doobean

[doobean]

a little red~ 🩸

#im actually going insane over this man

[doobean]

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

.

.

.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

#im getting honkai brainrot rn #aventurine is the only blonde man that can make me bend my knees tbh #best sustain unit i have rn... even better fashion and tragic backstory #edit: updating tags now bc I just finished reading and omg ?? #as someone who grew up being fluent in my native language and then losing majority of it while learning English #this hits more than it really should LMFAO #and like… I’m relearning my language rn with the help from my bf and it’s honestly just #so much tender and vulnerable you get when you’re trying so hard to dig deeper back into your roots #absolutely in love with this fic and will keep it treasured #and you know what #this fic also just gave me more motivation to relearn mandarin so 🫶🏻 #giving reader and aventurine sloppy kisses on their heads

[doobean]

ROMAN HOLIDAY ─ NAGI S.

synopsis: Nagi Seishiro has a plethora of secrets up his sleeves. He knows that Reo loves being in the center of attention—well, no, that's a fact. But one thing that Nagi knows for sure is that the Mikage Corporation is on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. And what better way to prevent that than to have an arranged marriage with another powerful company? You're intelligent, beautiful, and obedient. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for Reo to fall for you, and you seem to be content with everything—at least, you pretend to be. Nagi knows you're head over heels for his best friend, but doesn't understand why you hate his guts.

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, bathroom sex, kinda cheating/kinda not really, piss involved towards the end, dubcon, hate sex, nagi centric, reader comes from an affluent family, power/dominance play, frottage, descriptors of a curvy, busty reader, breast play/nipple play, facials word count: 4.8k a/n: this fic is for all the nagi haters out there ig @niitoshi + @pipppinn (u get a rest from beta reading ur enemy)

You’re an absolute menace. 

Nagi had no clue, when his best friend had introduced you as his potential fiancee months ago, just how big of an impact it was going to have on his life. In most cases of Nagi’s lack of social life, he originally had no intentions of befriending you, at least, outside of introductions and shorthand greetings whenever he crashed over at Reo’s apartment. To him, it didn’t make sense to get close to you, even if you were going to be a major part of Reo’s life. 

Unlike his best friend, you appeared reserved and uptight, much like all the other affluent students he surrounded himself with back in high school and university. Nagi thinks he’s only received one ‘hello’ from you, and that was just from the first meeting. You’ve always attached yourself to Reo, whenever he’s around, and Reo would somehow play it off as you’re just “shy” around others.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Reo had assured him with a firm shoulder clasp. “She’ll eventually warm up to you.”

And while Nagi still has a hard time believing that, he didn’t feel the need to continue the conversation knowing that Reo wouldn’t get the hint. You don’t flaunt your wealth and status around, but Nagi has always sensed that you were looking down on him. Why else would you always stare at him?

You come from a family of ‘self made’ entrepreneurs and billionaires. 

From all those last minute conferences meetings that Reo would have him attend, simply because his best friend would lose track of time whenever they’re together, Nagi knows that your father owns a famous construction company that’s somehow affiliated with the Mikage estate. From one shareholders’ meeting, he’s learned that your family owns 60% of all rental properties in Japan, and he doesn’t know if that’s something to be proud of. Coming from a semi-wealthy family himself, Nagi is well aware that there’s no such thing as an ethical billionaire.

He’s seen your family name plastered on billboards before, shining over the neighborhoods in Akihabara, and the company sounded impressive enough that Reo’s father didn’t hesitate to bring up the topic of marriage during a conversation about future prospects. 

Reo didn’t seem to mind, or rather he tried really, really hard to mask any trace of anxiousness and annoyance when he signed the NDA papers. Nobody wants to be in a loveless, arranged marriage, after all. Especially not when they still have their whole youth ahead of them. Though, needless to say, Reo fell for you rather quickly. Nagi’s aware he’s not the best at expressing his emotions, but anyone with a sensible brain could obviously tell you’re the standard stereotype of “wifey material”.

Quiet. Intelligent. Extremely obedient to the seniors around you. Nevermind the fact that your behavior reflects your style as well. Your makeup never strays from being “too little” or “too much”. The outfits you wear always reminded Nagi of those old British dramas from the late 90s, he thinks Reo calls it “old money” fashion. Whatever that means. 

He just knows that it’s classy and fits whatever housewife aesthetic you’re trying to go for. Even though he can easily see through how much you hate it. You’re always picking at the threads in annoyance, as if they’re tight, itchy, and alien on your body. Even when he watches your pretty, plump lips smile and nod towards everyone around you, you always quickly turn sour when you think no one’s watching. 

At age twenty four, Nagi carefully watches his best friend enter the room with you wrapped around his arm, from the corner of the banquet hall. Today’s a celebration, a huge one, because Reo just completed his accelerated MBA program and, therefore, is one day closer to filling in his father’s shoes as CEO of the Mikage Corporation. This also means he’s one step closer to becoming a married man. Soon, you’re going to be a permanent fixture in Reo’s life. That thought alone had his tongue swelling up in his mouth, and urged himself to get it together.

The event ends up being treated like a work gala. Everyone is dressed in black tie, the smell of warm leather fills the air, Nagi only half understands the business jargon being thrown around, and the food looks rather bland for what it’s worth. Most of the guests are crowded around Reo and his father, and he can only assume the business executives are trying to wiggle their way in to just get a chunk of free shares. 

He notices you standing to the side, in the midst of your own conversation with your father. Your outfit throws Nagi off, slightly. It’s certainly different from your previous choices, more modern and form fitting, highlighting certain assets that makes it slightly even more obvious why certain men in the room couldn't stop their gawking.

Somehow, even though you’re caught up in a seemingly heated conversation on the other side of the room, Nagi catches your stare. Your eyes, facial expression, and even aura feels uncomfortably blank, despite the small smile you force out. 

He merely awkwardly waves back and, for whatever reason, you take that as a sign to make your way over. He can only groan inwardly as he watches you exit out your current conversation and thread gracefully through the stuffy crowd, somehow showing up with two empty wine glasses in hand. Originally, his plan was to just show up for the free food, say hi to Reo, then prepare an Irish exit. With the look you’re currently giving him, Nagi feels like he can’t plan an escape. 

You turn around and reach for a bottle of wine on the bar cart, a brand that Nagi could never pronounce correctly despite the numerous times that he’s heard it leave from Reo’s mouth. It’s also the same imported wine from France that all three of you shared the day Reo had introduced you to him. From what Nagi remembers, it didn’t leave a good taste. 

You end up pouring the two glasses, then whirl back around to face him, quickly setting the drink down by the end table. Nagi picks up his glass as soon as it's available, but you clink yours against it before he could bring it up to his lips.

“Do you have a moment?” you mumble quietly.

“For what?” he’s honestly surprised to hear that many words coming from you.

“I…” you trail off, looking down into your drink and unconsciously hug your sides. Nagi uses this opportunity of silence to sip. Then, after a moment, you shake your head a little, clearly flustered over something. 

“I want to talk to you about Reo, about your friendship and me fitting into that. I’ve been thinking about it for a while but I haven’t had the chance to bring it up.”

Nagi just nods, sipping again, not sure if he’s pleased or disappointed by your response. Of course the very first thing you bring up after not speaking a word to him for months is about their friendship. 

He then notices that you’re suddenly rubbing your palms, hands alternating between them as you stretch your fingers out. You’re grimacing slightly, and Nagi leans back against the wall, something stirs inside of him at the sight of you appearing in distress. He’s not sure what to make of the odd feeling.

With a shrug, he tilts his head. “Go ahead with it.”

You meet his eyes and shake in disapproval, setting down your wine glass. “I need to speak with you in private about it.”

Nagi doesn’t say anything, and a moment of silence passes between you two as several high executives try to usher the rest of the crowd to the next room for an unrelated conference meeting. At one point, a clientele calls you over for a drink, and you disappear to join him for one, leaving Nagi to stew in his own thoughts once more.

A part of him wants to go over to Reo, telling him what happened, why you’re suddenly being so vague and direct with him after all this time. However, with one glance at his best friend, who’s currently knee-deep in a conversation between his father, the idea dies out. He’s never seen Reo this relaxed and determined before. 

Maybe the closest expression he shared was when they were both heavily sprawled out on the turf field after an intense football match back in high school, but even then Nagi doesn’t even think he’s seen Reo this content. He wants to believe that you’re simply just asking about potential wedding details, maybe to even join in on the planning, but that’s laughable. You seemed nervous, and not for the right reasons.

He shouldn’t be here, glass half empty, stomach barely full from all these damn healthy finger foods, sitting under the appraising and curious eyes from other businessmen and yourself. 

“Nagi, an answer?” you probe, as if hearing his thoughts when you finally return. 

Were you always this demanding? He shifts in place and adjusts the collar of his suit, and tries his best to sound unaffected. “Right now?”

You finally smile, and it lights up your entire face. “Right now.”

At that, Nagi downs the rest of his drink.

You eventually coax him to an empty hallway, down the corner next to the fire escape, while everyone else is preoccupied with the meeting. You kept reiterating that it’ll be quick, that Nagi will understand what’s the “problem”, but he doesn’t believe it one bit. Not when you’re squeezing both sides of your arms and keep glancing down the hallway, anxious to be seen.

Without warning, you blurt out, “Please, stop dragging down Reo. I want you out of his life.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet is drenched with anxiety and the barest edge of vexation. 

“What?” Nagi can’t help but be offended. The reluctance on your tongue contradicts the harsh order. 

“I’ve seen the way he talks to you. You’re a distraction to him and having you around will just—”

“He can say what he wants about me. Why do you care so much? Your only job is to sit by his side.”

“Nagi, please—”

“Forget it,” he can’t seem to find an answer to your demand. It doesn’t make sense, and even if he did make out an answer, his brain is currently too distorted and torn to process a coherent response. 

You stand your ground and the next few words are fumbling over the other, “I’ve… never liked you since the day I met you.” 

That doesn’t surprise him. You aren’t much of a talker, but then again, neither is he. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re currently having an unusual personality shift—almost as if you’re revealing a bit of truth about yourself to him, and only him. Reo probably doesn’t know that this side of you exists. 

Nagi doesn’t bother to respond. He only rests his back against the bathroom door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in irritation, and stares down at you. In that moment, he can see the raw edge of your bubbling… is it anger he’s sensing? Your body is filled with tension and he can’t imagine why. Your eyes are boring into his and refusing to let go.

Suddenly, Nagi feels his frustrations growing thicker. 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

You step closer, eyes narrowing, yet you look conflicted. “I could say the same thing.” 

The proximity of you—the blend of sweat, bergamot, and something that could only be described as bitterness—makes Nagi dizzy. The space of this hallway, once ample, now feels suffocatingly small. 

“Nagi,” you seeth out, a plea that’s both sounding an invitation and surrender. “This is a business deal. If this doesn’t fall through it’ll look bad on us and—argh, I really need this to work out, okay?” You quickly clamp a hand over your mouth, as if surprised that the words flooded out.

It wasn’t much spilled, but he understands the gist of it. Your frantic explanation earns him a curt laugh, one that’s distinctly him. He almost feels sorry that you were forced to do this, all of this. But you could’ve also easily gone against it, too. “You can’t think for yourself, can you? This is why I can’t stand these heirs and heiresses, you’re all a bunch of hassles to be around.”

“Fuck you.” you’re cracking under pressure. The makeup, dress, your hair… The facade of being perfect and plain slowly comes crumbling down the longer Nagi stands there, unwavering. “I can think for myself.”

“Prove it.” His tone is a dangerous one, spoken with an even tone. 

You take another step forward, slow and purposeful. It serves as a reminder that your background is influential, powerful, and that you’re no puppet. Nagi wants to believe that more than you do. 

He would be doing himself a disservice if he hasn’t admitted that there’ve been nights where he does think about you. What life would be like if you haven’t given him the cold shoulder, times where he wishes he could understand all the hidden languages spoken between you and Reo, and if you would’ve treated him any differently.

So, Nagi’s command is framed as a tease, and knowing how you really are now, you’re not going to leave until you give him an answer. Nagi Seishiro hates the rich, hates dependent people even more, but he’s a good guy when he tries to be. You, on the other hand, might be ruining that for him.

He watches as your plump lips part, and a needy little sound escapes. It sounds like a damn moan that’s absolutely dripping in desperation. Nagi lets out a breath, feeling his insides liquefy and overflow. His cloudy eyes search your face, and the dark overcast over your eyes instantly hooks him in. He can see the wetness where your lips separate, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with the desire to trap your mouth between his.

Nagi drops his hands to both sides of your face and holds your cheeks tight in the expanse of his calloused palms, drawing himself closer to you when he feels your hand latch onto his forearm. Your cheeks are warm and soft beneath his touch and, without a second thought, you both close the gap.

You gasp into his mouth as his lips claim yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, a heated urgency that clears any uncertainty. He feels your other hand shooting up and roughly tugging at his silver locks, a stark contrast to your passive actions earlier. His hands roam over your body, tracing and mapping your curves with extreme possessiveness. 

Nagi wants more. Wants your hands even lower, on his thighs, between his legs, wants your pretty lips wrapped around the base of his cock. He wants you, but not here. He wants to leave here with you, see where you live, do this on the comfort of your mattress, inhale the scent of your sheets, and rid your mind of his best friend and that damn business proposal.

“Excuse me? Is somebody there?”

You pull away first with a concealed string of curses by the intrusion, gasping for air as soon as you separated, the hand you have on his forearm is now trembling. Whether it's from excitement, fear, or a combination of the two—Nagi can’t tell.

He peers over to find a security officer patrolling around, radio in hand, at the end of the hallway. From this angle, where the corner curves slightly, it doesn't seem like he’s able to make the two of you out, at least for now. The last thing he wants is for the media to highlight why you were seen alone with him. He’s already got enough on his plate with professional football on its own. Kissing his best friend’s bride to be is something entirely different. He doesn’t want to wait around to find what might happen.

“Fuck, fuck, where should we—”

“Quit freaking out,” he pulls the handle behind him and tugs on your waist, ushering you inside the bathroom as the sounds of sharp loafers against marble creep closer. Bewilderment flashes across your face as he shuts the door and locks it. He ignores your swarm of questions and props you against the sink’s countertop in an instant. 

You appear terribly confused with yourself as he cages you in between his arms, his head leaning against yours with a dark look in his eyes. Your lipstick is smeared at the corner of your lips, your hair is nothing but a disheveled mess, and your damn breasts— Nagi looks down and scoffs —you're not wearing a bra. He soon realizes that this look suits you better than any other outfit you’ve worn. 

“What was that,” you try to say, but he quickly keeps your busy mouth occupied again. His fingers trail up your shoulder blades, easily slipping down the top half of your dress, and soon your breasts fall free — round, heavy, and soft. 

Your chest heaves as you breathe in sharply, tongue darting out to wet your lower lip. “You’re such a dick,” you shoot him a misty glare, defiant in tone despite every bit of your body language screaming submission.

This is enough to set him off. Nagi’s fingers curl into your waist, sighing in pleasure when you whine at his harried touch. He lifts you from the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his waist, as he pushes your back against the door. The frame and his greedy palms on your fleshy ass serves as support as he begins to shamelessly grind against you, the needy, aching pressure from his arousal fights through his slacks. 

God, he wants to fuck you right into the door.

You moan into his shoulder when Nagi dives against your throat, swearing under his breath as he finally gets a taste of your intoxicating skin, a sound of pure lust vibrating throughout your bodies.

“Don’t tease me,” he warns with a groan.

“I’ll do what I want,” you bite back, jolting in pleasure when his tight erection probes against your thighs. 

Nagi decesends, his mouth leaving wet trails across your collarbones and down your chest until he stops at your breasts. Gently, his teeth grazes over one nipple, nipping at it until he hears a sharp hiss from above. Before you could chastise him, he captures your nipple in his mouth, sucking the stiff peak between his lips. He feels the dampness of your panties rubbing against the clothed tip, causing his tongue to twirl aggressively over the wrinkled flesh.

“Oh, fuck,” your mews are growing louder and louder in pitch. Nagi hopes that the security guard from earlier is long gone by now. He’s also certain that his dick might come bursting apart any second. But he’s not going to admit that, not to you of all people.

Seeing you crumble under his fingertips makes Nagi’s heart swell. He pulls back with a loud pop and closes the distance between your lips again, pressing hard so you can feel the urgency from the heat of his tongue.

“Need you,” he finds himself whispering against your lips, pressing his entire weight of upper body into yours.

You choke out another desperate sound and begin fumbling with his waistband, hands blindly searching to feel him, trying to prove and show that you can provide the same fervent pleasure and attention. You both sigh when Nagi feels his cock springing free, hard and leaking with copious amounts of pre. He carefully watches your movements, there’s hesitation and surprise glassed across your face as you gently wrap your fingers around his length. 

It barely makes the full circumference. 

“Scared?”

Then a shudder rumbles through Nagi’s frame as you begin stroking him. It takes everything in him to not rip your dress in two and fuck you right then and there, but he’s trying not to be eager, caging his bloodlust. But it’s hard. Hard when you pull him into a kiss that leaves him breathless and grinding against your palm. 

Nagi can’t stop himself from the way he crushes his lips against you, nor can he stop the way his tongue slips forward into your mouth, his hands squeezing the softness of your waist when you melt in his embrace, pressing those soft breasts against his blazer.

