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togesbunny · 1 year

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i have a memory - kishibe x f!reader

cw: brief mention of violence and threat (not graphic), consumption of alcohol/cigarettes, explicit sexual content (oral sex f! receiving, fingering, hand jobs, vaginal sex) - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 8.9k

a/n: thinking about how young cocky annoying kishibe showed up for 3 panels and changed the trajectory of my life forever ... so here's 9k words of kinda-sorta-enemies slash annoying colleagues to lovers .... with a tiny splash of angst too for good measure? i just love this man and think he's a secret softie so here's him successfully pulling for once <3

___

“You’d really say no to a smoke?”

Kishibe’s question sounds disbelieving as he holds out the box of cigarettes in your direction. Instead of answering, you choose to wave away his offer dismissively. Still shocked, he continues, “you’re not even a little tempted?”

You roll your eyes. You’re one of few devil hunters in the Public Safety Division that rarely, if ever, smokes; a fact that makes you somewhat of an oddity to people like Kishibe, your partner, who seems to keep the tobacco industry afloat through his wages alone.

��Nope,” you reply simply. “They taste bad.”

Your replies are clipped and borderline rude but you can’t bring yourself to care - not when he’s dragged you to this place yet again, at this godforsaken hour of the morning, to “look over your case files” even though he never seems to actually care enough to read them.

The place in question is a dingy old café on the outskirts of town, one that Kishibe insists on coming to even though there’s a fancy new artisanal coffee shop just down the road. His loyalty to this dump baffles you.

In theory, you don’t object to meeting up this early - you usually prefer to grab a hot drink at this time anyway, just to keep your hands warm, and Kishibe always needs to take a smoke break, so better to get it out of the way before the day kicks off - but you hate how he never seems to take these meetings seriously. It feels like wasted hours you could have spent sleeping.

Adding to your resentment is the fact that you have to sit outside in the freezing cold just so he can grab a smoke. He doesn’t like walking and smoking at the same time; it distracts him too much, apparently.

You hate it out here. As grim as it is on the inside of the café, the exterior is far worse; grey, miserable concrete floors and walls, no decoration of any sort, and just one solitary table for outdoor dining.

And at that lonely table, there is only one chair - the chair which you’re currently sitting on. Thankfully, Kishibe knew better than to fight you for it since it’s his smoking habit that’s keeping you outside.

He’s leaning against the wall next to you, peering down curiously as you sip your drink with a poorly-concealed grimace.

“You really sure you don’t want one?” he asks again.

“Shut up and smoke the damn cigarette. It’s fucking freezing.”

Kishibe lets out a short huff of amusement, finally fishing a cigarette out of the box and bringing it to his lips. He slips the box back into his shirt pocket and then pulls out his rusty old lighter, soft strands of black hair falling into his eyes as he lights the cigarette. His lips purse around the tightly-rolled tobacco, his cheekbones stained pink from the cold.

You don’t know why your eyes linger on the sight. To distract yourself, you open up a copy of the report sitting on the table in front of you.

Kishibe takes a long drag before exhaling with a pleasured sigh, eyes closed with bliss.

“Doesn’t taste too bad to me.”

“Well, that’s you,” you mutter, scanning over the paper on the table. You’ve just picked it up from the captain of your division - he left it a little late to brief you both, considering the mission starts today - and you want to have at least a passable knowledge of what you’re up against before setting out.

You’ve worked a few jobs with Kishibe since being assigned as his partner and generally, you tolerate him fine. He doesn’t try to ruin your day (you don’t think, anyway). You even share a few laughs every now and then, once you grew to understand his strange and overconfident sense of humour. He’s manageable.

But at times like this, times when you should be focusing on the job that’s been assigned to you instead of just fucking around, smoking cigarettes and taunting each other …

At times like this, he can really get on your nerves.

He’s far from a bad hunter, you know that. His strength and skill have given him quite the reputation even though he’s still in the early stages of his career, and he approaches every fight with the sort of stoic level-headedness you could only aspire to.

He’s good. Too good, almost, and it scares you how he manages it all without even breaking a sweat.

That’s the real reason he gets under your skin so often. It's all too easy for him, and it’s a humbling reminder of your own mortality. He may not need to do this much preparation and research in order to stay alive, but you certainly do. You can’t take any chances.

