┌─ “ ! „ FLUIDITY
┌─ “ ! „ FLUIDITY
tw. dubcon, monsterfucking, explicit size kink, interspecies sex, reader has sex pollen like effects, communication barrier, manipulation, yandere (other parts will contain a lot more explicit dark kinks so please read every individual part's warnings!) wordcount. 8.7k
part 1 of —
a/n. ♡♡ thank you so much rhi for keeping me going through this, idk if i would have pushed through if not for you so ily ily ily and this fic is just indulgence as a period piece and a monsterfucking fic but i hope you give it a chance and like it bc there's moresomes a-coming and this is just the beginning so! yeA i hope you guys enjoy mwuah mwuah mwuah ♡♡
tachibana makoto x fem!reader ( x other characters coming)
Dragonflies glint the prettiest, richest silver you’ve ever seen under the right light. The rosy evening sun casts the entire river into a blooming glow— complete with a soft blanket of fog that rolls along the base of the trees. “Your maiden servants worry about you, you know,” a voice softly calls, and the rustle of shrubbery makes you turn.
You don’t really want to know how long the man’s been guarding you without a word. If it were anyone but one of your father’s most trusted men, you’d probably have some distrust. Instead you only pull your knees to your chest, and continue tossing rocks into the babbling brook.
“Lady, it’ll get dark soon. Your parents don’t want you playing out here so late.”
The small area isn’t open enough to lure any visitors. You’d be fine. Still, you slowly bob your head, waiting for him to step away from the tree edge into the river bank with you. “I had a weird dream, only it didn’t feel like a dream.” The reeds sway in the wind, and you almost let the perfect surrounding whisk away the thought. But the man’s hand drops from his sword, and he gives the faintest of nods. “There was a monster here when I fell asleep— one with a huge mouth packed full of teeth. I saw eyes in the water, and hair so long it covered its whole body.” The tart remnants of your delicately applied makeup wash away as you swallow. “I think- it was a yokai.”
“There’s no yokai here, lady,” he patiently responds, and you turn to him better. This time taking a proper look. If the damp hair tied in a bun is anything to go off of, he was most likely called out of his bath to come out looking for you. You bite your lip, apology lingering on your tongue. But that’s where it stays, as the man continues. “There’s monsters only where people don’t go. You needn’t worry.”
“Are you comforting me?” A slight giggle passes your lips before you can help it. “I know you think I’m lying. You don’t believe anything you don’t see with your own eyes.”
“... It’s not for a lack of trying.” He smooths a hand over his hakama, before resting it back on the pristine handle of his sword. The dragonflies buzz over the low edge of the water, and your feet ache a little from the cold. You’d love to ask to be carried right about now, but spare the poor man the effort. It’s the least you can do. After another few minutes of silence and watching the sun disappear entirely below the tree line, he finally clears his voice. “Come on, lady. We should really get back. You’re precious to your parents. You’re precious to us all. I can’t leave you here.”
This river runs from the high mountains all the way through the small lake that borders the gates of your home; and all the way down the lowlands— and it’s said that on the day of your birth the river flooded, and provided the most bountiful harvest of the last few decades. Even as a child, there was no ignoring the gleeful whispering of the ladies, nor the calculated introductions of sons of poorer lords at every birthday or feast. Some day not too long from now you will get married and spread providence over the land… and there won’t be time for napping by rivers or running off half-dressed into the forest.
Somehow, despite the honor, a small part of you goes cold at that. The water glistens under the last of the light— and you take a long look into the deep of it. The eyes the color of hot coals flash through your mind once more, and you start pulling the fabrics of your dresses aside to put your zori back on. “I know it was a monster- but-” The wind picks up when you turn over your shoulder and smile your most genuine smile. “I wasn’t scared, I think. Perhaps it was friendly.”
The guard is quiet as he watches you get up from the riverbank, and sticks a comfortable distance after helping you gently up onto your feet. You suppose he doesn’t really have the heart, or perhaps confidence, to tell you what he really thinks of your childish talk. The barely-there path back to your home has you growing much more tired— as if weights are tied to your legs. You wish you could stay. The moss crunches softly under your feet, and the dewy air starts to feel a bit cold to the touch. Despite everything, it’s always peaceful here. You cast a brief glance up to the man as he pushes the shrubbery aside. His face has a vacant sort of look, until he catches you looking, and his mouth curls up. “I’ll tell your maiden servants to prepare a purifying ritual for you.”
“Ugh, no, please. Anything but that.”
+
“The koi fish aren’t around anymore, are they, lady?” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice as your maid walks up.
You nod, lift your sleeves to brush your fingers through the water and wait. You got them as a present for your coming of age festivities— the most beautiful blue grey with red fins— much too expensive for your liking but a courting gift nonetheless. You’d been quite fond of the walks out of your houses’ walls because of them. The feed floats sadly on the surface of the inlet, where the clear river water shows no sign at all of the normally curious animals. “It seems like they’ve gone.” What a shame.
Your other maiden scans the area, before rushing to help you up onto your feet as she lowers her head. “Should we ask the master to procure some more? We know feeding the fish brings you much joy.”
The girl helps to fix your sleeves again, before awaiting your call. “No, that’s quite alright. There’s no use replacing a gift.” You cast a wary glance at the bay once more, not quite sure what you’re looking for; but fail to find anything out of the ordinary. A sight furrow comes to your brow, before you hike up your layers of skirts- much to the shock of your two servants- and turn to them with a softer smile. “I would like to be alone for a bit—”
“Lady!” one of them squeaks, but you only laugh.
“I am certain, Hitsu. Tell my father I will be home before tea and dinner, and if you could prepare my bath…” The dark brunette has a question on her tongue, but does nod with the same trained properness that you’ve come to know. “I simply wish to walk along the river, I won’t swim. It’ll be quick, I promise.” It’s not a lie. You have no intention of ruining your beautiful, expensive clothing by going any further than a shallow few steps. But there’s a nagging memory somewhere in the back of your mind—
You used to have so many dreams, all of them now too faint to recall. Both young ladies give each other a look, before eventually bowing deeply and heading back towards the palace gates.
See, that nagging sense that you’re forgetting something important, something crucial, overcomes you. It’s almost impossible to ignore, and you kick off your shoes to tread carefully along the edge of the deep pool of fresh spring water. The moss is soft under your feet, keeping a tight grip on your embroidered silks.
When you were only a few years old, you used to have these dreams. Dreams of drowning, of ghouls and demons. They grew scarcer the older you got, and eventually even the weekly purification spells and chants became declared unnecessary. But where the memories once sat, now only a blank hole remains in your mind. And however hard you try to remember, you can never quite get there. You make it to the sloped edge of the river not much later, stepping up the small sputtering waterfall and a few round stones between stray bamboo— nearly still water pooling at your feet.
It’s chilly, but not freezing. Something scratches in the back of your skull, deep down. It trickles down your neck, and with a steady heartbeat, it breathes.
But you can’t catch the thought, and the harder you try, the cloudier it becomes— eventually you click your tongue and start walking along the water edge up stream. You should look for your fish. If they swam out of the inlet somehow, maybe they’d be around. They are, much like you are, bred for captivity and wouldn’t survive too long on their own. The sun casts warm spring rays onto your skin, walking in much needed solitude. When you barely realize you’ve spaced out, you’ve already made it to a bend in the river where peach blossoms float on the otherwise pristine surface of the water— and despite your previous care, you drop your dress.
The blossoms swirl in slow circles. And a raindrop lands on your nose.
Arms, wrapped tight around your chest. Claws. Wide lashless eyes.
Something floods your brain so suddenly that you stumble back a few steps and gasp, sucking in a breath.
It was here. You can’t exactly make out what, but your gut recognizes the trees, the scraggly stones sticking out of the water. Your lungs full of water, and hands all over.
Bumps rise all over your back as you look around, and water seeps up along your tarikubi robe. It’s so quiet, and the stillness starts to trouble with each droplet that comes down. But you breathe. You’ve been here, perhaps more than once, and the aching, pressing itch deep in your head grows more unbearable. When a metallic flicker catches your eyes, you glance down. The rain now starts up more properly, and though the trees provide some shelter, there’s no hiding away from the cold as you walk in just deep enough to bend and pick up a dainty golden chain from between the smooth rocks.
It’s fine like thread, and cold to the touch, and though you can’t quite explain it; something about this finely crafted piece is familiar too. Even through the rain and the chills crawling all the way up your spine, you study the necklace closer. The intricate detail is almost too pristine.
A soft splash on the other side of the river startles you— The sudden scare makes you lose your balance and fall back onto your lower end. Hard. The ache immediately has you whimpering, but instead of worrying about the pain, you slowly try to catch yourself on the rocks; pained enough in the motion that you swear — you see a person diving underneath the water edge. Something pale and fast. You scream, and whatever you saw dashes away before you can think about doing different. The blossoms drift off as you scramble back up; your bruised palms sting, and your heartbeat still hammers hard in your throat when the silence returns.
But the blurry flash of maroon hair and fiery red eyes you caught is long gone.
And much too soon, the clouds that had seemed so fluffy and beautiful earlier turn a dreary grey. You turn on your heel and book it back down the river side on bare feet— still clamping the chain between your fingers.
+
The wick of your lantern splutters with thick oil as you fail to catch sleep. Even with the spring weather it’s chilly, with you remaining wrapped under a thick blanket. You breathe a long sigh, and listen to the crackling of the candle beside your bed in the absence of any other sound. The earlier lecture of your father, your mother, and even the normally quiet and collected matron of the house still lingers on your mind— it’s not like you can blame anyone. You wouldn’t be the first stupid, brazen young girl who happened to drown, and despite the quiet lives most girls like you live, you most likely won’t be the last.
You shouldn’t have been out there. Your servants had been ghastly pale from fright upon seeing the state in which you returned, and even the thorough scrubbing and hours-long bath didn’t do much to alleviate the ache in your lower back.
Despite all that, you’re stuck. Eyes -monstrous, unnatural eyes- appear in the crevices of your mind each time you close your own. No amount of prayer makes the longing fade, and the longer you lay here, the deeper they seem to dig into your flesh. Goosebumps crawl all over your skin once more. When you throw your blankets off you, you go digging in one of the woven baskets for the thickest bland garments you’ve got— tying them around your hips until you’re dressed enough to peer out into the hall. The frigid air current howls through the house when you gather your lantern, some woven socks, and after a brief bit of deliberation; snatch the golden chain from beside your pillow.
The palace is quiet at night, an almost eerie sort of calm that is broken only by the soft ‘pats’ of your feet on the hardwood— with the lanterns barely providing enough light to see a good arms length at a time. The wind pushes you forward, nuzzling deeper into the collar of your clothing until you make it outside. Even under the starry sky, there’s no doubt that this is a stupid idea. No good can come from nightly outings — though you’ve seen girls come and go in similar ways under the cover of night, you’re quite sure their purpose was less out-for-trouble than you are now. But what else can you do?
How could you ever sleep soundly not knowing what’s out there.
With only the flickering reflection on the water, you bow before your home— you’d be back soon enough. You love your clan— and you have no intention of getting caught in long lectures twice in a night. The guards at the gates have no way of noticing you as you slip into the brush and cover the lamp from sight, as cold breaths form clouds before your eyes.
Your legs move almost instinctively until you come upon the peach tree, and the pretty white flowers rain down with the breeze. You place the candle by your feet; and hesitate before taking your own seat on a round rock right by the water edge. You’ve never seen a yokai. Not that you can remember at the very least, but if you would have-you didn’t expect to here. Not the river that blessed your birth, or the one who gives everyone life by way of harvest. Maybe what you saw was a farmer bathing, or a particularly pale, large cod— wouldn’t that make more sense. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t tell your father?
Because naïvity and silly wonder seems better than monsters lurking among the shrub.
Sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, a soft splashing in the water sets every hair on your body upright— and your mouth goes dry. It’s so dark. So awfully dark that it’s hard to see even past your own feet, if not for the broken reflection of your candle in the water. You know it's there. You feel it, by the rancid sort of churning in your stomach, the rapid beating of your heart. You swallow the tightness in your throat as best you can. “I’ve come to return your necklace. I didn’t mean to steal it, so I’ve come to give it back.” You wish you could let your eyes grow used to the dark, but without candle light, it’d be so much harder to get back home in one piece.
After just the sounds of the river drag on, you slowly take another breath, and try to bite back the wetness that rises every time you try and fail to find the eyes you know are looking at you. “I don’t wish to harm anyone.” The wind seems to howl harder across the river, and you can’t fight the horrible visions of monsters all around you, just there in the darkness; tightening your hands into fists. “So I wish you would not harm me either. You can have it back.” Your hand shakes when you hold out the chain above the water— not nearly far enough for anything to reach it without coming into your sight. But you’re too frightened to go any deeper, and your lungs tighten.
“Please, I-”
The peaceful spluttering of the water is suddenly disrupted by a much louder splashing, and you freeze up with a sharp gasp, shoulders trembling despite yourself. You don’t dare move any more than that— only after a minute or so of silence, you continue. “Hello? Don’t you want your necklace back?”
The reeds shake in the wind, and one of the blossoms brushes along your cheek as it falls into your crouched lap. Your breathing is tense enough to almost hide the little mumble that reaches back. It’s soft, sweet like dripping honey, and makes your whole spine tingle. “We want.”
If you had any less sense, you’d probably run right back home. But the idea of moving is too terrifying, so you’re stuck rooted in place as you take a breath. The voice sounds young enough, but the Japanese is distinctly older than your own dialect, rolling off the tongue with a vague foreign lilt— and it takes your frightened brain a little longer than you want to process that the voice isn’t simply human. When another little splash sounds a bit closer, you pull your outstretched hand back to your chest. “Can you see me?” Your own voice wavers when trying to make out any shape in the river. Alas, it’s just so dark that any further effort hurts your eyes.
“Yes.”
“I’ve come to give back your necklace. I got scared and took it, I’m sorry. I mean no harm-”
“He told.” The voice is unbearably clear. Almost like it’s being spoken directly into your head, even though it’s just a mere whisper among the rippling water. It’s distracting, and feels ice cold between your ears.
“Who’s he?” you try, biting your lip. The river seems to stare back at you, and you can’t do anything but hope you aren’t making some horrible mistake. Are you supposed to talk to the monsters that go bump in the night? “I- I don’t know where you are, I can’t see you.” Despite the soft, gentle nature of the voice, your heart patters wildly, unable to let go of your fear when there’s another closer splash. You must only be a dozen feet away from each other now, and still you can’t even see past the water at your toes. The voice stays quiet for a while.
“You don’t see is … better.”
You don’t respond for even longer. But for whatever reason, you almost want to agree. Not seeing, he almost sounds like a childhood friend of yours. The soft, honeyed words aren’t so frightening when you can’t see what they’re being spoken by; and you gather your last bit of courage to softly open your palm out again towards the night. “I’ll throw it over to you. Can you catch it?”
“No ‘throw’.” The -whatever- struggles with the word as he says it, before going quiet. You’re not sure if he doesn’t want you to throw it, or he simply doesn’t understand— so you just bite your lip and wait for any further comments that eventually do follow. “You put paw- h-hand.” Then, after another breath, “Come.” With a slight tremble in your voice, you breathe out a little laugh. You are really being asked to be braver than any girl with sense would— dragging your lantern closer over the pebbles until it’s right by your feet. Cursing yourself, you blink back nervous tears, trembling as you hike up the edge of your skirts, just the tiniest bit, and place only one foot into the shallowest part of the river for stability.
Your hand drops halfway outstretched, and you watch the flame where she glints back on the chain.
More splashing makes way for a more disturbing sound once it surfaces, of a body dragging over the shallow of the river towards you, scraping along the blunt stones— and you almost dart away when the sound comes close enough to reach. But your fingertips are almost frozen solid when another hand comes ever faintly into view, and wetness drops into your palm. To call it a hand is gracious, you decide. There’s longer digits, clawed, and webbed between each bony finger, and the wet glossy skin is more curved spike than thumb. The paw slides carefully along your hand, swiping up the chain as it goes— and leaves a cold coating all over your palm that you snatch back too quickly.
It’s unbearable to stay so close to something and not see it now, and you quickly hurry back to the safety of your rock as the same shuffling goes back to the water. Your heartbeat’s in your throat, and you can’t find any polite words to offer it until the yokai speaks again.