You break the kiss with a moan, and it’s so messy that he can see the tether of saliva that stretches between you two when you finally pull away. Your face looks even more dazed than before, and you squirm against him, sending a hot flare soaring throughout his body when your thumb brushes against his leaking tip. 

“Sensitive?” you mimic his teasing tone.

Nagi’s now positive that you’re trying to kill him. He’s known it before, from the first moment he’s laid eyes on you, but there’s no reasonable explanation for you to be so beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way you’re teasing his bare cock, rubbing your wet, clothed cunt straight against it, is doing nothing but sending him straight into a tailspin.

The truth is, when you first approached him, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting to know you more, same as it has been for months now ever since he’s met you. Now, with your lips looking glazed and pouty as ever, he feels like he’s on cloud nine.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You stare at him with wide eyes, and Nagi sees your brain rewiring in real time whether or not to follow through with your stubbornness, but after a moment, you obey. You unclasp your legs around his waist and he gently sets your feet down, letting your body spin around so that your palms are flat against the door, back arched, and ass pressed against his length. The look you shoot across your shoulder stirs something inside of him, and he quickly takes you by the hips, pulling aside your soaked panties with ease. 

“Is this okay?” he doesn’t know why he’s asking right now, despite everything that’s happened within the past few minutes. 

Regardless, it’s meaningless to wait for your response; the wave of pleasure from the way he’s playing with your breasts from behind, to the warmth of your puffy entrance teasing the tip of his cock, has you unable to respond with anything other than a loud moan. Nagi takes this as an affirmative response, and angles his hips from behind, sucking in his teeth as he watches the entirety of his length being swallowed and hugged by your gummy walls.

The mirrors in the room have begun to fog up when he starts the initial movement. Nagi grabs a palmful of your ass, grasping and kneading them in a way that has you widening your legs to deeper access. Your soft whimpers and moans ring like a siren’s call in his ears, and he doesn’t quite understand how you’re able to control his body like this, but you’re squeezing him just right as if you’ve known him forever. 

Nagi shuts his eyes and easily begins to lose himself to this bliss. The tight, velvety walls are all too euphoric, making him easily forget that you’re both in a random bathroom in one of the biggest, extravagant conference halls in the country. A vivid grunt escapes from his mouth as his shaky hands maneuver up to your hips, guiding them in a circular motion as the fat of your ass ripples from every thrust he spears into you.

“Fuck,” he pants out. “Just like that…”

But the rough, muffled sounds of sex in the room shatters as a knock pierces through the air. 

Your fingers, splayed across the door, come together close and form into fists as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. After a moment of silence, a tender murmur breeches the stillness. 

It’s Reo, and his call for you is automatically fear inducing. Nagi feels you clamping up more than ever.

“—are you in there?” he repeats through the door’s barrier. 

Panic flicks across your features and you scramble for composure, frantically pulling up the top half of the dress and craning your neck around to gawk at Nagi, wondering if he has any clue on what to say, or do. Little do you know, Nagi has absolutely zero plausible answers.

“It’s okay,” he leans down and nips your shoulder blades. “Just stay like this.” 

A sweet whimper exits from you as he continues his thrusts, slower and shallower. “A-Are you insane?! He’s going to know it’s us…!”

You’re afraid, intimidated by the position that you’re both in, but Nagi kisses you again and engulfs your hand with his. He offers a comforting squeeze before dining in the pleasure of the tip of your tongues touching.

“Stay quiet and he’ll eventually go away,” what is he even saying right now? He’s not being fair to Reo, but somehow there’s hardly any guilt flowing through his veins. 

His best friend, your future husband, faintly calls your name again. This time with more uncertainty. There’s nothing but stillness on either side of the wooden barrier, where neither of you are willingly to slip out a sound. Nagi just rests his head on the side of your neck, letting the sweat from his bangs seep down, as he focuses on your steady breaths while having to control his own. If it weren’t for Reo on the other side, he would’ve fallen asleep just by the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

Another agonizing moment of silence passes before Reo mumbles out an apology, saying that he’s got the wrong person, and retreats. The sounds of heavy heels from his loafers hitting against the floor burns deep into both of your memories. 

By the time he’s gone, Nagi doesn’t waste any time and throttles against a spot inside of you that has you squealing like an animal. 

Pulling his hands away from yours, he brings them up to your chest, teasing your nipples while you throw your ass back against him, fucking as hard as you possibly can. He feels you drifting far away, bringing yourself closer and closer on his length, and a tight familiar coil begins building inside of his core.

Suddenly, you try to pull away, stumbling over your next words, “W-Wait, stop, I feel like I have to go—!” 

Nagi huffs and readjusts his grip around your waist, snuggling his cock deeper, “Then go, what’s stopping you, heiress?”

“I’m being serious…!”

Lowering his mouth to your ear, he whispers, “And so am I.”

He doesn’t care. Nagi positions his hand lower, keeping the other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his long, callous fingers pull your folds up, applying pressure against your full bladder. Vibrations of your whines send him to set a wicked pace until you’re creaming white around the base of his cock. The wet sounds, your moans, and the sloppy grip—it’s all too much, too exhilarating for him.

“Have to be patient…” Nagi murmurs, but his words are starting to jumble. Heat gathers and twists throughout his stomach and he winces, trying to not cum all in an instant. 

Your voice is nothing but all breathy moans, puffs of air rushing all around, and you mumble something unintelligible, but it’s all the confirmation Nagi needs. He shudders when he feels the warm wetness finally spill from your pussy as you climax at the same time. Your lewd moans are buried deep into your shoulder, and the sound is forever imprinted in his mind. He feels thousands of sparks ignite between his thighs at that saccharine note.

Nagi relishes in the warmth, until he finds his own release and pulls out, cumming all over the front of your chest, and even striking the bottom of your chin. He leans back with a gasp, gripping the sink counter for balance, his heart thundering as the bliss ebbs away entire chunks of his brain. Slowly, the haziness begins to fade, and Nagi tucks his throbbing cock away, reminding himself that he’s in a restroom of all places. 

“Fuck…”

Suddenly, Nagi hears you crying for his name and sees your entire body shaking, trying to calm down from the high of your orgasm. Wet, fat tears are streaming down your face, but he wraps one arm around the front of your body, pinning you against him. You’re both breathing heavily, covered in the sticky warmth and heavy sweat, but the feeling of your racing heartbeat is soothing him. 

Nagi holds you tight, letting his fingers get caught in your damp hair.

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

#doobean writes #bllk smut #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #cw: piss #cw: dubcon #cw: cheating

[doobean]

#im going fucking insane #im gonna vent in tags dont mind me BUT #threesome m/m/f fic w pegging i swear to god #rinsagi shipper till the day i die #since the day i saw them together i askjdhasjkhd #also idk if any of you guys watch link click #but in season 2 the main villian literally looks like rin in this recent casino art #i wanna say more BUT... it would be borderline clinically insane #so all i can say is #THANK YOU

[doobean]

Why is it that dc such as r@pe, sa, and incest is totally okay to write about and romanticize but y’all draw the line at racism, fat phobia, and homophobia *talking about the writings creators make, not personal beliefs*? Whats the difference between these things? All of them are hurtful and affect people in real life, so why is everybody on here choosing and picking one and not the other? Do writers on here think that they are not comparable or that one is okay to romanticize and the other is going way too far?

Im just genuinely curious as I have seen this topic be brought up again and again, which has made me realize this and Id like to see it from someone else's pov.

hi! there is a lot to answer and unpack here and i have every intention of doing so underneath the cut. forgive me if this gets long, but you’ve asked me 4 very massive questions that i think warrant detail, nuance, and thought. there is a lot i’d like to say here.

that being said, mind the content warnings and protect yourself.

cw: mentions of rape, incest, racism, homophobia, fat phobia, discourse in general

firstly, i am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you are actually curious in hearing another side and you are not simply looking to stir a pot or pick a fight with beliefs you have no intention of changing or having an open discussion on. your accusatory tone in the first half indicates otherwise and kindly, i am not an idiot. but i want to earnestly talk to you about this and again, will think better of you than you perhaps have indicated you think of me.

secondly, you do not have to censor words like rape in my inbox. that sort of censorship has become wildly popular because of tik tok and other money-hungry social media that also desperately want to silence people. do you know why you have to censor words like that on tik tok? or words like genocide? suicide? racism? 1. so that they can make money and market and push their squeaky clean algorithms but 2. and perhaps worse, so they can silence victims. if social media platforms and capitalism and the systems of powers had it their way, you would never utter these words again—whether to call someone out for justice or to have an open discussion like this one. i encourage you greatly to think critically about this and how you choose to use censorship and why.

now, to your questions.

to preface, i am interpreting this ask as being anti-dark content in fiction as you state that ALL these subjects harm people in real life. or at least, you are being critical of all dark content in fiction and the way writers engage with them, effectively ‘picking and choosing’ which are deemed acceptable and which aren’t, when they are all hurtful. i apologize if that wasn’t your intention/what you believe, but regardless, i’ll endeavor to answer you.

i personally have drawn no lines about dark content nor spoken about any of these topics specifically really, which indicates to me you have a different narrative and/or are coming from more inflammatory arguments that are always circling fandom lately. in the post i most recently reblogged, i spoke mostly of violence. which, of course, all of those things can be. but i didn’t name one of those topics in particular.

regardless, i don’t believe in the censorship of any dark content in art, but rather advocate strongly for critical analysis on a case-by-case basis. in general, i encourage thinking critically about every aspect of the world around you.

i do not believe that rape, incest, and sa are okay to write about or create art about but racism, homophobia, and fat phobia are not. i believe all of those topics are ones that can, should, and will be explored in the safety of art. all to varying degrees of success, earnestness, impact, and intent. you’re right that these are real things, that can hurt people, and the fictional work about them can have impact on our society that is tangible but the actual art or fiction created is not real. and again, this is all to varying degrees on a case-by-case basis.

art and fiction also historically and massively do discuss these dark content topics and have actively swayed the public’s opinion on matters, whether for better or for worse. throwing away all dark content in art and fiction because it is ‘harmful’ is deeply, deeply dangerous and reductive. a lot of art that engages with dark content actually makes very succinct points about it—i think of vladimir nabokov’s lolita or octavia butler’s bloodchild or speak by laurie halse anderson.

this is where we must exorcise critical thinking. some pieces of work will handle dark content poorly—white saviors making art on racism. men making art about a woman’s experiences that (as you are so interested in) romanticize her pain. etc. etc. and some art will handle it’s dark content incredibly and be transformative, perhaps even revolutionary in how we talk, perceive, or acknowledge systems of oppression, violence, and dark content in this world. some dark content in fiction will have damaging beliefs and effects on society, some will not—we must also look at scope for this, at the writer perhaps, the historical moment, their audience etc.

(for example, there is a significant difference in a main stream male writer, writing of a woman’s experience with rape in a published book in a way that makes it sound romanticized, sold to thousands and thousands of general public vs. a woman using fanfic to explore rape, take control of it, or whatever in a fanfic for a small online community where there are warnings on it. indicating she is aware of its potential damage in a way her male counterpart is not…)

but i still believe in dark contents’ existence in art. of course there is differences between all of these topics you brought up, but i don’t think their differences matter in this answer. i believe in their right to be explored in art. i am talking broadly of media/art here, which i think is the more relevant conversation, but i think you are actually more interested in a much smaller scale of people. ie. fandom. ie. mostly marginalized people in small communities online writing and creating dark content.

people will choose and pick which ones they’d like to create art over and which ones they don’t, which ones they read and which ones they don’t. there’s no ‘hard line’ drawn anywhere. and i can’t control it and neither can you. perhaps you think violence is okay to be explored in fanfic, but racism isn’t. someone else will have different preferences. i do not believe in its censorship.

now, let’s move onto your interest in romanticization and what i think you are more pointing to, which is fandom. you are specifically referring to people in fandom who write about rape, incest, etc. and ‘romanticize’ it—ie. they write about it in a way that is a fantasy. it is perhaps supposed to be horny or sexy. so let’s talk about it.

i must remind you that these topics you’ve brought up (rape, incest, sa) being written are fiction and it is (most often) done by someone marginalized who has either experienced this or is in threat of experiencing this under a patriarchy. i assure you, they are aware of its harm. hence the copious warnings in fandom spaces.

if i can be candid, sometimes i think that people forget how systems of oppression work when discussing fandom and whether dark content being created should be allowed or not.

for example, i sometimes think people who are anti-dark content in fandom believe that a woman or afab person writing a fictional fanfic about rape or sexual violence then influences people to go out and rape people or that women actually like it. when the reality, in fandom spaces, is that rape and sexual violence happen frequently under the patriarchy and then these women in fandom write fictional fanfic in response to cope, explore, take control of, etc. etc.

to insinuate that women or afab people (which fandom mostly is) exploring dark content safely in fiction then causes their own oppression and harm or trauma is rather victim-blame-y to me. fandom exploring dark content does not cause these things to happen in our society….these actions (rape, incest, sa) happen in our society or systems of power and fandom reacts to them in their art by exploring it in dark content. do you understand what i’m trying to say?

it’s not a matter of what is ‘okay’ to romanticize and what isn’t. i do not think the romanticization that fandom does with dark content (ie. my kidnapper actually loves me! or this sexual act that i did not consent to…maybe feels good) is not actually romanticizing but coping because of the systems of power that i described above. and this can be coping with anything—shame of sexuality, shame of fantasies, trauma, fear, etc. etc.

as i said in my tags in that post i reblogged and as plato said, dark content in art is a safe place to explore what would otherwise be harmful and dangerous in real life. it is cathartic. potentially even, a purging.

and even if it isn’t all that—maybe it just is trashy fantasy. it is still playing pretend. it is still fiction and in fandom spaces, it is still most likely being created by a marginalized person. and again, even if it isn’t, we don’t get to censor it. we can be critical of it or wary or whatever, but to censor it, is a slippery, slippery slope. do deem some topics as “acceptable” and others as “unacceptable” is dangerous.

just like kids play pretend where they ‘fight’ or ‘kill’ or ‘kidnap’ or ‘shoot’ each other in games of cops and robbers or heroes and villains, they are safely exploring adventure, dark content, fantasy, tragedy, and higher emotions. adults can do the same in fiction and with adult topics like sex.

and at the end of the day, we don’t get to demand the credentials to do so either. we don’t get to censor them or control them and nor should we be allowed to. i cannot stress enough that i encourage you to be critical of censorship or the absolute disgust in dark content and at those (again—often marginalized people) who engage with it in fandom. i believe it is deeply puritanical, conservative, and dangerous.

you don’t have to like dark content or consume it at all and fandom makes it easy not to with all the warnings and tags, but you cannot control others or police them. nor should you want to.

and at the end of the day, i have some questions for you. you don’t have to respond to this, perhaps they’re just things to think about. what is the end goal here? what is the point in harassing, shaming, attacking, criticizing, or interrogating people in fandom spaces who create or support dark content? do you believe that if it is purged from fandom, it will be purged from our society? if you want it purged from society—shouldn’t you start there rather than in the inbox of marginalized writers in fandom? people in fandom did not create rape, incest, and sa nor do they in their exploration of fiction…they are merely reacting to a world that did create it.

i hope at no point i came off as rude to you, as was not my intention. i intended to stand up for myself and respectfully state my opinions and thoughts on this matter. i’m sorry it got long, but also i don’t believe in being brief on such complex matters. i am a writer who engages critically with the world around me and sometimes, things cannot be made into short, snappy answers. sometimes, we must unpack.

genuinely wishing you well.

#wow wait its been a while since ive used this side blog but #i wanted to reblog this fantastic post to the recent anti-dc posts ive seen floating around #OP explained it super well #please give it a read if you guys can!! #tw: racism #tw: rape #tw: incest #tw: fatphobia

[doobean]

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.

#omg yummm #I love seeing everything from rin’s pov and love how you wrote his character #as much as I still hold sae close and dear to my heart … I wanna say I love fics where we cuck him LOL #I cannot wait for the next part where we cheat ajdhansnsna #is that a bad thing to say LMAOO #but omg I love everything abt this already ❤️❤️ #sae you asshole can’t even properly say hi to your bother ahdhshshs #rin better fuck us GOOD and have us leaving sae …

[doobean]

one thing I love about blue lock is they give us the most unnecessary canon information. ex: sae’s feet are 26.5 cm and rin’s are 27.5 cm

#GOODBYE I REPOSTED ON WHOLESOME BLOG FOR A SECOND #i got scared for my life #anyway umm #im all for feet humping #foot jobs #toe sucking #dick stomping ... #EVERYTHING #cw feet #is that a tag #do ppl think feet r not sexy #idc feet r sexy

[doobean]

isagi has a good brain in his head most of the time. he is polite and proper enough that people forget how he could get sometimes.

but when he sees you clad in nothing but small pieces of fabrics around your thighs—ribbons, stockings, garters—that brain of his truly shuts down most of the time. dumbly, with his eyes never leaving you, he likes to slip his fingers under them, feeling the skin and shape of your thighs. he likes to keep it on you, even after he regains a good portion of his mind back. tugging on it, biting on it, and feeling it against his skin as he makes sure to take everything you have—a present, a reward, a something that is for him and him only. in the back of his clouding mind, isagi reminds himself to buy another, nicer thing for you to wear around your thighs.

