Your Life Is About To Blossom. Believe That.

Government Hooker

Synopsis. With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, popstar! reader, bodyguard! Toji, unprotected, brat-taming, spanking, choking, rough oral (male + female receiving), slight enemies-to-lovers, jealousy (Toji’s side), daddy kink, semi-public sex, manager! Nanami, creampie, power dynamics, dirty talk, stalking threats, TW. knife (brief), swearing.

Word count. 10.8k

A/N.  WHEWWWWWWWWW need some buff bodyguard Toji in my life. Slightly inspired by The Bodyguard.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

Pop Princess’ World Tour in Jeopardy After Stalking Threats

Dark Times for Pop Royalty: Will She Return for This Year’s Grammy Performance?

Is It Over For The International Sensation?

“Nanami, for the millionth time, do I look like I need a babysitter?” you squint at the headlines flashing across your phone screen, resisting the urge to fling it at the nearest wall. 

Sitting right in the middle of your whirlwind dressing room, you breathe in the heady air, thick with hairspray and anticipation for the upcoming shoot. Normally, you’d preen at the stylists swarming around you - but right now, their fussing only makes it all the more difficult to drive your manager dangerously close to an aneurysm.

As expected, Nanami drones out the same rehearsed response you’ve memorized word-for-word at this point. “My apologies, but with the severity of these threats, we can’t-”

“Afford to take any chances, I know I know.” Still, heart sinking, you scoff, “I understand, but 24/7 surveillance is insane. Can’t I have any-”

Bang!

To your chagrin - and perhaps Nanami’s mercy - the door flies open with a force that rattles its hinges. 

As the bustling activity in the dressing room freezes, your eyes immediately snap to the hulking figure at the door. Expression steely and vigilant, he strides in with a presence that demands attention. You can’t help but raise a brow at his audacity - and the unreal rippling of his muscles beneath that skin-tight t-shirt. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but that blue-haired freak Mojito at the front desk told me to come here.” a low rumble sweeps the room. 

Ah, this must be the one. Gesturing your stylists away, you square your shoulders - ready for a fight. “And who might you be”

“Name’s Fushiguro Toji, your new ‘babysitter’, princess.” he declares, voice gruff and unwavering over Nanami’s tired hum of “Bodyguard, he means bodyguard”. 

You narrow your eyes, studying the pure disinterest on his face. Great, just what you needed - you didn’t claw your way to the top to be scared and controlled by some loser stalker. Tilting your head defiantly, “Hmm, you don’t look like much of a bodyguard.”

Toji’s lips twitch into a sardonic smirk, gaze meeting yours with a hint of challenge, “Mhm, and you don’t act like much of a princess.”

You could almost hear the record screech to a halt. Everyone holding their breath, eyes locked on you as an agonizing beat of silence passes, half the room on the verge of fainting.

One. Two.

A startled laugh bursts from your lips. Shattering the tension in that dressing room as swiftly as the mirror in your stylist’s hand would’ve had you remained quiet a second longer. 

The audacity of this man. No one’s ever spoken to you like that before. 

Toji’s grin widens at your unexpected reaction, that sinful little scar on his lips stretching in amusement. Some small, strange part of him satisfied at passing your invisible test.

“Well, look at that, didn’t expect ya to have a sense of humor.” he comments, tone positively dripping with sarcasm, as if toying with you.

Plastering on that painfully saccharine sweet smile usually saved for nosy interviewers, you mockingly bat your lashes. “And I didn’t expect to have a babysitter breathing down my neck.” 

“Oh don’t expect me to babysit, princess. I don’t get paid nearly enough for that. According to that hardass manager of yours, my job is to keep you safe. Whether you like it or not.” 

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to your make-up artist, clearly done with this tedious conversation. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I have a knack for losing unwanted company.”

And if there’s one thing you’ve come to learn with Toji Fushiguro, it’s that you do not have a knack for losing unwanted company. Especially not him. 

Wherever you went, Toji was there first - it didn’t matter how fast you escaped, or how many hats and masks you put on. He was everywhere.

He was there when you slipped away to swap sunglasses with a passing stranger, convinced you’d outsmarted your looming bodyguard. But your triumphant laugh caught in your throat as you heard that familiar chuckle behind you - whirling around to find him sporting your ill-fitting shades with an amused glint in his eyes.

He was there during a chaotic fashion show, where you blended seamlessly amongst the flurry backstage, hoping to escape Toji’s watchful gaze. Heart pounding, making it all the way to the elevator. You’d barely let out a breath of relief before large hands intercept the closing doors. Towering figure stepping inside with a knowing grin, “Going somewhere, princess?”

Hell, he was even there when you hatched a plan to ditch him on the tarmac of the bustling airport. Making a dash for your private plane, and settling into your plush seat with smug satisfaction. Ah, at least you’ll have a few hours of peace until Tokyo without-

“Damn, first class is nice. Must be nice to be pretty and rich.” a low whistle causes you to groan inwardly (and outwardly).

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter under your breath, at the man seated right beside you. At this point, you half expected him to be keeping guard outside as you shower.

Toji was always there. Steadfast as ever, firm chest always blocking whatever escape plan you’ve concocted. In all your years in the spotlight, you’ve never felt so frustrated. The dawning realization that there was no escape matching your slowly slipping sanity as you kick off the first stop of your world tour - Tokyo.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Tokyo that everything changes. 

Electricity crackling in the air, deafening roars of your name in your ears - you stand center stage. This was where you belonged - where you felt alive. 

Pouring your soul into your words, stage lights dance across your skin, as frantic as the adrenaline in your veins. The crowd before you was a living, breathing entity, swept away with energy and excitement.

The music swells to a crescendo as your voice carries across the arena, limelight following you spellbound.

In the intoxicating performance, you don’t notice a pair of widened green eyes doing the same, goosebumps rising along his skin. Gaze fixed on you with an intensity that rivaled the spotlight itself. A silent reverie. 

As the final notes of your song echoed through the arena you felt a rush of euphoria wash over you. Lights dimming, you draw a long breath, savoring the crackling energy onstage. A high that left you craving for more.

With a grateful smile, you bow deeply, screams and applause reverberating in your ears like thunder. 

The cheers continue to ring in your ears as you’re whisked away, backstage buzzing with excitement and anticipation over the special guests for the VIP event. Enveloped by your team, you navigate through the labyrinthine corridors of the arena.  

You catch Toji’s eye from where he flanked your right, your brow raising ever-so-slightly as if silently asking, “C’mon, didn’t I kill it out there?” 

But before you can decipher the fleeting expression on his face, the moment is shattered by a sudden commotion up front. 

“Hey, over here! Is it true there's a stalker after you? Is it to boost album sales?”

“Can you confirm the rumors that you're cozying up with Satoru from Tokyo Special Grades? The fans want answers!”

“Hey! How do you respond to critics who call you a has-been? Come on, speak up!”

You’re barely given a second to breathe before the paparazzi descend upon you like vultures. Bodies jostling urgently as rapidfire questions and incessant flashes make you see stars behind your eyes. 

Trying to block out the swarm of questions, you close your eyes amidst the dizzying chaos, trying to find some semblance of stability.

And stability finds its way in the strong arm that wraps protectively around you, pressing you close against a sculpted chest.

Toji.

“Don’ worry, princess, I’ll get you outta here.” hot breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers creeping down your spine. 

Pulled impossible close to his muscled frame, his steady heartbeat grounds you - while yours stutters as Toji’s voice cuts through the clamor like a knife. “Back off, vultures. Show some respect or I’ll make sure ya regret it.” 

Steely gaze almost provoking - as if anyone would dare challenge the imposing, almost frightening presence in the middle of the room. The paparazzi, momentarily stunned, falter in their pursuit, allowing Toji to carve a path through the chaos.

Hands still tight around you, as you’re hastily escorted away from the chaos, you steal a glance at Toji’s profile, illuminated by the harsh flashes of the cameras. Finding some intrusive little part of you that thrills at the raw intensity, cheeks flaring in response.

He’s so warm. 

You could almost cry as those gaudy VIP doors swing open, swiftly ushering you to safety. They slam shut, sealing off the cacophony outside. In the soft lounge music wafting through the air, you’re left with the nagging awareness of Toji’s body heated against yours.

Embarrassment floods through you like a tidal wave as you register the way you’re still clinging on to him. Abruptly pushing away, you take a larger step back than was probably appropriate. 

In the dimly lit room, you couldn’t make out exactly what was twinkling in Toji’s eyes as they flicker to you. But what you could see was that amused grin curling his lips as you uncharacteristically stumble over your words, “Thank you- Uh, for the way I-”

“Princess~!” Words choke in your throat as a flash of white and blue barrels into you, sending you reeling backward. Playful laughter ringing through the air. 

“S-Satoru?” you stammer, caught off guard. Before you’ve fully recovered, he’s pulling you into a bruising hug, nearly knocking you off your feet. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Satoru purrs, voice velvety as he leans in. “You absolutely killed it out there tonight.”

“Oh my gosh, Satoru! I haven’t seen you in forever.” A laugh escapes your lips, though the lingering warmth from Toji’s proximity still prickles at the edges of your consciousness. “What are you even doing here?”

Satoru chuckles, gaze lingering on you, “Couldn’t miss the biggest concert in Tokyo since ours, duh.” His energy was infectious, and you find yourself smiling along. “Thank you Satoru.” 

As Satoru continues to chatter animatedly about the concert, you distinctly realize that Toji has slipped into the background. Where was he? You find your eyes darting around the room in search of his familiar presence, slowly noticing the lack of Satoru’s bandmates in the process.

Your curiosity piqued, you couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, where are the rest of Tokyo Special Grades? I thought you guys were inseparable”

He shrugs it off casually, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially “Rehearsal. Don’t let ‘em know I’m here.”

As you titter at his antics, he gives you a playful nudge, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So…since the band’s away, how about you and me grab a drink together?.”

Something heavy pools in your stomach as those familiar words ring in your ears, hanging in the air - you knew all too well what he meant. 

Skin still tingling with the lingering heat of Toji’s touch, your eyes sweep the room for him one last time. Some strange part of your heart pangs when you find that those piercing green eyes, always studying you so intently, are nowhere to be found.

“Lead the way, Satoru.”

---

The world was rocking, as were Satoru’s fingers on you. Softly tracing along your collarbone, touch searing as he pushes you against the wall of your hotel room. 

Shivers run down your spine, all the way to your heated core. Breaths mingling, a desperate hunger ignites in the air as your fingers just barely graze against the buttons of his overpriced button-up. 

Tension reaching its peak, fingers hazily fumbling with those tedious buttons-

Bang!

You both startle as the door swings open, breaking the heady atmosphere inside. Dazed, you whirl your head towards the intruder standing at the door - Toji. Seems he had a penchant for dramatic entrances. 

Toji stands in the doorway, his gaze dark and unreadable. Without a word, he strides into the room, narrowed eyes flickering between you and Satoru.

“What the hell is going on here?” Toji’s voice is low and dangerous, cutting through the tense silence hanging in the air.

Satoru tries to play it cool, though you catch his easy smirk faltering slightly, “Oh? The bodyguard, right? What brings you here, my man?”

Ignoring the question - and Satoru altogether - Toji turns to you, eyes never leaving yours. “24/7 means 24/7. As your bodyguard, I can’t permit some stranger to get too close.” he asserts.

Mind still burning with lust, you feel red-hot irritation simmering beneath your skin. Fists clenching at the tone that leaves no room for argument. 

“I don’t recall signing up for a warden.” you snap, sharp and defiant. 

Toji’s expression remains impassive, but there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I’m not here to argue, princess. My job here is just to keep you safe, princess.” 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief - this was ridiculous. “Uh, newsflash, Toji. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“You little brat-”

Before the argument can escalate further, Satoru cuts in, his voice uncharacteristically calm and conciliatory. “Hey, it's okay, man. I’ll just leave,” he says, stepping away from you and raising his hands in surrender.

You shoot Satoru a look of frustration, torn between the desire for independence and for someone to fucking make you cum, and the unsettling feeling of vulnerability that Toji’s presence somehow seems to evoke. As the door slams shut - not before a playful hum of “Call me, princess~!” - a deafening silence envelopes the room. 

The room that now feels too small. Too hot. Thighs still quivering in anticipation.

Shit. 

Mind racing, you don’t catch the way Toji’s gaze softens slightly, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, princess. But I can’t take any chances, I’m here to protect you.” 

“Enough with this ‘princess’ crap.” Running a hand through your hair, you let out an exasperated sigh, trying desperately to quell the storm of emotions swirling uncomfortably inside you. “And protect me from what? A harmless hookup?”

“From whoever is sending those threats,” Toji growls. “Until we catch them, you’re not allowed to be alone with anyone.”

Frustration reaching a boiling point, you storm up to him. “Fine, then you can stay here and watch me 25/8 for all I care. But, what are you going to do about that?” each word punctuated by a hard poke to his sculpted chest, laced with defiance - but also something raw and primal.

Green eyes darkening with intensity, you watch his jaw clench in restraint. He takes a step impossibly close, the air crackling with something you couldn’t name.

“You don’t get to play games with me, princess,” he warns, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

But - as always - you refuse to back down. Heart racing, mind hazy, you stand close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. A hand reaching out to grasp his large ones, manicured nails digging into the heated skin. In one, fluid motion, you place his hand in between your skirt, heated core soaking through your thin panties. 

“I’m not playing games, Toji.”

Before you can react, your back hits the wall. Surface cool on your heated skin. A brick-hard body is against yours, you could almost sink into him at how close he was pressed. 

Heat rushing to your cheeks, slick gushing to your cunt, your eyes lock with Toji’s darkened ones. He murmurs, words low and making your pussy jump in anticipation, “Didn’t expect you to be so filthy, princess.”

You lean in, lips mere inches away from his, whispering seductively. “Oh you have no idea.”

You didn’t expect those to be the words that make him snap - then again, you didn’t expect him to snap so easily either.

Toji’s eyes widen slightly, his jaw dropping open as he processes your words. He stares at you darkly for a moment, gaze traveling over your flushed cheeks, your devilish grin, and finally settling on your heaving chest.

Toji pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other roughly tearing your skirt off your waist. Flimsy cloth hitting the carpeted floor. 

“Hey! Those are Dolce and-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before his lips capture yours. Words catching in your throat as his tongue plunges unforgivingly into your mouth. 

Hands groping and teasing every inch of skin they could find. Kneading your breasts through your shirt, biting down hard on your bottom lip.

A desperate whine that you definitely would’ve been embarrassed about had you been in the right state of mind leaves your lips as something achingly hard grazes your core. Shit, you had an inkling but he was going to split you apart. Mindlessly wondering whether you’ll have to cancel the photoshoot tomorrow. Hips bucking for more more more-

“Patience, princess.” he murmurs, hotly against your lips. Thick fingers slipping beneath your panties - ripping them off. You gasp as the cold air hits your cunt, thighs quivering at the neat fingernail grazing your swollen folds. “You need to be taught a lesson first.”

You’re not in the mood for patience. But whatever retort gets stuck on the tip of your tongue as a long finger circles your throbbing clit. Tight, urgent little circles that inch you closer and closer to insanity. “F-faster-”

“You’ll take what I give, my lil’ slut.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

Ah, but alas - thank god for Toji Fushiguro being a merciful man. At least for the moment.

Pressing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your body, dropping to his knees with urgency of a madman. Gaze fiery fiery with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine - you were in for it. 

Licking his lips, tongue catching on that small scar by the corner, he dives nose-deep into your needy pussy. Bed mere meters away, Toji takes you right against the wall. 

His hungry gaze devours you just as greedily as the mouth on your cunt. “Ah! Hah- Oh, Toji!” you gasp, arching into his hurried yet expert tongue. Harsh, purposeful movements that send electric shocks straight to your core. 

“Not Toji, princess.” he murmurs, lips hot against your own. Urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

Something hot and sticky coils at your stomach - maybe at the way his tongue was crooking just right to tease your dripping entrance, bullying its way past your swollen folds. Or maybe at the way the realization has your slick beading out of your pulsing pussy.

“D-daddy?” you whimper, almost-experimentally. 

And apparently it was the right answer, as Toji lets out a guttural groan into your snug cunt. Nose catching against your abused clit, rubbing hurried little circles. Tongue stretching out your snug walls, pooling your juices, unforgivingly dipping in and out in and out in and-

Speeding up now, his tongue has you losing your mind in ways you didn’t even know were possible. “Hngh- faster. Fuck me like you want it, daddy.” you whine, hips grinding further into his mouth.. 

And he lets you. In your lust-addled mind you barely have time to think about this strange act of mercy - only thinking of how close you were. So close. So fucking close. Mere moments away from shattering completely. Mind filled with only Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Didn’t think I’d be so nice to ya, did you, princess?”

Orgasm slipping through your fingers, your crash from euphoria matches that of your heart.

Ah, Toji could cream his pants at the way your face fell so adorably as he pulled away. Delicate strings of spit and slick still connecting him to your slutty pussy. 

“Toji?” you mewl, bruised lips falling into a pretty pout that made him want to throw caution to the find and stuff you full of his cock right now. But no, he had to teach his lil’ princess a thing or two about not getting everything she wants.

“Patience, princess.” With a grin, Toji warns, voice husky and sending shivers down your spine and making you grind your hips against his lips. Before you can whine in disappointment, a sharp smack! cuts through the heady air. The sound hits you before the realization that Toji hit you. 

A sharp slap against your ass, the impact shocking you briefly before arousal takes over. You yelp at the sting, eyes widening in surprise.

“Wha-”

“Count to ten, then I’ll let you cum. You need to learn a thing or two about listening, brat.”

You stare at him defiantly, your heart pounding in your chest. A silent staredown that only makes heat pool more and more desperately at your core. Deafening need, slick dripping down your legs pathetically.

“O-one.” you whisper, voice strained with frustration and barely audible.

He watches you like a predator stalking his prey, eyes never leaving your face. Smack!

His hand connects with your ass again, a low hum of appreciation at the mewl leaving your kiss-bitten lips at the pain and filthy pleasure. Your ass stinging as much as your dripping cunt.

“...two.”

Apparently approving of your obedience, he dives back in with a low growl. Burning his face between your thighs, because fuck oxygen - breathing couldn’t compare to how sweet you were on his tongue.

Lapping up your sensitive folds, scar rough against them, teasing. Edging your climax and your sanity like the merciless bastard he was. Smack! 

“Hah- ah! Two- Oh, jus’ like that-” Broken, raw moans escape your lips as he continues his torture. Ah, he loved this view. The people’s princess, so teary and falling apart because of him.

In the obscenity of it all, thick fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. The lack of preparation makes you squeeze around Toji’s tongue as they pump into your sloppy hole relentlessly. In and out in and out- 

Smack!

“Th-three- hngh-”

Purposefully missing that one spot Toji knew would have you seeing stars. You haven’t earned that yet.

Blood rushes straight to his cock as you throw your head back, letting out a strangled sob. “Daddy, let me cum. Wanna cum on your tongue. Ah-” Oh, you clever minx, knew exactly what made his leaking cock throb with need. For that you get two sharp smacks on each cheek. 

“F-four. Five.” you’re in tears at this point. Delicate little streaks down your cheeks to where Toji had his face buried in your cunt.

“Tha’s right, princess.” Toji praises, voice thick with desire and sending vibrations that make your walls clench. “Tell me how badly you need it.”

Body convulsing uncontrollably around his hot tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge - only to reel you back again. Denying you. Chipping away at your sanity bit by bit. A hand reaches to grab a fistful of his silky black locks, tugging needily - and you get punished accordingly. 

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“E-eight! Hngh- please.” 

“Please!” you moan, voice raw with need and desperation. Finally breaking for him - being pushed this far with anyone before. “Please, let me cum. Please please wanna cum-.” Close. You were so close that it hurt.

Ever the merciful man, he forgives this little transgression. Only continuing to cup your sore cheeks possessively, hands mapping the expanse of your heated skin.

“Please, Daddy.” you choke, a broken whisper. Now exhausted, knees weakening, it’s all you can do to not collapse on the floor, Toji’s strong hold on your hip to control you being the only thing holding you up.

Several things happen at once. You barely even feel the final two, sharp slaps - too far gone to register anything other than the rough thumb pressing on your sensitive clit. Hard. 

And then you’re cumming. 

Body convulsing and bowing into him, crying out raw moans of Toji’s name as you cream around his tongue. Your vision blurs at the edges, grip searing on Toji’s hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him impossibly closer to ride out your high on his pretty face. 

White-hot pleasure courses through your entire body, thighs quivering delicately around his face as you chase peak after peak. 

As the stars behind your eyes disappear into nothingness, you’re left limp and boneless, held up against the wall with a single, muscled hand.

Toji - ever the gentleman, supports you with a steady arm before you slip down the wall, valiant knees finally giving out. 

Blinking your vision back, you catch a glimpse of his achingly hard erection. Straining painfully against his trousers, a dark patch right where his thick head was. And despite your severely fucked out state, your mouth still waters.

Obviously catching your line of sight, he adjusts his uncomfortably tight pants. Steering your still-lustfully delirious self to the bed. “You were such a good girl f’me, princess. Let’s stay that way, hm?”

You blink up at him, confusion clouding your mind. Did he just compliment you? You must be mistaken. 

But as you look into his eyes, you see a genuine twinkle of fondness mixed in with the desire that makes your skin burn. A heady combination. One that makes your mind spin, even as you’re carefully placed on the soft bed. Even as he swiftly closes the door with a low whisper of “Rest now, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” leaving no room for argument.

Sinking into the soft mattress, a strange surge of euphoria rushes through you as you realize two things:

Nothing would ever be the same. 

It was going to be your personal challenge to make Toji Fushiguro crack. 

Heart racing, feet thumping tersely against the plush carpet, for perhaps the first time in years, Fushiguro Toji is taken aback. The heavenly sight of you falling apart underneath him searing into his brain. Something coiling uncomfortably in his stomach, rushing all the way to his throbbing dick. But, right now, the only thing he’s thinking of being to fucking find somewhere to fuck his fist to the memory.

---

Your third night in Tokyo was a whirlwind of lights and camera flashes. And yet, in the midst of it all you still escaped - this time with Toji - claiming “security talks”. Pulling him into an abandoned green room, your glossy lips capture his with searing passion. Pulling away teasingly, breathless, only once you were sure you’d kissed him silly and achingly hard. And promptly skipping away to bother your make-up artist.

Ah, yet the stubborn bastard still didn’t crack.

It’s in Melbourne where you learned that Toji was much more than just a bodyguard. Finally bothering him enough to join you out rather than shadow you for the first time. Dragging him to a tiny karaoke booth tucked away in a dimly lit corner of town, belting out your favorite tunes to him while he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. And if you caught a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, well, neither of you said anything. 

Your glittering heels were placed teasingly in his lap, chattering away as he drove you two back, your favorite pastime as of late. A silent dare, almost goading. His steely gaze trained on the bustling road and that one annoying blue car trying to swerve him. 

“So, Toji, in your military stint ever tried to sneak away incognito but wear a disguise so bad you end up on the front page?”

He chuckles, eyes flickering down at your feet resting comfortably on him. “Can’t say I have, but I once mistook a high-ranking officer for a recruit. Had him doing push-ups before I realized my mistake.”

You burst into laughter, sound echoing in the car. Feet brushing against him right there - just a little accident, right?

But it takes until Paris for you two to break.

In the chic confines of your favorite studio in Nanterre, the scent of freshly brewed coffee heavy in the air, you find yourself chattering away on call with Gojo Satoru. His voice crackling through the speaker amidst the glow of studio lights.

“That beat you sent is pure magic, Satoru. It’s perfect!” you hum, excitement bubbling in your voice as you bob your head to the soft music playing in the background. 