“Rin present, with- no, f-for you. You give present back, make happy. I am thank you.” You’re welcome, you think, but you barely manage to paint on a little smile before wringing your hands together and picking your lantern back up for safekeeping.
“I’m heading home now. If I’m not back soon my guards will find out.” It doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to thank it for not killing you when it had ample chance to, so you stay quiet. But there’s also a sense of gratitude that washes over you. Soon you’ll be back in bed like all of this was a dream. That seems right. That seems good. Your tongue lingers on your words. “You … What's your name?” The river bank feels much safer now you’re back on solid ground, and you can see the peach blossoms you almost slipped on.
There’s another long pause, where you almost make a run for it back all the way home, before the voice sounds out again from the dark— sugary sweet in its tone.
“Makoto.”
+
You’re pretty sure you should be questioning your own sanity. Everyone else wouldn’t hesitate to, and after the few restless nights you’ve had, you should be staying as far away as you can. But curiosity, mixed with a slight sense of obligation, has you walking the river bank like a little droplet flowing back to the sea. The quiet, scruffy man following behind doesn’t say much… never does, and you can’t say you dislike it. But you feel the glances your way, distracting you. Soon you find yourself clearing your voice. “You’re wondering why I’m walking this same path again?”
The older man only hesitates for a moment. “No, lady.”
“Sure you are. I would wonder if I were you.” There’s a faint smile that makes its way up, glancing out over the babbling brook to your left as grass tickles your ankles. “Not too long now and I’ll be engaged…” The peach blossoms above are almost done blooming— and you’ve never known your father to be an indecisive man. “Walking gives me a little break from all the fussing attendants, and father's advisors. Which is why it’d be even better if I were alone-”
It doesn’t take much pushback at all for the man to stop in place and give you a little look, resting his hand on the handle of his sword. “Lady.”
“Oh, please Azuma-san, we’ve had this same conversation for years.”
“I am not to leave you unprotected-”
You turn on your heel to face him. “I want to swim.” The stubborn frown on his face doesn’t move an inch, as your eyes go a little more puppy-esque. You have to know, so you have to lie. It doesn’t bring you joy either, but you might go insane if you have to live with questions for the next twenty years barred in some fancy prison of your future husband’s making. “-Swim right here. Without my very expensive clothing getting ruined.” Still that stone wall refuses to budge, and you throw your last bit of dignity into the ring. If this was anyone else you’d never hear the end of your unrefined words. “So I am going to get undressed.”
“—Ag-lright, just quiet. Your servants hear you and I’ll be lynched in the square.” He sighs deeply, rubbing his hand over his scruff, then gives a little bow. He wants nothing more than to roll his eyes when you offer back a self-satisfied grin, but instead takes a few steps the way you came with a stern look. “I’ll ask one of your maiden servants to make her way over here.”
“Don’t tell her to hurry!” you chant back, only taking off the heaviest layer of clothing once he’s out of sight. You lay it safe out of reach, before kicking off your shoes and socks and waddling towards the big stones again. Sure enough, the river here is a lot deeper than it looks. There’s a ledge in the pool that’s dark enough for almost any kind of monster to hide. This at least means your midnight escape wasn’t a total delusion. The peaceful sway of water grass settles when you dip your toes in the water, and wonder. There’s only a brief few minutes where you sit to think, before a slight thrashing once again captures your attention.
Only when you look up, the river is still, safe for a few tiny fish jumping out of the water. You get up, and tie your skirts up higher to inspect. A large maroon shape darts away into the darkness before you can take a good look, splashing droplets all over the river bank— and you hold your breath. You aren’t crazy. That definitely was much larger than any fish you’ve ever seen, and such a brilliant color that nothing but yokai could possess it. Brighter than all the finest silks, shimmering like a mirror. You wait for what could be a few seconds or an hour, before… someone- something else starts coming up from the darkness.
The olive-golden glitter rises so slow you have no choice but to take in another breath, but luckily don’t scare it away. His light chestnut hair is chopped short-ish, and a strangely human face— with cloudy black eyes, and green gashes either side of his neck— where he hovers below the water surface. It’s not human though. The eyes are big, round and deer-like, nose flatter, and his skin seems almost pearlescent. You don’t have the ability to think if you’re brave or just frozen solid. But whatever the case, the humanesque monster seems to stare for quite a while before judging it safe enough to approach.
It’s only then that you get to see the full extent of his body, scaled from ribs down, with a snake-like bottom half that’s at least longer than your entire body, and ending in a beautiful fish-like tail that feathers out in glittering threads. “Oh…” you breathe, and your arms wrap around yourself for protection, but you still don’t move further. Can’t, more like.
The half-man is close enough -and real enough- to feel a bit nauseating. Close enough to set every hair on your body on end and have your heartbeat a wild patter. But it’s the voice that really makes you feel frigid, gulping for air when that soothing tone comes out of a monstrous mouth. Whatever you had expected to see… wasn’t this. You can’t make out if the near-resemblance is comforting, or more frightening. You shiver at the black tongue, against porcelain white teeth.
“You come back.”
Your nod is hesitant, and you fidget with your jewelry in an attempt to calm your nerves. “I- wanted to see who I’d been talking to, that night. I haven’t slept well since then.”
He hoists himself a little further out of the water onto both hands, clawed and boney. “That was you, right? Makoto?” The brunet only gives a single nod of response, and doesn’t take his dark eyes off you for a second. And you want to laugh, though it isn’t too funny. The scene is just so absurd that you have nothing else to do, but laugh. “Isn’t this weird, talking to each other? How come yokai speak Japanese?” your voice comes, and you only hear how childish you sound when it seems to hang over the river without answer.
Out of all the questions you can ask, that’s what is most important to you? Makoto is gracious as he scoots a little closer once again, scraping his long, heavily muscled tail up over the pebbles and stones. “I listen very many year. Always listen, listen woman, listen warrior, listen you.” He blinks, and blondish lashes are the only normality you have staring back at him. “All can’t speak like me. I -hmm, pras-”
“Practice?” you try, and he clearly agrees when his tail pats happily on the ground. When you smile, he grins back wide and kind, his teeth are much sharper than yours. There’s something so human about the look, that you feel your muscles unwind a little further. You suppose, if he wasn’t so strange looking, with the wrong shades and fins here and there; he’d be quite handsome. He’d go over well with the maiden servants in the clan, too. “Many years, huh? Then- How old are you?”
“Hmmm- old. Very…” He doesn’t seem it, though. You avert your eyes when the water flicks over your feet, slowly dropping your shoes to the side. When you look back, he’s gotten closer yet, and is reaching out his hand towards the edge of the water, towards you. Despite your hesitation, and slight disgust— scaly and seemingly frost bitten pale lips, and unnatural greenish marks along his neck that flare out and in— there’s something that makes you want to follow.
A call, or instinct, to glide into the water and feel it embrace you. “You want come in?” he prompts, softly, and you do. You aren’t much of a swimmer even in high summer, and yet. You find yourself closing the distance and reaching out for his hand, letting your fingertips glide along as you get up to your knees into the water, and then get pulled along further step by unsure step. “Good, come.”
“Ah- it’s cold!” you squeak, but Makoto’s fingers wrap around your hand to support you even when you get almost up to your chest into the river, water crawling up your clothing and making your chest feel tight. “Sh- it's so cold.”
“Water not cold. You warm.” Only when he comes up in front of you do you truly notice how much bigger he is. His hands dwarf yours, and even though you’re higher up, his tail is curved aside to fit on the ground so he stares down at you— covering the sun from your view. He towers over any man you’ve ever seen, and his human-esque top half is still much broader than most. Like a hard plane of muscle, marked with thousands of golden freckles that shift in color the longer you look.
Shivers climb up your legs, and the water seeps your energy out of you. Wrapping your free arm around yourself, you rub some heat into your skin. Those pale lashes flutter as he gives you a half lidded glance, and the freckles that also go across his cheeks color a little more amber. “Lady is … cute.” Large hands suddenly slide along your sides up, before dragging over your shoulders and slowly taking your clothing with it, removing one of a few layers as he leans in. “Here, better without.”
“Oh. No- I don’t- think-”
“Shhh. Better, I know,” he seems to get closer, even though you are too busy staring back into the darkness of his eyes to really notice; and let him untie the robes enough to toss it towards the water edge. Then he pauses, and gets up higher onto his coiled tail to pull another layer off and throw it. Until you’re left standing in only your flimsier linen undergarb, and you’re suddenly much too aware of how peaked your nipples are against the scratchy fabric. But his hands slide up along your thighs to start peeling that off too, when you grab for him and shake your head.
Makoto insists. “No cold when not -this.” His hands keep going up even with your pressure on them.
Having a night encounter with a man is one thing, but you don’t know how you’d ever explain this if someone saw. You can’t dart away in a flash and escape the consequences. You have to go home after this. “I need my clothes to go back—” you quickly beg, ignoring the soft pads of his fingers along your upper thighs, “and if people see- Makoto, please.” Your whole body aches with the cold, and though the touch feels nice, it doesn’t seem right. Your nakedness isn’t a simple thing, even if his is.
“Clothes heavy. Water don’t like clothes.” He turns you around and you lose your footing on the stable flooring, arms quickly clinging onto his wide shoulders for support— it does make his point. Your clothes are incredibly heavy soaked, and pull down on you as strong arms ever so slowly wrap around your waist; nose only a few inches from yours. You can’t help it, your face gets hot. Cheeks, ears, nose- everything starts getting a distracting warm glow that you do your best to ignore, pulling your lip between your teeth. Even so, he seems to look down at you with intrigue, water reflecting in the black of his eyes. “What?”
“You’re very close…” you confess, and also try to release some of the tightness of your embrace— but amusement only brings him closer. He tilts his head, before leaning in until your foreheads meet, and the cooler skin consumes you. “Makoto-sama-”
“Human kiss, hm?” He’s so close, and his mouth is right there -and though you have no clue why, you really want to. The thought is almost as real as the air you breathe, feeling his hands roam all over your body through the soaked linen. Your voice doesn’t make it out when you nod, but he still lifts you into his chest, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders instinctively. “Show me how to kiss? You little one -hmm- good- fit.” You can’t help it, in place of physical heat there’s a sort of aching fire that spreads through your limbs the longer you stay close— and once you start you can’t stop.
Your mouth meets his first, lips moving with yours as his arms squeeze tighter; but when your tongue brushes his lips and meets his, he makes a noise. A low sort of purring that rattles his chest, and has him leaning in harder, trying to bury you into his body as your tongues brush and you suck and moan. His taste is mild but his tongue is heavy, and much longer than yours when it slips further into your mouth. Much longer, bigger, and the wetness soon has you feeling like you can’t breathe.
You pull back with a gasp, staring at the way his long tongue brushes along those sharp teeth before he leans in more. “Again.” You try to make some separation between your two bodies, but clearly Makoto doesn’t care for it when he clamps his hand down around your hip and kisses you more, melting to you as his tongue brushes against yours. He kisses like you’re the first and last thing he’s tasted, even when you moan a little whimper at the lack of air. His cold skin prickles against yours, grinding his waist against you slowly as your head pounds. Still, it feels good.
You don’t ever want to leave— and it’s this exact feeling that has you pulling back for air. You must be out of your mind. He stares with a blown out sort of hunger when you say his name again, and run your fingers along his shoulders up a little. “I’m going to get in trouble if someone finds me here- and- it’s not like we can—” Your cheeks get even hotter when you try to say the words, not even sure if he’d understand. Does a yokai’s understanding include human nighttimes? When he shows no intention of putting you down, you bury your face into his chest, feeling even smaller than before.
Though his skin is cold to the touch, there’s an intense amount of heat surging between you two, almost impossible to ignore— and the way you’re positioned against him, large arms caging you against his waist that pushes into you— doesn’t help anything. You can feel yourself get more slick each time you move your legs. He seems to chuckle when you groan- and as if sensing your train of thought, he rubs his nose along your ear and down the sensitive of your neck with a lower voice. “I want see. Human body so little. Want see it.”
That’s the tipping point. Every fiber in your being aches to obey, to let yourself get touched, seen, taken by him— and your mouth drops open a sliver as you struggle to find words. Your feet can’t reach the bottom here, and Makoto seems content to keep rubbing against you in a slow sea-saw motion that makes your center feel entirely hot. And eventually you crack. Blinking up at him, you breathe a faint “okay”, and let him turn you around. His hands are quick in their exploration, sliding under the last layer up your thighs, squeezing every few inches as he goes up. When he gets to your center, there’s a little flutter of his eyes, before those digits slide in and brush over your pussy, rubbing just soft enough to leave you wanting. “Warm,” he breathes, and then pulls you a little closer. “You do me too.”
As he pushes your last layer of clothing open fully and starts sliding it off your shoulders, you allow yourself just a little curiosity. He’s handsome, and he’s close, and you just feel so needy. Your breathing is still short against his chest, but your numb fingers glide down his sides with purpose as the muscles flex under your touch. His chest rumbles when you whine at the prodding and circling of his fingers around your dripping pussy, and you glide your hands down to his tail. The touch feels a little coarse, but he’s warmer there, and when you rub your palm over the area he’d been grinding into your waist, your fingers feel a softer, spongey slit. Makoto hisses when you rub a finger up and down, and you feel more heat burn onto your face. “Here?”
The question is answered when your finger slips in and is all hot, and something bumps you. But he picks you up and with one swift dash, lays you down on the river bank to get up between your legs. You need to open wide to allow him to fit, and can only whine out his name when the weight of his body over yours pushes you into the cold stones. He licks the air a few times, before grunting. You wish you could do anything other than just flush and look away when his hands descend onto your tits and start touching and rubbing, and the pressure leaves you all exposed. But it doesn’t take long for his attention to shift back to between your legs, and now with a better angle, he sinks down to nose below your navel. “Hmn-”
The purring is paired with a flaring of the gashes on his neck, and his eyes roll back. When his hands spread your legs up as wide as you can go, he nuzzles into you, and that long black tongue peeks out to lick slowly. You can’t help it, you moan. Loudly. It feels like a million pinpricks are traveling your body, as the very long, heavy tongue drags a long strip up your center, and then the tip of it laps at the wetness coating your hole— that quickly gets pushed open further with each sloppy lick. His tongue pushes inside you as he sucks and the feeling of something so hot and so- squirmy makes you squeeze your eyes closed. It’s too strange, but you can’t pull back.
Your hands even reach for his head to tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, your back curling from the floor. You’re drenched- no longer just water as your pussy clenches around his tongue that he forces in to lick places you’ve never been licked. Makoto wraps an arm around your thigh to pull it over his shoulder when you curl and wiggle against him- you can’t help it, it feels so good. Everything’s so sensitive, like your entire body’s been doused into hot water and you’re drowning— only difference is, you’re actively longing for more.
It’s better than any drink-induced daze, late night tussle with a stable boy. It’s even better than your own touch and mind, because he’s just so big and you’re so full, so hot. Your hips grind against his face when he sucks again, and his nose brushes your most sensitive area— and try not to let the water into your mouth when you yerk again. “Ah, ahg, Makoto-sama. I can’t- I can’t handle this much, please. Oh dear gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Ah-ughhh, f- ah, please -keep going.”
Your lower belly is wound so tight, and even the sound of his breathing against you feels good. You could melt into the floor with how much slick is coating your insides, dripping out of you around the suction on your cunt. And Makoto doesn’t have any intention of moving. Your mind aches— you want more. You want to wrap your entire body around him and come apart— as his large hands squeeze your thighs tight and wrap them around his head like he can’t get deep enough.
The sloppy, wet sounds of his face burying between your legs to stuff you full of tongue, licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy. It has your muscles so tight as you roll your hips against him, and you can’t stop shaking. “Oh, I’m g-gonna cum— I can’t! I can’t. It feels so- gud. Ah, ahh. What is happening?” When your fingers clench in his hair, he lets out a long, animalistic groan as he glances back up. Still his tongue isn’t fully inside you. “I can’t- Makoto, I can’t!” Even though he’s reaching further than fingers can, he’s still able to fold the deft black muscle over your clit and slot his lips around it to suck. Hard.
And your body can’t handle any more. While his heartbeat pulses through his tongue against your clit, everything goes white, your muscles clenching so hard it hurts. And your heart beats so hard it feels like it stops altogether. If you make any noise at all, you can’t hear yourself over the pounding in your head, rattling your body so hard that nothing except you and him exist. Your eyes are shut until you’re aware of how he grunts against you and pinpricks get too unbearable. But he doesn’t stop, lifting your body to his face and allowing you to ride out your orgasm against him for what feels like forever.
