getousgf

[getousgf]

I'm the Villainess, So I'm Taming the Final Boss | Akuyaku Reijou nano de Last Boss wo Kattemimashita – Chapter 6

[getousgf]

#𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ gojo satoru has ruined your best friend’s life—and you’re about to make it a whole lot worse yourself

— pairing ⋮ gojo satoru x reader

— length ⋮ 2.1k words

— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, mentions of betrayal (gojo is your best friend’s ex and you fuck him), (slight) mutual pining, toxic! gojo, lovesick! gojo, (slightly) mean! gojo, car sex, light choking, edging, unprotected sex, praise, creampie

— notes ⋮ this is for my soulmate @bxnten 's burn book collab <3 we r mean girls to everyone but each other hehe ily kitty cat <33

gojo satoru is a sleazy, backstabbing, knife-twisting, and heartbreaking asshole. he has little regard for others, doesn’t bother to ponder the weight of his actions, acts as though the world revolves around him, and you’re sick of him—or so you tell yourself. 

he’s made your friend’s life hell, really. he’s made her cry, made her question her worth, made her sacrifice things she shouldn’t have to, made her so unhappy, that you can’t help but wish you could punch him in his (perfect) teeth. you tell yourself you’re sick of picking up phone calls that turn into hours worth of tearful rants, and you tell yourself you’re sick of being haunted by his cocky smirk as he shoots you a wink in the back of your mind. it’s how any good friend would feel—any good friend would look at him and wish he’d drop dead on the spot for all the times he’s fucked up. 

but you suppose you’re not half as good of a friend as you once thought you were—maybe you’re not as fiercely loyal as you gave yourself credit for. because what kind of friend would be sprawled on the backseat of the ex’s car that they’re supposed to hate? what kind of a friend would cling desperately to the same man they’ve said probably has a small dick anyway, drunk on the drag of his cock? what kind of friend would ever think about getting with their friend’s ex—let alone actually do it?

you, apparently.

“that feel good, sweetheart?” he chuckles, hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly. your head spins at the cut-off of oxygen, a shaky gasp falling off your lips as your stare up at him. gojo chuckles, loosening his grip, kissing away the stray tears on your cheek as you whimper at the shallow thrust of his hips. “you like when i do this, huh? like when i fuck you like this? bet you like me, don’t you?” he grins cheekily.

he’s an asshole. 

a horrible, heartless, selfish, insensitive, and self-absorbed asshole. but his cock drags along your walls so good, the stretch making your mind fog and your back arch until your chests meet, your nipples brushing against his through the fabric and making you both groan.

“act like you hate me so bad, but i bet you were just mad, huh? are you mad i didn’t pick you first, is that it?” he pouts, squeezing your cheeks together and leaving you with no choice but to look at him as he presses his forehead to yours.

but you’re stubborn, you have been since you first met. you refuse to shake his hand when he first offers it, refuse to be on civil terms when he third wheels hangouts, and refuse to apologize first after any arguments that might stir. and you’re stubborn now too, closing your eyes to have some level of power of your own against him—but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop and gritting his teeth as he feels the burn of his orgasm die down.

you whine, buck your hips, and open your eyes as you stare at him confused, “what the fuck? why’d you—”

“asked you a question, sweetheart,” he sneers, hand finding its way down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that have you whining as your head tosses back.

“p-please, gojo—need it—”

“uh uh,” he drawls, that annoying, infuriating, and sickeningly smug little smile on his face as he looks down at you, “you gotta answer my question. then i’ll give you what you want,” he pats your cheek. “you wish i picked you, don’t you baby?”

“no,” you spit, glaring at him harshly, “you’re a fucking asshole. you don’t care about anyone’s feelings but your own, and you couldn’t love someone if your life depended on it. fucking dickhead—” you cut yourself off with a squeal when his fat tip slams into you all of a sudden, right against your spot, making your arms wrap tightly around his neck as your legs hook around his waist.

you’re clinging to him desperately by now, sobbing with every harsh roll of his hips, crying out every time his navel bumps along your clit and pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm. gojo’s jaw is clenched, his hands gripping your hips so tight, you almost think there’ll be bruises by the time he’s done. your slick and his pre cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his dick and a trail down the inner sides of your thighs, and maybe if he wasn’t so angry, he’d have made a cheeky comment about how wet you are.

“oh yeah, is that right? i don’t care about feelings? i can’t love someone?” he laughs, but there’s not a trace of amusement in his tone—it’s so condescending, so mean, you have to fight back tears. “you’re the best friend. i’m just an ex. wait till she finds out just how much you care,” he spits, venom lacing his tone as you gasp, shaky and just a little scared. it satisfies him maybe a tad bit too much. “i bet she’ll be thrilled to hear how lost on my cock you get, always beggin’ for more—aren’t you just a greedy little thing?”

“n-no,” you gasp, clutching onto his shirt tightly, fighting the wobble of your lips at the thought. “you can’t. you can’t! please, gojo, you can’t tell her, sh-she…she’ll never speak to me again a-and—”

“aw, don’t cry sweetheart,” he laughs, and his hips are slamming into your abused cunt mercilessly now, making your walls flutter around him as he lets out a low grunt, moaning against your ear—and he sounds so pretty, so sweet and divine and perfect, it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

you almost understand why it took your friend as long as it did to finally leave him.

“please, gojo,” you sniffle, teary eyes staring up at him pleadingly. it makes his heart jump, makes his heart ache a little deep in his chest.

because you’re wrong. he isn’t always an asshole, and he does care sometimes—in fact, he always cares when it’s about you. gojo satoru thinks he’d let the sun bleed out if he had to, as long as he has your smile to brighten his days for as long as he lives. because you’re wrong, he can love—and he loves you desperately.

he never wanted to fall in love with his girlfriend’s best friend. never wanted to be a shallow man with even shallower intentions, but who could hear your laugh and see your smile and not fall head over heels? it makes him mad—hurts deep in his chest and aches so bad, that he thinks you’re almost bad for his health. you don’t bat an eyelash at him, don’t even wanna be around him for longer than you have to be—and yet, he wants you by his side for longer than eternity. he can’t help but wish he met you first, can’t help but hate the universe for being so cruel, so heartless for making him find the one person he wants more than anything like this. 

he wants you badly, and the worst part is even if you want him too, you’d never let yourself indulge in something as retched as a betrayal—even if technically, you already have the second his cock sank into you. 

so he presses a gentle kiss between your brows, leaves a trail of kisses along your cheek and jaw, and he hovers over your lips. “i won’t tell,” he mumbles against them, making your breath hitch in shock, “won't say a word if you call me toru, yeah? jus’ say toru, just once, yeah? i gotta hear it.”

“promise?” you sniffle, “you promise you won’t tell?”

“promise,” he agrees with a nod, and he even holds out a pinky to seal the deal. a soft grin spreads across his lips when your own pinky hooks around his, the warmth of your touch, as small as it might be, lighting him up until he feels like his chest is pressed with the weight of the sun.

“kay,” you mumble, “need more, toru—please, gimme more,” you beg, and his name tastes so sweet rolling off your tongue, so saccharine it almost feels like it’s dripped with honey, trickling past your lips and rolling down your chin for him to kiss off. it makes your head spin that you never want to say gojo again now that you’ve gotten a taste of toru. 

with a shaky exhale against your mouth at the sound of his name, he pulls you into a hungry kiss, desperate and needy and just a little starved. his cock is aching by now, throbbing in your dripping core, balls heavy and ready to release as he rolls his hips faster into you. his skin slaps against yours, the slick sound of his cock bullying into your wet cunt filling the small space of his car, his body towering over you in the cramped back seat. he lets his hand find the soft flesh of the back of your thigh, hoisting your leg over his shoulder as he angles himself deeper into you, letting out a strangled cry when your walls flutter around him tightly. 

“fuck, that’s it—g-gonna be the death o’ me, sweetheart,” he grunts, “so good, takin’ me so well, yeah? so fuckin’ tight,” he rasps. his thumb finds your clit once more, rubbing harsh circles and watching entranced as tears spill past your lash line, staining your cheeks with a soft, wet glisten that makes his heart squeeze and his chest tighten. “god, you’re so perfect, so pretty. my pretty girl,” he coos, “my. pretty. girl,” each word is followed by a sharp thrust, and the slam of his tip against your sweet spot, and the way he sounds so possessive as he claims you as his makes your back arch and your nails dig into his skin through his shirt.

“toru, toru, ‘m close—please, ‘m so close—”

“i know, baby,” he pants, moaning into your neck as his head buries into the small space, breath fanning against your skin and making you shiver. “‘m close too, gonna cum—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he whines. 

“fuck—toru, toru, ‘m…‘m cumming,” you scream, your orgasm crashing over your body, making your arms wrap around him tightly as you cling to him and sob. your walls spasm around him erratically, the sound of your mewls as you cry his name pushing him into his own release. 

his head digs into your shoulder, his body trembling over yours as he lets his hips slam into you sloppily, thick ribbons of cum painting your walls white as you feel his cock twitch with every rope. 