“this is all for me, isn’t it? you are too sweet for me sometimes…” isagi’s smile grows wider and sharper as he places a knee in between your legs, “thank you for the meal. i will enjoy it happily.”

kaiser likes it when you try to look pretty. dressing yourself in expensive clothing, glimmering accessories, and a confident smile—he won’t deny he enjoys looking at you in such a way.

however, more than anything, he likes it better when you are ruined under him. only being able to babble gurgled words and his name. your clothes hanging on your body, rumpled and untidy along with the sheets as your mouth hangs open like a dumb dog who couldn’t do anything without him. the sounds you make when he pushes harder and deeper into you, the way you jolt while never letting go of the hand he intertwined with yours—kaiser loves it. taking in every single detail and difference of you that only he could see, all while putting you in your place. he would call it a show on its own, feeling you tightening up around him with your fingers digging into his skin.

“now, can you still even say ‘please’ like a good kid?” kaiser taunts, a scoff hanging in his tone despite how monotonous it is. “where did those confidence and properness go? come on. say it.”

#doing this bc ily #oh kaiser we will fight for dominance in bed but like #we all I know I win #ARGH #I can squat his weight trust me kaiser u got nothing on me #he’s secretly an omega I can smell him

[doobean]

౨ৎ 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ┊ just this once, and just tonight. it’s the least he can do for you.

WARNINGS: nsfw, angst, fem reader. takes place 1/2 years after tybw. unrequited feelings, mentions of ichihime. fingering, first time (both ichigo & reader), unprotected p in v sex, alcohol usage (but no dub-con). wc: 8k. AUTHOR’S NOTE: orihime my girl forgive me. . . i wanted to take a little dip into ichigo ever since starting the series and there is nothing i love more than some good angsty smut :> thank you tori for betaing and brainstorming!! @saenora enjoy ♡

One step at a time, Ichigo makes his way up the stairs to your bedroom. He thinks so, at least. It's not like he knows the layout of your house, but the simple direction of "upstairs" given between a yawn and your tipsy humming has to suffice.

Your house is quiet and spacious, dead silent in the night except for the ticking clock hung up on the kitchen wall. Though he's taken notice of the quirky accessories you've put around the living room (he had a chance to when grabbing you water, knowing you'll thank him for it tomorrow morning) and the colorful posters hanging on the walls up the corridor to your room, it barely makes up for the unvacated space. 

A house that’s not yet a home, Ichigo feels, though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. He's not in the place to do so anyway. 

Perhaps it’s not even an issue - he doesn’t know you that well, after all, only seeing you at school or when dropping by Orihime’s house. Your parents work away from the country most of the time, or so he's heard, so you spend most of the time alone- focusing on school work or the part-time job you picked up at the local flower shop.

You've gotten used to it, Orihime said, yet Ichigo thinks there must be a reason you're staying at her house every other day. Some find peace in solace and quiet, but does it apply to someone like you?

Nudging the door open, he's met with the faint scent of jasmine, a neatly made bed, and various plants sitting atop your drawers and desk. It's very much you. As far as he knows you, that is. It's cozy and warm and you seem to pick up on your surroundings, given the way you relax further into his back and lift your head just slightly.

Ichigo had hoped the crisp night air would be enough to sober you up on the way home, but you're still fairly putty in his grasp when he helps you get off his back and then settled onto your bed. Something akin to a purr rumbles in your throat as he handles you, almost carefully - your senses are sedate but the way he touches you rises goosebumps across your flesh. It's new but welcome nonetheless.

"There you go," Ichigo says, keeping his voice low. He's hoping you'll be fast asleep by the time he goes out the front door. You surely look like it- lashes languidly fluttering atop your cheekbones, the rise and fall of your chest gentle and slow.

It's weird.

He proposed to take you home to ensure your safety, seeing how your lightweight self handled the alcohol consumed back at the izakaya. Orihime was probably the only one looking more worried than amused at your drunken antics (like the angel she is) and asked him so sweetly to bring you home - how could he deny her?

It's common courtesy. You're his friend, too, so it's only natural he took it upon himself to tuck you into bed, hand you electrolytes, and lock your front door with the spare key.

You're Orihime's best friend. And yet, your skin feels feverish but so, so soft against his palm where it fits under your knees as he lowers you onto the mattress.

It's a conscious thought, something more than a fleeting observation. The one he makes of the sliver of pale pink cotton between your thighs doesn’t go unnoticed, either. If anything, his ears suddenly feel like red hot coal and eyes move away so fast he could’ve gotten whiplash.

Clearing his throat, Ichigo fixes your skirt for you, however forward that is. It's the right thing to do - God knows he’d rather have anyone (even a guy) do the same for Karin or Yuzu if they were ever in such a position. It shouldn’t be such a big deal in his head, and he swears he’s not making up excuses, but surely you would've thanked him anyway. (If it wasn't for the cotton in your mouth, of course.)

Most importantly, it makes the blush on his cheeks a little more bearable.

You squirm a little, shifting into a comfortable position that steals a content sigh from your mouth. It's only now that Ichigo notices your eyes have been following him for all this time, glossed over with intoxication. Thick like molasses, your scrutiny sticks to him. Ichigo’s been to hell and back but it’s been a while since anyone peeled back all his layers like you're doing now. You're no demon or evil entity. Your spiritual pressure feels more like a pleasant summer breeze than anything else, but the gentle smile you wear sends a chill down his spine.

He wonders what you're thinking, not expecting such an expression in the first place. You were all giggles and exclaims back at the izakaya and couldn't stay quiet on the way back either, yet now you're so mellow and soft. It's unlike you and what he's used to. What's even stranger is how it renders him still in his seat on the edge of your bed.

"Thanks, Ichigo," You say, breathily. The usage of his first name surprises him a little, but he does not mind, "for, y'know..."

Your words aren't as jumbled as he would've predicted but your voice does trail off as if taken away by the liquor. Ichigo smiles at you, but the bizarre feeling doesn’t go away. Is it something about the proximity? Or the way your hand lays so freely next to his, a nudge away? 

He scratches at his nape and breaks the strange eye contact. Your eyes burn into the side of his face still, he couldn’t miss it if he tried. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m glad you’re safe.”

You watch his jaw as he speaks, the eyes wandering from the posters on your wall to the photo frames on your desk. ichigo’s observant, but this time, you feel like he’s just curious, perhaps a little sheepish. “Inoue wouldn’t let me live if I didn’t bring you home,” He adds.

It’s partially true but he doesn’t voice the rest out loud. He hasn’t been around in Soul Society for a hot minute now and it’s something to be glad about, but it does make him wonder if it’s his chivalry, manners, or unsatisfied instinct to protect that brought him here, into your room, pinewood and pale pink. 

You snort a little under your breath at the thought of your redhead best friend, fanning you with whatever she could’ve grabbed to possibly sober you up. She’s a sweetheart, cares more than she should about things that don’t need it, but it is a part of her charm. 

Is it why Ichigo’s smiling like this? 

The truth is laid out right in front of you, there is no denying it. A part of you is glad to witness the blossoming of something that would make your favorite person the happiest alive. 

In the unvacated space lives greed. 

Jealousy and desire are primal to an extent that you wouldn’t think could ever apply to you, but here you are. It’s funny Ichigo doesn’t look aware of his input to your silly realizations in the slightest.. But, down to the core of it all, you’re just a girl as well. Young, with a heart aching to be loved. You know it is considered wrong but what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

You’ve never said a word despite how often you run your tongue. Your choice was always conscious, firm, and made with the best intentions in mind. Tonight, as you lay in your frilly sheets and scent the remnants of Ichigo’s cologne on you with his warmth still so close, your throat tightens with the words that grow heavier, unbearable to swallow down.

“Ichigo,” You say his name again, this time more gentle. The boy glances over and you know now that you did catch him space out, with her in mind. It’s a different look on him, fond with the slightest curl to his lips, handsome on his features when he turns to you.

You enjoy the attention and it’s a shameful realisation. Brown eyes envelop yours with a warmth that you know isn’t directed at you, “Yeah? What is it?”

Adrenaline does it for you - props you up until you face him, stretches your fingers out to wrap around his wrist. It’s unrushed but only because of the alcohol. It puzzles Ichigo all the same, a quirk in his brows and a twitch in his fingers. 

“Can you… stay,” Oh, it’s so, so heavy on your tongue. Doesn’t roll off the way you’d want it to even with the added courage - it’s more of a shaky breath than anything else “Please,”

The silence soughs in your ears, a white noise to blur out Ichigo’s perplexed inhale. His gaze wavers and moves to where your hand guides his, to the soft flesh of your thigh, bare and still so warm as he noticed earlier. Now it almost burns him. 

He says your name in a question and his voice cracks in the sheer realization of your wish, unspoken but shown so forwardly and in a way he wouldn’t have thought of you. He moves to retract his hand, shaking his head, “I– uh, I can’t. Really, trust me, it’s not…”

When Ichigo goes to look at you again, your chest aches with shame. He’s confused but looks mostly worried, if not a little pitiful of your silly, needy wish. Your fingers feel too clammy to keep holding onto his hand, instead grabbing onto the thick denim of your skirt. 

“O-Oh,” You stammer and it feels like a cold bucket over your head, “R-right. Sorry, uhm,”

You worry the plump of your bottom lip between your teeth and stare anywhere else. Your vision is a little distorted, just a tad blurry, the thudding of your heart loud as ever. 

Warmth envelopes your fist and your gaze bounces back. Ichigo’s frowning a little, but again, it’s mostly worry. You don’t particularly dislike it, “Hey, hey. It’s fine. You’re drunk. It’s alright.”

Right, you’re drunk. But not enough to blackout, not enough to lose control over your actions and better judgment. So when the feeling of his hand on yours grows to be too much, your breath catches in your throat and eyes soften. It’s a sliver in time but Ichigo catches onto it.

This time, he’s not as taken aback when your fingers wrap around his. He’s seen it coming by the gleam in your eyes, and though he’s not that much of an empath, he knows what longing looks like. He’s not dumb. Your rings feel cool on his skin as you guide his hand up, from the hem of your top to the swell of your breast- it’s a strange feeling. Entirely new in the way he hasn’t done it before (intentionally, at least), throwing him off because it’s you. You fit in his hand perfectly. Ichigo swears he feels every goosebump against his palm, even through the thin cotton. 

It registers slower than he would’ve liked it to. With a sharp breath, his eyes find yours, asking for something though he knows you wouldn’t answer. You look tongue-tied, shivering against his touch and under his nearly begging gaze.

“Please,” It’s a whisper but bleeds into a whimper. Your fingers around his wrist grow tighter, and his palm presses against your flesh until he feels your thighs part. 

It’s all you say. He shouldn’t have asked for more, but it’s only natural he did - you put him in this place, confused and torn. Ichigo does not want to blame you for it but he wishes he did- it’s easier getting upset than dealing with this pull in his chest. You give him your widest eyes, reminiscent of the look she gives him– it’s just the same. The discernment is unmistakable. It makes him think of all the times he felt eyes on his back, the side of his face as he spoke. Could it be there were always two pairs of them? Could he really not notice it for all this time?

Devotion is a strange thing. It’s unspoken between him and Orihime but it doesn’t make the bond any weaker. It was an unknown feeling - noticing things about her that made his heart race, paying a bit more attention to his appearance whenever they’d see each other. Ichigo didn’t want to spend too much time pondering on it, but deep down, between the crevices of his ribs, he feels it. His heart is full. Stutters whenever she’s around, aches when she is not. It’s a pity it has to come down to this to make him admit it to himself. Neither of you deserve this. The policy of truth is simple: you speak it, you suffer the consequences. As long as Inoue doesn’t hear about this, the pain doesn’t take her under with you. 

What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her, but the oblivion has  no power to erase what already happened. It will eat away at you both, rightly or not. 

It’s a sliver in time. A second, two at most - no more than a shaky breath. It’s not nearly enough time to make such a decision but Ichigo operates on instinct more often than not. Right now, you’re here, so pretty and divine in front of him. Your lip shines with saliva, eyes gleam with need, and your legs part, making just enough space for him to fit in between. 

In this moment of time, you’re the prettiest sight he could possibly witness. 

The thought feeds his guilt but makes his heart thump all the same. There’s only so much you can do to fight off desire when it creeps up on you, cunning and ruthless.You couldn’t ignore your own and he’s surrendering, too. (What a strange feeling that is, indeed. After countless fights and not even one desertion, the only time he fully, consciously drops his guard down finally catches up to him. Perhaps it’s the rule of war, one you cannot run from even when once it died down.)

Ichigo’s merciful when he needs to be. When lenient, his hands usually drip with blood, not even one more drop to be shed. Tonight, they’re gentle, slipping under flimsy fabric with a promise of more- an augury of pleasure. 

Your breath dies in your chest, caught in your lungs when Ichigo’s hand squeezes the flesh of your breast. Your nipple stands erect against his rough palm, skin erupting in goosebumps as he groans. It’s a sound you wouldn’t dare wish to hear, but you’re thanking gods when you do. 

Ichigo moves closer, meddles with your space like it’s a magnetic pull. His thumb teases the hardened nub, experimentally pinches it between his fingers. It’s languid but only because he’s unsure. He doesn’t want to give in to greed. Curiosity is a much better teacher. 

“You’re so warm,” He whispers and it feels cathartic to some extent. A weight dissipates from his shoulders now that he admitted it to himself: he wants you. Longs for you, feels it down to his core. “Does it feel good?” 

A hurried nod is enough, for now at least. Your hand slips from Ichigo’s to grab at his bicep instead as his free palm fits under the weight of your chest, then slides down the smooth, soft canvas of your stomach. It ripples under his touch, almost a reflex. Ichigo swears under his breath, heat rushing to his cheeks and below his belt. You’re so pliable, so full of trust. 

He pushes your top up just below your collarbones, though not without a fleeting glance at your face to ensure it’s fine. Cool air nips all over the exposed skin and it’s a small mercy when the warmth of Ichigo’s mouth presses along the shivering flesh. You gasp and writhe, as much as you can in his gentle grip, anyway. His tongue feels heavy where it laps across the skin, suckling where his teeth graze next. When his mouth wraps around one of your nipples, it sends sparks down all the way down to your toes. It’s as pleasurable as it is new. 

“Ichigo,” You moan and it makes his desire run rampant. 

He sucks harder, the other hand wrapping around the side of your ribcage, as if to settle you but bring you closer at the same time. His breathing grows heavier, ragged when he lets go of one nipple to move to the other, repeating his measure of sucking and licking and toying with you until your heart ripples under the flesh. It’s his highest reward when you start to squirm and unceremoniously tangle your fingers in his hair. 

You wish you could feel his lips on yours but it feels like a boundary that cannot be crossed. Not yet, anyway, and you don’t look a gifted horse in its mouth, so the sensation of Ichigo’s shuffling down your mattress and pressing his open-mouthed kisses lower down your torso is where you pin point your focus. It’s the only thing overriding your senses either way - you can’t escape it, the slick and hot feeling of his tongue and the plump of his lips. He bites somewhere around your navel and you keen, toes curling in on themselves. 

Ichigo’s uncertain whether it should bring him this much ecstasy but he’s sure he’s just as euphoric as you are, receiving his caress. His thumbs dig into your sides and along your hipbones as he looks up, hair in your fist and eyes blown with lust. 

A beat passes before he crawls up your body again, a little clumsily but neither of you care. His breath hits your jaw before his head dips to the crook of your neck, mouthing at the thrum of your pulse. Your bodies act as one, strung up with instinct and curiosity strong enough to kill the cat. Whether you get caught in crossfire, neither of you cares. 

Just as your hands move to push up Ichigo’s shirt, he pulls away to take yours off completely, the gathered material getting in his way. You barely wind your arms around his neck before he presses back against you, breathing heavily between feverish kisses to your collarbone and shoulder. 

It’s a lot - the feeling of your chest pressed against his, your hands roaming under his shirt, following the ridges of his hard abdomen. You’re squirming underneath him, inhales quick, exhales resembling more of a whimper than anything else. It’s a lot to take in but Ichigo takes his time nonetheless. He maps out the spots that make your nails dig under his skin, makes sure to give them extra attention before moving to search for more. It’s exhilarating, feeds his ego when you arch into him so beautifully. It’s hard focusing on everything at once but there is no way he misses any of it.

Between bites and wet kisses, Ichigo’s shirt comes off and joins your crumpled top on the floor. He’s not self-conscious in the least, but your gaze sticks to him and it’s making his heart skip a beat. Swallowing thickly, he breathes out a laugh, almost sheepishly, and you return it in a smile. It clears the air, makes it easier to breathe again - lets him see the gleam in your eyes, allows you to take in the reddened sheen of his cheeks. It’s everything you could’ve dreamed of and more, the embodiment of what heaven looks like, you think. 

“Can I make you feel good?” Ichigo speaks, low and ragged. You think it’s endearing that he asks, even when seeing you so restless. His hands are itching to touch, explore places that make you tense up and call for him. The need to possess is strange, but he doesn’t hate it. it must be a part of the intimacy- something about knowing it’s him that grants you this pleasure. It has to be something about the sense of duty, knowing it’s the least he can give you.

“Yes,” It’s more of a breath than proper speech but it’s good enough. “Yes, please, Ichigo, right there…” 

Your hand moves to his, guiding it to the soft cotton of your panties. It’s hot, damp with what the boy can only recognize as arousal, silky when the pad of his finger presses on the soft, plump flesh. The fabric is thin, darkened where it clings to your folds. It’s enough to make his head spin. Your thighs jolt and breath sharpens as his finger dips between your folds and Ichigo feels all blood rush to his cock.