That, coupled with the fact that you can’t even enjoy your morning cup of coffee indoors anymore …

“You sure it’s just the taste you don’t like?” he pipes up as if on cue, prompting you to give him a withering look over the top of the report. “You’re not scared of them, are ya? Cos we’re not gonna live long enough to worry about the side effects of smoking, if that’s what’s actually bothering you.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t smoke,” you reply, unimpressed. “I’d rather spend what little time I have left doing things that I actually enjoy.” You gesture dismissively at the cigarette dangling between his lips. “And those things taste like shit, so I don’t bother wasting my time or money on them.”

He raises his eyebrows when he takes his next drag, whisps of grey smoke spilling out into the frosty air as he exhales. “I could get offended here, y’know?”

“Why would you be offended?” you say disinterestedly, your eyes lingering on the part of the report that details the previous fatalities of the devil in question.

“Are you saying that I taste like shit, then?”

“Maybe you do,” you say, setting the paper back down in front of you with a yawn. “I don’t care.”

Kishibe’s grinning down at you now. He has that kind of smile that always reaches his eyes, and you’d almost find it charming were it not always associated with him trying to tease you.

You’ve read enough of the report at this point - it sounds awful, but all the death and destruction and suffering starts to blur together after enough time - and so fold the paper in half and slip it into your jacket pocket, trying as best as you can to ignore the grin spreading across Kishibe’s face.

“I don’t taste like shit, y’know,” he elaborates, even though you didn’t ask him to.

“You’re a freak.”

Your comment does nothing to halt his attempt at conversation.

“Well, I have these breath mints, y’know - y’know those ones you can pick up at the counter in drug stores? They’re pretty good, cancels out the taste. So I make sure I don’t taste bad.”

He finishes his sentence by stubbing his cigarette out on the ashtray and opening the little tin of mints that he keeps in the same pocket as his lighter. He pops a mint into his mouth and stays looking smug, so smug you could slap the expression right off his face.

You are in no mood to entertain him any further, so just fire off an agreement in the hope of shutting him up.

“Fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

But you should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, because not a second later he asks, practically beaming …

“Do you wanna find out?”

You get up from your chair abruptly, shoving him with your shoulder as you pass him on the way out of the café. He gasps in feigned indignation and is just about to speak up again before you call out a question of your own.

“Has a line like that ever worked on anyone?”

He laughs, though it ends in a cough. You turn to leave but still hear his answer from over your shoulder.

“Nope.”

______

The job is a tough one, even by the standards of devil hunters.

Kishibe has your back and you have his, but it’s not enough to save the many casualties who you had hoped to keep out of harm’s way. Collateral damage is a given in your line of work, but this … this was a particularly bad day.

You and Kishibe travel home in silence. He doesn’t say anything to draw a reaction out of you, and in turn, you don’t make a comment when he pulls his box of cigarettes from his now blood-stained shirt pocket.

It’s a mutual understanding, and you’re grateful for it.

_____

The next day, once you’ve had the closest thing to a full night’s sleep you could hope for given your line of work, you’re awoken by the sound of Kishibe knocking on your door.

You know the sound all too well. He gives three loud raps against the doorframe, all in quick succession; he might pretend otherwise, but he’s a creature of habit. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know that it’s him.

“I have a question,” he announces the moment you open the door, without so much as a greeting. “Just a quick one.”

“... go ahead.”

You’ve worked with him for long enough to know that it’s better to let him tell his piece first, and then you can ask for elaboration later. You don’t try to slow him down with a ‘good morning’. It wouldn’t be helpful for either of you.

“A few friends in another division are going out for drinks tonight. Same place as usual. Shitty beer, but it’s cheap and the other division’s buying a few rounds, so they’ll get us drunk as hell. Wanna go?”

“You couldn’t have just called me with this question?” you ask, head still a little groggy. It’s well into the afternoon, but had Kishibe not come for this unexpected visit, you’d likely still be in bed.

“Nope, because then it’d be easier for you to come up with an excuse to blow us off,” he replies quickly - too quickly, almost as if he’d prepared this little speech beforehand. “So if you really don’t wanna go, that’s fine, no complaints here. All I ask is that you don’t say no out of instinct. I think it’d be good, y’know, to get some space? Perspective, and shit like that? You’ll get to see a few people from other divisions, too. I know you’re probably tired of looking at my face every day, handsome as it may be.”