“oh fuck, baby, that’s it—sh-shit, feels so good,” he pants, “g-god you’re somethin’ else, should’ve…should’ve picked you. it should’ve been you—god, i love you,” he babbles into your skin, too overwhelmed by the pleasure burning through his spine as he fucks you both through your highs to even realize the words he’s admitted or the way you stiffen in his arms. 

he pulls out and stares at the mess between your legs for a moment, watching as his cum drips down your legs in thick streams. a small bit of pride bubbles up in his chest at the sight before he slumps his body over yours, head digging back into your neck and his lips pressing a soft kiss to your skin. 

“we can’t keep doing this,” you mumble, but your hand still finds its way to his hair, stroking through the strands gently. it feels right, like this is how it was always supposed to be—like this is how it should be. 

your words make his arms tighten around you, and gojo presses more weight against your body—like the more he presses into you, the longer he can spend in your arms. 

“sure we can,” he says stubbornly, “i promised i won’t tell,” he insists, voice lilting into what you think is borderline desperate—desperate to keep you here, where you’re his, where it doesn’t matter if he found you first or if he found you last. 

he found you, and that’s all he needs. 

“but—”

“i won’t tell if you don’t,” he pleads, “you’re still mine, baby.” 

and there’s a buzzing of your phone from the front seat, but you ignore it, letting your arms wrap tighter around his figure as you kiss the side of his head—and for a second, as bad of a friend as it might cause you to be, you think what someone doesn't know can’t possibly hurt them.

even if it makes you a backstabber.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[getousgf]

My one and only. My one and only. My one and only. (Poem, by Langston Hughes)

[getousgf]

season of first love.

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Blood on the Tracks | Chi no Wadachi – Chapter 114

[getousgf]

Sanzu is a product of his environment. We saw him when he was younger. He was a soft and sweet boy. We also saw that he didn't quite understand how to navigate the relationships with his siblings, and wanted to be more like his friends who were able to stand up for themselves. He was brought up in an environment full of violence, between Takeomi being a part of the Black Dragons and always being with Mikey and Baji who were both born fighters, Mikey being a prodigy and Baji loving to scrap. Sanzu cries because he is stuck in this situation that he doesn't understand and doesn't want to be in.

I don't think Sanzu can fight. At all. He uses weapons and tricks to fight, he doesn't care about a fair fight, he only needs to win. Because that's how he's grown up, that's how he's protected himself. He isn't physically strong, but he's surrounded by all this violence, he has to be able to protect himself because no one is going to protect him. So he resorts to dirty tricks and lethal weapons.

His dramatic antics are also to protect himself. I think the real Sanzu without the act is a cry baby like Takemichi. It's like how people that are neglected act out in a desperate attempt to be noticed and seen. Sanzu's telling everyone that he's here because he's not going to be relegated to the sidelines and then stepped on. He's put up all these walls and dressed them up with flair so no one will notice them.

I think this is partly why he hates Takemichi so much. He sees himself in him, or what he could have been if given the chance. The violence surrounding him has twisted him to become someone he isn't, and his environment won't let him throw off that persona that he's created. Sanzu was made to protect him, and remains the barrier that keeps his true feelings from coming out to everyone.

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★ VANITAS & NOÉ ★

for the lovely Luna @sattosugu​

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iwaizumi: *likes/reblogs/follows/queues 100 more reblogs*

[getousgf]

feels like every few weeks I have to relearn how to exist, that I do need to sit in the sun and move my body and not drink too much coffee and dress in clothes that make me feel good and talk to my friends and journal and get off my phone sometimes and eat vegetables and drink more tea and generally reclaim the space in my life for myself ya know

[getousgf]

Scion

yakuza arranged marriage anyone??

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

wc 8.5k

tw dubcon, noncon, drug use, mentions of murder, torture, minor character death, implied infidelity, human trafficking, blood, general yandere themes, smut, nsfw

“You know we’re not actually in a relationship, right?”

Oikawa grins, “The big, sparkly diamond ring I’ve got in my back pocket begs to differ.”

You fix him with an unimpressed look, which only serves to make his grin widen. He really can’t help himself when you get all worked up like this. 

“I’m serious, Oikawa. Ring or no ring. Contract or no contract, I think it’s better for the both of us to just act like–”

“Act like this isn’t happening?”

“That’s not– you’re being difficult,” you huff. “I just meant that we don’t need to pretend to be all… coupley in the meantime. You’re free to see and do whatever you want, and… and so am I.”

It’s not a question exactly, there’s something distinctly uncertain in your tone. Are you seeking his permission or trying to reaffirm to yourself that you still have some semblance of freedom – romantic or otherwise – until the moment you walk down the aisle to bind yourself to him?

Neither thought sits particularly well with him, though before Oikawa can open his mouth to deliver a retort, you’re cutting him off. “And I’m not wearing the ring.”

“No? But I haven’t even shown it to you yet. I picked it out myself, and you know I have excellent taste.”

Your scowl deepens. “Would it kill you to take this seriously?”

“Like you are?” he parries. “You understand that you’re essentially giving me a free pass to fuck whoever I want while we’re engaged.”

He doesn’t miss the flicker of distaste that you try (and fail miserably) to hide. You’ve always been like that; wearing your emotions on your face, bare as the light of day. And while that’s an admirable trait in somebody else – one he admittedly finds more endearing than he should as far as you’re concerned – it won’t do you any favours in this world of his. The world you were born into, loathe as you seem to be to accept your part in it.

Admittedly, it does make it so very entertaining whenever he decides to push those delightful buttons of yours.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself perhaps, and lift your gaze to meet his. 

“I don’t know why you even agreed to marry me, and honestly I don’t care. I'm doing this for my family, but if this whole thing falls apart before I ever make it down the aisle, I’ll sleep just fine. So by all means, fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, I promise you I won’t stop you – so long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”

Though you never raise your voice, there’s a fire that burns in your eyes, unwavering. Unflinching. And far from being put off by it, Oikawa’s thrilled. 

“Fine,” he purrs, “but you’ll be wearing the ring.”

—

You’d asked for a year, and graciously, he’d agreed. 

Oikawa’s waited a long, long time for this, another twelve months will hardly make a difference. Besides, there’s nothing stopping him from stealing you away every now and then; there’s meetings with the wedding planner, picking out a venue, organising caterers, going over the guest lists – all responsibilities he could technically pass off to someone else, but why deny himself the pleasure of your sparkling company when he has the chance? 

And of course, there’s special occasions that people would traditionally want to celebrate with their soon to be spouses. Days like today; his 30th birthday. 

He doesn’t bother informing you of this, because then he’d miss out on seeing your bright, sunny grin when you open the door, and how it falters when you realise that it’s him. 

“Oh, Oikawa…”

Though it’s an admittedly poor effort, he’ll give you credit for trying to pretend that it’s not blatant disappointment leaching from your tone as you grip the edge of the door, your gaze darting over his shoulder quickly.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Ah. His eyes drift downwards, taking in the short, summery dress, the light sweep of makeup across your pretty face. Spies the ‘fuck me’ heels sitting by the door, ready for you to slip on before you leave. 

Date night, then. And on his birthday no less.

“Did you have plans?” he asks, plastering an innocent smile across his face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The answer is obviously yes, even if it weren’t clear from your outfit, he can see it written all over your expression. 

Your fingers tighten a fraction on the door, “I assumed– I thought tonight you’d be out with your… friends.” Friends, bodyguards, lieutenants, brothers. His family, soon to be yours. “To celebrate, I mean. Today’s your birthday, right?”

Oikawa’s touched that you remember. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be – ever since he was a teenager, your father had essentially enforced your presence (yours and your brother’s) at any of their events, birthday celebrations no exception. 

Another glance risked over his shoulder.

He shrugs easily, “We will be, later. For now I want you all to myself.”

You open your mouth, only to abruptly snap it shut, suddenly hesitant. Not without cause, he supposes. One thing to insist that your engagement with him doesn’t construe a proper relationship, another to openly admit you’re seeing somebody else while it’s his ring that glitters on your finger. 

His smile widens. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

“… Not at all.” 

Good girl. 

He takes you to his favourite restaurant in the city. Wraps an arm low around your back and lets his thumb rub slowly – posessively – at your hip when the staff bow deeply and address him by name, ushering you both to a private room, his usual, out the back. 

You’re quiet through dinner, picking at the food on your plate.

Normally it’d irritate him, push him to poke and prod until you came alive and played with him, however tonight he finds it oddly satisfying. Delightful, if only because he knows he’s the cause of your discomfort.

Did you manage to message your jilted lover before he swept you away for the night, or does the poor bastard think you’ve stood him up, he wonders.

“You know,” he begins, idly gazing down at his glass as he swirls the last dregs of whiskey, “I’ve been thinking that we need to amend our contract.”

You glance up sharply, and he only barely resists snickering. “What?”

“I think we should add a fidelity clause.” He pauses, lets the words sink in as he drains his glass in a single mouthful, “You seemed convinced I’d be fucking other people after we married, well, now you don’t have to worry.”

You blink. “But… I told you I didn’t care–”

“This way, if you catch me being unfaithful, both our marriage and the contract become null and void, and you can go on your merry way.”

Setting the now empty glass back on the table, Oikawa rests an arm on the back of his chair. For all your naivety, you’ve never been stupid. He can tell from the sudden tight, apprehensiveness in your features that you understand the subtle threat, yet it never hurts to hammer the point home, “Of course, that goes both ways, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” you echo back, your voice unsteady, and knock back the last of your wine.

Oikawa grins, “Another round?”

—

“Her brother’s outside,” Matsukawa informs him. “Demanding to see you.”

