orderin' dessert.
Atsumu could only wish he heard the absolute tender yet dirty words spewing from Tobio’s mouth under the table to you. He could only wish he heard Tobio confess his intent to fully devote his love to you by making you his— and if the world caught sight of that moment, he wouldn’t mind. He’ll have you forever.
But first, (unfortunately unheard by Atsumu) Tobio will have to hear just how much you want your boyfriend to make you gush around his tongue; giving him the dessert he didn’t get to order while you beg for him to make you his with the ring he clutched between his fingers. Tobio seemed to chuckle darkly at your needy expression towards the ring in his palm. You wanted it— you practically begged to have the ring wrapped around your finger by him. Atsumu could tell you said yes; because his gaze became clouded with a sense of darkness, envy, and lust as he watched Tobio dip his head further into your embarrassed cunt. Atsumu’s tent tightened the gap between his shorts and thighs as he watched you bite your hand from moaning loudly at the pleasure that began to form from Tobio’s tongue alone. He could tell you wanted to throw your head back and tug at his dark hair.
Atsumu thanked the gods for the delicious moment and for his hiding spot because it didn’t take long for him to slide his bruised hand from setting into his shorts, reaching for his annoying erection and palming himself through the material as he watched Tobio fuck you with bliss on his tongue. He mentally cursed at the fact the recording wasn’t going to be enough due to the fact he can barely see you and Tobio’s facial expressions, but that’ll have to do for now. He can always fantasize and remember— it’s what he’s been doing up to this moment anyway.
Atsumu bit his lip as he finally saw you tug at Tobio’s hair, your fingers turning white as you held his locks; he could tell you were getting close. Atsumu’s breath increased as he realized you weren’t the innocent little manager he thought you were after all. The mere fact you could come undone in just a few minutes from simple tongue fucking and in public where anyone could see just rocked him closer to his own orgasm. He can’t imagine just how much more he doesn’t know about you. All he knows is that he wanted to be in Tobio’s position more than anything. He felt himself drool at the thought of being able to taste every inch of your cunt with his tongue— he could just imagine how sweet you would taste. He could tell from the way Tobio ravaged his tongue against your folds like he was drinking his ungodly flavored milk he couldn’t get enough of back in high school.
It’s as if Tobio had become an entirely different person when he met you. And Atsumu couldn’t blame him because he felt the same exact way. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll have his way with you. And when he will, he promised himself he’ll do it over and over— however long it would take to erase Tobio’s way with you permanently. Until you won’t want anyone but him.
Yeah... he’ll have his way with you.
Atsumu let out a muffled grunt against his jacket as his legs shook with the orgasm that rippled itself into his body like electricity. His cum squirted all over his bruised hands, groaning at the sticky sensation. He’s touched himself before to the little thoughts of you, of course; but this was something he got to witness firsthand. This was probably the best orgasm he’d had from jerking off to you. Surely, this wasn’t going to be his last?
Atsumu’s breathing slowed as he was able to tell you came around the same time he did because he watched Tobio’s head disappear after placing a kiss on your wrist from your hand that is stuck in his—now—messy locks. He watched from the distance as you came down from your high, chest heaving up and down slowly, your cleavage slightly out due to the fact your dress was shuffled a bit with Tobio’s hands.
It was beyond Atsumu how literally nobody around you noticed what just happened. He raised a brow when he noticed Tobio still under the table, but he smirked as he realized the opposing setter was clearly trying to adjust the mess he made in his pants. Unbeknownst to Atsumu, Tobio took care of your pleasure while taking care of his own. Meaning Tobio palmed himself under the table and came right as you did... in unison.
Unison… like the fact he sealed your finger with the ring as you both came undone together. An orgasm that was so precious to Tobio due to the fact you must have cum while you said yes. Cumming undone in public and sealing your fate with Tobio in unison. To say Atsumu was severely jealous was an understatement. He was utterly annoyed and, inconveniently, rock-hard once more even though he came only a moment ago. Clearly, it wasn’t enough.
He grunted in annoyance at the but his attention was back at the fact you and Tobio just got up abruptly from your table, Tobio placing the bill for the dinner and grabbing at your hand in the other, walking you out and crossing the street.
Atsumu’s eyes widened behind his disgraceful hiding spot, you were crossing the straight right in his direction. You were both practically approaching his hiding spot.
Holy fucking shit— did they see him? Did they actually catch him in his contemptible position as he pumped out his filthy desire from watching you cum?
Atsumu silently panicked as you and Tobio were feet away from his crouched position. But his heart rate died down the moment he reached for his car (that was his sports car?) keys and opened the passenger door for you to climb in with wobbly legs. Atsumu’s gaze lowered at your ridden up dress, your thighs were exposed more than they were earlier, clearly from earlier. And from his crouched position, he could see the bare outline of your drenched panties. Atsumu mentally cursed at Tobio for still allowing your wet cunt to soak your panties. If that was him, he’d have licked you up until there would be no drop to even form a wet spot on the thin material. Or perhaps it was intentional— which would make sense to his new side Atsumu had never seen. He barely knew the man and his plans now. What was next? Was that it?
No, of course not. Atsumu, or rather any normal human being, would only assume that was just a little thing to get the night started and that daring Tobio definitely had more planned for the rest of the night. He could only imagine just how hard he’ll fuck when you get home and immediately go to bed. He’ll probably since he sealed the deal and adding unprotected sex to the list isn’t too far from his plans most likely.
Atsumu would definitely fuck you without any form of protection if he’d proposed to you. He’d lose count to how many times he’d fill your cunt with his pent-up load that he wouldn’t be mad if you got pregnant. Of course, this was a far-fetched idea of getting you pregnant. But it doesn’t hurt to think outside of the box.
Atsumu mentally let out a whine. He wanted to follow you and Tobio home. He wanted to witness it first-hand. But unfortunately, he had to get home and sleep early, due to the fact he had press and a bunch of other shit to deal with in the morning. But perhaps the universe smiled down at Atsumu today. Because the moment Tobio shut the car door behind him, he lifted you by your waist, almost in a rough manner, and pushed you to the backseat.
Atsumu felt a drool down his cheek. This was so exciting. This was unbelievably filthy. In the car? In front of the restaurant?
Not bad, Tobio-kun.
Atsumu watched as Tobio went to the backseat as well and pulled you to straddle his waist. Despite the windows being closed, the backseat window had a faint opening. From the close proximity of where he was hiding, that was deliciously vivid to his view and hearing. Atsumu’s terrifying grin widened as he pressed another recording, sliding his hand under his shorts once more.
“I don’t think you did a good enough job at the restaurant hiding your moans, love,” Tobio muttered as he slid his hand under your dress, toying with your sensitive clit. “I want to give it another try, except this time, I’ll make you and my car shake. How does that sound, pretty girl?”
Tobio clearly left the window open on purpose, almost daring you to moan loudly for everyone around to hear. To hear you moan loudly about just how good he’s taking care of his woman. Buying her fancy dinner, getting dessert right from her own source, proposing with a blindingly shiny ring that presented success and accomplishments, adding the cherry on top with you now being secured in his life. He was going to fuck you until you could never forget tonight.
In a way, Atsumu felt lucky to watch, to witness a moment so important in your life, a moment that was meant to only you and Tobio to look back on. And he almost feels bad for staying hidden, recording this unforgettable moment.
Maybe he’ll show the recording to you in the future when he completely breaks this moment. When he replaces it with another moment that erases Tobio. But maybe he would show it to you. It could serve as a reminder that he’s not what you deserve. You deserve better, you deserve him. Not some rich yet other powerful setter. You have him, you should forget about Tobio Kageyama.
Yeah, you should savor this moment until the very end. Because many more will come where Tobio won’t be in the picture. Atsumu made that promise to himself.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Atsumu’s sweat prickled on his forehead as he watched you bounce on Tobio’s cock— his head thrown back against the leather seat, fingers brushing against your nipples through the dress very so often as it elicits soft moans from you. But he could tell you were trying to keep it down. He could tell Tobio was fucking you good.
“T-Tobio, mmh—! I think I’m close already!” You whined against his clothed chest, your tears from the sensitivity of earlier streaming down your cheeks with every thrust.
“Already? We just started. You wanted my dick that much when I wrapped that finger around you, baby?” Tobio cooed as he watched you struggle to take him, bouncing ever so lightly as you do. “That’s okay— I intend to make you cum for however much it takes. Not every day you get proposed to, Y/N. I won’t let you forget.”
“Baby, please! Go faster, ‘s too big,” You whined at his words, causing Tobio to scoff as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind on the headrest of the front seat.
“Was tongue fucking you not enough prep, my love?” Tobio asked as he pinned you, his thrusts getting faster at your request, to the point where you throw your head back against the headrest of where your hands were pinned. “Thank god I’m marrying you and this tight pussy. I’m sure this will be a common occurrence. But that’s okay, I’ll fuck you loose. Loose from me. Me only, love.”
Ya liked this, L/N-san? I could make ya scream next time. I’ll do it. I won’t hold ya back from yer beautiful and dirty sounds like Tobio-kun— I’ll help ya let it all out…
Atsumu’s grip on his own cock increased in speed as he heard your moans become louder. He felt bad for you as he palmed himself— what if someone hears? That’d be embarrassing and a little clumsy of you. You get to come while filthy people watch— watch Tobio thrust up into you faster as he gets closer to reaching his own climax. Mouth latching onto your neck and hands tugging at his dark locks in the tinted windows of an unnecessarily expensive sports car. Your delicious view of tits bouncing right in Tobio’s face, making him groan into your skin and grope the flesh harder.
“Fuck—engh! Y/N, it’s honestly like your getting tighter. But I’m a bit confused, love, aren’t you enjoying this a bit much?” Tobio chuckled at your fucked out expression. “I guess I’m planning on marrying you for a reason. I get to fuck and understand this pretty little body all by myself. Of course, you—fuck—you want that too, huh?”
You were enjoying this so much, L/N-san. I’ll give ya this and more. I will.
“You’re jus’ too big for me to handle sometimes, Tobio, I can’t—mmh—! Help it!” Your breathy moan escaped with your words, leaning against his torso to steady yourself as you feel yourself getting undeniably closer to your release.
“Damn right I am. We didn't order any drinks and you're already drunk on my cock," Tobio chuckled at your helplessness. "I bet you were just waiting for me to get down on my knees for you, hm?"
"I've been waiting for months—fuck— months for you to propose, Tobio," Your riding slows from your legs giving out, causing Tobio to groan and resort to thrusting upwards into you since you clearly can't do it yourself. "'M so happy you did."
"'M happy I did too, baby," Tobio smiled, genuinely, before increasing the speed of his thrusts, capturing your swollen and plump lips with his own, as if pouring his heart out with it.
Atsumu groaned as he felt his orgasm hit him like a rock, his cum spurting out of his hands in an intense manner onto his disgraceful seat in the audience. Your final moan being loud enough that Tobio had to muffle it with his mouth on yours. The wet clashing sounds that came from your swollen lips and tongues wanting to be closer than ever. His arms sneaking around your back, pulling you closer as you both road out your amazing high; hands blazing a fiery trail across your waist and up to your back. He kissed you with much force that Atsumu was unsure if you had to pull away to breathe and compose yourselves.
But to his surprise, you pulled away and pressed a soft kiss against Tobio’s cheek— falling tiredly into his chest. He didn’t even pull out— he let you sit still on his softened cock— feeling the occasional thumping of your painted walls that are clamped around him. Tobio held you in comforting silence, feathering sweet kisses to your pretty little head.
Atsumu groaned the moment he heard Tobio mutter an ‘I love you’ into your ear, you murmuring one just as soft and sincere. He fought the urge to gag at the sincerity and realness in your confessions to one another. In the next practice match— even an official— he would make sure to target him a lot more rough than usual. What was this supposed to be? It was way too real to be a joke. It pissed him off.
His legs began to give out and shake from his crouching position, Atsumu lightly gasped as he lost balance in his knees, causing the bush in his hiding position to ruffle from his shifting movements. His eyes widened as he saw Tobio twitch his head in his direction.
Fuck— he needed to get out of here. Atsumu clasped his cum-stained hand to his mouth and nose, covering any slight movement or noise of his breathing being held in. He was not going to get caught.
“What’s wrong?” You mumble into his chest, from feeling him shift suddenly. Tobio turned back to look at you in his arms, softly carding his fingers through your hair.
“Did you hear that?” Tobio muttered as he held you close to his body, hearing you mumble a no against his chest, nuzzling against his warmth. “Thought I heard somethin’.”
“Probably the wind,” You suggested, looking up at him, your lips moving from his chest up to his exposed neck, and placing a trail of soft kisses up his Adam's apple, causing your lips to vibrate from his throaty chuckle. You gasped as Tobio lightly yet roughly tugged your head back slightly with your hair, forcing you to face him up, you tightening around his length as he looked into your eyes, smirking darkly.
“Probably,” He whispered, pecking your lips. “Or probably not. Either way, you’d like it if some fucking creep watched me fuck your brains out though, huh? Or if they heard your moans, wouldn’t you be ashamed, love?”
“I w-would!” You let out a whimper at the sharp thrust that came from Tobio, Atsumu’s mouth agape at Tobio’s words.
“Tch. Lies,” Tobio muttered, as he dipped his mouth to bite lightly at your neck, thrusting up once more aggressively. “My soon-to-be wife and also my pretty little whore. Mine. No one will ever get to fuck you dumb like this— all mine.”
“Only y-yours,” You moaned at Tobio’s rough touch, causing him to groan against your skin.
“And you will be— from now on until forever, you understand that?” Tobio looked at you with lust and love all at once— intensifying the way his thrusts felt as you felt another orgasm approach your sensitive cunt that was cockwarming him not too long ago.
“Mhm—! Forever, Tobio,” You purred as he sped up his thrusts, causing your legs to shake as you couldn’t help the way you immediately gushed around him hard, therefore fulfilling Tobio’s promise— one that caused the car to lightly shake as well.
Holy fuck.
Atsumu practically came untouched for the third time— his legs definitely gave out as his orgasm ripples through his body, he felt himself fall on his ass, quietly— but he couldn’t leave yet. That was unbelievably the most real shit he's ever seen. Not just because he wanted to see if this would go even further or if you would go for round four, but because if he gets up he’ll immediately be seen.
Tobio pressed a softer kiss against your forehead and a longing one against your lips before gently lifting you off his cock, and helping you fix your messy dress, lowering it down your legs, and pulling your creamed panties up your filled pussy. You shivered at the wet sticky-ness before letting Tobio carry you back into the front seat, helping you with the seatbelt before going up to the driver's seat.
Tobio didn’t even waste time— he was more than likely to continue the real thing at home. To give you his all tonight and expect you to take it without question. Atsumu envied that, he envied that deeply. He's never gotten to experience fucking that came with sincere emotions that intensified the orgasms pulled from both sides. And to an extent, it stung that he had to wait for you to drive away with the man before he stood up from his hiding spot— sighing at the feeling of blood rushing down his legs due to the fact he was crouched for a long while. He shook off the dirt from his knees before he walked to his own apartment.
And that was what made Atsumu’s smile widen horrifically as he watched you approach the team the following week; and hand out the tickets for today’s practice match trip. Atsumu is always the most excited when it comes to field trips. He gets to spend more time with you! Well, as much as you’d let him, of course. Baby steps. He’ll have to take his time before trying again— he wouldn’t want what happened last week to occur again. He’ll give it time.
You’ll come around, of course. He’s sure of it.
And approximately a few feet (yet what felt like miles away) his own teammate stood with just as much darkness and lust in his eyes. The darkness that presents the goal of having you in every filthy way imaginable; darkness in his pretty curls.
Darkness that's quite similar to Atsumu's. All while, of course, is perfectly concealed by the fabric over his mouth— that masked his own expressions about you.
for every reblog i’ll give you a kith on the nose <3
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Feel
Pairings: Tsukishima Kei x reader
Notes: I haven’t been posting much, so here’s yet ANOTHER one-shot from my Quotev/Wattpad while you all wait for me.
Tsukishima is my favorite Haikyuu boi and I adore the salty dinosaur! I usually see him portrayed as sadistic but I always pictured him having a sweet spot for his darling.
WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing
OTHER NOTES: (Y/n) is relatively short in this story so, if you're tall, I apologize.
Tsukishima Kei was pretty sure he didn't feel things the way others did.
Other people were so expressive: Hinata always grinned ear to ear when happy, Kageyama face screwed up in pure malice when angry, Tanaka dramatically cried when sad, and even the calmest of his teammates portrayed so many vivid emotions on their faces. Ones that Tsukishima didn't really experience.
Sure, he got angry- but it was more of an annoyed or peeved feeling, noticeable by just a deeper scowl than usual. He wouldn't yell himself hoarse, throw punches, or really go too far to express his anger. Why? Because it wasn't strong enough to invoke that kind of reaction. Tsukishima's sadness showed in slight frowns.
Happiness was, perhaps, the least common emotion for the blond middle blocker. He had rarely felt true, unhindered joy... Amusement? Check. The volleyball team was full of idiots. Pride? Check. He was fully aware of the smug smiles and smirks that pulled on his lips when he was able to show off or prove himself better than others.
But there was one type of emotion Tsukishima had never experienced even in the slightest. Romance. He'd never had a crush or found himself attracted to anyone and he thought it was stupid to try to find "love" if it wasn't there for him. Tanaka and Nishinoya made bigger fools of themselves than normal over Kiyoko's mere presence- it absolutely disgusted Tsukishima.
If that's what romantic attraction made people act like, he wanted nothing to do with it.
His mom said love would find him when he least expected it.
His dad said people do crazy things for love.
At the time, the stoic blond just scoffed and did his best to end the conversation as quickly as possible. He knew that would never happen to him and he didn't really care.
Both of Tsukishima's parents were right.
More than either could have ever known.
Tsukishima's calm walk down the hallway came to an abrupt end when he was side-checked by a couple of boys racing each other. Normally, they would have earned a simple tch and over-the-shoulder glare but it was hard to do that when his glasses were knocked off. He had heard it slide away and was reduced to bending low and blindly grasping with his hands.
It would have been easier if the floors weren't so littered. Tsukishima was sure he'd grabbed his glasses, only to come up with a candy wrapped in his fingers. It must have skidded away...
Normally, he was impartial to Yamaguchi being at his side but he realized it would have been helpful to have his only friend nearby in this instance. The sound of muffled snickering reached his ears and his jaw clenched in response. The students that chose to mock him instead of helping him only added to his rising irritation. He was seriously beginning to wonder what he would do. He only had so much time between classes-
"Hold still for a sec."
A girl's soothing voice interrupted his thoughts, prompting him to notice a vaguely, through his blurry vision, person-shaped figure approaching him. The person was getting a little too close for Tsukishima's comfort and he jerked his head back at the sudden sensation of smooth plastic pressing against his skin.
"Hold still!"
He obeyed the insistent voice and tried to ignore the plastic sliding against his skin, thoroughly confused. Before he knew it, his glasses were on his face once more and a short (h/c)-haired girl was removing her hands from the sides of his glasses' frame.
She was putting my glasses on me?
Tsukishima's mind was brought back to clarity well after his vision was. He cleared his throat and got to his feet, looking down at his rescuer. Damn, I think she's shorter than Nishinoya-
Now that Tsukishima was seeing the girl with fully-functional sight he couldn't help but take in the angel he'd been graced with. (H/l) (h/c} hair that he'd love to stroke, (e/c) eyes that shined up at him, beautiful (s/c) skin...