He’s looking at you directly, presenting his case in such a typically Kishibe way; straightforward, reasoned, calm, logical. And still just a little bit annoying.

Part of you is still a little resentful as to how he can bounce back so quickly and appear so unaffected by all of this. He’s still so unperturbed by it all.

But a bigger part of you appreciates that he gives enough of a damn to come out here and check up on you after a particularly difficult mission. You know of plenty of hunters who get stuck with partners who couldn’t care less whether they lived or died, let alone bothered to check on their mental well-being.

For all his faults, he’s a good guy. Irritating at times and a bit too sure of himself, but a good guy nonetheless. He’s trying to cheer you up and, try as you might, you can’t think of a valid reason to turn down his request.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

His shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s almost relieved.

“See you there at around eight o clock, so?” he inquires, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Sure thing.”

His smile turns mischievous, a transformation you see far too often.

“Want me to wear something nice? I have a nice red lacy number you might like-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before you close the door in his face.

“See you later!” he calls out, voice muffled on the other side of the door. You hear his footsteps as they traipse down the hallway of your apartment building, and then he’s gone.

This is fine. You can stomach a few short hours of socialising with the other divisions. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? You know a few of them already and you have Kishibe there to back you up if any of them get too messy. Your partner is a big drinker, but he can hold it well. Better than most people, actually (yet another frustrating thing about him).

As you start to walk back to your kitchen to make the first of many coffees, you start to notice something. It’s subtle, and you can’t quite place what it is until you’ve finished preparing your drink.

You groan out loud once you realise what you've noticed.

Even with the earthy aroma of the freshly-ground coffee beans filling your kitchen, you can still smell Kishibe’s aftershave.

It feels like … like it’s on you, or something. It feels like it’s all over your body.

You’re not complaining about the aftershave itself, obviously. It actually smells pretty nice - you’d never say it to his face, but the man has good taste.

You’re just annoyed because it’s yet another reminder that Kishibe is everywhere.

Whether it’s through these impromptu visits, through his frequent texts and emails, or just in the course of your work, he’s absolutely everywhere. He’s there when you wake up, he’s there while you work, he’s even there whenever you try to get some peace and quiet at the café or in bars after work.

And after last night, he seems to be in your dreams, too, but you won’t dwell on that any further. Not if you have any hope of catching a break from him.

You don't let yourself panic. You reason that dreams are just the mind’s way of processing what it experiences throughout the day. It means nothing. Having a dream involving a colleague, of him taking you in his arms, holding you close, touching you where you need to be touched …

… it’s just a sign that you spend way too much time together.

You clutch your favourite mug in your hands, feeling the heat warm your palms. It’s a standard mug, plain white porcelain with “World’s Best Boss” printed on the side; a gift from your former partner.

You think about what happened to her, and feel a lump form in your throat.

No. Can’t get too close.

___

When you arrive at the bar later that night, you find it to be so packed with hunters that the place is flooded with cigarette smoke. The air is so dense it’s almost a fog, the haze of it obscuring your vision slightly. You can see where you’re going but it’s difficult to make out faces.

You can only hope that you don’t walk up to someone, mistake them for Kishibe, and call them a fucking idiot out of instinct. He’d never let you live it down if he found out.

You cough to clear your throat as you make your way to the booths in search of your partner, trying to dodge the people pushing past with arms full of beer glasses.

It’s not long before you spot him - or rather, hear him.

“Hey!” he shouts to you from over your shoulder, and you spin around to see him standing right behind you. His speech is muffled by the cigarette between his lips, his tie is loose and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and you see the pale-pink border of scar decorating his chest that would usually be hidden by his jacket. He’s holding a beer in one hand and so places the other on your shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness, guiding you over to the booth on the furthest left-hand side of the room. “You’re an honorary smoker now!”

Any other day you’d slap his hand away, interpreting the gesture as being just typical Kishibe trying to irritate you with overfamiliarity. However, after the mission the two of you just had, you choose to let it slide.

It might be time to start giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe, if you tried, you could even grow to like him.