Satoru’s response is immediate, enthusiasm matching yours, “See, what did I tell ya. Can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with. You sure I get no sneak peaks for this secret lil’ project of yours?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thought so, but anyway, how’s the City of Love been treating you, darling?” he teases.

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully, “Please, Satoru. You know I’m too busy dodging Toji for any of that.”

Satoru chuckles knowingly on the other end of the line, “Ah yes. From what happened last time, I imagine he’s been a welcome distraction, huh? Hey, is his dick really as big as his BDE is?”

“Oh fuck off.” you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. “And for that, I’m leaving.” 

Swiftly ending the call, you cut off Satoru’s protests. Slight embarrassment coursing through your veins at how apparently obvious you two had been. A strange pang of longing flickers in your chest as you realize you haven’t seen Toji all day - Nanami mentioned something about a security briefing for your closely upcoming Grammy performance.

You sigh at the irony of the situation - just when you thought you got that freedom you’d been yearning for so long, you find yourself wanting for that musclehead presence even more. 

Shaking your head, you turn back to your mixing console, ready to throw yourself into the music once more. Yet before you could, your phone buzzes with a new notification. A quick glance reveals that familiar contact name and a series of messages that have your cheeks flaring once more. 

Blind rat #4 🧿🧿:

You better not block me for this but is this secret project for that bodyguard? You whipped WHORE~~

LMAO JKJK IK you don’t write songs about other people.

Unless…

As that block button was tapped, it’s said that Satoru’s piercing shriek echoed across in all 23 wards of Tokyo - making the people fear an oncoming Godzilla attack.

“Damn Satoru.” you grumble, tossing your phone onto the leather sofa in the corner. “Always saying stupid thi-”

But as you turn around, your breath catches in your throat. There, standing in the doorway, is Toji. His presence filling the space, commanding attention with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Toji?” you breathe, surprise mingling with a rush of conflicting emotions. “I didn’t expect the briefing to end so soon-”

“What’s this about that brat Satoru, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. 

He raises his head to meet your gaze, and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. Oh, those eyes. Your skin feels heated in the crackling air. “Nothing.” you reply - almost suspiciously quickly - the words tumbling out in a rush, “Just Satoru being...well, Satoru.”

Toji’s lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes among that carnal look. “I see,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you. You have half the mind to step back - but why would you ever.

“Y’know, I didn’t think you still talk with that white-haired clown.” his minty breath fans your face, darkened eyes searching yours. And you can see the question forming in them before he even asks. “You still plan on fuckin’ him when you go back to Tokyo?”

And usually you’d bristle. Usually, that hardened part of you that never takes shit would rear her head and give Toji an earful. Usually. But right now, a dangerous idea was taking root in your head. 

Heat rushing to your core at the look in his eyes that said he wanted to devour you alive, you simply tilt your head coyly. 

“So what?” A smirk playing on your lips, “Gonna do something about it, daddy? Or are you just gonna leave me all hot and bothered like you have-”

Your back hits the leather sofa before you even realize what is happening. 

Bouncing at the sheer force of his throw, you let out a yelp of surprise. Skirt riding up, legs splaying out so sinfully for him. 

The cushion dips as he looms closer, approaching you unhurriedly like a predatory closing in on its prey. A dangerous little smirk playing on your lips, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. A carnal part of you relishing in the way his eyes can’t seem to decide between your soaked panties and the way you bite your lips so coyly.

“If you’re that desperate, then you’re gonna get it, my lil’ slut” 

He’s on top of you now, tongue hot against your neck, leaving heated, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. You yelp as sharp teeth dig into the soft skin. Hands exploring every inch of you, desperate for more - and you’re no better.

Sharp nails digging into that sinfully tight t-shirt, all but tearing it to shreds. Your mouth waters as it hits the floor, Toji’s chiseled body on full display. Your eyes greedily take in every curve and dip, hands reaching out to grope the toned skin. Pulling. Teasing. Not enough time in the world to savor the Adonis that was Toji Fushiguro.

His hands were pulling up your shirt haphazardly. Bunching your panties with two fingers, pulling down down down till your cunt was bare and spread open so shamefully for him. “Shit, so wet n’ ready. This for me or that brat, huh?” he grunts cruelly, lowering himself beside you to murmur in your ear.

“Now, on your knees, princess. Be a good lil’ slut for me and don’t make me wait.”  breath hot against your ears, making you shudder so sinfully. It made him want to eat you alive.

You consider disobeying him, just to face his delicious punishment. But that predatory look in his eyes has you immediately dropping to the ground in front of him.

Your hungry gaze takes in the heavenly sight before you. Legs spread, eyes half-lidded, pants pulled down just enough so that his heavy, leaking cock bobbing enticingly in the air. 

Eyes widening, your cunt clenches in both fear and anticipation. Shit, maybe this was why he was holding back. 

He was big. Ridiculously big, and rock-hard. Furiously red with thick veins running down the side, glistening with precum.

“C’mon now, if you’re gonna act like such a slut then learn to take it like one, princess.” Saliva pools on your tongue, warm as it hits Toji’s thick tip, achingly hard. A carnal part of you relishes in the low hiss that leaves him. 

Your tongue snakes out, unable to hold yourself back any longer. Swiping at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. The sinfully salty taste explodes on your tongue, sending shocks of pleasure right to your cunt.

You feel his intense gaze on you as your mouth wraps around his thick head, inching down slowly. Stretching your lips obscenely, filling you up in ways you never thought were possible. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat as he pulses in your throat. It was overwhelming and everything you wanted to be doing right now.

Ah, but you should’ve known by now. Should’ve realized as your teary eyes look up to meet the dangerous glint in his. 

With a feral groan, his hips thrust forward. You were too slow. 

Hardening impossibly at the way you choke and gag around him, tears springing to your eyes. Using you in a way that was so debauched. “Hah- Fuck. love it when you sing, princess, but you look better choking on my cock.”

Your nose was buried in his pubic hair now, wet with saliva and precum. His heady, masculine scent filling your senses. Toji’s thrusts were jerky, desperate. 

Grip searing on your scalp, Toji uses it as leverage as he fucks your face till his tip hits your poor, abused throat. Moving you up and down on his cock with mindless need, hips rutting with reckless abandon.

Yet, you wanted more. Needed more. More more more. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, splitting you open, making you come harder than you ever thought possible.

And you’re guessing it showed on your dazed eyes. Because a broken, dangerous laugh leaves him. His grip on your hair intensifies, pulling your head back roughly until your eyes water. “More? You want fucking more? Then prove it.” 

Toji’s thrusts increase in speed, his raspy grunts becoming louder and louder as he rams his cock deeper into your mouth, your pussy throbbing in response.

You moan around his erection, unable to form coherent sentences due to his length stretching your throat. 

Without hesitation, you reach up and grab his balls, massaging them firmly as you suck him deeper. Pressing right in between that one spot you knew would make him see stars. Pressing tight little circles. Over and over-

An appreciative groan leaving him, Toji’s thrusts become erratic. Movements growing frantic. “Fuck, Fuck, princess, you're going to be the death of me,” he curses, his voice strained.

You rub your thighs together desperately, relaxing your throat more, refusing to let go. Desperate to taste him, to experience the blissful agony of his seed painting your mouth. But when has Toji ever let you have your way? Never, that’s when.

Instead, he yanks your head back, pulling you off his cock with a rough, almost cruel motion. Your lips pop free, leaving his sensitive head exposed to the cool air. Gasping for breath, your chest heaves as you try to regain your composure.

Before you can even register what's happening, Toji pulls you into him, forcing you on your hands and knees. Large hands grasp your waist, holding you firmly in place. “Face down, ass up. You’re going to take it like a good little slut.”

Delicious goosebumps erupt down your spine. Licking a long, languid stripe down your back along them as you position yourself before him, Toji couldn’t help but huff out a dangerous laugh at your sinful gasp.

Mouth watering at your glistening cunt, clenching so pathetically around nothing, Toji pools your juices on two of his fingers. Promptly pushing them into his mouth with a lewd pop! groaning at his favorite taste. “Next time, I’m gonna eat out your pretty lil’ cunt while you suck on my cock, princess.”

“Please, daddy. Anything.”

Fingers circling your wet entrance, your words were music to Toji’s ears. Music that mingles with your needy, disappointed whine as he abruptly pulls away. But that doesn’t last too long - with low hiss, he buries his throbbing cock into your dripping cunt with almost no preparation.  

You keen at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

Toji was hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump sending white-hot pleasure down your spine.

“Ah- are- are you all the way in, daddy?” he hears you whimper, voice tinged with helpless desperation. Huffing out a laugh, Toji’s greedy gaze catches on the obscene sight of you sucking him up so sinfully below. “Not even close, princess.”

Pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts that have your hot cunt enveloping him deeper and deeper. Cock hardening impossibly at the soft ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he rams into you. If you wanted it so bad, you were going to get all of it. A hoarse groan leaves him as his heavy balls meet your twitching folds, fat tip kissing your cervix - finally bottoming out. 

Now, Toji knows he’s big - takes pride in it, in fact. But he’s never been more proud of the fact than right now, hungry gaze taking up the way your eyes widen in shock, snug walls clenching down with the struggle to accommodate him. 

“You alright, princess?” he taunts, voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your face twist with a mix of pleasure and pain. “Can’t your slutty lil’ pussy handle my cock?” Tell me, he as big as me? 

And, of course, you snap back - because you’re mouthy even when you’re whining around his thick cock. Ah, next time he’s gotta make you choke on it for longer. 

“Fuck you, daddy.” your response is a feral growl, hips desperately trying to fuck back into his. “If you’re not all talk then fuck me like you want to already.”

Smack! 

A sharp slap stinging your cheek, you groan in response as absolutely raw, carnal fucking need courses through Toji’s veins. Intoxicating him. Oh, he was going to ruin you. Grinning cruelly, he utters “Then take it. And don’t fucking complain.”

With that, he begins to move. Not easing in, ramming into you with animalistic efficiency. Your ass stinging as each thrust has his hips meeting yours brutally. Toji’s pretty sure his hips were out of control at this point, high off your teary cries of pain and pleasure. That cluttered studio heady with sex and pure, animalistic desperation.”S’good- ah! S’too much-”

Smack!

There’s no going back now. Toji fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits, and you love every painful second of it.

Vision blurring at the edges, you reach out a hand to grab the armrest for stability. Body jerking with each movement, his bruising grip on your hips the only thing keeping you from being fucked off the sofa.

“Who’s fucking ruining you like this?”

“You! Jus’  like that. Fucking ruin me, daddy.” Legs shaking uncontrollably, arching impossibly deeper onto his throbbing cock, you whine each time his length slides in and out of your swollen folds. “Harder…please, harder.” you plead, fucked out.

For perhaps the first time, he obliges, increasing his speed mindlessly. God, you were sure both of you were about to explode any second now. 

Fucked out of your mind, you barely register the muscled front pressing into you, abs rippling against your back. Large hands snake from your hips, leaving deep, purple marks for you to remember him by. 

Smack! 

Another handprint on your ass, as you frantically move your hips to meet Toji’s unforgiving cadence. Sensing your urgency, one of his hands finds itself on your throbbing clit, drawing methodical, harsh circles on it. Pressing just enough to have you seeing stars being your eyes. And the other - digging into your neck.

Your frantic moans choke in your throat, feeling fucking delirious off both the change in angle and the hand around your throat. Eyes flashing at the lack of air and the blood roaring in your ears - and Toji. 

“Open your mouth, princess.” he grows, voice dangerously close to your ears, cock still driving into yours with brutal precision. The intensity of the moment - electric. 

Mindlessly, you comply, tongue lolling out so lewdly. That’s when he does it - without warning, he spits into your open mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.

Steady stream of saliva slightly missing your face - on purpose, you absentmindedly realize - as it dribbles over your kiss-bitten lips and down the side of your face. A marking. 

“No one else gets to fuck you like this, princess.”

Hot on your tongue, sliding down to your throat. He tasted of such sin, it made your cunt clamp down hard.

“Now, what do good girls say?” he grits out, through clenched teeth. The absolute insanity in his voice matching the frenzy coiling inside of you.

“Thank you, daddy.”

You reach around to capture his lips with yours, nails digging into his neck hard enough to draw blood - a marking of your own. White-hot ropes of pleasure making you gasp into his lips - tender where his cock was unforgiving.

In the lewd haze of the moment you’re dimly aware of Toji’s body shuddering above you, throbbing cock twitching deeply in your pussy.

“Oh, fuck! M-hah- M’cumming, better take every drop like my good lil’ slut. Fuck.” 

You flinch as he groans ragged profanities into your mouth. Tight balls squeezing painfully as he cums with a loud groan of your name. Thick, hot ropes that paint your walls white. Two large arms wrap bruisingly tight around your waist, veins popping out as he crushes you impossibly close to him. Toji’s hips not giving up their torture on your abused, awaiting cunt, pumping his seed deeper and deeper. 

Full. You feel so full. And so, so complete. 

You can feel such an obscene mix of your slick and his cum mapping down your legs every time his hips slam into yours. Dripping onto the cushion, pooling at the sofa in a way so sloppy, you knew you’d have to scour online later for a replacement.

Stomach now feeling uncomfortably inflated and hot, vision blurry, you collapse onto the cushion. The last of your strength leaving you with the orgasm that you’re sure fried your brain. You mewl at both the sensitivity and the sudden emptiness as Toji pulls out with a wet pop!

A rush of cum gushes out of you, drenching both you and the cushion below. Limp and boneless beneath him,  you let out a sigh at the heat of his release seeping into your skin.

A soft silence fills the room like a lullaby. Everything feels so heavy. So dizzying and so warm. You barely register the strong hands lifting you gently towards the direction of the bathroom. The only thing on your mind being Toji and what a privilege it was to fall asleep in someone’s arms. You wouldn’t really mind this every night…

And in the dim lighting of that heady studio, fucked to sleep and covered in sweat and his cum, Toji thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful.

His heart lurches as he realizes - in all of Paris, the one sight he wants to look at is you. His pretty popstar.

---

“For the last time. I don’t do celebrities, especially not spoiled pretty popstars.”

Undeterred, the blond man leans forward in his chair, his expression indiscernible behind those glasses. “We’re told you’re the best of the best, even from ex-military. And if money’s the issue then I’ll double- no, triple whatever you’re making right now.”

Jaw tightening, skepticism dripped from his words. “All this for some celebrity drama?” 

“Fushiguro, we’re talking big people, and even bigger money. And a girl’s life in genuine danger on top of it all,” a hint of desperation creeping into words that cut through the tense air. 

“Genuine danger, huh?”

Toji runs a hand through his hair, questioning what the fuck he got himself into by opening the door for this human definition of a stick up one’s ass. Mind racing, eyes darting around the room, they catch yours - twinkling on the glossy cover of some magazine thrown haphazardly on the table. 

Traitorously, something prickly and uncomfortable settles in his stomach as the words ring in his ears. 

Genuine danger. 

Heaving out a sigh, he narrows his eyes at the man currently studying his reaction. 

“A year. That’s it. No more, no less. I don’t care if that prima donna princess of yours begs on her knees otherwise.”

But right now, your twinkling gaze set on him, lips curved into a blinding smile as you waltz through Los Angeles International Airport - as much as you could with your entourage - some small, raw part of him thinks he wouldn’t mind staying like this for a long, long time. 

LAX was probably one of your favorite airports. Not because of its size or architecture, but because of the thrumming energy of the opportunity to come. Namely, your Grammy performance.

Eyes slightly heavy, yeah, you were cutting it close - to Nanami’s ever-graying hair at the stress.  But hey - at least no paparazzi tipped off for your unexpected arrival.

You just couldn’t resist the temptation to push your departure off for a day. Taking the extra time to wander along the Seine with Toji, talking about everything from your new dance number for next month’s Madrid show to why Nanami was a masochist for staying in this industry, all the way to Toji’s military stories that even Hollywood couldn’t dream up. 

The setting sun casting a soft glow on both of your uncanny disguises - your choice of course. A newfound understanding crackling between you two.

And right now, his presence steadfast behind yours as you weave through the bustling terminal, you feel a rush of excitement at finally performing that little project you’d been working on. 

More specifically what Toji’s reaction to it would be. Would he love it? Would he hate it? Would he realize just what that inconspicuous voice memo you bothered him into was actually for? 

But then came the real test: would he realize just who it was for?

The thought made you smirk inwardly. Imagine Toji’s face when he puts two and two together. 

Turning around, you catch Toji’s eye, a mirthful glint dancing in yours. “So, Toji, ready to witness greatness at the Grammys?” you quip, tone playful as you bump shoulders with him. Of course, the man barely budges. 

He raises an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “As long as I don't have to wear a tuxedo, princess.”

“Aww, and here I was thinking we could match.” you whine. Though a chuckle leaves your lips, “And that reminds me…” you trail off as your voice drops to a conspicuous whisper.

Delighting at the playful sigh that leaves his lips as Toji leans down, allowing you to whisper words meant for only him. “You better reward me after my performance, y’know. I remember someone saying something about ‘eating me out till I cry’” 

“You won’t be getting any reward if you continue acting like such a slut, princess.” warm breath tickling your ear as he murmurs. 

“If the shoe fits.” you bat your lashes, mockingly innocent. 

“If the shoe fits then please get into the car. The driver’s here and the team are on their way.” Nanami’s no-nonsense voice rings out. Already sounding dangerously close to an impending stroke. 

“Yes, mother.” you quip, stifling your laughter as you step outside. It’s a short walk to your destination, the cool morning breeze greeting you as you head for your waiting car, just stuck behind some slightly-oddly parked blue car. 

Ah, that’s LA for you, you chuckle inwardly, walking towards it - that strangely familiar blue car. The one you’ve seen a few too many times these past few weeks in the corner of your vision. 

Strange.

Steps slightly speeding up, a cold sweat trickles down your spine. Unease prickling at the back of your mind, something tells you you’re being watched. And not in the way of paparazzi snapping a stray picture.

Subconsciously, you take a half-glance inside the car - time freezes. Heart immediately lurching into your throat at the sight.

There. 

The door swings open. 

A flash of blue hair, one foot out of that dreaded blue car - is him. You don’t know how you knew it was him. You don’t know how you knew he was there. The only thing being your eyes locked on that glinting knife in his hand. Winking mockingly at you in the morning sun. 

Gray eyes locked on yours, whirling with chilling maniacal intensity. The cool morning breeze feels icy against your skin as a primal fear claws at your insides once you realize the imminent danger.

Toji’s trained instincts kick into high gear, eyes locked with his. Positioning himself between you and the assailant, his hand reaches for the weapon concealed beneath his suit jacket. Only for them to stutter in midair as he realizes they’re still safely stored in his checked luggage. Unreachable. 

Shit. Clever bastard.

Nanami moves with a swift grace, eyes scanning the surroundings for any nearby law enforcement. 

Mahito’s lips curl into a malevolent smirk as he realizes the vulnerability, grip tightening on his knife as he takes a menacing step forward. The air so tense you found it hard to breathe.

“You.” the words ring venomously, panic surging within you. “You think you’re so high and mighty, huh?”

“Step back before you do something you regret, you freak.” Toji’s voice is steady, body poised for action. Eyes locked on every minute tremor of the knife in his hands.

His eyes wide and bloodshot, staring right into Toji - almost as if trying to look at you through him. “Little princess~” he taunts in an eerie sing-song voice. “Why did you leave me here all alone, I was lonely, y’know~ And this gorilla never left you alone, ah what a pain to follow you around. But I did it- of course, I did it for my princess.” 

Another step forward.

No one engaged with Mahito’s delirious rambles. Nanami’s hand was firm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear to get away. Now. 

But your mind was stuck on the words that cut through you like a knife - the knife that he was now slicing through the air in jagged, deranged motions. “She can’t leave. She belongs here with me.”

Before anyone can react, Mahito throws himself forward with startling speed. Glinting blade deadly through the air. You stagger backward, the world spinning in a dizzying blur of fear and desperation.

Toji springs into action with lightning speed, body lunging expertly. Hands deflecting the blade with a swift motion. Knife flashing mere millimeters away from his skin.

Yet Mahito continues struggling relentlessly. Each movement calculated and cold. Hand slashing at Toji as he ducks and weaves away, attempting to divert the attack away from you. 

The grip on your shoulder tightens, “Let’s get away now. While he’s distracted.” 

You’re being pulled away before you know it. 

Movements sluggish in the air thick with tension and fear. Your body is frozen, ice running through your veins. Nanami’s urgent hold on your shoulder moving you away. 

But your eyes remain locked on Toji.

On the way he swiftly tries to find an opening amidst the blur of movement, knife slashing away as if it were a game. You were fighting to look back now, body twisting against the one moving you away. Struggling to follow Toji’s powerful kick to Mahito’s midsection. The impact knocking the wind out of him, knife faltering. Yet rage still surging.

Hand coming down down down. Merciless metal meeting skin. Red-hot crimson flashing behind your eyes and staining the ground below Toji as he’s slashed viciously. 

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Los Angeles that you think you might lose him.

The sickening sound of metal against flesh echoing amidst the blood-curdling scream you don’t realize you let out. 

The sound making Mahito falter for the briefest millisecond, a flicker of hesitation flitting across his twisted features.

And it’s all the opening Toji needs. 

Launching himself at the man, colliding with a bone-jarring impact that has both bodies crashing to the ground. 

A deadly struggle, and despite Mahito’s fierce grappling - fueled by pure madness - he’s no match for Toji’s punishing blows. Every strike clear and calculated, pinning his flailing hands to the ground.

The screech of metal against gravel and distant footsteps ring in your ears, as Toji wrestles the knife from his hands. Glinting metal skidding away.

 For a fleeting moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“You’re supposed to be with me.” Mahito's voice pierces through the din, voice hoarse and desperate. “I’m the one who’s been there for you ever since you stepped foot in that godforsaken agency. Me. It’s me.” he snarls. Eyes cutting into yours.

Takedown tightening, Toji pins his body tighter against the ground. “You don’t have the right to talk to her, you blue-haired freak. Be grateful we’re in broad daylight and I can’t rip you limb from limb for her.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Toji’s strained yet still steady voice rings in your ears - in tune with the voices you’re now realizing were surrounding you. As uniform-clad figures rush into your circle of vision, you distinctly realize with a jolt that it’s over. 

Knees weakening in relief, you feel them hit the gravel. It’s all over. You feel light-headed - absolutely delirious. Vision blurring with tears and all you can see is red red red. 

Blood roaring in your ears, you miss Mahito’s shrieks as he’s restrained and escorted away. The only thing registering in your mind being the warm hand under your arm, pulling you up gently as if you were something so utterly precious. 

Toji.

“Are you okay, princess? Need me to loosen another one of that bastard’s teeth?” he rumbles slowly, slightly breathless. As you cling onto the words like a lifeline, a fresh wave of tears prick your eyes at his uncharacteristically careful tone.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, words heavy with remorse as you blink at the sight of that stark red against his t-shirt. A deep gash running along his side that left Toji vulnerable in ways you knew he would never openly admit. 

Seeing your shaken state, he lets out a sigh. Pulling you flush against his chest, careful to avoid his injury. “I’ll be fine princess.” he murmurs, quiet words strained and meant for only you, amidst the chaos in the background. You lean into his touch, reveling in the feeling of him being solid and whole and here. With you.

You think you could stay like that forever. 

Ah, but one can’t get everything they want. 

Nanami’s voice cuts through the fragile peace with his usual calm authority, “I've spoken with the authorities,” you whirl around to meet his exhausted gaze. “They’ve assured me that Mahito will be taken into custody, and measures are being put in place to prevent any future incidents.”

Eyes flitting between you and Toji, he continues, voice taking on a much softer tone. “There’s no need for you to attend the Grammys after all that happened, I understand and will contact them if you wish to stay here.” And with that, Nanami walks away to a nearby police officer, presumably to give a statement - but you knew better, grateful for the moment of privacy he’d given you two.