The tall blond swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, desperately wracking his brain for something to say. Thank her. I should thank her. But when he parted his lips, his mouth dried and the words died on his tongue. He couldn't even imagine how stupid he must look to her...
"I hope I didn't smudge the glass or anything." Those shining (e/c) eyes dulled and turned to gaze down at her sneakers. "I did my best to hold only the frame so I'm really sorry if my fingerprints got on the glass or something."
Tsukishima's brain was spitting out thoughts faster than he could process them and yet he was still frozen in place. Say something- Say literally anything- Thank her- Do something- STOP STANDING THERE GAPING LIKE A MORON-
"No!" Tsukishima's mouth managed to blurt out the word at the cost of it coming out more panicked than he intended. "I mean, no, you didn't get any fingerprints on it." He cleared his throat and adjusted himself. His still-racing mind had at least connected to his voice and he was going to use it while he could. "Thank you for helping me. It was very kind of you."
The girl's eyes snapped back up to meet his golden ones and a sweet smile spread across her face. "It was no problem! I'm just glad to help!" Her unwavering attention was sending Tsukishima's systems into overdrive.
What the hell is happening to me?
His heart was pounding in his ears and hammering against his ribcage at the same time and he'd never felt it beating this fast, even after the most intense matches he's played. His long legs were struggling to keep him upright and his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He simultaneously felt sick to his stomach and unbelievably happy. He could feel sweat materializing on his forehead.
Part of him wanted to attribute these sensations to some sort of illness but it had come on too sudden. And it was obvious that the girl in front of him was the source of it. These "symptoms" were all things his parents, teammates, brother, and Yamaguchi had described for one thing- the thing Tsukishima knew he was now experiencing...
Tsukishima Kei was in love.
And he had absolutely no clue what to do about it.
"...and I thought it was really cool!" The girl finished her speech with another big smile that made Tsukishima's heart flutter in his chest. There was only one problem.
Shit, I wasn't listening.
Tsukishima's mouth parted as he helplessly gazed down at the (h/c)-haired girl, silently pleading for some sort of easy-way-out to come to him so that he wouldn't look even more like an idiot. Please don't think I'm stupid- I'm really not- I swear-
To his surprise, the girl simply laughed. Not a mocking laugh like he might have expected, but a bit of a knowing chuckle. "You weren't listening to a thing I said, were you?" She laughed again, the sound like a melody in his ears.
Sheepishly, he shook his head, trying to will away the flush he knew was rising on his heated cheeks. This isn't like me. I've never acted like this...
"I'm sorry, I just got lost in thought." Be the calm, cool, and collected Kei you normally are. "I don't think we've met. What's your name?" See? This isn't so bad. I've got this.
"Well, uh, actually we've been in the same class all year, this is just the first time we've really talked."
Tsukishima really wanted to die. He was the embodiment of mortification and he would have been perfectly happy if the world ended right after she finished her sentence. We're in the same class and I didn't even recognize her.
"It's alright!" The girl had raised a hand, almost as if to stop the wave of embarrassment Tsukishima was drowning in, and gave him yet another genuine smile, "You don't seem to talk to many people so I didn't expect you to remember me or anything! I'm (L/n) (Y/n) and it's great to finally talk to you, Tsukishima!"
The world was no longer allowed to end, Tsukishima wouldn't allow it. He felt like he was gently tossed into heaven itself. She doesn't think I'm an idiot AND she knows my name? She's happy to talk to me? Does she like me then?
His golden eyes scanned (Y/n) for signs that she may be experiencing the same symptoms that he was. She doesn't seem to be shaking or having any trouble speaking. But maybe she's better at hiding it? I mean, she's been noticing me for a while, so maybe she's hiding it.
(Y/n) tilted her head and her smile took on a hint of mischief, "I never got to tell you what I was saying earlier."
"O-oh?" Tsukishima internally cursed his past self for not paying attention earlier.
"I was saying that your presentation last week was really cool! You seemed to know your stuff and it was probably the only speech I actually learned a lot from."
Dinosaurs.
Last week's presentation was on Dinosaurs.
I fucking love her.
"That's how I fell in love with you, (Y/n)." Tsukishima said casually, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "I didn't believe in love at first sight. I guess I didn't even believe in love at all but... ah... that changed. As you can see..."
The tall blond gestured almost condescendingly down to (Y/n) who glared up at him through puffy, tear-filled eyes. Each limb separately tied to a bedpost with a thick rope and mouth stuffed with a gag secured around the back of her head, the poor girl was completely immobilized.
Tsukishima slipped his glasses back on and gazed fondly at the girl he'd fallen in love with. "My father said people do crazy things when they're in love." A dark chuckle left his lips as he strode over to the bed (Y/n) lay helpless on. "I guess he's right."
He leaned over until his nose was brushing against (Y/n)'s, his golden eyes softening when they met (e/c) ones. "I really do love you (Y/n). I hope you see that. And I hope- no, I know- that you'll feel the same one day."
He angled his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her tear-streaked cheek and took a moment to appreciate the way she shivered under his warm breath as he exhaled against her neck. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he hummed in satisfaction.
Standing upright once more, the tall boy slipped his hands into his pants pockets and stared down at (Y/n), his gaze turning serious. "I experience emotions I never knew existed when I'm with you. I enjoy most of those emotions. There was one, however..." he tilted his head sharply, his eyes darkening and voice going cold, "that I did not enjoy in the slightest. Do you have any idea what that might be?"
He was glaring at (Y/n) now, the girl's body squirming in trepidation as she gazed back up at him with fearful eyes. She may not have been able to answer, but she knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Rejection."
Tsukishima Kei was spitting the words of his speech out like they were trying to poison him, a bitterness lacing his cutting tone, "I worked so hard for so long to work up the courage to ask you to be mine. But you didn't wait for me. No, you picked the first guy to waltz in and ask you out."
He could see, out of the corner of his eye, (Y/n) desperately trying to talk through her gag. To deny his accusations. Even through his cold storm of anger, she still managed to send warmth to his heart.
"It's fine. I forgive you, (Y/n). I always will." Tsukishima sighed in defeat, "I just couldn't stand the idea of feeling that again. I know it's not right of me to go to extremes but... well..."
The boy tilted his head again, blond hair falling to the side as a mischievous grin spread across his face. His golden eyes snapped to meet (Y/n)'s once again flashing against the reflection of his glasses. The girl trapped on his bed shrank back into the mattress as much as her bindings would allow, tears flowing freely at Tsukishima's visage.
He was the one in control now. And he reveled in the power.
"I read up on Stockholm Syndrome." Tsukishima's voice was clearly teasing (Y/n), giving her a glimpse at a future she eventually wouldn't deny, no matter how much she insisted against it now, "Did you know that, in the situation Stockholm Syndrome got its name from, the hostages became afraid of the police and wanted to protect their captors instead of the other way around? And that was just after six days."
He couldn't hold back a derisive chuckle, looming over his own hostage with an expression of pure amusement. "I'm willing to wait more than six days if you need it, (Y/n)."
One of his hands cupped (Y/n)'s cheek and he used his thumb to gently wipe her tears away. "I'm going to take good care of you. I love you more than you could ever know. You make me feel things that I never thought I could. Things I never knew existed."
Tsukishima's teasing grin curled into a devious smirk, his eyes raking over her form ravenously. (Y/n) shivered from the intensity of his gaze.
"And right now, I'd like to feel even more."
END NOTES: This was the first one-shot I ever made.
— heatwave
I’m suffering through the heatwave over here, and Bakugou is the only thing that could make it better or worse.
Warnings: 18+, not proofread, Bakugou is your roommate, sweaty sex, dirty talk, spanking, creampie.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 3.8k.
“It’s too damn hot,” Bakugou growled as he lay the back of his head against the couch. Even the soft, worn fabric was uncomfortable against his back. Retaining more heat than necessary paired with his body temperature it had sweat pooling against his skin.
Life as an up and coming Pro-Hero had been rough. With long shifts, terrible hours and little pay he was stuck in this dingy, stuffy apartment. Waiting for the day he’d add an extra figure onto his paycheck to have enough to move out. Things like air conditioning were a lavish luxury that he couldn’t afford right now, so it meant suffering through the torridness with a small ice pack he’d grabbed from the freezer.
The only bonus was having a roommate like you.
Originally Bakugou had been adverse to living under the same roof as someone, unable to trust anyone living in close quarters with him. There was an entire cacophony of issues that could arise from picking the wrong person— from being kept up all night, the mess they could leave behind to having friends or hookups in his shared space.
But you had been a godsend, understanding of his unsocial work schedule and his house rules. You could even argue that you were a better roommate than he was, with his friends delighting in showing up unannounced and causing a mess in his apartment. Something that you were always so understanding of when you’d join them for movie nights or dinner.
You were a blessing. Or now that he thought about it, perhaps it was a curse. Now forced to watch you practically saunter around in the shortest short shorts known to man in a feeble attempt to try and deal with the extreme temperatures. Your top half not much better, the stringy vest top you wore— without a bra no less— exposed your midriff and the cute stiffened peaks of your nipples. Not that he was looking, and even if he was what did you expect him to do.
Rubbing sweat from his upper lip as he spreads his legs wide on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes roaming your figure as the shorts hugged the swell of your ass perfectly. Dipping in between the cheeks as he imagined pulling them apart to see what was hidden between them, the material dangerously close to revealing it to him anyway—
You were doing absolutely nothing to help quell the heat oozing through his body. In fact, Bakugou was certain you were making it worse. His cock jumping at the sight of you, pulsing beneath his shorts as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Praying that this sudden heatwave would cease and he could stop being tortured by the sight of you like this every damn day, it was bad enough when he’d catch peeks of you in a towel coming from the bathroom towards your bedroom, or forgotten panties left strewn around. But this? This was unbearable.
“I can’t deal with this heat,” The whiny tone to your voice had Bakugou silencing a growl deep in his chest, watching you hold the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically, “I wanna sit in the freezer.”
“Don’t you dare.” Bakugou knew from experience the heat alone would be enough to shut down the entire machine, and you both definitely didn’t have enough money to replace it if it did.
And that freezer was the only thing satiating the heat so far. Shoving his melting ice pack against his chest, the contents quickly changing form to liquid as he tried to make the most of it before it would have to go back inside the freezer.
“Let me feel,” You came around the couch to stand in front of him, his eyes set in a heavy glare as he tried to weigh up whether it was worth letting you feel how cold the pack was.
It was bad enough having you so scantily clad in such short proximity to him right now, certain he could now smell the saccharine of your perfume as you pulled the top of your vest down, exposing the swell of your breasts as you presented your sternum to him.
Bakugou pushes the pack to your chest and immediately regrets it when the sound you let out is downright sinful. You have to know what you’re doing to him, the way your lips curl into a delicious looking pout and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.
“Oh god, that feels so fucking good.” You moaned, eyes clenched shut to focus on the cool chill that slowly washed over your chest.
His cock jumps in his shorts as he tries to shift his hips to avoid you from noticing the now very evident bulge, the throb pounding through his veins as he feels a different kind of heat beginning to take over.
He should stop here, take his ice pack back and tell you to go and sit in front of your mini desk fan again. Get you out of the room and as far away as possible and save this for another day, a day when you’re both not delirious from the intense heat.
But his depraved thoughts have already consumed him, the thought of your plush body pressed against his while he slides his throbbing cock inside you now at the forefront of his mind as he presses the pack lower. Watching as you arch your back towards it, welcoming the cool chill as you lean forward to splay your sweaty palms against his thick thighs.
And whether he’s delirious from the heat, or it’s the desperate look in your eyes he doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s kissing you fiercely, the ice pack drops forgotten between your bodies in favour of grabbing your hips.
“Fuck,” You kiss him back, words swallowed by his chapped lips as you feel the bulge between his thighs press snug against your crotch.
Your hands reach up to card through messy blond spikes as your nails graze his damp scalp, your tongue swiped against his as he palms your ass. Calloused fingertips disappear beneath the flimsy fabric as he squeezes the fat of it, tugging you down against his hardness as he pulls more sultry sounds from your throat.
“It’s too hot for this, Katsuki.” You whine, breaking the kiss as you gasp for air in the humid room.
At this chance Bakugou’s lips venture lower, peppering kisses along your jawline towards your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your vest. Tugging the fabric down to reveal your round breasts, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips at the marvellous sight.
His nighttime fantasies can’t compare to the sight in front of him, crimson eyes shamelessly ogle your skin to commit the sight to memory as he leans forward.
“Shut up,” He rasps back gruffly while mouthing your breast.
You’re right, it’s entirely too hot for any kind of strenuous activity, especially when he’s sweating so much it already feels like he’s run a marathon. But the way your soft body feels pressed against his is too much to pass up. Especially when this is what he’s been dreaming about ever since he moved in with you, fisting his cock too. It’s too much to leave it to chance that he may get this opportunity again later. Bakugou’s always been a greedy man, and he wants to have you now.
“Fuck,” You cry out when his teeth graze your nipple, pushing your crotch against his with more urgency.
Certain you’ve leaked through the flimsy fabric, desire surges through you dense and fast. A stark contrast to your lethargic movements as you grind yourself down on his lap pathetically.
“Katsuki,” You whine.
His strong hands are doing all the work as he moves you how he pleases. Strong palms pick you up by the meat of your ass to drop you back down on his length. Grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis with each motion as he has you crying out in pleasure.
“Fuck, Katsu. S’too hot—”
You weren’t sure whether it was the humid air permeating the room or the way that Bakugou was looking at you with smouldering eyes that had your body aflame. Muggy, vapid air filling your lungs as clammy hands stroked along his bare torso. Mapping out a course of newly discovered territory as you let your thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples, his chest vibrating against your touch with more sultry groans.
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He hummed, his fingers brushing the crotch of your shorts, “Let me make you feel good.”
“Oh,” You gasped when you felt the calloused pads stroke your labia, involuntarily leaning forward to give him more space as Bakugou began to spread you apart for him. Fingers gliding through your messy folds, dragging your essence along your slit until he found your puffy clit.
The contact had you jolting forward, nails grazing his chest as he focused his attention on it. Circling it tentatively with the pad of his finger as you began to rock your hips back against him, uncaring about how debauched you looked as you began to seek your own pleasure.
“Yeah?” He rasped, and the gravelly husk did nothing but increase the desperation inside you, “You like that?”
“Fuck, please—“ You buried your head in the curve of his neck, your lips pressed against the slick skin as you tasted the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue.
“Please what, sweetheart,” He cooed.
“Please—“ You gasped when you felt his thumb press against your empty hole. He knew exactly what you wanted, he was toying with you.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Your fingers.” You were shameless, your hips grinding back against him as Bakugou finally took mercy on you and pushed his thumb into your sloppy entrance. The slightest penetration enough to drag a deep moan from your throat as he kept his focus against your clit, leaning his head back against the couch to try and see the blissful expression on your face as he worked you with precision.
“Got no damn idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” He husked against your ear, lips soft against the shell as you clenched around him in response, “Always walkin’ round in those fuckin’ short shorts got me wanting to bend you over every surface in this house.”
“Oh fuck,” You mewled, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as he kept his pace constant against your clit, his thumb positioned to press against your spongy wall as his other hand tightened its grip on your ass. Spreading you open, as you found your bliss, “Katsuki.”
“That’s it, good girl.” He hummed, feeling your walls pulse around his digit as he kept his pace. Working you through your release as he pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your temple.
You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wished the same, coming into the kitchen to see him still in full hero gear after work. Dirt and grime covering his body as his mask was pulled up over his forehead to show his blackened eyes, bending over to grab the carton of juice from the fridge as he held it up to his lips to chug it. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid flowed, giving you the perfect view of him as you tried to busy yourself to hide the fact you were blatantly staring.
Or the moments where he’d come out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips to shout at you for using the taps in the kitchen while he was showering. The cheap apartment had one flow of hot water and it shut off that luxury whenever it was used elsewhere. The cold water catching him off guard as he glared at you, water droplets drooling down his perfect skin and making him look more like an ancient god or deity than your roommate.
“So why didn’t you?” You asked when you’d come down from your high.
“Huh?” Bakugou’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before.”
“I like livin’ with you,” He shrugged, “Didn’t wanna jeopardise that.”
“You wouldn’t have,” You smiled, pulling yourself back from his neck to meet his gaze, “I like you too.”
“That mean I can finally eat this pretty little pussy?” He groaned, shuffling his hips, “Been thinkin’ about it since the day I met you.”
“Later, please—” You pawed at the hard bulge between his thigh, his pre staining the fabric as you pressed against the tip.
“Fuck,” He grunted, shamelessly bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of you. His tongue sweeping against his digits to clean them of your slick, “Gonna take you over every damn surface in this house, princess.”
Your fingers curled into the hem of his shorts, Bakugou lifting his hips off the couch to help you drag them down just enough to free his heady cock— the sight of it better than you’d ever imagined in those nightly fantasies.
He was thick and long, bulging veins that forked along the length of him only made him seem that much more intimidating as his balls sat heavy at the base. Neatly trimmed blond hairs decorated his pelvis as they created a pretty trail along his abdomen, unable to resist running your hand along it as his stomach folded at the touch. A sharp hiss sucked sharp through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around him at the base, holding him steady so you could see the tip. The head a swollen pink as pre continued to bead at the slit, drooling down towards his frenulum as you moved to settle between his thighs. Wanting a taste of him yourself as you swiped your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock.
“Oi, I thought you said later,” He teased, rough hands steady on your hips to stop you from moving.
“Please,” You whined pathetically, “Wanna taste you.”
You brought your thumb to your lips as your tongue swiped at the surface, tasting him on your tongue as your lashes fluttered. Crimson eyes focused on your movements as his cock twitched in appreciation, tempted to let you do whatever you pleased. But he’d been waiting far too long for this moment, and there was no way he could wait any longer.
“You little minx,” He groaned as you sucked your thumb, “I promise later.” He groaned, tugging at your shorts, “Do you like these?”
“Yeah, they’re— what the fuck, Katsuki?”
You gasped when you heard the sharp sound of ripping fabric, “I said I liked them.”
“Sorry,” You could tell from the smug grin on his face that he was anything but as he positioned you above his leaky cock, “I gotta have you now.”
You held onto his shoulders as he wrapped a large fist around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick as he felt it catch against your tight entrance. His other hand on your hip slowly dropping you down onto his length as you felt the pleasurable ache of him stretching you open ebb through your pelvis.
“I got you, sweetheart,” He groaned, watching his cock slowly disappear inside you as he felt your warm walls wrap snugly around him, “Gonna take such good care of you.”
You felt hot, the heat radiating from your sex sweltering and yet you didn’t want to let go. The thick girth of his cock filled you perfectly as you felt him pressed against every ridge and groove of your cunt like he was made for you.
Your lips move together languidly, tasting the saltiness from his upper lip as you move together in tandem. Wet and sloppy while his tongue strokes yours, desperation evident by the way you try to deepen the kiss. As though you’re trying to melt into him, to feel him devour you whole.
“Oh, shit.” You choke back a cry when you feel the tip of his cock hit a spot deep inside you, certain you’ve never had something quite so big before.
You struggle to lift yourself up with your legs spread wide over his thick thighs as you grind yourself against his lap. Your clit catching against the trimmed hairs at his base as you roll your hips with desire, your chest pressed taut to his as you start a lazy pace. The scorching heat inside the apartment makes it difficult to breathe as you writhe in his lap, his warm breath fans against your skin almost feels cooler than the thick air clouding the room.