“Fuck,” He grunts, aching against the denim of his jeans. It’s almost embarrassing in a way “You ask me so nicely,” 

You didn’t expect the remark but take it as a praise. Ichigo doesn’t particularly enjoy others prodding at him but will do it himself if given a good chance and you wonder if he enjoys the way you look away, overwhelmed. Not even the alcohol buzzing in your system makes this any more bearable. Instead you focus on him undoing your skirt, first the button and then the zipper, to eventually pull it down your legs. He’s gentle while doing so, fingers lingering on your ankle as his gaze searches for yours. 

“Have you…” Ichigo trails off and it suddenly dawns  on him that it should’ve been asked before he even first got his hands on you. Your boldness could’ve mistaken him, after all, and judging by the way your eyes widen, it did.

You shake your head, gripping the sheets and chewing on your bottom lip. You seem as sheepish as the boy between your legs, suddenly a little embarrassed, hoping it doesn’t drive him away. “N-No, not yet…”

Ichigo knows it shouldn’t, but it goes straight to his cock. The realization that he’s the first to touch you like this, to have his hands roaming your body and spoil you with affection. The mechanism behind the thought is unattainable to him yet, but frankly, he has no time to dwell on it. It flatters him, fills him with something indescribable, knowing you trust him enough to deem him the right one. 

He sucks in a breath, opening his mouth to speak. Are you sure about this? is what he wishes to ask. Please is what your eyes are telling him - dark with lust and sewing right through him. You look like you could cry any second if made to wait any longer. He’s no sadist, really.

Your panties come off next, index finger hooking under the waistband and easing them down the curve of your legs. Ichigo doesn’t mean to stare but it’s his first time around as well, after all, and he’s a little overwhelmed. You’re pretty from head to toe, he realizes, face burning as he exhales shakily, fingers tracing the same path as before, but this time with no fabric in between. 

Wetness collects at his fingertips, coats them from the tip to his first knuckle and makes it so much easier when he presses three fingers against your clit and starts to rub. You’re unaware of his lack of experience and frankly, the way he handles you isn’t giving it away either. Your legs seize up, breath stuck in your throat, and Ichigo figures he’s doing a good job. You’re quick to tell him, too.

“Fuck,” Your voice is small, the small of your back arching off the bed. Ichigo watches every reaction like a hawk, from the parting of your lips to the way your abdomen tightens and hips squirm in place. 

“Right here?” He asks in a breath, almost holding it. It’s unconscious, but his focus is all on you. His hand slides lower and palm presses to the throbbing nub instead, slick finger prodding at your entrance as you nod.

Ichigo’s taking his time with you but it only makes the tension grow tighter, like a string bound to snap any moment. You’re already out of breath before he gets to pleasure you properly. His equally restless, needy expression makes it a little more bearable. One by one, his fingers push inside of you with much more ease than he’d expected. It’s tight and warm, squeezing him down to the last knuckle when the pads of his fingers caress the front of your insides. Each and every movement eases more honeyed sounds from your mouth, makes your grip on him tighten. Your nails dig in his bicep, bare and littered with small scars you wouldn’t ever ask about, voice betraying any inhibitions. You’re moaning in his ear when he goes to press himself against you, mouthing along the curve of your jaw and heavily breathing against your pulse point. 

Every word is washed away with desire, long gone from your head. The feeling of being worked open on Ichigo’s fingers is too much. He’s as gentle as he can be but loses himself in the way your pussy squeezes around him and hips hump against his hand, urging for more. You feel his scent, overriding anything else, hear his ragged breath by your ear. The heat licking at the base of your spine seems familiar but entirely strange at the same time, thinly veiled by intoxication. 

“Ichigo–” You sound almost panicked if he hadn’t known any better. You’re not in pain, not with the way you cling onto him “Think m’gonna..” 

Ichigo feels his stomach flip and suddenly the sound of your slick is the only thing in his ears. The squelch, every little mewl you let out when his fingers press into the spongy spot. It’s obnoxiously loud, though in reality it most likely is not. To him, it’s all that matters. You’re feeling good, you’re barely speaking. 

You almost jolt when he picks up the pace, eyes boring into your face, the euphoric flutter of your lashes. “Do it for me,” He mutters, voice lodged low in his throat, equally as coaxing as it is urgent. “S’alright”

The sensation hits all at once and it’s overwhelming compared to anything you’re used to. It’s different when Ichigo’s easing you through it, groaning when you grab at his wrist and choke out sounds of unadulterated pleasure. Raw and beautiful as you fall apart, Ichigo watches you. A pull in his chest urges him to kiss you, swallow every sound and claim it. Everything else makes him want to watch, shamelessly and greedily, and so he does. 

You slump in his hold around the moment his fingers slow down nearly to a stop. It’s good timing considering you push at his wrist weakly, thighs shaking when you go to close them involuntarily. Ichigo eases his fingers out and it’s only now that the white noise dies down that you hear his breathing, equally as labored as your own.

Your eyes search for Ichigo’s, albeit a bit unsure. Almost shyly. The clarity doesn’t set in just yet as you reach your hand towards him, fingers dipping past the waistband of his jeans. 

He’s slightly flustered but mostly still overwhelmed by making you cum. He wouldn’t have ever guessed it feels this good to give- never would’ve thought you are so beautiful when he brings you over the edge. It makes his heart ache when the thought at the back of his head reappears, poisoned with guilt, but it’s not enough to drive his mind away from the desire coiling in his gut.

“Come here” Ichigo states, a little firmly as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you down to his level more comfortably. “Want to feel you, properly this time,”

His breath is ragged when he speaks, warmth fanning across your face. It’s a lot to take in, but the press of a hard bulge to your bare mound speaks for itself. Your throat feels a little dry when you swallow, clumsily reaching your hands down to work at Ichigo’s belt, then the buttoning of his jeans. He helps you out, fingers brushing against yours until finally, he gets the remaining pieces of clothing off.

Your head is spinning with how quickly it happens. One second you’re coming on his fingers, now you’re trying not to stare at his cock, standing upright, heavy and flushed bright pink with arousal. The sheer size is intimidating but you couldn’t have expected anything less from Ichigo. (Neither did you imagine him any smaller than this.)

He notices your shy little glances but doesn’t comment on it, because soon enough you’re wrapping your small hand around his girth. The touch is electrifying, would’ve made his knees buckle if he wasn’t sat. Ichigo hisses under his breath, the tips of his ears burning. You’re moving languidly, thumb tracing along the throbbing vein running up the shaft and it’s making his stomach tighten.

“Let me,” You suddenly speak meekly. Ichigo blinks down at you, mind foggy with want but he’s quick to shake his head and wrap his hand around yours.

Your expression morphs into something more sheepish, borderline confused. Your fingers almost retract from around his aching cock but he stops you, tightening his hand on yours to keep it in place.

“No, it’s just…” Ichigo’s a little frustrated but only with himself. He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head when you look at him, puzzled and a little hesitant “I’m not gonna last if you do, and I want you,” 

It’s purely symbolic by this point, now that he’s taken the leap and cannot turn back, but voicing his desire out loud makes the loop around his heart tighten. It shouldn’t feel this natural to say it, roll off his tongue so easily, but it does- and Ichigo figures he might as well embrace it. His throat feels tighter with every word but the smile he gives you, a little coy and all the more comforting, makes you relax instantly. 

Your cheeks heat up with the flattery before the meaning behind his words really settles in. It’s one thing to have the boy of your dreams touching you, but another to have him admit his desire. It makes the butterflies caged between your ribs run wild. 

“Then just–” You trail off and hold back a moan, feeling Ichigo’s hand reassume the stroking you’ve been gracing him with a moment before. “C-come here,” You finish between one sigh and another. His palm feels warm on top of yours, tightening whenever you reach the sensitive tip of his cock, his breath growing unsteady. 

It’s tipping along the edge of teasing but Ichigo can’t bring himself to stop, even with a promise of greater pleasures coming. You’re looking up at him like you’re scared to miss any of his reactions- the knot in his brows, parting of his lips. It’s hard to look away when the very thing you’ve longed for is right in front of you, tangible and real. 

Despite his previous words, it’s a struggle to stop you from indulging him. You don’t want to take more than he gives, though, and so you pull away, instead nudging the boy to lay down on his back beside you. He takes the hint but not without a look of surprise and lays back. You enjoy the look behind the amber of his eyes when you climb on top of him, straddling his hips, your heat hovering just above the weeping head of his cock. It’s enough to make Ichigo hiss out a breath, his hands moving to grip the fat of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh. 

“Take your time,” He says, and the tremble at the edges of his words give away his impatience or perhaps excitement. You wonder if it’s his first time as well but the thought is quickly pushed to the back of your mind, too hopeful and bold. As if.

You smile down at him, a little dopily, “M’kay.”

You ignore the shaking of your thighs as you rest your hands on Ichigo’s chest, broad and firm with muscle. The slow rubbing of your pussy along the throb of his length is agonizing, but neither of you complain. You watch breathlessly as Ichigo leans his head back, throat bobbing with a grunt. It’s hot and slippery wet, the way your folds drag against his cock, clit catching on the angry pink tip. You’re moaning so pretty already, he wonders how the hell he’s going to hold back when he’s actually inside you.

He doesn’t regret his statement to take things at your own pace but you are driving him a little crazy. The position you’ve both found yourselves in is hard enough to brace already, and now you’re on top of him, too, about to take a part of him to keep with you forever. The thought makes his head spin. Ichigo wishes he still believed he’s only doing it to show you mercy, but his own enjoyment is too palpable. He tries not to think about it when you lift your hips and wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance, leaking wetness on his tip. 

You drop your hips, inch by inch, and it erases any other thought from his head. It’s so ridiculously warm and tight, feels like you’re suffocating him in the best possible way. There’s not a condom in sight and Ichigo’s not too proud to realize he couldn’t care less. What matters is the feeling of you around him, pulsing with arousal when he bottoms out. Your fingers twitch on his chest and clit presses against the neat trim of his pubes - he feels it all, it’s almost agonizing.

Ichigo has to remind himself to soothe you into it. He rubs his hands up your waist and swallows thickly, watching your chest shudder with a breath and your mouth fall agape. 

“You good?” He asks, but the slow sway your hips pick up is an answer in its own right. You suck in a breath and nod, looking down at him. God, don’t do this. Ichigo twitches inside of you and you feel it all. 

“Mmhm,” Your voice sounds strained. You don’t trust yourself enough to speak proper words, getting used to the feeling of being stuffed full. It’s unlike anything else, the feeling of every ridge and vein of his cock, the tight fit that makes your tummy feel funny. Glancing down to see the boy of your dreams staring right back at you, heavy-lidded and restless, turns your brain into mush. 

There’s not much discomfort. Not to make you stop, at least. You’re greedy and you can only hope Ichigo doesn’t mind, but the groan he lets out when you begin to rock your hips back and forth proves it right. The slide of his cock against the spots that turn your vision spotty around the edges feels perfect. 

It’s quieter than you would’ve suspected. Heavy breathing bounces off the walls and your bed creaks with every firmer movement, your cunt squelches whenever Ichigo’s cock fits back inside of you, stuffing you to the brim. You couldn’t handle any more of it anyway- it’s enough as it is. You’re a little light-headed with the tingly sensation that runs all the way down to your toes, making them curl. You wonder if it feels as good for Ichigo as it does for you, but he’s awfully quiet- trying to swallow down any grunts or sounds of pleasure. 

He’s a little overwhelmed, truly. You feel like heaven, throbbing and swallowing all of his cock. He hopes you won’t be in pain tomorrow- he’s given you enough prep (he hopes so, at least), but you’re starting to ride him harder with every few movements. You drop your hips on him experimentally, rut against him in little circles, then still and whimper when his tip kisses the spongy area all the way up your pussy. Ichigo’s speechless, truly. It almost feels too good to be true- too good for him, like he’s undeserving. He can’t let go of the thought of it being unfair. The way you make it feel so intimate, passionate until it’s hard to take only deems it an ever harder task. 

Ichigo watches with his heart lodged in his throat as you lean back, gracing him with a full view of your breasts, trembling with every quick breath, and the slow path your hand follows to toy with one of them. Your face contorts in bliss, lashes fluttering before your eyes roll back. It’s raw and almost primal, in a way, despite how sweet you sound with every choked out Ichigo, Ichigo, you’re so good. Too good for this world, and frankly, too good for him - that’s what you are. He can’t take it.

You gasp when Ichigo moves to sit up, the new found angle making your stomach stir. You can almost feel him in your throat, swelling inside of you “I-Ichigo,” You swallow back a whimper, taken aback and delirious with pleasure. 

He wraps his arm around you, fitting himself against you like it’s how you’re meant to be. The thought makes your arousal cling to his base, a sheen of slick forming a ring where his girth stuffs you full. He’s so close it feels almost unfair. His nose nudges against yours and breath meddles together. It’s your own heartbeat that’s thrumming in your ears, but if you focus hard enough, you can pretend it’s Ichigo’s.

“Shh- q-quiet,” He utters, almost hurriedly. His fingers splay out on the small of your back, holding you close, but the other hand soon joins on your other side, gripping your rear so tight you could almost squeal. 

It’s an added leverage and control that lets Ichigo grind into you with little effort. Restraints cut off when he feels your chest press against his, skin clammy against his palm as he presses you further into him, until there’s nowhere left for you to run. It’s the least he owes you. It’s what you deserve, so wide-eyed and open for him, so soft and unconditionally dutiful. Indulging you is what he must do, even when it feels like making love though it really isn’t. It’s only fair in such unjust circumstances. 

Ichigo kisses you like he means it and like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s not his first but it’s the first that feels like this- makes his gut churn and his hands grab you tighter. You moan in his mouth, wrap your arms around his neck, touch his jaw. You’re all over him in the best sense, in a way he’d never think he’d experience, but it’s a slice of heaven on earth.

Your tongue licks at his teeth and he tastes your desire, tender and unadulterated. It’s slow and takes your breath away, hell, steals every conscious thought with it, too. You could melt in an instant if giving it any thought at all.

You take what Ichigo gives and don’t ask. You know better than this.

Ichigo’s breath catches in his throat when your legs wrap around him, almost clumsily, driving him deeper. The drag of his cock against your walls starts to become unbearable, like gasoline to the fire licking at his spine. He’s close and struggles not to notice it’s the close proximity and the taste of your tongue that pushes him to the edge. 

Your mind is foggy when Ichigo pushes himself home a few more times, almost teasingly slow. He’s pulling away from your kiss, lips swollen and wet with spit when he goes to glance between the two of you, where your cunt rubs against him so sweetly, takes him so well.  Being watched like this proves to be too much, your heart jolting and gut tightening, the coil appearing quickly. 

“H-uh, I- Ichigo, gonna cum,” He thinks it’s endearing how you tell him when he can feel your cunt speak for you- hear it, even, with how it squelches with his every thrust, even the most languid.  Still, he kisses you silent, once, then again and again. Each one feels more treacherous than the other. Each one makes you whine louder and louder, despite his intention.

“I know, I know,” It’s more of a rasp than anything else when he speaks, hoarsely and hushed “Go ahead, m’ right here,” 

It’s instinctual to ease you into it like this, when you’re clinging to him so tight. It fills him with a weird sense of possessiveness, even if it only lasts so long as he’s inside of you. Ichigo finds himself struggling holding his own climax back when you’re squirming in his lap like this, your tight heat squeezing him until it’s hard to move at all. He’s shocked at how slick you are, wetter with every thrust but he’s glad, for it makes all the difference (and stroke his ego more than he’d like to admit).

Little throaty grunts start to slip out his mouth as your body grows stiff. You’re quieter, almost holding your breath, and the way you’re looking at him is almost painful. Ichigo would think you are in pain if he didn’t know any better. His forehead fits against yours, mostly to ground him but mainly because he can’t stand this look from you- like this is all you’ve ever wanted. (He knows it is, but he likes to pretend otherwise.) You wheeze and moan all on the same breath, finally cumming on Ichigo’s cock until you’re trembling. He fucks you through it despite how achingly hard he is, trying to hold off his own orgasm. He’s panting against your lips, dragging your hips against his own and adding another layer of white hot pleasure that renders you limp in his grasp moments after.

You’re stunned by the intensity of euphoria that washed over you all at once, still dizzy when Ichigo swiftly pushes you on your back. He stays nestled inside of you, tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, kissing it harder with each of his thrusts, deep and deliberate. He’s not going fast nor is he rough- it’s passionate in it’s rawest form. Ichigo leans forward and shamefully indulges in the warm embrace of your arms, wrapping around his back, your hand tangled in his hair. 

His kisses feel equally as tender as his strokes, growing firmer with every roll of his hips. You’re drinking every word from his mouth and cup his face, keeping him grounded when he’s losing composure. Gonna cum, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming. You watch Ichigo’s face twist in pleasure, his silhouette caging you in. You’re unsure whether your intoxication comes from liquor or the sheer euphoria seeing him look so beautiful on top of you, but you feel delirious either way. 