Right. The Grammys.

Part of you is relieved at the prospect of not having to pretend that everything is fine in front of the flashing cameras and millions of scrutinizing eyes. And the other part, well, you glance up at Toji. 

Wide eyes meeting those green ones. Unspoken questions swirling between you two like a whirlwind. Is it really over? What does that mean for us? Will you stay?

Please stay.

“I don’t want to go,”  you confess quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay here with you, make sure you’re okay.”

Toji’s gaze softens, a hint of warmth flickering in his usually steely eyes as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “My princess worries about me, hm? I’ll be fine.” he reassures, yet words weak from the pain. “Go out there and kill it.”

And in the delicate tension of it all you find it in yourself to arch your eyebrow skeptically, “Fine? You’re bleeding out, Toji. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine’ to me.”

“I’ve had worse, I promise. Worst case scenario I track that freak down and break his arm.”

You let out a watery laugh as Toji leans down, hot breath fanning your face. His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss. A silent reassurance. But just as quickly as it began, he pulls back with a playful bite to your lower lip.

“Now go. Blow the overpriced silk pants off of all those overrated snobs. Trust me.”

You almost bristle at his words, but that twinkle of fondness in his eyes made all your inhibitions melt away - involuntarily, of course. Throat tight, you give an affirmative nod. 

Now, Toji always did delight in catching you off guard. But right now, ignoring the fussing EMTs, watching you be hastily ushered away by your team - the words tumble out before he can stop them. 

“Oi, princess.” he calls out, voice carrying over the chaos. “I love ya.”

And as he watched you trip over nothing but thin air, a lightheaded chuckle leaves him - maybe it was the bloodloss, probably it was that adorable look on your face. “Smooth, princess.” he laughs.

As you regain your composure and flip him off, promptly being whisked away by Nanami - who looks two steps into his grave already - Toji can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within him. “Tha’s my girl,” he mutters to himself, a rare gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

“Ladies and gentlemen, music aficionados around the world. It is my pleasure to announce our next performance, a star who needs no introduction. Get ready to witness the talent, the charisma, and the sheer audacity of the one, the only-.”

Cameras flashing. Cheers roaring, The anticipation electric as your name echoes through the auditorium, the audience’s excitement reaching a fever pitch as you take to the stage.

“Buckle up, darlings, because this is ‘Government Hooker’!”

---

“They don’t call you pop royalty for nothing, huh? You're going to take over the charts with that one!”

“Girl, who was that sexyass voice in that song? Drop me his number if you aren’t already with him.”

“Stunning as usual, huh?”

The whirlwind of congratulations and praise envelop you back at the Grammys afterparty. Your hand throbs from being clutched so tightly, and you can’t help but smile at the adrenaline and euphoria thrumming through your veins, washing away most of what happened earlier today. Yeah, you killed it.

But as you navigate through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and posing for photos, a nagging part of your mind keeps returning to Toji. Red, red to match your gown. He should’ve been here with you tonight. 

Nodding and smiling along at the compliments, you find yourself drifting away from the bustling center of the party. Constantly checking your phone for any updates other than Nanami’s “He’s alive.” text from a few hours ago.

Ah, there it is.

Finally reaching the exit, goosebumps erupt along your skin as you step out into the chilly night air. You’re momentarily blinded by the barrage of camera flashes from the waiting paparazzi outside. Their shouts merging into an indistinguishable cacophony. 

Yet, you push forward, determined to reach your awaiting car.

Just as you approach the curb, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulls up beside you, tinted windows shielding the figure inside. God, you gotta remember to give Nanami a raise.

Swiftly sliding in, “Nanami you wouldn’t believe-” 

“I’d hope I don’t look anything like that walking resignation letter.” 

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you turn towards the figure seated beside you, and there he is. Toji.

All signature smirk and twinkling eyes despite the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

A gasp leaves as your eyes catch on them, a million thoughts running through your head at once. “Wait, what are you even doing here- You’re hurt, are you even okay- Should we call the ambulance? Those look like-”

“Woah woah, slow down princess. I’m clearly alive, hm? Why, shouldn’t your muse be there to personally pick you up?” he chuckles. “Besides, you killed it out there. That shit was playing was all that every radio was playing for the last hour.”

You can’t help but laugh at his teasing tone, relief flooding through you at the sound of his voice. “Well, you are the exception.” Reaching over and gently cupping his cheek, that small scar was rough against your thumb.

Leaning in, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, you take in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the way his hand rests protectively on your thigh.

“Thank you.” you whisper, breath hot against his lips. And though you don’t specify for what - both of you know. Both of you understand. Your lips meet his in a lingering kiss, he tastes of mint and the anticipation of something new and freeing. 

Pulling away slightly, his gaze meets yours with a rare little vulnerability. “Always, princess.” A raw second of silence.

One. Two. Before a smug smirk curls his lips, hand squeezing your thigh. “Now, I remember someone wanting to be eaten out till she cried as a reward?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Oh yeah? Right here, right now?”

“Think we’ll make the front page, princess?”

“I know so.” 

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s right now, giggling amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and forgotten afterparties, that you think you just might love him.

A/N. Actually frothing at the mouth I want him so bad y’all. Also, reader isn’t Lady Gaga, I just think the song fit.

Reblogs so, so appreciated.

Plagiarism not authorized.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃┊rin x reader ft. sae. tormented by his recent injury and decline in mental health, rin visits his family home, only to be met with his biggest issue: you, sae's fiancee.

chapter 1 of after dark miniseries.

WARNINGS. nsfw/suggestive. fem!reader. mostly rin's pov. slowburn. mentions of mental health issues and therapy. mentions of physical injuries. pining. rin & sae are pro players, reader has a backstory and profession. foul language. wc: 6.7k NOTES. eeeeep finally!! first installment is up :> it is a reworked version of what i had already uploaded on my previous blog, so i hope you enjoy this one even more! ♡

There’s something odd hanging heavy in the air – humid and thick as Rin steps out from the airport terminal, suitcase clattering loudly on the sidewalk. 

He wonders if it’s the annoyance pooling deep in his gut, caused by the encounter that took place barely minutes ago – a group of fans recognizing him and the few other players in line to border control.

It’s moments like these that put a pause to his gratitude.

It’s when the discoloration under his eyes could be seen from miles away, and yet, it must seem like he’s less of a human as people just keep on yapping. Talking, grabbing – asking if it’s okay to take a picture. Commenting on a recent goal, congratulating. It wouldn’t have been this annoying if not for the fact Shidou and a few other players were right beside him, and yet, everyone seemed desperate only for a smidge of his attention, toppling him over with inquiries and requests and words of appreciation.

There’s no surprise he’s the center of attention, really – the team captain with an aloof aura, so contradicting and unusual for someone of his status. But there is something even more alluring to him, and it just might the way he still manages to crack a slight smile at one of Ryusei’s comments as they move down the line; a small action that’s gotten recorded anyway, he’s noticed, surely to pop up all over Twitter within an hour or two. When was the last time anyone’s seen him smile, after all? 

It’s puzzling to some still – the complexity of Paris X Gen’s highest-grossing player. Rin’s presence is dangerous enough to keep him marked by the other team at all times and to him it’s always felt ridiculous and low how they seem utterly petrified at the thought of going one-on-one with him. He plays raw and without mercy, taking each player down like his life depends on it. (Thinking about it, it does, in a twisted way that makes his chest tighten at the thought.) It’s a wonder how he appears to be just as intimidating outside the field, eyes sharp and stance tall, but on his good days, he can give a young fan the softest smile possible. It’s a whiplash – but he never called himself easy to be around. No one would really ever venture such a guess.

That’s what brought him to the very top.

A heavy sigh slips past his lips, fingers tugging the corduroy jacket to cover more of his tee-clad chest, and puts a hand up as his designated driver slows down by the entrance. As the vehicle stops and the man gets out to open the trunk, Rin holds back a sigh to see it’s not the usual driver that meets him during most of his flights. (It’s not because he’s pretentious, though he kind of is, sometimes. He just really, really doesn’t want to talk tonight anymore, something his usual would’ve picked up on. There’s no such comfort right now.)

Rin hands his suitcase over to get it into the trunk, then moves to the backseat of the car, hoping for a quiet ride.

It’s nearing midnight, the flight having been postponed due to some issues that he just couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to, and it seems like it’s enough of a reason to keep the driver silent. That, and probably the exhaustion written all over his face, teal eyes zoning out the window and teeth nibbling on chapped lips. Only an idiot would risk picking up some small talk.

He’s back home now, a thoughtful gift for his parents sitting in his suitcase, but there’s no place for nostalgia or relief in his heart. Instead, it fills with dread at the thought of seeing a mess of auburn hair and a pair of turquoise eyes, mirroring his own – no matter how much he resents it. 

If it was all up to him, he’d pretend Sae was never part of their family – act like they had never met, like the elder had never broken his dreams and filled the crevices between his ribs with anxiety and resentment. It’s been what – eight years? Almost a decade (and a few therapy attempts) ago, it seems, but finding his own sense of self, his very own objective and goal not dictated by the eldest anymore, the thought of his brother still makes Rin uneasy at best. 

He wishes he didn’t see the longing in his mother’s eyes, how she cannot stand to see her sons treat each other like air. There wasn’t much either of their parents could do to bring the brothers back on the right track and it seemed like they knew – could see it in the way the younger tensed up, seeing a suitcase by the front door and an additional pair of shoes on the mat. Rin used to wonder if they ever felt guilty for the input (or, more likely, lack of thereof) they had in their upbringing, but quickly figured that people sending out their twelve-year-old son across the globe were not capable of such complex thoughts in the first place. They had their own way of caring about their sons but Rin wasn’t too keen on commending them for the bare minimum.

There was no way to save them, not back then, and not now.

A screech of the driver slamming the brakes brings Rin back from the train of thoughts, safety belt digging into his chest as he jolts forward. He looks through the windscreen, watches as the car that cut in front of them maneuvers sloppily, and the driver shakes his head.

“What are these people on,” he mumbles, and their eyes momentarily meet through the rear view mirror. “S’ that time of the year, isn’t it,”

It’s a bit awkward, the way silence falls over the vehicle quickly after, but honestly, Rin doesn’t mind that much. He knows he comes off aloof, too proud to engage in small talk. It’s a bit of a lifesaver now when it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open anymore.

He hums in agreement and shifts in his seat, long legs spreading out and forward. Carefully, he rolls his ankle, the strain making his brows, more involuntarily than not. He rests the heel of his foot back down and closes his eyes. 

Whether it’s the sprained joint or his pride, it hurts all the same. 

The driver seems to catch up on the striker’s discomfort and quickly leans over, pulling the passenger seat forward to make more space. “There, Itoshi-san. It’ll be a bit of a long drive, so make yourself comfy.” He smiles, a little uneasy still, but as Rin stretches his legs out and gives a small mumble of thank you, he takes it as an incentive. 

“That last goal was out of this world, honestly– I hope you don’t mind.” 

The man sounds sincere, taps his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. Rin keeps his eyes forward, on the car in front of them. 

“Some called it the season’s best goal. I have to agree.” 

Yeah, he’s heard it, too - all the praise accompanied by pitiful and worried looks as he limped off the field – hoping, praying the camera doesn’t pick up on the seething look brewing behind his teal irises.

This could’ve happened to anyone, and honestly, it wasn’t even that big of a deal when looked at objectively - but at this moment, it was a luxury beyond Rin’s capacity. It’s a light injury, and he might even consider himself lucky it happened on the last match before Christmas break. He’ll have his time off, spend it with family and friends, and go to his physio appointments without any disturbance. (And get his ear talked off, probably. Because as breathtaking this goal was, he had to push the throbbing pain in his joint aside, force his foot into the awkward angle and feel - hear the crunch of the bone as he sent the ball into the net. If this doesn’t scream irresponsible, then what else does? Rin’s not dumb.)

By the time the season restarts, he’ll be as good as new.

But if there’s one thing Sae engraved into his mind, is that he hates pity and resents vulnerability. He wanted to smack the medical team away as they work on his ankle, swollen and reddening within seconds as they tightened the bandage around it, pressing ice bags to the aching joint. 

This can happen to anybody. Anyone but him, it is.

To react to it so passionately isn’t anything unordinary – but it’s everything he wishes he wasn’t. It’s everything Sae always chastised him for.

“Thank you,” Rin simply says and settles on that being his final reply, unwilling to dig deeper into any of it and continue with the obvious minefield of a topic.

The man behind the steering wheel seems to catch up on the subtle sign, a slight smile being his only reply.

Pity floods the vehicle, taunts him and makes the tight loop around his heart pull. Rin despises it more than anything else. There’s not much that’s left to do about it besides biting back on his tongue and leaning back into the seat. 

It’s peaceful for the rest of the hour-long drive. Starry skies invite him to look out the window, gaze growing unfocused with exhaustion and thoughts that race through his mind with the speed of light. If he focused hard enough he’d be able to actually hear the whispers of shame.

He wishes there was a way to silence that, tune out the taunting like the driver did to the radio upon noticing the striker’s tired look. 

Come to think of it, Rin’s therapist did say it’ll take some time – long hours spent dwelling over his notepad, trying to reach inside to grasp his ego and the issues that burn at it the most, only to scribble them down on the paper and try to voice them out in the office a few days later. He’s never been good with communication or speaking his mind, at least not in the conventional way that won’t leave the recipient in tears or shock, but he managed, somehow. He got his point across and his therapist even claimed having seen worse. It’s uncertain how much of it was honest but the thought alone leaves Rin realizing that he has again taken the very route of thought he’s supposed to watch out for. 

Rin appreciates people, to some extent, especially those who carry the same work ethic as he does. Perhaps it was a part of the therapist’s job, but something rubbed him the wrong way about the final session that took place a while ago. The man knew these words would seep into every crevice of Rin’s mind, sit heavy on his heart, and that’s why the whole ordeal was abruptly cut short – cause he couldn’t, didn’t want to hear any of it anymore.

Not everyone has ill intentions, Rin. As long as you’re hung up on what your brother did, you’ll have a hard time trusting others. We’ve been seeing each other for long enough to let me say that I know you don’t want to admit it, but trust me when I say, you should, sooner or later. 

The car comes to a stop right by the curb. Warm, yellowish light seeps through the familiar windows and hits the sidewalk. Familiarity washes over Rin like a tide but does little to ease the discomfort growing in his chest.

He blinks once, pulled from his thoughts.

“There you go.”  The driver glances at him over his shoulder and unbuckles himself, about to help him with his suitcase but is stopped by a wave of Rin’s hand.

“S’okay. Thank you.”

He hums and fishes for his wallet in the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a bill and places it in the man’s hand, undoing his seat belt and opening the door, ignoring the small sound of protest his generous tip elicited. 

Rin gets out of the vehicle, careful as he shifts his weight to the wounded ankle, and takes his suitcase out from the trunk. There’s a harsh thud as the wheels hit the ground and a complimenting soft puff, heavy scent of smoke filling his lungs. He glances up at the elderly man, who now stands by the driver’s door and takes a drag of his cigarette. The guy’s a little unusual, Rin noticed, with how easy-going he was being ever since picking him up from the airport. (He’s never accepting a recommendation from Ryusei again.)

No matter what he does and despite his best efforts, there will always be a pair of eyes trained on him at all times. It’s little difference whether it’s the field or the streets of Kamakura. 

He holds the eye contact, waits for the man to speak. It comes with an exhale, a cloud of white reaching him from across the car.

“Good night, Itoshi-san.” Rin feels his eye twitch. It’s a conscious choice not to frown “Get well soon.”

Cold breeze seeps under his jacket and sends shivers down his back, aching and slightly hunched. It’s a contrast to the bubbling, stinging bitterness that begins to eat away at his insides, but the mixture altogether makes Rin feel like hyperventilating. 

He bites his tongue and tastes iron.

It’s a wise choice to just give a small nod and turn on his heel, stepping away towards where he can faintly make out his mother’s voice from inside the house. A half his lifetime’s worth of memories waits behind the mahogany door and makes it all the harder to believe it - the warm smiles sent his way, earnest wishes spoken with the purest intentions.

His best (and only) option is to at least try. 

By the time Rin’s suitcase is put down by the bed in his old bedroom and he’s clad in a set of hoodie and sweatpants, sat down at the dining table and slurping up the last sips of miso soup, the uneasy feeling is nowhere to be found anymore.

(Or at least, he’s succeeded in pushing it to the very back of his mind, until it’s barely a hushed hum. He’s grown experienced in ignoring it.)

His mum insisted on hearing about everything that took place throughout the last few months he’s spent back in Paris – but to be fair, there’s not much to tell her, Rin realized. He’s signed a couple new brand deals, yeah, and got a proposition from another prestige club – this time over in England, but it wasn’t anywhere near the salary that he had his eye on. But that’s about it, and there’s not much gossip he could indulge his mother in – even though he knows she wishes there was. (She’s always been playful with him – both of his parents were, actually. They know it riles their second-born up, but know it’s sportive – and that he doesn’t really mind. Not if it’s them, that is. He’ll indulge them in whatever fantasy of their family they’ve made up.)

“I thought you’d surprise us with something, Rin.” His mum quips, taking the bowl from his hands to wash up.

From his seat across the table, his dad breathes out a laugh.

“Don’t you think we’ve had enough surprises this year already?”

Ah.

Teal eyes follow his father’s, to where he gives his wife a look. The woman turns around, a cloth in hand as she dries off a cutting board, and there’s a bit of confusion before her whole face lights up.

“Now that will be hard to top!” Another laugh, leaving him the only unamused one in the room. Not that it doesn’t happen often. “Oh, god. I still cannot believe it.” She sounds excited, very much so, and it leaves a bitter taste on Rin’s tongue, enough to sour his mood and brew the tense feeling deep in his stomach all over again.

He knew, fuck of course he knew there was no way of escaping it. And yet, he was still gullible enough to hope that the holidays would pass without as much as a single mention of it.

“I can’t wait until Sae comes and tells us all about it. You know how he is through the phone- couldn’t get a proper word out of him, but I need to know everything.”

He really tries to fight back the furrow of his brows, for his mother’s sake. It’s only natural she’s excited, a spark in his eyes that he remembers seeing only on the most special occasions. Him getting into Blue Lock, then being selected for the U-20 national team. Him having to move overseas, signing a contract that stuck millions to his name.

(He vaguely recalls the same look plastered on her face when she received the call from Sae’s manager, back when they were kids – the call that would be the beginning of their downfall. Of course he remembers. But, since there’s discomfort already eating away at his chest, he decides to ignore the memory instead. He’s no masochist.)

It’s self-explanatory that she has the same, bright grin spread over her features when she speaks about her oldest son’s engagement.

Sae is engaged – soon to be married.

Sae, the last person he’d ever think is capable of love.

Sae, who’s so harsh and focused on himself, who he’s seen disregard every little speck of affection thrown his way for years.

And fuck does it sound unbelievable – until there’s a certain face flashing in the front of his mind, a pair of bright eyes and a pretty sweet smile that’s enough to make his palms clammy. Until he remembers the only person who can easily melt anyone’s heart – even his brother’s.

Even his o–

He only ever realizes he’d zoned out again when an engine roars softly outside the house, the sound promptly coming to a halt. There’s a sequence of car doors shutting, quiet talking, a trunk being opened.

“Oh! They’re here!”

Rin’s eyes follow his mother as she glances out the kitchen window and tosses the rag down on the counter, jogging over to the front door as the voices grow louder. His dad gets up from his seat as well, much less energetic, but there’s a smile on his lips that mirrors his wife’s–

Rin feels out of place. Terribly so.

It doesn’t fit, the uneasy jitter in his chest that’s such a harsh contrast to the warmth that his parents are about to engulf you and Sae in.

The difference between what he’s feeling compared to them is like nails on a chalkboard, he thinks – and the second he sees the agonizingly familiar head of red hair enter his vision, he shudders as if the sharp sound actually resonates through the room.

It’s not there, but the contrast he’s seeing with his very own eyes is even worse. Sae, in his black sweatpants and a Real Madrid hoodie, with a look on his face that’s so well-rested, it’s unlike anything he’s seen on him lately (even just on the TV screen); and standing right by his side is you. Rin notices you’re too engrossed in tugging your suitcase inside and welcoming his parents, and so, he uses the moment to roll his eyes up your body - the Ugg slippers, beige leggings, a white zip-up fitness jacket, and finally, your face. Dressed in all white, he wonders if you’re doing it on purpose.

It’s a divergence that makes him uneasy. The devil himself, looking far too comfortable with an angel right by his side, with a smile kind enough 

There’s not even one reason for you not to be this joyful, but Rin selfishly wishes there was. It’s a selfish thought but a deliberate one all the same. He wishes that you look this happy, standing next to the very same person behind everything miserable in his life. He wishes to understand, for a way to cut through the dissonance that sits heavy in his head and gives birth to a headache – but it’s been years, fruitless and disappointing. 

Rin only ever realizes he’s still stuck in his seat when his father’s eyes meet his own from a few feet away. It’s not judging per se, more so urging him on to at least pretend, for his mother’s sake. He reads right through it.

He exhales shortly and pushes his chair back with a sound that brings your conversation to a halt. He feels like a martyr when he steps closer to where everyone is standing and feels four pairs of eyes watching him. It makes him want to roll his eyes. (He almost does.)

Sae doesn’t bother to acknowledge him, not even with a show of a smile. He looks up, a fleeting glance to Rin’s face, before nodding his head once. 

“Hey, Rin.” He hums, as indifferent as ever “It’s been a while.”

“It has.” Rin agrees, shrugging as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants. His hands start to ache, fingers twitching. It’s uncomfortable, the way his body tries to provoke a reaction, a way to unload the stress.

Both brothers ignore the way their mum winces at the tension that resonates between the two, how it’s thick enough to suffocate everyone and make them shudder with unease. But no matter how earnest Rin’s attempts are, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot bewitch reality. Instead, a soft hum, warm and sticky-sweet, shatters the ridiculously loud silence.

You’re here too, after all. A savior of sorts.

“A while too long,” The smile you offer him makes Rin want to scream. His chest swells, more unconsciously than not, and his gaze softens, almost instinctively when his eyes drink up your mellow expression “It’s been a year for sure, hm?”

It must be a joke, Rin thinks. How someone who could put down any chaos with their gentle smile stay glued by the hip to a person who makes the world crumble all over again with a single look?

(A joke, or perhaps, a perfectly complete puzzle that keeps the universe intact. If it’s insanity to wish to see it crack and collapse, he’s unashamed to admit it.)

Just when their father gives a slight chuckle, reaches a hand to pat your back, and gives a reassuring rub to your shoulder, Sae clears his throat. With one hand reaching for the suitcase’s handle, he maneuvers it down, as if in thought.

“Was it?” He wonders, the bark worse than the bite as always. Sae’s eyes fall to the floor and though Rin knows he can’t really see it, he knows where he’s looking- and that he’s about to make the injury even worse  “Look at that. You’ve got yourself hurt again.” 

It’s patronizing. It’s demeaning, it’s anything but just a playful quip of one brother to another, and it makes Rin’s eye twitch. He knows Sae’s known this already but he could see it coming from miles away. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He opens his mouth to speak, “Will you shu–”

You inhale sharply, cutting him off halfway. 

“Oi, oi,” you give Sae’s arm a light smack, “you’re being mean. Stop.” There’s a glint of something in your eyes when you give your fiance a look and Rin’s not entirely sure what it is, but he watches in astonishment as it shuts the elder up. You turn your head his way again.

You offer him a smile, a bit meek and unsure considering the jab Sae’s made seconds earlier. You spare his ankle just a short glance but apparently decide not to speak up on it before you open your arms for a welcome embrace. “Hi, Rin.”