The night before his wedding, Oikawa stands at the sink of his bathroom, a damp face cloth in hand, wiping at the blood splattered along his face and neck. He’s already shed his shirt, dumped it on the floor – it’s likely beyond salvaging, the blood already in the process of drying. Another casualty to this lifestyle, though considering how much of a colossal fuck up this night’s already been, he can’t find it within himself to give a shit about one measely shirt.

Mattsun meets his gaze in the mirror, “Want me to get rid of him?” he asks.

Oikawa exhales, dropping the towel into the sink. His tattoos, the vibrant bursts of colour inked between swirling blacks and greys, stand stark against the pale skin of his torso, rising and falling with each measured breath. There’s a temptation for him to tell Mattsun to simply get rid of him. An even bigger temptation to march out there himself and soothe the monster raging beneath his skin with more blood. 

Instead, he holds out a hand, to which Hanamaki quickly passes him a clean shirt to shrug on.

“No. Let him in.”

In truth, he’d been somewhat expecting a visit tonight, sending your brother to grovel for last minute clemency, though? Oikawa’s almost disappointed, he expected more from you.

Your glowering brother isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.

A few minutes later, dressed and clean, Oikawa makes his way into his study, ignoring the man already seated while he settles himself into the leather backed chair behind his desk. His right hand, Iwaizumi, lingers by the door, arms folded across his chest, scowling silently at their guest.

“Oikawa,” he grits out, his head inclining just a fraction – all the respect he can seem to muster for the man marrying his sister. His soon to be Oyabun, considering that after tomorrow, all that he was poised to inherit becomes Oikawa’s. 

His answering smirk is practically vulpine. “Come to play white knight? Leaving it a bit late, don’t you think?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” he spits, eyes narrowing. “Tell me what I need to do to end this.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in that?”

And Oikawa has to give him credit; he doesn’t waste a beat, “Because you’re a greedy little fuck who enjoys manipulating people. Stop playing games and tell me what it is you want in exchange for breaking this engagement, and I’ll go.”

He laughs, lazily drumming his fingers along the edge of the ornate, wooden desk. “Always a charmer, Eita. I’m curious, though, are you here begging for her sake, or your own? Because you know as well as I do what’ll happen to you and your father if this wedding doesn’t go ahead.” There’s nothing kind in his expression as his lips curl upwards, “Is the price worth it?”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” 

Eita’s eyes narrow. “You know she hates this, right? Wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it. She had to beg our father for months just to be allowed to attend a normal school, and flat out refused to have any part in the business, to even be in the same room when it was being discussed – which was fine because he had me to do all that.”

“The prodigal son,” Oikawa mocks, earning himself a sneer in response.

“She wanted out, and we were so close to convincing him when he had to go fuck everything up. And because he’d spent years making bad decision after bad decision, running our family into the ground and then decided to screw over the wrong syndicate, he comes crawling to you, begging for help.”

“Such gratitude, as always.”

Eita scoffs, “Am I supposed to be grateful? It wasn’t enough to take over our territory and operations, was it? You had to take her too, and because she for some fucking reason loves the old bastard, she’s going along with it. I don’t give a shit about losing any of it, but she’s not gonna throw her life away for his sake, or mine. So I’ll ask you again, Oikawa; what do you want in exchange for letting her out of this?”

Interesting. Nothing he didn’t technically already know, or at least suspect, nevertheless… interesting. And with glittering eyes he leans in close. Smirks. 

“As tempting an offer as that may be, I have everything I want.”

—

As the head of one of the largest Yakuza syndicates in the country, a small wedding was never an option. Hundreds of guests pour into the estate, all with the sole purpose of witnessing the two of you tying the knot in a beautiful, lavish ceremony. And it is a beautiful, lavish ceremony. Champagne towers and endless floral garlands falling between the glittering chandeliers, a string quartet plays as the wedding procession begins. 

Your dress was technically the only thing he hadn’t had a hand in. He’d wondered earlier, staring at his reflection as he fixed the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket, what kind of wedding gown you’d chosen for yourself. After all, despite you agreeing to this marriage, you’d made no secret of your ambivalence towards the entire day, only giving input when Oikawa prodded.

There was always a possibility you’d choose something plain and dull, simply because you didn’t care enough to pick otherwise. As you walk down the aisle on your father’s arm, however, he realises he needn't have worried. 

You’re perfect.

Heart-stoppingly beautiful in ivory lace and tulle, and though Iwa leans over, claps him on the shoulder and says something in his ear, Oikawa can’t hear a word of it. Can’t focus on anything – anyone – but you. 

And your eyes are shining for all the wrong reasons, and yet he can’t bring himself to care when the elder Semi places your trembling hand in his. A perfect fit.

From there, the rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Vows are spoken, yours somewhat apprehensively, and rings exchanged, and when the time comes to kiss his lovely bride, Oikawa obliges, his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him, dipping you to a flurry of raucous cheers and clapping.

You stand dutifully at his side as the hoard of well wishers come to congratulate him – the both of you, technically – and pay their respects, saying little beyond the expected pleasantries. All the while his thumb strokes along the back of the hand you have placed in his. 

Cocktails. Dinner. Toasts. The cutting of the cake. Tossing your bouquet. Necessary traditions expected of you both, Oikawa suffers patiently through each of them until finally, it comes time for the two of you to leave.

The moment he has you alone, in the backseat of the wedding car, the last frayed tether of his self control snaps, and he’s on you.

Leaning across the seat, one hand cups the back of your neck, anchoring you in place as his parted lips crash greedily against your own, the other pulls at your skirt, blindly seeking the what awaits him beneath.

Oikawa can taste the notes of champagne on your lips, the sweet tartness of the chocolate dipped strawberries he watched you swipe from the dessert table before you left. Will your cunt taste as sweet, he wonders, his tongue sliding into your mouth in search of more.

“Tooru,” you gasp when he eventually draws back, a thin strand of spit connecting your mouths as you struggle to catch your breath. “Wait, just–”

“No,” he growls, tightening his grip and dragging you back in. 

The force of it, his kiss, the weight of him bearing down on you has you sliding awkwardly back in the seat ‘til you’re almost horizontal. Despite that, you make no further attempts to dissuade him, letting him kiss you senseless. 

Letting him ruck up your skirt and run his fingers along the seat of your lace panties.

Maybe because you know it’s pointless to fight when Oikawa’s made it clear has no interest in stopping or slowing down, maybe because you knocked back one too many glasses of champagne at the reception, or because you’re getting swept up along with it too – he doesn’t care for the reasons. 

He’s been waiting all day to finally have you, and for years before that, and now that you’re irrevocably his, Oikawa fully intends on taking – and enjoying – what he’s owed. 

The drive is fifteen minutes from the reception to the hotel, and by the time the driver pulls to a stop out front, Oikawa’s sliding those same panties off your smooth legs, pocketing them with a wicked grin. “Ready, sweetheart?” he purrs.

A little dazed, a little drunk, you only manage an unsteady nod, taking your husband’s proffered hand to step from the car and hastily adjust your dress, smoothing out any wrinkles. A waste of time, in his opinion, considering what he has planned for you, still, sort of cute, in its own way.

The clerk behind the counter is friendly enough, smiling politely and congratulating the two of you as he passes across the keys to the honeymoon suite. The second the doors to the elevator slide closed, Oikawa’s on you again, shoving you back against the mirrored wall, latching onto your neck, sucking and nibbling on the delicate flesh and palming at your tits as you throw your head back and heave a breathy sigh. 

Your wedding dress, beautiful as it is, doesn’t make it much further than the front door, Oikawa’s fingers scrabbling to rip open the fastenings at the back, buttons scattering across the floor as it yields to him. And he’s enough of a gentleman to help you out of the wreckage of your dress, though he makes no effort to hide the way he stares hungrily, eyes darkening as you’re bared completely before him. 

The curve of your breast, nipples peaking from arousal, those lovely, soft thighs he’s been waiting to dig his fingers into, the pretty little pussy you shyly try to hide from him, glistening from his earlier attention–

His cock twitches in anticipation. 

Fuck.

“No bra?” he teases, as if his voice hasn’t dropped an octave at the sight of you. “And here I was looking forward to unwrapping my pretty bride on our wedding night.”

He watches your brow furrow as the soft dig works its way through your tipsy haze, and before you can let yourself get upset by it, Oikawa grabs you again. Kisses your lips fleetingly and grings, tugging you towards the bed covered in rose petals, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and tossing it aside as he does so.

“Lie down for me,” he commands, working on the buttons of his shirt, his bow tie already lost somewhere in the fray. “On your back.”

Obediently you settle on the mattress, propped up on your elbows as he sheds that too. Through glazed eyes you stare at him. At his bared chest–

No, he realises belatedly. You’re staring at his tattoos, your eyes trailing from his forearm to his bicep, rounding his shoulder and down his pectoral, following the snarling red dragon that curls up his right arm, the oni and the twin snakes baring their fangs on the left.

This is the first time you’ve seen them, yes, but they shouldn’t come as a surprise. Both your brother and father have their own, it’s the mark of the Yakuza, and yet you seem entranced by his, staring at them with something akin to wonder. 

“See something you like?” he asks, chuckling when you pointedly ignore him.