Ichigo groans as the knot unravels, blinding and forceful enough to turn his mind blank. He shudders through it, having just a crumble of sanity left to pull out at the very last moment as to not fuck things up more than he already did. He fists himself to completion, a few rough tugs ending in warmth spilling all across your lower tummy, some even landing on the swell of your breasts. (If it wasn’t for the spots littering his vision, he’d notice the small marks he had left, something to leave you with aside from the aching void.) With a few last grunts, each one breathier than the last, he finally relaxes, dropping his head in the crook of your neck.

The air should be thick and heavy, palpable with the realization of what had just taken place. It should feel spoilt and eat away at you like acid. And yet, as the both of you come down from your highs, the afterglow tastes sweet - even if for a few seconds more.

It makes a part of Ichigo want to scream. The other makes him kiss the thrum of your pulse one last time, his forehead pressed to your jaw, almost in a sign of affection. Your fingers run through his hair, absentmindedly and leisurely. Your heart slows down and Ichigo listens, wondering if you feel any different that he does? Is your head full of conflict too, guilt clawing its way back in despite how good it felt to be so close to him? Are you having a hard time like he is?

By the time Ichigo pulls away, your eyes are fluttering close, breathing mellow and soft. It would’ve made him chuckle, but his heart feels a little too heavy, so he only smiles down at you, pushing himself up on arms that feel weirdly shaky. Fatigue is one thing, but emotion is another. 

He’s lucky enough to find a box of tissues on your nightstand, right next to your alarm clock. Angry red numbers read 2:41AM as he reaches for a couple and then begins to clean you up, wiping away any remnants of his spent. It’s weirdly intimate and this time, it brings a sour taste to his mouth. You’re watching him, tiptoeing over the edge of sleep, as he crumples up the tissues in his hand once it’s over with. 

It’s easier to not look at him at all than see his gaze scurrying away from you, absent and full of thought. You’re tired- exhausted, even, barely able to keep yourself awake. The alcohol catches up to you again and so does the weariness from endorphins wearing off and though it’s a bitter thought, you think it’s a small mercy. He’s never been good at hiding when things are troubling him. In a way, he wears his heart on his sleeve, much like you do. It just took him a little longer to notice what you wanted to tell him. A mistake had to be made to let him see inside your mind for what it truly is: full of longing and misplaced love.

Despite it all, you watch as he pulls on his boxers and let him dress you into your underwear and top from before. He handles you gently, carefully, as if you could break into pieces. You wouldn’t like the pity but thankfully, in your delirious state, you take it as affection. 

“Ichigo,” It makes his skin crawl. Unfair, unfair, unfair. How can you say it like this, so soft and hopeful? He glances back to look at you, takes in the sheen across your cheeks, the afterglow that adorns your features. You’re irresistible, but his restraints broke only because of leniency. “Will you stay?”

He smiles at you. In your eyes, half-lidded and shiny with sleep, it looks genuine. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

You fall asleep peacefully despite everything, ignoring the drop in your chest. You don’t take Ichigo for a liar, but this one time, you will not mind nor hold it against him. Everything he’s ever done was for everyone’s best interest. If tomorrow you wake up in an empty bed with his scent fading away from your sheets, you’ll be grateful for whatever piece of him he’s left with you. 

Your house is quiet aside from the ticking clock downstairs as Ichigo dresses himself and checks for his phone and wallet in his jeans’ pocket. He walks downstairs and pays no mind to the quirky accessories you put along the living room as he passes by. Pulls on his shoes, shrugs on his jacket, then fishes out the spare key from the glass bowl by the front door. It’s exactly where Orihime told him. He’ll have to text her once he’s home, he thinks. 

Just like he’d hoped, you’re fast asleep by the time he’s out the door. And though his heart feels full like it has for a long while, it only now begins to grow heavy.

© 2024 grinmjows. do not copy any writing or layouts; do not repost/mention my works on other social media.

#tbr!!!! #I’m gonna eat this up I know it

[doobean]

a blurb … okok

mafia AU with reader being a florist/herbalist in a city neighborhood. government corruption, gangs, etc. she gets caught in the middle of a mafia war and we have love triangle between with kunigami and shidou …

🪑yall seated for this …?

#doobean talks #been on my mind… #for the past 24 hours #my bby popon already know the whole plot ahdhahdhaha #reader interactive choices by the end of the story ahdhaga

[doobean]

ALL I WANTED WAS YOU.

and when the world treats you way too fairly... well, it's a shame i'm a dream.

synopsis: a break up is nothing, not when the two of you are sworn to be together. especially when satoru will do anything to keep it.

warnings: dark content. ageless blogs + minors DNI. afab!fem reader, sub!reader, yandere!satoru, switching povs at times, possessive behavior, dubcon, recording, dacryphilia, cheating (not on gojo), somno, praise, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break(?), begging, fingering, oral f!receiving, choking, pussy slapping, creampie, masochism (reader), he is mean AND whiny. he literally sniffs u at one point lol. you wear makeup. implied multiple rounds.

ft + wc: gojo x reader, around 5.2k

@enchantedforest-network

an: hi, so like months ago (as all my wips start) i had this idea for toxic!ex bf gojo which delved into yan gojo LOL. he is so hard to write... like wtf... so anyway this was been rotting away since september!! i think i did lose my mind just a little bit writing this ngl LMFAO. idk if i really leaned that heavily into the yan, but we are going to truck along and post this anyways. thanks for waitin'. also, thank you to dooby and sky for both proofreading and giving me some ideas to push through, @sxgars for the banner, and my brain/fingers for not giving up.

gojo satoru still remembers the day you left, eyes puffy and face streaked with makeup as you stormed out of your shared apartment. in gojo’s mind, it was fine, you’d be back. no matter how big of a fight, you always came back. 

but it’s been months now of you ignoring his calls and texts, avoiding him whenever you see him. you’ve even blocked him on some of your social media platforms since he can only access the ones you haven’t used in years. most people have told him to let it go, move on, it’s not worth it. but satoru’s heart knows what it wants and at the core of it all, it wants: you. 

he thinks you might need a little coaxing, something to help you realize you love him again. once he finds out your address, his plan is set. he spruces himself up, spritzing on the cologne of his that was your favorite, even getting suguru to stop by the flower shop near his workplace to grab you a bouquet. yes, gojo’s got it all figured out. he’ll swing by, shower you in love like he used to, and you’ll realize you missed him just as bad. 

imagine his dismay when you won’t even open the door, your voice muffled from the other side. you tell him to leave, it’s over, you don’t want to see him anymore. he begs you to open it, just give him one more chance, but you sigh, crack the door open a smidge, and tell him. 

“satoru, leave. my boyfriend’s here.” 

he thinks that word is disgusting if he’s not the one it’s referring to. maybe you’re lying, maybe it’s another ruse to get him to piss off, but when you peek behind your shoulder, giving a little smile, the kind you used to give gojo, soft, sweet, loving; he realizes you’re completely honest. 

the lump in his throat is sticky, clinging onto the walls of his neck like gum. meanwhile, his heart feels like it’s beating in his ears, a not-so-friendly reminder of his fragility. 

you turn back, eyeing the flowers, an assortment of your favorite kinds - satoru, satoru, i like these, see? - and in a moment of soft-heartedness, step out. you can’t deny the pull of your heartstrings, satoru’s endearing aura plucking at them in a solemn tune, but you’re different now. you don’t need satoru anymore.  

“look,” you start, adjusting his tie and fixing the crinkling cellophane. “maybe you could give this to someone else? they’re so pretty, someone out there would be lucky to have them. and, you’re satoru, handsome, funny, sweet. you’ll find someone else in no time!” 

but he just stares, eyes boring into you as if it feels like the wind’s been taken out of him as your words fall on deafened ears. fuck the flowers, you’re so pretty, you’re the one people are lucky to have. in a sense, he’s bewildered because there’s no way you’ve actually moved on… right? 

you sigh again, a hint of exasperation tinging your voice, “gojo, i think… this should be the last time we see each other.” you step back, hand on the door handle. to you, this is a step in the right direction. 

for him, he finds that the way you don’t use his first name has him wanting to rip his hair out from the root. 

“wait, please, i love you.” he states, finally finding his voice, feeling like his time with you is running out. his lip quivers while his heart continues to shatter with each passing second. “i’d do anything for you, you know that right?”

ah. same old satoru, the man who swore he’d take the moon from the sky if you wanted. anyone looking in would swear you were lucky, but you remember things being a little… suffocating. it was too much, too overwhelming eventually. 

you bite your lip, strengthening your hold on the handle, ready to leave. you can’t meet his gaze, knowing that if you do you might falter. “but i don’t. i don’t love you anymore.” - it’s a lie, you know it is from the little bud inside your chest blooming, breaking out past the walls of your heart, but you just… can’t. 

he shakes his head, taking a step forward. “you don’t mean that.” 

“i do, satoru!” you flinch at your own voice, taking a deep breath to calm down. “please, just leave.” you tell him one more time before you retreat back inside and slam the door. 

he waits for a few minutes, thinking that maybe he’s on one of those prank shows. you’re going to open the door, tell him it was a joke, and to come inside. except you don’t, and he’s stuck under the low flickering haze of your complex’s lights. 

gojo’s a bit stunned on the walk back home, foggy eyesight mixed with thoughts flying a mile a minute equates to a tall stumbling man with no care for those around him. he can’t even count how many people he’s bumped into, let alone the amount of sorrys he’s muttered, the now crumpled bouquet still firmly held in his hand, indicated by the whites of his knuckles. 

when he gets home, he sinks into the floor, his head wrapped around his arms before he flings the bouquet across the room. “fuck!” a picture frame of the two of you clatters to the floor, glass breaking in tiny, jagged pieces. he kept it after all, in hopes that you’d come back eventually, but now it’s clear you’re not. he doesn’t even care that he’s knocked something off a table, he’s so fucking hurt.

hurt that you’ve moved on so easily, hurt that you’re out there calling someone else ‘baby’. he can’t fucking stand it, wanting to rip out the baseboards of his home or set it all on fire. from the first day he met you, gojo’s always firmly believed you were made for him. that thought was always reaffirmed with every ‘i love you,’ that dripped from your lips into his ear every morning and evening. 

maybe it’s not the best timing, but he remembers other things as well. like each time he’s been deep inside you and your pretty mouth would hang open, eyes blown and glassy, as you gasped out his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say. or even the times you took initiative yourself, crawling under the covers to wake him up, kitten licks and sloppy kisses to his cockhead. his own eyes met yours, with a lidded call of reverence, and that was all he needed to know. 

there’s no reason to wallow, he thinks, a small reignition of flame in his gut brewing. each passing memory that trickles by is another reminder that you did love him. no, that’s not right. you do love him.

okay, he thinks, i can still fix this. you just need a little reminding is all. you love him and you’re just a little confused. maybe his mind is breaking, but he reminds himself that it’s better his mind than his heart. 

”yeah,” he mumbles, dusting himself as he gets up off the floor. “she still loves me.” 

to be honest, breaking and entering wasn’t really his thing, he never saw the appeal in it before. but, this isn't really a break in, he’s just visiting his girl. he will say though, you did make it a little too easy by keeping your key under the mat. no, you kept it easy because you knew he was coming, simple as that. 

he goes in tentatively at first, wanting to see what you’ve done with the place, nodding in approval as he scans over the rooms. you’ve done a good job, just like you did before, but he does frown when not a single one of his photos is up. you must have forgotten or maybe you’re trying to save your new boy toy some heartbreak. silently, he walks over to your bedroom door, peeking in.

his mouth quips up into a smile when he sees you. you’re pretty as you sleep, just like he remembers. you’ve always been a heavy sleeper, mouth slightly agape as your drool dribbled down into the pillow. 

“hey beautiful…” he murmurs when he reaches you, bending down to brush away a few strands of loose hair from your face. 

a little “mm,” leaves your lips as your face twists at his touch. he leans in til he’s just a hair’s breadth away, before he ghosts his lips over yours slightly. still the same old you, lips just as soft as he remembers and what little self restraint he had continues to chip away. 

the hot breath of exhales continue to mix as satoru spends his time taking in your scent. he tries his best not to whine when you pull away slightly, once again leaning further in to stay as close to you as possible. if he could get high off of it, he probably could, but the ache in his belly grows. he needs you. 

“wait a minute…” he mumbles when you try to once again turn away. “why are you always trying to run away from me?” it’s a silly question, rhetorical since you’re still locked in the deep throes of sleep. but your body seems to answer in place of your voice when your legs rub against the sheets and your chest once again heaves itself over, leaving him behind. 

he’s sad that you’ve taken away his favorite aromatic, but with your shuffling, you’ve moved the blankets down letting him get a peek of your bare skin. you’re always a sight to behold and his fingers run themselves lightly over your body before he’s pulling the blanket off you completely. 

you’ve always been a heavy sleeper, affectionately dubbed his “sleepy wife,” even though you were never married. it’s been a while since his hands burned with such intensity, running up and down your thigh and leg, even tracing along the curvature of your ass. 

his knee dips into the bed as he finally looms over you, pushing you gently onto your back, before he’s prying your thighs open with one hand. he thinks he should take his time, savor it, satoru, but you’re just so… inviting. he runs a finger across the waistband of your shorts, experimentally tugging lightly. he flickers his eyes between his hands and your face, seeking for any signs of waking as he slowly starts to expose more and more skin. 

hints and glimpses of skin are all he needs to get riled up, further than he already is, as he takes the leap and pulls your bottoms off completely. 

“oh fuck princess,” he groans when he sees your pretty pussy for the first time in months. he’s nearly salivating like a dog as he remembers just how good you taste, bending down to get perched between your thighs. 

the first kitten lick against your clit chips away at his already waning self control. the next one that delved between your folds nearly completely breaks it. but he’s missed tasting you on his buds, missed consuming what was his. take your time, satoru. his mind ticks again, and he settles back to prepare a nice lob of spit before he’s letting it fall onto your pussy. 

you shiver unconsciously at the sensation and he takes a pause, not wanting you to wake just yet. you’d probably flip out on him and he can’t have you getting mad at him just yet. 

he waits until you settle again before he’s diving back in, driving his tongue between your folds as he laps up your essence. to say he was starving was an understatement, for these past months he’s felt like he’s been dying. 

it’s intoxicating as your juices and his saliva mix to dribble down his chin, dripping onto your bed sheets below. he eats you out like it's his first real meal in months, tongue lapping as much of your essence as he can while his fingers dig deep into the plush skin of your thighs.

he shudders as he grinds his hips into your mattress, the tip of his nose running against your clit sending little shockwaves up your unconscious body. you taste just as good as he remembers, losing himself in the sweet slick of your cunt.

your eyelids finally flutter open, readjusting to the darkened light of your room, but you can't miss that familiar snowy peak of hair settled in between your thighs.

"satoru?" you breathe, meeting his lidded eyes as your hands come down to immediately push back against his forehead, but instead your fingers curl up into his locks. 

“hi,” he chimes, smiling against your pussy as he readjusts, sitting up to shoot you a wicked smile. “hi baby, good mornin’.” the tone ofhis voice is sweet, nearly identical to what it was like when you were together.

he replaces his tongue with his fingers, whining a little when he feels you clench down onto them as he starts to scissor you open. 

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss, but your body jerks when he rubs against a particularly sweet spot of yours. 

“i missed you. i can’t visit?” he pouts, pressing a kiss against your clit before his tongue is laving over it again as if to make a point. “did you miss me?” he asks when your eyes roll back and you tug just a bit harder on his hair. 

“no.” you grit, but you can’t stop the way your hips buck up into him. 

“you’ve always been a bad liar, angel.” he shrugs, before he’s latching onto your cunt again.

he’s eaten you out more times than either of you can count, he knows exactly how to get you there. he knows it’s just a little bit more until you fall apart. he’s back on with even more fervor, alternating between sucking on your clit to sloppily and quickly flicking his tongue against it. 

“oh fuck,” you mewl, throwing your head back and thrashing as you come undone on his fingers, pussy fluttering and toes curling. 

“see, i knew you missed me.” he grins, as he brings his fingers up to suck at the slick around them. you’re still panting as you try to close your legs, but satoru’s fast, bringing his hands back down to tear them open. “ah ah ah,” he tuts, “we’re not done til i say so, got it?”  

“sa- gojo, you need to leave.” you plead, head heavy and stomach churning at what’s just happened. you fucked up but it’s fine, you can fix this still. 

“why?” he asks, “your boyfriend gonna come home?” fine, he’ll play your little game for now. he’ll antagonize you for a bit, before he’s disgustingly sweet again, just like the good ole days. but there’s also the anger brewing within him, why the fuck won’t you just come home? 

he smirks when you pause, already knowing the answer, “don’t tell me you two aren’t living together?” 

you shake your head, “that’s none of your business, gojo.” in hindsight, after satoru, you wanted to take things slowly the next time. moving in after only a month of dating probably wasn’t the best idea. 

“why not? i’ve got a right to know what you’re up to.” he pouts as he says it, hoping your irritation will ease up. 

you scoff, narrowing your eyes, “since when?” but your attitude is nothing more than a facade, always has been. “we’re not even together anymore-“ 

“since i decided, you’re mine.” he snaps, cutting you off and leaning down into you. “i decided that years ago by the way, and i’m not gonna let some fucking random mess with us.” 

you squeak as you hear him rustle with his pants, freeing his aching cock and you hate the way your stomach flip flops when you see it. it’s been so long since you’ve been fucked let alone touched. gojo was the last person to have you writhing underneath him and if you told him, he’d have even more of a need to keep it that way. 

your tough facade is breaking, you’re falling back into your hazy, mindless, and needy ways. you love satoru, even if the relationship was toxic, even if he gave you so little breathing room. but not yet, you won’t give in just yet. 

you try to scramble back further before you’re able to twist out of his hold for just a moment. but he grabs your hair by the root, twisting and pulling you back close to him and you yelp, clawing at his hand.