It’s a simple gesture, really. It’s enough to make him feel like a dumb, hopeless teenager, head over heels for a girl beyond his reach.

It’s hard for him to wrap his mind around how you’re so sympathetic, understanding and warm while seemingly not even trying. He used to ponder if it’s why you chose this career path over any other and knows for sure that it’s why you’re the best at it. You never insist, never push, never inquire – not unless you need to, with the referee’s whistle ringing in your ears and a handful of sweaty, loud men standing right over your head as you work your magic.

It’s no wonder every club wants you as their physio.

Rin’s gotten a chance to feel your hand expertly move on his own skin before. He remembers it clear as a day, though one could think it was seemingly just yet another time he’s gone down on the field. This game proved to be different, though – bizarre in its own right, leaving him with an unsatiable itch.

Every game between Real Madrid and Paris X Gen attracted a lot of attention, just like it generated a spike in Rin’s stress levels. It was a tough game to begin with but facing off against Sae made it a game to remember every single time. Everyone knew the game would be worthwhile – a guaranteed showcase of talent and hard work, a fiend between two brothers, both equally gifted and loudly rumored to be conflicted for years now. The pressure would be enough to knock anyone off their feet, but he could withstand it. It’s the only way he has ever known. Face it. Endure it. Make him eat dirt – show him that you can bite just as hard.

That day, Rin was certain he’d never seen a situation so absurd and unfortunate. Throughout his years as a professional, he was an eyewitness to many fouls and injuries, some more gruesome and fatal than others. But to have three players go down at the same time, two of them from the same team, was not something that’d happen all too often. Rin was aware of his teammate’s fault but wouldn’t dare scold him – not when he’s lying on the turf and gripping his knee tight, the joint stuck at an angle that has Rin wincing at the sight alone. It’s bad, so, so bad, he thinks, watching as the other player struggles to get up with his teammates’ help. Chaos ensues, paramedics jogging over to the scene and putting down all of their necessities and there’s so much of it, there’s barely any space between him and the other player anymore. Rin knows better than to disturb, staying silent despite his position as captain as both teams grow loud and erratic, wild and belligerent. Rin’s eyes follow the ref as he works on subsiding the uproar. It’s a hard job – adrenaline at an all time high – but doesn’t want to spare it any more thoughts. Not when he has a worry of his own, a sharp pain in his ankle that makes him nauseous. 

“Are you okay?” 

He hears a familiar voice, a soft tune that brings him back afloat. His heart hammers in his chest, blood hot in his veins as he props himself up, hand tight on his sprained joint. He looks up and meets your eyes, wide but focused as your line of sight reaches his ankle. 

“I–” Rin hesitates, eyes slightly bewildered as they follow your movements. You crouch down right next to him and pull out a few necessary items from the med kit. An ice pack, he recognizes, a bandage, a stabilizer– “S’probably just a stamp.”

You hum, teeth sunk in your bottom lip as you carefully peel the sock down to reveal the bruised flesh. “Pain? On a scale of one to ten?” You spare him a quick look, delicate fingers gently pressing along the swollen skin. 

Rin grunts, fights back the urge to pull his leg away. “Six.”

With a nod, you work on untying his cleat, pulling it down along with the sock, “Sprained.” You simply point out, and his eyes widen. Your judgment’s quick, scarily so, and he’d hope that maybe you’re wrong – but the certainty in your eyes speaks for itself. He’s never seen you this serious, gaze sharp and movements swift, but then again, it’s the very first time he sees you at work. So far, he’s only ever seen you hanging on Sae’s arm, all smiles and laughter as you attend a family event together.

To have Sae’s girl tend to him like that almost feels like a blow.

“Wait, shit–” Rin’s brows furrow as he shifts, restless. You give him an attentive look. “Hold on. Aren’t you supposed to–”

“Your team’s busy.” You interrupt, eliciting a hiss from the striker as you work the bandage around the sole of his feet, and then stabilize it around his ankle. “He’s got a concussion and misses a tooth or two. All on top of his kneecap popping out.” Rin stiffens, eyes involuntarily searching for his teammate. He sees him being handled onto the stretcher, holding his hands over his head, groans and cries reaching his ears and it makes his heart drop. 

You plop the icepack on top of his ankle and bring his focus back to you. “I don’t care who I’m with. I’m here to help.” You offer a small smile though something’s telling you it won’t give much reassurance. You know your boyfriend’s brother – heard all about him and encountered him numerous times before. Most of all, you’ve seen the burning passion behind his eyes as he steps onto the turf. He’s not backing down. You pick your words carefully but say them firmly as ever. “I’m sorry, Rin, but you’re off.”

Rin vaguely remembers the protest that rose deep within his chest, making his blood boil as you helped him up. He knew better than to stand his ground and try to pretend that it’s not a big deal, knew all the possible consequences too well to act so stubbornly. He put years of such behavior behind him a while ago. He remembers the worried expression flashing across your features as your eyes met upon him plopping down on the bench – he saw it all, the compassion with pity yet to come.

It never did. 

You only left him with a heartfelt look, warm and kind, and confusion blossoming in his chest, growing on top of the uncertainty and anger. 

You’re always like this, Rin realizes. Always so collected and warmhearted, only ever welcoming him with hospitality and genuine worry, never pitying him. You’ve never given him any sort of look that he’s known to despise. 

He wishes you could be this way with him only, so attentive and sweet. It’s selfish but he does not necessarily hate the thought, or himself for embracing it so freely for that matter. 

His desire has been running rampant for a while now. It should be a shameful realization but though  Rin’s never been particularly in tune with his emotions, he knows it really isn’t. He’s smarter than he looks (though no one really would think otherwise) –  he knows you’re not his and never will be. He’s painfully aware of the only reason you ever rushed over to him, despite being the rival team’s assigned physiotherapist, and how it’s your awfully big heart, aching to help and bring comfort.

There’s plenty of space here. None of it belongs to him.

The memory vaguely plays out in his mind as he inhales your scent, the irritation subsiding and making way for the annoyingly fuzzy feeling. It’s been a year or even more. Long months since he’s last seen you and since you became engraved deep into his mind, his source of all kinds of thrills, some more disgraceful than others.

Throughout the years you’ve been with Sae, he never even thought to spare you a second glance. But ever since you treated him so kindly, looked at him with such warmth, he selfishly wishes he was the one giving you the Itoshi name instead. 

He wraps his arms around your frame and gives it a gentle squeeze as if his head isn’t bursting at the seams with rumination, greeting you with a rub on the back.

It’s only good decorum to greet you properly like this but Rin considers it a small mercy, getting a chance to feel your scent again.

Your hand rests on his back, fingers flexing on the sturdy muscle a bit, before pulling away entirely. You beam up at him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as your head tilts with a smile. For a second, Rin thinks you might want to say something else, tell him more (talk to him sweetly just for a little longer, like he so desperately desires)  – but you opt not to, and instead, turn to face his brother again. “I’ll put these away,” You say, reaching for his suitcase. “And hop in the shower. I stink like the airport.”

The way you scrunch your nose makes Rin’s mouth twitch with a ghost of a smile.

“Sure,” Sae hands you off the luggage, but only after leaning in to give your lips a quick peck. “I’ll grab you a snack, okay?”

“M'kay,” you give a breathy giggle at the action, and Rin realizes he might be far behind in being familiar with the ridiculous ways you’ve changed his brother.

This look, lovesick and full of adoration, is one that he’s never seen on his older brother before. He can’t make up his mind on how it makes him feel.

His mom offers to remind you where Sae’s old room, as well as the bathroom, are and ushers you off with a few gentle touches and laughter that disappears down the corridor. His dad leaves to boil the kettle to make some tea, and for barely a few beats of silence, it’s just the two of them standing there. One craning his head slightly upwards, the other glaring down, the two brothers stare each other down – and Rin hates it, hates the way he has to swallow the knot in his throat and tear his gaze away. It’s a show of taking the higher ground as he only makes a slight face and then turns on his heel to leave the room altogether.

When his dad returns to the conjoined area, balancing three mugs in one hand and holding up the full pot in the other, he doesn’t seem all that surprised to see just Sae standing there, pulling his hoodie off and throwing it over the chair silently.

The man sighs, setting down the dishes, and only looks up when Sae breathes out a laugh, humorless and dry.

“Just like the old times.”

Rin is not sure how long he’s been scrolling down his phone, or how much time has passed since he first plopped down on the king-sized bed in his old bedroom. It didn’t have to take long, but sleep is starting to weigh down on his lids already, leaving him with a cottonmouth and he tears a slight grunt from his throat upon realizing that the whole water bottle he’d drank is now pressing against his bladder uncomfortably.

Tossing the phone away and propping himself up, Rin feels the tired muscles in his arm strain as he digs the palm of his other hand into his eyes, rubbing the exhaustion away. It works just enough to ease the slight sting, feet planted onto the ground as he gets up and strides across the dark room.

It must’ve been an hour, two tops, he supposes, reaching for the handle. The voices on the other side of the door have grown softer and he vaguely makes out the voices to be Sae’s and his father’s, probably still talking over yet another round of tea. It would make sense for everyone else to be asleep, as his mom was always an early sleeper, and you lookied quite worn out back in the living room. You’ve probably dozed right off as soon as you hit the bed, all warm and comfortable from your shower. 

Rin pushes the door open and finds himself jolting in surprise when his eyes fall on your face. You pull at the door using the same momentum and if the way your mouth falls agape is anything to go by, you’re just as shocked to see him. 

It wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, just another encounter to laugh off by tomorrow morning’s cup of coffee. But the way you peer up at him – doe eyes wide and startled, a single rivulet of water streaming down your flushed cheeks as damp hair sticks to your forehead – knocks the breath out of his lungs.

His gaze follows the lonely droplet’s path between your collarbones, then down the valley of your breasts. You’re warm, just like he’d thought, but also very much bare except for the fluffy white towel you’re clutching oh, so tightly to your heated skin. A meek sound of surprise catches in your throat and Rin has to bite back a groan as the sharp movement only makes your tits press against each other even tighter. “Hah– o-oh, huh, I’m sorry– thought Sae’s room was–” 

Rin cuts off the jumble of words, “It’s right across.” He corrects, voice a gravelly tune that has your knees knocking together in a sheepish buckle. Your cheeks scorch, blood rushing to the soft flesh and you feel like a fish pulled right out of water, gaping up at the tall man. “Excuse me.”

You’re not entirely too sure why Rin’s attitude towards you took such a turn – but the way he pushes past you, tough muscle bumping against your finer frame, has you yelping in surprise. You jerk a little when the bathroom door slams shut and turn to look behind yourself, a soft furrow to your brows, but ultimately decide to get back to the right room this time before the sheer embarrassment eats you alive. 

On the other side of the door, Rin grabs at the sink with one hand, keeping balance as he peels his sweatpants off. His head feels heavy, hanging between his shoulders as he tugs his boxers down along with his pants, then stands back on two feet and tugs off his sweatshirt, grip tight on the fabric.

It’s almost ridiculous, the way his heart hammers in his chest as if he didn’t know any better. The familiar, unbearable throb between his thighs feels like a sin. To some extent, it must be one, Rin realizes. He can be a martyr and a sinner all the same. He couldn’t care any less, either.

It’s a joke, all of it, he thinks as he steps into the shower yet again tonight. The water is instantly warm as soon as he turns it on, a remnant of your bath, he supposes, but the spray isn’t meant to bring him any comfort this time. Most importantly, it’s a sheer white noise that makes his thought a little more bearable. It works very little to soothe his strained and taut muscles as his back flexes when he reaches his hand down, fingers wrapping around the throbbing girth, but silences his grunt of relief perfectly.

Rin’s pretty sure it’s some sick joke at his expense by the time he shuts his eyes, a groan stuck somewhere deep inside of his chest, where he can swallow it down and keep it untraceable. All of it has to be some sort of get back, a play at his willpower and conscience for all the fucked up shit he’s done so far in life. (Just how bad did he fuck up to deserve this – to face someone like you, an unbearable temptation, a lure strong enough to break a saint?)

Not everyone has ill intentions, but Rin’s certain he does. There’s no other way to describe the sensation licking at his spine – the lust for your flesh, the desire to keep you close. It’s raw and shameful, enough to overwhelm him, let alone a being as sweet and darling as you.  He wishes the realization didn’t have to come like this, as he’s gasping for air, nearly doubling over in the steamy shower. 

There’s no space for forgiveness, but there is for revenge. It becomes clear as ever when Rin spills himself all over the tiles, a moan of your name mixing in with the steam as all sense of morality goes down the drain.

© 2023 grinmjows. do not copy any writing or layouts; do not repost/mention my works on other social media. chain divider by @/cafekitsune. this is a remastered repost from my previous blog.

katsuki bakugou x f!reader

➪ wc: 11.2k+ || minors dni 18+

➪ warnings/tags: timeskip! pro hero! bkg (late twenties), horse farm setting (pls refer to my notes), use of the first person in diary entries, reader has a quirk, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers, angst and arguments, reader injuries (bc bkg is dumb), happy ending (pinky promise), a lot of slang, accents and swearing (broken english, almost), mentions of death from quirk incidents, mentions of animal death, oral sex (f. receiving), loss of virginity, doll as a pet name, reader has a whole lot of personality, improper science (nitroglycerin as a cheat code lol), bkg is ultra soft with a bleeding heart and I can't think of anything else

➪ notes: alright. let me start by saying this work is the equivalent of me walking into a room of people, stark naked, and just going like: "hi, it's me!" genuinely, that is this work. the experiences touched upon in this fic are all from real ones I've had working with horses growing up. it's a very sacred part of my life and world, and recently I've felt myself drifting from it because of the career path I've decided to take. so, I wrote this because I felt like I'd be hiding from myself if I didn't, and I wanted to face it all without running away as I'd planned. honestly, I just missed it all so much. wow, that sounds dramatic. it most definitely is. anyway, this work might be confusing to read at some points, and that's intended. horse slang, if that's what we're calling it, is used heavily without much explanation. it's because you're supposed to read this fic from katsuki's perspective, almost—it shouldn't always make sense. but the human parts will, I hope. regardless, I hope it hits all just the same. please enjoy. this one's from my heart to yours. mwah.

➪ a/n: the biggest hug, kiss, and thank you to oz for being there every step of the way through this one. it was a fifteen-hour escapade of madness. love you.

Wednesday

It felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. Just hot, muggy, and gross. The horses felt the same. Misty started pawing at the gate after an hour in the pasture, and like the trendsetter she is, all the others followed in tearing up the grass. She's a diva, but I don't blame her. If I was forced to bear three foals at my prime age and deal with kids kicking on my back and pulling at my mouth all day, I'd probably be the same or worse. Poor thing—all of them, really. Poor animals only learning to live after they're finally too old to actually do it. People are evil, and horses are horses, I guess.

They know it too. Each time I get a new horse, I have to think they do. They give me this look before stepping off the trailer, this "You're my last stop, aren't you?" kind of glare, and then drop and roll in their stall like they're fluffing their grave. Whatever. Gotta be better than real retirement homes with real ass people. People get aggressive and senile when they're old, and horses just get... happy, for once. No pressure on their back, a mouth full of overgrown grass, and happy. Lucky fuckers. I wanna grow old and happy and not throw shoes at a nurse because I think she might be Satan in my bedroom, trying to shove a pill down my throat. How ridiculous. I don't want to grow old. I'll let one of these horses whip me into the ground before it happens. The last rodeo, and maybe one of the barn cats could—

This is getting grotesque. Anyway, it felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. One is most definitely coming tomorrow, though. Gotta bring the horses in early, or they might get rain rot, and that's always the worst.

Thursday

It rained and poured. Blondie dared to look at me like it was my fault. Horrible first impression. Who the fuck walks into someone's barn and goes, "It smells like shit in here"? Like, yeah? Yeah, it does. It's a barn, asshole. I really didn't think Shouta was serious when he asked if someone could crash here, but then, of course, he's always serious, so I guess that makes me the idiot. Brought him down in his black city car, tossed him out like bad news, then dipped. He was probably too pissed to come out—got his tires all muddy and shit. I don't know why people expect a barn to not be a fucking barn. So now I have twenty-four horses and a big slab of a certified prick in the guest room to watch over, all thanks to being nice and saying yes. I'll never be nice again. I've learned my lesson.

At the very least, he's kind of cute in a grumpy puppy sort of way. He speaks at full volume, though, so that was our first problem. Either the horses are spooking, or my ears will start ringing, and I can't handle both. He finally shut up after he realized I wasn't going to fight back. You gotta feel dumb yelling at the lady letting you stay in her house surrounded by a bunch of horses staring right back at you. I hope he felt dumb. Asshole.

Then he got all quiet and weird and started backing near Gus's dutch door, and I almost let him bite him. It could have been funny, but then I remembered he's a firecracker and would probably blow Gussie's face off with his fucking palm by accident. A ticking time bomb. Blond and ticking and pissed off at the rain. At the very least, he's cute.

Friday

I'm allowed to call him Katsuki. That's either a privilege, or maybe he doesn't want to be reminded that he's a hero while surrounded by the fields and the wind whispering that it doesn't give a fuck who he is. When he's here, he's just the guy I spent an hour explaining how to work the tracker to.

I said it's like a giant lawn mower that doesn't cut grass, just carries the hay bales and drops shit to the compost. That didn't help. I don't think the man has ever mowed a lawn in his life or really driven much, to begin with. That has to be the downfall of being a star so young, then being forced to continue shining. When you look at it like that, he's like the horses. Fresh off the track or suspensory blown because some greedy asshole thought a pony could jump three foot six easily. I don't pity him, though. My neck sprained again from his cocky rooky sway. Never being nice again. It's gonna be the death of me.

I was barebacking Dreamer, just walking around the indoor 'cause it was too hot to be under the sun today, and then like a bat out of hell, comes Katsuki on the tracker without warning. So, of course, Dreamer spun me off. And, of course, I fell off because, of course, I did. Then it was a mess. Dreamer's freaking out, and Blondie's freaking out too because he thinks I'm dead. He went all hero on me, literally blasted himself toward my body on the ground like it'd help. Dreamer lost his shit because, of course, he did—running around and crying like a bomb went off. Then the bomb that did go off is hovering over me and not letting me get up, saying I might have broken something. I wanted to slap him. I would have if he wasn't so cute. It's a crime to bust a pretty face.

Finally, he moved, and I could breathe again. I knew my neck was sprained because it's my fourth time and the feeling never really changes. But you gotta get back on, no matter what, especially while the adrenaline is still fresh and it doesn't hurt too bad yet. It was embarrassing to baby-talk a horse off the ledge in front of Katsuki. I knew he was judging me the whole time, could feel his cat eyes on my neck and its scruff. But it works, so fuck him.

He grabbed my wrist after realizing what I was doing on my way back to the mounting block. I told him that if I didn't get back on the horse would be traumatized, that you can't ever end a ride badly, or they only ever know bad to start. He said, "Fuck the horse. He hurt you." I wish I covered Dreamer's ears and maybe my own. Ignorance is the ugliest song I've ever known.

I told him to leave, and after three minutes of staring at him, he finally did. It hurt like hell to get back on. The adrenaline was gone at that point. Blondie must have taken it with him.

Saturday

I don't think Katsuki thinks I'm cute. Maybe it's the neck brace that turns him off or the fact that we don't get along about anything. It doesn't really matter anyway. He's not gonna be here forever—thank God. When he leaves, it'll be easier to get shit done again. You'd think having an extra pair of hands and muscles would help, but it doesn't. He doesn't fit here. He should, he could, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how to not be himself, and the horses don't know how to not take it offensively.

But he's getting better. Still don't know why he's here, doubt I'll ever find out, but he's here and better. He helped do the meds today—held all the syringes and pills like a walking pouting pharmacy. He kept yelling whenever I turned my head, reminding me of my neck and how I was only gonna make it worse, like I couldn't feel the fucking pull of it myself. It kind of felt nice. It's been so long since I've been around people, I realized. He's probably the worst one to attempt to get used to.

But he's alright. Not as loud, and maybe it's because he does think I'm cute and is scared he might get me fucked up for real if he's not careful. I wanna be cute to him, somehow. It's probably impossible because he's seen me at my worst too early, sweaty and smeared with dirt like a doormat. I could be a cute doormat, though. I hope I am.

Sunday

He has the loudest thunder of a laugh. I deserve a gold star for getting it out of him too. It wasn't even that hard or that funny, but it got him to his knees, and it was fun to look down at him for once.

I was grooming Danny, trying to show Katsuki how it's done—use the curry comb to loosen the dirt, the stiffer bristles to get it out, the softer brush to polish the coat off. Then came the hoof picking. I leaned into Danny's shoulder, got his hoof in my palm, and started lecturing Blondie. "You wanna avoid picking at the frog. It's like their cuticle," I said, knowing damn well he didn't know what the fuck I was talking about. Sometimes it's just fun to do that to him—use words he doesn't know and let his pride shut him up, too scared to ask. He probably didn't even notice because Danny went and nearly took a chunk out of my butt. That had him hollering. 

"He fuckin' bit your ass," he said. I was so embarrassed if I'm honest. I didn't wanna be like, "Yeah, well, sometimes he just does that," and throw Danny under the bus and get him all embarrassed too. The old man's almost twenty-three, all greyed and withered. I've known him since he still held color, so I thought he'd have my back. I just said, "He didn't mean to," like an idiot, and then on cue, Danny, a fucking traitor, goes for it again, and it hurts too. I've never heard a man laugh so hard. It's a good sound—a warm one. Made my skin all hot, sticky, and gross.

Then he just kept laughing, clutching his washboard of a stomach like it could even recoil under all that muscle, dropping to the ground. I started laughing too just to hear what I sounded like with him. I think it's the first time we shared something together besides dinner in silence.

Monday

Katsuki learned how to figure eight a bridle today. It looked like shit, of course, but he learned. He's got these big ass hands, so it was entertaining to watch, too—kept fumbling with the leather straps 'cause they're too tiny for his grip. It was kind of hot, annoyingly, made it hard to focus on anything but those stupid hands.

He must have been curious today because he asked so many goddamn questions. I answered them all, too, just to hear him talk more. He asked if I'm alone out here, and I said yes. Then he gave me this look like it was the wrong answer 'cause he was right there next to me, so I'm not alone. I had to give him a look back to remind him that he's not out here, that he's just roleplaying the modest life.

Then Winston started colicing, and it all went to shit from there. I called Doc, trying to stay calm under the heat of Katsuki's dying curiosity and confusion, drinking in my alarm like a shotgun of beer. I knew the answer before he picked up, but Winston and Katsuki were watching me, so I had to pretend to have hope for them. He'd already had too many surgeries, and Doc said it'd be too dangerous to open him back up, cruel even. He offered to come down, but Winston blew his nose, started chewing again, and just gave me this look. My heart nearly shattered. Horses are intelligent creatures, sometimes too much for their own good. I told Doc that Winston wanted to see this one out by himself, and then he sighed on the line, apologized, and told me to call again when he needed to be picked up. I said, "Of course," and hung up.

It'll be hard to see that one go. He's gotta be the sweetest one here, bay with four white socks, a thick white blaze down his nose. Winston used to be a star when he was younger. He won everywhere he went, helped a lot of kids stay out of trouble with his gut issues and kind eyes. He's a loved horse, loved by so many. Of course, they're all gone now, moved on and grown up, working adult jobs and scrunching their noses at the mud. So he came to me like a treasured childhood teddy bear—all crushed from being sat on for too many car trips by accident, a new figure in the kid's grip.

I hate to lose any of them. Sometimes I wish I didn't love them so much. But I have to, and I will. I'll always be the girl that picks them up in her two-horse trailer, trudging them and their memories and fears behind the truck, feeling the weight of their years bounce on my lap over each train track we pass. I'll be the one who remembers them and loves them to the end, and they'll be the specks of hair I can't ever get out of my clothes, the ache in my neck, and the tug at my heart.