When you feel like you can hear yourself breathe again, you unwrap your legs from around his head. “I thought my heart was going to explode. If Hitsu knew…”
Your eyes are teary when they flutter open against the light, and the black abysses that stare back are barely narrowed slits. Dipping his gills into water briefly before getting up above you again, Makoto seems different. There’s something predatory that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but go quiet. As his hands drag your body down a few inches, you swallow. “Are you okay? Sorry. I feel like I should thank you— I haven’t come that hard, ever. I don’t know about yokai but I don’t think I could feel that good.” His muscular body covers most of the river from your view, but you find it almost too hard to look at him. You’re still hot; but your skin feels cold.
His fingers slide down along your side when he lets out a little groan. “Yokai don’t do this.” Then he goes to brush his face and mouth along your throat, and you shiver a little at the feeling. “So pretty. Warm. I like warm. Stay with me?” You let him grind himself on top of you and embrace him the best you can, only fitting around the narrow of his waist, but after just a second you yerk up. Makoto pulls his head back when he notices, and you get another brush against your slit that makes a cold shiver run up your spine. Where the slit sat before, a dick has emerged- and your mouth drops open a little. The thing is vaguely dick shaped, but has spurs at the base like an anchor, is more pointed at the tip; and it also pulses with each breath.
“Pretty warm body, good. Smell good too.”
You can’t help but swear when you avert your eyes, and instead wrap your arms back around his neck. “Oh, fuck.” Surely, this is where you’d draw the line. Right? But the touching of that against you doesn’t make your body react the way you think it should. The prodding along your inner thighs just leaves you feeling empty, like you’d like to start all over again. Makoto grunts out a little breath when your tits brush his chest, before staring down at you.
After a few seconds of studying your face, and probably the heat that’s flooding your features, he licks his lips. “Human men have… hm-”
“Yes,” you quickly say. He smacks his lips and grinds against you again. “They uhm- put it inside.” If the answer shocks him, he certainly doesn’t show it— looking like he’s barely holding back from crashing his face back to yours and turning you over to fuck you like the begging whore you feel like. The longer he just keeps his solid body against yours, the harder it is to ignore yourself getting wet again against the pulsing of his cock. The purring, clicking noise coming from him feels nice, and you pull at him. “You’re not done yet, right? I can do more.”
You angle your hips a little, and try not to sound so desperate when looking up at him for a kiss. “Please- put it inside me. I- I want to feel you.” Your hands slide over the rougher scales down between you two to reach for him, and hesitate a little when his cock is heavy and covered in some sort of slime; and it seems to follow your touch. But you’re too far past embarrassment to truly care, and Makoto groans when you wrap your fingers around him to squeeze softly. “I need you.” You really don’t know what’s wrong with you. You feel like your body’s being torn apart. You want to be filled, fucked full of him, and get pumped round of his kids— all things that you shouldn’t be thinking about. You didn’t with any men you’ve been with. You can’t.
Even though you know you’re being ludicrous, when he goes in for a kiss, you cling onto him hard; digging your nails into his back. You don’t even know if he could fit. His cock is proportionate to him- but it’s big and long and girthy enough to put any man to shame. You should care. You should care that you could regret being filled up to your breaking point, but you’re just so, so desperate. You might die if he doesn’t fuck you. You can feel it. “Please, please, please—”
—You slide a few feet across the floor, angry thrashing scaring you up into a flounder as you breathe in deeply. Makoto’s dragged off of you and down before you can even blink, water splashing everywhere; and you struggle back to the riverbank with wide eyes. Now you’re no longer side by side with another person- no, creature- you suddenly feel the entire ache of the cold water. The shortness of breath, the numbness of your lips and hands and feet. You feel the painful sting of your back where you’ve been sliced by a dozen sharp rocks, struggling to keep your head above water. And you feel the soreness between your legs of having been filled by something too big.
When you get over the pure shock, you notice the struggling has stopped, and you notice your creature’s golden shape next to someone else. They glitter and glint even in the low light of the afternoon, and you furrow your brows. The second shape only gets clearer when the light shines through the water and colors the flickers a blinding maroon. Your tongue feels cold.
Your arms wrap over your chest and cover up the best you can when Makoto surfaces again and gives you a kind smile, but you take a slight step back. His long, pale lashes flutter when he reaches out a hand. “Sorry. Rin don’t want to bleed you.” Your back and your painful scrapes are the lesser of your worries though. Whatever spell you were under, you’ve been snapped out of. You feel entirely strange- enough to have hot tears welling up along your waterline. What the hell have you been dragged into? You were going to… do things with some monster you didn’t know existed until today. Your brain screams and pounds, and your stomach is entirely flipped. But the brunet softly continues. “He don’t like I take you. Can you come here?”
“No.” Your hair now sticks to your neck and chest, and every second you’re out of the water, is one where the feeling comes back to your limbs. Your arms are so heavy as you keep them up. “There’s more of you?” You don’t know what you expected, really. Maybe you should have known. Maybe you should have questioned. But how could you have truly known?
“Yes.” he answers after a beat, and swims up a little closer with a frightening ease. “Shhh, okay. He will come. You stay.” You try to tell him not to, but he dips below the water surface before you get the chance to ask him not to, splashing water all over as he does— and you don’t know what else to do but to stare at the small bubbles that pop as peach blossoms wash over your feet. Before too long, the reddish shape surfaces alongside Makoto. He lingers in the deep of the river however; fiery eyes zeroing in on you without blinking at all. He stays submerged from the nose down, and you can’t help but feel too watched.
Your heartbeat doesn’t calm when the brunet swims up closer, and you take a little breath. “Who’s that?”
“Rin,” Makoto softly, sweetly answers, as if he was expecting the question all along. He smiles wide like a saint, and you have to ignore the voice in the back of your head that tells you to get back in the water. His hand reaches out though, and you almost want to. Almost. Your arms and back break out in goosebumps. Then Makoto looks back at the other yokai, and gives you a smiley once-over. It takes you a little too long to recognize something else that plays over his features though. A strange sort of knowing, like he’s seeing right through you. “You Rin’s mate.”
You don’t know why you don’t get up and run.
“Come back in?”
Only that the voice in the back of your head gets more unbearable. You wrap your hands over your ears, and try to hang on.
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More Posts from Maboiisuga and Others
you place one foot in front of the other on the curb before you, the toe of one shoe meeting the heel of the next. you move slowly, repeating the motions as you step a little further along the raised edge of concrete.
the air outside is cool, the breeze lifting the gauzy hem of your dress as it brushes past, and you can still hear the music from the party inside--close enough to the building not to feel as though you're entirely apart from it, but distant enough to catch your breath a little bit.
"you're gonna twist your ankle."
you look up and see issei slouched against the brick wall of the building, half-hiding in the night's shadow. his voice is gentle enough not to startle you, but you still pause when you notice him. you watch as he flicks a bit of ash off the end of his mostly-burned cigarette, and then takes another drag with his eyes still on you.
"am not," you counter indignantly, taking another careful step to spite him.
issei pushes himself off the wall, letting his cigarette drop to the ground and be crushed underfoot, and approaches where you're walking along the curb like a balance beam.
in spite of your confidence, when he's within arms reach you find yourself stumbling slightly; you teeter in your heels on the narrow strip of cement, and your hands fly out to balance yourself. mattsukawa catches your hands in his--warmer, larger than your own--and steadies you without missing a beat.
"told you," he says smugly, and your face scrunches up in annoyance.
he doesn't let go of your hands.
issei walks along with you, hands clasped in his, as you continue your tight-rope walk.
"so," he says as you step along, a little more surely now that he's there to guide you. to catch you on the off chance you should fall. "why aren't you inside?"
you hum contemplatively, fingers tightening around his for a moment when your heels wobble over a crack in the curb. "just needed a breather."
issei nods, like he understands. "lotta bodies in there, huh?"
"who would have thought oikawa and iwa even know so many people?" you echo his remark.
"who knew so many people like them enough to come all the way to miyagi just to see them get married," issei counters with a wry smile. you laugh, nodding in agreement.
"well, iwa i can understand, but tooru?"
mattsun chuckles, dipping his head in a affirmative nod.
you finally make it to the end of the curb, no more concrete left stretching ahead for you to travel, and issei stands before you with your hands still held in his own.
you blink up at him.
"i'm kind of annoyed you're still taller than me even in heels and on a curb."
he smirks. "get taller heels."
your lip curls at the corner, though it's in disdain rather than smugness. "shrink."
he laughs again, a real one this time. the kind of laugh that shows all his teeth. the one that makes your tummy pang a little bit.
once his laughter subsides, he fixes you in a look that feels out of place. too intimate for two people who are standing just outside of their best friends' wedding. too intense for people who aren't supposed to look at each other like that anymore.
"you look really pretty tonight," he says softly, as gentle as the evening breeze. it makes goosebumps prickle across your skin in the same way too.
"thanks," you say with a commensurate lightness.
"new dress?" he asks, letting his eyes wander down to trail over the garment you have on. you don't mind the way his gaze feesl as it traces over you.
"no," you say, your voice still barely above a whisper. his eyes flicker back up to yours.
inside the party, you hear the song change. it's an older tune, one that was popular when you were all in high school, high energy and electronic. there's a cheer from the partygoers as you assume they're all flocking to the dance floor. it's nostalgic. makes you think about your life when the song was still on the radio. listening to it through one headphone while issei listened through the other.
"we should get back inside." you pull your hands out of issei's grasp, stepping down from the curb and past him towards the door to the event venue.
issei's hand catches yours again just before you can retreat. you pause with your feet coming together, your arm stretched behind you towards him, your eyes still on the door.
"save a dance for me, okay?"
you force down the little smile that threatens to appear, swallowing back the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
"alright," you reply, and then you peek back over your shoulder, "only if you make sure i don't twist my ankle."
he smiles, and lets your hand drop once more.
"yeah, i can do that."
TANGLED IN YOUR TRANCE • M.LIST
𖤐 TOMA HIRAGI X READER 𖤐
Excerpt: He’s kind of intense, deep frown permanently etched onto his face, popping pills like candy. Usually dressed in perfectly tattered T-shirts and leather pants, his hair is bleached and spiked, one of his eyebrows is pierced—looks like he plays guitar in a metal band.
Which he does.
He isn’t your best friend. You’d barely call him an acquaintance. But there’s an unspoken solidarity between the two of you right off the bat that eventually grows into something more.
Tags: metal band AU, stepcest, stebro!hiragi, stepsis!reader, (but they meet as adults-ish), fem-bodied reader, time skips, explicit content, drug use, violence, jealous/possessive behavior, slow burn, some angst, processing feelings over time, explicit smut, added warnings before each chapter, no set update schedule
READER TAGS: fem-bodied, punk/emo aesthetic, some clothing described (skirts, fishnets, crop tops), a little mouthy, shorter than Hiragi (descriptions of looking up at him, him looming over you), hair vaguely described (no texture descriptors but having it being up in buns or down and straightened, etc.)
Note: music AUs have always been a favorite of mine thanks to all the bandom fic I used to write. Divider credit: @adornedwithlight. Fic title and chapter titles are all Sleep Token lyrics. Part of The Bofurin Brothel’s Music Notes collab! Enjoy and tell me what you think~
01. YOU AND I ARE CRASHING COURSE
02. JUST TAKE AIM; BREAK ME APART
when louis tells the story vs when lestat does
Jungkook
𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 [Part 1: Goldrush]
There's always a certain sense of childish sadness in a man consumed by rage and anger- because in a man like him, those feelings are simply born from the pain of the past, and the crushing fear of what the future might yet make him face.
Tags/Warnings: Mafia!Tiger!Jungkook, Deer!Reader, mentioned abuse, mentions of underground fights, graphic descriptions of violence, a gun oh no, Jungkook in a suit, it's pretty dark read at your own risk, there is like a hint of fluff?, just let me cook I promise it'll be worth it, do not read this if you're easily triggered/upset by dark and violent themes please thank you
Length: 6.5k Words (oh boy look at the size of that thing)
There is no taglist for this fic.
A/N: Haha remember when I said it'll be 3k words per chapter? well I lied oops
-> Masterlist
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Jungkook met you after his first fight for the Golden House.
Humming a tune you'd almost danced through the kitchen- though you were mostly focused on helping the other maids and cooks prepare the food for the higher up's currently invited for dinner at the estate. He remembers he'd scared you- probably due to his rather beat up face, none of it having been treated most of the time, just so he could scar up and look tough on the outside.
It had worked- somewhat. Though his hybrid genes had made it rather difficult to hurt him enough to permanently scar- all of them eventually fading, needing to be remade, night after night.
The look of fear in your eyes had been something he got used to- or maybe he simply didn't notice it after a while, maybe it became normal to see you in a constant state of fight or flight. He never saw you rest, only saw you work- but when you were away from the Boss and only amongst yourself or him, you had a certain sense of lightness to yourself. Like a feather, as cliché as it sounds.
If it wasn't for your hybrid features, Jungkook would've sworn you were more of a bird than a deer- put in a cage, fear used against yourself to lock you in and to the Golden House forever. Just like he himself was shackled up, bought and owned by the highest man just so he could have some amusement watching the tiger hybrid fight in the ring.
He was a toy to him. Just like you. Just like any other hybrid at the Golden House.
Sometimes, when no one was paying much attention, you'd visit Jungkook in his room. You'd clean his wounds, and most of all- you'd talk to him like an equal. You'd tell him of dreams you had at night, of thoughts you'd come up with during your chores, or with fantasies you had about the world outside the walls of the estate. And he'd listen to all of it, quietly, your voice soothing his wounds more than any medication ever could.
Maybe your fear towards him didn't just become normal to him, so he didn't notice it. Maybe it disappeared, slowly, and that's why it left your gaze. You didn't fear him. Didn't see him as an enemy. And maybe that's what really changed.
It was winter when he found out about the consequences to your actions.
He'd spotted you outside in the snow, white flakes falling steadily onto your head and clothes, feet naked and red from the cold. It was punishment- for caring for him, doing something you weren't told to. You'd hidden it, kept it a secret so he probably wouldn't feel bad- but the true nature of it was more selfish than that. "I don't want you to stop talking to me." You'd said when he'd confronted you about it. "I don't want you to ignore me like everyone else does." You'd cried. He hadn't even spoken much to you at all, and yet the few words he'd gifted to you were more than you had ever received before.
And so he had to compromise, and instead tried harder not to get injured in the ring, so no one would notice when you'd help him heal.
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He knows that you saw the signs when his mind had started to slip. When his anger grew, and his sanity took a backseat inside his head.
Especially when the Head of the estate had decided it would be a delight to make you watch Jungkook fighting in the ring every time he had to as a way of trying to make you stop your foolish actions of helping the fighting hybrid- to show you how cruel and brutal the otherwise quiet and reserved tiger could really be, as he'd dislocate limbs and break bones night after night with a certain sense of bloodthirst in his gaze, eyes no longer kind but cold. How he'd bite and scratch with pure intent to hurt and end the fight in his favor, no matter the outcome for his opponent.
Jungkook knows that your view on him changed back then, even if you did not tell him that. He could feel it, in the way your hands would begin to tremble before touching him, or how you'd suddenly no longer reach out to him.
Gone was your attachment to him, murdered was any emotional connection you'd been creating.
At the end of the day, you had been nothing but a puppet to the head of the Golden House, nothing but a doll fed with orders because no matter what, you'd do it if it meant you'd survive another day. You would've probably even killed him if it had been asked of you- even though he wouldn't have let you.
You wouldn't have stood a chance against him.
The kiss you'd shared had been more than questionable, and he does feel bad about the circumstances back then.
He knew that it could've gotten you killed if anybody had ever caught you both, and he also knows that if it wasn't for his own initiative, you would've never made that step either. But he loved you, he loved you so much it hurt, and he hated being hurt because it was a constant for him he could never escape.
Everything he did, every situation he found himself in, every waking moment had been nothing but pain in one way or another. Nothing could soothe that ache in his body, could somehow make that burn in his bones feel a little lighter.
Nothing but your touch.
You cared. Even though he knew that you feared him, you still cared. And he hated it.