“Kats. It’s too hot.” You whine pathetically, your pace clumsy and sluggish as the desire inside you burns hot and heavy.
“You started this.” He retorts cockily with a smug smirk on his face.
“I did not.” You pout, “This is your fault.”
“Stop whinin’” He reaches back to bring his palm down on your ass in a rough smack, the sweatiness of his quirk has his skin tacking to you as it increases the sensation, clinging to your skin as you gasp in surprise. A painful pleasure courses through your veins as the skin prickles beneath his touch, your pliant walls clamping down around his girth in retaliation.
Without hesitating he reaches his large palms back to cup a cheek in each hand, lifting you up languidly as he marvels the glossy sheen your slick leaves on his cock.
“You just sit there and look pretty, let me do the work.” He spread is thighs wider, giving himself more air as he shifted your weight. Picking you up and dropping you down on his length as he listened to the pretty sounds that spilled from you like a siren, drawing him in and capturing his heart as you pulsed around him.
“Why couldn’t you have got an ice quirk?”
Clammy hands paw at his shoulders as Bakugou repeats the motion, skin tacking to skin as he bounces you on his cock. The kinetic energy builds heat swiftly and harsh as you feel the stickiness against your skin. Your wetness seeps out against his pelvis and matts the hair at his base, catching your clit with each drop of your hips.
“Shut the fuck up,” He scoffed, “You won’t be sayin’ that come winter.”
The thought of having his warm body to warm you during those cold winter months, still being with him then— had you clenching around him.
“Oh yeah? You like the sound of that?” He grinned, “Can feel this pussy clenchin’ around me.”
“Fuck, Katsuki.” The heat was becoming unbearable, radiating from your core as it burned molten lava. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as you danced on the crux of your release, gasping for air as he changed tact. Holding your hips tight under sweaty palms as he planted his feet flat on the ground, pistoning his hips up into your pliant sex, “There— oh, god. Right there—”
“That’s it,” He rasped, watching your tits bounce with each rapid thrust, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“‘m gonna cum,” You choked out between moans, feeling the curved tip of his cock drag against the spongy spot inside you with each thrust, “Oh shit—”
“Cum for me,” He growled, “Cum all over my cock.”
The tips of Bakugou’s thumbs pressed against your pelvis, tightening his grip as it only increased the pressure. Sweat trickling down your temples as he sent you vaulting over the edge into euphoria.
“Good girl,” He grunted, feeling your walls clamp down around his cock as you willed him to come with you, trying to milk him of his seed.
The pleasure was unlike anything you’d felt before, mind-numbingly intense as you cried out a jumbled mess of his name. Your nails digging crescent moons into his skin as he hissed beneath you, shamelessly searching for his own end as the heat radiated from your body. Sliding against each other from the sweat that now trickled down your skin, leaving a glossy sheen against you both as he used you for his own pleasure.
“I’m gonna cum,” Bakugou grunted, moving to lift you off his cock before you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, unbothered about the stifling heat in the room as you kept him tight against you.
“Cum inside me, Katsuki.” You gasped a he choked back a grunt, your words all it took to meet his own end.
His guttural moans are sinful, erotic as you cling to him with fervour. Committing the sensation to memory as though it’s the last time you’ll have him like this, as if the heat has him in this delirious state. And maybe it does—
You never thought Bakugou could look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable as he exposes his most intimate self to you. Thick, white spurts of cum spurt from his tip as he empties his balls inside you.
“Fuck, baby.” He breathes hot and heavy as you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.
Bodies slumped together on the couch as you feel the dampness of skin against skin, your vest that now sits useless around your waist is soaked and warm as the fabric clings to your body.
“I’m so sticky,” You whine childishly, making no attempt to move as Bakugou’s fingers trace absent-minded patterns along your exposed back.
“How the fuck dya think I feel?” He rasps, “My ass is stuck to the couch.”
“Eww,” You tease, running your nose along his collarbone as you take in the musky scent of him, “We’ll have to get another couch.”
He catches you by surprise as he presses the forgotten ice pack to the back of your neck, although it’s mostly melted it’s a stark contrast to your sweltering body as you flinch in surprise. Your cunt clenches around him at the sensation as Bakugou grunts from the attention.
“Oh shit, don’t do that sweetheart—“ He hisses, wrapping an arm around your back to hold you tight against him, “You’ll make me hard again.”
Something that you’re not sure you’d mind, even though your body is screaming out for a different kind of relief now. Desperate to cool your temperature down as you scrunch your nose in irritation.
“I feel so gross.” You complain as he gives your ass another playful spank as you barely move from the impact, your bodies stuck together with a mixture of heat and sweat.
“Got no one to blame but yourself, princess,” He groans, “I was just mindin’ my business until you came over in those little shorts.”
“You weren’t complaining when you were balls deep.” You moved your head back to glare at him.
“My balls feel like they’re on fire now,” He scoffs, leaning forward to peck your pouty lips, “Cold shower?” He asks, although he’s already decided he’s showering with you— he’s taking every moment he can with you now.
yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader
summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.
a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni
Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring.
It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break.
“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal.
“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams.
He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better.
Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him.
___
“This is your dream,” you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow.
“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.”
“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold.
“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body.
“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster.
“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke.
“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces.
“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.”
“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.”
____
For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia.
It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs.
Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else.
He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-
“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him.
But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-
Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat.
“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face.
“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway.
“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you.
“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling.
“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin.
“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.”
“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that.
“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him.
“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats.
“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall.
“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?”
“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again.
“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding.
“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head.
“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it.
“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately.
“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.”
“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture.
“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it.
You: hi sorry
You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-
Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know
Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time
You: just wanted to see how you were doing
Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season.
You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay?
You: ahhhhh
You: it’s probably a lot to text
Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no
You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall
You sigh, hands shaking now with relief.
You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean
Kunigami: this is so fucking hard
You: yeah
You: Dream job helps though, right?
Kunigami: sure
Kunigami: your job still dreamy?
You: not without you, no.
Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you.
You: okay <3
You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone.
“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat.
“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage.
“You needed it.”
“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights.
“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock. “What?”
“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time.
“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”
“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens.
“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?”
“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly.
“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.”
“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head.
“I just didn’t want you to go.”
“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower.
“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head.
“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him.
“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.”
“I don’t-”
“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”
“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you.
“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous
thing he’s ever heard. “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder.
“He wasn’t big on sharing.”
“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through
with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly.
“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine.
“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little”
“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment.
“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off.
“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods.
“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.”
“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes.
“I took Latin, ya know.”
“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-”
“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.”
“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.”
“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?”
“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns.
“What?” You ask.
“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.”
“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys.
“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket.
“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?”
“You don’t yell.” You say quietly.
“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan.
“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck.
“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly.
“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body.
“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip.
He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back.
He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering.
“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.”
__
He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm.
“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.”
“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch.
You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning.
“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey.
“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers.
“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go.
“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.”
“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-”
“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch.
“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”
His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears.
“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words.
“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.”
“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?”
“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.”
“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision.
It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms.
“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.”
“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs.
“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.”
“I didn’t-”
“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you. You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver.
“No.” You whisper. He nods.
“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair.
“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."
TAKE OFF, TAKE OFF, TAKE OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES
CHAPTER SUMMARY: It's Chigiri's birthday and everyone decides it's a perfect day to go to the nearby village to shop for secret santa gifts! Will you be able to get through one day without bickering with your ex?
ex-fiancé!rin x f!reader
WARNINGS : 18+, alcohol consumption, hate sex? + love making, dry humping, mutual pining, no prep, vaginal sex, premature ejaculation, creampie, fingering, oral, mattress humping, tit sucking, multiple rounds?, overstimulation, squirting, choking, praise, dacryphilia, pet names (princess, baby).
WORDS : 12.2k
notes : It's MY birthday too btw hehe wanted Chigiri to be the readers bestie bc he's my birthday twin oops enjoy the fic tho ♡
LAST CHAPTER┊MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER
Daybreak filters through the window as your eyes begrudgingly flutter open. It seems like both you and Chigiri had forgotten to close the curtains before you passed out drunk and stoned. The mattress beneath you feels like a cloud as you stretch out; your hand comes into contact with cold, fair skin.
You blink the sleep from your eyes when you recall that Hyoma seldom sleeps without a shirt.
And your blood runs cold.
It all comes rushing back to you, then. That crushing conversation with Rin you’d had last night that made you sob and search for your best friend, leaving him alone so you could preserve his enjoyment of the evening.
“Eita.” you whisper, attempting to shake him awake.
He knocked on your door, offered you weed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to decline. Not when you were so lonely, so filled with envy and loathing as you dredged over each painful word your ex shared with you on his balcony.
“Mmpf, w’time is it?” Eita grumbles, feeling around for his phone until he finds it. “Eugh, it’s so early…”
“You have to go.” you tell him, lightly slapping him until he pays attention to you. You get out of bed and are met with the freezing air filling the room. He doesn’t listen, but he watches you with one eye slightly open as you rush to turn on the heater to warm up the room. You freeze as you look at him again, wondering why he’s shirtless if it’s so cold. “Eita… did we…”
“Mm.” he grunts, closing his eyes again. You jump onto the mattress beside him, really shaking him so he can’t possibly ignore you. “Woah, what is it?”
“We fucked?” you ask him, panicking.
“No way.” he shakes his head. “Don’t fuck drunk ‘n high girls.” he assures you.
You breathe a sigh of relief as you lie back beside him. It’s stupid to worry about Rin anymore, but you can’t help it. He said he wouldn’t care if you fucked the whole house, but did he really mean it? It seems like a violation, to you, breaking bro code or something. And, honestly, you don’t think it would reflect well on you either.
The last thing you wanted to do was cause an uproar when you’re here for a few more days.
“Eita? What happened last night?” you wonder, quietly, unsure if you want the answer.
You might not have had sex, but that doesn’t mean something else didn’t happen. If you kissed, you certainly don’t remember it. The possibilities are endless, and it makes your blood reach the same chilling temperature that fills the room.
“We jus’ smoked, baby,” he tells you, rolling over on his stomach to look at you. He’s pretty, like this. He’s pretty anyway. But the pinks and yellows breaching through the blinds softens him immensely. “You cried a lot. About Rin. ‘n then you passed out.” he closes his eyes to sleep some more.
How utterly humiliating.
Though you don’t really have time to dwell as you see him trying to sneakily sleep beside you again. You lightly tap his face, yanking the duvet away from him to reveal his toned back muscles.
He’s still wearing his jeans from the party.
“I don’t know where Chigiri is, but if anyone sees you in here, they’re gonna get the wrong idea,” you whisper, and he grunts. He takes his time, but eventually, gets up in search of his shirt and shoes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything.”
“It’s okay,” he smiles back at you over his shoulder as he shoves his feet into his sneakers. “You want Rin back, yeah?”
“I—” you hesitate. Do you want him back? You still stand by the reasons you decided to end things, after all. But so many feelings have come rushing back since seeing him in the flesh again. You were missing him already before you even got here. And now, you’re so close but so far. And even further now that he’s seeing someone new.
Do you really want him back?
Or do you just want what you can’t have?
“Either way, you don’t need me right now.” he tells you, pulling his shirt over his head. “Your loss, by the way.” he laughs.
“Hah, really?” you laugh too.
“Big time, I’m definitely a better fuck than Itoshi. Both of them,” he winks, biting his lip before heading for the door. “If you change your mind, I’ll be around.” he salutes before sneaking out and shutting the door behind him.
The cold air hits you like a brick as you run to lock the door after him, but you hurry back to warmth soon after. You starfish in the bed when you realise you have the space to yourself again, and your eyes slowly close. A few more minutes sleep won’t hurt, right? No one else seems to be awake yet.
He didn’t even tell you what time it is.
You roll over and grab your phone from the side table and wince when you see that it’s only 8am. It’s sickening, so much so that you practically throw your phone back down and get in a comfortable position to sleep.
It’s short lived, though, you get fifteen minutes of resting your eyes at most before you hear knocking at the door.
It makes you grumble, like a man. Like your dad specifically. It horrifies you enough to make you stir and clamber out of bed. It’s grotesque, you think, inheriting such an uncouth trait.
You’ll have to train yourself out of it.
You unlock the door, and you aren’t sure why you’re surprised to see Chigiri step through. He stares at you silently as you lock the door again, he doesn’t even follow you into bed when you cover your barely clothed limbs.
“Something happened last night.” he tells you, looking worried.
“What?” you wonder. “What did you do?”
He looks so serious, and it makes your heart race. Did you do something embarrassing? Probably, but that isn’t anything new. His silence makes your body flush with warmth. The nerves and anxiety you feel begin to course through every nerve ending you possess, and soon enough you’re throwing the blankets away from your body.
He looks into your eyes before thinking about what he should say. And after losing all composure, he starts laughing. “Nothing, just wanted to see what it feels like to be you for a second.” he smirks, “You do that shit everyday? Exhausting.”
“You’re such a dick.” you chastise him, getting comfy in the bed again. And now, finally, he joins you. “Have you got a hangover?”
“Big time.” he tells you. You grab some painkillers from your side table and pop out enough from the silvery film for you and Chigiri to consume. “Something happened last night, right?” he asks.
“Don’t get me started.” you sigh.
“I came up here to come to bed, the door was locked.” he tells you, “So I woke up with Tabito on the couch, Sae on the floor and Oliver on the coffee table.”
You laugh, rolling on your side so you can face each other and gossip. The state everyone is in today is no surprise. Though you suspect the only one not nursing a hangover is probably Rin. You didn’t see him drink all that much, and he doesn’t get high.
He’s probably doing his morning routine right now.
A routine he got you into when you first started dating. You wanted to impress him, after all. But his yoga routines are far out of your league. You used to end up giggling on your back after a fall while he laughed along with you.
But you liked doing the meditation afterwards.
“Rin almost kissed me last night, I think…” you contemplate it, though you admittedly aren’t sure if it’s a fabrication. “It was really intense, but he rejected me.”
“Damn.” he replies, “Wait, so you were in here alone? Why did you lock the door?!”
“Eita spent the night…” you sigh, covering your face with your pillow. Chigiri teases you, trying to pull it away to inspect your facial expressions. He’s laughing, loudly, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “He told me that we just got high, and I cried about Rin.” you confess.
“You are floundering.” he tells you, and you nod. “He’s into you, you’re into him, Ryusei made him sound like a major player so he’s probably a good fuck. Rin gave you your answer, you should have sealed the deal!” he continues, and all you can do is groan. Because he’s right.
How long is it going to take to get over Rin, anyway? Why should you spare his feelings when he clearly has no desire to do the same for you?
Eita isn’t what you want right now, though.
His pretty face and his alleged impeccable stroke game isn’t going to change that.
“Rin was jealous last night.” Chigiri admits, and it grabs your attention instantly. “Ryusei was, too. But Rin was really jealous.”
“Really?”
He nods, “When you were dancing with Eita, I was trying to keep an eye on him.” you get comfortable and make full eye contact with him again as he speaks. “While we were playing never have I ever, too. When Eita and Oliver were all over you, he looked pissed.”
“Interesting…”
“His girlfriend’s gotta be a rebound.” he theorizes, and for whatever reason, it gives you chills. Both of your eyes widen at the same time, and no doubt you’ve arrived at the same idea. “We need to get more info.”
“Ryusei wants to talk to me at some point, I’ll ask him.” you tell Hyoma, and he nods, concurring that it’s a good idea. “You need to talk to Sae. He might know something.”
“He didn’t even know Rin was coming,” Chigiri rolls his eyes, but relents. “Fine.”
--
The two of you go downstairs, surprisingly greeted by everyone else. Everyone’s crowded around the kitchen island again. The smell of bacon, eggs and toast floods your nostrils as you descend and reach the kitchen.
You sit in between Oliver and Chigiri, the former not paying you too much attention other than a polite hello. Ryusei catches your eye as he tilts his head, waving when you finally make eye contact. His face looks serious, intentional, he’s waiting for that talk you silently agreed to.
“Surprised you’re cooking for us all, Rin.” Hyoma speaks, resting his elbow on the countertop before settling his head in his hand.
“Yeah, well,” he speaks quietly but with a slight gruffness. “It’s fine.”
He carefully sets down two plates in front of you all. Eita and Ryusei are already eating, so Oliver reaches for the nearest plate. Rin scowls at him, harshly trapping his hand between the plate and the spatula he’s holding.
“That’s not for you.” Rin tells him, and he moves his hand. You watch him as he pushes the plate in your direction, looking at you briefly before he looks back at Oliver. “Here.” he continues, pushing the other plate towards his hungry friend.
Hyoma is thankful that Rin seems too preoccupied trying to shield his face from you to notice how his eyes have widened and he can’t control the smirk on his face. You haven’t noticed, either, but Sae raises a suspicious eyebrow as he looks at your best friend. Though, luckily, he doesn’t comment on it.
You look down at the plate, realising why he wanted you to have this plate. He’s cut your toast into triangles how he knows you like, and they are the perfect shade of golden brown with butter dreamily melting into it. He cut the fat off your bacon and fried it until it was crispy.
You look at Oliver’s plate, seeing how little care have gone into the eggs. The yolks are messy and broken, whereas yours are perfect.
“Thank you, Rinni— Rin.” you smile, picking up your cutlery as you start to dig in. He doesn’t say anything, he just smiles weakly as he nods. He washes his hands in the sink as his brother places a plate down in front of Chigiri. He sits opposite to him with a plate of his own.
Your smile fades as you watch Rin walk away without sitting down with a plate of his own.
“Where’re you going?” Ryusei asks, cheeks full of food as he talks.
“Not hungry.” he responds, retreating upstairs.
You sigh, losing your appetite despite the food looking so perfectly appealing. Hyoma leans over to you, whispering that you need to eat as he watches you play with your food. He’s right, as usual, so you force yourself to take a few bites. Your eyes meet Ryusei’s as you look up, and you see an expression of concern and worry on his face.
It forces you to continue eating. You don’t want to worry everyone, after all.
But you yourself are worried about Rin.
He could be telling the truth, of course. It’s possible that he really isn’t hungry. But what if it’s your fault? Maybe he can’t stomach the idea of being around you. Eating around you. He might not even want to breathe the same air as you after last night.
Breakfast… he made it for you specifically, though.
Why would he do that if he hated you so much?
“He’s almost finished eating,” Hyoma whispers, gesturing to Shidou’s plate. “Eat your food, pull him aside, and I’ll see if I can find out anything from Sae.” he continues.
You take a few more bites and push your plate aside. Chigiri waits for you to do as he had told you, but you whisper to him instead.
“Why do you think Rin isn’t eating?” you ask, “I should make him breakfast since he did the same for me!” you smile, excitedly.
“Aw!” he smiles back, a little too widely to be sincere. “Your cooking is disgusting. You’re trying to get him back, not kill him.”
“Oh my God it isn’t that ba—”
“Hey, didn’t you need to talk to Shidou about something?” he says, loudly, pulling everyone’s attention from their food to look at your exchange. No one is more captivated than Shidou himself, however, who picks up both of your plates and moves them closer to the sink. “I’ll wash up, dude, don’t worry.” Chigiri says as he stands to his feet, shooting you a final, warning glare before walking to the sink.
You smile at Ryusei, leading him over to the empty lounge. He lights the wood logs in the fireplace after seeing your skin break out in goosebumps. The couch feels tight as you sit together, despite being so far apart. His arm rests over the back while he rests an ankle on his knee, and you’re sitting cross-legged with your back against the furniture’s arm.