His ego stroked, he settles down on his knees at the foot of the bed. Holding you by your hips, Oikawa hauls you forward, ignoring your startled squeak, and nudges your thighs further apart. Licks his lips and lifts his lust darkened eyes to meet your own.

He watches you inhale, a flutter of trepidation teasing at the edges of your expression.

All you can seem to manage is a shaky, “Please.”

And he doesn’t know if you’re asking him to stop, or slow down or if it’s a plea for him to hurry up and get on with it. Again, it hardly matters – he has no intention of letting up tonight.

Leaning in, his nose skims along your inner thigh before he comes face to face with your pussy. Warm and glistening, clit nice and puffy, he’s waited long enough to taste you. 

His mouth descends, tongue dragging along your pussy with broad strokes that have you gasping, jerking in his hold. It’s not the sweetness of your lips, still, there’s something heavenly about the taste of your cunt, the soft, feminine musk that envelops him. He moans against your sex, the vibrations drawing another whimpering breath as your hips arc up, gently rolling against his face in search of more friction.

Fuck that’s hot. 

Oikawa teases at your clit, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking gently, letting the very tip of his tongue flick at it, before returning to lap at your folds. 

“T-Tooru–”

A moan slips from you, your hips bucking as his tongue delves deeper, pushing between your slick folds, sucking and slurping, waggling his tongue back and forth to drive you to the point of madness. Your hands fist at the white sheets, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to try and stifle all of your pretty noises while he eats you out, tits heaving with every stuttered breath. 

Now that just won’t do. 

Adjusting his grip, Oikawa breaks away and instead brings his fingers to your cunt, teasing at your lower lips, before finally sliding two fingers inside of you with a smirk. 

And your pussy’s so wet, so fucking needy, clinging to the digits as they slowly stretch your tight little hole out. It’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough, sees the frustration pinching at your face every time you chase his fingers when they withdraw. He can’t resist holding out just a little while longer, though.

Call it male pride, the twisted satisfaction that coils deep in his guts at the sight of you desperate and fighting against yourself to beg him for what you truly want– and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet. 

“You wanna cum, don’t you baby?” he croons softly, “Just tell me what my pretty little wife needs.”

It takes a minute or two of that slow, agonising pace, but as you writhe and whine and jerk against his hold, finally your pride gives way. “Please!” you pant. “Please Tooru, more. I-I need more. I need your cock!”

He chuckles darkly, curling his fingers inside of you to rub at your g-spot as he leans down and resumes sucking at your neglected clit. 

Whatever his wife wants. 

—

Oikawa takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing cherry red in the dark, and exhales into the cool night air.

“Whose?” he asks.

Iwa shrugs, “Dunno yet. Mattsun reckons one of the Osaka assholes trying to cut into our territory. So far they aren’t talking.” 

Oikawa’s attention shifts for a moment. Sure enough, the last two gang members have been dragged off to have a chat with Makki and Matsukawa. The latter of the two currently straddling one of them, beating him into the ground, Makki tightly gripping the other’s face forcing him to watch. 

There’s nothing but cold certainty in his voice when he simply says, “They will.”

He drops the cigarette to the ground and grinds the smoldering embers beneath the heel of his shoe. Without another word he strides into the warehouse – a makeshift den. 

The bodies haven’t been touched yet, lying where they fell in pools of congealing blood, scattered bullet casings littering the ground around them. Oikawa pays them no mind. Instead he glances at the pallets strewn across the warehouse floor, brick upon brick of drugs, cocaine, meth, bundled baggies of non-descript little pills. More than he can count, at any rate.

And there’s cases of weapons too. Nothing flash or fancy, but guns are guns, and Oikawa’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Iwa’s silent beside him, gazing around the room with a shrewd look in his eye, likely trying to calculate the street value of it all.

Ever the businessman. 

Oikawa smirks.

Drugs will sell no matter what they’re cut with. It’s impossible to tell the quality by sight alone – retrieving his switchblade from his jacket pocket, he slices one of the bricks open, dips a finger in and swipes it along his gums. 

It takes only a second for that familiar rush of euphoria to wash over him, a pleasant shiver rolling down his spine. He grins. “It’s good. Pure.” A glance to Iwa, watching at his side, “How much?”

“Gotta be more than 300 pounds here.”

And fuck if he doesn’t like the sound of that. Oikawa whistles, unable to hide the smug satisfaction on his face. 

“There’s girls too,” Yahaba, one of his men, says, stalking in from the back. “Mad Dog’s with ‘em.”

Five of them, he counts when he follows his lieutenant, huddled up out by the rear entrance, cringing away from the scowling blond who looks as if he’d love nothing more than to tear them apart, one after the other. 

Part of the shipment, or merely entertainment, he wonders. 

He steps closer, grabs one of the girl’s faces and forces it upwards, tilting it this way and that, studying her like a prize mare at auction. Clear eyes. Clean hair. No sign of bruising under the thickly applied – now smudged – makeup. Girls fresh off the proverbial boat tended to be drugged to high heaven to keep them compliant. 

Even their clothes, the scraps they still have on at least, point towards a more established lifestyle. 

Escorts, no doubt, brought along by the men for some entertainment while they guarded their stash before transport.

Shoving her away, Oikawa exhales, bringing his hand to his chin as he ponders the options. 

Nobody will miss the girls if he orders Kyoutani and Yahaba to kill them. Either they’re owned by the same people who shipped in the drugs and the weapons, in which case their deaths’ll be chalked up to being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they have a pimp, who beyond the loss of income, won’t give a shit. 

No one kicks up a fuss over a few dead whores.

And even if they did, Oikawa owns the working girls in this city, this is his fucking turf. They should know better than to send their girls out here. 

Yahaba and Kyoutani are both watching him carefully, awaiting the order. They wouldn’t so much as blink if he told them to cut the girls down right where they stood. 

If he were feeling particularly generous, he could let them go, run on back home to whatever brothel they crawled out of. Unfortunately for them, he’s all too aware that the only things girls like them are quicker to open than their legs are their mouths, and that just won’t do.

At the end of the day, though, a whore’s a whore; they’ll make money one way or another. Even the ugly ones. 

“Take them back to Hirama’s, she’ll find work for them. Who knows, Mad Dog,” he says, throwing his enforcer a wry grin and a wink, “If you’re lucky, she might even let you fuck one of them first.”

The blond scowls, even under the flickering lights he can’t hide the pink flush that stains his cheeks. 

Iwa raises an eyebrow, snickering at Kyoutani’s expense, “You think so? I thought she was still pissed at him for breaking the last one.”

“Mad Dog just likes to play rough, that’s all,” he smirks. “Hirama knows that, and besides, she owes me a favour.”

The girls are already out of his mind as he turns to leave, carrying on his conversation with Iwa. Tonight’s endeavours have been surprisingly fruitful – enough that he can’t justify being pissed off at getting called away in the middle of fucking his wife.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t itching to return.

He’s almost at the warehouse door when a clamour breaks out behind him. Yahaba curses, a few of the girls shout, and there’s a gasped “Wait!” called out. 

Oikawa whirls to find one of the escorts, a slight blonde with painted red lips and wide doe eyes, ducking out from under Kyoutani’s outstretched arm. 

She ignores the snarl from Kyoutani, the pistol Iwaizumi instinctively whips out, focused wholly on him as she grabs at his arm and clings to it, presses her lithe, scantily clad body close, “Wait,” she says, tears glimmering in her eyes even as she tries for a convincing sultry look, “Don’t send me away, I– we could–”

He doesn’t wait to hear what the two of them could do, backhanding her hard enough that she sprawls to the ground with a ugly cry. 

“Whores don’t get to touch,” he sneers, spitting on her curled up figure for good measure.

Good mood all but evaporated, he meets Kyoutani’s eye as the blond snaps forward to grab her by the arm and roughly haul her back to her feet. 

“If they decide to be difficult, get rid of them.”

—

She made us. She’s pissed.

Oikawa glances up at the approaching sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor. Quick. Agitated. Kunimi wasn’t wrong, it seems.

Mere seconds later, the door to his study is thrown open, and in you stalk; a storm of beautiful fury. “You’re having me followed?!”

Smoothly, he pockets his phone and rises to his feet. “Ah, there you are, sweetheart. I was wondering when you’d be getting back.” He takes a long, lingering look at your outfit; the red knit, halter dress that clings so beautifully to the curves of your body. “Gone for hours at a time, dressed like that… What’s a husband to do?”

The grin on his face is nothing short of a challenge.

“So you think I’m cheating on you, is that it?” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really think so little of me?”

He comes out from behind his desk and mimics your posture, arms folded as he leans back against the varnished surface and meets your narrowed gaze. “Do I need to remind you, baby, of what’d happen if you were?”

And if he weren’t staring at you so intently, if he didn’t know your expressions and body language inside and out, perhaps he might’ve missed that tiny flicker of fear in your eyes. 

Not a confirmation exactly, yet enough for him to know he’s not entirely off the mark, and oh how that makes him burn. 

“You’d… divorce me and take away my family’s protection,” you mutter, your tone more petulant now than angry. 

Oikawa nods, “On paper, yes.”

“On pa– what do you mean on paper?” 

His lips curl into a cruel smile, “That was our deal, wasn’t it? Either one of us cheats, and our contract becomes void.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “That’s what I just–”

“That’s all. The contract becomes void on paper. It means that if I decide I want to get rid of your father myself, no one’ll stop me. No one would fucking dare.” He pushes off the desk and closes in on you – a tiger stalking its prey. “And that brother of yours. Your shining white knight. What do you think I’ll do to him?”