Why didn't you push him away, make him angry at you so he could have a solid reason to just get rid of you? The only reason he continued to endure wasn't so he could survive- he never gave a fuck about survival, none at all. But the heartbreak in your eyes, the fact that you'd be alone, the memory of you crying so bitterly about being ignored and put aside was continuously making him pull himself back up whenever knocked down, to win the fight and come back to the Golden House-
where you'd wait for him, soft hands on his skin relieving his rage just for a moment. Giving him a second to breathe. Where you'd kiss his wounds, and lift all the weight off of him for just a second.
And then you betrayed him.
"Thats a train ticket! I got it from Chun, she said it'll take you to busan." You'd told him, panic in your eyes as you'd pushed the slightly torn canvas bag filled with clothes and other necessities further into his arms. "After your fight tonight, there will be a dog hybrid named Min Yoongi in the locker room. He'll take you to the station.!" You said.
"And you?" He asks, dreading the answer he'd inevitably get.
"I'll be your insurance." You'd smiled.
"He'll take all his anger out on you-" He'd worried, and you'd nodded, and never looked so brave.
"I know." You'd told him. "But you'll live- and that's enough for me."
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"Flake has been replaced with Dohyun. The people aren't very happy with it, but he'll make them accept the change soon enough." Namjoon offers, setting some papers down in front of Jungkook, who looks like he might be asleep- face resting on his hand, arm perched up with his elbow on the armrest of his chair.
"Hm, they're never happy when a hybrid's on top." He mumbles lowly, eyes not opening. "I assume Flake didn't go… voluntarily." He asks.
"No." Namjoon responds. "Was executed on his balcony."
"Classy. I like it." Jungkook chuckles, eyes slowly opening as he takes in a deep breath. "Hm, I'm hungry-" He starts, looking at his watch on his wrist. "-let's hope Hideo doesn't piss me off tonight, or I might just have to swap him too." He growls, slowly getting up to prepare for the dinner he has to attend with the human gangleader.
Jungkook had the chance to get out. He's been given the chance after all, by the only person he's ever really considered he 'loved'- and yet his thirst for blood wouldn't let him go. The need for revenge was way too big inside him to be just satisfied with living his own life away from his past- but he couldn't.
They took everything he ever had away from him. They took you away from him. And he'd never forgive that.
So he began to convince Yoongi to join him in his plans, took the first few pillars out to make the fundamentals of the underground gang life crumble. He shook up the entire game, and began to 'swap out' human leaders with hybrids from his own rows- a gang he'd build up himself, consisting of almost exclusively hybrids of all kinds. He knows he's not doing any good with the way he's doing things- but he doesn't care.
If he can't change the game, he'll become the best player instead.
And currently, he's definitely on the road to take the seat as the king.
"Jungkook!" The rather eccentric man stands up, opens his arms for the hybrid who does not attempt to return the gesture or accept the invitation at all. "My favorite big cat, come take a seat!" He laughs it off, sits down with Jungkook, who keeps his face stoic and expressionless. "Can we have some chairs here please? I'd hate for your friends to stay standing while we eat-" He tries, but Jungkook shakes his head.
"No need. I'd rather have them pay at attention." Jungkook responds, and Hideo laughs in front of him.
"Always so on edge. Never change my boy!" He jokes, before the food is being placed on the table. "So. I heard you let Flake tumble down his balcony like a dramatic movie-climax." He chuckles, cutting into his steak. Jungkook nods, begins to eat as well, but keeps his eyes on the man in front of him. "Quite the spectacle. Made the higher up's a little nervous." He tells him.
"Good." Jungkook simply answers, and Hideo laughs.
Hideo is one of the only few human leaders left in his original spot- mainly because the man is rather interested in surviving, and keeping his head in one piece. He's smart, albeit a little bit unhinged- sometimes even causing Jungkook himself to feel uneasy around the man. He's a wildcard, and does what he wants whenever he wants, only follows rules if they're in his favor.
So Jungkook is wary of him, and doesn't trust that man as far as the bridge of his own nose.
"They say his minions aren't too happy with your new choice." The man mumbles, shrugging his shoulders however, clearly unbothered. "But they just don't like the change. What you should worry about however, is the money you're loosing." He says, making Jungkook's eyes sharpen.
"What money are you talking about?" He asks, finishing up his plate.
"The money you're not aware of." Hideo chuckles. "Flake had two daughters, and rumor has it they both emptied their bank accounts a few days before you struck and pushed Rapunzel down her tower." The man informs him, licking his knife while looking at Jungkook, who tries hard to make nothing visible on his face. He knows exactly what the man is trying to tell him.
Somehow, those daughters knew Jungkook would attack. Which in turns, means someone told them.
Which hints at a snitch.
"Sakata is currently finding them as we speak, so no worries about that." Hideo suggests, finishing his meal as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "The only thing you should do, would be to.. sniff out who needs to go, so to speak." He says, grinning at Yoongi, who pins his ears back in irritation at the joke. Jungkook leans back, tilts his head once, before he stands up.
"I want to know the whereabouts of those two daughters the moment you have them." Jungkook says dryly. "Do not kill them. I want to.. talk to them personally." He orders, and Hideo laughs, nodding with his hands clapping once.
"Of course! Oh and-" The human man grins, and it tells Jungkook that the man has something to say that will definitely cause problems. "-I heard my dear Chisoo left you a present at your estate?" He says, catching Jungkook off guard for a second, as the tiger hybrid looks to his side towards Namjoon, who shares an equally confused gaze. "Oh, you've not seen it yet? Hm, it does explain his good mood, doesn't it?" Hideo asks one of his guards who doesn't react. "Ah, I really liked that guy. Don't be too harsh on the boy, yeah? He doesn't know how to.. read a room, you know? His jokes can be terrible." He laughs.
Jungkook slowly leaves, but as soon as he sits inside the back of his car, he's growling out orders. "Call Chisoo right now." He demands Namjoon, who already dials the number. "If he doesn't answer we'll pay him a visit right now." He says, waiting for the speaker system of his car to reveal the voice of the man.
"Jungkook! What's up my guy?" The young voice chimes out.
"Cut the shit. What did you do?" Jungkook demands, and Chisoo just laughs on the other end.
"Oh you've not seen it yet? I thought you'd like it!" He says, clearly eating. "Saw the poor thing and remembered something I heard from a former guard of the Golden House." He chuckles, and Jungkook's blood runs cold. "Look man, I have some urgent business right now. If you don't want it, you can just get rid of it- I won't judge." He laughs, before he hangs up the phone.
"Tell Seokjin to check the premises before we drive back." Yoongi informs him from the driver's seat, instructing Namjoon who calls the man right away.
"Seokjin." Jungkook says as the phone is picked up. "What the fuck did Chisoo bring?" He demands to know, and grows increasingly uneasy when the answer isn't what he hoped he'd get.
"I.. you should just not worry about it. It was probably meant to just anger you." He tells the tiger hybrid, not specifying things. "I've already dealt with.. it, just-"
"That's not your decision to make." Jungkook growls. "I'm on my way back right now, and I want whatever it is in my office before I'm back at the estate. Am I making myself clear?" He demands.
"..yes." Seokjin simply complies, though with great hesitation.
Because he knows, the moment Jungkook knows what it is, there will be nothing capable of calming Jungkook down.
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One, two, three.
You're counting each tick of the clock standing on the table in the office, waiting for something to happen. That's all you've been instructed to do- the man earlier having escorted you here, and just told you to 'wait', and nothing else. So you do just that, naked feet on the soft carpet, intricate details on the fabric almost hypnotizing you. It's already a lot warmer in here than in your room at the Golden House- and the man who brought you here had given you his jacket too, probably because he thought you were shaking from the cold.
Which you did- but you also tend to shiver from fear, mostly due to your hybrid instincts.
Just.. in here, you don't really feel scared. It smells familiar in here, like something you forgot existed- almost like a childhood memory, far away but reawakened right in this moment. It soothes your worries and slows down your thoughts tremendously.
ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six.
You can hear faint noises now, ears turning towards the door behind you, though your body otherwise doesn't move. you don't dare to, since the handcuffs around your wrists might make a noise, and no one told you if you were allowed to move anyways. So you just stay still, even when you can hear someone argue in front of the door, angrily, upset. The voice is familiar, again- but you don't recall a face to it whatsoever.
One hundred.
The door opens, people walk in. Your face stays lowered, you don't even dare to swallow the saliva in your mouth. "Why the fuck did he send me a hybrid?!" Someone growls, and it makes your throat clog up, angry tone causing your muscles to tremble once more. "Fuck. And why is she not-" He starts, before he stops right next to you, frozen in place almost like you are- though due to different reasons.
"Jungkook-" Someone sighs, when Jungkook next to you talks again, but in a truly bone-chilling tone.
It's so low, and steady, that it makes everyone wordlessly follow the command.
"Out." He says. "Everyone, out, right fucking now." He growls, and both Namjoon and Yoongi leave, though the dog hybrid hesitates a little- shocked as well by the sight of you, most likely.
Once the door closes, it quiets down. All you can really hear is the way the man called Jungkook walks around, paces for a good while, clearly in distress. You're not sure why you're causing him to be like this- maybe he doesn't know if he wants to kill you or not. Or he's fighting primal urges to hunt you down as a predator hybrid. It could be a lot of things.
You lost track of the ticking. You can't hear it properly with Jungkook moving around like that.
"Don't- stop doing that.!" He suddenly says, and you notice yourself panicking. What are you doing right now? You're not moving, you're not looking at him, and neither have you said anything- though that's out of the question anyways. What are you doing that you need to stop? You're barely even breathing- maybe that's it? It's an odd request, and you doubt you can properly follow it for long, but if he wants you to do that-
"Stop being scared!" He suddenly roars at you, hands on your shoulders making you whimper out of pure instinct, as you watch his chest rise and fall rapidly. "Don't-.. I'm not.." He stammers, before he takes a deep breath, seems to control himself as his hands leave your shoulders, instead push themselves into the pockets of his slacks. "Look at me." He demands, and you do just that.
His hair is fairly long, growing over his ears, curly and a deep black. There's two round tiger ears between his wild hair, one of them a little torn, but the scar seems long healed. His eyes are piercing, watching you intently as if he's searching for something with desperation, jawline sharp but his face has a certain roundness to it.
It doesn't distract you from the danger he radiates, tail swaying impatiently behind him. He's a tiger, in every way- large shoulders and powerful muscles unable to be hidden even underneath the suit he wears.
But there's a certain shift in his posture and most of all his gaze as he seems to realize something about you.
"Who am I." He asks, or more so orders you to answer. You begin to panic once more. How are you supposed to answer that? "Who. Am. I." He repeats slower, and you open your mouth to say something-
though no coherent word leaves your lips, only barely a noise that even sounds like it hurts, and it makes your eyes sting.
Jungkook seems to grow angry again. Is he upset that you can't answer? Will he kill you now, because you're unable to give him a proper response?
"Do-" He looks absolutely devastated, and for some reason, it makes you sad. "Do you know who I am?" he quietly asks, bracing himself for the answer he might receive.
Though nothing could prepare him for the pain he feels in his entire body when you quietly shake your head, confirming his worst fears.
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You've not only forgotten him- but everything else too, it seems like, according to Namjoon, who'd been trying to sort you out since Jungkook left you in his office, unable to really have you close like that any longer. His friend had tried it all, and had also let someone with medical knowledge have a look at you- which also gave an explanation about why you just won't talk.
You can't. It's not clear what exactly must've happened, but there's a definite injury there that won't let you make any sound without pain.
It's now pretty obvious to him that you must've gotten caught giving him a way out- and you probably paid the consequences for it too. Whatever happened caused you to forget most of your past, and no one can be sure if it's permanent, or just temporary. What is clear however is that you're completely hollow. There's no trace of a personality in anything you do, no personal preferences towards anything, no interest, not even very noticeable emotions.
It's not surprising to him- and maybe that's what pains him the most.
"So if you don't tell her what to do, she will just do nothing at all?" Jungkook asks as he looks through some documents to distract himself. The more he thinks about you, the darker the possible punishments that you most likely received become in his head- mind forcing scene after scene of you into his brain.
"Won't even sleep if no one tells her to. She was awake the whole night because no one told her when to sleep I guess." Namjoon says, arms crossed. "It's hard to tell what she's thinking considering she doesn't talk." Namjoon sighs defeated, while Jungkook stares at the papers for a moment.
You used to talk a lot, back when he was still used for underground fighting, and you were nothing but a maid for the gangleader. He remembers you humming random songs while dressing his wounds- something you told him was to mostly distract yourself from not crying in front of him.
"I'll fight better next time." He'd told you while you carefully placed the large plaster onto one of the scratches that's still bleeding. "So you won't have to cry."
"I want every bit of info as to where she came from before Chisoo got his hands on her." He tells Yoongi who's been sitting in the corner.
"I believe Chisoo bought her straight from the Golden House. Overheard him talk to one of the guests." Yoongi responds, and Jungkook nods.
"Good." He smirks, standing up, and bracing his hands on the table with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. "I've got some unfinished business with them anyways." He says. The Golden House was no longer a place of fear for him- because just like you, Jungkook isn't who he used to be.
"You're going to start a war over a hybrid friend you made years ago?" Namjoon worries. "Jungkook.." he sighs, but the Tiger hybrid doesn't back down.
Because you're not just a friend.
You were his Savior, the only soft thing he's ever had in his life.
"No. I'm not just starting a war-" Jungkook growls like the predator he is. "I'm getting my revenge."
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Yoongi watches over you like a guard dog, just like Jungkook had told him to.
You'd overheard the tall tiger hybrid give those instructions to Yoongi just before he left in his car, and now you're left standing in the hallway where someone last told you to wait. "Come. You need to eat." The dog hybrid mumbles, walking a step before he checks if you follow. You do.
Of course you do.
You'd jump out the fucking window if someone told you to do so.
Before you were taken in by the Golden House, you'd actually roamed the streets with the dog hybrid together. You'd slept in a storage unit his past owner had rented before he died, a small place of shelter you eventually shared with Yoongi before you met Yuan Shun, the past head of the Golden House. You'd been way too naive back then. Told Yoongi you'd finally found a home to go to, finally found work to pay him back all his kindness.
You didn't know what you'd get yourself into. Not before Shun had forced you to get the small tattoo on your wrist that would forever bind you to him no matter if he died or lived. Every member of the Golden House had to get it one way or another- there was no way around it.
It was burned into everyone's wrist, whether they wanted it or not.
And once you're in, there is no out.
"Jungkook won't harm you." Yoongi says as he pulls out a bowl of something prepared, before he puts it into the microwave to heat it up. "He's just.. he can be a bit.." the dog hybrid sighs, shaking his head a little, unsure how to phrase it properly. Jungkook has his own problems, and it's pretty obvious to everyone around him that he's not the sanest of people any longer. No one can blame him for cracking a few braincells after what's happened to him, that's true- but that doesn't mean that he's a monster.
He's just scarred by his past, and haunted by his potential future.
You want to ask Yoongi what your connection to the tiger hybrid is. You really do- but you also feel like it's none of your business. If anything, you're simply waiting for orders, for a job you'll be working as from now on, a task you'll be given in this new place. The dynamic of things here is confusing to you, how everyone seems to walk freely, no one ever standing in one place waiting to be needed. You even saw someone laughing in one of the hallways.
It's eerie. You don't like it here.
"Eat." Yoongi says, before he holds your wrist, one of his ears twitching in irritation when he notices it's the one with the fine lined burn mark of the Golden House. "- when it's cooled down a little, of course." He sighs, and you nod after a moment, staring at the bowl of pasta.
Waiting. Counting the ticking from the clock in the kitchen.
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"I don't give a flying fuck-" Jungkook growls, knee connecting with the man's jaw once more before he pushes the chair back, gripping his face to force him to look at him. "-about your so-called loyalty." He finishes his sentence. "The only reason I'm not breaking your jaw yet is because I need you to be able to talk." He threatens, before he steps back, and wipes his hand on a tissue.
"I'm not talking. Daeho will-" He starts, when Jungkook slowly and carefully loads a black gun in his hand, pulling the magazine back to ready it in his hands.
"Daeho will what?" Jungkook almost sings. "Kill you?" He asks with feigned innocence in his tone, while he walks forward, and points the nuzzle of the gun straight at the man's kneecap. "How nice. But you see, I'm not Daeho." The tiger tells him, tilting his head a little.
"And I'm not nice."
A shot rings through the small room, followed by agonized screaming, and the gun reloading in Jungkook's hands. "Now, I'll try again. Why did Daeho sell her to Chisoo?" He asks, and the man takes a few deep breaths.