… but that thought doesn’t seem right. No, not right at all; because you didn’t have to try. Maybe you already do like him, and it happened without you even realising.

You take a sip from the glass of whiskey that someone’s just shoved into your hand and you feel the warmth spread down your throat and through your chest.

God, need to be careful.

The realisation hits you like a brick wall; you absolutely and unequivocally must not get too attached to Kishibe. You can’t. You won’t.

Getting personally involved with someone in your line of work is one of the most reckless things a person can do. If luck is on his side and he isn’t killed or seriously injured at some point in the near future, then you definitely will be the one to die instead. Your chances of passing away from natural causes are slim to none.

There’s no real hope for a nice, happy, white-picket-fence future; you gave that up long ago. To indulge in the new and silly feelings you’re experiencing for the man whose hand is still clasped on your shoulder … it would be foolish.

Your best hope at happiness is to be fond of Kishibe from a distance. To tolerate him as a partner and respect him as a colleague, and leave it at that. No more, no less.

Once you’ve arrived at the booth - his touch still so noticeable on the exposed skin near your neck - he introduces you to three devil hunters. You greet the two men who you recognise as being from another division, along with a woman with an eye patch and striking white hair. From word of mouth, you’d assume this is Quanxi, the famous former partner Kishibe had worked with for a couple of years before being reassigned.

You take a seat next to her while your partner sits across from you next to the two men, and even as you settle into conversation with the rest of the group, it takes a surprising amount of effort to try and ignore that you miss having him within touching distance.

You need a distraction and, thankfully, you grow to like Quanxi very quickly. She’s blunt and straightforward but makes good conversation. She tells you enough embarrassing stories about Kishibe to last you a lifetime and has a similar outlook on life as you do; she’s practical but not emotionless, reserved but still dedicated to her work.

Unfortunately for you, she’s also very observant.

“You don’t drink much?” she asks out of the blue as Kishibe gets up to fetch another round. “Kishibe told me you don’t smoke, but from the look of your glass … you’re still on your first beer, whereas those two,” she adds, pointing dismissively at the other two hunters, “are nearly finished with their fourth.”

“ ... I had a whiskey before I sat down.”

“Even still,” Quanxi counters, holding up her empty whiskey glass for emphasis - she must have finished the bottle by now.

You shrug, unsure as to what your answer would even be. “Tonight’s just an off night for me, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” you admit. It’s uncharacteristically candid of you considering you’ve only just met, but Quanxi seems trustworthy. “I’m scared that drinking will make it … a bit harder to deal with.”

Luckily, Quanxi doesn’t seem too eager to push the topic. “Fair enough. As long as it’s not because you think it … tastes bad, or something.”

You see her glance over to Kishibe for a split second, so quick it’s almost not noticeable. She grins, then, and you know for sure that he’s been talking about you.

Kishibe, you swear to yourself. If the devils don’t kill him then you will.

___

A couple of hours pass before you excuse yourself to step outside for some fresh air. It’s not an excuse - you really do need some air, as even the heaviest smokers in the bar have started to complain about how stuffy it’s become. You don’t feel too guilty about needing a break.

The night air is cold but fresh and crisp and so you welcome it, inhaling deeply into your lungs as you round the corner to the quiet alley next to the bar. Once there, you rest your back against the cool stone of the wall. You’re wearing only a skirt and a silk blouse, your jacket hanging up inside the bar, but you don’t shiver.

You look up to the sky to try and see some stars, only to find them shielded by a thick covering of dark clouds.

It could rain at any moment, you think to yourself. You really hope it doesn’t.

“Quanxi scare you off?” a familiar voice calls out from the corner, attracting your attention. “Anything she told you about me is a lie, promise. Unless it’s good, then it’s extremely true.”

You chuckle softly. “No, just needed some air.”

“Same here,” Kishibe says cordially, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. “Too warm in there.”

You watch him approach you with a soft smile and see that his walk is steady. He’s either not drunk at all or he’s very good at hiding it.

Your curiosity gets the better of you and so you point it out.

“Kishibe, you’re not drinking as much as usual.”

He chuckles. He’s reached where you’re standing and decides to follow your lead, resting his back against the wall and tilting his head upwards to see what you were looking at before. The two of you stay there, looking at the blank night sky.

He clears his throat, voice still conversational and relaxed when he starts speaking.