His voice is soft, sweet almost. A loving caress, if not for the terrible words he speaks. But he wants you afraid, wants you terrified. Two fingers gently tilt your chin upwards, and he basks in the way you flinch from him, the alarm you seem so desperate to tamp down bleeding all over your lovely face. 

“And me?” you whisper. Would you kill me too, he reads in your eyes. 

“You really think so little of me?” he parrots back, sickly satisfied when your stricken expression stutters. “You’re my wife; I love you, you know that. Why would I go to all the trouble of making you mine just to throw you away so heartlessly?” 

He sees the flicker of confusion in your eyes, and the moment your lips part he’s kissing you, tamping down any protest. Devouring, though, would probably be a better word. Kissing to bruise, to hurt. To claim. Teeth harshly nipping at your bottom lip, Oikawa moans when he tastes the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. 

It’s not enough, though.

You make the mistake of trying to wriggle out of his hold, whining pathetically into the kiss, and the last meagre tether on his composure snaps. The desk is only feet away, but he doesn’t have the patience to drag you over to it when the wall is right fucking there. 

Breaking away, he grabs your sides and roughly spins you around, slamming you back against the door hard enough for a pained gasp to leave your lips.

“Tooru– Tooru, wait, please!”

No. He’s never been cruel to you – not how men can truly be cruel – tonight, though, he can’t be bothered caring about the tears spilling from your lashes or the panicked shriek you give when he hikes up the skirt of your dress and yanks your panties aside.

“I haven’t– I wouldn’t–” you keep babbling – he pays it no mind as he hurriedly frees his cock from his pants and lines himself up. 

“You’re mine,” he hisses, sheathing himself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust. “My pretty wife.”

Your cries are louder now, agonised and wailing, Oikawa’s long past the point of caring, though. His staff know better than to pry, and his men won’t intercede on matters between their Oyabun and his wife, no matter how loud you get. 

This is between you and him. 

“You think I don’t know about the texts you hide?” Another thrust. “The calls, late at night? Your disappearing act last week?” His hips clap against your backside, his pace vicious and unrelenting.

The dryness of your cunt makes it an unpleasant start, yet it hardly takes long before your syrupy slick begins to coat his length, easing his passage no matter how violently he pounds into you. 

And despite your whimpers and hitched pleas, how you struggle fruitlessly against him, the plush, velvety walls of your heat cling to his cock, sucking him deeper with each fevered stroke. He pushes himself closer to you, buries his face in your hair and breathes deep, relishing how you shake and tremble as he stuffs you full, your poor little pussy moulding to the shape of his dick. 

As if he can imprint himself permanently inside of you if he just fucks you well enough.

The door shakes against its stop every time he slams you against it, and that, plus your sweet sobs and the panting breaths you share, is almost enough to drown out the slick, gushing sound coming from your pussy and the rapid paps of his balls hitting your top of your thighs.

Almost, but not quite. 

He’ll never tire of fucking you, not when your cunt’s so warm and you feel this good squeezing and fluttering around him. Oikawa’d rather die than ever give this up, and with a fist tangled in your hair, he yanks your head back to whisper as much in your ear. Drags his hungry mouth over your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft, supple flesh for good measure. 

You shudder around him, and he groans in pleasure. His wife. His. 

“I haven’t… fucked him,” you gasp out, mewling as his cock hits a sweet spot, deep inside of you. “It’s not like that.”

His expression darkens, a scowl twisting at his lips at the mention of your would-be lover. “End it,” he snarls, “or I’ll kill him myself.”

—

Less than two weeks later, Oikawa's being driven to an important meeting when Iwaizumi’s phone suddenly blares to life.

He pays it no mind, content to let his oldest friend handle whatever issue has sprung up while he busies himself with retrieving his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his jacket. Flicking the silver lid open, Oikawa slips one out and mindlessly offers the case to Iwa – who ignores it entirely  – as he pats his other pockets in search of his lighter. 

“When?” 

He knows that flat tone all too well, and glances up sharply to find Iwa staring ahead, his jaw set, face grim. Whoever’s on the other end of the line speaks for a moment more, the volume too low for him to discern what they’re saying. Whatever it is seemingly does little to set Iwa at ease. 

“Fuck… Alright, get back to the house. Tell Makki and whoever else is there not to let her out of their sight ‘til we get back.”

“What is it?”

Iwa sighs, pocketing his phone and pressing the button to lower the partition between them and the driver, “There was a drive-by downtown fifteen minutes ago. Semi Takuma’s dead.”

—

For a man who once helmed one of Tokyo’s most formidable syndicates, your father’s funeral draws a pitifully small turnout.

Oikawa could blame the weather, the dreary grey sky and the rain clouds that show no sign of letting up for keeping mourners away. The truth of the matter, however, is simply that by the end of his life, Semi Takuma’s friends were few and far between. He recognises all bar a few of the faces in the crowd, most of them from his own family, there not to pay respect to the dead – the elder Semi inspired little of that – but in support of you, the beloved wife of their Oyabun. 

Clinging to his side under the awning, your face wet with fresh tears and eyes puffy and rimmed red from the countless that had come before. Perhaps the only true mourner in attendance. Not even your brother, standing stone faced at the temple doors, greeting those who’ve bothered to turn up, seems to be able to muster much grief for the man he called a father. 

Briefly, it occurred to him that you might’ve been the one behind the hit. A cold hearted, calculating move to be sure, still, even you must recognise what you’d stand to gain in removing a bargaining chip from the board.

Could you do it? Kill the man who raised you? Who loved you, and sold you like cattle to save his own skin despite it? You’re not like Oikawa, you’re not even like your brother; you’ve never had the heart for their kind of corruption. He’d never peg you as a killer, even via proxy, but… maybe he’d pushed you too far that night in his study. 

Desperate people do desperate things.

And yet Oikawa hadn’t come home that day to crocodile tears or smirking pride, only pain and heartbreak and clenched fists beating at his chest as you sobbed yourself hoarse and broke against him.

‘You promised! You promised you’d protect him!’

He’d taken the blows, held you tight until the tears subsided. Kissed you so tenderly as your fingers curled into his shirt and you buried your face above his beating heart. 

It’d be a lie to say that he cares one way or another about your father’s death beyond the implication of trouble brewing, but this – your sweet dependency, how desperate you’ve become for any semblance of comfort in his arms (however temporarily) – Oikawa wouldn’t trade this for the world. 

He sighs heavily, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “Baby, we gotta go in. It’s almost time.”

Finally, you lift your face, lips parting to say something, only to fall silent instead, your expression morphing into one of shock as you spy something over his shoulder. 

Oikawa turns sharply, following your gaze. Sure enough, standing under an umbrella near the old, wooden pillars by the temple gates is a dark haired man dressed in a black suit. Familiar, though when he racks his brain to try and place from where, he comes up with a blank. That in itself is enough to unsettle him. 

And while there’s nothing threatening in his stance, no obvious bump or crease in the line of his suit to suggest a concealed weapon, he knows better than to assume this stranger isn’t carrying, much less that he isn’t a possible threat. 

Oikawa hasn’t gotten to where he is today by ignoring his gut. 

“Tooru,” your voice is quiet. Hoarse. And though you clutch at his larger hand, tugging at it with insistence, he doesn’t budge. “Let’s go inside. Please, Tooru, I can’t– I can’t do this without you.”

Your father was not a well loved man, and they’ve yet to find any solid leads as to who’s responsible for the hit against him. If the man by the gate had so much as a hand in it–

He makes a snap decision. “Stay with Iwa,” he orders, prying his hand from your grip with what little gentleness he can muster. “If he tells you to do something, you do it.” Even as he spits the words, hears the sharp hitch in your breath as your fingers scrabble to keep their grip on him, his attention remains firmly fixed on the dark haired figure. 

Yet the stranger makes no move to enter the temple grounds, seemingly content standing in the rain under the cover of his umbrella, staring right back at Oikawa.

… No. Not at him, he realises after a beat. He’s staring at you. 

“Tooru, don’t!” you cry.

Two words. 

With a painful slowness, he turns back to look at you. Narrowed eyes sweeping across your face, studying it with a frightening intensity. You’ve never been able to hide your feelings from him; he can read you like a book, knows you like the back of his hand.

Your expression is twisted. Agonised, but not with the raw, aching grief you’ve succumbed to over the past few days.

It’s fear that shines in those beautiful eyes of yours. 

Panic.

Two words, a tightening grip, and Oikawa understands. 

“Please,” you beg, clutching at him desperately. “We’ll go inside and just forget all about this, okay? I told him not to come, I swear! I-I told him–”

You’re starting to hyperventilate, short, squeaking breaths shaking your frame. Like a bunny, cornered and frightened, cowering from the jaws of the big, bad wolf. 

He grins. Takes both of your trembling hands in his, lifts them to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of each. Kisses the glittering diamond atop your ring finger last of all. “Baby,” he purrs, silk over a razor’s edge, “Do what I tell you. Stay with Iwaizumi.”

His second is already there. Has been since the moment he clocked the interloper, maybe even before Oikawa did. Without a word he takes you from Oikawa, sweeps you back with a strong arm curled around your waist and holds you there, struggling pitifully against him. Mere feet away your brother watches on, jaw set, hands clenched into fists by his side, glaring at the both of them as you beg and cry softly in Iwa’s arms. 