God, if you're real, please don't let Winston die just yet. I want him to stay just a little longer. Please. He may be ready, but I'm not.

Tuesday

Tuesday's empty still. Katsuki stares at the page anyway—like words will magically appear. He knows he shouldn't be here in your room, diary in his grip, head flooding with your thoughts. But the door was open, and so was the book. He didn't think. He just walked right in.

The sound of the front door slamming makes him jump. He thinks he's caught, shutting the diary to hide the evidence, then reopening it, remembering that's how he found it. It's pouring out, raining cats and dogs, and there you go running with your bare feet, forming new puddles.

He watches from the window, about to laugh, thinking you're the craziest girl he's ever met—the cute doormat with a pretty smile. But you're sprinting, heading straight for the barn. He tastes his heart on his tongue, throbbing and loud.

You cover your face with your hand as he finally reaches you in the truck, the high beams blinding you until he hops out and helps you up in the passenger seat.

"It's Winston," you pant, nightgown clinging to your skin as you dry your phone off on the leather, staring at the camera feed.

Katsuki gulps.

"S'gonna be fine," he says firmly, forcing his eyes straight ahead as you sniffle, damp and cold.

Your silence unnerves him. You're never quiet. Even in your damn diary entries, you've got enough personality to rock him off his feet. He wants to rattle you then, shake you until you shake back, cussing him out and calling him dumb. But you're quiet, and it's eerie. He helps you out of the truck.

A sound escapes his chest when you wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him with you inside—his heart pleading for mercy, a chance. He follows you mindlessly, eyes glued to your bare feet, a growing urge to lift you up and let you walk on air.

You both stop outside of Winston's stall. He's lying down, nuzzling his stomach, and whimpers when he sees you.

"I know, baby, I know." You let go of Katsuki to unlock the latch.

He stands by the opening as you slip in, pine shavings sticking to your soles. Your body shakes slightly, dusting the ground with rain pellets, letting it absorb the pain you brought with it.

He watches you crouch down, petting Winston's neck slowly, almost choking when you peer over your shoulder to look back at him.

"Can you please get me the bute?"

Katsuki is frozen for a moment, stuck in the sudden change on your face. You're calm. Static and calm.

"The white powder shit?" He asks, gripping the pockets of his sweatpants like he might have it on hand, anxious.

"Yeah. Mix it with water like I showed you, and get it in a syringe for me," you nod, turning back to Winston.

"How much?" His voice is coarse, panic spiking at his throat.

You pause, about to tell him, then realize it might be too much to ask—that Katsuki won't always be here to do the heavy lifting.

"Watch him for me," you say, gone in a blink, jogging silently down the aisleway.

Katsuki stares at your back and then hesitantly at Winston.

Shit. 

He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Was he supposed to talk to the horse, pet him like you always do? He knows he's not supposed to just approach them—that they're really just big babies with an extra set of feet. He glares at Winston, studying him. He doesn't want to piss this one off. You said—wrote that he was the sweetest one here. Katsuki wonders if the horses know like you say they do—if Winston knows when he's crying out for you that you're already on your way, sprinting in the rain.

Winston exhales, looking past Katsuki, searching for you.

He knows.

"I'm back," you breathe, holding a large syringe tube, pain relief just a gulp away.

Katsuki nods like you're talking to him, then realizes you aren't.

"Was Blondie nice to you while I was gone? He didn't say anything mean, did he?"

Katsuki huffs, crossing his arms in defense as he leans into the wood. "Didn't say shit," he grumbles.

You ignore him, inserting the chute into Winston's mouth, "I'm sorry, Winston. I know it tastes bad, but it's gotta be better than the pain, right?"

You're still talking to the horse, and Katsuki stands there, ignored, slightly bothered. He shakes his head. Pathetic—you're making him pathetic enough that he's jealous of a horse on its last leg, drinking chalky medicine as you cradle its chin.

"Thank you," you sigh, rubbing slowly up and down Winston's face, your heart ripped from your chest as he leans into the touch.

The rain is picking up, wind slapping it against the side of the barn. It's unbearably loud. Katsuki's fists tighten by his thighs, angry for Winston and you as it disturbs the moment's peace. But you're so gentle, unaffected by the storm, as you drop your forehead against Winston's.

Your hands trail up the sides of his face, massaging his ears until you stop to cup them.

"He's dying," you whisper.

Katsuki tenses, watching Winston's eyes flutter shut, waiting as your palms drag to brush over his lids.

"He's always had issues. Born to be a problem child, you could say," you smile as you turn, pressing your cheek into Winston. It burns slightly—the sprain at your neck is still fresh, lingering.

"But he was the coolest fucking horse. The All Might of horses, if that helps," you giggle lightly, amused at your own comparison.

A chill sweeps Katsuki at your use of the past tense. He's still alive, he wants to say, don't act like he's dead yet. But he knows better than most that it's best to accept loss before it comes rolling and crashing in. He stays silent.

"A superstar—a hero, and now he's here with me." You bite your inner cheek, piercing the emotion threatening to strike, hoping it'll deflate. "I guess every hero has their fall. Can't run forever. At some point, you gotta lay down."

You stare up at Katsuki. He sucks in a breath.

"It's not so bad down here, y'know."

You stay there for a beat, eyes locked until it hurts too much to look at him, and you turn to face Winston.

"But you'll always be a hero to me, buddy. You're still the coolest horse. You always will be, to me," you murmur. You press your tongue flat against the roof of your mouth, holding it there as you fight the hiccup at your throat, the tears that beg and weep.

"You'll always be his," Katsuki says.

The rain is loud. You cry just to know what it sounds like to join it.

"It's off-center," you complain, squinting at Katsuki's back as his shoulders drop.

"Hah?" He twists his torso, bracing himself against the wall as he shifts on the step ladder to face you. "It's straight, woman. The rest of them are just crooked."

"Are you saying I did a shitty job with the others, then?" You raise an eyebrow, watching as he climbs down.

"Basically," he nods.

"Rude," you bite back, fighting a smile as he moves to stand beside you.

He mutters something under his breath, and you both stare at the wall, glittered with horseshoes nailed to it. He's right, you think—the rest are a little slanted. Winston got the favorite treatment. He deserves it.

"It's kind of creepy," Katsuki turns to you, waiting for you to look back before continuing. "You sure this is a rehabilitation place? There's a lot of horseshoes up there."

You snicker at that.

"Most of them are just here to retire," you say, looking up at him. He really is handsome. You cross your arms in defense. "And it's not creepy. I just... I want them all to be remembered, is all."

Katsuki nods, exhaling, "Yeah, I get that. I do the same."

You're visibly confused but nod—never pushing him too hard. His jaw slacks, debating if he should explain, wishing you would poke and prod, just to feel your touch once.

"I keep a list," he says, finally.

You tilt your head, interest peaked but soft and welcoming. He runs a hand through his hair before starting.

"It's um... It's of all the people, y'know. The ones who," he pauses, swimming in your eyes, searching desperately for shore—something to make this easier, "died on my watch. It's like you said. I just don't want to forget any of them. Not ever."

You frown slightly, sympathy pooling in your irises, making it harder for him to keep treading. He wishes you wouldn't do that. You're going to make him choke.

"I-I don't think he told you," Katsuki pauses, feeling guilty for lying because he knows Shouta hasn't. He shouldn't have read your diary. He shouldn't have invaded your space. "But I'm here because of that, actually. I know you don't watch the news 'cause you like your shitty ass cartoons or whatever—"

You feel heat crawl up your neck in embarrassment. Of course, he picked up on things. He was living under your roof, after all. It still makes your pulse skip.

"But there was an accident—or no, I guess I was the accident," he cringes slightly, shaking his head. "I was trying to detain this villain, but he was so fucking fast, and he took this girl as hostage and... I tried so hard to be careful. I went for everywhere she wasn't, but I slipped up at one point and hit the building behind them."

He swallows, peering down at your lips, "Seven people died. I didn't notice at first. I just kept going after the guy and eventually got him. The girl was safe, and I restrained him. I thought everything was fine until I heard screaming. Everyone was huddled around this pile of broken concrete and screaming."

"Seven people died because of me," he finds your eyes again, waterline damp, flooding him, "and I know all their names, their families. I don't want to forget them. I won't."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, like a reflex.

"It was my fault," he says, turning away from you. "They put me here to get me out of the press for a while—called it an honorable leave."

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's bullshit. There's nothing honorable about it. The fucking villain killed less people than me. Not sure how I'm any better than him anyway. What good am I as a hero if I'm only good at destroying things, right?"

You reach out, grabbing his shoulder, "You can't say that."

"Yeah," he turns back to you, "I can. I'm not good at being the nice guy, the fucking Deku and All Mights of the world. I'm built more like a villain. Don't tell me I'm not 'cause it's true. They thought so too."

Your mouth opens, but he glares down at you, begging it to shut—to be heard without protest.

"I don't want to be one, though. I want to be good. Good like you."

You suck in a breath, releasing your grip. Katsuki panics for a moment, watching your head shake as you sulk.

"You don't know, then," you say. Katsuki's brows furrow, face scrunched as you rub your neck, "It's nice to know Shouta still keeps my secrets, I guess."

The air feels heavy as you collect yourself, running through the correct way to approach things, making Katsuki leap to every worst-case scenario as you do.

"I'm not good with people either," you start, glancing up at Winston's horseshoe, refusing to look at Katsuki. "My quirk... it's really harmful too. I've hurt people too."

He tenses beside you. You ignore it, continuing, "I make people's hearts stop. Literally, that's all I can do, and when I was little..."

You squeeze your eyes shut before staring at the ground. "It manifested without warning. I was in the kitchen with my mom. She was making dinner, and I was just watching from the counter. I remember looking at her and being so happy because she was making my favorite. Then suddenly, she dropped to the ground."

You can feel his eyes on you, his face softening until it almost doesn't look like him anymore. With a deep breath, you face him.

"I tried to help, but I only made it worse. I was making her heart beat so fast, inducing a heart attack. Then my dad and brother came down because I was yelling, and I thought they could help, but they... they dropped too."

Your gaze trails to his chest, his heart, "I was a child. I called for help, and eventually, Shouta came to the scene. He was the only one who could approach me safely—him and my dog. He brought me to UA and taught me how to control my quirk. I was away from the students for obvious reasons, but it was a lost cause. I'd never get to join them anyway. You can't become a hero when your quirk can only kill. Not that it even mattered. We found out later that it's only triggered by a strong sense of love."

Katsuki stutters on a breath. You swallow.

"But animals—for some reason, it didn't affect them. My love wouldn't kill them," you smile, struggling to hold the form as your lip trembles, "they could always handle it."

Katsuki's face is unreadable when you finally look back at him. He's so still and quiet, a statue, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. You falter, terrified you already have.

You let out a sad, forced laugh, shaking your head, trying to snap out of the sorrow, "So anyway, now I know why you came here, and you know why I'll stay. We both learned something, right? That's... good."

"You've always been alone, then," he notes sharply.

You bite your inner cheek, dropping your gaze again, "It's for the best. Just in case, y'know."

He's furious.

"That's fucking bullshit," he spits, a flame ignited beneath him.

You blink at him, speechless.

"How are you okay with that? Who the fuck told you that this was okay?"

"I like it here. It's fine—"

"It's not, though," he cuts you off. "Why do you have to hide from the world and shitty people like me don't? I get honorable leave, and you're just what? Bound here forever? It doesn't make sense. You're a good person. You don't deserve this."

You exhale, body shaking.

"Didn't you hear me? My quirk kills people, Katsuki. There's no other way to use it."

"It's not your fault, though. Your quirk is shitty, but you're not."

"Y-you're a hypocrite."

"What?"

"You're good too. You have a shitty quirk, but you're good too, Katsuki. You care. I've seen it—I've felt it."

"It's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not like you. You're... you're a little fucking weird, and that's probably 'cause you've been cooped up here for your whole life, but you're... actually good. You care so much about these horses, it's almost ridiculous, but you do. You've got a big heart, enough for all of them. You love too hard, is all. That's your only flaw. You're a sucker, and you love too hard."

"And you don't?"

"Huh?"

"You don't love too hard too?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're saying."

"I saw you crying after they picked Winston up, Katsuki."

"So?"

"So you have a heart. You love them all too. I know you do."

"Not like you do."

"Why does that matter? Why does—"

"Because I want to!" He clamors, panting. "Fuck. You're—hah, you're fucking my mind up a little. I'm getting weird just like you 'cause I want to. I want to know how to love like you do. I want to feel it so bad. Enough that it makes my heart stop. I don't care. I'd let you."

You shake your head vigorously.

"You don't know what you're asking for. You don't. You don't—"

"I probably don't," he retorts, stepping toward you. "Doesn't make me want it any less, though."

"You've only known me for two weeks," you say, helpless.

"Yeah, and I don't ever wanna not know you," he mutters, getting closer.

You can feel his body heat radiating off him, the scent of burnt sugar licking at your nose.

"I like you." His hand brushes your cheek, thumb guiding your chin up to him, locking you in his gaze. "I like you and your dumb fucking horses too."

"They're not dumb," you whisper, breathless.

"I know," he smiles.

"Then why'd you say it?" You frown, sliding your arms up his chest, behind his neck.

"'Cause I'm not a good guy, and you look cute when you pout like that," he says.

"Then what does that make me for liking you?" You grin, lips brushing his.

"A good girl with bad taste."

Katsuki kisses you roughly, earning tiny, desperate pleas as he takes what he wants. You squeeze his neck, tightening your arms around the muscles until he pulls back, growling at the pressure. You stare at him in awe, unable to catch your breath, mindless as you lean in to seize his bottom lip between your teeth. You tug it carefully, feeling his body tense, exhaling deeply through his nose. You sigh, watching it snap back into place, blood rushing to the area, mouth darkened with greed. He lets you gloat in the feeling—wants you to get drunk on the rush it gives you. But he's impatient, and you're so hot against him, like a furnace, driving him crazy. So he's back, knocking his forehead into yours, starved—tasting you, tongue slipping into your mouth, insatiable and confident. His thumb massages your neck, and he swallows the cry you release, the pain and lust filthy dripping down his throat.

"I feel it," he grumbles, crass and eager.

"Feel what?" You slur, fisting his hair to bring him closer, trying to kiss him, but he pulls back.

His eyes are steel, steady, and sharply red.

"Your quirk," he says, unmoving.

You let out a shaky laugh, but he doesn't budge, frightening you.

He's serious.

"That's not possible. You'd be dead," you breathe, shuddering at the thought.

"I'm not, though," he murmurs, almost purrs.

You gasp as he unhooks your arm from his neck, placing your palm flat into his chest. His pulse is heavy yet stable, but you can feel it at your fingertips. He's right. Your quirk is activated, and you didn't even notice. It's alive, and somehow he is too. All the blood drains from your face.

"Doesn't hurt too bad," he promises, slicking down your paranoia, "It's 'cause of my quirk. Nitroglycerin, it relaxes the heart. I produce it naturally."

You frown slightly, still unsure, so he rephrases, "I'm not affected by your quirk. I can handle it. You and your love. It feels good."

"I don't love you," you say weakly, blood rushing back, making your head heavy.

"'Course you don't. You're just making my heart race for fun," he grins.

You suck in a breath, stuttering on it, "Shut up."

"Kiss me then," he says.

So you do.

You kiss him till it hurts, your palm never leaving his chest, his heart pounding against it. It's terrifying to let yourself go, so he holds you tight. So tight you think maybe it's your heart that'll stop first.

"I burnt your toast."

He hums, taking the mug from your hands and bringing it to his lips to sip, not even flinching though it's burning hot.

"I like it like that," he mumbles, sighing as you drop in the seat across from him.

You hiss at the sharp feeling between your thighs, nails digging into your hip as you shift your weight onto it.

"What's wrong?" He's got his hero face on, all concerned and ready to save.

You frown, shaking your head. "Nothin' just sore."

He's not satisfied with that, eyes narrowing as he studies you, "From what?"

"Stop frowning. I'm fine, seriously," you reassure, patting the table as you stand.

A faint "ow" tumbles from your lips, and he huffs.

"You're a suck ass liar," he says, getting up to stand with you. "Tell me what's wrong."

"No," you make your way into the kitchen, knowing he's following you, "it's nothing. Leave me alone."

"Not gonna," he promises, watching as you lean down and open the freezer, "I just wanna help."

You sigh, snatching an icepack before placing your hands on your hips, trying to be assertive, "I said I'm fine, now move, you're in my way."

Katsuki tilts his head, amused as he smiles wide like a shark, smug.

"You're too embarrassed to say," he decides, eyes roaming your body before leading back to your annoyed expression.

"I'm going to my room," you announce, taking a step forward. Katsuki doesn't move, a brick wall between you and escaping.

"What about breakfast?" He grimaces—like he's offended you're not going watch him eat his shitty burnt toast.

"You're a big boy. You can eat alone," you walk into him, groaning when he doesn't budge.

"I wanna eat with you," he brushes your hair with his palm, peering down as you prop your chin against his chest to face him, "and know why you're acting so weird all of a sudden."

"I'm just a weird girl," you say, cringing as he chuckles in response.

"Yeah, but this is extra weird. You're hiding something from me. Like I said, you're a shit liar."

You pout for a moment, but he doesn't buy it, so you sigh, surrendering.

"It's from barebacking," you confess, dropping your gaze to his neck, tracing his collarbone, "Roma's got a big ass wither, and I took her for a trail ride yesterday 'cause she hates the lunge tape, and..."

You look up at him, then down and back up, begging that it hits him. His eyes widen a moment later, and you're relieved.

"Why didn't you use a saddle?" He questions, curious and a little proud of himself for thinking to ask, noticing how it catches you off guard.

"She hates girths too. I think someone pinched her a couple times with it, and now she can't bear them," you explain, fighting a smile as Katsuki nods, taking it all in—learning.

"So now you're sore 'cause of her wither bone?"

"Yeah, almost feels like I bruised my... y'know," you mumble, looking to the side to escape his smirk.

"No, I don't know. Tell me."

"Don't make it weird," you say, nudging at his chest again. He's a mountain, and you're just the idiot trying to get over or around him, whichever is quicker.

He exhales deeply after a moment, relaxing enough to move back a step.

"Let me help you, then," he whispers.

Then you're the one frozen, tongue heavy in your mouth as you look up to confirm he said it.

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm asking to help. I'll hold the ice for you."

You want to call out how impracticable that'd be, how it'd be easier if you just sat on the icepack and you both had your hands free. But Katsuki is so handsome. All muscle and this boyish charm you only see in movies yet have playing out right here in the kitchen in front of you. Impracticable suddenly sounds really good.

"Alright," you settle, acting nonchalant, trying hard not to choke on your pulse.

"Good," he says, stepping to the side to let you free. You steer for the table. He grabs your wrist halfway there.

"Thought we were going to your room," he murmurs.

"What? I thought you wanted to eat breakfast?" Your eyebrows crumple together, lips turning down in confusion.

"I like your idea better now."

You narrow your eyes at him, but he doesn't give anything away, just looking back at you with his familiar face—like he's innocent and you're the weird one. You're always the weird one, you think.

"Fine, my room it is," you shrug, your neck prickling as you turn, something twisting at your core.

"Lead the way."

You've never brought him to your room before—never brought anyone to your room before, you realize. You're suddenly mortified. Katsuki has experience. It's written all over his face. You're still too scared to tell him he was your first kiss. A small part of you knows he didn't need to be told. It's probably written all over your face too.

"Um, this is it," you say lamely.

Katsuki looks around, pretending he hasn't been here before. The horses are in almost everything here. A painting on the wall, a small sculpture on your nightstand, He can't help but think it's kind of cute. You're a nerd for horses in the way Deku is for All Might—the way Katsuki is for All Might. They really are your heroes.

"Very you," he notes, making your nose crinkle up as you nod, embarrassed.

Biting the bullet, you sit on the bed, patting a space for him next to you. The mattress bounces you with his added weight, and you pet it as if to calm it down.

"Lay down," he directs, taking the icepack from your hand.

You drag yourself to the center, gulping. You've become comfortable around Katsuki, but this was a significant step if you're being modest. You're in a loose-fitting tee shirt that kisses your thighs and does a terrible job at hiding how you're not wearing shorts, the fabric bunching at your hips as your knees bend. Your panties aren't even cute, you remember, feeling the air hit your skin as you refuse to check, and Katsuki shifts to bring himself closer to you.

He massages your ankle, eyes glued to your face, not daring to peak just yet.

"You alright?"

You let out a small, measly sound, like you're suffocating and just caught air, "Yup. I'm good."

He squints at you, releasing his hold, "You're nervous."

"For what?" You huff, almost genuinely asking—begging.

"I make you nervous," he clarifies, not taking the bait.

You pause, thinking it over, even if you don't need to.

"I'm insecure," you say, shifting your gaze to your thighs, tensing at the sight of them like you haven't had them attached to you every single day of your life, and you're surprised to just meet them now. "You're the first person I've ever gotten this close to. I have some friends through horse things, so more business relationships if anything, but... I've never been with someone like this. Like you."

Katsuki breathes in deeply, wetting his bottom lip with the swipe of his tongue. "You think I'm gonna judge you or something? 'Cause I know, you're a little thick at times, but I didn't think you were actually dumb."

You huff.

"Was that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Kind of?"

"It wasn't," you smile, staring right at him.

He looks gentle under the early sunlight, broad and delicate against the cotton sheets.

"I'm trying to say you've got nothing to be nervous about. I like you. I like you a whole fucking lot. Don't let whatever you're thinking surpass that truth."

He says it softly, but you know he means it with the grit of his teeth, silently asking you don't make him bear them to prove it to you.

"I like you too," you say, finally.

"I know," he smiles, rubbing your calf as you nod, opening your legs for him.

You gasp when he presses the ice to you, his eyes still on your face, eating up your reaction. He nestles his nose into your knee, kissing it. You think you might melt.

"Feel better?" He asks, breath brushing down your thigh as he rests his cheek against it.

"Not yet," you whisper, fighting the urge to clamp your legs around his forearm, suddenly aware of how close he is.

He grins into your skin, closing his eyes and planting another wet hot kiss onto the meat of your inner thigh, "You sure?"

"I'm not," you say in a haze.

He's trailing down, pecking your leg until he pauses, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

"Do you want me to then?"

"What?"

"Do you want me to make it feel better?"

He holds you there, eye to eye, his hair tickling your flesh.

"What do you mean?" You let out a shaky breath, feeling him apply more pressure to the icepack.

"I wanna make you feel good. Let me."

You wait for the feeling to come—fear and shame, something begging you to stop before you make a fool out of yourself. It doesn't, though.

You look at Katsuki and don't feel anything but his heart and how steady it is in your palms.

"Please."

He kisses your thigh, then shifts up, placing an elbow beside you to drop down and plant a kiss on your lips—sweet and slow.

"I'll be gentle," he promises. You believe him.

He kisses you again before lowering himself, biting a smile back as you pout at the loss of his weight above you. It's wiped right off your face when he dips down, nuzzling into your heat, tossing the icepack next to him. He kisses you there, so delicate you almost can't feel it, still a little numb from the cold. But he warms you up, poking his tongue out to dip into you, teasing you until you whine enough that he rocks back on his knees and helps you shimmy out of the material.

You hide your face as he stares at you and your nakedness, fully clothed himself.

"I know you won't believe me, 'cause you're you, but you're fucking perfect, doll."

The pet name sounds sweet on his lips, but you taste so much sweeter.

Your thighs muffle your moans, but he likes them at his cheeks, threatening to suffocate him with how tight you hold him there. He grins when your hands find his hair, tugging and pulling, letting go and giving in to him. You're like putty in his hands, and he's just trying to memorize how you feel, studying you with his tongue until he knows how to mold the shape of you.