It’s awkward.
There’s an obvious tension that you don’t feel qualified to break. He’s formulating words, you can see him thinking of what to say since he’s older and should therefore be more mature. He’s the one who hurt you, unintentionally of course, so he should try and alleviate this heavy feeling of unease.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he starts. “If I did anything to give you the wrong idea… I’m sorry.”
“No, I was being a brat, I’m sorry.” you tell him, trying your best to not let your bruised ego interfere with a friendship you do value wholeheartedly. “You were right, I was hurting and then I lashed out because I was embarrassed.”
“You know I’d fuck you in a heartbeat if you weren’t Rin’s girl, yeah?” he laughs, tilting your head up by the chin with his finger as he urges you to look at him. “I know you aren’t together, but it’s a red line to me.”
“I understand…” you nod, “Are you going to tell him?”
He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to tell. Nothin’ happened.” he smiles at you. He pulls you into his arms and hugs you tightly. It makes you giggle; you can’t help yourself. Ryusei always seems to make you feel lighter whenever you talk to him.
He’s sweet.
Really sweet.
And often times, severely misunderstood. You’ve known him since he was young, he’s thirty, now. You remember meeting him when you hadn’t been with Rin for too long. He told you about how they’d fight, physically. He told you he was crazy and unhinged, this that and the other.
But you got to know him, you suppose.
You got to see a softer side of him and one that cares deeply. And he does care for you, even still. He’ll care about you for as long as he lives, you can see it plainly as he holds you in his arms, looking up into his eyes.
He looks at you like you’re his everything, sometimes.
You melt into his arms when you hear him lightly sniff your strawberry scented hair, it makes him hold you tighter. His head drops, levelling his mouth with your ear.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he wonders.
You stiffen, and he feels it. He rubs your shoulders lightly with his thumbs, encouraging you to share in your own time. Whether it’s now, or in an hour.
He’s got you.
“Rin— His… girlfriend,” you gulp, fighting tears as they threaten to form and douse your cheeks for the second day in a row. “Do you know anything?”
“I know the same as you,” he confesses, feeling a pang on guilt in his heart as he hears you sigh in disappointment. “You ended things, baby, are ya jealous?”
“I’m starting to think I made a mistake…” you admit, looking into his eyes. “Help me, Ryu, please. I want to know if there’s still a chance with him.”
He just huffs and shrugs his shoulders.
Realistically there’s not much he can do to help. And you know that. You know how stubborn Rin can be, and what’s worse, he’s so private about his personal life. It used to be you that he was so secretive about. The only pictures on his Instagram profile were ones of you and him.
Just two pictures.
One of your birthday.
Another of your engagement.
They’re both gone, now. It breaks your heart to think about. He might replace them one day with photos of her. The thought of another woman wearing his grandmother’s ring makes anxiety surge through your nerve endings. Your body eases, though, when you feel Ryusei’s protective hold get stronger.
“I’ll find out what I can for you…” he whispers, “Just don’t get your hopes up.”
You nod, closing your eyes peacefully when you feel him place a delicate kiss into your temple. Chigiri looks over at you, shrugging, as if he’s asking for news. But you just shake your head, leaving both of you disappointed.
--
“Sae doesn’t know anything either.” Chigiri tells you now that you’re finally alone together again in the room you’re sharing. You grunt as you sit down on the bed with him, pouting that your little scheme has failed before it even took flight. “Are we giving up?”
“I guess, what else can we do?” you sigh. It was a noble thought that you’d be able to get some information and find a way to get your fairytale ending, but this is real life. Of course that wasn’t an option. “Anyway, it’s your birthday tomorrow. We should be focusing on that. Sae said he wanted to plan something.”
“We talked about it last night… he suggested going to one of the bars in town.” he explains. “Maybe we could do the secret Santa shopping too. Who did you get?” he wonders.
“Um…” you get off the bed, moving a few things around in the room as you try and recall where you left the jagged piece of cardboard with your recipient’s name written on. You find it in a crumpled pile of last night’s clothes and panties, handing it to Chigiri to read.
“Sae! At least you know him well enough to get something for him.” he smiles, giving it back to you.
“I was hoping I’d get you or Ryusei to be honest… or, never mind.” you speak quietly, regretting wanting to bring Rin up again when you’d tried to change the subject in the first place. “Who did you get?” you wonder.
He smirks, pulling his own piece of cardboard out of his pocket before showing it to you. Your face drops, and he can’t help but laugh, sticking his tongue out as he waves it around teasingly.
Rin.
“Give me it.” you demand. You reach out to grab it, but he snatches it from your reach. “Fucking give me it!” you leap on him, fighting with him as he carries on keeping it away from you.
“You fucking psycho!” he laughs, losing the upper hand as he lowers his hands to hold his aching stomach. “I was gonna give it to you anyway, idiot.”
“This is a gamechanger.” you smile, triumphantly holding the bent and torn piece of cardboard. “He almost kissed me. He was jealous. He made me breakfa—”
“He made everyone breakfast.”
“We’ve got history!” you steal the conversation back from him as he interrupts you, glaring at him with a new determination in your eyes. He watches you as you speak, knowing that you’re definitely onto something. There is so much history between you. And if you can pull of a simple, romantic gesture, he might bare his heart to you again. “Good things always happen on your birthday. I’m more excited than usual.”
“Because it’s my special day and you love me, right?” he rolls his eyes. “Not because you’re scheming to get your ex back.”
“I’m very excited for your special day and I love you very much, Chigs.” you laugh, chubbing his cheeks as you bend down from where you’re standing to tease him. “I’ll give up after this, for real. If he doesn’t want me, fine! But I think there’s still a chance…”
You aren’t sure if that’s entirely true though.
Maybe it’s your imagination.
Maybe it’s just hope.
--
“Who’s gonna be the designated drivers?” Karasu wonders, scanning around the room as he contemplates who will fill the roles. “We’ll need two, minimum.”
“I don’t mind staying sober.” you pipe up, shrugging and smiling happily. You got wasted on your first night here and, honestly, your stomach is still raw. You look upstairs as you hear a creak of the wood floor, the only person not present is the birthday boy himself. So, your face lights up, eager to finally see him and give him his gifts. “It’s Hyoma’s birthday, so he isn’t driving, decide the rest amongst yourselves.” you tell them as you stand up and rush towards your shared room.
The guys nod, all looking at each other as they try and come to a decision.
“I don’t care.” Rin announces, taking a drink of his coffee. “I’ll drive.”
“We should have one more to be safe,” Sae suggests, and they all groan, disappointed that Rin hadn’t gotten them all off the hook. It’s a choice between five, and none of them seem willing to be gracious enough to offer. “Fine. Let’s draw straws.”
You knock on the door to your room before entering immediately after, a wide grin sprawled across your face.
“Good morning! Happy birthday~!” you squeal, rushing over to your best friend to give him a tight, loving squeeze. He laughs, thanking you gratefully. He watches you as you grab the tall bag full of gifts and hand it to him. “If there’s anything you don’t like, jus’ lemme know and we can return or exchange!” you tell him, and he nods.
Though, as expected, your taste is perfect.
He pulls out each meticulously wrapped gift and is happy with each and every item you’ve gotten him. You’ve gotten the perfect mix of presents for him. Some clothes, accessories, and jewellery you were certain he’d like.
“This must have cost a fortune, you didn’t have to spend so much y’know.” he smiles, happily, holding a designer sweater you’d gotten him with an intricate design. You think nothing of it, though. If you could buy gifts for your atrocious little step siblings, you didn’t mind doing the same for your best friend. “I might wear this today!”
“You should! We’ve just been picking designated drivers.” you inform him. “I’m not drinking tonight, but I told them you aren’t driving since it’s your special day.”
“You aren’t?”
“I want a clear head today… it’s gonna be a long day.” you explain, and he nods. “We’ll probably be leaving soon so we should start getting dressed.” you tell him, standing up and crumpling all of the wrapping paper into a ball. You toss it aside before you decide to sit and start getting ready again.
“I’m gonna say good morning to everyone.” he smiles, waving.
You’re alone in the room, now, thinking about what’s to come. You don’t know how you should wear your hair or do your makeup. You aren’t sure how to dress comfortably for a shopping day whilst simultaneously looking hot enough to go for drinks and party after.
There’s an unnecessary pressure you’re letting weigh down on you. You want to impress Rin. You want to leave an impression. It’s silly, really. He knows you through and through. Every deep, saccharine inch of you, better than anyone else ever will. But here you are, preening yourself for his benefit more than your own.
It feels somewhat in vain, deep down.
Why are you trying to put on a mask for a man that knows you so, so intimately?
--
“You look really good,” Chigiri comments, leaning across the centre console to whisper in hushed tones. You offer a giddy, accomplished smile as you thank him, Eita and Oliver agree with him as they seem to overhear even over the pop music blasting through the speakers.
Cosy was the right move when you decided on your look for the day, though you may look like you’re heading for a day on some ski slopes rather than shopping and partying.
You’re dressed head to toe in white. Earmuffs, fuzzy coat and boots, and a skin tight jumpsuit. You even have white mittens ready to wear when you get out of the car.
“So… we’re splitting up. Looking for gifts. And then meeting at the bar in a few hours?” you ask the boys, who all nod.
“I already know what I’m getting so I’ll be going straight to the bar when I’m done.” Eita announces.
“Me too.” Oliver tells him, laughing.
You shake your head as you watch them joke around like kids, but with a joyous smile on your face. They must have something simple and generic in mind to be able to purchase their gifts to quickly. Though, knowing them, it’s probably alcohol.
There are butterflies in your stomach as you approach the nearby village town, you look into the rearview mirror to see Rin is still following closely behind.
You wonder how frustrated he is with Ryusei annoying him in the passenger seat.
You take a deep breath as you park, watching him pull up beside you. Everyone gets out quickly, eager to stretch their legs after the thirty-minute drive. You sigh as Rin walks away rapidly; his face buried in his phone without even bothering to say goodbye.
Chigiri shrugs at you, and everyone disperses through the village in different directions.
“I don’t even know where to start…” you confess, looking between each of the cutesy looking stores.
You enter a few, browsing, hoping something will leap out at you. An accessory you know he might like or maybe even a keepsake that might remind him of you whenever he sees it. But it starts to feel hopeless after you leave the 7th little shop you come across.
Otoya and Karasu pass by you, laughing as you enter while they’re leaving.
You dread to think what they’ve bought.
“I bet they’ve bought dirty magazines or something stupid.” Chigiri suspects, shaking his head in amusement as he thinks about how loud they were laughing. You grin, thinking about how the other guys would react to receiving such a scandalous, silly gift.
You try a few more places, and even revisit some others. But you’re about ready to give up as time keeps going on and on. Hyoma hasn’t had much luck finding something for the elder Itoshi sibling, either.
You’re both close to just buying some local sweets and calling it a day.
“Well this has been a disaster,” you huff, “So much for this being a gamechanger!”
“We haven’t been down here yet.” he points to an alleyway with a few more stores.
You enter through the hefty double doors of one, observing what kinds of things they have on the shelves. You’re both immediately excited when you realise you’re in a charity shop. You’re all too familiar with some of the treasures some people give away, some of your favourite outfits are things you’ve found through being thrifty.
“Oh this is perfect!” you beam, looking through each shelf at all of the little trinkets. Chigiri separates from you as he starts sifting through the clothes, wondering if he can find a novelty shirt of some kind as gag gift.
“There are DVDs over here, maybe we should get some to watch if we get bored?” he suggests. “They’re so cheap.”
“Oh cool!” you smile, approaching him to look through the selection together. “Ah! Oh my God, get this for Sae!” you tell him as you pull a DVD down from the shelf and hand it to him. “It’s his favourite!”
“Taxi Driver? Okay.” he scoffs, but keeps hold of it. At the very least, he knows Sae will definitely like it. Though he’s sure if it’s his favourite he probably already owns it in some form. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Every time he tried to make us watch it, I always fell asleep.” you giggle. Your eyes scan across the DVDs as you carry on walking through the shop. And then you realise you’ve walked too far when you see the spines change in height and width. “Oh, CDs!” you speak excitedly as you look through all of the old bands and albums on the shelves.
You grimace in confusion as your eyes settle on a familiar album amongst all of the other more obscure ones. Surely not, you think. But you place your finger on the top and wiggle it out from being suffocated between the rest.
“Hyoma!” you squeal, flipping it for him to see. His eyes drop to see Lana’s Lust for Life album in your hand. He seems confused, though, as his eyes flit between yours and the CD you’re holding. “It’s a sign!”
“Is it?” he asks, sceptically.
“Yes! He got me this on vinyl for my birthday a few years ago!” you explain, and he looks sympathetic rather than supportive. “I— am I being stupid? I was thinking it might remind him of us.”
“No, no, it’s a good idea.” he tells you, holding your shoulders supportively. “Let’s go pay and get to the bar.” he continues, holding a few DVDs in his hands.
You grab your purse, offering to cover everything as the cashier helps you bag everything and rings you up. It’s cheap, and yet, you feel accomplished. You were starting to doubt whether you’d actually be able to find anything for him. If Chigiri hadn’t pointed this place out, you’d be giving him a poxy box of sweets on Christmas morning.
Although, the sweets might be a nice additional gift.
~
The guys slowly but surely begin filtering into the bar with their shopping bags. You’ve been here with Chigiri for a little while, but Oliver, Tabito and Eita were the first ones here when you arrived.
Ryusei sits down beside you when he comes in next, and Rin isn’t far behind him. Everyone cheers when Sae comes in last, and you can’t help but notice everyone’s shopping bags seem to look similar in some way or another.
“The shops are so dead.” Sae tells you all, and everyone happens to agree.
You aren’t sure what they all expected, though. It’s a small village town in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like you’re in a bustling city with anything and everything at your fingertips. It made shopping more fun, you thought. It gave you the opportunity to really look around until you found something special.
“I’ll get drinks,” Rysuei announces as he stands up. He makes a mental note of what everyone wants, knowing he’ll probably forget when he goes to the bar.
“Move down, Rin, I need to talk to Ryusei.” Sae instructs his little brother. Rin looks at Ryusei’s empty seat, and then at you. It makes your heart race when his pretty teal eyes meet yours. He looks worried, for some reason, but masks it well as he shuffles from his seat to the one closer to you.
Your eyes wander as they meet Sae’s, and he winks at you casually.
Hyoma never did tell you what he and Sae talked about, only that he couldn’t get any information, either. But from this simple act, it seems Hyoma has revealed your true feelings for his brother to him.
And you’re happy.
Because this small gesture indicates that you have his support.
You don’t say anything, not right away, as he settles down beside you. You’re surprised he isn’t toying with his phone like he has been endlessly since he got here. It makes your throat tighten to think he might be doing it so that you don’t see his texts with his new girlfriend.
“How did shopping go?” you ask him, hoping to break the ice and stop yourself from spiralling about a woman you don’t even know the name of.
“Fine, I think,” he tells you. “I think everyone’s gonna be disappointed with what they get.”
“I don’t know… it’s part of the fun.” you reply. “If we wanted to go all out, we would have planned to do this before we got here so we could order perfect, expensive things. But having a little budget and no idea was a change of pace.”
“What did you buy?” he wonders.
“I got some sweets to eat when we get back.” you smile. It makes him smile, too, causing you to giggle like a schoolgirl. You hadn’t expected to see his face change like that because of something you said. It’s warm, thawing away at your frozen heart.
“Happy birthday, Chigiri.” Ryusei says as he gives your best friend his drink first. You already know that Hyoma isn’t going to have to pay for a single drink himself while he’s here, it’s everyone’s birthday offering to him. Rin doesn’t pay Ryusei any mind as he sits down in his previous seat, too busy focusing on chatting with you.
It makes you feel special.
It makes you feel wanted.
“Rin?” you whisper, leaning over to him. He looks at you, a serious expression on his face as he senses your desperation. You’re trying not to be so needy, but you just can’t help it. “… I’m glad you decided to come along.”
It’s not what you wanted to say and not what he expected to hear. Although, you aren’t sure what you actually do want to say to him. Telling him you still harbour feelings will surely only end in tears when you know you can’t have him.
He isn’t yours anymore.
“Yeah? Well, it hasn’t been as painful as I expected it to be.” he tells you. And even that, such a simple, sulky sentence makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe it’s because you know it’s oh so quintessentially Rin Itoshi. “You did scare me, when I saw you on the stairs.”
“You scared me too…” you admit. “I—”
“It happened, it’s fine. We’re fine.” he tells you, taking a sip of the lemonade Ryusei had ordered for him. You decided to stick to water, the freezing ice cubes bump against your lips as you drink heartily. “I heard Otoya go into your room the other night. After we— talked.”
“Nothing happened…” you respond, drinking more water to cover how your expression fills with shame and regret. He nods, understanding. “S-So, your girlfriend. Tell me about her…” you ask, reluctantly. And you’re a little surprised when he shakes his head.
“I’m not doing this,” he speaks. “We’re fine. I’m being civil. You aren’t entitled to know about my personal life just because I’m tolerating you.”
“Tolerating me? Really?”
“Yes, tolerating you.” he continues. “You lost the right to know about me when you left.”
“God, Rin, I barely knew you then.” you huff, crossing one leg over the other as you slightly angle your back to him. He puts his arm around the back of your seat and positions himself awful close. It startles you when you turn back to face him.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“You were so distant. All you cared about was football.” you inform him, doing your best to keep your voice lowered so that you don’t make a scene. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your best friend’s birthday because you had a momentary lapse of judgement.
Maybe exes are exes for a reason.
“Because it’s my job? My career.”
“And I have a career too, but I still remembered to ask how your day was. You stopped talking to me unless it was about our schedules.”
“You—” he huffs, moving away from you. You’re a little taken aback when he stands up with the intention of leaving. He pulls out some money and tells Hyoma to get himself a drink, on him, as a birthday gift.
Everyone looks a little lost for words when he ups and leaves. But then there’s a sigh of relief when they remembered they appointed Karasu to be another designated driver.
It’s not sitting right with you, though.
It almost felt like you were close to a breakthrough. You were getting into the nitty gritty of why your relationship fell apart in the first place, and, as usual, he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. You gather your things and decide to chase after him, knowing you can’t leave things like this.
You won’t even be able to call yourselves friends if you don’t figure this out.
“You’re stalking me, now?” Rin chuckles as he ducks into Sae’s car and locks the door. You try knocking on the window for him to let you in, but you’re speechless when he just drives off instead.
You fumble with the keys to Chigiri’s car until you manage to unlock it.
He’s not running away from you again.
--
As much as he wanted to break the speed limit to escape you, there was no point. You knew he was heading home so you’d find him eventually. Besides, he didn’t want to risk either of you slipping on the ice and winding up dead.
So he kept to a steady pace, enjoying the thirty minutes of peace on the drive down to the cabin before what he could only assume would be a shouting match between the two of you.
“Rin!” you yell as you get out of the car, slamming the door. It would make him laugh if he wasn’t so frustrated, you always did prove him right about things like this. He gets out of Sae’s car and slams the door, not even bothering to look at you as he walks up the stairs to the cabin.
He unlocks the door with ease before strutting in. It’s hard to keep up with his long strides, especially in the wet, slippery snow. You do what you can to speed after him, even taking the stairs two at a time so that you can get inside quicker.