“Between the drinking and the smoking … you’re awful concerned about my health recently, aren’t ya?”

“Just being nosy, I guess,” you say, writing it off as plain old curiosity. You can’t think of any other reason for noticing it.

“But you’re right, I’m taking it easy tonight,” he continues. “Not in the mood.”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to come here to get shitfaced?”

He shrugs. “No fun getting shitfaced by yourself, though, is it?”

“Ouch,” you chuckle, clutching your chest for dramatic effect. “I know I’m kinda quiet tonight, but-“

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he grins with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t know the guys in there all that well, and the ones that I do know are fucking idiots when they’re wasted. Quanxi holds her liquor too well to even get tipsy, and you’re barely drinking, so I’m following your lead.”

Now it’s your turn to feel surprised. You thought you were the more observant of the two of you, but it turns out Kishibe notices the same things.

“I’m a good influence, then.”

Kishibe snorts at that, but somehow the sound is endearing. “Don’t go that far. We’re both still in this shitty job, so you can’t be all that sensible.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you agree, laughing too. “I’m good enough at wasting our pitiful little paycheck.”

“On what?”

He’s still grinning but looks genuinely curious, and huh, you have to stop and think on that one. You don’t really have any major vices (that you can think of), and you’re not a compulsive shopper, but you still manage to spend your money every month.

It’s not worth feeling guilty over, though; you just like surrounding yourself with little pleasures to distract from the grim nature of your work.

You like getting nice furniture for your apartment, and this certain fancy brand of coffee. You like going to a local gallery and being able to buy any painting you want …

… and, as you said earlier, you like things that taste good.

“I spend a lot of money on coffee,” you start. “Too much money. More than you spend on cigarettes, probably.”

“That’s-”

“A lot, I know,” you roll your eyes before continuing. “I also buy paint, canvases, brushes … things like that.”

“You paint?”

“A little. When I get the chance.”

He raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. Seems you’ve genuinely surprised him for once.

You keep going - now that you’ve remembered your little shopping list, it’s hard to stop the thoughts from flowing out.

“And I got this green couch for my apartment. Ridiculously expensive, but I’ve wanted it for ages. I sometimes buy old books, too, and I always get this overpriced lip balm that tastes like apples.”

You pause then, to show you’re finished recalling your expenses. You have to laugh at the bemused expression on Kishibe’s face.

“That it?” he asks, but he sounds suitably impressed. Like you’ve finally opened up to him in a way he can appreciate.

“That’s it, I think.”

He’s so close to you now that you’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder. You’re both just resting against the wall having a friendly chat, but the closeness feels … it feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You’re used to having him always there, but never within touching distance. Never so casual and easy and enjoyable.

He clears his throat.

“So all that … that’s what you’re wasting all your money on? I’ll remember that next time I foot the bill for lunch.”

”I forgot my wallet one time,” you answer, shoving his shoulder with yours, “one time ever. Surely you’ve financially recovered by now.”

You’re not sure what possesses you, but as you’re still standing side-by-side, you lean your head down to rest it against his shoulder. It feels natural, like something you don't even have to think about. Kishibe was close, he was right there, and you wanted him closer.

His voice doesn’t betray any surprise at your actions, but the way the muscles in his arm tense as you nestle against him shows that he wasn’t expecting it.

But the fact that he doesn’t give you any shit for it or shrug you off means that he doesn’t object.

“I guess we can go to yours for coffee from now on,” he points out. “Since you’re apparently a coffee snob, and I’m clearly torturing you with the shit excuse for a beverage they serve at the café.”

“True,” you agree, “though maybe we can try to have a cup indoors for once. Just for the novelty of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see if it tastes any better when I’m not freezing my ass off while you have a smoke.”

“We could go now, if you want?” he asks then, and you feel everything slow down around you.

You’re grateful to be resting against his shoulder because it means he misses your perplexed expression, your eyes widening as he finishes his question.

What does he mean by ‘go now’? Go where? The café closes just after lunch. You never go there unless you’re on a case. It’s the middle of the night, there are no other cafes even open nearby …

As if reading your mind, he elaborates.