Oikawa doesn’t even bother acknowledging his presence. Eita can glower and sneer all he likes, they both know he won’t interject. Not with this. Not against them.

Not even for you. 

Pulling his umbrella from the stand, Oikawa opens it with a flourish, spares you one last grin, and steps out into the lashing rain. 

“Relax, baby. He and I are just gonna have a friendly chat, that’s all!”

The sound of your sweet begging follows him until distance and the rain drown them out. 

Closer now, he gets a better look at the man who fancies himself in love with you (and he’d have to be to risk coming here, knowing who your husband is).

His face is pretty enough, he supposes, fine, delicate features with eyes a piercing, gunmetal blue. His hair’s short, dark – messy and windswept – and yet the rest of his appearance; the well tailored suit, polished black oxfords, even the watch that pokes out from under his sleeve; they give the impression of someone put together. Methodical, even. 

He can’t be much older than Oikawa, if he’s older at all, and he stands a few inches shorter, his build perhaps a fraction slighter. And if the man has tattoos – if he’s from another syndicate – they’re covered as his are, hidden beneath his clothes. 

Unlike Oikawa, though, he isn’t smiling. 

“You know who I am.” 

It’s not a question, he doesn’t phrase it as such, however the dark haired stranger nods anyway; a short, sharp jerk of his chin. “Oikawa Tooru. I know plenty,” he replies bluntly. 

“Good,” he says. “Now, I have a funeral to get to, a grieving wife to comfort, so I’ll make this quick. Showing your face here today was a ballsy move, I’ll give you that, it was also incredibly stupid. See, the thing is; I love my wife. More than some little shit like you could possibly begin to understand, but I’d sooner chain her to our bed and break every bone in her fucking body than let her touch another man, much less leave with one.

“If I were you, I’d tuck tail and run. Find some other city, some other man’s wife to pant after, because if you don’t…” he trails off, finally dropping his charming smile, “I’m gonna take my time killing you, and I’ll make her sit through every last second.”

The stranger says nothing, expression carefully blank, save for the slight narrowing of his eyes. They shift, sliding past Oikawa to gaze at the temple – or more accurately, at you, watching the interaction unfold from the safety of Iwa’s grasp. 

After a moment, he looks back at Oikawa. “My condolences,” he says, and without another word, walks away.

—

Weeks ago, you’d stormed into his office, claws out and itching for a fight after finding out he was having you followed. 

When he brings you back in the days following the funeral and tells you that you’re not allowed to leave the comfort of the sprawling estate without him by your side, you simply stare at the rug by his feet and in a tight, controlled voice, ask why. 

Sighing, as if your refusal to meet his gaze physically wounds him, Oikawa takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently – lovingly – and leads you across the room to sit. Or, more accurately, he sits, and you somewhat reluctantly allow yourself to be tugged down onto his lap. “We still don’t know who killed your father, it’s not safe for you to be out there without me,” he murmurs, his palm grazing along your thigh in a false show of comfort. 

Not a lie per se.

“Can you blame me for being overly cautious, baby?” he asks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of you – jasmine and vanilla, the faintest hint of citrus – has his blood stirring, sends a pang of heady want straight to his cock. God, he’d fucking lick it off of your skin if he could. “I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt,” his fingers creep up under your skirt, his lips littering the curve of your throat with soft little kisses, “I like knowing my beautiful, lovely wife is safe and sound at home, right where I left her.”

…Until one day, you aren’t.

Divorce papers, signed in your name lay atop the mahogany desk in his study. Your wedding and engagement rings carefully placed next to your signature; impossible for him to miss. 

Not a spur of the moment scramble for freedom, then.

The estate is eerily quiet. Not the calm before the storm. The blood on the gravel of his driveway, a stolen wife, Makki riddled with bullets – the storm’s already begun. Ripped its way through his home and family. This, this is the eye of it.

“How?” his voice is ice.

Kindaichi scowls, glaring at nothing in particular. He knows as well as Oikawa does; keeping an eye on you today was his responsibility, and in the wake of your disappearance–

“Bedroom window,” he admits with a frustrated huff. “She said she was tired and wanted to lie down for a bit. What was I supposed to do, follow her in there?”

Oikawa’s eyes flash, and Kindaichi’s jaw snaps shut. “And Makki?” he presses.

“Makki wasn’t supposed to be here. I dunno know why he showed up when he did. I guess he saw her running and tried to stop her and–” he breaks off abruptly, suddenly interested in looking anywhere except at the steaming Oyabun.

“… And?” Oikawa hisses, dropping the papers and rounding on his subordinate. “And what?”

“It was him. The guy Iwa says you’re looking for, the one you ran into at the funeral. Her–” he stumbles over the word, and changes tactics. “… He shot him. Came outta fucking nowhere.”

Fury rises up, choking at him as his blood roars, and for a moment, he can’t speak. Of course you hadn’t been the one to shoot Makki. You, who’d never so much as held a gun. You, who abhorred the more violent aspects of his life. You, who ran off with a fucking–

“Get out.”

He waits until the door shuts before fishing his phone from his pocket. Scours through his contacts until he finds the one he’s looking for. 

It rings once. Twice. Three ti–

“Oikawa,” Eita greets, and there’s something in that tone, beyond the irritating arrogance and barely concealed disdain he usually holds for his brother in law that has him narrowing his eyes. He sounds almost… pleased.

“… You knew,” he surmises after a beat. “You fucking knew?!”

Eita snorts. 

“Are you honestly surprised, Oikawa? Not so easy to keep your wife in line when your leverage gets gunned down in broad daylight, is it?”

Oikawa’s grip on his phone tightens, and he draws a sharp breath in through clenched teeth. “You think I won’t come after you?” he seethes. 

“You’re more than welcome to try, asshole. I watched you hold me and him over her head for too fucking long, watched you hurt her, try and break her. I’ve been waiting for this a long, long time.”

“Tell me where she is, Eita.”

Silence greets him, and when he pulls the phone from his ear, the call’s been disconnected. He swears viciously, tossing it aside. Planting both of his hands against his desk, Oikawa hunches over and breathes raggedly, waiting for the white haze of pulsing anger to abate.

You left him. You left him. You left him. You left him. You left him.

The rings you left behind stare mockingly back at him, and he makes his decision. Snatching them both up, he shoves them in his pocket and rounds the desk, yanking open the right hand drawer to grab the pistol he keeps stashed away in there.

With a cold focus, he slips out the magazine, checks the rounds and jams it back into position, cocking the slide to load it before tucking it in the back of his waistband.

He told you once what he’d do if you ever laid a finger on another man, the lengths he’d go to to keep you his. Told your trigger happy lover, too. 

What happens next; well, you can’t say he didn’t warn you.

[getousgf]

♡ CW/TW: University AU, jealousy, Satoru being a tease, fluff, rivalry, established friendship, Suguru and Shoko are mentioned briefly, one sexual innuendo, friends to lovers, requited love, reader wears a skirt

♡ WORD COUNT: ~ 1.8k

♡ SYNOPSIS: Giving someone a gift on Valentine's Day takes guts, especially if the recipient is your popular friend, who is loved by many.

This is my piece for @httptamaki's Love Letters Collab! This is for @getousgf! Dear Zia, I hope this is to your liking and I wish you a wonderful Valentine's Day!

"He's still not answering?"

With a sigh, you shake your head, even though Shoko won't be able to see it on the other end of the phone call.

At this point, you don't hold an ounce of hope. Waiting for your partner's arrival is proving futile, just as you expected.

It's not necessarily that Satoru is a slacker. He's just easy to distract and there are a lot of people waiting for a chance to divert his attention and steer it towards themselves.

If you overlook his obnoxious behavior and the annoying laughter that seemed to get stuck in your brain like gum, he is an attractive guy. That much you're ready to admit.

That does not change, however, that both of you should be working on preparing your presentation. Oh, how you wish you'd been paired with Suguru or Shoko. Both of them liked to finish assignments as soon as they could.

You just wish your current team partner had the same sense of obligation as your friends.

"He probably got hounded by the girls in his afternoon course. It's Valentine's Day, after all, there's bound to be some people who want to give him some chocolate," you hear Suguru explain on the other line.

"Well, there'll always be people who will be misled by good looks. I'll start working on his part of the presentation then. Goodbye, you two!”

After bidding them goodbye, you hang up. Putting your phone down onto the table, next to the snacks you had prepared, you sigh. You even went through the trouble of buying some snacks during your break, even though you’re usually hostile towards the guy.

It wasn’t like you hated the man - quite the opposite, really. You just didn’t know how to deal with his over-the-top behavior sometimes. He’s fun to be around for sure, but his overly friendly behavior and the way he seems to like to tease you a touch too much always leaves you feeling on edge.

Unsure.

Before you get the chance to dwell on it too much, the door to the empty study room opens and your attention snaps towards it.

There he is. His hair is disheveled, his backpack is haphazardly thrown over his shoulder, barely hanging onto his frame and he seems out of breath. He must have hurried here, after remembering that you had planned to meet up. Typical.

“I’m here now! Sorry, for being late, it’s just that the girls managed to corner me and -” Satoru begins to ramble, as he carelessly drops his backpack onto the ground next to the table, plopping down onto a chair next to yours in a way that’s far from being elegant.