You cry when his thumb presses into you, rubbing focused circles on your clit, adoring it under his touch. Then you really are putty in his hands, hot gooey lava that slips between his fingers as he works desperately to lap you up, not wasting a drip of your euphoria—his hard work.

He climbs up your body to kiss you, swapping spit as you gasp at your taste on his tongue.

"Feel good?"

You nod into him, panting between kisses, not ever wanting to pull back.

"Wanna hear you say it," he moves to your chin, trailing down to your neck.

"I feel good," you sigh, running your hands up and down his back, feeling hot to the touch at how big he feels. So strong and yet careful, aware of his size and weight, you the glass under his feet.

"Mm," he hums, finding his way back to you, "I feel good too."

He stares at you then, the dumbest grin on his lips, drunk on you.

"I like you so much," you whisper, lifting a hand to cradle his face.

"Does that scare you?" He asks, leaning into your touch.

"A little, but I like it. I like you," you stare at his lips, watching as he turns his face to kiss your open palm, speaking into it.

"Good. Don't ever stop, then. Be mine."

You suck in a breath, then look at him, and let it go.

"I'm yours," you say. "Always."

"We're almost there."

His arms are crossed, and you think he looks a bit like a child at the moment, stubborn and impatient.

You've been walking down the dirt road for at least an hour now, and he's already asked five times why you didn't want to just drive down, and you've already given the same stupid answer: you like walking, it's fun. 

He'd be okay with it if you weren't wincing every other step, squeezing your hand in his. You're on your feet all day, he thinks. How much fun did you intend on having?

"Okay, it's just around the corner, I think," you pull him slightly, dragging him out of his internal debate about how mad you'd be if he just scooped you up on the way back.

"They better be fucking nice if you're getting blisters over them," he mutters, feeling a tug at his heart as you giggle.

"They're my favorite. Worth all the blisters in the world."

Then you turn the corner, and he'll give it to you—they're pretty fucking nice. Huge too, he notes, watching as you run free, letting the flowers hit your body.

"They're so pretty," you beam, the sun starting to set as you dance in its golden hour.

They're alright, he thinks. You're what's so fucking pretty, what's worth dancing about.

"C'mon, don't just stand there!"

He sighs all heavy like you're taking years off his life just for asking, but proceeds anyway. He's stiff in front of you, barely moving, so you're like liquid in the air to make up for it.

"You're not having fun," you frown, poking at his chest before twirling.

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm gonna do whatever you're doing right now," he says, mesmerized.

You laugh at that, shrugging slightly, "That's fair. I don't even know what I'm doing either."

He can tell. You're just flowing with the breeze, and he's watching with his breath caught in his throat. He wants to be there with you suddenly—in the air getting swept away.

You squeal when his hands grip your hips, lifting you up in the air, spinning you.

"I'm flying!" You muse, smiling down at him.

"No, you're not," he laughs, smiling back.

It starts raining then, sprinkling on your back as he slowly lets you down, scowling at the sky.

He stares up at it for a moment, deep in thought. You let the flowers tickle your back until he finally decides.

"No way I'm walking back in the fucking rain," he spits.

Suddenly, your feet are back off the ground, with an arm secured behind you. You clutch at his neck, wrapping your legs around his torso tight.

"It's gonna be loud," he warns, and just like that, you're in the air.

Just like that, you're flying.

Katsuki's quirk is ugly in a lot of ways. It hurts your ears, violent and aggressive in nature. You know he hates that side of himself, the one that carries the blood lost from these short, firework-like blasts. In the air, it's different. It's jarring and quick, but you feel safe, smiling through the whiplash. Soaring, your body pressed to him, you think he's the coolest man you've ever met. Your hero. Katsuki is, and always will be, your hero.

He lands shortly before meeting the barn, dropping to his feet and sprinting with you there in his arms. It's the perfect distance away from the horses, you realize. He didn't want to spook the horses.

You're both dripping wet when you get to the house, shaking in the air conditioning as you run up the stairs. You rush for the shower and somehow end up on your bed instead. The sheets are ruined, and you decide you like them better that way.

You sigh into each other's mouths as he enters you, thighs hugging his hips as he kisses your face, telling you that you're doing so good for him. You think you get it then—love, why people talk about how they like it so much. At one point in your life, you were afraid of it. Love is your weapon, and there's no safety on your trigger. Katsuki kisses you anyway, though. He kisses you until his jaw hurts, your bare skin kissing too.

It stings a little, but he's slow and patient, allowing you to adjust. He chuckles lightly when you start rocking into him, kissing your shoulder and asking if it feels good. You're eager to show him, moaning his name, touching his back and all the muscles flexing beneath your palms as you do.

The rain is loud against your window, but you sound good with it, and for once, he thinks he might like it. Or maybe he just really likes you. No, not like, he—

"I love you."

He says it first, cupping your face as his hips stay at yours, keeping you molded together.

"Promise?" You ask, beaming as he nods above you.

"I promise. I love you."

You lift your head to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

"I love you," you say and mean.

"I promise it too."

Katsuki's hand brushes up and down your arm until you can't feel it anymore, and it's like the air that surrounds you both. You're by the window, overlooking the pastures on his lap.

"You could come with me," he says.

You both know you won't. You're staring at the first reason, the second thumping in his chest.

"Or you could stay," you whisper, nestling your face into the crook of his neck, wishing you could remain there forever.

"I can't. I never could," he sighs, lips pressing to your scalp.

You nod into him. Of course, he couldn't. He's still in his prime, after all. He's gotta be someone's star while he still has the flame. He doesn't belong here, not yet, at least. Silently, you wish he never would. You wish he'd never know how the ground feels beneath his feet. He moves so naturally in the sky.

It's silent for a while, just his breath and yours synced, slow and steady—ready for a storm.

"Come with me," he asks, begs.

"Sunflowers don't grow in the city," you say.

He knows what you mean. He knows that means no, and it always will.

"You're right. They don't. Not like they do here," he mumbles, exhaling to break the cycle, your hearts on a different beat.

"Nothing out there is like it is here," you whisper, not even sure if it's true.

"Nothing like you, that's for sure," he smiles and then stops because it hurts too much.

It's quiet again, time passing too quickly. You can feel him fading beneath you—a foot out the door, his hand still on your thigh.

"What if I can't live without you, Katsuki?"

He tenses, the hand at your arm stopping, reminding you he was there—that he's always been there.

"You'll just have to hold your breath till I get back, then," he says.

Something tickles your hand as you reach out in slumber, something soft yet rough around the edges.

"Kat?"

Your eyes open before you can even really see, just a blur of colors and a soft yellow that gives you hope, resting against the pillow beside you.

But it's just a sunflower, you realize. It's not the yellow you've grown to favor, the blond with a bite. It's a single sunflower and a small notebook beside it. You open it up to read.

Friday

I read your diary. I'm sorry. That was probably one of the shittiest things I've done to you, maybe right under getting your neck fucked up the second night. I'm sorry for that too, by the way. I don't even remember if I told you I was, but I am. I'm sorry, and this is a shitty way to make up for it, but I'm trying.

I have to leave soon. We don't have many days left, and by the time you read this, I'll be gone already. I hope our last day is a good one. You better not cry, either. Please don't cry. I swear this isn't goodbye. Not for forever. I promise that.

Saturday

You are the love of my life. Have you figured that out yet? If you haven't, I've done something terribly wrong, or you really are stupid.

Of course, you're not. You're smart. My bright, sometimes dumb, pretty girl. God, do you even hear what I sound like right now? You make me sound all gross and shit, doll. Fucking gross. But I think I like it. Really, I just like you.

You're in the shower right now, and I'm being smart in my own way by taking the time to write for you now while you're busy. Be proud I'm not begging to join you, 'cause I really wish I could.

Maybe I will, actually. Yeah, I think I will. I want to kiss you right now, so I gotta go. I'll act smart later.

Sunday

I'm terrible at this diary shit. You're so good at it, too, I'm a little jealous 'cause I thought it'd be easy.

We have two more days together, and today I thought about asking to marry you. I don't even have a ring, so I'm not sure how I thought it would work, but I considered it. Really I did. You're allowed to laugh. I know it's ridiculous.

I'd bet you'd say no. I'd be mad if you didn't. You deserve a ring, a really nice one too. I've never understood them because it's just a rock on metal, but I don't know. Is it still a rock on metal if it's slipped around your finger since you said yes? Today I thought it couldn't be, that'd it'd be so much more. I want to marry you, doll.

I want to marry you.

I do.

I really fucking do.

Wait up for me 'cause I'll never stop waiting for you.

Monday

We had sex today.

Imagine if I just left it like that? It could have been funny. Fuck, it would have been. I already wrote on the end of the page, though, and I don't wanna rip it out. It'd be a whole thing, then. You'd be looking for that page forever, probably thinking it was some sappy love letter, and I wouldn't have the heart to tell you it was just this.

It could have been funny. Fuck.

But anyway, we did. I know you probably thought about it, so let me just tell you where you can't fight the answer: yes, you're the best I've ever had. You were incredible. You are incredible. I'd go into detail, but I think that might be too much. Or maybe that's what you like. I don't know. I just realized I don't know.

I don't know everything about you. I've known you for three months, and I don't know if you'd be happy or not for me to do this. Maybe you'll actually hate it. Maybe you'll read "I read your diary" and fucking hate me and stop there. I hope you won't, and to be honest, I know you won't, 'cause you're you. I know you enough to know that you're you. That I love you, and you love me.

I want to know more, though. I don't want to have to guess or think when it comes to you. Isn't that what love is all about, doll? No questions and second-guessing, just knowing or not needing to. I want to reach that with you. We can't do it in a day and only have one left.

I'll come back to you so we can. Even if it kills me, somehow, I'll come back to you. You'll be the star I follow to guide me home. You will be my home.

Please.

Tuesday

I don't know how to explain this feeling in words, but if I had to, it's gotta be like losing the sun and never knowing warmth again.

You are so radiant. The horses see it too. I think maybe you're their sun, and that's why it's never cold here.

Since this is the last entry, I'll be blunt with you. When I first came here, I thought you were the most out-of-touch person I'd ever met. You talked to the horses more than you spoke to me, and I genuinely thought you might be insane. Then I got you spun off Dreamer and realized it was me who didn't know shit. Again, I'm sorry for that.

You've changed my life since that day. Every day since I've met you actually, I've changed. You make me a better person, doll, and somehow I didn't fuck you up into becoming worse. We work well together. I almost think you were made for me, and I was made for you. I know I sound so goddamn weird, but this time I'm asking you don't laugh because I'm fucking serious.

You are the only one for me. I'm sorry that it's true, that you're stuck with me forever. I'll make it worth it, though. I'll spend every day making it up to you. I'll do anything you ask too.

Just not staying. I can't do that, not yet. I wish I could, but we both know it wouldn't be right. I'm just not ready to settle down, doll. I'm not like Winston. I haven't reached the top of that hill just yet. But I'm going to, and I have to. I need to be up there. I want to be someone you look at and think I'm worthy of resting my head on your lap, that I've lived enough days and fought enough battles to just lay there with you forever.

I know you're not ready either. You need time away from me to catch your breath again, to grow with the weeds and flowers. You need time to miss me so much that you couldn't ever get sick of me again. I know that. You need to be the sun for them too. I can't steal you like that.

So promise me you'll still love me when the timing is right for it. When I'm bruised and beat and don't have the charm to carry my shitty personality anymore. That's a lot to ask, but the thing is, I'm so greedy, and I'll ask for it.

I won't stop loving you. Don't stop, either.

Dance in the fields for me, pretty girl. One day I'll be so tired, I just might dance with you.

Dear Katsuki,

It's been years. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you, though. I started watching the news just to see you again. You really are a hero. You're the best I've ever seen.

I miss you so much, Kat. I think I'll miss you forever, some days more than others. When it rains, I miss you most. I miss your grouchy face and how you held me tighter during storms. I almost forget what it feels like, which scares me the most. Sometimes I close my eyes and can't see you, so I panic. I think I'm forgetting you in those moments, and I realize I never hung you up on the wall, that maybe you were never really here, and I just dreamt the time we spent together.

You asked me to never stop loving you. I think it's cruel that you thought you even had to ask like it was a choice I ever had a hand in making.

You said I was the sun. You're a fool, Katsuki. Don't you know the winter is so much colder here without you?

I think you might have ruined my life by kissing me so softly. I hope I ruined yours too.

I think you've lived enough. I think I couldn't stand to see you bruised and beat. Your head has always been too heavy. Won't you come home and rest here on my lap, just like you said you would?

I hope the city is keeping you warm. I'll have to burn it if it isn't.

I love you. I love you till it hurts, and some more after that.

Be my sun so I can dance again.

Come back so you can ask to marry me. I'll let my answer be a surprise. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? Come home and find out.

I miss you.

I'll be here when you're ready.

I love you.

It felt like a storm was coming, but it didn't. You're grateful for that. You've been getting so many lately that it's beginning to feel like an omen, thinking the people on the news saying the world is ending may just be right. You know they're wrong. The world already ended, you think. It did the day he left you, but nobody seemed to notice. They're all late pointing fingers now.

It's nighttime, but you're still working because there's nothing better to do. Cleaning is therapeutic until you watch all your work gone in seconds. The horses don't appreciate as you do. But you do it anyway, polishing the barn doors like they'll ever be seen by anybody. You think maybe the moon cares. It glows the farm nicely at night, so at least you have one fan.

There's a bang by the end of the driveway. You check both doors, adrenaline pumping, realizing you left them open to dry. Did you forget to close someone's stall fully? You don't think you have time to check. Whoever got loose is already far down the road. You stare at the truck and then, for some reason, think you might be faster than an engine at the moment.

You realize about halfway down that you're most definitely not. You're more out of shape than you remember being, panting as you push yourself off the dirt, heart in your throat, burning it. You think you can see it then, in the distance. Somethings moving slowly towards you, quiet and steady. It's not one of the horses, you think. It's not wide enough. So then what?

You pray it's not a coyote or something. That'd really fucking suck. No way you ran all the way down here to get gobbled up by a coyote.

It's still moving, the same pace, still quiet. It's too dark to make much out, though. If it's trying to kill you, it's doing a terrible job—giving you way too long of a head start to run if you were smart enough to take it. Something about it has you frozen in place, your skin slick with sweat as you catch your breath.

"Hello?" You call out, feeling dumb for trying. Coyotes don't talk back.

"You're still here, then?" It asks. It asks. 

The voice is familiar, but you almost can't pinpoint it, a gush of wind carrying it too far to reach.

"Yeah? Yeah, I'm here."

That triggers something within the shadow ahead because it's running then, full speed ahead, straight down the line to you. Suddenly the air feels warmer. You almost forget it's night.

"It's really you?" He yells, getting closer by the second—your head start long gone as you nod into the dark.

You pinch yourself. Then again, and again. It hurts each time, but you keep doing it, afraid you're in a dream with a happy ending you can't bear to see if you'll never actually have it.

"It's me. How do I know you're you?" You shout, fighting against the breeze.

Then there's sparks. Small bursts, like tiny fireworks. You see sparks.

You're running again, adrenaline back and so strong you can't feel your legs anymore. Katsuki grunts when you crash into him, jumping into his arms, knowing he'll catch you.

"It's you. It's fucking you!"

You're squeezing him so tight, on his body and heart. He hasn't felt his pulse so strong in a while, not since you last gave him the reason to.

"You're gonna spook the horses," he whispers, holding you back just as tight.

"Fuck you," you say.

You don't remember when you start crying, but it's making a mess. His shoulder is damp, and suddenly, you realize yours is too. Your hero is crying. The sun's weeping at your neck, begging to finally be let home.

"I did it," you say, breaking the silence.

"Did what?" He pulls back to press his face into yours, brushing against it like a cat.

"I held my breath for you."

Katsuki kisses you then, under the audience of the stars and the weight of the world melting off his shoulders, his furnace pressed against him once again.

"Was it worth it?" He asks, pecking your nose and cheeks, covering you in what you've almost forgotten.

"We'll have to find out, I guess," you smile, feeling him walking down the road still carrying you, returning home.

Monday

Katsuki relearned how to figure eight a bridle today. It looked like shit, of course, but it's him, so somehow, it's perfect.

It feels good to have the sun back on my face, in bed beside me every night. He's the only heat I want to know, so I said yes today.

I doubt he was surprised, but I made sure to at least look like I had to think, just keep him on his toes.

He's gonna look so handsome in a suit. I hope I look even better in my dress to punish him for waiting so damn long to come back.

Kidding. Maybe.

Truth is, I really was holding my breath. So it feels good to breathe again.

I love him so much. So much it makes him blush.

I have to go now. Katsuki's in the shower, and I want to join him. So bye, for now, and maybe forever. I just wanna dance with him, so you understand, right?

You've been good to me, diary. You can rest happy knowing you end on a good note.

I'll be just fine. The sun's back in town, didn't you hear?

I think winter's gonna be just fine.

© all content belongs to @eremikan, do not modify or repost

his dream.

part of the lovetimes7 yandere drabble series (except this isn’t really a drabble anymore bruh).

pairing. jeongguk x f!reader

word count. 2.6k

warnings. yandere behavior. obsessive behavior. stalking. recording without consent. smut (male masterbation, fantasizing about handjobs and blowjobs and penetrative sex). gguk’s awkward as fuck.

would recommend reading shy. before this.

dirty apartment.

dirty boy.

my masterlist!

the first thing jeongguk does when he gets to his apartment is toss his backpack to the side and scream into his pillow.

then, he makes sure that none of his supplies are damaged from the throw before screaming into his pillow again.

the neighbors may file a complaint about how loud he is, but jeongguk doesn’t care. after all, he can probably say that today has been one of the happiest days of his life (aside from the day he saw you for the first time, or the day he went to your apartment alone); because today is the day you asked him for tutoring.

he recalls how you walked into the lecture hall before class started, sitting in your spot a few seats below him (jeongguk made sure to arrive early like he usually does; that way, he could take the chair that allowed him to have the best view of you). it started out like any other lecture. jeongguk, being the smart boy he is, studied the lesson beforehand so he could use the time to watch you listen to the professor. his eyes were glued to you, observing how you squinted at the board with confusion, how you tapped your pen on your chin, how you flipped through your notes and scribbled onto your paper with haste; jeongguk wanted to squeal from how cute you were! aside from watching you, the boy did a lot of daydreaming. he imagined how it would be like to give you his notes, and how you would compliment how neat they were. it had him smiling down at his lap and suppressing a giggle. his fantasies distracted him from realizing that the lecture was over; distracted him from noticing you approaching him; distracted him from your sweet voice calling out to him. poor jeongguk was so confused when you said his name (sh.. she knows my name?!) and asked if he could help you with the lessons, to which he replied with “uh– oh– uh– i mean– y-y-yes!” (poor, shy jeongguk wanted to slap himself for being so awkward, but what could he do? it was his goddess talking to him!).

your smile at his response had him stunned, completely dazed, and the memory plays on repeat in his head even when he opens his apartment door (he couldn’t follow you home today; if he did, he would probably pass out the second he saw your face again!).

jeongguk’s hands ruffle his hair as his ears turn pink. half of him still doesn’t believe that you talked to him. another part thanks himself for all those nights of studying and being at the top of the class; maybe he secretly fantasized about teaching you concepts you were stuck on. the thought of you creeps back into his mind again, and flustered jeongguk searches for a pretty, pink boxes in his drawer. his hands reach for the one labeled ‘_____’s fashion’ (his hand ghosts over the one named ‘_____ sleeping’ before he shakes his head).

jeongguk opens it and carefully takes each picture out, one by one, laying them side by side before opening his closet.

he wanted to look his best for you. he wanted you to compliment his clothes, all while he makes sure that the two of you don’t look out of place for the study… date.

jeongguk was going on a date with you tomorrow.

he jumps on his bed and screams into his pillow again.

Keep reading

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMS

reblogs are greatly appreciated.

to keep is short: my dad has fucked up one too many times & ruined far too many lives so now i really, really need to move myself & my mom out asap. i'm hoping to move on april 1st or the 5th at the latest.

2k word fics for 10US$

2 characters included

an added character is an extra 5US$

an added 1k words is an extra 5US$

i will do max 3k words with max 1 added character

i'd prefer smut comms bc it's quick & easy, but at this point i will write anything. just no p.edo shit or b.eastiality

any characters, any fandoms, etc.

full payment after you approve my outline

payment via paypal only

unfortunately no refunds if you decide to pull out halfway

i will be asking for an age verification for smut comms

dm if you're interested or email me: samminikolaiwork@gmail.com

60 / 2700 US$ || R1150 / R50 900*

*please check back to the original post to see if help is still needed.

here's my p.aypal if you'd like to just help out.

i also have a k.ofi where i take art comms.

i need at least 2.2k to 2.7k US$ if i really want to get myself & my mom out of this situation. if we have at least 1.8k US$ we're moving.

breakdown of prices & shit below the cut:

unfortunately, a deposit for a new place + the rent, electricity & water bills (that are separate from rent), moving to a new place & trying to survive for a month costs a ton of money. i currently do not have a stable income rn but i do have a job waiting for me in the town i plan to move to as long as i move before april 5th.

the fact that i need to take my cat, dog & my mom's dog with me makes things even harder bc many places aren't pet friendly. & if they are pet friendly, it's often more exspensive.

the place my mom & i are trying to move to is R10 000 per month & requires a 10k deposit. that excludes the electricity & water bills that we also have to pay, which can be up to 2.5k. i'm hoping for us to get at least two months rent + the deposit. so, 30k. honestly, even just one months rent is fine rn.

yes, this is the cheapest place i could find. it's in a safe area, has burglar bars, an enclosed yard, etc. & it allows pets.

along with the move & stuff, we need to buy several necessities bc if we're leaving my dad we can't just take everything, unfortunately.

i'm currently waiting on a quote from a moving company. but i think it'll cost anything from 2k to 5k. let's hope it's 2k. i have no idea what it should cost.

list of things we'll need + their prices:

freezer - 4000

about 8 curtains - 2400

food for our pets to last a while - 1000

litter box + litter - 500 (my cat can now finally be an indoor cat)

misc kitchen stuff - 500

groceries to survive a while - 3000

gas / petrol money - 1500

total - 12 900 (about 680$)

i still need to figure out a way to pay for wifi & our data / phone contracts. but that's a monthly payment thing.

so, here's a general breakdown:

rent for two months - 20 000

deposit - 10 000

elec + water bill - 5000 (2 months)

other things (listed above) - 12 900

estimate of moving company price - 3000

total - 50 900 (about 2700 US$)

R40 900 (about 2150 US$) would also be okay if we can just cover one month's rent. honestly, we can even toss out the freezer (4k) & groceries (3k) & make do w R33 900 (about 1800 US$).

i do have a job waiting for me in the new town if i can move in april + my mom will also do sewing work from home to add to our income. i will also still do comms & such. i might even have to take up a second job but we'll see. thankfully there are several job opportunities in the town.

we also have family in the town we're hoping to move to. so we won't be entirely alone.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: 22K/tba release date: 02.18.25 beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, mild yandere behaviour (warnings were reduced to avoid spoilers)

author's note: ionoiafhoianfoaif, yalllll, I was writing this like foreveeeeerrrrr. So this is where it all basically started in my head when I created the retelling of what happened around the year 1996. Still, somehow Champagne Confetti and Anubis got out first, mainly because I will continue them, but this is one shot exclusively (I'm open to filler tho). Why? The story of Princess and Hoseok never dies throughout both the fics that are already out and those that will only come. Mainly with Anubis' chapters, you'll get to see them. I'm just as nervous to put this out as I am with every fic but very excited to throw Elixir in the world. I'm simultaneously working on my MA diploma thesis so bear with me when I'm radio silent, but I love you all! I appreciate you reading my stuff my good little fairies ♥ I'll see ya at Hobi's birthday! ♥ Enjoy!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, bloodshed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, and old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

Winter 1995 You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟎𝟐.𝟏𝟖.𝟐𝟓

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story is up for reading, you can write in the comments and I'll create a tag list!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

understated. | 3.