"He wanted to fuck with you." He grits out from between his teeth. "He knew it would piss you off. He technically wanted to send you a tape- you know what kind." He says, and Jungkook's blood boils up again. Of course he knows what kind of actions that sick man would have forced you to do, what exactly he'd make Jungkook watch. "But he thought-.." The man needs to catch himself a little. "He thought it'd make more sense to give her to you instead. Alive."
"Why?" Jungkook asks.
"Because you'd lose your fucking- whatever the fuck you're doing!" He groans. "You'd turn soft. Maybe even break at the sight of her all fucked up like she is now." He explains. "That's why he messed her up before you got her." he says, clearly sweating now from his body trying to keep up with the rapid bloodloss.
Jungkook is silent, before he unloads the gun, clicks the safety in place, and puts it back into it's holster on his belt, turning to leave the room. "Wait- wait, what about me-!"
"You can bleed out right here like the pig you are."
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Nothing will ever return to what it once was.
Mostly, because whatever was, isn't any better than what is now. The blood staining Jungkook's hands is still the same consistency as back in the fighting ring, it still washes down the drain the same way as it did before. There's nothing new to the way his knuckles hurt from the force of the punches he'd delivered to the man, and yet, there's a new sting in his chest that just won't leave.
Before you came here, he had at least a way of pacifying his worries about you. Before, he'd been able to just convince himself that you probably got yourself killed for him- that you'd been set free after all, finally escaping your cage once and for all.
The fact that you did not, and instead just went from one cage to the next, makes him nauseous. He doesn't even want to know what you had to endure throughout the years you'd been apart. Now you're just a shell- a plastic lifeless version of what you once were, nothing of your soul remaining inside of you. Could he even consider you 'you' any longer? Or were you now someone else?
Are you someone at all?
"Where is she?" Jungkook asks Seokjin, who'd brought him a plate of dinner into his office.
"She's eating with Yoongi downstairs in the kitchen." He tells his boss and friend, who's currently looking outside the window facing the balcony. "What do we do with her?"
I don't know, is what Jungkook's only answer can be. Because he surely doesn't- he's unsure if actually killing you would be a more generous thing to do than letting you simply waste away in the state that you're in right now. What you are, in this moment, can't be called 'alive'. There's nothing living behind those eyes, nothing but fear.
But he also knows that he'd never be able to put the gun to your head and shoot.
"Can I give a suggestion?" Jin asks after a moment of silence, and Jungkook turns his head, nodding. "What if you turn this whole 'joke' around?"
"What do you mean?" Jungkook asks, body now moving as well to face his older friend.
"Right now, her presence is doing exactly what it's supposed to." The cat hybrid says. "She's making you lose focus, makes you act without thinking. That's what they want."
"I'm not killing her." Jungkook defends.
"I'm not asking you to." Seokjin says, walking closer. "But think about it. What about her is making you feel like this the most?" He urges.
The fear you have. The fact you forgot him. The terror in your eyes. The emptiness you represent.
"Jungkook, you told me once that back then, she was the only thing keeping you sane in that place." The man says, white ears twitching between his hair. "And she can become just that once again."
"Have you seen her?" Jungkook growls.
"Have you?" Jin challenges. "You're in a place of power here. You call the shots, this-" He gestures around. "-all of this is yours. You offer us protection, a home, a place to let our guard down for once. You're not who you were before. You turned your life around- and you can do it again, but this time, it'll be her's." He says, and suddenly, Jungkook understands what his friend is trying to tell him.
This is his place. His territory. He's in charge. He's in control.
Nothing will ever return to what it once was.
Because he'll be the change it needs to turn this twisted joke around.
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"Remember, he's nothing to be scared of." Yoongi tells you, before he opens the door, and gently pushes you inside by your lower back- before he leaves you alone with the tiger hybrid in the room, no longer wearing his jacket, only dressed in a casually unbuttoned black shirt and slacks.
Even his gun is on the table. You could take it at any moment, shoot him, no problem. You know how to shoot a gun. Is he that stupid?
Probably not. There has to be a reason for his actions- you don't think he got to his position by being reckless.
He moves slowly, a lot more confident and most of all relaxed than when you last saw him- the person he is right in this moment a stark contrast to who he'd been when he first saw you. It makes you suspicious, unsure, because if he houses so many different versions of himself inside his body, how could you ever know who the real one is?
"The rules in this house, and under my hand, are simple." He says, voice surprisingly calm as he speaks. "Loyalty." He states, looks at you- and from the fact alone that he doesn't seem to mind, you guess that Yoongi was right when he said that you were allowed to do that. "As long as you don't betray me, I will offer you a safe place, and protection."
That doesn't make sense to you.
If that was true, that would mean that he'd just take in random people just because they don't snitch on him- what the hell would he even get out of that? Inside the Golden House, there were already rumors about him. That he's possessed by the drive to 'change the game' and put hybrids up on top, an odd way to live since apparently he'd escaped this entire circus years prior. Why would he willingly return to it?
Even worse, play the game he barely managed to get out of?
He sits down on the edge of his bed, and only now do you realize where exactly you might be right now. And it confuses you even more. He's letting you into his personal rooms?
Why?
"Come here." He says, and your legs move without any of your control. Like a puppet on a string you're pulled towards him, unable to really go against any orders told to you, like you're mind controlled. The moment you stand in front of him, he reaches out his hand- and you're torn by the possible choice given to you. But if he reaches out, you're supposed to take the hand, right?
Instead, you put your own in his, not making a decision at all.
Control is a scary thing. You don't want it.
He looks at your wrist as he turns your hand over, thumb running over the signature branding you have on your skin, burned in scar never fading. It's when you can spot something on the hand that holds yours, between all the ink and color he's placed underneath the skin. A scar, achingly similar to your own.
Your eyes find his- but he's not looking at you.
So he's from the same place as you once were. Is that why he smells so familiar? Did you forget him? Or did you never know him at all, and simply caught traces of him during your time at the Golden House?
Who is he?
"From now on, you're mine." He tells you, and you soak up that info like a sponge. "You belong here, and nowhere else." He says, and you nod to make sure he knows that you understand. There's a small moment where he simply looks at you, before he nods as well, and lets go of your hand. "Can you write?" He asks, and you eagerly nod, finally expecting a task from him. You'll be useful, you'll have something to do- you won't just have to stand around and wait for something that never happens. "Good. That gives me at least some way you can talk to me, I guess." He mumbles to himself as he gets up and walks past you, to dig around in a small drawer of a desk close by. "I want you to talk. If not with your voice-" He offers a small, palm sized notebook to you, a pen clipped to it's side. "-then with this."
You take the booklet with a nod, opening it to write something down. He expects a thank you- but that's not what he gets.
'What is my purpose here?' you've written, and he sighs to himself.
"Heal." He says, making you look at him confused. You're already starting to show a lot more emotions he notices, and it calms him down quite a bit, because that means that even though you may have forgotten him, you're at least slowly adapting to the overall environment you're now in. You move to write something again, before you hold out the booklet.
'There has to be a job for me.' you write, and he tilts his head at you, arms crossed, veins clear under his forearms, exposed since he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
"And I just told you what it is." He responds, face expressionless, but eyes glimmering with something almost mischievous. "Your job is to heal, adjust, and adapt to the way I run things." He tells you. "But if you want a.. job, I can try and arrange something for you." He huffs, dissatisfied, but still caving in.
You show him the opened page again, something added to the bottom.
'Thank you' is written there.
He just nods, and knocks on his door to give Namjoon the sign to take you to your room so you can sleep- and leave him by himself for a moment, as he watches the calm night-sky from his window, world steadily moving on while he doesn't know what's to come for him.
Even if Seokjin is right, there is no guarantee that this whole thing won't just backfire horribly. And there's still the looming threat of someone amongst his people who's currently the biggest danger to the house of cards Jungkook had barely built up over the years until now. If that person just so much as pushes one more card, it might all come falling down-
and this time, he'll take you with him.
If he dies, you can't survive.
Because if you do, you'll probably face a fate he doesn't even want to imagine.
𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑 — itoshi. r, itoshi. s
𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae
✧˚ · . a tornado meeting a hurricane, a wild flame catching onto dry straw—that was how it felt like to love the both of them: disastrous.
✧˚ · . cw. love triangles, sae is 27 / rin is 25 / yn is 24, cheating (rin), established relationship (sae), dubcon (rin), reader is a physiotherapist, reader is feminine coded (wears makeup, heels, dresses, earrings, perfume, etc), explicit smut, language, tension, toxic family dynamics, sibling rivalry, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, jealousy, possessiveness, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence, toxic relationship dynamics, unprotected s[e]x, exhibitionism, mentions of contraception, slut shaming. . . more tba
✧˚ · . find yourself indecisive with this playlist
{{𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗}}
#1 — A BACKWARDS DANCE
#2 — WE’RE MAGNIFICENTLY CURSED
#3 — HABITS OF OUR HEART
#4 — OCEANS APART
#5 — ANCHOR TO ME
. . . tba
✧˚ · . rbs to boost are sincerely appreciated <33
© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or claim as your own.
General Yandere! Atsumu Miya Profile
Yandere! Atsumu Miya x fem! reader
Warnings: stalking, obsession, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of non/dub-con, masturbation, nonconsensual photography, mentions of physical abuse (Atsumu doesn't hit you, though), Stockholm syndrome, nonconsensual affection, 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!
WC: 10.0K
DARLING PROFILE:
Honest
For Atsumu, trust is the most important thing in a relationship.
He’s always been dubbed a bit unreliable; his twin rolling his eyes and mentioning how he’s always late, past girlfriends crying and screaming at him about he’s throwing them away for some stupid sport, even his own reflection in the mirror telling him he’s too narrow minded, too obsessive, too abnormal to ever have a successful relationship.
It’s left Atsumu a bit jaded – he’s always wanted a lover, yes, but as his professional career has developed, his desire has dwindled. Too often he’s been accused to blowing off his significant other in favor of the sport, and while he's never been able to argue that point, it’s exhausting.
And so, having a partner that’s honest about how they’re feeling, how they want him to treat them would be perfect. He’s tired of having people have such high expectations of him without him even knowing, and when he inevitably doesn’t meet them he’s always the one with the door slamming in his face, shock and confusion stirring in his gut because what did he do wrong?
His darling must be painfully honest with him; he likes people who are able to be blunt while expressing their opinions, and while he doesn’t want a blatantly mean darling, one who is able to give him tough love is more than welcome. He likes the idea that his woman is capable of keeping him in line, and frankly, with every murmur of I wish you’d spend more time with me that falls past their lips, Atsumu is scrambling to let his coach know he’s taking a week off, that he’s calling in those favors he earned from staying late to so many practices.
He just wants a partner that will never pretend to be something they aren’t, and while they’re allowed to have secrets (in the beginning), Atsumu wants to know every fucking one.
So really, his darling should just be honest from the get go; it will attract his attention, yes, but isn’t it just so sweet to have the six foot tall, charismatic, talented professional athlete head over heels for you?
Opinionated
Don’t get it twisted – Atsumu doesn’t want someone who takes this trait to the very extreme. He still very much likes the idea that he’s the one in charge of the relationship, that he’s the one wearing the pants, that he calls any of the truly important shots.
However, when things really come down to it, Atsumu is a worshipper. He’s utterly and completely enraptured by his darling, blindsided by them and willing to do literally anything it takes to get them smiling at him, to hear those sweet words of praise falling from their lips.
He’s obsessed in every possible way, and to have a darling that doesn’t give things up easily only makes him fall more in love. He likes a darling with convictions; they have opinions and beliefs that they stand by, and it’s difficult to get them to budge.
He likes people with strong personalities, and a darling that fits this mold is his ideal type – he doesn’t have to agree with their beliefs necessarily, though it would be nice. He just likes the prospect of a darling who isn’t afraid to fight for what they believe in, and to voice what they think is right.
He’s not afraid to argue a bit, though he’ll always eventually give in, staring at his darling with wide, glossy brown eyes and parted pink lips, his cheeks stained red and his heart racing because wow, they look so damn sexy when they’re standing up for themselves.
Quite honestly, as his obsession develops, it becomes alarmingly easy for his body to react to his darling’s declarations of beliefs as well; the minute they say they support pro-choice causes, his pants are tight and he’s hiding his face, because as they keep listing off the reasons they believe in the cause, Atsumu can’t deny how fucking passionate they are, how pretty and smart and confident they seem.
It’s a turn on, truly, and while at the end of the day Atsumu’s opinion is the final say, having a darling with strong beliefs will help fuel his worshipper tendencies.
Competitive
Similarly to the other traits listed out for his darling, Atsumu needs someone with a bit of a competitive edge.
He doesn’t want this to overrun their relationship, but he likes the idea of small, domestic competitions; who can shoot the paper straw wrapper the furthest when he’s taking his darling out to a nice dinner (their table neighbors are less than pleased, but with the way his darling laughs and giggles, Atsumu doesn’t fucking care).
Little competitions of outwitting each other are mandatory for Atsumu; a partner that can tease him, sending him knowing glances and making fun of the stupid things he says makes his ears go red and his throat get all tight, but he fucking loves it.
He wants a partner that will compete to see who can go without stepping on a crack in the concrete the longest when he takes them out for a late night walk through the local park (eventually he’ll fudge the number just so he can win, and then he’ll offer to carry them home because they ‘obviously can’t avoid the cracks on yer own’, fully trying to pretend like the concept of touching his darling doesn’t make him break out in anxious shivers, beads of sweat covering his temples and hands).
He just likes a darling that can challenge him, and while he never seriously considers his darling actual competition, there’s something about seeing the way they focus on him as they try to beat him that makes his head swim.
There’s something so wonderful about how hyper focused they become on the things Atsumu accomplishes, and frankly it’s an opportunity to show off – he can show them how impressive he is, how capable, how strong and manly and romantic he can be. It’s perfect, and he needs a darling that fill these shoes – so really, don’t let Atsumu win, yeah?
Because once you win, his obsession just grows deeper, his fascination with you that bleeds into the wee hours of the morning as he clutches his pillow and desperately humps at it only getting stronger.
Stubborn
While Atsumu enjoys the idea of holding a certain amount of power over his darling, he doesn’t want someone who will easily roll over.
He likes the idea of a darling that is willing to stand up for themselves, and in particular a darling who is true to their word – and so, a more stubborn beloved would be perfect for Atsumu. He needs someone who isn’t willing to give up on what they want or believe so easily; of course, they can’t be too stubborn, as they need to be able to see the benefits of other perspectives sometimes.
(Specifically, they need to understand his perspective sometimes, even if it involves stalking them, kidnapping them, or even forcing them to sleep in the same bed as him.)
They need to be able to admit when they are wrong, but for the vast majority of the time Atsumu would love a darling that takes a bit of time before they’re willing to change their minds. He likes to idea of a darling that would only ever change their mind for him; it feeds into his possessiveness, and quells his delusions regarding his darling.
After all, they treat him unlike they treat everyone else – and isn’t that a sign? Doesn’t that mean they see him differently, think of him differently, perhaps even view him as someone special? The thought makes him giddy, his chest erupting in butterflies and the widest grin settling across his features, and he’ll remember each and every time his darling has ever changed their mind on something involving him.
It’s euphoric, the kind of thing he thinks about when he’s deep in his despair and missing his darling, but just remembering their pretty eyes looking up at him, the defeated and embarrassed look on their face when they say well, maybe you’re right…
It’s the stuff of both wholesome and wet dreams, and Atsumu will take it all with stride. After all, he’ll take anything his darling gives him.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Clingy
In general, Atsumu is absolutely desperate for your attention.
He’s not unused to female praise and girls fawning over him, what with the sheer number that attend his games and cheer him on. He’s used to the screaming fans in the crowds at Jackals games, constant messages in his DMs containing nude photographs and attempts at beginning a relationship with him.
And yet, despite his popularity, there’s something about the idea of you supporting him, you giving him the time of day that gets him feeling hot, his stomach fluttery and his lips dry. There’s something about the idea of you taking the time to recognize him, to acknowledge him (even if it’s just through the tiniest of smiles, or a quick text wishing him luck in his next match) that gets him sighing like some lovesick school girl, the idea genuinely so pleasing that he tends to zone out, too busy imagining the way you’d hug him or kiss him or snuggle up beside him after a hard game.
As a result, Atsumu tends to flock to you every chance he gets; he wants to show off, to get you in awe and have your eyes on him, and he’s not subtle.