You zone out, not interested in the slightest to hear about his flirty ways of ensuring his fellow students’ sympathies. Of course, he’d be gifted lots of things on Valentine’s Day. You shouldn’t care and yet you find yourself worrying a bit too much about it for the whole ordeal to be nothing worth mentioning.

He’s a friend, nothing more. Someone to laugh with, but also someone who makes it easy to laugh at him. As much as he makes you break out in a fit of giggles, he also tends to aggravate you until you see red. That is just who Satoru is - someone who regularly overwhelms you, emotionally.

Are you jealous of the attention he’s getting? While he is your friend in a sense, you also see him as some sort of rival. Whenever his grades or his performance in class, in general, surpass yours, you find yourself feeling competitive.

Yes, this surely must be it. It irks you to see him succeed in a field you’re not capable of competing at all. He must have filled his bag to the brim with chocolate from his many admirers.

Meanwhile, yours is only filled with the regular stationery every student carries around, and one single package of Valentine’s chocolate. You made it yourself and there’s a name on it, written in a careful and meticulous manner, but that didn’t matter anymore.

Suddenly there’s a hand in front of your face and you snap out of your pessimistic cycle of thoughts, regarding the man beside you with a silent glare that barely holds any malice.

“You good?” he asks and it’s easy to see that he’s suppressing a grin.

“Yes, I am fine. Just tired, because I had to deal with this on my own for quite a while, while you were out there, frolicking with your lovers,” comes your unimpressed answer, before you grab your papers to bury yourself in your work again.

A hand on your knee stops you from this.

Looking up at him, you’re met with his mischievous expression, “Are you jealous? Is that what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at the accusation and you feel dizzy with him being so close. “Jealous? Why would I be? Keep on dreaming,” you deny, trying to turn away, but his hold on your leg is firm, heavy.

He leans onto the desk, effectively caging you in even further. His thumb starts to rub over the skin right above your knee and you shiver. That part of your body isn’t covered by the uniform and the feeling of his fingers against your bare skin shoots a tingling sensation up your spine.

“This is clearly not about the project, sweetheart. I know you. You get mad at me when I slack off, not quiet and thoughtful like this,” he thinks out loud, “Unless… Did some asshole give you a present for Valentine’s? You thinkin’ about some other man while I’m here?”

Now, this accusation is even more stupid and a huff of an empty laugh leaves your lips, “What is it to you?”

He regards you with a piercing look over the rim of those sunglasses he insists on wearing to class, before his arm darts out to grab a hold of your bag. Too quick for you to react.

Leaning back on his chair, he puts your bag on his lap and starts rummaging around inside of it. This isn’t so unusual for him to do, as he always steals your snacks, but with the contents it holds today, you’re quick to stand up and try to take it away from him.

Pushing you back with his legs, he looks dissatisfied when he finds the package of chocolates. Grabbing it, he pulls it out and analyzes it.

“This is pretty girly packaging. Tch - he should’ve gotten you something bigger,” Satoru scolds, an annoyed look on his face. You try to grab a hold of the package in vain, begging him to give it back.

When he hears the desperation in your voice, a hot-white feeling surges up inside the man and he grows even more irritated.

“Who gave this to you? I swear I’ll-” he stops his sentence in the middle of it, pulling down his glasses to check the writing on the package once more.

You’re screwed.

Swiping the chocolates from him while he’s distracted, you quickly grab your bag as well and hide both items behind your back. Your efforts at taking it from him have left you breathless and you’re not sure if the feeling of heat on your face is caused by exertion or embarrassment.

“I didn’t give those chocolates to you,” Satoru announces, a smile threatening to creep onto his face.

“I know you didn’t,” you answer, trying to seem calm and collected, despite the current picture you’re currently displaying. This is the worst, truly. As if the man needs another ego boost.

His arms wrap around your middle, pulling your standing figure against him, as he sits up properly on his chair. One hand grabs a hold of the chocolates and you find yourself dropping your bag, not caring about that anymore.

You brace yourself for a gentle letdown. He might be a cocky bastard, but Satoru is still your friend and he is kind, empathetic, frighteningly so. There’s nothing. Silence.

The man rubs his head against your tummy like an overgrown cat and for some reason you find your hands gravitating towards the disheveled hair on his head. Fixing it for him, your fingers stroke through the soft strands and the pleased hum that leaves his lips causes warmth to pool in your lower stomach.

“You should’ve told me that you had something sweet for me, angel,” he mumbles, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a soft kiss against each one of your fingertips. He’s slow about it, gentle. You shiver.

“So you accept them?”

Instead of answering you, he shoots a glance up at you, before his fingers pinch your sides lovingly.

Standing up, he pulls you close to his body, before pressing his lips against yours. His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, gently tilting your head up towards him, so you can meet him in the middle.

He tastes sweet, like the candy he always steals from you and his arms around you are strong, steady - familiar, even though you’re experiencing this kind of embrace of his for the first time.

When his lips part from yours you find yourself following him subconsciously and he laughs, sounding a bit breathless.

“I didn’t accept any gifts from anyone else. I was hoping you’d have something for me,” he admits and the confession causes a smile to creep up onto your face. At the sight of it, he perks up, before he presses a purposefully loud kiss on your cheek, “There she is! You look the prettiest when you smile for me.”

This causes you to chuckle and shake your head, wrapping your arms around his middle as he pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head and rocking the both of you from side to side as he hums a happy tune.

“How about we go to my place and I get to taste those chocolates and maybe something else that might be even sweeter?” Satoru proposes, the innuendo clear in his words.

A jab into his side is the first part of your answer and you delight in the way he recoils at the action. Straightening up, you explain, “We still need to finish your part of the project.”

“Actually… I already finished that yesterday. I just wanted an excuse to meet up with you on Valentine’s Day.”

There’s a moment of silence. You look up at him, an exasperated look flashing in your eyes at the cheeky grin he shoots you.

“I’ll eat the chocolate myself.”

“No, those are mine! They’re made with your love. You can’t do this to me - Give them back!”

#jdjahsjcjajskfkekaks #oh my god this is soo good!!! #the way you wrote Gojo is so in character #i really love it! 😳 #thank you so much for writing it 😭 #i had a chaotic couple of days and i'm sad i didn't get to read it sooner #but it made my day so much better 🥺

[getousgf]

“the missing ingredient”

hi emme, i know you’ve archived your blog, but i hope you will still get to see this and that you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day~! and i hope you like it!! @katsupeach​

this is my contribution for @httptamaki​ ‘s Love Letter collab!

cw: smut, hurt/comfort

pairing: Kuroo x fem!Reader

wc: 1.9k

“You know there’s nothing I can do about it, this client is important to the company and if we lose them, I may need to find another job,” Kuroo sounded irritated and you couldn’t decide if his annoyance was directed at you, or the situation. Not that knowing the reason would make the situation any better. 

Your Valentine’s Day plans were made on Christmas Day. Among the presents scattered underneath the tree was an envelope with two train tickets and a postcard of a cute cabin and you vividly remembered Kuroo’s excitement as he announced that he planned a 4 day trip for the weekend leading up to the 14th of February. Getting some time just for each other sounded like bliss with your busy lifestyles and you would even get to spend Valentine’s night there. You couldn’t help but melt into his arms, grateful to have such a thoughtful boyfriend.

Now, 6 weeks later, he was telling you the plan fell apart. 

“Why can’t it be any other day, why does it have to be on the 14th?”

Kuroo looked at you with a mixture of regret and guilt, the latter only made worse when he saw that your eyes were filling up with unshed tears. It’s not like he was canceling the trip, you’d only have to cut it short by a couple of days. When he said it, it felt like a reasonable request, but now he wasn’t so sure about it. Running his fingers through his hair, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he spoke “The boss thinks the client’s contact has a crush on me. She suggested meeting up on Valentine’s and he agreed because he wants to seal the deal. I wasn’t asked.”

Kuroo didn’t dare to look at you, he knew there was no way you would be fine with what he just told you, he realized it as he finished the sentence. 

You were aware that sometimes Kuroo needed to use his charms and charisma to get what he needed, that maybe sometimes he’d even flirt with clients. But to hear directly from him that instead of spending Valentine’s Day with you he would choose to be spending it flirting with another woman, having her touch his arm as she laughs at one of his jokes hurt like hell. You felt your heart breaking as the images popped into your mind and without realizing, the tears you were holding started streaming down your cheeks.

“I need to go,” your voice was barely audible as you got up from your spot on the couch and headed for the door. You needed to be anywhere but there, you didn’t want to deal with these feelings now. You were supposed to be packing together, preparing for the trip.

“Shit,” Kuroo exclaimed as he finally saw how much his words affected you. “I’m sorry, love, please, let’s talk this through.” He tried to get you to look at him, but you didn’t want to see him, you just needed to be alone to cry. You hated him seeing you like this, you didn’t want him to know how much it affected you. 

“Let me leave, Tetsu,” you pleaded as you tried to get away from him and reach the door.

“I can’t let you leave,” Kuroo whispered, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your back onto his chest. “I love you and I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much I would hurt you by going through with what my boss asked.” Kuroo planted kisses on the top of your head, desperate to make your tears stop. You knew he was honest, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “I was an asshole about it. We made our plans way before he proposed this and I should’ve just said no. If he would fire me for something like this, then is this job even worth doing?”