✦ you and nanami have been working side by side for three years now. when nanami brings his son to work with him one day, it changes the entire trajectory of your relationship in only 24 hours.

✦ nanami kento x f!reader

✦ word count: 2.2k

✦ warnings: none.

contents. | 2. | 3. | 4.

previously. 

instead, he says, “you know, i’m actually a little concerned that yuto’s turning out to be more and more like gojo every day.”

you choke on whatever’s in your mouth (which is not much - just air and spit).

nanami nods understandingly. “i agree.”

your choking turns into some sort of incomprehensible disapproval. “absolutely not. i won’t let that ever happen, not over my dead body.”

“well you’d need to live in order to make sure, right?”

you hang your head back and hear the tiny breath that escapes his lips as you slap your hands over your eyes. he’s got a much smarter mouth than you’ve ever realized - so much that you think yuto is turning out to be the most like his dad.

not a moment after, he says, “by the way, i’d much prefer having you as my partner than gojo as well.”

chapter 3. 

“it’s fine, i’ll fix it.” 

nanami’s already at his desk when you come into work. itadori looms over him, a frown plastered on his lips. 

it’s not a scene you haven’t witnessed before.  

“good morning,” you say tentatively. “what’s going on?” 

itadori opens his mouth to explain when nanami says, “nothing.” 

that’s not a response you haven’t heard before either. 

you stare at nanami. you’re hoping he feels you staring and just tells you what’s going on, but the more you stare, the more frustrated you get. 

when itadori blinks at you, you already know he’s judging you - and you won’t even deny it - you are one of those girls who looks at someone (nanami) and expects them to read your mind (and tell you what’s going on). 

Keep reading

his redemption

synopsis ⤸

after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?

chapters ⤸

one | 5.1k

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, dark fic, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon

reblogs are appreciated ~

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

APARTMENT 345 — EP TWO : WEDDINGS

feat. karasu, otoya, yukimiya || wc: 9.4k synopsis: moving into a new apartment with three men isn't exactly the most easy feat, but you think there's something quite unusual about your new roommates that makes life seem a little more fun. ↳ episode synopsis: when otoya asks you to be his plus-one for a wedding, you find out that there's more than him that meets the eye. so much so, that it somehow wounds you accidentally locked in a bathroom alone together. contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, roommates au, modern au, fluff, slight crack, forced proximity, reader wears a dress and heels, subtle classism, family issues series masterlist ☚ previous next☛

Otoya Eita is a curious case of someone who you suspect isn’t who he seems to be.

Something bugs you about him, something gnawing in a little crevice of your mind. Perhaps it’s that seemingly nonchalant exterior that you think is a little too lax for someone with adult responsibilities like him. Or maybe the way he’s much smarter than you think he was initially. Something of the sort, there’s a lot of peculiarities about him that just don’t seem to add up to what he thinks he’s trying to convey to you.

He says he earns the least out of the four of you—yet he owns a Lexus, multiple expensive colognes, and he’ll show off some new pieces of Chrome Hearts or David Yurman he bought. You figure that one watch of his is at least a third of your salary.

He says he’s not looking for something serious in a relationship—yet you’ve seen him wallow in his misery a few times when some girls wouldn’t call him back. Then he’ll get back up in a matter of two days or less to find someone new to play with.

He says he can't pay the rent this month to you and your other roommates dismay—yet he somehow always pulls through with the money at the last minute to a mysterious degree. Where he gets it from, you think you’re better off not knowing… especially since you’ve eavesdropped on a few of his conversations with someone shady on the phone, asking about a boon of some kind.

Otoya, to you, at least from a few months ago, was the most open roommate out of the other three. Now, you’re not so sure. Unlike Karasu and Yukimiya, who have gotten closer and more amicable as times went on, Otoya seems to have shut himself in with you to your dismay in the past weeks, despite him being the first roommate you were truly comfortable around. He seems to be an enigma to you more than anyone you’ve ever met—you don’t know how to decode him. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you should. Maybe you’re best placed in this pool of ignorance you’ve been trying to get out of to understand your roommate, absorbing it and letting it linger around you.

He has this outer layer to him; a mask of a seemingly chill guy who goes with the flow, someone who lays back and lets life do its work for him. He’ll just simply follow along wherever the wind takes him. 

But something eats at you, that gnawing feeling always just lingering about. A gut feeling whispers in your ear that there’s something deeper, more intrinsic about him. You’ve acknowledged the suspicion, but you’re not too sure if you should try and operate on Otoya to properly pluck out his brain. After all, there might just be nothing there and you’ve been paranoid this entire time. Maybe it’s best just to stay out of his business (though, you sometimes find it hard not to, especially when you sometimes find him talking to someone on the phone with pinched brows when you enter the apartment, only for him to hang up the call when he notices you, his default face placing back onto his visage.).

And you’ve been doing a good job at it. Until now, when an opportunity presents itself for you to prod your nose around the hidden secrets of Otoya Eita. All because of an extended wedding invitation from him.

“I need a plus-one from my cousin’s wedding next Saturday,” he had said to you a week prior, scratching the back of his neck lazily. “I’d ask Tabito or Kenyu, but uh. I don’t want my folks to get the wrong impression, ya know?” 

You had snorted under your breath, laughing, but said yes without thinking of the consequences at the time. It was only yesterday that it hit you that you’d be meeting Otoya’s family despite only knowing him for a few months whilst nothing absolutely nothing about Otoya’s personal life despite what he gave to you, much less what kind of people his family were. 

So you ran to Karasu, who had known him the longest, and in a panic, asked him what sort of people they were. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much help, only giving you a sheepish smile and telling you, “They’re quite the weirdos, ‘s all I’ll say—at least from when I met ‘em. Sorry, sugar.”

When you asked Yukimiya, you ran into the same dead end. The brunette also only gave you a pitiful look. “Just try not to talk to them too much. The less you know, the better.”

Their responses did nothing to calm your nerves. If anything, it amplified the apprehension from twice it was before. You wish you felt it earlier in the week, however, since that at least allowed you more ample time to actually buy a better dress than this dusty rag that you had worn for a friend’s garden party a few years back. 

You think this is the longest you’ve stared at yourself in the mirror that you’re becoming an eyesore to yourself. The baby pink dress with puffed short sleeves and layered tulle feels out of date; it’s weird around your waist and just doesn’t seem very elegant for the type of wedding Otoya had described. Too casual, too childish. 

A knock comes at your door suddenly.

From the door reveals a dressed-up Otoya Eita before you, uncharacteristically sharp in his crisp grey-black suit and pistachio green tie. His hair is parted neatly, his bangs usually grazing his face now pushed to the side to show the entirety of his features. 

A smirk displays itself on your face. “Someone looks rather handsome.”

Otoya hums with satisfaction at your approval, taking a singular finger and dragging it along his jawline. Something called mogging, if you call correctly. “It all comes naturally to me.”

He lets himself in your room, whistling at your messy bedroom littered with disarrayed clothing that you were trying to pluck out and make a nice arrangement with. “A little birdie told me you were having trouble choosing an outfit.”

Your shoulders droop when you spot yourself in your mirror again, your dress looking like it was just plastered on you rather than fitting you. 

“I’m assuming my groans of despair were louder than I thought they were,” you sigh despondently, hands attempting to try and fiddle with the layers of the dress so it seems right at least in the mirror. 

“I know you said to dress nice, but this is all I have…” you turn to Otoya, who curiously pinches one of your business dresses in his fingers. “I’m sorry, I would’ve totally gone shopping sooner had I known it’d be a big deal.”

Otoya gently places down the dress and turns to you with a barely-visible quirk of his lips. “It’s not bad but I might have something else in mind that might help ease your mind.” 

He excuses himself out of the room and returns back not even a moment later with a large white zippered bag hung by a hanger. It’s thick and padded, clearly a bit of weight to it. You’re a little appalled, not expecting Otoya to go out of the way and quite literally get you a dress of his own means. But this also meant that if Otoya was doing more than what he was used to, swaying from his normal route of winging it and actually doing proper preparation for this, it ultimately meant that this was a much bigger event than you anticipated it to be. And you surely had to be ready to size yourself up for such a manner.

Otoya delicately places it on the mountain of clothes on your messy bed, carefully unzipping the bag to reveal a magnificent, floor-length, pear green sequined dress that reflected light so elegantly, it almost created a natural spotlight on itself. Held by thin straps, the chest area was highlighted from all the sequined and carefully-placed cherry blossoms speckling about that brought out a certain uniqueness to the dress. It looked preciously handmade, as you think no machine could delicately craft such petals from fabric and sequins. 

It was magnificent and mature, something that clearly contrasted with your current dress. You couldn’t deny that Otoya had great taste when it came to fashion, both for men and women it seems, only second-best next to Yukimiya, though he came damn close to taking over his position on the podium.

You gasp aloud at it, clearly impressed at its meticulousness. 

Otoya holds it up by its hanger, showing its full glory to you. “I’m really hoping it’s your size, but d’you like it? You wanna try it on?” 

“I—” you falter. The dress was just so elegant that you don’t think someone like you should be adorning it; it was clearly fit for someone more high-class like a socialite or an actress. “Where did you even get this?”

He shrugs, nonchalant as ever. “Bought it on my way home yesterday. Thought you might want to wear it as a backup just in case.”

“I’m really hoping this is a rental,” you worry about, biting at your fingernail. Something seems rather ominous about all those sequins flashing about, like they’re warning you not to touch such preciosity. “How much was this?” 

“Mmh, not telling,” Otoya says and slips the dress off its hanger to your panic. “Just know I’ve got it covered.”

You frown.

“Rent’s coming up soon,” you warn, “so if I find out you chucked some money out the window just for a mere dress, you’ve got a storm coming, bud.”

Otoya chuckles fondly. “Relax. I already gave my stuff early, so don’t stress about it anymore and just try it on.”

Ignoring your protests, he forces the dress in your hands and makes his way out, waving his fingers as he leaves you in the desolation of your room. 

A pull of his neck releases the tension from it, rhythmic cracks from bones echoing in the hallway your room was located from. Otoya sighs, the weight on his shoulders heaving down on him more than ever today that he hopes will expel from himself once this day is over. 

He feels bad, dragging you into this mess. But Otoya thinks that he can’t handle the masses by himself, he needs some sort of stabilizer, someone to help him keep on his feet. Karasu and Yukimiya knew about everything already, so they knew about the trials and tribulations that he faced back then, and clearly didn’t want to go through them again. He couldn’t drag someone from his roster either—he didn’t even know half of their last names. 

It wasn’t his fault you just happened to be right there. With your grace and presence, you were the perfect person to have at his side for those hours he’s going to have to face head-on. All he has to do is just pivot his attention to you, knowing that it’ll be his that you’ll be yearning for as well in a room of strangers. It was an equal exchange. 

Still. Even though you’ll be at his side, it doesn’t shake off the unease that lingers about. 

Otoya settles himself on the couch, feeling tension stiffen his joints again. A warning sign to expect the worst, he assumes. Whatever. It’s just a few hours. He’ll reset and return back to normal in no time. This too shall pass, or whatever bullshit Yukimiya spews.

He cracks his neck again, making Karasu, who sits lazily next to him, cringe. 

“Don’t do that near me,” he mutters, averting his attention to the soccer match on the TV. “Freaks me out.”

“It’s just bones, don’t think your two-hundred six are any different from mine,” Otoya insists, going to crack his knuckles to Karasu’s displeasure. 

In the corner of the couch, Yukimiya throws some popcorn from a bowl in his mouth, grinning when he sees such a dapper Otoya in front of him. “You look good. For once.”

Otoya mopes, a light offense grazing him. “‘For once?’”

Yukimiya shrugs, still stupidly smiling. “Guess you wanted to look good for (Y/N).”

He frowns. 

“This is a wedding. Why wouldn’t I try to look good?” Otoya remarks, clearly unamused. He’s not sure if he’s up for a childish banter right now, not when he’s got too much on his plate. 

Karasu snickers at his appearance. Normally it was him and Yukimiya that looked rather tidy in their outerwear, so it came as comical to see the person who donned himself in the first clean thing he blindly plucked from his closet to be adorned in such fashion. “Took some money outta yer trust fund to get that suit o’yers, huh?” he slyly asks, nudging Otoya with his elbow.

Otoya rolls his eyes. “I’ve always had this, dumbass,” he insists with folded arms. “I just don’t like to wear it unless I have to.”

Yukimiya is next to chortle. “Maybe he used the money to buy (Y/N) that dress. Looked pretty expensive to me.”

Otoya thins his lips. Then looks away, the tip of his ears revealed by his slicked hair dusted with red.

Karasu and Yukimiya clearly take notice of his reaction that clearly can’t guise a lie even if Otoya tried to create one, bursting out into laughter when they make eye contact with one another.

“Aw, lookit this loverboy over here!” Karasu hollers and grabs Otoya by the neck, making him wince at Karasu's strength. “Didn’t know ya liked her that much!” 

“I don’t…” Otoya grits his teeth, “I just… wanted to get her something nice.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Yukimiya cackles and lightly kicks at Otoya whilst he throws some popcorn his way, speckles of yellow-white fireworking over the living room floor. “Get your non-girlfriend plus-one a real fancy dress out of the blue, yeah? How much did it cost Prince Charming?” 

Otoya sighs. “You idiots can’t decipher the fact that this is all for a wedding, can you?” he states with a flat voice. “You both know how my family is… I just don’t want her—”

Heels click softly suddenly, a shy pattering coming from the hallway. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt but…” your voice breaks through the playful atmosphere, making all the men pause and look in your direction. “Er, sorry Otoya. Is this how it’s supposed to fit?”

Three spotlights turn to you from the coach from your roommates at once, suddenly drenching you in shyness at such vapid attention. Otoya is stunned at what he sees, breath hitching slightly when you present yourself before them. 

He has to give himself a pat on the back because not only does the dress fit you right, it fits you so perfectly that it looks like it was made just for you. You’re going to blend in perfectly, he thinks. 

Otoya abruptly stands up from the couch, clearing his throat and sending a soft smile your way—a rare feat considering how stony Otoya’s face could be.

“Fits like a glove on you, babe,” he compliments. 

You warmly smile at him, relieved. Karasu and Yukimiya glance at each other, suppressing some teasing smirks, shoulders shaking.

The clock is ticking, and Otoya figures that you and him have to get to the venue soon before traffic starts. You wrap up some last minute adjustments to your outfit before you and him bid Karasu and Yukimiya goodbye with a wave. 

“Get us some goodies if they’re offerin’ any!” Karasu shouts. 

“Give my warm wishes to the couple!” Yukimiya calls out just as Otoya closes the door. 

His sedan looks sleek as ever in the parking lot and you think this is the first time that Otoya actually looks the part to own such a luxury vehicle. He seems to be the gentleman tonight, seeing as how he opened up your car door for you to let you in, a hand holding yours to help keep you steady from the imbalance your heels might offer.

“Am I getting the princess treatment tonight?” you ask playfully as Otoya settles himself into his car. 

“When do you not?” inquires Otoya as he slings back one of his arms on the back of your headrest, veering his head to help him reverse despite having a back camera with sensors. You roll your eyes jovially at his antics, supposing that his flirting tactics just come a little too naturally to him even when he wasn’t trying to do so. 

The car ride is not too long, the venue being a lot closer than you thought initially. And clearly, a lot more grand, the pictures you saw from Google not doing it justice as you drive by it to its back parking lot. 

It’s a large garden conservatory, filled with lush flora all over both inside and out and glittering the place with natural color and textures. A large window dome ceiling looks overhead the space, all the windows letting the setting sunlight in in a manner so majestic that you think it was haloed by the hand of the Sun itself. Two large ponds sit before the entrance on the grass, koi fish swimming about the many lilypads and lotus flowers that bloom before you.

Weariness grows within you when you stare at the building. You want to ask Otoya if you’re sure this is the right venue when he moves forward in the line of many cars to get a parking ticket, seeing as how you’ve never seen such a lavish venue before, but when you pass by a banister that reads a familiar last name of the groom, your words falter. 

Welcome to the Wedding of Otoya Teruo & Hirai Hiromi, the banister states. 

Up comes the gnawing feeling of suspicion again, like Otoya is hiding something, especially when you see his eyes narrow at the banister. Something is off. His mask is slipping, you think. 

You know you should stay cautious and try to mind your business about him, but you’re just his friend and roommate after all and you’re not as close to him as Karasu or Yukimiya. But you feel pressured by an unknown force to try and squeeze something out of him that can help you gain a sense of the true Otoya. 

Your fingers itch to lift the mask off of him, to truly see him for who he is and not just the nonchalant, flirty roommate. 

“This wedding is pretty extravagant,” you admit after Otoya gains his temporary permit from the parking attendant. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Otoya drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the car, blowing some spare hair out of his way. “Yeah. There is.”

Your eyes go to glance at him, body unmoving. “Well…” you start, fiddling with your fingers when he doesn’t elaborate, “are you gonna say something?” 

“You might not like it,” he says honestly, his own gaze focused on trying to find a space, his car moving at a snail’s pace. “You seem stressed enough as it is.” 

He’s observant, a trait you’ve picked up from him over the course of the months. Almost a little too much so… were your anxieties that obvious that they leaked out without your knowledge? 

Your lips pull a frown. “I can handle it. I’d rather know too much than not know enough. I’m meeting your family, after all.”

The mention of the word “family” irks him a bit, a slight tick from his jaw. A sigh drifts out from him, like he was expecting this from someone who’s mindset was so head-on for most things. “You should be careful about what you wish for.”

“Otoya,” you declare a little more sternly. He purses his lips at your calling of his name, akin to a mother scolding a child. 

“Fine then, you asked for it,” he mutters, swerving his car suddenly into a blank space and jutting his gear stick into park. He leans his elbow on the center console and somehow forces you to look at him without touching or commanding you. You stay still where you are, but you focus on the droning look of Otoya’s green hues that bore into you, warning you almost.

“My family owns a subsidiary business of a large investment management company,” he begins with a tone so robotic, it sounds almost generated. It doesn’t sound a bit like him. 

You were planning to uncover the true essence of Otoya Eita and why he’s been rather shut-in recently from you, but you never expected him to reveal everything about himself all at once because he spits out everything to you in the matter of seconds, leaving barely any for you to stay curious since he seems to ask every question you have in mind immediately. 

“Specifically, we handle index funds. Yes we’re wealthy. Yes, I’m a trust fund baby. I just try to earn money my own way since I don’t want to rely on my parents that often. No, I can’t just give you money flat-out. No, do not ask me if you can dabble in them through me—Karasu already tried. I’ve got barely any knowledge in business and I want it to stay that way.

I have two sisters. Both of them are following my parents’ footsteps, which makes me a black sheep in the family. Stay away from them if you can, same with my parents. I don’t keep in contact with my family a lot for that reason and I only came here because Teruo is the only relative that I’m close with and that gets me.”

An apt pause goes by in the car. 

“Ah…” you mumble, eyes wide as you nod slowly.

You thin your lips, not sure if you should say something at the moment, an exponential flurry of questions constantly rising to thoughts that you think you should hold yourself back from asking in the meantime as clearly this was just too much information to digest at once. 

Otoya snaps you out of your thoughts with an actual snap of his fingers. You blink. 

“This is important, so listen carefully,” he states, atypically serious. There’s almost this pleading look on his face if you look deeper into it. “All you need to do is keep your pretty little head down and let me do the talking, yeah? Don’t try to pretend to be someone you’re not if someone asks you who are—rich snobs can sniff out a phony in seconds. Just don’t give them too much information. Any questions?”

This is very unlike the usual Otoya you saw, and you think this is finally the real version of him that he’s finally allowing you to see; this more vulnerable, more historical side to him that you would’ve never guessed the current Otoya you knew (or thought you knew) well came from. 

“Uh… who else should I avoid other than your sisters and parents?” you ask. 

“Quite literally almost everyone on my side of the family, ‘cept for Teruo and my great aunt Hisako. She’s weird, but chill. Everyone else?” Otoya rolls his eyes. “Chances are if they look like me, then just stay away.”

You affirm with another nod. “What are your sisters’ names? Just so I can be wary.”

“My oldest sister goes by Eimi, my baby sister goes by Eiko,” Otoya describes. “Avoid nee-san the most—she can see through people easily. Eiko’s got a baby-face, but don’t be fooled. She’s a spoiled brat and a bitch if you tick her off.”

You wince at the insults he throws at his sisters, but you have no room to judge. Otoya grew up with them, you did not. 

“Er, how about your parents?” you inquire. 

“You don’t have to worry about them,” his shoulders sag a bit, “‘cause they’ll probably avoid me if anything.”

Otoya suddenly turns to you and you can see this foreign tiredness to his eyes; it’s not the normal lethargicness you see him being casted upon, but rather from exhaustion. 

That’s what happens, you suppose, when you come from such a family of prestige—you can’t even imagine the amount of expectations he probably had to live up to prior to being your roommate. You’ve never seen him in this way before, seeing him almost defenseless before you.

Eyes closing, he breathes slowly, trying to regain his natural lull again as best as possible. Otoya cracks them open again, a familiar glaze over lime green.

“Just stay close to me,” he mutters almost beseechingly. “Okay? For both our sakes.”

Otoya was right. Money really makes people much too vain for your liking. 

Despite looking the part of the family, Otoya himself had an aura that made him stand out in all the wrong ways, drawing side-eyes and whispers from people that knew about him and his reputation as you and him walked about the conservatory, trying to find the groom. You’re a part of it too, his notoriety stretching to you. Every time you try to sneak a glance at one of those dirty looks you think is being thrown your way, just when your vision clears up, they go back to talking in nonsensical manners amongst themselves and laughing much too sweetly. 

An older middle-aged woman in a yukata suddenly begins to approach you and Otoya, a faux smile on her face that he doesn’t return. Her face is placidly smooth, eerily so, but the botox can’t always hide the essence of bitter time, and you think that smile is just as fake as her lips. 

“Eita, what a pleasure to see you here,” she greets. “Teruo will be happy to see you.”

“Auntie Kazuko,” Otoya replies simply. “It’s good to see you.” 

Her smile doesn’t falter and she draws her beady eyes to you, lighting up in mischief. “Hello there. I’ve never seen you before.”

You can feel Otoya stiffen before you, but you squeeze his arm in reassurance that you can temporarily handle yourself. 

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N),” you greet with as much false compassion as you can muster, giving her a slight bow of respect. “I’m his plus-one for tonight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“(L/N)...” Kazuko draws on her tongue, tasting your last name delicately. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a family. What do you all dabble in?” 

“She’s not one of us, Auntie, she’s just a friend of mine,” Otoya cuts in before Kazuko can make a judgement. His tone is so much sharper than normal, serpentlike, almost equivalent to his aunt’s. 

Kazuko’s smile stretches wider, eyes widening and you swear her pupils constrict themselves like a cat venturing for its prey. You swallow. 

“Ah,” she murmurs, lilting her head to examine you fully. “My apologies. I just thought with your looks and your dress that perhaps I just wasn’t akin to your name. Seems I’ve been mistaken.”

Your dress suddenly feels constricting on your body, too tight. “Oh, I just—” you start, shuffling.

“Oscar de la Renta’s Summer 2023 collection, yes?” she asks you. A shiver runs down your spine when his aunt refuses to move her formidable gaze away from you, almost testing you.

You go rigid. No wonder why you felt so intimidated by the dress; a piece crafted by a distinguished fashion house was given to you by Otoya. And while you’ve dabbled in the world of high fashion before, you’ve never been in a status that allowed you to just casually wear $2,000 pieces like they were nothing. 