“baby, you’re really testing my patience.” he hisses into your ear, before he’s shoving you back down on the bed. “god, you know i hate being mean to you. just be good for once, yeah?” 

“gojo, leave.” you try one more time, but the hands that push up against him are so weak that he can tell your body’s betraying you. not only that, but your thighs shake at the pain in your scalp and you wish he would do it again. 

“i don’t think you want me to.” he states and you hate that he’s right. you don’t want him to leave, you want him to slide into you, filling you up. “or am i wrong?” he asks, looming over you, running his pretty cockhead through your folds. “go ahead, tell me to stop.” 

you bite your lip in an effort to not gasp out a pathetic moan, squeezing your eyes shut. each run against your clit has your legs widening, almost like you’re inviting him to come in. 

“knew it,” he quips, before he’s prodding at your entrance. your eyes fly open then, breathing heavily through your nose, but you don’t try to back off letting him glide in, inch by inch. “it’s cause you love me.” 

“i don’t,” you exhale as you watch his dick disappear within you, stretching you further than his fingers did. you’re nearly breathless when he finally bottoms out, fists balling into your sheets. 

“yes, you do,” he breathes, his own breathing jagged and rushed, almost like it’s being squeezed out of him. “you always have and always will.”

gojo satoru always fucks with your psyche, one of the many reasons you decided to leave him. it wasn’t obvious, not at first and neither was it nefarious. it was silly little item mix ups, funny conversations that seemed to follow satoru’s lead, until it was a loss of freedom, like a nightingale in a cage. 

huh? no, you’re meeting them next week… yeah, you told me last night. 

but that’s not- 

it is. check your phone. 

oh, i guess it… is? 

c’mon, would i lie to you princess? now you can hang out with me all day. 

and then suddenly it was all too clear when you did get that girl’s trip out, when your friends stared at you like you were fucking insane. it wasn’t normal at all that you couldn’t do a single thing without him. your friends helped you fit the pieces together and that was enough. you were going. 

leaving that day was easy, satoru hated seeing you upset and was more than willing to give you space when needed. it always went one way: you cool off, he swoops in and dresses up his words extra nicely to make you stay. but you didn’t this time. 

it was easier to leave all your things there as well instead of trying to leave in the middle of night. you thought you could do it, away from him you’d figure things out. 

but there must have been a part of you that still wanted him to chase after you, a divergent, rogue piece that strayed too far from the board. is that why you didn’t leave the city? still a part within satoru’s web of connected streets, just waiting until you were ensnared again. 

his eyes are still as pretty, his face almost too handsome, and voice just as alluring as before. you guess that’s what this is, a predator just waiting to stick his fangs into your neck.

“you’re insane,” you gasp out, holding onto your tiniest bit of strength. 

“aw, just for you.” he smiles, before he’s rolling his hips into yours, grinding in just the way you like, just as you remember. 

with each stutter of his hips, your walls twitch around his length and body jolts in waves of pleasure. soft gasps and moans tumble off your lips and satoru buries his face into your neck, nipping little marks into your skin, almost as if he’s etching one word into it: mine. 

it hits him almost instantly, this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he remembers that stupid little nuisance. he uses his hands to push up, still ramming into you as he takes a look at your face contorted in pleasure, as you peek up at him. 

“gojo?” you mumble, trying to take into account that look in his eye, but your head is bubbly with the pleasure he’s giving you. 

even with your walls clenching down around him with each roll of his hips, his anger seeps into him like water to a sponge as he tries to block out the idea that someone else was in what was his. that they probably saw this face that you’re making and got to hear your pretty little moans. 

“where’s your fucking phone?” he hisses, snatching it off the nightstand when he finds it, illuminated by the notifications of text messages from your “boyfriend.”

you whimper, trying to grab it, but satoru holds your hands together by the wrist, strategically keeping them against your chest so you can’t move up. 

“gojo, don’t!” you plead, snapping out of your trance for a moment, but the grip on your wrist tightens and you yelp. followed next is a glare, his gaze striking you right to the core. your words die off and he goes back to looking at your phone. it’s easy to unlock, you never changed the pass code. 

his eyes scan the texts quickly and frankly, it’s fucking disgusting to read this guy call you pet names that only satoru can say. he continues to scroll, trying his best to not dig his nails deep into your skin as he takes note of every heart emoji, flirtatious interaction, and pet name from your end. 

he keeps his breathing deep and even to keep himself from blowing his lid and he has half a mind to block his number to make sure you can’t speak to him again. but suddenly he’s got a better idea, getting back at him seemed so easy. 

you look so cute underneath him, pretty pussy enveloping his cock just like it was made to do, why not show it off? especially to someone that pissed him off. 

“hey baby, can you smile for me?” he says, voice sugary sweet as he opens your camera app, but you shake your head, trying to sink further into the pillow. you’re wary of the sudden personality change, especially when he finally releases your hands. 

he pouts, “c’mon now, you’re so pretty when you smile… please?” he sighs when you continue to refuse, but continues on, angling the camera til he’s satisfied with the image. 

“god, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” he says as he zooms onto your flushed face, hands coming up to hide it, before paneling back to record down your body. he stops when he reaches where both your hips are flush together, pussy sucking in his cock right to the brim. “fuck, would you look at that? i don’t even know your name man, but how fuckin’ pretty is this?” 

you gasp when you realize what he’s doing, but before you can say anything, you feel a hand come down onto your sensitive pussy. you yelp out but his hand comes down again and you're mortified when it sounds more like a moan. “bet you didn’t know she liked that,” he goads, “she also likes this.” he says, wrapping a hand around your jugular and giving a squeeze. 

your eyes roll back as the air escapes you, muddying your sight in little black dots. your hands fall to pull at his wrist, a moot effort considering the strength difference, and he laughs. a condescending flit of noise dripping in ego. “scratch that, she fucking loves that. hey, in my defense, i’m a little rusty, it’s been a while.” 

gojo has always been one of two things, needy and arrogant. but the worst was always when the two came together, usually in his worst fits of jealousy. he’s never recorded you before, always too eager to remember to set anything up before he’s pouncing on you.

but this satoru feels different, he feels scarier, nearly dangerous, although you shake off that fear til it’s nothing more than a fleeting thought. you liked this - no he was right, you loved this. before you broke up you were always begging satoru, just a little harder, just a little meaner, please.

with another heavy squeeze as the oxygen is once again cut off from you, you feel the walls around your heart finally crumbling completely, almost like a switch is flipped on. you can’t run from nor deny the heady need that was gojo satoru, the man that knew you in and out. you flutter your lashes at him, like you always did when you wanted to tell him something. he loosens his grip on your neck, just enough so that you can speak, “you wanna say somethin’, baby?” 

“u-use me,” you mumble, voice no louder than a whisper as your eyes start to leak that familiar pretty liquid that drives him insane. you’ve missed him, missed this - whatever the fuck it was, some messed up amalgamation dressed up under the guise of love. 

“hm?” he goads, a sick smile plastered on his face because you’re finally acting how you should. “a little louder for me, princess. i can’t hear you.” 

“use me!” you sob, trying to shift your hips to get some sort of stimulation, “please, satoru, please.” 

the use of his first name has him feeling like an actual god as he switches the camera back onto him. “you heard her.” he says with a wicked grin, before ending the video and pressing send. he tosses your phone to the side, “now where were we?” 

you whine when he shifts, one elbow propping him up as his hand once again finds it’s place against your neck. your own hand resumes it’s place as well, but instead of pulling this time you press, lashes heavy with tears as you wordlessly beg satoru to claim what’s his again. 

he’s so close to you now, his snowy hair tickles your forehead and his breath mixes with yours as he finally starts to move. you choke out a sob as he ever so slowly hits all the right places and you wonder how long you actually managed to make this far. 

“this is what you wanted isn’t it, baby?” he coos, being careful to not choke you for too long, even though you almost wish he’d fuck you passed out. “just needed a little reminder that i’m all you need right?” 

you nod, hiccuping with each thrust that knocks any air you have left out of your lungs. he’s right, just the two of you is all either of you need. you think the world is melting away as satoru presses kisses against your spit ridden lips, his own groans mixing in with yours as your tongues mesh together in sloppy, messy runs. 

“and now you’re gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you?” he picks up the pace, slamming in harder, rougher, like he’s proving a point. but he’s almost always right, with each kiss of his mushroom tip against your sweet spot pulsing pleasure throughout your body. “show me how much you love me.” 

“‘m close, toru,” you sniffle, nails digging into his arm as you blink away more tears, gasping up into his mouth. “‘m so close, please.” 

“i know.” he states, pressing his forehead against yours, sticky and sweat covered, as he gazes into your glassy, hazy eyes. “come on, cum for me princess. show me who you belong to.” 

there’s something so euphoric about satoru’s words, claiming every last bit of you, that you fall apart almost instantly. your orgasm hits you hard, rippling through you as your eyes and head both roll back, your pussy clenching down on his thick cock. 

“f-fuck! cumming, toru, i’m-“ you squeal, tears running down your face freely but satoru swallows up your moans, his lips once again sealing over yours, since those belong to him too. 

that’s enough for him, a firm affirmation that you love him, and he loses control of his once precise thrusts. he pistons into you, heavy balls slapping against your skin and pounding hard as if to leave marks all up your velvet walls. you milk out his own orgasm, walls fluttering and he detaches from your lips to growl out, “you’re all fucking mine, got it?” 

you chant out “yes,” as many times you can, still riding out your own orgasm as his cum paints your walls in white, til he finally slows back down to a stuttering close. he pants as he runs his hand up to rub his thumb over your tear-ridden cheek. 

“i love you.” he mumbles and you blink up at him sleepily meeting his pretty lidded blue eyes. it’s a stark contrast to the satoru just moments ago, pounding into you like his life depended on it. 

“love you too, toru.” you whisper, running a hand over his. your head and body feel heavy, yet your mind is still floating above the clouds. he’s probably oversensitive but you can’t care, knowing that your neck is prettier now that his fingerprints are littered on it. “toru… again.” 

he laughs when he feels you start to grind your hips, sticky slick and cum dripping from your hole. he feels like he’s on cloud nine hearing you beg for him after all this time. 

“please, please, toru,” you whine, craning your neck to brush sloppy, wet kisses across his lips and jawline. “i love you, so please.” 

“course, angel,” he mumbles in between kisses, “just gimme a few minutes and i’ll give you everything you want.” 

#tbr!!!! #pibby I can’t wait to see what you’ve added hehe #I remember reading it over the first time and … maybe yandere gojo is my new kink idk #you will see me ramble once I’m done 🫶🏻

[doobean]

AND BACK AGAIN ━ BAROU SHOEI + NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Nagi doesn't know which one he should be more afraid of: your pink silicone strap on, or your boyfriend's giant cock.

contents: afab!fem!reader, dom!reader, sub!nagi, established relationship (barou + reader), m/m/f, oral (male + female receiving), handjobs, face sitting, barounagi elements, pegging, anal (male receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies wc: 3.2k a/n: starting off the new year strong with this fic LMAO a shameless part two of THIS that nobody asked for. Beta’d by @pipppinn

It starts with an awful joke. A gag gift from you on his birthday. 

In the box, which you had neatly wrapped in cacti themed paper, stands a big, pink dildo with a flared base and belt. You flash a wink at him while Barou only grumbles under his breath in the seat next to you, shoving the last slice of cake in his mouth. Nagi’s honestly surprised that he’s still hanging around you two, surprised that his old college roommate hasn’t killed him yet in his sleep for all the sexual and non-sexual acts he’s committed within the past two months. 

It’s almost unspoken at this point, Nagi notices. No one has brought up the status of the relationship, but Nagi thinks whatever this is, it doesn’t necessarily need an explanation. More often than not, Nagi spends his weekends over, body pressed against whomever he didn’t piss off that day, and participating in acts that his best friend might lose his shit over.

“You’re in an open relationship?!” Reo gawked at him during brunch one day. 

Nagi hadn’t seen him since his business trip in Hong Kong earlier in the year. The last time Nagi remembered telling Reo before he boarded the plane was probably something unrelated to his growing crush on you and Barou. And, during this friendly catch up meal, Reo almost gagged on his steak when he did tell him about his feelings and what you guys have done. 

“Not open,” Nagi corrected, because he’s pretty sure that you and Barou aren’t sexually seeing anyone else other than him and, if you guys were, well he’d feel pretty upset over it. “Polyamorous is what people call it.”

Needless to say, Reo needed a moment to rewire his brain to understand just how Nagi, self proclaimed loser and bum, got himself between the power couple on the block. Nagi’s also waiting for that answer, too. Though, he might just get to understand a little bit better tonight.

Nagi knows it’s only half a joke and half a misguided attempt to help improve the bedroom sex life, which was already phenomenal in his opinion, when you tell him, “I think you would look cute with this.”

To which, he responds, “Mine is bigger.” 

That makes Barou scoff, “She clearly meant with it inside of you, dumbass.” And Nagi thinks the name is slightly endearing, coming from a man like Barou.

But now the thought of this, the fleshy, realistic looking penis, inside of his ass? Nagi laughs, and he’s not really sure what to make of it. You’re giggling, hiding your face in your hands. At this sight, Nagi can’t stop the curious little voice in the back of his head that wonders what using it would be like.

The strap-on ends up sitting on your vanity as the three of you attempt to wrap up his mini birthday celebration. Barou’s gift turns out to be more thoughtful than Nagi originally would’ve thought. He had given him a grow lamp and a light meter for Choki. Barou then starts explaining the process and science behind it, but Nagi zones out the moment he throws in the words ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘self-care’ because Nagi was sure Barou was scolding him afterwards.

The sex toy appears by his face again when the three of you are laying in bed, limbs entangled with one another. You’re holding it in your hands, suspending towards the ceiling light to read the fine print on the side of the fake penis.

“Perfectly sized for beginners. The pink curved tip is made for working her g-spot or his p-spot,” you’re the only one laughing at the comment while Nagi and Barou exchange a look. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think, Sei?”

It would be a complete joke to Nagi if he were to lie about his curiosity. Since he’s first seen it, he can’t stop thinking about it. He takes the toy in his hands when you toss it to him. Nagi weighs it in his hands, then runs his fingers over the ridges and fake veins. It’s firm, yet still soft, and his own dick is now currently twitching at the mere idea of it up his ass.

His role in your relationship was to always dominate both you and Barou, as surprising as others would assume. He’s stuck his dick in Barou more times than he has with your mouth and between your breasts, which also kinda says a lot — but he’s not ready for that emotional conversation with a certain grumpy lion just yet. 

“Shoei, how does it feel when I stick it in?” Nagi successfully dodges a pillow that’s thrown his way because Barou still isn’t used to him calling him by his first name. What a tsun, he thinks.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that now?”

“Because you always complain about how full—”

“I do not complain about—”

“Boys,” you pinch both of their cheeks in unison, applying the pressure and strength of an entire wrestling team in your fingers. “Calm down for just a second. Shoei, it’s his birthday, he’s just curious.”

Bingo. 

Although his cheek hurts like hell, Nagi loves it whenever you end up siding with him. It always sets something dangerous and delirious off in the other male and Nagi loves getting the back handed treatment from it later on.

“Well,” Barou sighs and flushes, quite badly, while trying to say the rest as casually as he can. “It’s tight, no shit. Feels like sometimes my ass might tear from how rough you’re going… but it’s a good feeling once you get used to the size.” Barou coughs out the last bit into a fist.

Nagi shifts his face towards your chest and nuzzles against it, humming in content. “Hm, is that so? Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.”

You giggle again and press a small kiss to his forehead, it makes Nagi melt a little bit. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.” you tell him, voice low and smoldering. “Plus, we’re all squeaky clean from the shower and have nothing to do for the rest of the night…” you trail off and glance at Barou, waiting for his reaction.

His response comes in the form of sitting up and grabbing Nagi by the thighs, positioning him face down against the pillows. Nagi feels his face burning up, feeling mildly exposed in this position despite being fully clothed, and he hears your weight shift around on the mattress, the sounds of metal clicking together, and then more giggling. 

Nagi doesn’t dare to move when Barou reaches over and pulls his sweats down to his thighs, and he doesn’t say anything when the other male begins tugging at his length by his side. Nagi bites back an embarrassingly loud moan as the cool surface of the dildo trails down his ass combined with Barou’s erotic handjob. He’s more turned on than ever in his entire life. His dick is painfully rock hard from just a few touches and a piece of plastic, soon he’s forming a damp spot on the mattress sheets as your hands start to knead his ass.

You press a trail of kisses down his back as your lubed fingers circle around his entrance. Nagi lets out a shudder when a finger slips in. It feels strange, this sensation, the pressure of something penetrating him. You take your time prepping him, cooing and sending reassurance to him but Nagi can’t seem to focus on anything right now. He starts to buck his hips against Barou’s hands, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of his ass getting probed. You soon add another finger, curling, and thrusting them in and out, while pressing wet kisses on his ass.

“You’re doing so well, Seishiro,” you praise, voice breathless. Hearing his full name while getting treated like this, it feels so fucking nice to Nagi. 