You spot him in the kitchen as if nothing had happened. He’s standing by the kettle as he boils some water to make tea. He looks at you, casually, before looking back at the steam gently rising through the spout.
“You’re so childish? How didn’t I realise how fucking childish you are on top of everything?!” you shout as you walk over to the platform that separates the kitchen from the entryway. He still looks intent on keeping his mouth shut. And it’s making you crazy. “Will you say something?”
“What do you want?” he retorts, instantly. He looks at you briefly before pouring the water into a novelty Christmas mug. It’s tacky and hideous and you’re sure he hates it, but it must have been the first thing he saw to use. He leans back against the counter behind him while he uses a spoon to press the flavour from the tea bag.
“I— tell me you hate me, call me a bitch, I don’t know!” you demand. “I hate this tension, Rinnie, because every time I think things are okay, you freeze up and it’s—”
“I can’t tell if you’re… joking?” he smirks. “You, literally, broke my heart with no explanation. I’ve spent months trying to move on and then you show up out of nowhere and you’re trying to be best friends. I don’t want to be friends with you.”
“So what do you want?!”
“I want you to leave me alone.” he raises his voice, and it’s harsh. But instead of hurting you, it makes you angrier. You blood boils as you round the counter to get closer to him as he speaks. He puts down the tea he made as you get closer, using hand gestures wildly as he talks to get his point across. “You shouldn’t have come here. Because you shouldn’t have been keeping in touch with my family after we broke up. It’s such a fucking red line, it’s violating.”
“Oh, well, fuck me for wanting to know how you’re doing after everything. You know, since you completely cut me off. I was worried and you wouldn’t even text me to tell you when you were coming to get your stuff!”
“This is your problem,” he wags his finger with a smile before holding it to his lips as he thinks of how to tell you exactly how he feels. “You’re so fucking entitled. I’m being nice to you after you hurt me, and you think you deserve to know me again.”
“No, this is your problem!” you bite back, walking away from him before closing the gap again. You look up at him with watery eyes as he towers over you. Your heart aches as you feel the distance between you expand the more you talk about the past. But it has to happen. Even if you lose him forever, you can’t carry all of this pain with you forever. “You shut people out when they care! I want you to be happy and I want us to be friends, but you won’t talk to me! I broke up with you because when you were neglecting me, I felt lonelier than I did when I was actually alone.”
“I didn’t neglect you, I loved you. What was really the problem? Huh?” he asks, getting closer to you. And you have to crane your neck just to keep eye contact with him. He can’t ignore how glittery your eyes are as you hold back tears. You’re covering your sadness with rage, that much is clear to him. But he doesn’t want to stop. Not now, not when you’ve driven him to the point of no return with your incessant complaints. “I was too busy for you, yeah? You didn’t miss me, missed me taking you on fancy dates so you had something to brag about on Instagram.”
“… fuck you.” you say, quietly, your voice gets trapped in your throat as you try and figure out how to pull away from this confrontation with your dignity intact. It’s too late though. He’s already witnessed a lone tear fall down your cheek. “Do you hate me that much? Do you think that little of me?”
He doesn’t.
“Princess…” he sighs, tilting your head up with his thumb and forefinger so that you’re fixated on his eyes. Teal whirlpools with flecks of turquoise that create a scintillating visage that cannot be described by a mere mortal. No, they are deep lagoons that you want to drown in. They soften as he names you the only way you’d want to be named by him. Not your birth name, but as royalty. His princess. “I don’t think about you at all.”
Your heart shatters and he sees so clearly how your vision breaks. Should you keep looking at him or somewhere else entirely. His face is stoic, as usual, though he cups your face like you’re precious. Like you are the princess you want to believe you are, for him.
The energy in your body has depleted and you can’t even bring yourself to push him away. All you have is words. And, even then, you’re drawing a blank. So you sink, deep. Lower than the depths of hell to truly muster three little words you simply don’t mean.
“I hate you.”
He doesn’t react, not fully. But the colour of his eyes dull as the words reach his ears.
“I fucking despise you.” he retorts.
You do nought but stare.
Both of you.
You just stand there, indignantly staring into each other’s eyes as you process the situation. Your chest heaves and your body trembles with fury. You didn’t mean it, not really. In this moment, you suppose you do hate him a little. But you’ll never know if Rin means it.
Part of you assumes he’s only saying it to hurt you like you hurt him. He said what you said but increased the severity of his words just to twist the knife into your bloodied heart. But maybe he does truly feel this way. Maybe he’s felt nothing but disdain towards you since you broke up with him all of those months ago.
Why would he feel anything positive when it comes to you?
Especially since he’s moved on.
“I hate you, Rinnie…” you reiterate, lip wobbling as your tears spill more and more.
“I don’t believe you.” he says, wiping your tears with his thumbs.
You scan his face, and he doesn’t move an inch. It gives you pause for a moment as you contemplate what you’re feeling. But there are no thoughts in your brain, it’s silent. Blood pumps through you, and emotions overtake you as you lunge forward.
The distance between you is gone as you press your lips against his. He doesn’t tease you, this time. He doesn’t pull away. He kisses you back. You feel his hands explore your body, large palms settling in the slopes of your waist before they lower to your thighs.
You could never hate him.
His hands on your body make you feel whole again. He himself can barely believe how lovestruck you are in the way that you moan softly and breathe deeply from just his hands roaming your body. He lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he deposits you on the countertop.
You lose yourself to loving squeezes and open-mouthed kisses as he grinds his hips between your spread legs, his tea long since abandoned in favour or tormenting what he knows to be your intricate, sopping flesh.
“You hate me, baby?” he asks, mumbling against your glossy, drooling lips. “S’that right? You hate me? Say it again, princess, say you hate me.”
“D— Don’t—!” you tell him, lips too eager to be smothered by his to answer him properly. You’re worried a truth might stray from your loose lips while you’re with him like this. You fight it, you really fight it. “I hate you, so much. R-Rinnie…” you tell him, and it feels honest. You’re substituting one word for another, and it feels so powerful as you lie to him with ease. He doesn’t stop, though.
If anything, everything intensifies.
“Yeah?” he asks, licking the tip of his tongue against yours tormentingly. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. “I’ll stop, then.”
“No, please,” you beg and it’s downright pathetic. Your own hips roll to meet his movements. You hump against each other pitifully, the desperation and friction being enough to leave you heady and delirious and most of all satisfied that it’s thanks to Rin Itoshi. “Don’t stop, please.” you whimper, attaching your lips to his as he continues.
Your poignant words lead him to growl against your skin. It’s so primal. So territorial as he pushes your jacket off your shoulders and down your arms. You help him in his efforts to take it off, shoving it until it slides and puddles on the ground.
“God I missed you.” you hear him mumble against your skin. Your heart beats faster as you feel him caress every inch of your body, hands resting on the swell of your tits as he thinks about what he wants to do to you.
You feel your truth being coaxed out of you with each passing second. Every ingratiating word the is meticulously embedded from his tongue and into your brain makes you desperate to tell him how you really feel and beg that he feels the same.
“Rinnie, I—”
His entire hand smothers the lower half of your face. There’s a worry in his eye as his body tenses up. And still, he can’t stop himself. He carries on humping his heavy bulge into your clothed cunt at a snail’s pace, panicked eyes turning heavy and filled with lust as he looks at how needy you are.
“Shh, baby,” he tells you, showing no signs of moving his hand.
“I can’t believe they ditched us.” you both hear a familiar voice muffled from outside. You aren’t sure why you care, but soon enough you’re both scrambling to be away from each other. You put your jacket back on after gathering it from the ground, both of you doing your best to act cool. “Here you are! What the fuck?” Tabito exclaims.
You can’t look.
Neither of you know why you’re so ashamed. So humiliated that you’d almost been caught hooking up. It’s not like it would be so scandalous, is it? You’ve made it very clear that you still have feelings for him, and yet, you don’t want anyone to know about this.
He’s the same, though, doing all he can to maintain composure.
He looks calm.
But you know him.
His eyes are blown. Full of lust and anxiety as he tries to control his breathing. No one else would notice, but you see how heavy his controlled breaths are. He gulps, scratching the back of his neck before looking around.
“I’ll get the others,” Rin tells Tabito, who can only shrug at his words.
Only Chigiri and Sae had returned with Karasu, the rest deciding to wait in the bar until someone decided to come and collect them. Tabito thought he’d have to do a return trip, not expecting Rin to spare him from repeating the journey once again. But once he has the all clear, he kicks off his shoes and sprawls on the couch.
Chigiri stares at you, and you can’t even look him in the eye for more than a second.
Why are you brimming with shame?
He almost sobers up at the sight of you. You look so vacant and dazed. It’s hard to look at him when you feel like this. Every attempt to do so, every forced little smile, only makes his concern grow. He walks towards you, but just as abruptly, he stops.
Rin walks behind you, caging your body beneath him as he traps you against the kitchen island. He doesn’t notice Chigiri staring, and he can’t look away. You turn your head a little, but not much. You’re eager to look at Rin but he levels his mouth with your ear. His breathing is laboured yet soft, and your skin pinches together as it carries through your body.
“I could never hate you, princess.” he whispers. He leaves you alone with that sentence without so much as a glance. He holds the keys to his brother’s car and heads for the exit. Chigiri watches him walk by before looking at you again. Sae looks at you both, briefly. He too is curious as to what is going on.
“That looked intense.” Hyoma speaks, finally getting close enough to have a conversation with you. You smile, and it’s feeble, but it’s all you can do as you try to think of an excuse to give him. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said about missing you. Tensions were high, after all. He has a girlfriend to think about, of course he feels ashamed. Of course, he wants to pretend this little lapse of judgement didn’t occur. “Did something happen?” your best friend asks.
“We just argued.” you lie.
You never lie to Chigiri, though you’re sure you’ll tell him once you get your bearings. You need to find out what’s going on with Rin. It’s hard to talk about something you don’t understand. You’re sure he’ll be sympathetic once you have your story straight.
You just need to talk to Rin.
You need some assurance.
You need to know where you stand.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed early.” you tell him, giving him a hug before walking away. “Happy birthday, Chigs!”
“… okay.” he looks at you, hugging you back. “I’ll try and be quiet so I don’t wake you.”
“Goodnight.” you wave, ascending the stairs and out of his line of sight.
--
An early night was never an option. You knew that, and Hyoma probably knew it, too.
All you did when you got to your room was scroll through Instagram. You took some time to reply to some texts you’d received from family asking how your trip was going. You hammed it up, of course, not letting slip that Rin happened to be here too.
They all called you stupid for ending things with him.
It felt right at the time. But hindsight is a wonderful thing.
You weren’t ready to deal with re-opening that wound only to hear ‘I told you so’ repeatedly.
You heard Rin get home with the other guys, though they all stayed downstairs.
It’s all the more humiliating when you think about how desperately you want Rin to appear. You need him to come and get you, and not just to pick up where you left off.
You want answers.
Though you suppose you won’t be getting them tonight.
You spent a few hours trying on different outfits and following along with makeup tutorials from YouTube before getting bored. The raucous sounds of laughter and music got louder when you walked across the hall to take a shower and wash your face clean.
The floorboards begin to creak in the direction of the stairs when you get out.
And it scares you.
You rush across the hallway and back into your room. Your hand flies to your chest, adrenaline ravishes your heart as you lean backwards against the locked door. It makes you feel vulnerable, right now. No matter who it is, you feel scared of being seen.
Your heart stops when you hear a knock at the door.
It isn’t repeated.
Just one, singular, knock.
It makes your breathing stutter and stop abruptly. You don’t dare answer, not when you’re naked, save for the towel. It could be any one of the seven men you’re sharing the house with this week. But deep down, you know.
You know who’s on the other side of that door.
The steps retreat, and your breathing calms.
Was it him? Was that really Rin Itoshi on the other side of your door? You wait until you can barely hear the steps anymore before you unlock the barrier between you and him. When the door opens, you step out, sheepishly.
He looks at you from down the hall. Those eyes of his, full of pain and longing as he stares back at you with the same intensity you’re offering him. He doesn’t speak, but he goes into his room, so you go back into yours.
You let your towels hit the floor, crumpling up in a mess as you look for some nightwear and a hairbrush. It’s like a race against time, or at least that’s how it feels as you quickly try to brush through your sopping hair.
Every passing minute feels like it’s expanding the gulf between the two of you. So you want to hurry, it needs to be resolved now.
You barely even close the door when you walk out and jog down the hall to his room. It’s hard to be quiet when you feel such urgency to see him. You hope your footsteps aren’t too loud. And you hope nobody can hear over the music where you are and what you’re doing.
It’s all you can do.
And so, you knock, quietly, waiting for him to let you in. Too much time passes. Minutes feel like hours as you wait for him to answer. Your body feels cold, wet droplets decorate your skin and your hair drips down your spine. It feels like a mistake that you came. But why would he knock if he hadn’t wanted this to happen? Maybe he regrets this, too, as well as what happened downstairs.
It hurts to think about.
But he answers, and of your anxiety leaves you like a deflating balloon. Though you’re stilled, before him, and he doesn’t move aside. It makes your worries return as if it were a cat preparing to pounce on a rat. You widen your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. It happens again and again… and again until you realise, you’re choked up.
You can’t say a thing.
So, you don’t.
You get closer to him, still trying to say something. Anything. But nothing comes out, even when you’re close enough to feel his heartbeat. You just stare at each other in his doorway, openly exposed to anyone who may decide to ascend the stairs.
“I— I missed you too, Rinnie.”
His eyes soften at your sensitivity. The way that you have no qualms in making yourself susceptible to a painful rejection.
He lets you in, kicking the door behind himself before leaning back on it.
“You missed me, huh?” he speaks, his head droops backwards until there’s a gentle thud against the wooden door. His eyes are so heavy, his gaze is narrow. And still you can’t help but seek love and comfort from him as he looks at your with such disdain. “Are you sure you aren’t just jealous because you can’t have me?”
His words are hurtful, regardless of how valid of a question it is. It’s possible, sure, but it feels like more than that. You knew when you ended things that it was the right decision. But now it feels like a mistake, something rash you did in the heat of the moment. You didn’t give him a chance. You didn’t give either of you a chance.
And now, despite everything, you want to.
“You said you missed me…” you tell him, meekly, “I mean it, Rin. Did you mean it?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just stares. You always hated it when he did this, and it feels worse now, somehow. His eyes are terrifying and yet you can’t stop staring back at him. They’re piercing, like icicles falling from a height and impaling you without remorse.
“Rin…” you speak, closing the distance between you again. Your breath hitches as you approach, shaky hands reach out to rest on his chest, and you swallow before speaking once more. “Rinnie.”
He grabs your wrists and spins you around, pinning you against the door behind you. Your heart rate is rapid, and his isn’t much better. You’re staring again, but you bite your tongue.
Your lips meet as his crash against your own. He lifts you up, just as he had hours prior, and carries you to his bed. Your breathing is heavy, you pant furiously as you roll your hips against him in a bid to alleviate the tension that has been brewing since early evening. He drops you down on the bed, his body smothers yours as he lies on top of you.
His hips roll into your soaking core, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth.
“I meant what I said,” he tells you before silencing himself with another kiss. “Fuckin’ missed you.” he wraps his arm around your back and lifts your body further up the bed with ease, determined to get your head comfortable in the pillows.
You wince as he strips you of your pyjama bottoms and peels away your panties from your dripping cunt. It’s too dark to see you, but it’s enough. The way the moonlight bleeds through his windows turns your petalled flesh into a galaxy. Between your legs lies a constellation of the prettiest stars, and there’s nothing more that he needs.
He pulls his sweater over his head, discarding it somewhere unknown as if it means nothing. It’s true, in this moment. Nothing matters but being intimately bare with each other.
Your cunt, his cunt, is committed to memory. He could recognise how your intimate folds feel among others even if blindfolded. Because you were made for him. Of this, he’s sure. Your cunt belongs to him, and you would have done well to remember that.
“I can’t wait, princess,” he explains, and you nod in understanding.
“Please, fuck me, I can’t wait anymore. Rinnie I c—can’t.”
“Shhhh,” he whispers, freeing his cock just enough from their confines to line his length up with you. You sob when you feel his pretty tip catch against your hole. And he coos so sweetly as he teases you with that feeling. Your pretty tears are like diamonds dripping from your eyes as the blinding moonlight ignites them. “I’ve always given you whatever you want, I’m not gonna stop now.” he tells you.
It's the only warning you get before he pushes into you. He sinks slowly until you’re filled up to the brim and you’re sure you can feel him in your throat. It’s like nothing has changed. Every ridge and vein feels so familiar, you’ve never known a feeling better than you know this one. A ribald dance that only the two of you know.
His tip kisses your gooey insides in the most delectable way. Just as it always had in those ethereal nights you spent with him throughout your relationship. He holds your jaw with one hand, and it’s rough. A commanding force that’s imploring you to indulge him in this.
Give him your everything, mind body and soul. He can see how your eyes want to wander. They want to stray and abandon him just like you had months ago. But he’s doing this for you, he thinks you should understand that.
The least you owe him is your loving eyes on his.
Your love is trapped in your throat as you force it to stay there. His eyes are so beautiful and his body feels like you’re home again. You want to tell him, it’s making you cry even more. You can’t help but wonder if that’s enough, alone. If he can see the love you’re pouring into the tears you shed, will he understand what you’re so scared to convey?
He surprises you, however, as he spills himself inside of you after a few deep strokes. It snaps you away from your panicked mind as you feel warmth fill you. And that feels like love, to you.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” he tells you, stopping you from replying with a bruising kiss. “I don’t want to stop.” he pushes your little vest up your body until your tits spring free.
You moan beautifully as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, gently caressing the raised bud with his tongue. A gentle yet rough hand delicately pushes your tensing legs apart from each other, not caring in the least if his seed drips onto the sheets below. You gasp as you feel two fingers circle your sticky clit.
“Rinnie…” you whimper.
“I know.” he breaths against your damp nipple, his breath warms your skin before he sinks two heavy fingers into your needy heat. He humps his leaking, coated cock against your side as his length softens slowly. His rutting is in tandem with his fingers prodding your cum coated walls.
Your fingers run through his hair as he continues to suckle on your tits, your second-hand flies to join the first as he alternates from one nipple to the other. And he groans as you tug at his Sacramento coloured locks. The more time you’re with him like this, the more you begin to slip into old habits.
“Think I— f-fuck… Rin.” you mutter, moving your hand to grip the sheets below as he brings you to a tantalizing edge.
“Go on, princess,” he whispers into your pretty skin. “Show me how much you miss me.”
The coil snaps at his silver tongue and salacious language. He never had to try hard to convince you to submit to his commands in the past. Always so eager to please and starved for his touch. You could never get enough of him, and you’ve never been like that with a man before. He makes you greedy, and impatient.
So when he says jump, you show him how high you’re prepared to go for him.
He makes you look at him as you orgasm. Teal eyes, still somehow so radiant even in darkness, hold a neediness you haven’t seen in a long time. You cum, hard, dousing his fingers in your juices as he carries on finger fucking his cum deeper into your insides. And you feel him kiss you. It’s sloppy and pornographic as you swap spit and still moan into his mouth as he drags and pulls every trace of your orgasm from you.
You pant, relaxing your body as the tryst comes to a satisfying end.
“That was amaz—”
“I told you, I’m not ready to stop yet.” he tells you.
He sensually kisses and sucks your neck, though you’re certain it isn’t hard enough to stake his claim on you. He wouldn’t need to, anyway. You both know who you belong to, after all. You watch him as he leaves a trail of kisses down your body. His lips pepper across your collarbone before kissing between the fat of your breasts.