It’s more than obvious to anyone that knows him (his friends and team) that he’s trying too hard, that he’s pushing himself harder than he should in order to win your favor. They’re more than aware that he’s overworking himself at games he knows you’re attending, flexing every muscle in his body as hard as he can when he walks by you, laughing loudly and lowering his voice slightly when you’re nearby because he’s heard that women find huskier voices attractive.
It’s embarrassing, if Osamu, Suna and Sakusa are being honest, but Atsumu can’t help it.
He needs you to notice him, to let your gorgeous eyes flick over his form, a small smile curling on your lips, a finger tucking your hair behind your ear, your weight shifting from one hip to another, anything at all to show him that you notice him, that you see him and think of him and love him and want him and need him and can’t stand even a single moment away from him –
It’s intense, to the point that you’ll likely notice the way he resembles an adolescent boy with how badly he’s trying to catch your attention, and frankly, you’ll probably be flattered. After all, it’s the Atsumu Miya that keeps meeting your gaze, his brown eyes flicking away quickly as he fights a blush and nudges Suna rather harshly, telling him to laugh like I told a joke, dammit, or I’ll steal yer chuupet, and how could you not be flattered?
He’s a heartthrob, a volleyball star, someone every girl you know would love to date, and he’s choosing you of all people? It feels good, and you’ll bask in the attention for a while – giving into his little desperate cries for attention, having conversations with him, coming to practices, letting him catch dinner with you sometimes, everything he requests with that strangely vulnerable would ya mind if I – er, if I went with you?
It’s hard to say no after all, and while Atsumu is internally panicking every second you’re together because he’s terrified he’ll fuck up and ruin the chemistry you seem to have, he wouldn’t trade his time with you for the world.
You’re perfect, so utterly lovely in every possible way, and so with time slowly his clinginess grows more and more intense, stronger and difficult to control, until you start getting worried about how far he’s pushing things, why the line seems to be crossed between friendliness and questionable intent.
It’s strange when his knuckles keep brushing yours, much more often than what would be accidental, or the way his fingertips brush against yours and slightly curl, like he’s trying to be subtle and gauge your reaction to holding his hand.
It’s odd how his gaze lingers on your form for much longer than is normal, those brown eyes fixed on your figure as you walk away, as you squirm and uncomfortably stare at the ground as your friend talks about the recent history test they’d just taken while you’re out and about getting lunch.
It’s strange how he always seems to make direct eye contact with you during games, even when you’re buried up in the sea of people in the bleachers, or how he hands you a plastic sack before the next game with small keychains and little memorabilia on it that he thought ya would like, since yer always cheerin’… inside you’ll find stickers with MSBY’s logo, a few volleyball themed sticky notes, pens and banners, and a copious amount of yellow plushies; foxes, jaguars and little birds, things that seem to match the shade of his hair exactly, little stuffed animals in number a 13 jersey, even a few banners with the words I’m proud of you ‘Tsumu! written across it with handwriting that looks just slightly too similar to your own.
It’s weird, and frankly you’ll want to return all of the things, but guilt and the crushed expression on Atsumu’s face when you don’t wear the custom made t-shirt with his jersey number and last name on the back (the size is exactly right, much to your dismay) to the next game have you reluctant.
You’ll want to return everything, but when you aren’t jumping up and down and cheering with every set he makes, you’ll end up piling on the accessories and supporting Atsumu, letting him call you every night to ramble on about his latest plays and movies he loves, letting him take you to Osamu’s favorite onigiri stand after games, letting him hug you for much too long.
You’ll let it happen, and Atsumu couldn’t be happier – but be warned, when you give the blond an inch, he’ll take miles and miles and miles. After all, he just needs you, and if you’ve let him push the envelope so far already, what else will you allow?
Will you let him knock you out and lay you across the soft comforter that adorns the bed he’s set up for the two of you to share?
Maybe you’ll let him cuddle you and run his fingers through your hair, bury his face into your neck and inhale, hump you like an animal in heat as he begs for you to tell me ya love me, fuck princess tell me yer in love with me.
Atsumu sure hopes so, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint, right?
Possessive
Tying in with some of his clingier habits, Atsumu struggles to not completely involve himself in every possible aspect of your life. It’s not that he wants to be omnipresent, always there, peering over your shoulder like some overgrown guardian angel with a golden retriever’s need for attention, but he genuinely can’t help it.
He gets so anxious where you’re concerned, terrified that someone else will come along and sweep you off your feet, scared that you’ll find someone better that he just physically can’t sit still and let another man walk into your life.
He struggles to give you your own space, not quite sure how to balance his desire to make you happy and see him as the perfect partner and the other, more pressing part of him that’s desperate to keep every man on Earth away from you, to keep a healthy distance of at least fifty yards away from you at any given time.
He doesn’t want to even allow the opportunity for another person to steal your attention or time, and as a result Atsumu decides the best method to achieve this desire is to simply always be there. If he doesn’t allow an opening for another man to sweep you away, then surely it won’t happen, surely you won’t be speaking to anyone else without the blond at your hip, staring down with malicious eyes as some guy tries to make you laugh or smile, as they compliment your eyes.
He’ll stand there, towering over you with brown eyes narrowed, flexing each and every muscle in his upper body, the sleeves of his uniform shirt straining against the lean muscle of his bicep as the man splutters, terrified that the Atsumu Miya is glaring at him, scared that he’ll get punched or his reputation ruined.
He tends to start off with staring, trying to make the other man who was stupid (and brave) enough to approach you uncomfortable enough to leave the two of you alone. But if that doesn’t work (which, most of the time he’s too impatient to see through fruition), Atsumu will rely on other tactics to get you looking at him and only him, just as you should.
That is, it’s disturbingly easy to plaster a fake smile onto his lips, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face him, asking you in that sing song voice that’s just a bit too high if you want to grab something to eat, if you want to see the new serve he’s been working on, if you want to go bother Osamu with him.
He’s asking anything, everything to get you agreeing, whining for your attention and telling you that he needs ya, yer my good luck charm with ‘Samu and I want some onigiri, pouting like a child if you seem unsure or reject him.
When you eventually sigh and agree, apologizing to the other man and letting Atsumu drag you off to god knows where, the blond will throw a malicious glare over his shoulder, a proud smirk etched onto his lips as he mouths the words mine, before looking down at you and smiling once more, prattling on about some new accomplishment of his in an effort to impress you.
Generally, this works – Atsumu is terribly insistent and determined, wanting so badly and so impatiently to get your attention and drag you out of the situation that it’s nearly palpable, but he has this strange charm to him that has you always caving, making you sigh and bite your lip but ultimately say okay fine, but just this one time, okay?
Atsumu is strangely pitiable, someone that manages to master the kicked puppy look each time he begs and pleads for you to spend time with him, to just stay with him, to not ditch hangouts in favor of working overtime, to not join that recreational group you’ve been interested in because he needs you to watch his practice and haven’t ya seen the men in that group? Don’t ya see the way they look at yer ass when ya walk away? Ya’d be stupid to join ‘em, princess.
He’s oddly sweet, the validation that him constantly searching for your attention and praise gives you strangely addicting, so just let him put his hand on your waist, lean down to inhale the scent of your hair (and smile when he smells your familiar shampoo and not a single trace of cologne that isn’t his), smile and point at you when he makes a good set, grab your wrist and drag you behind the practice facility to press you against the nearest wall and shove his tongue down your throat because someone forgot who they fuckin’ belong to, huh baby?
Atsumu is strangely endearing in his desperation to keep you to himself, but don’t be fooled – underneath the jealous schoolboy act is a pathetic, dangerous man willing to do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it involves dirtying his hands with chloroform, blood, or lies.
Delusional
The trouble with Atsumu is, of course, his determination.
He’s simply unable to let himself lose or let go of things he’s truly passionate about. And so, once his feelings for you form, you make that very short list of Atsumu’s priorities – right between volleyball, and, begrudgingly, his brother.
But while this in itself isn’t particularly strange, it’s the method with which Atsumu expresses his intense devotion to you that’s a bit alarming, that makes him qualify as a delusional man.
He’s very, very dedicated to making sure that he looks good in your eyes and that you like him. He’s obsessed with making sure that the two of you pan out, that you end up together, that he gets to hold and kiss you, to touch your pretty skin and slip a diamond studded ring on your finger while you whisper out that airy yes, I’ll marry you ‘Tsumu.
He’s driven by the fantasies he possesses of the two of you; mostly domestic things, embarrassingly enough. He likes to imagine waking up together in the mornings, the sunlight dancing along your face as you softly breath in and out.
He likes to imagine the way he’d snuggle up against you, pulling you against his chest so that your face is buried against his pectorals, his chin atop your head as he deeply breaths in your scent, relishing in the peacefulness and calmness of the moment.
He likes to imagine the way you’d smile when he compliments you, your flustered expression as you playfully smack his upper arm, trying to hide how embarrassed you are as he teases you. He imagines you’d shut him up with a kiss, whispering against his lips when you pull away that he’s just as pretty as me, the prettiest boy I’ll ever know.
He’s fueled by these desires, and while they aren’t explicitly dark, it’s the extreme to which Atsumu is willing to try to see them come to fruition that’s disturbing. It’s the way he’s holding himself to an impossible benchmark to encourage these feelings in you, to get you to reciprocate his infatuation.
It’s the way he’s simply not taking no for an answer; he’s always asking you to get food with him, to come to his games, to let him take you out to the park for ice cream, even just to call him – and if you decline his offers, Atsumu simultaneously feels his heart break and his resolve harden.
He feels as if it’s a sign that he’s not doing enough each time you reject him; obviously he’s not trying hard enough, not putting in the level of dedication and work that he must in order to get you falling in love with him.
His delusions lie in that he’s continually pushing himself harder to make you want him. He’s doing extensive research into the types of movies you watch, the books you read, the fanfiction you enjoy, the tropes and heartthrobs, anything and everything he can find about your tastes, even if it means digging through your browsing history.
He’s religiously watching and reading the media you like to consume, trying to find similarities so that he can emulate what the male lead always does.
Maybe he should dye his hair?
Maybe he should start wearing only shades of gray and black?
You always read stories where the lead brings the narrator flowers, so obviously you must want a bouquet, right?
Don’t be surprised when he shows up at your doorstep with a lovely, gorgeous bouquet of flowers in your favorite color, a blush dancing on his cheeks while he sheepishly asks if you’d like to come to the movies with me? There’s this new film coming out that I’ve been wanting to see, but it’s always depressing to eat popcorn alone, so…
He’s not really listening when you tell him that you’re not interested in dating anyone right now; you obviously just need some time, because there’s no way you can’t feel the desperation Atsumu feels for you.
There’s simply no fucking way you don’t realize how horribly, deeply he wants to call you his. Instead, he’ll just smile at you, that same too-wide grin while he pats your head (silently reveling in the feeling of your hair texture against his fingers because holy fuck he just touched you -) and tells you that it’s okay, I understand, no emotional commitment for ya, babe!
He’s not swayed by anything you could do or say to try and argue that his efforts aren’t working; Atsumu is determined, and he won’t let anything get in the way of earning your love and attention, including you. What you want matters to him, and he truly does want you to want him, but at the end of the day, his delusions cloud his mind into thinking that you do want him.
You may not know it yet – hell, you may not be willing to accept it yet, but Atsumu is okay with that. He can be patient, just for you. He can wait, lay the groundwork some more, woo you with every possible method he can think of, until you finally come to your senses and realize that no one can treat you like he does.
No one else will ever want you as badly as the blond does, and no one else would ever fight as hard to get you by their side.
No one else would be willing to rifle through your discarded trash just to see what food packages you were eating, what brand of soap and shampoo you like, what brand of tampons you use and what size.
No else would be willing to lace the food he has Osamu make for you (begrudgingly, but a few extra bucks thrown at the chef will do wonders) with vitamins, things to keep you healthier and happier, because he just cares about you.
No one else would do half of the shit he’s willing to do for you, and Atsumu is more than aware of this. Doesn’t that make him special?
Doesn’t his devotion to you show that he’s serious about loving you? Isn’t it romantic that he’s willing to go so damn far for you? You should be flattered, really; you’ve caught the attention of the Atsumu Miya, a professional athlete and star of the MSBY Jackals.
He’s head over heels for you, obsessed in every sense of the word with having you be his girl, and how could you get any luckier? Especially with the way he watches your every move like your shadow because he just cares so much?
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
When it comes to jealousy, Atsumu is certainly no stranger. He’s dealt with the green eyed monster his whole life; having a twin was difficult, what with people constantly comparing him to Osamu.
He’s tired of being known as simply an extension of another person, and while this got better as he got older and the two Miyas developed their own, independent lives, he’s always held a shred of jealousy towards his brother. He’s quick to anger, and so once you’re in the picture?
Well, Atsumu may have grown and matured a lot since his high school days, but he’s still the same somewhat childish man at heart. And to see someone – something – he loves so much be threatened by another man makes his gut clench uncomfortably, his lips pulling into a grimace before he can even think about it.
His fists are clenching before any rational thought enters his brain, whatever poor object was in his hands nearly breaking with the sheer amount of force he puts into his grip. He’s gotten much better with handling his rage, but the reality is that the idea of you finding another man doesn’t simply enrage him – no, it terrifies him.
He’s scared that he’s not enough; sure, he’s got money, fame, a great physique, and a charming smile, but what about his personality? Is he funny enough? Smart enough? Kind enough? Can he make you laugh like you want him to, can he make you flustered and embarrassed with his compliments and cheeky comments?
He’s riddled with self-doubt when it comes to you, and while he tries to put up the façade of confidence most of the time, there’s moments where you’ll very clearly see the real Atsumu underneath those layers of charisma. The real, raw, emotional, desperate young man who wants nothing more than for you to choose him.
And so, it doesn’t take too terribly much to set off his jealousy. Generally speaking, the blond only ever feels jealous when your attention drifts away from him. He doesn’t enjoy seeing other men stare at you from afar, the way their eyes rake over your figure, thoughts surely flashing through their mind about what could be under your clothes, all manner of perverted intentions and fantasies being played out mentally.
He doesn’t enjoy it, but at least Atsumu knows that you can’t be tempted by what you don’t see – he knows the look men give when they’re imagining railing you into next week, when they’re contemplating whether to approach you, but you don’t.
You’re not aware of the fine art of decoding the male gaze; and so, why should Atsumu be worried? He’ll shoo the man away, laying his claim over you to try and (not) subtly show the stranger that you’re firmly claimed and taken.
However, when his jealousy really activates is when you show signs of interest in other men. When it’s your eyes trailing another man’s figure, when it’s your lips quirking up into a smile as you listen to another man’s voice and jokes.
It’s insecurity hitting him square in the chest as he wonders if this man could be better than him, if you’d prefer him over Atsumu, if you’re unhappy with the blond. And so, he must put a stop to the interaction before you can develop any sort of attachment to this new man – it would derail everything he’s worked so fucking hard for over the last few months.
Atsumu’s brows furrow inward as he watches the way you tap your foot and smile at the man in front of you in line.
You’re waiting to order your drink at the local coffeeshop he’d had the both of you meet up at. Surprisingly punctual when it comes to you, Atsumu had arrived earlier than the time he’d scheduled, and had subsequently gotten his iced coffee before you’d gotten the chance to enter the shop.
And now, he was deeply regretting his decision to caffeinate himself before you showed up; the man in front of you was tall, with dark hair and tan skin. A chiseled jaw line was obvious even from his distance away, as were his smoothly pressed, tucked in maroon dress shirt and black slacks. Atsumu frowned; his own pair of brown shorts and brightly patterned top seemed much too childish now.
Did you like men in muted colors, or bold designs?
Distantly, Atsumu made a note to look through more of your browsing history to find out. In the present, though, the blond was growing more and more irritated by the minute. You were clearly checking out the stranger; your eyes were obviously traveling down along his back, your pretty gaze settling in on the spot right above his thighs –
Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath, his cheeks feeling hot (surely red), before he was immediately bolting out of his chair, his legs moving faster than his mind could think.
You were not to be having this free of an attraction to another man – particularly one that looked nothing like Atsumu himself.
Were you more attracted to men with dark hair? Did you prefer tanner skin rather than Atsumu’s own paler self?
Shaking his head, he let his fists clench at his sides, his lip trapped between his teeth so hard it threatened to bleed. It’s horrible, having to watch this interaction – the man had turned around to ask you a question, and you’d responded with something that made him laugh.