You then curl your digits again, this time to the left, and pleasure surges through Nagi’s entire body. The stretch and pull of his walls, it’s delicious, and Nagi starts incoherently babbling. Both you and Barou take notice and fasten up the pace, following the cues of his whiney voice and body until he’s completely out of breath and ends up hugging the pillow close, burying his face in it.

“I want more—” he gasps.

“Think you’re ready?” Barou grunts out as he brushes some of Nagi’s sweat covered bangs from his face. Slowly, Nagi glances up at him, the usual banter and light teasing dies in his throat as he nods weakly. 

The coolness from the dildo comes back again as you run it over his ass, slick with lubricant. One of your hands is gently stroking the side of his hips while the other positions the plastic length up against his entrance. Nagi sharply inhales and sinks his teeth into the pillow as the tip edges itself inside, tears already threatening to spill. 

It hurts, to say the least. There’s a small twinge of pleasure, but it’s mostly just burning pain, nothing like the expertise and gentleness of your fingers earlier. Nagi groans loudly when he finally bottoms you out and buries his face deeper into the pillow, trying his best to muffle the incoming sounds.

He feels Barou raking his callous fingers through his white locks, tenderly, mumbling that the pain will subside soon while his other free hand is still occupied on Nagi’s cock.

Nagi feels his heart pounding in his chest, and there’s a heat under his skin that’s making him feel almost lightheaded. He leans into Barou’s touch and can only make out a quiet noise signaling that he understood because, everything right now, is just too much.

You begin moving your hips in small increments, testing the size and his body’s reactions. “Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft as you thrust shallowly.

Okay would be an understatement. Nagi doesn’t know which is hotter: being fucked by you, having his dick being milked by Barou, or learning that he loves having his ass played with. Whichever it is, this is just about the hottest thing he can possibly imagine. Just like as Barou said, the pain subsides fairly quickly as Nagi slowly adjusts to the dildo a bit more every time you tilt your hips. 

“Y-Yeah—” Nagi pants, twisting his fists into the bedsheets. “Give me more, please…”

You let your thrusts grow deeper, faster, and the sounds from Nagi intensify in volume as the feeling grows fuller. He cranes his neck around to get a good look at you, wanting to see what kind of expression you wear when you’re fucking him, and the sight makes him feel like he’s breathing for the first time. 

You’re beautiful. The way your breasts bounce, half hanging out from your bra, your eyes are half-lidded with arousal as you watch him, gaze filled with liquid fire, intense and downright intoxicated. Nagi lets out another loud moan when you angle your hips to the left, hitting that special spot inside of him, causing his toes to curl and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Suddenly, a pair of rough hands grips the sides of his face and Nagi’s forced to face with Barou’s own raging arousal. “You’re being so fucking loud.” Barou presses his leaking tip against Nagi’s already gaping mouth.

It doesn’t take Nagi much convincing before lurching forward and swallowing Barou’s thick tip, lapping at his pre and watching the way his defined abs tighten with every lick. When you press against his prostate and make him sob in desperation, Nagi hollows out his cheeks and takes Barou’s length deeper with vigor, like he’s the only thing tethering him to the ground as you threaten to take his soul from his body.

Barou’s breath is ragged as his hips press deeper into his mouth, grinding into him with incremental thrusts that are almost too much, sending dizziness to Nagi’s head. Drool drips down his lips, Barou’s cock on his tongue feels heavy and full, but it’s slightly more bearable when Nagi looks up through his teary lashes at the other male’s flushed expression.

There’s a moment, a pause, where all he hears is breathing.

And then movement. 

Both you and Barou set the pace to be harsh and frantic, any sort of slight movement and Nagi finds himself wailing, the sensation being completely all consuming. No matter how much he wants to flail around, your hands are glued to his hips and Barou isn’t letting go of his face easily unless it’s for a momentary air break. 

Nagi immediately feels something coiling in his stomach when one of your hands glides down his ass to cup his balls, fondling them gently. He whines against Barou’s cock and bucks into the mattress desperately, the rest of his limbs trembling. 

“Do you want to take this every night?” You ask, giving his balls a slight squeeze. Nagi’s walls tighten around the dildo when you thrust it deeper, his cock dripping a steady stream of precum onto the bed. Then, you lean forward, he hears you and Barou exchange lewd moans and cries above him, before continuing, “Or do you want Shoei to fuck you? Want him to put his cock in you and spill his seed in your ass? I bet he’d cum buckets in your greedy little hole.”

Nagi bites into the pillow to keep the ragged sounds at bay, but it isn’t enough to contain the broken sob that tears through his throat as Barou finally pulls away, leaving behind a sloppy, thick trail of saliva. “I-I want…”

Barou is looking down at him and Nagi wants to feel upset, wants to say something witty back, but he can’t help but to think what he would feel like inside of him. 

Barou rubs his arousal and repositions himself to the back. You chuckle, knowing the answer, and slowly pull out, giving Nagi’s ass a farewell slap before kissing Barou. “Be careful with him, okay?”

“You’re going to baby him too much,” Barou grunts, but the way he places his hands on Nagi’s hips, carefully flipping him over so that he’s resting flat on his back, and the way he ebbs his tip over his hole — it’s gentle and almost tender.

You discard the strap-on and hover over Nagi’s face, your thumbs brushing over his perky nipples as you begin to lower yourself on his face. “Make me cum, cutie.”

“Mhm,” he bites his lips to stifle a moan as Barou begins sliding his length in. 

Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than the dildo. 

Nagi almost wants to scream as another rush of arousal courses through him.

It stretches Nagi even further as his walls clenched around his cock, balls tightening and cock jumping against his own stomach. He lets out a high, choked breath as you fully lower yourself on top, the sweetness of your folds engulf his senses and your hands immediately dart towards Nagi’s length, encasing it in a tight grip. You stop to palm at his tip until he’s whimpering and squirming, his hips rising into short, aborted thrusts, before you work your hand down to the base again.

Nagi’s knees rise, heels digging into the mattress, from the overstimulation and Barou takes this opportunity to quicken the pace. He takes hold of Nagi’s legs, setting them around his waist, and breathes heavily through his nose with several snaps of his hips. You thumb his leaking slit at the same time, gathering them up in your palm, and smearing the precum all over his head and around his shaft until Nagi is jolting and crying at every thrust.

“T-Too much—! I’m gonna—” but the rest of the words drown out, erased from Nagi’s mind, and he feels himself coming undone by your hands, streaks of heavy white painting his lower stomach and chest.

“Easy there, Seishiro,” you rasp out, hands finding home on his chest and you begin to fuck yourself on his tongue until he feels your slick liquid dripping down his throat. 

You cum with a cry, cursing up a storm, thighs shaking around his head that makes him foggy and dizzy, before rolling off and slumping to his side. You close the distance between his lips, tasting yourself and swallowing the rest of his sobs and pleas as Barou chases his own end. 

“We got you,” you murmur, pulling away and kissing Barou in turn. 

Everything still feels new and electrifying as Nagi is slowly trying to calm himself from his release — the burning in his thighs from hugging Barou’s waist, the steady rhythm pounding against his prostate, listening to the other male’s quiet but rough groans with every snap, the possessive grip on his hips — it’s an addictive feeling. Nagi doesn’t fight when the heavy feeling drapes over and swallows him whole, he doesn’t tamper with the urge to writhe and whine, and lets Barou devour him whole when he finally cums inside. 

Barou exits him so abruptly that Nagi can’t help but moan at the suddenness of his absence. He whimpers pitifully and thrusts up into the empty air, twisting on top of the sweat soaked sheets until a warm hand settles along the line of his brow. 

“Hey, calm down,” it’s Barou and he’s wearing a concerned expression, much to Nagi’s surprise. He lays himself beside Nagi and blows out a deep breath, covering his reddened face with palms. “Sorry if I was rough.”

On the other side of Nagi, he hears you sigh loudly, applying a chaste kiss to his cheeks before also settling down. “Did you like that, Sei?”

“Yeah,” he hums, and instinctively lays his head on your shoulder. “Felt really good, thanks…”

Then, you say, without missing a beat, “Wished you two would just admit your feelings for each other.” 

Barou’s cheeks flush and he tries to turn away to hide it, forgetting for a moment that Nagi is right there and gets a faceful of his surprised eyes. Instead of getting up, Barou glowers up at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to admit, he’s just a fuck buddy to us.”

“Sure thing,” you snort back and add another kiss to Nagi’s cheek, almost to sooth out the forming pang in his chest from hearing his words. “Maybe meeting earlier would’ve been neat? Imagine you guys becoming friends in middle school or something!”

Barou doesn’t know how to respond to that, and it’s you who ends up laughing, light and airy. Nagi stays silent and just grips around your waist, burrowing himself into your chest, inhaling your scent and lightly sucking at the area. 

“We should probably take another bath,” Barou says lowly. 

“Can we wait till later? I’m pretty tired and fucked out.” Nagi finally speaks but his voice is weak.

Barou looks like he was about to object to that but you quickly flash him a look and he shuts his mouth, only nodding and then pulling the blankets over the three of you. Nagi feels Barou massaging his back for a bit before eventually draping his arms over his waist. Nagi’s head stays cushioned on you while your fingers play with his hair. 

Everything about this feels nice and domestic, it makes Nagi wish he could be with you two permanently instead of thinking about the ‘what if’s’.

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

#q'd for the new year!! #doobean writes #bllk smut #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #barou shoei smut #blue lock smut #barou shoei x reader #barou x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #barou shouei #barou smut

[doobean]

SHOULD BE ME, GIRL ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ word count: 0.9k ⠀ warnings: DARK CONTENT!—stepbrother!choso ⠀ (stepcest), afab!reader, masturbation, unknowing ⠀ voyeurism, choso listens in on stepsis!reader having sex, ⠀ choso fantasizes abt reader, protective!choso, reader says ⠀ daddy, choso calls you babygirl in his head ⠀ note: @doobea welcome to my mind may u enjoy this as ⠀ much as u can hehe

sometimes, oftentimes, choso has to wonder if sharing a wall with his stepsister is a curse or a blessing.

a curse—he can hear you crying over your boyfriend missing your birthday, the loud music trying to drown out the sounds of your crying whenever he dumps you, or the constant arguing on the phone whenever the two of you end up back together a few days after he’d left you. the guy wasn’t good for you, and despite being not blood-related for the last half a year or so, choso felt as if he was intruding. had it been itadori or any of his other friends or family having any sort of bad relationship, he wouldn’t have had a second thought for saying that they deserved better.

with you, however, everything is and remains to be different with you.

choso feels… mildly guilty about his less than innocent feelings for you. it’s not his fault that your father had fallen for his mother and the two had gotten married, nor was it his fault that he found his stepsister to be the most alluring being on the earth. everything about you had been exactly as if he’d dreamed it himself, but he had to make do with the fact that he, by law, couldn’t have you.

the walls on the house are thin, and it’s times like these that he considers sharing a wall with you a blessing.

‘oh—! oh—!’ you moan, your voice carrying across the drywall separating yours and choso’s rooms. ‘please, i love feeling your cock in me!’

pressing the palm of his hand into his cock he groans so softly, so strained, that it feels desperate even to him. to imagine feeling what the soft, silkiness of your pussy clamp around his cock—he shudders at the mere thought of it.

choso is practically humping his own hand, desperate to feel any sort of friction on his cock as he can feel his moans leaving his mouth, but he’s trying to be good, to be quiet. grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it up to his mouth and clenches down on it, pressing an ear against the drywall to get a better listen in on you and your boyfriend.

‘fuck me,’ you swear loudly, well aware of the fact that you and your partner were supposed to be alone in the house, ‘you love when i ride your dick like this, baby?’

his eyes slide closed as he worms his hand into his briefs, cock straining against the material and it’s sweet relief when his hand wraps around the base of his cock. he’s hard—he’s been listening to the two of you fucking for about twenty minutes already—and just the image of you, riding his cock with your breasts on full display before him, makes his dick grow just a little bit larger.

behind his eyelids, he imagines you with your hands sliding on your waist, your thighs gripping his hips as you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. he watches as his hands slide from your knees, to your thighs, fingers gripping your thighs and his hand uncontrollably grips his dick just a bit tighter. tightening his legs, he lets his shorts drop to the ground with his underwear. he squeezes gently when his hand reaches the tip, but lets it glide down his shaft smoothly and the sensation leaves goosebumps along his spine.

‘d-daddy!’ you whimper, ‘can i come?’

of course you can, babygirl. he thinks to himself, eyes opening as he watches sweat from his exertion trickle down his abdomen, disappearing in the line of his dark pubes. but only for me.

he hates to think it, but it doesn’t matter who you were riding—the only man who could please you, who knew you inside and out, was choso. your boyfriend would fuck you, but he knew that you’d never experience a true orgasm unless it was by his hand—by his cock.

he just wanted to protect you. your boyfriend was bad news, sleeping with other girls and probably calling you all sorts of names to his friends when you weren’t around. choso wouldn’t ever treat you like that, he’d treat you like the princess you were. choso would treat you like a goddess.

with a burning desire to protect you, to keep you safe from other men’s carnal instincts and unearthly desires, his hand begins to speed up, his grip tightening ever so slightly to, hopefully, send him over the edge. with his teeth bearing down on his shirt stuffed in his mouth, shorts pooled at his ankles and hand rubbing vigorously on his cock, choso listens to you ride your boyfriend in the other room.

he listens to you get yourself off, straining to hear every whimper and moan coming out of your mouth and imagines that it’s his cock you’re riding, that he’s the one eliciting those sounds. when he hears your soft, desperate admission that you were about to come, he feels his own heart stutter.

choso gasps, shirt dropping from his mouth as he lets his come splatter against his side of your shared wall, wishing he could’ve been coming inside of your squidgy pussy, instead. he stands still for a moment, head rested against the wall as he lets his heart rate calm down, his breathing return to normal before he begins to make himself presentable again.

this isn’t the first time he’s come to the thought or the sound of you. it is the first time you send him a knowing smile and wink in the living room a mere ten or so minutes later, which sends a zing straight to his dick.

ʚ reblogs greatly appreciated! ɞ

#FUCK SELENE #THANK YOU FOR THE TAG #AND THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS GLORIOUS MASTERPIECE #lskjdsakjd #not him listening against the dry wall omg #and not him CUMMING on the fucking walls choso you freak #bruh omg we being loud and needy on purpose?? #maybe we are the real freaks and jujutsu kaisens along the way #choso... my folds are typing as we speak #I NEED YOU SO BAD #ALSO i need to blurb to you about my nasty choso ideas later omg #<3 <3 i love you thank you for this

[doobean]

what is one thing you absolutely want to write in 2024?

#dare i say #more dark content #threesomes #revisiting old tropes from 2010s yeah im looking at you coffee shop au #but yeah just more nasty dark content... #making tough guys cry and whine #^^^

[doobean]

y'all... im writing a second part to that barounagi fic... its almost done ... would u still love me if i write my fav bllk ships in forms of a threesome fic pls say yes okay i love u <3 <3

okok second part will be q'd for new years... we're starting off strong w pegging in 2024

3.5k barou/nagi/reader surprise threesome fic done and q’d for 12:00AM on Monday for New Years LMAO

1.7k rin/reader/sae fic under construction but getting there (very dark themes, warnings will be tagged)

I think 2024 will be a year of threesomes for me :3c how is everyone doing so far lol..

#doobean talks

[doobean]

TOUCH ME, TEASE ME (FEEL ME UP) ━ BAROU SHOEI + NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Barou should've never admitted that he likes dressing up as a maid. He should've known that you and Nagi would've made it into a big deal.

contents: afab!fem!reader, maid!barou, switch!reader, dom!nagi, established relationship (barou + reader), m/m/f with m/f/m elements towards the end, oral (male receiving), barounagi elements, anal (male receiving), dirty talk, vaginal, mating press, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies, kinda aftercare? wc: 3.5K a/n: this fic would not be alive today if it werent for the help of @pipppinn also i know i said i was gonna post this on new years but my horny ass is already working on a second part soo uhh have this early LMAO

“This shit's stupid,” Barou seethes through his teeth and sends daggers at you and Nagi, who are both giggling from afar. 

It was a dumb idea to begin with and this isn’t the first time that he’s worn this overly frilly outfit. The first time was last year at Kunigami’s Halloween party. Everyone had made a comment regarding Barou’s intense need to keep everything clean and organized. Nagi, being his unfortunate roommate back in university, slipped out a nickname that Barou had long forgotten during a game of beer pong. 

“Maid Barou,” Nagi had lazily called out before pointing to a giant spilled puddle of whatever jungle juice concoction by his feet. “Care to clean this up?”

And, of course, everyone thought his comment was fucking hilarious — you, included. His girlfriend and now one of Nagi’s best friends. The day the two of you guys met was also the day where Barou had lost any peace of mind in his already miserable existence.

Here, he lies still on his back with his arms tied by the wrists in front of him, his legs are spread apart embarrassingly wide, and he feels the damn garter belt digging into his hips.

Barou has a feeling that this situation is most certainly not going to be the last.

“Fucking get this over with already,” he makes sure to tell you guys this, to let you know just how much suffering he’s willing to endure to see your satisfaction.

You roll your eyes and saunter up to him, Nagi follows not far behind and wears a blank expression, but Barou knows him better than anyone else. The dull look the other male throws at him, the subtle twitches of excitement at his sides, and the slightest smirk that ever pulls at the corner of his mouth — Nagi wanted this to happen for a long time. 