His shushing hits your ears as his mouth comes close to your pussy. His breath fans across your sex, and you feel just how weighty each breath is as he admires your glistening folds as if for the first time.
He gently moves one of your legs to rest over his shoulder, while he pushes the other one into your chest.
His tongue darts out, caressing your exposed clit as he keeps your legs far from each other. Your head falls back into the pillows as the angle makes you delirious. He looks up to see your facial expressions, smirking into your heat when he notices how much you’re enjoying him.
“Rinnie—” you moan, though you’re ultimately ignored. “Rin. Please!” you cry, begging for a bit of reprieve.
“You know what I want.” he tells you, quietly.
You don’t know, not until he frees your leg and sinks his fingers into your heat again. And they curl. It’s devilish and titillating and you just about scream from the feeling. You don’t tell him to stop, though. You wouldn’t dream of it. His arm wraps firmly around your thigh and keeps you fixed in place as you try to flee. But you’re trapped, fated to fall from a height until he’s satisfied.
“Let me see it,” he whispers. Your moans become strident as he digs and teases your spongy interior, searching for what’s rightfully his. He’s there. He’s right there. His jaw hangs low as your toes curl violently, and you make a sloppy mess as you cum perversely. “Goooood girl, good fucking girl. That’s how I like to see my pretty baby cum, jus’ like that.” he grins before slurping up your orgasm. Your pussy gushes like a fountain for him, and it’s everything he’s wanted and needed for months now.
He doesn’t care about getting a little wet.
He couldn’t care less that the front of his hair is almost as soaking as yours.
You hadn’t noticed while you were experiencing the bliss that is Rin Itoshi’s tongue, but he’s been rutting his length pathetically into the mattress as he devours your essence. Each lewd slurp and divine suckle, he’d been grinding his aching cock into the plush mattress below you both.
And he still is.
Pearly pre drools from his slit as he carries on, though he isn’t sure he can stop. But when your cunt stops twitching, he finds the will to proceed. He rests his hands on both of your knees as you put your legs together, waiting to see what he wants to do with you next.
He rakes his fingers through his damp locks, and your cunt flutters at the sight of him pushing his hair back. It flops back into place as he comes down to kiss you again. You wrap your arms around his back, and he moves your body with his until you’re straddling him.
“Rin, I—”
He doesn’t let you finish as he kisses you. His cock is standing to attention for you again, and he needs to be buried inside. You feel him line his length up, and he covers your mouth with his hand as you attempt to screech out in paradisical bliss as he fills you again.
“Let me do the work,” he tells you, and you nod. “But put your hand here,” he requests, grabbing your wrist until your hand envelops his neck.
You’re worried about falling backwards as he sits with you on top on the edge of his bed. But your safety doesn’t come into question as his fingers sink into your hips to keep you secure. You cry, whimper, and whine as you feel him fuck up into you.
He rewards you with harder and deeper strokes when you softly squeeze the sides of his neck, cock twitching pathetically as he realises how enamoured he is with you still.
“You’re so fucking perfect for me.” he tells you, eyes rolling back until they turn white. The gentle squeeze of your little fingers will always be his undoing.
“Rinnie I—”
“D-Don’t.” he requests, hips stuttering as the thought of you saying what he thinks you’re about to makes him spiral. His heart rate reaches heights he wasn’t sure was possible as he hopes you aren’t about to ruin this. Ruin whatever this even is.
“I love you.” you cry, “I love you s-so much.”
“Fuck,” he pants, slowing ever so slightly so he doesn’t cum before you get to again. He tucks your hair behind your ear. His hips roll and his defined body perfectly stimulates your throbbing clit. “I love you.” he confesses, quietly, kissing you sweetly after the fact.
“Nngh, fuck—!” you wince, your walls tighten around him as you start to feel yourself coming undone once again. So he fucks into you, hard, eager to help you along. “’m cumming, aah!”
You can only assume how red and sweaty his face is as he fucks into you with a passion and vigour you’ve never felt from him before. He has an unyielding need to please and remind you how much he had loved you with every deep, unrelenting stroke.
You cum with him.
And it’s transcendent.
“Did you mean it, princess?” he asks, heavy breaths huffing across your dewy skin. “Do you love me?”
“… Yes, Rinnie—” you pause. “I still love you…”
He kisses your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your torso and holds you close. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was worried to let you go. He lies back and keeps you pressed firmly against him. He plays with your hair as you rest on him. Contentment seems to fill the room as you do nothing but lie like this together. There isn’t a sound other than exhausted breaths and beating hearts.
“I should shower and change the sheets.” he muses into your hair; it only causes you to snuggle further into him. “You should shower with me.”
“I’d like that.” you smile, giddy over the idea of seeing him under artificial lighting and witnessing how his expressions really change when he’s with you intimately.
There’s a niggling feeling, though. That everything is too good to be true. You’re sure this is real, but you have a fleeting thought of being asleep in your bedroom after saying you’d go to bed early. His heart beating against your cheek feels real, though. So does his bare flesh and gentle touch.
Everything is too perfect, though.
You wonder when the bubble will burst.
--
© 2023 rinhaler
really wanna write bkg with cat hybrid reader ! :))))))))
Keep reading
sure thing – part two.
pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon
part two word count: 10.8k
warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five
note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡
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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.
But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.
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PART TWO
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It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox.
Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times.
This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message.
From: yangj@vesselsoft.co
Subject: Printer Issue
Good morning, ___.
I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience.
Thank you in advance,
Jungwon
Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection.
But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom.
As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order.
There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room.
They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose.
As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came.
Where he softens, however, you cage up.
“You have one minute,” you tell him.
“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion.
“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”
Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation.
With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”
He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”
Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”
Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”
“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”
But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know.
After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”
“Could have fooled me.”
“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”
“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”
“You don’t get it–”
“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”
“____…”
Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well.
As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message.
Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead.
You were right about the apologies, though.
Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?
Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think.
It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding.
You: I’ll plan on Friday.
…..
Friday morning comes with a vengeance.
Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work.
Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office.
But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit.
Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it.
“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”
And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too.
Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon.
Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers.
___, it reads.
I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you.
– J
Frowning, you read it once. Twice.
Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight.
You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket.
Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense.
Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available
Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry
Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you.
Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”
You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”
“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”
“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”
“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”
Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”
“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.”
“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”
You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.
It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting.
But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two.
And your message is still completely unanswered.
The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time.
And Jay still hasn’t texted you back.
That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up.
You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text.
Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up.
Sister’s baby shower.
That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you.
You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home.
At his older sister’s baby shower.
Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie?
Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be.
Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight.
Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint.
In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines.
You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week.
It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment.
Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out.
2013.11.13 King Pen
You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is.
It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search.
The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city.
That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007.
Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant.
Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area.
You skip down a few more lines.
When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”
You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead.
This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion.
Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym.
Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym.
There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you.
Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name.
Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy.
Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot.
It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition.
Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied.
Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all.
But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car.
“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere.
And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him.
For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards.
But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one.
Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight.
You want answers.
So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym.
Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty.
Eerily so.
All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence.
Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense.
But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago.
It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch.
The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym.
You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door.
It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–
Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound.
Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again.
Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp.
Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.
This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound.
Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down.
Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.
Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin.
Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge.
No. No.
You’re trapped. Effectively locked in.
As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop.
Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you.
What if this is the only entrance?
You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot.
You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…
Both of their warnings start to come back to you.
“He’s not who you think he is…”
“I just want you to be careful…”
“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”
Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?
The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense.
Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting.
Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase.
After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder.
On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway.
You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn.
Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side.
Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side.
Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door.
The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open.
You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty.
But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below.
There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor.
And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:
King Pen.
It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen.
Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”
He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room.
“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”
But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan.
No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work.
The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight.
The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!”
The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly.
Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being.
But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him.
It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring.
“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins.
“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison.
Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon.
Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it.
Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains.
It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away.
This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel.
One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes.
As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation.
Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight.
“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring.
“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.
“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.
“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs.
“Fight.”
It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to.
Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening.
Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer.
He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next.
But even dancers stumble sometimes.
You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring.
Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red.
Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place.
Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter.
The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.
Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus.
His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern.
There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct.
It’s messy, sloppy, angry.
They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely.
And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done.
It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him.
Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring.
Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight.
Anything goes.
Your stomach twists with nausea.
Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders.
For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands.
You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body.
Jungwon’s mouth moves again.
This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough.
With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again.
Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair.
He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction.
ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give.
Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring.
Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn.
If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence.
The door opens before you do any of it.
“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”
…..
Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.”
“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”
“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”
“What?”
Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”
And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief.
He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay.
He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay.
“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”
“Go away.”
“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”
“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you.
Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you.
You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Why are you here?”
A beat of silence passes. Another.
As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter.
You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either.
And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it.
So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really.
But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him.
Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you.
Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room.
A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it.
And, of course, there’s the two of you.
Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look.
He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath.
He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin.
Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”
“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement.
“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”
“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”
“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”
This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down.
Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room.
Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop.
Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you.
Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago.
This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch.
“What are you doing?” He whispers.
Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him.
Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream.
“This might sting,” you whisper.
“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.
If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you.
Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first.
As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips.
“It stings?” You ask him.
“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips.
You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes.
It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity.
Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit.
With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him.
Jungwon swallows audibly.
Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.
After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.
For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you.
And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face.
Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.
He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up.
“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”
“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe.
“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across.
“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”
His thumb stills against your skin.
“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”
You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”
“But,” Jungwon whispers.
“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”
Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”
He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.
You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”
You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”
You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.
Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him.
His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from.
Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”
“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette.
Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts.
“You like him, don’t you?”
The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.
“Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”
Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”
Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”
“What?”
“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.”
With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”
It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding.
It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but–
“You don’t have to say sorry–”
Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”
“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy.
Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still.
It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now.
Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true.
Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it.
But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin.
Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”
“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”
He is.
“I mean it.”
You do.
“Thank you, ___.”
He means it too.
When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high.
You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure.
But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them.
…..
Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread.
Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him.
If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them.
So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding.
Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person.
Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten.
“___,” he breathes.
The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off.
In the end, you just look at him blankly.
“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”
The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago.
But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding.
It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication.
But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes.
So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”
The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look.
Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”
“What are you–”
“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”
You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue.
“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”
Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”
He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”
Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”
Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”
The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring.
Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”
No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager.
“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”
Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”
You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears.
“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”
It makes sense. It does.
“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”
Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again.
You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.
“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”
Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale.
“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”
Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.”
His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow.
“What are you saying?” you ask him.
“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.”
He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom.
“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”
“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by.
“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”
He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head.
“No,” you shake your head.
“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”
Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching.
“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.”
There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth.
It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours.
A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue.
Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin.
You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest.
You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile.
But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him.
So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape.
You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless.
And for once, it feels like a sure thing.
…..
epilogue
Jungwon: SOS
Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy
Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages
Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help
You: I’m BUSY what do you need
Jungwon: The printer is jammed again
You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance
Jungwon: Oh please
Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them
Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you
You: Literally what are you talking about
You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks
You: The entire floor was mad at me
You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS
Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE
Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance
Jungwon: I promise
You: …
You: FINE
You: On my way
Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown.
Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen.
And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.
You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you.
Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer.
Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”
He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray.
“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss.
“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”
Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”
“I’m not ly–”
“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.
And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there.
“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”
“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”
…..
outtake — seven months ago.
The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work.
Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper.
Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees.
Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind.
What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?
He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook.
Twice.
With annotations.
Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw.
It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day.
Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly.
He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now.
And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will.
To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him.
He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down.
But part of him is excited too.
He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once.
He actually fucking did it.
All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity.
They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world.
He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his.
So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door.
And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch.
“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before.
And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh.
Oh.
Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking.
“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly.
Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal.
Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –
“Hi, Jungwon.”
Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land.
“Hi,” he manages.
Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”
Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”
___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.
“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent.
“You know the printer in the workroom?”
Terry nods.
“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”
Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.”
And then it’s just the two of you.
“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about.
Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain.
“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”
“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words.
You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”
His brow furrows. “It’s not?”
You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels.
“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”
“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”
A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it.
“Thank you.”
Your brow furrows. “For what.”
“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”
“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”
He hopes you mean it.
And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath.
“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position.
“Yeah?”
“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡
General Yandere! Aran Ojiro Profile
Yandere! Aran Ojiro x fem! reader
Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, extreme spoiling/forced financial dependence, guilt tripping, desperation, jealousy, mentions of dub-con and masturbation, mentions of forced physical affection, mentions of creeps, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
DARLING PROFILE:
Sweet
Aran himself is naturally quite nice, despite his penchant for not putting up with other peoples’ bullshit. He’s able to stand up for himself, but he’s never been particularly fond of people who are mean just for the sake of it. He can appreciate a funny joke, a biting comment here or there, but someone who’s entire personality is based off of this? Not so much.
And so, a darling who is naturally quite kind is a perfect match for Aran – he thinks of his beloved as innocent, a little lamb he must protect, and whether this visage of innocence is real or not, Aran believes it to be so. All it takes is a few compliments, a few sweet smiles, some kind favors, anything showcasing his darling’s kindness, really, and Aran is smitten.
And how can he not be?
How can he not imagine how wonderful it would be to spoil someone so kind and compassionate, to reward them for rewarding others? He views himself as hid darling’s protector, and it melts his heart to see his beloved caring for other people, even if it causes these same protective tendencies to flare up when others take advantage of them.
He can’t not imagine how wonderful of a partner his darling would be, the compliments slipping past their lips making his cheeks feel hot and his chest lighter than air. He can’t not imagine how wonderful it would be to wake up beside his darling in the early morning, to feel their soft breaths against him, to have their soft, supple body pressed against his own in ways that make him groan, his own body oh so aware of them? How can he not imagine how kind and loving his darling would be towards their children, a few little copies of the two of them running around, laughing and giggling and calling them mama, Aran being daddy…
It’s the stuff of his deepest hopes for the future, and having a kind darling plays into these fantasies – so while Aran could fall for a meaner darling, it’s unlikely. He wants to protect his sweet baby, and give them the protection, love and devotion they deserve – he’s just rewarding them for everything they earn, after all.
Passionate
Aran’s hobby has been volleyball for as long as he can remember. He’s always loved the sport; playing it, watching it, talking about it, even just being in the gym makes him happy.
And so, a darling that has a similar sort of passion would make Aran’s obsession grow tenfold.
It doesn’t have to be volleyball, or even a sport – any sort of activity that makes his darling happy makes Aran happy. (Arguably even more happy, because watching his darling smile and get lost in their own little world as they practice the hobby has him staring like a lovesick fool, his lips parted and brows tilted in, his throat feeling tight because fuck, how can someone be so damn adorable?)
It could be anything at all – writing, cooking, playing the trumpet, watercolors, reviewing movies, fashion, anything at all. Aran just loves the idea of his darling loving something, and he’ll eagerly ask them about anything he can involving the passion. He's asking what got them into it over dinner, asking to see, hear, taste or watch some of their creations as they give him a tour of their modest apartment.
(He’s watching them nervously show off their hobby, but inside he’s cooing at how adorably embarrassed they are, because no one has ever taken such an intense interest in their passion before, and he can tell they’re nervous that they’re boring him, that he’s losing interest and thinking they’re weird, even though the truth couldn’t be further from it.)
He’s asking his darling to teach him the basics, to learn to sketch a circle or knit a few stitches or play a scale on the piano. He just wants to be involved in his darling’s hobby, mostly because he loves watching the way their eyes light up as they indulge themselves in it, their whole body language brightening up, only furthering his love because fuck, he wants them to look like that one day when Aran himself is on their mind.
He wants to be his darling’s passion one day, just as they are his, but for the meantime he doesn’t mind watching – they’re just so damn cute, after all.
Bookworm
This isn’t something that Aran must have in a partner, but it’s certainly a plus for him.
He’s always been attracted to softer, quieter people, and having a darling fits this mold is a dream come true for him. And to further exemplify the stereotype, Aran particularly likes those are deeply interested in literature.
The genre doesn’t matter – it could be hardcore fantasy books, cliché romances, historical non-fiction, or anything in between. He doesn’t care, just as long as they enjoy picking up a book and curling up under a blanket to read.
He himself isn’t too much of a reader, but he loves to imagine his darling snuggled up on a couch or in a comfortable chair, a book inches from their nose as their eyes eagerly take in the words, flipping through the pages so quickly it’s almost impossible they’re absorbing everything the story has to offer.
He likes to think of his beloved as being so enraptured by the book that they’re completely unaware of the real world around them, fully immersed in the story and becoming invested in the characters, the plot, the action, the everything. It’s just so fucking cute, and Aran has no issues asking about said books.
He doesn’t mind listening to his darling rant and rave about the text for hours on end, watching their face as they talk and talk, slowly opening up more and more as they discuss something they truly love. Speaking of watching, one of Aran’s favorite pastimes is to simply watch his darling read – he likes to see the way their eyebrow wrinkles when a character does something unexpected, the shock in their face as they read a cliffhanger, the way they bite their lip as the tension in the scene rises to almost unbearable levels.
It’s too much, really, because while Aran thinks it’s so very adorable, he has a darker, more perverse reason why he enjoys watching his darling’s face – it’s too easy to imagine the way those expressions could be morphed into something dirty, something lewd.
It’s remarkably easy to fantasize about the way they’d look when he presses inside of them, stretching them out as they tell him it’s too big, not gonna fit! He’s plagued by thoughts about his beloved, and having a bookish, almost nerdy darling would be perfect for him – in more ways than one.
Shy
Aran isn’t too picky with this particular trait either, though he openly admits that he tends to find himself attracted to those that are a bit more hesitant around new people.
Perhaps it’s the protector in him; he doesn’t like the idea of his darling constantly talking to new people, interacting with them and potentially developing feelings for them.
He doesn’t like that they could be chatting with any number of people, interacting with creeps and men with bad intentions that they wouldn’t even know about until it’s too late – it makes his skin crawl just thinking about it, anxiety sweltering in his gut.
And so, to have a darling that’s less inclined to speak to strangers is something Aran really, really likes. It means less worrying about his darling’s safety; why would a person with ill intentions go after someone skittish who won’t give them time a day when they could be going after someone who’s talkative, smiling at them and lowering their guard around them?
Aran couldn’t be happier; not only is it safer for his darling and much more convenient for him, but he loves how easily flustered his darling is. It’s oh so easy to compliment them and see them prickle up, their expression turning bashful as they murmur out a thanks or a compliment or their own, their voice getting all high and cute. It’s adorable, and sometimes it’s too much for Aran – he has to bite back a smile or cover his face, because his heart simply can’t take how fucking cute his darling is.
So really, while he could fall for a more talkative darling, a shier beloved is more his type – he wants to be the only one they talk to, the only who flusters them and makes them feel all gooey and warm inside, just as they make him feel.
It’s only fair his feelings are returned, right?
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Selfless
In general, Aran is absolutely whipped for you.
He’s quite literally head over heels for you – obsessed to the point that nearly all of his waking thoughts revolve around you, and a good portion of his sleeping thoughts as well.
He’s dreaming about you nearly every night, imagining your pretty face in his hands as he kisses you, your voice saying his name, how you’d laugh at his jokes and lean into his side as you watch movies together on the couch, the relaxing night slowly turning into something much more exciting as wandering hands and eager mouths begin to explore.