He was laughing, his whole face lighting up with a smile brighter than the fucking sun and Atsumu wants to spike a ball at his head, to punch him across his stupidly sharp jawline and make him scream and cry and beg for his forgiveness for touching what’s his his his –
He sucks in an unsteady, shaky breath as the man makes some comment about you looking pretty, and you jump slightly, your brows shooting up at his forwardness. You stutter out a thanks, mentally shocked because was he flirting with you…? This handsome stranger?
You clear your throat, telling him you like the color of his shirt, and the man smiles knowingly at you.
Do you like my shirt, or do you like what’s underneath it?
Your lips part slightly, your brows furrowing a bit. Oh, um, no, I mean your shirt.
Something about the way the man’s brows rose and the smirk that settled across your lips was starting to unsettle you, his forwardness earlier seeming confident, though perhaps too confident.
Admittedly, self assurance was attractive, but as the man’s smirk grew wider and he took another step towards you, you found yourself stiffening up.
I’m sure you’d like what’s underneath it too, sugar, if you’d like to see. I’m in the gym every morning, promise, and I never skip arm day.
You smile shakily at him, a barely hidden grimace at his words, before taking a small step backwards and away from him. You’d been unaware of the way Atsumu had taken strides to get closer to the both of you, essentially hiding himself behind the nearest display shelf of coffee cups and mugs while he kept his eyes focused on the both of you, his ears wide open to take in every word.
And to say he was angry was a massive understatement – sure, this man may be attractive, but could he not see how uncomfortable he was making you?
Did he not understand that you weren’t fucking interested? Atsumu is frozen for a moment, internally weighing what to do, but as the man reaches out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, the blond snaps.
He’s immediately at your side, grabbing your arm and shuffling you behind him, paying no mind to the way that the man’s face sours, his lips settling into a pinched line as he stares at Atsumu.
They’re roughly the same height, and despite the man’s insistence of always hitting the gym, it’s more than clear that Atsumu has more strength, his professional career leaving him ridden with muscle, even if he’s not a spiker. Atsumu’s sending him the meanest, coldest look he possibly can, cutting off the man who attempts to say something. She’s not interested, dipshit.
The man’s nostrils flare, and distantly Atsumu scoffs that he was ever feeling insecure because of such a piece of shit. The man guffaws, crossing his arms, snapping out and how the hell would you know?
Atsumu nearly growls, his heart pounding in his chest out of anger and barely restrained rage, his every muscle begging to be let go, to punch this man across the face, to beat the shit out of him while you watch – maybe you’d be impressed, thinking of him as strong and capable, thinking of him as your protector, your manly, masculine boyfriend.
It’s a charming thought, but he steels himself and instead rolls his eyes at the man. Because yer a fucking creep, that’s why, harassin’ women and getting’ em all scared and nervous. Fuck off.
And with that, Atsumu is grabbing your wrist, swerving on his heel and dragging you behind him, taking the both of you outside of the coffee shop. He’d left his own iced coffee on the table, but he couldn’t care less.
Once the both of you were outside, he immediately turned around, hazel eyes searching yours as he examined every inch of your face and body for any sort of injury or tears.
Your mouth is parted slightly, your eyes wide, but Atsumu can only mutter out a ya okay, love?
You don’t answer him – instead, you’re crashing into his chest, throwing your arms around him and hugging him as tightly as you can. Atsumu squeaks, his cheeks flushing bright red because holy fuck, you’re hugging him –
You whisper out a thank you, shoving your face further into his chest, and Atsumu can only hug you back as tightly, a hand running down your hair in comforting motions. A tear slips down his cheek without even realizing it, his heart racing because the fear of thinking he’d lost you was still much too strong, the worry and pain slowly ebbing away, but not nearly fast enough.
He’s quick to buy you another coffee at a different shop, along with your favorite sweets, insisting that you take the day off of work and instead come watch his practice today, where he can make sure you’re not approached by anymore creeps.
You agree, and Atsumu goes to sleep that night with a wide, nearly crazed smile as he hugs his pillow tightly, remembering the way you’d touched him and cheered him on at practice, even giving him a kiss on the cheek when he’d made a particularly good set.
His hand slips down his torso as he relives the way your chest had felt against his own, his other hand opening his phone to the folder he has of pictures of you, your pretty face staring at him through the screen as his own face morphs into a pretty ‘o’, his brows shooting up and whimpers tumbling past his lips.
You’re just so perfect, and while he still worries you’ll find someone else, at least today you didn’t – today, you were his.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
Quite honestly, Atsumu doesn’t particularly want to steal you away.
He’s still clinging onto the idea of having a normal, healthy relationship with you, and while he can’t deny the attraction of keeping you locked up in his penthouse apartment, he isn’t jumping at his heels to kidnap you.
There’s just something about it that leaves a sour taste in his mouth; he fell in love with you for you, and perhaps there’s some part of him that’s hesitant to force you into captivity for fear of changing who you are. He doesn’t want some brain-dead, Stockholm Syndrome induced lover.
No, he wants you, with your every flaw and strength bare before his eyes, so that he can know every bit of you as you are, not as he wants to mold you to be.
He’s not interested in forming you into his ideal lover; you already are, and he’d never forgive himself if he changed you just to make you a more obedient captive.
And so, the prospect of kidnapping you just doesn’t seem like a possibility to the setter – besides, his delusions reinforce the idea that eventually you’ll want to live with him. He’ll tell himself over and over that you don’t want to be kidnapped because you want to come willingly with him, and while he may have struggled to believe it at first, eventually he's swearing by the idea.
Because really, when he’s repeating it to himself like a mantra, chanting it under his breath as his fingers clutch at the bathroom counter and cool water runs down his face from the faucet still on below him, how is he supposed to doubt it?
How can he not believe that you’ll eventually want him, want the life he can give you by being his partner?
Atsumu is riddled with insecurities, but despite the way the idea of you makes them flare up, there’s something oddly therapeutic about imagining the way you’d be able to overcome them, how you’d accept him as he is, smiling and leaping into his arms as you tell him yes, yes I’d love to live with you! Let me pack up all my stuff and let the landlord know, you’ll have to get a bigger bed so we can both fit…
He’s convinced himself that you want to live with him, through sheer determination and repetition, and often when stress is eating him alive, his fingers tugging at his hair while he paces back and forth as he relives the way you smiled at that man today over and over and over again, it’s the thought of how you’d lovingly accept him eventually that keeps him going.
It’s a pleasant thought, really – and one that keeps his sanity in tact.
And so, when eventually the time comes and he gets this blushy, bashful look on his face, wringing his hands and struggling to make eye contact with you as he opens his mouth, just know that the scene will not be pretty. When he blurts out the words (stuttered a bit, hopefully you won’t notice), just know that when you inevitably reject his offer, Atsumu will seem a bit… off.
There’s something about the way his brown eyes darken, his hands falling limp in his lap, the chatter of the restaurant around you seeming so fucking loud as silence falls between you.
Atsumu’s in shock, really, unable to believe what he’s just heard – your rejection goes against everything he’s ever believed, every mantra he’s forced himself to believe, every little thing he’s repeated to himself over and over again until he’s crying and smiling like a fool, laughing and sobbing and whispering your name again and again and again –
He’s frozen, and you’ll eventually leave the restaurant with him, giving him an awkward hug and wishing him a good night, but when you get into your bed you’d best cherish it. Really, you must – because that’s the last time you’ll ever be seeing the familiar four walls of your bedroom, the familiar feel of your sheets, the same view from your window.
Because as you sleep, your pretty chest rising and falling peacefully, Atsumu’s at your doorway, his hand shaking as he breaths in unevenly, the rope and chloroform already at attention as he whispers you’ll love me, promise ya will, jus’ takes some time…
It’s a rude awakening the next morning, of course, with a stranger’s arms around you and his heavy breaths in your ear, but don’t take too long to adjust; after all, Atsumu is patient, but every man has his breaking point.
As a captor, Atsumu is mostly just clingy.
He’s not too terrible; he’s generally somewhat aware of your personal space, but he does have a habit of forcing you into unwanted affection. He’ll never put you into sexual scenarios, but more often than not you’ll notice he has wandering hands.
He’s always snaking his hand into yours, his fingers brushing against your soft skin and the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles against your hand, a small smile settling over his features.
He’s always wrapping his arms around you from behind, settling his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and sighing out your name, some slurred compliment making shivers run up your spine.
(It’s normally something along the lines of smell so pretty today babe, ‘s that yer new shampoo? I like it, makes me wanna take a bite outta ya.)
He’s planting kisses against your cheeks and knuckles, letting his lips wander along the plains of your body under he’s reached your neck. He won’t actually kiss you, though – you’re grateful for that at least, because while he loves to leave his mark along your body (mostly on your forearms, ankles, stomach and collarbone), there’s something so intimate about kissing you, about pressing his lips against yours.
He wants you to initiate it, for you to lean forward, flutter your eyes closed and press your lips against his, for you to sigh lightly, to let your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him deeply, slowly, meaningfully…
When he coughs into his fist and his gaze darts away from you while he’s got you snuggled up into his side on the couch, just know he could absolutely pin you down and kiss you until you’re gasping for breath, just like he wants to.
But Atsumu has promised himself to be patient with you, that the love he’s convinced you’ll eventually feel will come, but only if he treats you like a queen. And so, while you may have to deal with the (more than occasional) touches and cuddles, Atsumu mostly respects your personal boundaries.
He does not, however, respect your attention.
He wants it.
Constantly.
His clinginess doesn’t just manifest in physical ways, and while you may have believed he was bad before he’s stolen you away, it’s nothing compared to how he acts once you’re in his apartment, under his care – because now, you have no way of escaping those brown eyes that are always fixed on you.
His little whines and sing-songs of your name from across the apartment will be a constant presence in your life, the front door slamming closed while locks click into place and he calls for you to come to the door, I got ya a little present today from ‘Samu!
It’s onigiri he picked up, some homemade desserts from his brother, too, and Atsumu is oh so fucking pleased to show you what he has to offer. Because really, that’s Atsumu’s favorite thing to do; he wants to impress you, to prove to you that he’s worthy of your love, that he’s a good man and would be an even better husband, and what better way than to prove it to you?
He’s always trying to buy you things, both expensive and not. You’ll find new pieces of jewelry (all things you wouldn’t mind buying yourself, if you’d been on the outside of course), new articles of clothing (all fitting you perfectly, despite any irregularities on your body that make it difficult to size), new flowers sitting in vases on the kitchen table when you wake up.
He’s getting you your favorite candies, a constant supply in the kitchen cabinets of your favorite snacks and drinks, a separate credit card in his wallet reserved exclusively for your purchases. (It’s got roughly a million dollars on it – a good year of his own salary, but Atsumu thinks it’s worth it – anything for you to give him those pretty eyes, that gorgeous smile, to feel your hands on his body in a loving way.)
He’s mostly just pathetic; his desperation is palpable, and despite your best intentions, you likely will fall for him. He may be a delusional, mentally disturbed man that stole you away from the world and keeps you locked up where only he can see you, but at least he looks at you like you’re his whole world.
At least he treats you with delicacy, smiling in such a raw, emotional way at you that it makes you have to look away, the plain love and adoration glimmering in those honey eyes making you uncomfortable. At least he cares enough to get the finest things he can buy, all for your comfort and happiness.
And so, while his delusions are strong, eventually Atsumu will be right – because you will love him, eventually, even if you try to fight it. Because after all, when he’s the only one you see everyday, the only voice and touch you’ll know for the rest of your days, he’ll start to seem oddly cute.
Oddly handsome. Oddly endearing. Oddly enough, your only choice.
So really, just accept him – you’ll get unconditional love for the rest of your life, and Atsumu has more than enough money and adoration for you to last both of your lifetimes. So really, just let it happen.
PUNISHMENTS:
Because Atsumu has such strong worshipper tendencies, getting him mad is actually a bit of a challenge. And getting him actually mad at you is even harder.
He loves you – fuck does he love you, or at least as close to love as his obsession can get. And while he’s maybe not the most chivalrous man on Earth, Atsumu has always been taught that women are to be treated with respect and dignity. And so, he’ll never be one to physically strike you.
He hates the idea of you getting hurt just in general; the moment he sees a bruise on your pretty skin, a scratch along your knee or a papercut on your finger, he quite frankly loses his mind. His mind is racing with questions of how that injury possibly got there, how you could’ve been out of his sight long enough to hurt yourself, why he couldn’t stop you from getting it.
He’s blaming himself as the reason why you’re crying, your lip bit between your teeth as you hiss and stare at the small papercut, the stinging sensation not horribly painful, but certainly not pleasant. He’ll race up to you, eyes wide and his voice stuck in his throat, examining the injury with careful fingers.
His eyes will well with tears too, his heart breaking as he realizes he’s directly responsible, that although he wasn’t the hot water that burned your poor pinky, he let you touch the water. He may have been at work, just barely walking through the door, but it’s his responsibility to take care of you, just as a good partner should. And so, in order to get Atsumu mad, a few things need to happen; a perfect storm must be created, and frankly almost none of it is your fault. Firstly, Atsumu’s day must have gone poorly.
He must’ve had a bad practice, lost a match, been insulted one too many times by Sakusa, or gotten chewed out by his mom or brother. Something must have happened to irritate him, serving his mood to be a bit fouler than usual.
He must have hit traffic on his way home to you, the clock in his nice, expensive car counting the minutes by, getting later and later as he anxiously taps his fingers against the wheel, letting his eyes dart from the stop-and-go traffic back to the dashboard again.
He has to have felt that he’ll be late in seeing you, that you must be suffering at home all alone without him, probably angry at him for not being home right on time like he always promises to be.
He must have gotten an urgent call as he finally pulled into the apartment’s parking lot, the caller his own coach hoping to go over some new training times with him that Atsumu frankly couldn’t give a shit about.
He must have accidentally fallen on the stairs leading up to the apartment (he never takes the elevator – always says it keeps him in shape, but really he’s noticed that you seem to like his smell when he's just slightly sweaty, the strong musk of his cologne attracting you in just enough to Atsumu’s heart racing), tripping and maybe dropping his phone by accident.
He must’ve had to struggle with the door’s lock for a few moments, his anticipation eating away at him as he fumbled with the keys, before finally – finally – the door is opened and he has access to you. And finally, he needs to see the way you jump up at his greeting, banging your hand against the hot oven stove as you cook yourself some eggs, causing you to yelp and clutch at the finger that has a slight burn.
It’s all of these events together that make Atsumu tip over the edge, the horrible day he’d had along with seeing you hurt yourself making everything collide into a storm, one that makes him drop his athletic bag, his chest heaving, eyes wide and lips parted.
It takes a bit for him to reach that point, but once he does, suddenly the Atsumu before you is no longer the one you recognize.
He’ll stare, unable to form words as you blink back some tears, the burn really not that bad, but your body just can’t help it.
You’re clutching at your finger and hissing under your breath, quickly running towards the sink and letting the cool water stream down over your finger. You sigh slightly in relief, and it’s only as you turn your head and smile briefly at Atsumu that he can feel his limbs again.
Hey, Atsumu. You call, turning back to the sink and putting your finger closer to the spigot, though you know it doesn’t help at all. Suddenly, a clamoring of desperate footsteps sounds behind you, and you stiffen up as hot breath pants against your ear.
Atsumu’s behind you, his body caging yours against the sink as he clambers your hands into his, his own fingers trembling as he stares down at where you were burned. He can barely breath, and as he starts murmuring under his breath, your brows furrow together.
You call his name questioningly, to which Atsumu only responds with don’t talk, just – fuck, just shut up. His voice is a whisper, and although it’s quiet it’s harsh, the sound something you’ve never heard Atsumu make.
Your heart is racing in your chest, a slight bit of fear rolling through you. Was he mad?
Soon he’s taking steps away from you, and you turn around to see him standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his head, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair. He’s staring at the ground, his lips moving quickly but you can’t hear what he’s saying.
You call his name again, concern and fear flowing through you, but as you take careful steps to approach, Atsumu suddenly collapses to his knees, the hard linoleum floor crashing against his bare skin. You wince slightly, knowing that must’ve hurt, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to care – or notice, really.
He’s still murmuring to himself, cradling his head in his hands, and with a deep breath you kneel down in front of him, saying his name again and reaching out to lightly touch his shoulder. As your hand makes contact with the gray of his training shirt, Atsumu stiffens up, his chest no longer heaving, and for a moment you wonder if he’s stopped breathing.