“But you like this job,” you argued in a shaky voice.

Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh at your words. “You’re such a kind person, you know that? Here you are, putting me first even when I’m being a complete asshole. I don’t deserve you.” He squeezed you tighter, his head falling onto your shoulder as he held you. “I’m really sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go lie down for now and we’ll pack later.” 

He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. Both on the night you fought, and now, as you were starting to doze off next to the fireplace following the sweetest Valentine’s Day you ever experienced. 

Kuroo wasn’t fired after all, his boss reluctantly moved the client lunch for the 16th, so you got to spend the day cuddled in his arms and eating his cooking. But now that you were in bed, you didn’t feel sleepy anymore. You wrapped your leg around Kuroo’s waist and moved even closer to him, until there was no space left between you.

“Are you trying to tell me something, love?” Kuroo’s tone was teasing as his fingers started playing with the straps of your top. 

“Only that there is one missing ingredient that would make today the best 14th of February,” you smiled as his hands reached inside your shirt, cupping your breasts.

“And what could that be?”

Kuroo leaned in and pressed his lips to yours into a kiss that quickly turned your bodies hotter with desire. “Tetsu-” you moaned softly, your hands sinking in his hair as his mouth moved lower and he started sucking at the delicate skin of your neck. 

The way his name left your lips, whiny and filled with need made Kuroo’s cock strain painfully in his pants. He was so glad he chose to spend Valentine’s here with you, that he got to feel your body writhe under his touch, your soft skin on his fingertips, your mouth on his. He craved you more than he wanted to admit, he loved you more than he could put into words.

His fingers moved even lower, playing with the hem of your pants as he littered gentle bites onto the column of your neck. You felt a pleasurable wave crash onto you as his fingers caressed your clothed slit, gently pinching your sensitive nub through the material making shivers run down your spine “That feels s-so good.” 

“I want to make love to you, tonight,” he muttered, the words only serving to enhance the pleasurable feeling of his finger running up and down your slit, gathering your slick. The anticipation was driving you crazy, you wanted to feel Kuroo infinitely closer and when you felt him push a finger inside, your walls clutching it as you felt the coil inside your abdomen pull. He thrusted in and out of you slowly, wanting to make sure that all you would feel was pleasure when he’d finally sink his cock into your eager hole.

He enjoyed seeing your pretty body bend for him, the feeling of your insides squeezing his fingers, but he wanted to feel more of you, he wanted to envelop you, cage you beneath him as he made you his. Pulling his fingers out of your core, he carefully started to undress you, careful hands caressing the expanse of your skin, trailing from your stomach to your thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kuroo whispered and you couldn’t help yourself but flush at the sincerity you felt in his voice. “And you’re mine, I’ll make you feel so good, love,” he promised as he aligned his leaking tip with your entrance, and just as he pushed it inside you, slowly, his lips met yours, swallowing your moans of pleasure.

Kuroo’s arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you tighter to his chest as he moved inside you torturously slow. Your nails dug into his back as you tried to hold onto the last bits of control to no avail as the way his cock dragged along your slippery walls made you feel weightless.

All your senses were filled with Kuroo and it felt intoxicating. His low grunts as he planted kisses on your jawline and moved up to lick at your ear, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine, his lingering taste in your mouth, the smell of his shampoo, the feeling of his body engulfing yours with the desperate drive for skin to meet skin. And finally, when you cracked your eyes open, the way Kuroo's face contorted with pleasure each time your legs pulled him even deeper inside you.

“I lo-love you,” you mewled your confession just as felt the pressure in your abdomen explode, pleasure crashing over you in waves. You felt boneless, your body writhing in Kuroo’s arms as he peppered kisses on your jawline and neck. 

“I love you too, so much,” he responded as you came down from your high. Kuroo pressed his forehead to yours lightly, and you felt a different kind of warmth seep through you, tugging at your heart. "Thank you for being so good to me," he adds as he picks up the pace, his mouth on yours once more. 

Your core felt even more sensitive after your climax and each of Kurro’s thrusts served to make you whine and moan as your nerves were overwhelmed with bliss. Your hips moved on their own, meeting Kuroo’s in a way you could only describe as decadent. Your hands roamed around the expanse of his skin, caressing and trailing the outline of his back muscles. 

Breaking away from the kiss, Kuroo let his head fall on your shoulder. You felt your walls expand as his cock got harder inside you and your eyes rolled back once more. You didn't think you had it in you to climax a second time after the intensity of your first orgasm, but there you were, so close to the edge that you only needed a small push to fall in the blissful abyss. 

It came as a snap of Kuroo’s hips, his strength pushing your back into the mattress as he filled your walls with thick white ropes. You felt your core pulse with desperation, your back fighting to arch against the arms and chest that pinned you to the bed, increasing the pressure and pleasure as you rode your high once more. 

Kuroo let his body relax, careful not to crush you with his weight. "I want to relish in your warmth for a while longer," he whispered in your ear and all you could do was hum in agreement. 

You felt your eyelids close, exhaustion overtaking you. You had no idea for how long you've been asleep, but you woke up to gentle hands on your skin as Kuroo pressed a warm cloth to your skin, wiping away the aftermath of your love-making. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you, you were sleeping so peacefully," he apologized when he saw your eyelashes flutter. 

"It's okay, I'm waiting for you to get in bed as well, your warmth makes me sleep better," you smiled softly as you spoke, grateful that you got to spend Valentine’s Day with the one you loved after all.

"As soon as I'm done, my love. Though I think we may need to change the sheets as well, we may have ruined these ones," Kuroo laughed as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

#kuroo x reader smut #kuroo smut #kuroo scenario #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader

[getousgf]

To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.

Sappho | Leonardo Bistolfi | Safet Zec | Richard Siken | Brokeback Mountain (dir. Ang Lee) | Emery Allen | Ron Hicks | Jorge Luis Borges | Holly Warburton | Richard Siken | Joseph Lorusso

[getousgf]

        *＊✿❀ SASAKI SHUUMEI ✧ EPISODE 02 ❀✿＊*

[getousgf]

— I felt like I was doing something…I really shouldn’t be doing.

[getousgf]

Partners in crime.

⌗ Summary: Just you and Sanzu being menaces.

⌗ Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo.

⌗ Word count: 0.5K

⌗ Warnings: mention of drugs? idk none.

⌗ A/N: Am i tired of reader being “a brat that tries to make the boys jealous”? Yes, yes I am. So, I made this. My bad y’all.

If there’s something that the men of Bonten genuinely like, it is to be in the same room as you and Sanzu.

While you’re not in the gang scene at all, nor you use pills like your man, you truly have gained the respect of his comrades… by being as crazy as him. The funny part is, that you’re responsible too, so Mikey doesn’t have to worry about his second in command not showing up the next day and Kokonoi doesn’t have to spend tons of money in damage.

Right now, you are dancing by yourself in the middle of the dance floor in one of Bonten’s club. You know that your man is somewhere in the VIP section or whatever, but you don’t care, he can’t dance anyway.

You smile with your eyes closed when you feel someone’s hands sliding on your hips and pressing you to their chest. You keep dancing.

“What’s this beautiful angel dancing here all alone, uhm?” The man says and you chuckle, throwing your head back on his shoulder.

“I don’t know… maybe waiting for someone to dance with me like this?” He hums, tightening his grip and following your moves.

“Good thing I’m here, right?” He murmurs and you giggle.

“You are…” You look up while dancing and see him.

Sanzu is on the other side of the club, giving his back to the bar while resting his elbows on it in a relaxed stance. You roll your eyes with a little smile but the man behind you see Sanzu too.

“You see how one of the owners is looking at you…” He murmurs, flipping you around so now you’re facing him. He smiles cockily. “But even the most dangerous and rich men can’t have you, uh?”

“Is that so?” You giggle.

Turning around in a sultry way, you start to walk to Sanzu, moving your hips at the compass of some slow sensual song that was playing in your head. When you get to him his smirk turns into a smile, instantly sliding his hand to your waist and then to your ass, you lean and kiss his lip.

He starts to walk with your hand interlock in his, and just when you are at the door of the VIP section he looks over his shoulder to the guy, lifting up his other hand.

The man’s wallet is on his hand. The guy start to search his pockets in shocked, when did you…?

“I can’t believe they bond over scamming people.” Rindou rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Whatever, pass me the credit card!” Kokonoi laughs, and you run to his side.

“So… baby, where do you want to go with your new money?” Sanzu asks.

Both of you burst into laughs.

🏷: @saturnmitsuya @milliumizoomi @dai-tsukki-desu @haitanigigi @yunho-leeknow @melaninnntae @keimisan @welkinmoongrab @plutosexc @ccxiia @manjiroarchiviste @aasouthteranoswife @crushsoli

#i lovelovelove this #both reader and sanzu

[getousgf]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐍!

request: hihi i saw your rqs were open! how about their reaction when they first put it in? if you can’t think of anything, that’s fine too <3 thank you for all the hard work you do for us, bryce <:

ft. mikey, chifuyu, inui, ran, rindou, sanzu

tw. fem!reader, cursing, dirty talk, praise, pussy drunk boyo, needy boyo, creampie, mentions of f!oral, soft dom! w/ sub! reader

an. this was such a cute idea and i made it pretty fluffy smut, thank you my love, i hope you like! <3

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