Aran loves the idea of loving you, and he’s surprisingly naturally quite romantic. He’s always been a bit of a sucker for those horrible romance movies; chick flicks, period pieces, anything with a strong romantic story line in it. He’s always idolized the idea of having someone to love, and as a result, once you step into his life, someone with whom he feels so strongly and passionately for, every cute date idea, romantic line he’s ever seen seems possible, real, important.
Once Aran’s feelings for you develop, he becomes more or less your personal servant. He lives to see you happy – your smile is the most beautiful thing he thinks he’s ever seen, and when it’s directed at him?
God, does it feel good to make a tall, buff, nationally known athlete fall to his knees simply because you looked at him?
Aran would do anything for you if you asked him to; he wants you to associate him with happiness and chivalry, and he’s willing to go to any length to get this association. He’s always trying to do things for you – he’s bringing you your favorite pastries from that bakery nearby the practice courts, telling you to not bother paying him back because ‘you’ll cover next time’, even though he’d rather die than let you pay for something of his.
He’ll always show up at your workplace with a somewhat bashful smile, the little cardboard box in his hands as you gasp and hug him, your smile lighting up your face as he gapes and stares at you like some teenage boy. He’s buying you little trinkets that remind him of you; anything you collect, little plushies that are adorable (just like you).
He’ll pick them up and smile down at them, thinking of how your hair looks like this plush’s, how your cheeks are so cute and round like this one’s, how this one looks almost exactly like you – a character from a TV show that he looks up once he gets home, if only because while the two of you are vastly different, he feels like he’s getting to watch you living out your life.
Fantasies cloud of his mind of living out your day to day with you, of getting to wake up with you in his arms, your messy bed head looking adorable as you snore slightly into his chest. He’s swinging by your place with groceries fairly often, things you didn’t know you needed, only to check and find that you’re much lower on than you thought you were, despite having sworn you checked it yesterday.
Aran doesn’t like to admit that he sometimes tampers with your supplies or basic ingredients just to give him an excuse to buy you something you need – he doesn’t like that it sounds invasive, but seeing your relieved smile and being invited in for a snack or dinner is so worth it. He’s always trying to buy you things, and while it initially made you uncomfortable that he spends so much money on you (and you know the items are expensive – the brand names and quality of the products more than speaks for itself), eventually you’ll stop scolding him for spending his salary almost exclusively on you.
It doesn’t deter him, and he always waves off your complaints, telling you that it’s a pleasure, plus I get to see your smile, so it’s more than worth it. That normally gets you to shut up, your ears feeling hot, only serving to make Aran find you even more adorable than before.
He’s willing to shell out serious amounts of money for anything you’d ever want – a new car? The most expensive one on the market? Of course, and he’ll even get all the fancy additional features that no one needs, like extensive stereo systems and cool gel leather seats.
You want a diamond bracelet costing upwards of thousands of dollars? You’ll find a pretty velvet box on your doorstep the next day, a bouquet of roses accompanying it along with a note that simply says you shine brighter than any diamond.
(He spent hours agonizing over what to write, and despite the corniness, he ultimately decided that maybe classically romantic things would win you over – besides, the words are true.)
Even outside of money, Aran is willing to do anything you’d ever need of him.
Your sink is leaking? He knows next to nothing about plumbing, but he’s quick to pour over dozens of online articles on what could be wrong, arriving at your apartment merely two hours after your frantic call, a toolbox in hand and a determination in his shoulders that you can’t argue with.
You’re struggling with a project for work? Well, Aran may not understand what it is you’re doing, but he’s right beside you as you work through the issue, rubbing your back and smiling at you, encouraging you with smile and compliments each time you make a small breakthrough.
He’ll be there at a moment’s notice, dropping literally everything just to run to your side, like a loyal puppy desperate for its master’s affection and approval.
And of course, Aran doesn’t expect anything in return – he hopes for your love, for you to think of him as your protector and greatest confidant, but he’ll never ask for money or time in return. He’s simply happy to just be of use to you, to feel wanted, needed, like you wouldn’t survive without him.
He’s always slipping into daydreams of ways you’d repay him, how you’d pepper kisses across his cheeks as a thanks for helping change your flat tire. He’s smiling bashfully as he imagines how you’d fuss over him and make him dinner after he’d moved something heavy in your apartment, maybe moving furniture of helping put it all together. He imagines the way you’d sink to your knees and insist on repaying him with pleasure, on making him feel because you make me feel good, too, Aran, and I wanna make you feel so good that all you can remember is my name…
He just wants you to view him as a necessary part of your life, and to see your attention on him and only him for a few moments – anything to get you thinking of him just as much as he thinks of you.
Clingy
Tying into his more selfless traits, once Aran’s feelings for you develop, it’ll be extremely difficult to avoid him. He’s never felt this overwhelmingly for someone before, and because you take up so much of his thoughts, he finds it incredibly difficult to not be thinking of you constantly, to be idly wondering what you’re doing, what you’re thinking about, who you’re with, what you’ll be doing next.
He’s obsessive in that he’s almost always got you on his mind, and consequently he finds himself just so ‘happening’ to run into you all the time. He knows the places you frequent – certain cafes or restaurants that you like, learning your orders and preferred drinks. He knows the times you tend to frequent them, suddenly finding that his schedule is – surprise – open during that time too!
He’ll always just be there; his presence isn’t intimidating to you in any way, and as a result it’ll take you quite a while to recognize just how often these ‘coincidences’ seem to happen. It’s nearly daily, with the spiker always feigning surprise that you’re there, because what are the chances?
And once your friendship (relationship, at least to Aran) progresses, slowly he’ll stop trying to make excuses and instead simply reach out to you. You’re getting texts almost every hour from him; questions of whether you’re free, designed to not only get you talking with him, but suggesting activities to do together.
He’ll ask you if you’re free and interested in going to the bookstore with him, because there’s this new series he’s heard about that’s supposed to be so good, and oh, what’s this? It’s the same series you’ve been anxiously waiting to be published? What a coincidence!
He’ll invite you out to get a drink with him and a few of his teammates, but aw what a shame, they can’t make it! They had to cancel at the last minute, but it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good night of drinking, wouldn’t it? So just sit down and let him buy you drink after drink, his face loosening up as time passes, letting some questionable things slip from his lips.
(Slurred words referring to you as his, telling you you’ve been on his mind all day, cheekily complimenting the blue panties he knows you’re wearing under your clothes, all things that seem strange but only make your alcohol infused brain shrug.)
You’re getting texts that are simply asking questions – they’re designed to get a conversation flowing between the two of you, so that your attention is sporadically on him and he can learn more about you. He’s asking you what animal you would be, what superpower you would have, if pineapple belongs on pizza, whether you want children, everything and anything under the sun.
He likes having you speak with him, if only because it makes him feel special, like – if only for a moment – he’s taking up as much of your thoughts as you do his. It’s a thought that makes his cheeks feel hot, his whole body tingling, his muscle tightening up as he stands up to walk and get fresh air because god, why is it so hot in here?
He’s sending you photos of things that reminded him of you throughout the day – a pretty wildflower, an aesthetically pleasing photo of the clouds, gifs of animals with hearts. He likes the way you respond to him so quickly, the three little dots appearing on his screen making his heart pound, nerves eating away at him because what will you say?
He gets simultaneously excited beyond belief and nearly ill every time his phone chimes, your responses making his palms sweat and his heart race because god, you took the time out of your day to respond to him, to give him enough thought to create an answer to his question?
And once you’re actually physically with him, Aran is in seventh heaven – he’s always in your personal space, though it’s difficult to grow mad at him when he’s giving you that shy smile, his words and voice like honey. His hands are always near you as well – he’ll never touch you, because despite how wonderful, euphoric his skin against yours feels, he doesn’t want you to find him creepy or invasive, so he keeps his hands to himself.
His fingers twitch occasionally, the urge to reach out and simply touch your soft skin, squeeze at the fat of your tummy or thighs nearly overwhelming him.
You won’t notice his clinginess much when you’re still unaware of his obsessive feelings towards you – he always seems to be around, but what’s the harm in that? Aran is nice, funny, attractive, a talented volleyball player, and seems to be interested in you, so what could you possibly be upset about?
But once he’s got you in the sanctity of his own apartment, your perspective on his clinginess will change drastically. Now that he’s bitten the bullet and plunged into the process of officially making you his, Aran sees no reason why he should hold back any longer.
Suddenly, he’s always beside you – his hands are on your waist or shoulders, idly playing with your hair or rubbing circles against your skin. You’re always in his lap or within touching distance, his dark eyes fixed on you ninety percent of the time.
He’s always wanting to do things with you; watching TV (often reruns of his games, with him sneaking anxious glances at your reactions each time he spikes a ball, hoping to see you impressed with his strength and skills), cooking together (he does everything involving cutting or heat, so you’re basically resigned to stirring and measuring duty), anything that involves contact between the two of you.
He’s lovesick, truly, and despite being suffocating once he’s got you under his roof, Aran’s not too terrible – he just wants to be with you, and is that such a crime?
Is it a crime to want to touch you, to kiss you and lick you and squeeze you and fuck you and make him your everything, just as you are his?
Protective
In general, Aran views himself as your provider. He likes the idea of being the stereotypical man that protects you from the world, whether that be through financially supporting you, giving you a nice, warm bed to sleep in, or keeping any creeps away from you.
He likes to feel important to you, as if he’s a vital part of your life, and as his obsession develops Aran slowly becomes dependent on this idea of himself being your provider.
He likes to pretend that everything he does affects you in some way – like his every action is for you, designed to keep you safe and make you happy.
When he gets up at the crack of dawn and enters the gym with his teammates for pre-practice working out, he’s fueled by the thought of growing his muscles and stamina so that he can better protect you. With every rep of bench presses, he’s forcing himself to go harder, to push more because in order to intimidate any guy stupid enough to approach you, he needs to look the part of the scary, strong boyfriend. To get any creep to leave you alone when they come wandering too close to you and make you uncomfortable, Aran needs to be able to easily throw them away, to easily pick them up or beat the shit out of them so that they get the fuck away from you, where they belong.
He’s training harder in volleyball practice, slamming the ball with a ferocity that makes the coach and his teammates slightly concerned, but Aran is doing it all for a purpose. The harder he trains, the more impressive his playing, and thus the more impressed you’ll be when you come to the next game he invites you to.
(He almost always invites you to watch his games; he gets you free tickets – they aren’t actually free, he just pays for them and lies saying he got a player discount – and despite how nerve-wracking it is to know you’re in the audience, hopefully watching him, it’s worth it to hear the cheering when he spikes. And if he tries hard enough, he can even pretend to hear your individual cheering out of the masses – chanting his name as loudly as you can, perhaps even your voice yelling I’m so proud of you, good job Aran…)
He’s cleaning himself up more for pre and post match interviews, hoping to look his best in case you’re watching, because he wants you to find him attractive, to think he’s handsome as a thin sheen of sweat lies on his forehead, his biceps nearly bulging out of the volleyball top uniform he’s sporting.
He’s wearing only large hoodies around his home, manifesting the idea that if he keeps wearing them, they’ll retain more of his natural smell, so that when you wear them later it’ll smell like him – you’ll smell like him.
He likes the idea that everything he does affects you in some way, and while it obviously doesn’t, it feeds his view of himself as being your provider, as giving you everything you need in order to be happy in life.
And of course, he takes this mindset into more literal terms with you as well – anytime the two of you are together, he’s employing everything he can think of to keep you safe.
When you’re walking along a sidewalk, he’ll be closer to the traffic, so that if a car happened to swerve off the road, he’d be injured instead of you. He’s holding doors open for you, making sure they don’t slam closed and catch your ankle or elbow.
He’s helping blow on your food to cool it down, because despite what you say it’s still too hot for you to eat, he’s sure.
It’s mildly embarrassing, and while you may think it’s strange how insistent he is on making sure you don’t hurt yourself, you likely won’t fight it too much. After all, if you were to ask him why he seemed to care so much, he’d only blanch and rub the back of his neck awkwardly, telling you that he just wants to help keep you safe. And isn’t that just so romantic and sweet? This big, strong, athletic man caring enough to keep you safe, to use his time and energy to make sure you’re taken care of, that you’re in pristine condition and happy.
It’s only natural to be flattered – who wouldn’t be? Except, once Aran lets his walls down a bit, exposing just how truly obsessed with you he’s become, it suddenly shifts from sweet to creepy very, very quickly.
What started as endearing when he’d walk on the traffic heavy side of the street becomes concerning when you learn he didn’t want anyone in the cars to see you, because what if someone saw you and decided to pursue you, breaking your heart and stringing you along in the process? Besides, wouldn’t it be just so much better if no one else knew you, if Aran was all you had? At least then he’d know you wouldn’t be associating yourself with the wrong sort of people.
What started as a sweet gesture when he’d gotten you the pocket taster to keep in your purse suddenly becomes much more sinister when you discover the tracking device placed into the taser’s side, designed to help him keep tabs on your location discreetly, so that you wouldn’t know.
Once you’re trapped inside his home, every desire, thought, fantasy and urge coming to light, you’ll know that Aran is not nearly the protector he claims to be – at least, in some ways. Of course, he’s largely successful in making sure you don’t get harmed. He won’t let you near anything sharp or hot, always supervising when you’re in the kitchen or supplies that have even the potential to injure you.
He’s always playing guard dog to you, making sure you’re happy and safe, and that nothing and no one can touch you. You’re his, and while it makes him giddy and light headed to think of himself as your protector, don’t think this role is entirely selfless – if you were to be hurt, killed, altered in any way that changed the core of who you are, Aran wouldn’t be able to function.
You just mean too much to him – you’re his life, his love, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let you walk away, scathed or unscathed. You’re just too precious to him, and isn’t that just so damn romantic?
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
When it comes to dealing with rivals for your affection, Aran is surprisingly good at controlling himself.
He’s not a particularly forceful yandere; in general, he wants you to want him. He wants you to be in a relationship with him because you deem him a worthy partner, because you’re in love with him and want to spend every waking moment by his side.
He doesn’t like the prospect of isolating you – there’s something underhanded and dirty about getting you to be his that way. There’s something cheap about not letting you have any contact with any other men in your life, or women for that matter. He’s not naïve; he understands that you’re gorgeous, that other people are more than likely interested in you too.
And how could they not be? Aran worships the ground you walk on, and is it so strange to assume that other men likely do the same?
He knows that he’s not the only one vying for your attention and heart, but this only furthers his reasoning that he wants you to want him, that he wants you to choose him. And so, while it kills him inside, Aran doesn’t outwardly try to run off his competition. He’s not immediately threatening the men that stare longingly at you, their palms sweaty as they slowly build up the courage to approach you and talk to you. It hurts his heart, yes, and it’s the worst torture he can imagine to watch, but he has to.
It makes every muscle in his body seize up as his dark eyes bore into the back of the man chatting with you, his frame so rigid that passerbys are concerned, even asking him if he’s alright. It makes his lungs feel like they’re being crushed, the breath difficult to suck in, his every bit of attention devoted to simply watching, praying that you don’t fall victim to the man’s charms, that you won’t be wooed by his clearly inadequate attempts at flattering you.
He’ll be mentally chanting that this stranger, this piece of shit, doesn’t deserve someone as lovely as you. They’ll never be able to care for you like he can; no one knows you as well, no one is willing to go to such extreme lengths to make you happy.
He’ll always be watching, if only because he’s always slightly on edge – not even just out of fear that you’ll develop interest in another man, but simply because he’s terrified that you’ll somehow be hurt. He’s scared that you’ll be taken advantage of, that this man will reach out and touch you, that you’ll develop bruises and scream and cry because Aran couldn’t protect you like he’s supposed to.
He’s scared that if he looks away for even one moment, you’ll disappear, gone forever, the love of his life. It’s a horrible feeling, one that claws at his chest and eats at his heart, but Aran almost thinks the torture of watching is worth it. It strengthens his love for you, and with every refusal you give, every awkward smile and lame excuse of why you need to be going, he feels his chest swell with pride.
You want him, he’s sure of it. Why would you be denying so many other men if you weren’t already in love with the spiker himself? It’s obvious, and while it hurts more than anything he’s ever experienced, Aran has to let other men approach you, at least unless they hurt you.
It’s the only way to know for sure that you’re his.
Aran frowns as he notices the way the man behind you in line keeps glancing at you. You’re still waiting to order your sandwich, the line at the deli decidedly long. Aran already had his – you’d claimed you weren’t hungry, and despite Aran’s insistence, you didn’t allow him to buy you any food.
However, as you watched him eat his sandwich, something in your attitude must’ve changed – you should’ve let him wait in line for you, to pay for the sandwich he knows is your favorite, but you didn’t.
He should’ve insisted more, been more forceful, but it’s too late now – most definitely too late as the man behind you puffs up his chest, clearing his throat and telling you something. You jump slightly and turn around to face him, a small smile on your face as you answer whatever question he’d asked you.
Aran’s too far away to hear what you’re saying, but with the way the man laughs, he can’t help tightening his hand into a fist under the table. His blunt nails dig into his palm, surely leaving indents in the calloused skin, but he can’t find it in himself to care. His gaze is fixed on you, his sandwich pathetically forgotten on the deli paper before him. His lips are slightly parted as he watches, murmuring under his breath to ignore him, ignore him please, don’t laugh at his jokes, don’t smile at him, stop touching her…
He doesn’t even realize he’s speaking, but it hardly matters – because despite smiling at his joke, the man doesn’t seem to realize that you aren’t nearly as interested as he thinks, because a moment later he’s reaching out and lightly touching your arm.
You recoil immediately, shrinking back slightly as your smile turns tight, and suddenly the air in the room has returned, Aran heaving a massive, massive sigh because you obviously don’t want him to touch you. You obviously don’t want his filthy hands on you – but you do want Aran’s, if the way you let him touch you is anything. You don’t shy away from his small touches; a hand on your back to guide you, a pat on your head when he calls you short or fun-sized because he knows it annoys you. He bounces his foot against the ground, internally swearing that the line would just hurry the fuck up, so that you can come back and get away from the man who has now fallen quiet, fishing in his wallet for nothing.
You order your sandwich, keeping your back to the stranger, and as you return, the intensity in Aran’s gaze surprises you.
Those dark eyes are fixed directly on you, not wavering even the slightest bit, and a small shiver wracks your spine because fuck, why does his gaze feel so heavy and crushing?
You shrug it off, however, when he smiles at you, the grin so bright that it almost blinds you. There’s something making him indescribably happy, you can tell, but you don’t know what. You make some comment about him not having finished his sandwich yet, but Aran doesn’t pay any attention – he’s too focused on the fact that you didn’t want that man.
You rejected him essentially, and instead chose to come stay with him, with Aran, the only one who really loves you. He’s too lost in his fantasy happy land to return the teases you give him, instead relishing in the the warm, fluttery feeling in his heart, his eyes occasionally darting to the other man to watch him hurriedly walk out of the sandwich shop, sending you a last cursory glance before slamming the door behind him.
Pride swells in Aran’s chest, and once you’ve both finished, he’s quick to place his hand on the small of your back, opening up the door for you. And to his intense happiness, you don’t flinch. You let him touch you, let him guide you, let him care for you and lead you out onto the busy street.
He’s in heaven, and as he smiles like a fool, you won’t suspect a thing. He’s always been so happy, it’s just who he is – his labored breathing and the excited, desperate twitch of his fingers to keep touching you has nothing to do with you, right?
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
Because many aspects of Aran’s relationship with you are normal, kidnapping you isn’t something that crosses his mind until very, very late into his obsession with you.