Atsumu? Are you okay- You’re cut off by his hand knocking yours off his shoulder, exposing the way his eyes are wide as they stare down at his knees. ‘s my fault, my fault, my fault.
He’s murmuring to himself, his breath hoarse, and as you stare in concern, suddenly his eyes are snapping to you. He’s staring under his eyelashes, and before you have a chance to ask again if he’s okay, he’s suddenly lunging forward, springing so quickly you let out a small scream.
His hands are on your shoulders as he clutches at you so hard you’re afraid it’ll bruise.
His nose is mere centimeters from yours, his breath fanning across your lips as he heaves, the look in his eye chilling you to the bone. He looks scared, lost, angry, and so, so very unhinged. You gulp, your gaze darting between his eyes. I
t’s my fault. He whispers, to which you open and close your mouth, unsure what he’s talking about. ‘ve been bad, not been treating ya right. Makin’ you go off and hurt yerself, just to get my attention.
He’s still whispering, but somehow it’s getting louder, his every word making you shrink in on yourself. Been bein’ a bad boyfriend, huh? Makin’ ya cry, been treatin’ ya like shit. Your mouth is dry. No way ya love me, ya hear me? No fuckin’ way.
His hands are trembling as they hold you, you realize. It makes your whole body shake.
I fucked it up, made ya hate me. Ya hate me, don’t ya? He's asking you, you think, and you go to answer but he cuts you off. I disgust ya, huh? Rather hurt yerself than love me, huh?
You shake your head no, but Atsumu’s growling, hanging his head down in defeat. Made ya hate me, now you’ll never want me.
It’s silent for a moment, before you slowly – very slowly – shuffle closer to him, letting your arms wrap around his waist. He lets you, his breathing still harsh, and you stay still for a moment once he’s in your embrace.
Shh, I love you, stop doing this. You’re whispering to him, and though you’re just trying to comfort him, a small part of you wonders at how easily the words flow off your tongue. Breath with me, in, now out. In, then out.
Slowly, his breathing gets under control, and once you feel it’s alright, you use your finger to lift up his chin. Look at me, ‘Tsumu. His head snaps up, and for a moment you wonder if the wide eyed look he’s giving you is because of the nickname.
Your heart clenches at the tear tracks running down his cheeks. I love you, kay? I didn’t mean to hurt myself, it’s not your fault.
He’s gaping like a fish, but after a moment he whispers out ya love me?
It’s the most vulnerable, saddest thing you think you’ve ever heard, and without thinking you nod, surprising yourself. Atsumu stills for a moment, before a wide grin breaks across his face, and suddenly he’s on his feet with you in his arms. He spins around, dragging you with him, a laugh in his voice as he calls out ya love me, ya love me!
Soon he’ll stop and hold you close, your forehead to his as he smiles and closes his eyes, whispering the words under his breath.
Ya love me forever, I love ya forever.
Forever.
OVERALL DANGER:
8/10
Really, Atsumu is not particularly dangerous. The thing that makes him an undesirable yandere, however, is his mixture of determination and delusion.
He’s very, very fixated on making you love him. He’s obsessed with the idea of you; your personality, your beauty, your words, your body, your mannerisms.
To him, everything you do is perfection – and he wants it to be all his, to be only his. He’s possessive, delusional, and frankly always in your business – clingy is a nice word for how often he’s stealing your attention.
He’s always calling your name, placing his hand on your arm, sending you flirty remarks (that are somewhat less effective because of the slight stutter in his voice and the harsh blush on his cheeks, but still oddly sweet, even if the words are a bit creepy).
He’s always in your vicinity, that same lovesick look on his face while he watches you: his brows are tilted slightly upwards, his honey eyes half lidded as he gazes at you, his lips in a slight smile as he rests his chin on his hand, leaning forward at the table he’s seated at to watch you you you.
Atsumu is consumed by thoughts of you at every moment of the day, to the point where even volleyball can’t be considered his love – it’s only you now, for better or for worse. And really, as suffocating and unnerving as having all of the Atsumu Miya’s delusional, twisted love for you is, you’ll eventually find yourself craving it.
After all, there’s something empowering about how you can get the professional athlete on his knees with just a snap of your fingers, practically drooling as he tells you he loves ya, I’d do anythin’ for ya, fuck baby yer so pretty, so good for me, love ya so much it fuckin’ hurts –
He’s a fool in love, truly, but be careful – because a rejection of this fool can land you in serious trouble.
The kind of trouble some twisted, fucked up part of you will grow to love, even if you hate yourself for it.
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."
Happy Iwa day! Can you please create a ‘waking up with Iwa’ drabble?
Thank you!
... dont blame me for taking this fluff and turning it into smut tho hfygusdgfd sorry sorry i am only wholesome in asks but not in writing
tw yandere, somnophilia, hate-fucking, possession, noncon
You've haven't gotten used to the achy, sore feeling of having your poor pussy stretched and abused for hours when he starts bothering you during naps too. When your brief moments of sleep get interrupted by a slow few pets along your hairline, your sides, along the curve of your ass. It'd be romantic if it was anyone else, if you didn't wish you could blink his face out of existence.
Iwaizumi's roughed up fingers toy along your slit with spit-strung lines that still leave your thighs all sticky, when you barely manage to pull yourself back into consciousness. The room is never how you left it. He can't stop himself from cleaning up in the pretense of love and care, and apart from angering you -you could help if he didn't insist on fucking you until you passed out- it at least serves as some sort of sense to tell the time.
As you try to push yourself up onto one arm, Iwaizumi grunts softly, before breathing your name. You hate how he says that too. You can tell that his first instinct is to push you back down, but instead he just dips his digit in and out of your awfully sore hole. You notice that the room is clean. The fresh sheet smell is nice, and you bury yourself deeper into them.
"Morning, doll."
You choose to ignore the wistful longing in his tone, and jerk as he strokes a particularly sore spot. "Aw, Iwaizumi, that hurts." He doesn't stop, and you swear a slight glint of enjoyment even passes over his face when his fingertips curl deeper inside you. "Aw, aw, that hurts!"
"Hm, someone's still sore from before, huh." You nod, and try to reach behind you a little to dig your nails into his forearm- but he presses your wrist to your back with a pleased hum. "Well, maybe you deserve that, doll." Tears spring into your eyes, and you glare. God, you hate him. Even if he hadn't stolen you away from your family and locked you up in his fancy prison, even if he hadn't raped you and embarrassed you and hurt you- you'd hate him.
It lingers on the tip of your tongue when he pulls his fingers out of your wet, because of his spit and the motions only, pussy and slots them between his plush lips. Olive eyes find yours as your mouth opens, and maybe he knows you, because one brow lifts. I hate you. I hate you, you think, and bite your lip hard, but it doesn't come out of your mouth. Your body refuses, and you tear up more. Last time you said it left you choking on his cock for long enough to have you gagging your throat raw.
But your tongue still brushes your teeth, and you whimper when he rolls you over. "I-"
"You love me." He pats an impatient hand against your thigh, and you lift it to make room for his narrow hips and thick thighs. "You love," he kisses your leg, "me. This gives you meaning. You're right where you need to be." Of course his cock is already hard. Of course the flushes head is leaking a bead of precum, he can't ever help himself. "My doll. My little puppet."
He lines up, and his mouth corners twitch up a little when your lip is bitten painfully tight between your teeth. You cry out a little noise at the sting, the hurt, the already raw flesh getting overabused from the second he slides in-- shudders above you like he likes it. It hurts. It really really hurts, and yet, your cunt squeezes around him as wetness automatically lubes up his thick cock. "You love this, pretty girl. If you don't yet, you will."
storge, i.
. . . an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship, base on similarity.
MINORS DNI.
—This series will have nsfw themes + scenes.
wc: 1.6k | hanamaki takihiro, matsukawa issei, camgirl!reader.
— fluff, angst, suggestive ; established relationship, slowburn, mentions of sugar mommy/sugar baby relationship, usage of ‘slut’+ so unlike oikawa’s series, this second four-parter is going to be heavily suggestive and will have nsfw scenes. only +18 kids are allowed in this one, i’m sorry. but the next one after this is more light and humorous and will have context on what happened here!
masterlist. ; tip jar ! ; next: storge ii.
It doesn’t surprise you when the iced tea splashes down thickly and cold down Matsukawa Issei’s head and neck. You saw it coming as soon as Makki elbowed you, looked up, and saw the darkened aura of her expression and the vice-grip she had on the glass.
“I hope you live a miserable life, Matsukawa,” she forced through gritted teeth and glittering eyes. She didn’t spare either you or Makki a glance as she walked out to her awaiting friends, giving out their own curses with their eyes as they took her in their arms and out of the mess hall.
Keep reading
Incel Bakugou please :( him kidnapping darling and forcing her to be his slut because it’s the only thing she’s good for :(
I incorporated another ask I received about a Ghostface Bakugou into this, so enjoy~
BNHA ! FIC
Bakugou Katsuki x darling
TW: yandere, prank calling, breaking and entering, threats
tip-jar: Kofi
STRANGER
The time was a little after midnight. And you, despite being heavy-eyed and blinking, were still lying stomach-down, sprawled out on the couch.
Some dumb show about some dumb dysfunctional family was playing low on the TV in front of you – not much to your interest, it appeared, or at least not enough to cop your full attention – but enough to act as somewhat pleasing white noise, you didn’t mind letting lull you to sleep.
You were beginning to drool on the pillow your head lay resting on and looked to be struggling between the indecision of getting up to brush your teeth and the more tempting pleasant thought of simply sleeping right there, without the chores of getting ready for bed.
Your arm was mindlessly dangling towards the ground where the remote had slipped to some time ago, along with your phone that suddenly – just when it looked like you were about to fully nod off – started to ring.
Startled, you flinched at the sheer chimes buzzing loud beneath you. Waking by it as though it were the sound of an alarm going off, only it visibly wasn’t yet morning from the looks of the dark outside.
You groaned then, both out of ire and relief – happy it was still nighttime as you were still tired, yet reluctant to have to speak to someone for much of the same reason.
Hesitating for a small moment, thinking it was just a friend with some silly emergency – you were tempted to ignore it before guilt got in the way – where with a pinch between your brows and a big yawn, you swiped to answer it nonetheless.
Clicking speakerphone, you had your eyes still fully closed while croaking out a groggy and slightly bothered, “Hello?”
You expected to hear drunken cries and the muted thumps of base and beat and club chatter or something like it – all in all, at least a whiney girlish voice belonging to a friend – but none of the sorts was at the other end of the line.
“Hello.” It said, much awake compared to you in a voice dark and raspy – audibly altered by some type of scrambler, yet still clearly male.
Still, you didn’t really have the sensibility to think much of it just yet.
“Who’s this?” You asked.
“Who’s this?” He asked back, making your brows further scrunch.
“You’re the one calling?” You replied in askance, dragging your head from the pillow to peek down at the phone on the floor, viewing the caller ID – which gave you next to nothing aside from letting you know that your caller was unknown.
“You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine~” He offered then, and your suspicions of it being a prank call only solidified.
And although the corner of your mouth quirked upward by the sentiment, it was unfortunately just a bit late for you to be bothering with. “I’m a little too sleepy to humor pranks right now- I’m sorry. Try again later- bye~” You managed to muster through a yawn, hanging up and thinking that was the end of it.
Only, it didn’t take long for the phone to ring again.
“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” The same voice asked through the phone.
The thought of simply hanging up again crossed your mind, but at the same time, you didn’t really see the harm in talking with the man. After all, you were awake now anyway – and besides, given he was using a voice-scrambler, it wasn’t so unlikely that it was someone you knew.
And with that, you figured you’d humor them, if only for a little while before brushing your teeth. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”
“No~” It answered – still in that very altered voice that made it impossible to place.
“Well, my mother taught me better~” You joked with a tiny laugh, thinking the entire thing was kind of exciting now that you were sobering up – your mind slowly waking up and starting to spin. Not knowing exactly who was on the other end – whether it was a coworker or friend, or someone else entirely. You couldn't quite figure out who would bother to do such a thing in the dead of night – to you, of all people.
“Oh, come on~ aren’t you tired of being a goody-two-shoes?” He flirted back, and you giggled a little louder while picking the phone up from the floor.
“Fine then, Mr. Stranger~” You whispered slowly and coyly, rolling over to lay on your back instead before continuing. “What did you wanna talk to me about?”
A dark chuckle came back through the phone, making your stomach purr in turn before he spoke again. “What are you wearing?”
You paused at that – cheeks heating with teeth sinking deep into your lip. “Hm…” Looking down at your drab pajama, you didn’t exactly feel inclined to be truthful. “Sexy lingerie~” You tried instead, trying to keep from laughing while putting on your best mock-sultry voice.
“I don’t like liars.” The man answered. “I know you’re wearing pajamas.”
You pouted. “Okay, fine- you caught me.”
“Still sexy, though.” He added, making you giggle again.
“And you’re a little creepy, Mr. Stranger.” You stated with a tease, biting your lip with a smile while looking at the phone for his reply.
Only his answer wasn’t very nice. “You’re the one whoring around with an unknown man on the phone, slut.”
Your eyes widened before abruptly hanging up.
His voice had changed, and immediately the whole conversation didn’t feel very fun anymore. Suddenly mean-spirited, it soured into something that made you feel all in all rather stupid for even amusing in the first place.
But again… it only took a few seconds for the phone to ring a third time.
“Don’t hang up on me.” The same voice demanded.
And while feeling bored of the game, you sighed with a huff and asked him nonetheless, “What do you want?”
“I told you already, I want to know your name~” He said, his playful tone of voice back again – only this time, you weren’t at all charmed by it anymore.
“Why do you want to know my name?” You bit out sourly. Unsure why you were still on the phone and even more unsure why you even bothered picking up yet again at all.
“Well… ‘cause…” He began slowly with a pause, and your brows only sunk lower with his antics, finding yourself properly pissed until he uttered the next line – only now in a deeply unsettling whisper. “I want to know who I’m looking at.”
You went cold, with a chill running sharply down your spine.
Sitting up slowly, you held the phone tightly in your grip while looking at all the windows viewing the darkness outside.
“Oh~ you look cute when you’re scared~” He continued, and you jumped to your feet and stomped to the first window, drawing the curtains one after the other one until none remained.
“Quit calling.” You finished, hanging up for what you really wished would be the last time.
Seconds later, the phone rang again despite your wish. Only this time, you let it ring – deliberating whether you ought to call the police or simply ignore it until it stopped.
You went to check if the outer door was locked before padding back to the couch, listening to the phone finish ringing before beginning anew.
You figured he’d stop after a while, but minutes passed without a break until you finally picked up – not out of fear, but anger.
“I told you not to hang up on me!” He yelled, and you sneered.
“Listen, asshole-”
“No, you listen, you stupid bitch-” He interrupted. “If you hang up on me again, I’ll wring your little neck ‘til your eyes pop-”
You gaped at his threats but weren’t about to let yourself be bullied either. “If you don’t stop calling, the next call will be to the police!”
“Tch-” He scoffed before laughter spilled through the speaker. Louder and louder until it stopped with the next utterance. “Stupid pigs won’t make it in time.”
There was a crash of glass somewhere in the house, and you flinched while withholding a scream.
Fear hit you like a flash, robbing you of breath before your instinct took you towards the door.
Rushing, wide-eyed and goosefleshed, you swallowed thickly while trying to think. With your phone gripped tight in one hand, you tried pushing in the numbers to the police – while at the same time struggling with the lock to the door, shaking the knob with no fruition until finally pushing it open.
You cast a glance over your shoulder, viewing the empty house that now suddenly seemed much darker than before – ears going deaf with the rush of blood in your head, pumping thick from the panicked beating of your heart.
Taking a rushed springy step without yet facing forward, you had your mind set on running to the neighbors, only – instead of bursting out into the open street, you were sent back into the house – stumbling until you hit the floor with a wince.
Your phone slipped from your hand – not only crashing to the ground as hard as you did but smashing into a broken mess as well – now utterly useless.
A dark-cloaked figure stood at the threshold, taking up the entire frame.
“Silly bitch.” He said nonchalantly, stepping inside – shoulders broad and boots heavy with his face covered by a white mask. Then he laughed, raising a large knife that made you scurry back. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to let strangers inside the house?”
tip-jar: Kofi
Part 2 coming soon...
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