Barou is already planning a mini revenge ploy after all of this. His lips press in a tight line as he examines both of you when your bodies dip at the ends of the mattress. You and Nagi look different, aside from the matching lustful gaze, it’s the way that Barou’s football jersey hangs off from your frames. Nagi might be similar in height, but Barou has a broader back, broader shoulders, so the jersey sleeves are a bit loose. You, on the other hand, are completely engulfed by his top, practically wearing a dress at this point. And, if not for his limbs being expertly tied up by a certain freak, Barou would’ve definitely had no issues of having his way with you right now.

You creep closer, until you’re hovering over him with your arms on either side of his head, lunging your face forward like you’re ready to kill. Nagi positions himself behind you, hands resting on Barou’s thighs and playing with the sheen fabric with his fingers. 

Both of your confidence is, frankly, terrifying, and Barou cannot stop the groan from escaping his lips, no matter how hard he tries.

“He’s so cute like this, Sei,” you place a gentle hand to Barou’s face, voice dripping in saccharine sweet and snide. Your other hand sweeps lower, playing with the apron frills, brushing the hem of the dress, and then ghosting over his thighs. Barou, unfortunately, feels himself bucking and twitching at every fucking movement he feels, which leads you to giggling uncontrollably on top.  

A sudden sound of a tear and Barou feels Nagi’s calloused fingers rubbing underneath the tights and onto his lower thighs. The damn brat is still looking at him like he’s prey. 

“Let’s get him more riled up,” Nagi leans forward, gray eyes still boring into Barou, as he places a kiss onto the back of your neck. That should set Barou off, make him absolutely want to rip off whatever feels constricting him right now, but—

“My little baby is getting hard from that,” you laugh, fingers tracing his lips.

Barou narrows and scrunches his nose, ignoring the sudden heat raising to his cheeks and the obvious growing appendage from below. “You guys are so fucking dead after this.” The threat came out breathier than he wanted it to, causing Nagi to give his thighs a firm squeeze.

He can’t blame the redness on his face on the heat and the shakiness isn’t just from the tightness of the outfit. There’s no way to explain the goosebumps littered all over his skin, or the sad fact that he’s now having trouble maintaining eye contact with either of you, or the fact that he let this happen in the first place.

And, of course, this maid dress is doing a fairly poor job to hide his dick which, and fuck his pride, is more than happy to twitch back and forth in interest. Your clothed cunt presses down against his length, right where Barou needs it, and he releases another strained groan. 

“So damn needy, aren’t you?” Nagi applies another kiss to your neck, this time more sloppy, leaving behind a trail of saliva. He shifts around a little, Barou feels his hands leaving his skin, and then hears more clothing fall to the ground. Then, one firm hand on the bottom of his ass and a slick poke to his rear entrance. “Could’ve backed out anytime you want, King.”

There’s a sudden cool and slippery sensation that Barou feels tickling at his entrance from Nagi and, when you look over your shoulder, you start giggling.

“Is that flavored?”

Nagi blinks before nodding, raising the bottle of lube up and reading its description. “Sexy strawberry is the flavor, whatever that means…”

Of fucking course Nagi Seishiro would come prepared for this but not anything else.

Barou’s words are choked in his throat at the new sensation. He writhes deeper into the mattress as Nagi slowly probes his leaking tip at his hole. You, on the other hand, palm at Barou’s painfully stiff cock and start marking wet kisses all over his neck, down to his shoulders, and then at the chest cutout in the outfit. 

“Don’t tease him too much, Sei. You’re going to make him feel embarrassed,” you mumble into his skin.

Barou feels his face reaching concerning levels of warmth. He screws his eyes shut, biting down the insides of his cheeks, moments before he feels Nagi finally entering inside and your teeth scraping along his nipples, in hopes of extinguishing an extremely humiliating noise from escaping his mouth. 

“Stop holding back,” Nagi breathes out, pouting. Barou knows he still has a few more inches to take, considering they’re around the same length, but he already feels so, so full.

He can’t let both of you have your way completely. He has to gain some ground and control.

Barou’s slowly opens his eyes, letting out a curt laugh. “Too bad, brat.” He grits but, as fast as he regains his sanity, Barou quickly fumbles back into a weak state when he feels your hands gripping around his dick. His eyes fly open when you position his angry tip right up against your heat. “What’re you—?”

You interject before Barou’s done his part and engulf his entire length down easily, settling yourself deep and steady into his pelvis. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Shoei. Let us take care of you, yeah?” You hum out pensively, moving your hands from his hips up to his chest, squeezing and toying with his stiff buds with concerning accuracy as you begin riding.

Nagi quickly takes this as a sign to completely submerge himself deep into Barou’s tight canal, paying close attention to how the other male’s features twist in a mix of pain and pleasure as his dick bottoms out. Nagi’s hands find placement on Barou’s thighs once more, digging his nails in without any shred of remorse, and sets a slow, modest pace. 

Barou can’t hold back anymore. He bucks his hips and whines high in his throat. It feels like he’s being burned alive at this point.

“Fuck,” Barou moans and he’s trembling, pathetically. His jaw hangs slack and his head is full of fog as another round of groans make way out of his throat, rough and ragged. 

Your teeth catch his lips, nibbling on them gently, as your hips continue their harsh descent down on his heavy cock. “Manners, baby,” is all you say, a smile too clear in your voice. You tilt his face back to steal a kiss, and then another, and another. You grind your hips, your walls squeezing eagerly against his cock, and let out a moan of your own. “Tell us how good it feels.”

Barou feels his whole entire body short circuit. Then, a rough slam from Nagi snaps his mind back to reality. Barou arches his back, limbs tensing, and the pornographic groans and pleas start pouring out before he could even stop. “F-Feels good—Fuck, shit—” Barou could feel himself gripping tight around Nagi’s dick and it makes him want to die inside at how his body betrays him. “Please, fuck me—”

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping and twisting his long dark locks like a vice. Nagi’s hold on his hips start to hurt enough to bruise. All of Barou’s nerves have been unwound by both of your touches and everything just feels so overstimulated and overworked. A familiar knotting sensation makes way to his stomach seconds later and it makes him cum, suddenly and painfully. Your walls squeeze the white ropes out of him as he emits a choked off cry but it doesn’t take him off the edge. 

Despite everything, his cock is still hard, wanting more, and you’re not stopping your hips, and neither is Nagi, who just sets an even faster, punishing pace. Everything feels awful but wonderful, and it makes Barou tear up. His knuckles are sheet white and he’s positive that the current expression he’s making is beyond lewd.

You and Nagi are currently on the journey to chase your own pleasures by continuing to fuck into him with no thoughts.

“You’re doing so good for us, baby,” you moan out, latching your lips onto his chest.

“Like a fucking sex doll,” Nagi huffs, slapping the side of Barou’s exposed ass, making him emit out another cry. “Desperation looks good on you.”

Hearing those words made his head feel fuzzy, his mouth much looser, and his face hotter. At this point, Barou hasn’t moved an inch of muscle around for you and Nagi to enjoy yourselves. He knows he just has to lay still and just fucking take it.

Then, he watches with wide eyes as Nagi reaches from behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and pulls you upright against his chest. Nagi’s hands travel up underneath your shirt, his jersey, and fondles roughly with your chest, eyes never leaving Barou’s shocked face. You squeal at the touch and Barou feels your cunt fluttering and spasming around his cock. Nagi only flashes him a knowing smirk before leaning his face forward towards yours, gasping and lunging his tongue into your mouth with an obnoxious groan.

The grinding from both ends doesn't stop, instead, Barou only feels it getting rougher and more lustful as he hears your cries over the rush of blood in his ears. Your hands leave his hair and Nagi’s pace starts to falter as he soon feels his own incoming orgasm. Barou’s vision starts to blur around the edges and he reaches up to your thighs, a trembling hand and low gruff of the agreed safe word.

You pull back from Nagi and immediately climb off of your boyfriend with a gasp. Nagi sees this and also pulls out, slowly. The sudden loss in pleasure makes Barou twitch in place, a puddle of drool is already forming beside his chin on the mattress, tears pooling around the corners of his eyes. 

“Shoei, baby,” you cup his face and kiss away the tears. He relishes in your gentle touch and starts to nod, signaling that everything is okay. “We can stop now if you want.”

“It’s fine—I just need a break—”

Nagi scoffs, laying down next to him, elbows propped. “My dick too big, you think?”

You quickly turn around and give Nagi a small pitch on his thigh, cheeks puffed. “Sei! Be a little better at this, will you?”

Barou rolls his eyes. He feels too winded at the moment to throw an insult back at the giant sloth and, instead, manages to prop himself up and rest his back against the headboard. He raises his wrists, which are still very much tied.

“Get me out of these, please,” Barou speaks softly, he always does when it comes to you. He completely ignores the disappointed look Nagi flashes at him when you successfully unwind the tight knots, rubbing the tethered area with care.

You look guilty, lips trembling, and hands shaky as you smooth around his hands but Barou stops you with a firm grip around your wrists. “Wha—”

Barou doesn’t even hesitate. He might be soft when it comes to speaking to you and normally he’s a gentle lover but, after what he had to endure, it’s only fair to make you feel the same way, right?

He grabs you by your hips and flips you flat on your back, in one quick movement that knocks the air out of your lungs. Barou doesn’t give you time to process what’s happening, he rips the remaining stuffy outfit off of his body, tossing the remains in the corners of the room, and holds your face in place as he leans forward and pulls you into a bruising kiss. 

You smell like Nagi and he needs to fix that.

Barou grabs hold of your legs and folds them over your shoulders, pressing his full length back inside. You break the kiss with a loud cry, flailing your head around, and eyes squeezed tight. 

“I-I’m sorry, Shoei—!” you’re babbling nonsense as Barou relentlessly rams his cock deep into your cervix. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” he gasps out, glowering down at you as best he can but the erotic face that you’re making, Nagi’s presence, and the wet sounds coming from your pussy, it’s making it hard for him to focus on being mad. 

“Hey,” Nagi gets on his knees and positions himself by your head, caressing some of your hair out of your already fucked out face. “I still need to finish.” He says this like he’s reading the fucking weather report. 

Barou clicks his tongue. Under any other circumstances, Nagi would’ve been banned from his apartment, his life, and especially you. But Barou’s been known about this little shit’s secret crush on you ever since the Halloween party. You’re still a bit clueless of everything, but that’s okay. You should feel lucky that Barou is even letting another man touch you like this.

“Just don’t make her gag,” he finally decides. 

Nagi nods, even if Barou is unsure if the other male would hold back on his strength. Barou watches carefully as Nagi probes your mouth open with three fingers, he watches as you coat Nagi’s digits in your spit before licking his leaking head, and then taking half of his length inside. The other male’s body shudders and his hands fly to your head, keeping it in place as he carefully thrusts himself in and out.

Guess Nagi only listens to directions when it comes to people he cares about.

“Mhm—! Shoei…” your voice is muffled between Nagi’s length and other moans as Barou continues to abuse your entrance. 

“C’mon,” he huffs, snapping his hips back and watching the fat of your thighs ripple at every harsh movement. “Don’t be whiny now, what happened to all of that energy earlier?” 

Nagi moans shamelessly besides him, tugging at your locks in ecstasy. “Fuck, she’s good at this.”

“Yeah,” Barou barks back, sending another rough thrust inside to let Nagi know who you’re truly loyal to. “Don’t even fucking think about trying anything funny.”

Soon, the conversation falls silent as sex fills the air. The sounds of skin to skin contact, wet movements, your gargled noises from taking in Nagi’s cock, and shrill whimpers as your walls convulse violently against Barou’s length. He can feel his balls tightening again, the knotting sensation building up, at the same time he sees Nagi groping and fondling messily at your chest, heavy sighs and breaths cascading from his lips.

It didn’t take long for you to cry out again, back arching, legs trembling, but Barou keeps a bruising grip at your sides and forces your body to take his remaining thrusts as you climax in waves of dripping slick. Not even a second later, his balls draw up as your walls are clenching around him, causing him to spill a second round deep into your tight cunt while you’re forced to swallow all of Nagi’s orgasm. Barou gasps and moans through his release, pulling back to slam into you again as his cock continues to pulse in thick spurts.

Barou finds himself panting when it’s finally over, stilling and his nerves sobbing in pleasure as he comes down from his high. After a few agonizing seconds, he lowers your limp legs, rubbing over them gently to sooth your tremors. You sigh, eyes half-lidded, whimpering as he pulls out his cock, dragging the rest of the load onto the mattress.

He makes a mental note to wash the sheets at least three times.

Nagi is the first one to pull back, skin flushed and face hazed. He reaches out, patting you on the head and mumbling praises under his breath of how much of a good girl you are. Nagi looks fucked out and happy, rolling to sprawl across the entirety of the remaining space left on the mattress.

“I wanna finish inside next time.”

Barou shoots him a murderous glare and chews his bottom lip, trying to mitigate his anger because you’re still here. “Nagi, don’t.”

The other male frowns. “But you got to do it twice.”

“That’s because she’s my girlfriend.”

Nagi has the audacity to call out your name, tugging at your arms like an oversized child. “Can I please finish inside next time?”

“I fucking told you—”

Your chest rises from laughter and soon Barou feels your fingers skimming up his stomach, stopping at his chest to scratch lightly at the small hairs there.

“Baby, it’s okay, just let him be.”

Barou wrinkles his nose and directs another glare of rebuke at Nagi’s way. “Fine.”

He lets his body rest besides you, pulling you close to his grasps. All he hears is your little heart thumps singing in his ear and it makes his thoughts settle. Eventually, Nagi scoots over to your other side and takes a hold of your hands, pulling them to his face and nuzzles into them. Barou doesn’t say anything, the sight of it actually makes the rest of his muscles unclench and his shoulders fall. Barou presses a firm kiss at the crown of your head and breathes in the combined scent of both you and Nagi.

“Your hands are soft,” Nagi murmurs in awe.

Barou doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re smiling. “It’s the moisturizer that Shoei gifted me on my birthday. You can use some if you want, Sei.”

“Can I use some after I shower?” This time Nagi looks at Barou and all he can do is sigh.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t make a mess,” he hums into your hair.

“And can I stay for dinner?”

Barou huffs out another agitated sigh for the nth time. He has no idea what appeal you find in Nagi. “Yes and you can fucking crash over too, I know what you’re getting at.” Barou scowls.

Nagi is silent this time around, a small smile letting him know that he’s won this battle before it even started. You giggle at the exchange and press your back further into Barou’s chest as a form of reassurance. 

“So, guys,” you begin with an obvious change of subject. “What takeout should we get?”

“I’ll cook,” Barou announces in a whisper, feeling fatigue finally taking over his body. “Give me an hour to rest and I’ll get to it.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you sigh happily.

He nods, thoughts fading away and everything is a blur after that. Barou feels guiding hands and the brush of fingers down his body, followed by the rustles of a blanket. He opens his eyes, seeing you leaning over him and Nagi crawling across his legs to take the side nearest against the wall.

His mind is still foggy, it’s hard to understand or hear anything, but what he does make out is a soft “Go to sleep, baby,” and then a chaste kiss on his cheek. He’s pressed between two warm bodies, the skin to skin contact feels comforting and almost natural at the same time.

“We love you, Shoei.”

Barou sinks into the mattress and sleeps.

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

#doobean writes #bllk smut #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #barou shoei smut #blue lock smut #barou shoei x reader #barou x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #barou shouei #barou smut

[doobean]

choso slowly falling in love with his little brother yuji’s girlfriend ❤︎ he tries to ignore you when you first start coming around the house — locking himself away in his room and attempting to avoid you all together. but you’re always present, smooshed against yuji’s side when choso braves the journey to the kitchen, greeting him politely on the rare occasion that you do cross paths. he’s not sure what reels him in first, your laugh or your smile or something else — but before he knows it, he’s fallen.

and he feels like a piece of shit for being attracted to you. you aren’t just some girl, you’re yuji’s girl. he cares about his little brother more than anything in the world but. . . he can’t help the way he feels about you. he can’t help but let his mind wander, entertaining thoughts of what things would be like if he could call you his.

he considers the fantasy often, more often than he’s proud of, during the months you’re together with yuji. and with every passing day, he loses the battle of temptation. the guilt gnawing at him begins to fade, traded for nagging feelings of lust. he stops hiding away, preferring to drink in every glimpse of you that he can.

he isn’t quite sure when or how it happens, why you’re at the house without yuji, but choso welcomes the sight of your lonesome figure on the living room couch. you don’t seem to mind his presence either, not making a move to widen the gap when he takes a seat beside you. it’s quiet, but sometimes words aren’t necessary, not when you share curious, lingering touches instead.

choso has to say, he’s surprised when you let him tip your chin up without protest, surprised that you don’t pull away when his lips brush yours, surprised that you might just feel the same.

and he supposed he has his answer when only a moment later, you’re beneath him is his bed, nails scratching at the expanse of his back and musical moans filling the air. you’re everything he imagined you’d be and now that he’s gotten a taste, choso can’t be sure that he’ll be able to give you up.

all he can do now is hope that yuji will forgive him.

#lksdfjsfklfj #choso I NEED YOU #yuuji.... on the other hand omg #forgive us bby yuuji.. #you can join us next time <3 <3