He likes the idea of keeping things somewhat natural between the two of you; organic and warm, with nothing too forced. He wants to woo you, to have that perfect romantic courtship where he brings you flowers, making you flustered, takes you on lavish dates by candlelight at the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in town because he can afford it.
He wants you to feel spoiled and loved, and most of all he wants you to choose to be with him. He wants you to want him out of all the other men you know, for you to decide that he’s the one for you just as he knows you are for him.
And so, while the idea of having you knowingly in his home, kept safe, pristine, and his is extremely appealing, Aran struggles to let go of his desire for your willingness in the arrangement.
He can’t deny that having you stuck at home, spending your days safely under lock and key gets him feeling strangely domestic, butterflies igniting in his stomach as he bites back a smile, his cheeks feeling hot. He’s always daydreaming about how you’d look so pretty chopping up vegetables in the kitchen when he gets home, maybe a cute apron around your waist as you hum and sing to yourself, only stopping when he hugs you from behind, letting yourself melt into his arms.
(Of course, he’d never let you actually chop anything alone – too scared of you cutting yourself with the knife, but the fantasy is still appealing.)
He’s fantasizing about you doing the laundry, him coming home to a house that smells like detergent and new sheets on the bed; soft, warm, and oh so pristine.
(Though, they won’t be by the time the night is through – you’ll have to scrub out the new white stains, but that’s nothing new.)
He’s imagining the way you’d lay your head on his chest while you shovel popcorn into your mouth, the wool blanket strewn over the both of you making him feel all warm and fuzzy as you stare intently at the TV screen, the movie he'd chosen capturing your interest perfectly.
He’s got all kinds of domestic fantasies in his head, and Aran is terrified that by kidnapping you, he’s ruining any chance of any and all of these daydreams from becoming real. He’s too attached to the idea of seeing you with his baby on your hip, your pretty face smiling at him while you coo at the child, nursing it and telling him that you were wondering if you could take Friday off, I’ve been feeling awfully lonely around the house, and the baby’s normally asleep for a few hours during the afternoon – maybe we could break in those new sheets we got last month?
He’s too attached to the idea of having a normal, healthy, perfect life with you to really seriously consider forcibly relocating you.
However, Aran is nothing if not practical – and so, while it pains him immensely to do so, if something serious were to happen to you, he’d be left with no choice but to steal you away. It’d have to be something quite significant, however; perhaps an attempted home invasion, or a robbery, or maybe you were hit by a car or contracted some horrible virus that meant you needed care at all hours of the day.
Whatever the reason may be, he’ll be sighing and wringing his hands, but nonetheless gathering the softest rope he can find, setting up pillows in the back of his car so that you’re comfortable on the ride over, even going so far as to keep his face covered during the event, so that he can perhaps fabricate some story of how he was saving you from another robbery – and isn’t he just such a good guy for doing that?
For being so considerate, kind, being your knight in shining armor?
As a captor, Aran can be described mostly as incredibly giving. In a lot of ways, you’ll be terribly, rottenly spoiled; he’s giving you anything and everything he can think of.
When you initially wake up in his home, terrified and changed into a set of clean, soft pajamas (though thankfully your panties and bra are still on, helping relieve your anxiety just slightly), you’ll notice immediately how lavish the bedroom you’re in is.
The walls are a pretty emerald color, mahogany drawers and dressers sitting along the wall. There’s a window – it’s easily six feet tall and six feet wide, with a window seat and big, billowy white curtains, though there’s something odd about the glass – you get up to examine it, only to find it feels brittle, harder, even flexible. (Bulletproof glass, you later learn, placed there in case you got any ideas about braving the twenty story jump.)
All sizes and shapes of pillows adorn the bed, the best quality sheets and a heavy comforter that traps heat so well you’ll nearly be sweating in December. The closet is full of pretty clothing you don’t recognize; all colors you love, neutral pieces that flatter your form and make you feel more expensive than you’ve ever felt in your life.
Aran’s only buying the best quality food, always making sure you have a healthy balance of vegetables, protein and carbs, even occasionally indulging you with exquisite chocolates and pastries. He’s always got music playing in every room of the apartment; quietly, so as not to distract you, but you’ll notice it’s a playlist of your favorite songs. The ones that relax you, that make you smile, that bring back sentimental memories.
He’s got all the supplies for your hobbies set up in ‘your room’, as he likes to call it. Anything from easels and paint brushes to a baby grand piano will reside in the room, and despite your pleas for him to not spend so much money on you, Aran will just laugh and poke your nose lightly, telling you to not worry, that he’s got more than enough money to buy a pretty lady like you pretty things.
He just wants you to be as happy as humanly possible, and while he knows you’ll always be at least a little bit unhappy, he’s hopeful that he can help make it up to you by being the perfect partner – indulging you in all the romantic cliches and dreams you may have had when you were young.
Besides, he’s a romantic at heart, and while it feels maybe just a tad bit overkill to have the rose petals on the table and candlelight as you share a meal he cooked, Aran doesn’t care. Because when you’re wearing the dress he custom ordered for you, your curves looking magnificent and your face so warm and flustered, how can he care about anything at all except this moment?
He spoils you, yes, but you’ll not forget your kidnapped immediately – no, you can’t, not when he’s insisting you share a bed from the beginning. He’ll never try to touch you or force you into anything, but his insistence on letting him cuddle you, on letting him place a hand to your hip while you drift into sleep with your face pressed against his chest is perhaps not your first choice for how to sleep.
But really, aside from a few small quirks of Aran, you’ll find yourself growing disturbingly comfortable disturbingly fast. After all, he’s a charmer – and though you may try to hate him for kidnapping you, for being so horribly, disgustingly, wonderfully obsessed with you, he’s like a puppy.
One desperate for your affection, always bringing you a new bone or toy, and one who’ll do anything for you at a moment’s command. So really, just let him pamper you, let him spoil you, even if it makes you uncomfortable.
It makes him happy, and he’s sure eventually it’ll make you happy, too – and won’t it? Won’t it, really?
PUNISHMENTS:
Aran doesn’t ‘do’ punishments.
They just simply aren’t his thing – he wants you to love him, for your relationship to develop as organically as it possibly can (considering he’s kidnapped you and essentially been stalking you for months, of course), and the concept of disciplining you for misbehaving doesn’t fit his hopes for a normal, healthy relationship.
And so, Aran is really quite lenient when it comes to you – he doesn’t get mad very often, instead preferring to keep a steady, calm disposition, because if he wants the best possible chance of you falling in love with him, doesn’t it make more sense to be calm, happy, warm?
Doesn’t it make more sense for him to approach you with loving arms, gentle touches, soft smiles that make your cheeks heat up, that get your stomach feeling fluttery and light because fuck, has anyone ever looked at you with so much adoration and unfiltered joy?
It’s overwhelming, and for the most part Aran’s method of not punishing you works exactly as he wants it to. It’s not long before you’re moving past your hatred of him for ruining your life by stealing it for himself, and while you hope to never forgive him for what he’s done, you’re looking past it remarkably fast.
Too fast, you could even say, though with every compliment he gives you, it becomes harder to find issue with this development. With every hand picked present that you’re sure is much too expensive being given to you with that flustered, wide grin on his face, you’ll slowly find yourself forgetting about the rage you promised yourself you’d never forget.
It’s scary, really, how he’s able to mold you into what you hoped you’d never become – loving, submissive to him, wanting to please him so that the love and care you’ve come to grow addicted to is never cruelly ripped away from you.
It’s terrifying just how easily Aran is able to mold you into his ideal lover; he’s not trying to change you by any means, but after a few months with him, you’ll discover that you don’t fully recognize yourself anymore. He isn’t trying to break you down and rebuild your personality to be exactly what he wants, if only because he already loves you exactly the way you are – why would he change anything?
And yet, despite him not trying to, it’s impossible to ignore the way you’ve never been this happy before.
When you look in the mirror, you’ll find yourself smiling much more than you used to; there’s laugh lines starting to appear on your cheeks, surely formed from all the horrible jokes and sweet nothing Aran whispers in your ear with that dashing smile and those callused, gentle hands caressing your body against him.
You’ll discover that you look healthier than you ever have before – your body looks to be at a good, manageable weight, your hair shiny and healthy, your skin cleaner than you remember it being when you were on your own.
And really, who do you have to blame but Aran?
He’s so diligent in taking care of you, so loving and overwhelmingly giving when it comes to making you happy and healthy that you really can’t ignore the way your body and mind has changed. You feel happy, loved – by your captor, no less.
And so while you may have initially been so, so enraged and terrified of him for stealing you away from your old life, eventually the rage will subside, your love and devotion to him taking its place. Aran couldn’t be happier; this is exactly what he wanted, and seeing the way you morph into greeting him when he returns home from practice with a big hug and a flurry of kisses against his cheeks and lips couldn’t be more appreciated.
He just really, really loves you, but that isn’t to say the beginning of your relationship was more rocky, your behavior and feelings towards him not even a shadow of what they are now.
Even at the beginning, Aran was never one to actually hurt you. He hates the idea of physically touching you in anything other than love or in teasing, and so he absolutely refuses to harm you, to punch or scratch or slap or bruise you.
(You’ll notice early on into your intimate life with him that bruises are left often, but only because Aran needs you as close as physically possible when he’s fucking you, keeping your warm body next to his without an inch of space because god, how can you feel so damn good?)
And so, even when Aran gets mad (which is already a rare occurrence), you’ll never have to worry about being on the receiving end of a swinging fist, or having blood pooling anywhere on your body.
He would die before he harms you in that way – it would break him, truly, to the point where he may actually consider ending his life, but only if yours is taken alongside his as well, so that the both of you can be together in life and death.
And so, when Aran does get mad, he’s not even trying to punish you.
A few things can set him off – the main one being any sort of an escape attempt by you.
He’s livid the first few times you try this; he understands why, rationally, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You’re trying to escape him, to run away from him, clearly showing you aren’t happy. And why aren’t you happy? Doesn’t he give you everything he possibly can, everything you could possibly want?
What more is there for him to give you – he’s already given you his heart, body and soul?
Sunlight is streaming through the window when Aran wakes up, his lashes fluttering as his face scrunches up into a grimace, the bright light not welcome. He groans, rolling over onto his side and instinctually reaching for you – he always sleeps with you in his arms, your warm body against his. He finds it helps him sleep, and often he’ll wait until you drift into a slumber before he stares at your face, tracing the lines of your lips and cheeks with his thumb while he marvels at how beautiful you are.
Except his hands don’t feel you. His eyes shoot open, and at the empty space where your body should be in the bed, immediately he’s bolting out of bed, scrambling to open the bedroom door. The boxers he’s wearing are haphazardly on his hips, and normally he’d be embarrassed that you see him in such a messy state, but he doesn’t fucking care.
Where are you? You’re never up before him – it’s five o’clock in the morning for Christ’s sake, you’re surely not making breakfast.
He’s quick to check the living room, seeing no sign of you anywhere. The kitchen is next, and while he’s relieved to not find a lifeless you bleeding out on the floor, it does little to calm his anxiety.
It’s only once he reaches the front door that he sees you – you’re on your knees, hands desperately working the bobby pin at the deadbolt’s lock, your movements frantic yet obviously trying to stay silent.
Aran stares for a moment, before his face hardens, his legs bursting forward as he scoops you up into his arms. You yelp and kick at him, telling him to let you go as you thrash, but with your every move Aran only finds himself getting more and more angry.
Soon he’s setting you down on the couch (not nearly as gently as he normally does, you distantly note), before taking a few steps back, his dark eyes fixed on you. He’s rubbing at his temples, clutching at his jaw, shaking his head and murmuring something under his breath that you don’t hear.
You’re mad, too, and your mouth opens as you prepare to accuse him. Why did you stop me? I was so close Aran, so close to getting out of this goddamn apartment!
And that’s it, really – it’s enough to have the extremely thin control over his rage snapping off. Why the hell are you trying to leave? What’s wrong with you?
He’s yelling, his voice so loud that you physically cower back into the couch, the cushions soft but not enough. You’ve never heard him sound like this before; this angry, this hurt. His fists are clenched at his sides, the muscles in his torso and arms visibly flexing as he continues on.
I do everything for you, do you understand? I give you every fucking thing I own – my heart, my money, my home, my love! And you what? You squander it? Throw it away like it means nothing? How ungrateful can you be?
He’s lost himself, he knows it, and yet he can’t stop. The prospect of you running away from him is just too much – he's tried too damn hard to get you to love him, to woo you for you to even think of leaving him behind. How can he survive without you?
He’s still yelling, but you’re not listening anymore. You can’t, not as a stinging, hot sensation in your nose leads to tears, your sniffles and small hiccups going ignored by Aran as he continues on.
It’s euphoric, in a way, expressing himself, but as his dark gaze moves from the ceiling (which he’d been yelling at) and towards you, the words die in his throat. Your hands are at your eyes, wiping away the tears as you sob, the emotions overflowing you. The yelling, the escape attempt, the months of trying to repress the way your desire to leave was slowly dwindling was all just too damn much –
You didn’t even realize it had gone quiet in the room until Aran’s arms are around you, your smaller body pressed against his broad chest. His face is against your neck, and you see his shoulders shaking slightly.
You wonder if he’s crying, too.
It’s silent for a few moments as your tears continue to flow, but you hug him back slowly, whispering in a dry, hiccupy voice that you’re s-sorry Aran, ‘m so sorry, I don’t – I don’t know why I tried to leave, I’m happy here. I wanna stay with you, please let me stay with you, please d-don’t leave me, please!
Your arms are fully around him now, clutching onto him with as much vigor as he you, and Aran stiffens slightly. He shouldn’t have yelled at you; that was uncalled for, and he’d made you fucking cry, something that was making him feeling physically ill. And yet, you were saying you didn’t want him to leave you, that you want to stay with him, that you’re happy…
And sure, maybe it’s a ploy to calm him down, but Aran doesn’t care. How can he, when you’re separating after a few moments, a small, sad smile on his lips as he wipes away your tears with his thumb, his voice much softer as he tells you I’ll never leave you, I promise. Shh, shh, it’s okay, I love you, I’ll never let you go. Now c’mere, I’m makin’ us a bath.
He’s quick to call out of practice that morning, settling you into the large white tub in front of him, your head leaning on his chest as the scent of lavender surrounds you both.
He holds you, letting you get the last few tears out, all the while reminding you that he loves you, you’re perfect, you’re his everything, and how can a man live without his whole world?
OVERALL DANGER:
Overall rating: 4/10
Aran really isn’t so much dangerous as he is effective. He’s not intentionally manipulative – no, of course not.
He doesn’t want to trick you into anything, to lure you into falling in love with him. No, he wants your heart honestly, to have you falling in love with him on your own terms, in your own time, so that when you do eventually make him your world, you’re doing so willingly.
However, Aran isn’t adverse to helping you along the path; he’s spending time with you, complimenting you as often as he can, buying you expensive gifts and taking you out on dates (though, you’re never quite sure if he means them romantically or platonically, and you’re almost too scared to ask), anything he can think of that’ll have you falling for him. He just wants you to enjoy being around him, to crave him like he craves you, to return the level of sick devotion he holds for you.
You’re perfect; genuinely everything he could want in a woman, and while it’s a bit embarrassing how horribly whipped and desperate he is for your attention and validation, Aran slowly begins finding that he doesn’t care.
After all, how can anything else besides your love matter?
How can he find it in himself to care whether he comes off as pathetic when he sends you a bouquet of roses on your birthday, the pretty card he spent hours writing (both to solidify what he wanted to write, and also to practice his cursive so you’d think it’s pretty and worth keeping) describing how beautiful you are, how he’d love nothing more than to hold you, kiss you, mark you up so that no other man could ever take you?
Aran slowly loses himself to his obsession with you, and while he’s not particularly delusional or violent, Aran is dedicated. So much so that it’s almost futile to run from his love – he will eventually have you falling for him, returning his feelings whether you realize it or not.
And he couldn’t be happier; the day you willingly return his hugs, initiate kisses, grind down on him with that tight fucking pussy is the happiest day of his life.
Because it means you want him, and who doesn’t like being wanted? Especially by the woman they’ve spent years pining for, obsessing over, watching and fantasizing about like some lovesick teenage boy?
Not even an upstanding man like Aran would resist that – so congratulations, because once he’s hooked, he’s never, ever letting you go.
EMERGENCY WRITING COMMS
reblogs are greatly appreciated.
to keep is short: my dad has fucked up one too many times & ruined far too many lives so now i really, really need to move myself & my mom out asap. i'm hoping to move on april 1st or the 5th at the latest.
2k word fics for 10US$
2 characters included
an added character is an extra 5US$
an added 1k words is an extra 5US$
i will do max 3k words with max 1 added character
i'd prefer smut comms bc it's quick & easy, but at this point i will write anything. just no p.edo shit or b.eastiality
any characters, any fandoms, etc.
full payment after you approve my outline
payment via paypal only
unfortunately no refunds if you decide to pull out halfway
i will be asking for an age verification for smut comms
dm if you're interested or email me: samminikolaiwork@gmail.com
60 / 2700 US$ || R1150 / R50 900*
*please check back to the original post to see if help is still needed.
here's my p.aypal if you'd like to just help out.
i also have a k.ofi where i take art comms.
i need at least 2.2k to 2.7k US$ if i really want to get myself & my mom out of this situation. if we have at least 1.8k US$ we're moving.
breakdown of prices & shit below the cut:
unfortunately, a deposit for a new place + the rent, electricity & water bills (that are separate from rent), moving to a new place & trying to survive for a month costs a ton of money. i currently do not have a stable income rn but i do have a job waiting for me in the town i plan to move to as long as i move before april 5th.
the fact that i need to take my cat, dog & my mom's dog with me makes things even harder bc many places aren't pet friendly. & if they are pet friendly, it's often more exspensive.
the place my mom & i are trying to move to is R10 000 per month & requires a 10k deposit. that excludes the electricity & water bills that we also have to pay, which can be up to 2.5k. i'm hoping for us to get at least two months rent + the deposit. so, 30k. honestly, even just one months rent is fine rn.
yes, this is the cheapest place i could find. it's in a safe area, has burglar bars, an enclosed yard, etc. & it allows pets.
along with the move & stuff, we need to buy several necessities bc if we're leaving my dad we can't just take everything, unfortunately.
i'm currently waiting on a quote from a moving company. but i think it'll cost anything from 2k to 5k. let's hope it's 2k. i have no idea what it should cost.
list of things we'll need + their prices:
freezer - 4000
about 8 curtains - 2400
food for our pets to last a while - 1000
litter box + litter - 500 (my cat can now finally be an indoor cat)
misc kitchen stuff - 500
groceries to survive a while - 3000
gas / petrol money - 1500
total - 12 900 (about 680$)
i still need to figure out a way to pay for wifi & our data / phone contracts. but that's a monthly payment thing.
so, here's a general breakdown:
rent for two months - 20 000
deposit - 10 000
elec + water bill - 5000 (2 months)
other things (listed above) - 12 900
estimate of moving company price - 3000
total - 50 900 (about 2700 US$)
R40 900 (about 2150 US$) would also be okay if we can just cover one month's rent. honestly, we can even toss out the freezer (4k) & groceries (3k) & make do w R33 900 (about 1800 US$).
i do have a job waiting for me in the new town if i can move in april + my mom will also do sewing work from home to add to our income. i will also still do comms & such. i might even have to take up a second job but we'll see. thankfully there are several job opportunities in the town.
we also have family in the town we're hoping to move to. so we won't be entirely alone.
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