Words fall heavy on your tongue, trying to compose yourself so as to not seem small in front of her. “I don’t really—”

Otoya beats you to it first, swooping down to save you before you accidentally embarrass yourself. 

“His Pre-Fall 2025 collection, actually,” he says, face still blank.

Your throat feels dry. Kazuko had a trap set up ready for you and if it weren’t for Otoya’s quick reflexes, you probably would’ve ended up dead meat not even fifteen minutes into this wedding.

Kazuko’s smile falters a bit. Her gaze hardens at you but pivots to Otoya. “I’m sure she has a voice of her own, Eita.”

“Where’s Teruo?” he inquires boredly. “Just wanna give him some support before the big show.”

Kazuko huffs, but silently points to the right corridor of the hallway, her eyes cold and sharp and daggering when they burn into the back of your back as Otoya leads you away from her. 

“I’m assuming she’s one of yours…?” you ask softly, noticing how Otoya’s own gaze softens and body loosens when she’s out of view.

“She’s his mom,” Otoya admits as you trail down a hallway of doors as you approach the large door at the end of the hallway. “It’s crazy considering they act nothing alike. Or look alike. I can’t tell if it’s because of all the botox or if just being a bitch ages you quicker.”

A stifled giggle muffles itself under your hand, a small bit of humor distracting you from the tension in the room. 

True to his word, you meet the rather outlandish and loud Teruo, whose naturally extroverted nature is a breath of fresh air in comparison to everyone else. He shakes your hand warmly, telling you thank you for being here with Otoya, who many thought wouldn’t even show up, with a date nonetheless. You can understand why he and Otoya get along so well—they’re quite the oddities in the family. 

He tells you and Otoya to go get settled soon in the venue with a shining smile, clearly excited to meet his shining bride. A lovesick man is always a treat to witness you think. 

Skittering eyes are on you when you and Otoya settle down in your chairs and he can sense that your unease has amplified. It’s not like the same eyes that scan you aren’t observing his every move as well. Oddly, your out-of-place disposition that just seems to draw more attention than him than he would’ve liked brought him this solace—knowing that he wasn’t alone in not quite fitting in with the rest of the crowd. It was cruel to perhaps place you in a co-dependent position with him for the time being, but he figured he had to be just a bit selfish to keep his sanity. 

You lift your gaze a bit and suddenly make accidental eye contact with a man in front whose head is turned ever so slightly to examine you, only breaking it when you notice him. There’s a few other eyes on you and Otoya, some even going to whisper behind their hands to share gossip.

You swallow dryly again, hands feeling clammy until a warmth slithers its way to one of them, squeezing it lightly. 

You turn to Otoya, who idly gazes at you from the side and gives you a comforting nod. 

“You’re fine. We’re fine,” he mutters softly. “Just ignore them. They won’t remember you tomorrow, anyways.”

The Otoya you’re familiar with somehow creeped back into this persona Otoya has been guising under, that coolness he’s notorious for bringing you comfort in knowing that this feeling won’t last for long. Relief in knowing that part of him isn’t entirely buried for the time being warms your nerves.

The lights dim. 

You breathe steadily. Otoya squeezes your hand again and you return it, a silent agreement that you and him just have to stick it out for a few more hours together.

Despite the evident class and structure of the reception’s venue, the reception itself is rather rowdy. It’s too close and personal with the families, so you and Otoya have stowed away somewhere isolated and quiet, where you watch him play rhythm games on his phone intently. 

“You suck,” you state as he misses a note. 

“You swa—” 

Otoya pauses mid sentence, closing his mouth.

You stare at him intently with a plastic grin, eyes wide and unblinking as he tries his best not to look at you and focuses his gaze on his phone. The douchebag jar was nearing its halfway point, if you could recall correctly.

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

“I’m good… thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Good choice,” you cheerily state to his dismay as he begins another level. 

The low hum of the game echoes through the part of the corridor where you and him settle yourselves in, the quietness lulling you both from the apprehension earlier. You can hear the cheers from the reception, but you and Otoya are better off just absorbing it rather than partaking in it. It’s not like they wanted you there anyway.

He’s much more relaxed now, ever since you and him moved away from all the commotion of his family that you witnessed in full light were just as everything Otoya had said they were. Judgemental, proud, and conceited. 

“Hey,” you begin softly, resting your head on his shoulder and watch his thumbs prance about. “How come you didn’t tell me any of this before…?”

Otoya hums questionably, feeling the warmth of you radiating onto him. “What? My family?”

You nod. The fervent taps of his phone and echoes from the party are the only things that ring out into the silence for a bit, but Otoya eventually breaks after choosing his words carefully. 

“Unless I’m forced to, I don’t like telling people about them,” he says, monotone and unfeeling. “For reasons you obviously saw. Also ‘cause I hate associating myself with them.”

That’s understandable, you think to yourself. You don’t think that you would be able to live with yourself if fate forced you to be a part of such a snobbish collective of rich folk without trying to break it off and make a name for yourself. 

“It’s why I refused to go into the financial business field in college and chose music instead,” he continues to your astonishment. Not necessarily a man of many words in regards to himself, Otoya was always more of a secretive person to you, especially in consideration of recent weeks, so to hear him unsheathe truths of himself without you prying came as a small surprise. 

But this is good, you think, to let him be vulnerable around you. To take that mask off.

“Your parents weren’t mad?” you ask.

He snorts loudly, shaking his head. “Oh no, they were pissed. Threatened to cut me off and everything.”

You perk up. “But you said you’re trust fund baby?” 

“I am still,” he confirms with a nod. “Because I told them if they did, I’d reveal to the press all the scandals they covered up. And there’s more than enough to hand out to properly damage their reputation.” Otoya shrugs loosely. “My uncle on my mom’s side especially has quite the stack. Really likes that one gentlemen's club down on Twenty-Eighth.”

Your eyes widen at his quiet ferocity. Only a few hours prior, you would’ve never thought that Otoya you saw on a day-to-day basis would dabble in such matters, only doing his own business as he liked. But seeing this new side of him stirs sparks of interest within you, seeing as how there’s this undertone of determination and ambition he nurtured himself, very much unlike the lethargic, easy-going roommate you saw. 

Otoya, without averting his eyes away from his phone, senses your shock and cracks a grin. 

“Surprised?” he inquiries, a subtle slyness in his voice.

You’re nothing but. You let out a brief laugh in astonishment. 

“A little bit,” you murmur. “Sorry, I just kind of always took you as—”

“—a slob? A sloth? A laggard?” Otoya lists down. “You can say it, I’ve heard it all before. They’re pretty much true anyway.”

“I was going to say ‘laid back’,” you mutter, shoving him a bit to his amusement. “‘Care-free’ even, you dunce.”

He cringes at the familiarity of the nickname. “Gross. You’ve been hanging out with Tabito too much.”

You’re about to hurl an insult back at him but Otoya stands up abruptly when two feminine voices suddenly trail through the hallway. His face remains still, but there’s a seriousness to his eyes that narrow when they grow closer.

“I feel as though Teruo went over his budget,” a familiar voice drawls steadily, two pairs of heels clicking in synchronicity. “All for a commoner girl?”

“Well, Teruo-nii has always been like that,” the other, younger in intonation, replies in what seems to be an attempt at comfort, but comes off as standoffish. Otoya’s brows knit in concern at the second voice, clearly accustomed to it. “Always loud and grand. Explosive, some may say.”

“I hope your brother won’t be doing that with that girl he came along with,” Auntie Kazuko’s voice chides. “Then again, I doubt he’ll ever get married anyway. He doesn’t seem like the type to do so.”

The younger voice laughs in amusement. “It might be better for us anyway. We don’t need more drama from someone who’s stirred up quite a storm already.”

Your eyes soften in pity at the implication of Otoya, who just stares at the two approaching shadowy figures in the hallway. You want to refute their statement, but your words falter when Otoya suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you further from them, your heels rapidly clicking against the floor. 

“Hey!” you exclaim with a slight yelp in pain from his grip. “Where are we—”

“Just away from them,” he grimaces. “I don’t feel like talking to nee-san today.”

His older sister. Eimi, if you could recall, the one who was able to see through people. You’ve never heard of her until today, let alone know what she looks like, but you can already tell from Otoya’s urgency to get away from her that she’s not a force to be reckoned with. 

Otoya leads you down one of the corridors leading to the entrance but hisses out a swear when he sees a cherub-faced woman talking politely with an elder, a head of long snowy white hair with that strike of green mimicking his own. He turns back, only to see the shadowy figures from earlier approach you both closer and closer as the seconds pass. 

He groans out loud. He hates things like this—problems that require too much worrying. It was such a waste of time dabbling on things that were out of his control, such as this scenario before him, and Otoya thought he had gotten away from the hazards of it when he left the family but he supposes that he’s doomed to face such troubles whenever they’re in radius.

His eyes scan his surroundings for a way out, not finding any that won’t lead him to cross paths with people until he spots a certain door. 

“Sorry babe,” he mutters lowly to you and pulls you to the men’s bathroom to your horror. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

You gawk at him when you see the male symbol on the door. 

“Dude!” you shout in protest, but to no avail does it work in changing Otoya’s mind seeing as how he slams the door shut and locks it, pressing himself up against the door as a barricade. 

To your relief, it was a single stall bathroom with no one in it to bother you both, one gold-plated toilet sitting next to the door and a marble sink across from it. Otoya swallows thickly, pressing his ear up against the wall to properly hear outside. He can hear the semi-condescending voices of his sisters murmur through, his name being bounced around once or twice to his displeasure. 

A small velvet stool sits right in front of the door and you let yourself take a break from the stress of your heels, watching closely as Otoya observes the outside within the inner safety of the bathroom with his ear.

“I think we’re all good,” he asserts when turning back to you.

You don’t enjoy seeing him like this—it felt uncharacteristic of him to be so restless around people he was supposed to have fun with. It’s clear that he didn’t want to come from the very beginning.

“Hey,” you start, “I get that Teruo is your cousin and everything, but we can go home if you really want to.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised him I’d stay for at least the majority of the reception. Just until the toasts. Said I didn’t have to interact with anyone, but he wants me here. I owe him that much.”

“Well that isn’t worth being uncomfortable for nearly five hours, I’m sorry,” you remark tiredly. “You don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I think it’s just best if we leave.”

Otoya turns to you, a slight furrow in his brow. “He’s the only person in this family that I refuse to let down. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, but I’m doing this for him.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead, a little vexed at this foreign stubbornness considering Otoya would usually go along with most things. 

“You haven’t let yourself breathe even once the entire time we’ve been here,” you point out with concern. “I’m sure he’d understand.

Otoya takes your words in for a moment to consider, but ultimately shakes his head again. “It’s just a few more hours. Let’s just tough it out.”

Frustrated, you get up and dust yourself off, moving towards the door. You’ve had enough for one night; you’re tired, your esteem has been kicked down from all the shady comments sent your way, and all you want to do is just take off this dress and makeup and sleep. Meddling around in rich folks’ business was not your ideal Saturday night. 

“You can stay if you want,” you huff, grasping the handle and whipping your head around to face him. “But I’m gonna grab an Uber. I’ll see you back home. I’ve done my part.”

Otoya shrugs loosely, unfazed as he takes your spot on the stool. “Go right ahead, princess.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

You throw him another judgemental look, one that he doesn’t do much with except for give you a questioning raise of his brows as you tug on the doorknob to swing yourself out of the reception’s venue.

Oddly, however… it refuses to budge.

You pause. Then jerk it again. Nothing happens. The door stays where it is.

“What…” you mutter, pulling on the doorknob again, fiddling with the lock multiple times to get the right latch. With every turn of the lock, however, you run into the same problem. “You can’t be serious? It’s stuck?”

“No way bro can’t even open a door right,” Otoya snorts and stands up. His hand goes to grip the doorknob and give it a pull from his own means, but even he can’t seem to get it to open. 

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck,” you insist as he repeats your own methods, all reaching no avail.

Otoya constantly pulls on the doorknob, each yank being harsher than the previous. “It literally just opened a minute ago—hold on…”

“Don’t pull too hard,” you warn when he begins adding more of his strength. “You might—!”

Something clicks, and Otoya figures it’s the latch. He gives it one last harsh tug, only for the actual knob of it to snap off suddenly to your horror, a gasp pulling from your throat.

He steps back a little, examining the chunk of metal in his palm. He gives you a blank look. 

“So… we may be stuck,” he says all too obviously, making you smack your forehead.

“Well duh!” you groan out loud and examine the broken lock that seems completely hopeless to try and solve a way to maneuver it.

Otoya is quick to pull out his phone. “Lemme call Teruo and see if—shit, my phone’s dead.”

He shows you the empty battery icon flickering on his screen, your dread expanding. 

“I didn’t think rhythm games took up that much battery…” he falters, tucking it back into his pocket. “Try yours.” 

Thankfully, you have your phone still at 40% battery when you pull it out, the number keypad at the ready, only for you to whine miserably when you see the No Service text on the corner of your screen. Of course you somehow land in the only place in the venue that is just slightly out of service.

“First rule of thumb whenever you enter a place,” Otoya holds a finger up, one that you have an urge to snap from the irritation that boils within you. “Always ask for their wifi password.”

That’s not how it works… you hiss at him in your mind, trying to avoid escalating this situation. You stare at him darkly, his lax personality not doing much to help your unease in this moment and wonder how many hours it’ll take for you to go insane and strangle him. 

Two, you think. One, if he tested his luck.

Surprisingly, after three and a half hours have passed, Otoya still has a beating heart. He’s been the patient one out of you two, watching you as you pace back and forth to try and conjure a plan to get out while he was just riding on the wave of hoping someone would come by soon to try and use this bathroom. 

You’ve tried going on his shoulders to try and receive a signal, pushing the vent to see if you could spy-movie—only for it to be much too small for a human body to fit, and yelling for help whenever someone passed by, only for your shouts to be drowned out from the music.

The music has died down, but your voice is gone from all the shouting. You’ve given up at this point, just hoping that a custodian will somehow break their way through after hours.

“Has no one attempted to look for you yet?” you question wearily when you slump down next to him on the stool. 

Otoya gives another one of those loose shrugs of his again as he bunches up his suit jacket, plopping it on his lap. “Bold of you to assume that family gives a damn about me.”

The way he says it seems too casual, like he was used to this. Like this was normal for him. It’s unsettling to you, knowing that such a large and prestigious family would think of one of their own so scathingly that his existence barely mattered. 

He sees you giving him a pouted look and sighs. “You don’t have to pity me. I chose to leave that life while knowing the consequences.”

“But even so… it doesn’t bother you?” you question with sympathy laced in your voice. “When they talk about you like that?”

“Hah,” Otoya gives a smileless laugh, rolling his eyes. “I promise you, I could not have given less of a shit about what they think of me. They can say whatever they want; I got what I wanted at the end of the day while they’re stuck slaving away at an office.”

You give him a stony look, silently reminding him that you and his other two roommates worked corporate.

“My fault,” Otoya excuses with guilty haste. 

The rigidity in your face softens once more, your mind trailing back to all of those side-eyes that everyone had thrown in Otoya’s direction from before. 

The Otoya you saw today just seemed so different from the one you were used to at home, so much so that you still can’t decipher him out and if anything, the Otoya that you had witnessed today just even caused more confusion to you. The usual Otoya, the one you suspect is just a mask, is this composed and carefree guy that dawdled around the apartment as he pleased, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. This Otoya however, was much more uptight, much more weary of his surroundings—you almost think that he’s mimicking his family in some manner.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so closed-off with you recently. Family can bring out the best and worst in people, so the days leading up to this event were the reason why he’s been so strayed from you lately.

“You know,” you start quietly, earning Otoya’s attention. “I wish you didn’t feel the urge to have to hide something like this from me. Unless I made it seem like you had to…?”

Otoya examines you in full, scanning how bleak your face is, how sincere it was. 

He remembers the first day you came into the loft—you, sitting there on the couch with your fidgety self squirming about. Originally, Otoya had not really thought that hard about you during the first few weeks you and him were living together, seeing you as no more than just a girl he wasn’t allowed to cross boundaries with to ensure nothing unnecessary would blossom. Even Yukimiya and Karasu had told him not to try anything funny, though he insists he wasn’t going to anyway.

But times change, as they always have. A crack was made in the wall he put between you and him from a specific day he saw you bring home a certain vinyl, one that he already owned from his own collection. That was his first break with you, your shared love of music—the start of everything. Of you and him. A unique relationship with a girl he’d never had before.

He thought it’d just be nothing more than that, casual chats over new albums and artists and whatnot. Until the small hangouts started to arise, where it’d just be the two of you venturing around places like record stores or flea markets. It was nice, being able to hang out with a girl without any other intentions. Perhaps that’s why Otoya allowed himself to get closer to you—you were a safe option. Someone he was able to breathe around just like Karasu and Yukimiya. 

Someone he saw as an escape from the roots of himself.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he says. “I just never brought it up because I thought I didn’t have to at first,” He shuffles his feet about, almost ashamed. 

He never even realized he was closing himself in from you when he received the wedding invitation all those weeks ago, a reminder to not forget where he came from, who he was supposed to be. That no matter how many times he attempts to bury it, that lost potential he never wanted to live up to was still a remnant of him. 

“I figured that if I possibly did, you’d view me differently,” he admits, “you’d view me as someone I’m not.”

He had a point; money does a plethora of things—one of them being the way people see each other. Whether one person saw the other as a walking piggy bank, or someone they could depend on financially, or someone they should envy, money was always attached to some sort of ugly feeling that you figured Otoya didn’t want you associating with him. Not from someone he had such a unique connection with.

“I didn’t want that,” he confesses and raises his head to face you in full. You can feel your heart skip a beat when he goes to directly stare into your eyes with those lime green eyes of his that hold nothing but genuinity. “Especially not from you, (Y/N).”

The way he says your name is delicate, like it’s fragile. The lack of endearment and nickname reveals the earnesty of his nature.

It comes to you suddenly, that epiphany you had been searching for.

You had spent all this time wondering about who the true Otoya Eita was that you didn’t even realize you had been face-to-face with him this entire time. That, in reality, the seemingly-fake Otoya was the one you saw plastered on his face when it came to his family matters, people that brought the worst of himself to light. He kept it professional, keeping them at arm’s length as to not let anymore of those feelings only they could conjure to light. He was just trying to bury that part of him on your behalf to keep letting authenticity bounce between you and him. 

But Otoya is a good man. A tad bit annoying, yes, you won’t deny you’ve seen some vices of his unfiltered self, sure, but at the end of the day, despite having that immense access to wealth, he still somehow lived humbly. It was ironic seeing as how he detached himself from his riches to become a happier person, but he’s clearly put in the work, seeing as how he seems to be content where he is. Everyone around him seems to be, as well. 

You give him a gentle smile. 

“I don’t think I would’ve viewed you in a different light even if I tried to,” you murmur. “You’re too much of a good person. I think everyone can see that, Otoya.” 

His eyes widen a bit from your tender response before softening. Your response is tender, an honesty he’s not familiar with, but embraces nonetheless. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

One of his legs shuffles around with yours, linking them together in a loose manner. Otoya turns to you. 

“You can call me Eita, by the way,” he proclaims quietly. “I don’t mind.”

The clicking of metal suddenly startles you awake, your body jolting so harshly, Otoya’s suit jacket falling to the ground from your body. Your head jerks up from Otoya’s shoulder, accidentally waking him up, whose own lied on top of yours for the small catnap you and him took, a groan rumbling out of him. 

“Awhuzz happening…?” he asks blearily, eyes half-closed.

It takes a bit for your vision to adjust, but the inner mechanics of the broken doorknob are suddenly moving on their own, a muffled voice outside muttering about. You tap on his arm rapidly, pointing your finger towards it. “Look, look!” 

Otoya’s drowsiness still stirs within him, but you go up and rap on the door, indicating to the person outside that someone was still here.

“Hello?!” you call out, hearing an exclaim from outside. “Hello! Sorry, but there’s two people trapped in here! Can you let us out please?!”

You watch eagerly as whoever is outside fiddles with the broken lock, the latch suddenly clicking and the door swinging open to your relief.

A custodian with his supplies appears before you, your unknowing knight in shining trousers. He widens his eyes at the both of you. “What on earth are you kids doin’ here? We’ve been closed for three hours already.”

I’m so sorry, the lock broke and we both got trapped inside since around eight or so,” you confess as you hand the custodian the broken knob. You check the time on your phone, the time reading 01:34 AM. “Oh gosh, we were stuck in there for that long?” 

The custodian eyes you both suspiciously, raising a bushy brow. “And exactly why did you both move into the same bathroom when clearly…?” he eyes you up and down, moving his gaze to the male symbol on the door.

It was your turn for your eyes to widen, a heat rising on your cheeks. 

“N-no sir, it wasn’t anything like that…” you stutter, shaking your head. “We just—will you shut up!” you snap at Otoya, who quietly snickers behind you to your disbelief.

The custodian sighs, dismissing it and just wanting his job to be over with.

“Y’all better get movin’,” he warns, checking behind his shoulder. “Security doesn’t take too kindly to who they think may be trespassers.”

When you both finally walk outside for the first time in hours from the bathroom and pass by the reception venue, it’s dark and completely devoid of all the decorations you saw earlier, eerily desolate. Otoya’s car is the only one that remains in the parking lot, with the exception of the night crew, and you couldn’t feel more relieved to be sitting on something other than a velvet stool for once. Who knew cold leather seats could feel so pleasant?

“It would’ve been easier if you just went along with what he was implying,” Otoya points out as he travels down the road, a smirk toying on his lips. “Would’ve been funnier, too.”

Your jaw grits, a familiar reaction whenever he says or does anything preposterous to you. He’s lucky he’s driving and not still stuck in the bathroom with you, because if he wasn’t, you most definitely would’ve strangled him by now. 

“Twenty bucks in the douchebag jar when we get home, Eita,” you hiss.

He stifles a chuckle, a warmth within him blooming when he hears his name falling from your lips. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

☚ previous next☛

a/n: this chapter sucked the absolute life out of me good god im glad it's over... a little bit of a serious one, but dw i'm pinning that clown nose on otoya again soon! also, this was the dress that otoya had reader wear; it's an actual piece from the oscar de la renta's collection otoya stated.

yukki's chapter is next, one that i'm quite excited for! i think that's where all the drama is going to start to happen so i hope you'll stay tuned (spoiler: they dance together aaa)

thank you sincerely if you made it this far, i hope you enjoyed reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support your writers; they're always appreciated and never unnoticed <3

taglist (link to join): @okkotsuus @solaqes @cz19y @kiritokunuwu @/ilovenijironanase @cyberheartrebel @tecchouss @/inojinieee @beoms-sugar

*those with /, please turn on the ability to tag you in posts!

the song washing machine heart by mitski feels very yandere bakugo coded i fear.

just,,,, i think if he was your second choice, like you started dating him because things between you and someone else (cough todoroki or midoriya) didn’t work out he would NEVER believe you really love him. it doesn’t matter if he grows to become your first choice, he will never truly be able to shake the feeling that you’re imagining one of them while you’re kissing him.

and like, he wants you to love him. he wants to believe that you truly think of him as your first choice now, but how does he do that when he’s seen how you’ve looked at his rivals. meanwhile he was always the one chasing after your oblivious ass.

you’re everything to him. he’s not just gonna get rid of you. he can’t get rid of you. he worked so hard just to be second choice, to have you now.

he can’t lose you to one of them.

it leads to him becoming very toxic and possessive out of fear. you need to love him, but he’ll never be not paranoid enough to believe you do. bakugo kinda traps himself in this cage of doubt and starts treating you like something that’s gonna get ripped away from him if he isn’t careful.