“No, not go to the café,” he says, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. It’s deep now, almost gravelly, instead of that usual ‘so smug it’s almost chirpy’ tone he utilises when he’s trying to annoy you on missions. His voice sounds nice - so nice that an inconvenient tingle spreads in your chest as you hear it. “I meant we could go back to yours. For some of that ridiculously expensive coffee, I mean.”

Is he trying to mess with you? It almost feels like a game, like he’s trying to trick you into saying something that will only make life more inconvenient for the both of you.

“You want coffee at midnight?” you ask, slowly.

“Sure do,” he answers without hesitation. “If you’ll be so kind as to host.”

You draw your head back and look at him quizzically. You know exactly how he acts when he’s messing with you and this isn’t it. He’s not smirking when he speaks; instead, he’s looking at you with an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. It throws you off in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, and so you say,

“Sure, let’s head back to mine.”

___

You grab your jacket from inside the bar as Kishibe hails a cab, and before you know it, the two of you are standing at your doorstep, just as you were earlier today when he invited you out. You feel different now, though; adrenaline coursing through your veins for no discernable reason.

This all feels surreal. You and Kishibe here, alone, after hours, without the convenience of a mission to keep you distracted. And yet, you don’t dwell on it.

You’re moving as if possessed, desperately avoiding any overthinking of your actions as you take him by the hand and guide him through the door to your hallway, through to the kitchen then. Neither of you says anything as you walk. You only let go of his hand when you arrive at the countertop where you keep the coffee, resting a hand against the surface to ground yourself.

The kitchen is dark since you didn't bother the turn on the lights. Only the glow of the streetlamps illuminates the room, casting a glow over the two of you.

You blink up at him. He stays looking at you pensively.

You’re still not sure how literally he was speaking when he mentioned wanting coffee. Would he laugh at you if you started to brew some? You want to touch him again, want to feel him ever closer than he was before, but … have you misinterpreted the situation entirely?

Kishibe clears things up for you. He steps in your direction, shoulders set and expression difficult to place. He’s not touching you yet but he’s so gotten so close now … closer than colleagues or partners or even friends tend to go, only inches away from your body.

He’s so close you can feel whisps of his hair tickling your forehead, you can see the crinkles in his shirt and the outline of the lighter in his jacket pocket.

He stop then, hesitating, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” he asks, smiling at you - a kind smile, not brass or cocky.

You nod, the movement shallow and jerky and perhaps a bit too quick.

“Yeah, just … my head’s all over the place.”

“Nothing has to happen,” he replies quietly. “We can just have coffee, if you’d prefer.”

“So you really want coffee?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “We’re sticking with that story?”

“Doesn’t have to be coffee,” he counters. “Tea, water, I don’t care. I just … I like spending time with you.”

You return his smile just as genuinely. “You’re being so … nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am,” you say emphatically. “Did I accidentally bring someone else’s partner home?”

He laughs, a nice sound, and your heart hammers against your ribcage.

“Nope. Stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

His answer is conversational and friendly, but the look in his eyes betrays him. You know he means it.

You know it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, because he’s your partner, and you’re supposed to be objective, and it goes against every rational thought in your brain.

But the idea of being stuck with him sounds so appealing ... you can’t pay much attention to your rational side.

It’s not Kishibe who closes the distance between the two of you; instead, you step closer, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, and then press your lips to his.

It’s not a slow kiss. It starts intense and it only builds from there, teeth almost clacking together as you tangle your hands in his hair. It’s clumsy, almost; he’s pawing your thighs, lower back, waist, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch first. You take a gentle grip on his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels in your hands, the silky tresses just so tuggable.

You’ll park that thought for later.

Kishibe deepens the kiss, running his tongue against your lips and then pushing into your mouth, not letting go of your body the whole time.

It’s funny; a part of you thought that he would be as confident and dominant in these circumstances as he is in his professional life -

(Yes, you’ve thought about it before … it’s not as though the thought of sleeping with him has never crossed your mind. You’re stubborn, but not blind.)

- but he’s taking as much as he’s giving, getting as much satisfaction from your reaction as he does from anything else. He moves with you, noting what you like as the moments pass, gauging your reaction from your whimpers and moans and the way you’re not-so-subtly rubbing against his thigh.

He kisses your neck, lingering on your pulse point, leaving a mark that you’re sure will be visible tomorrow. The thought is strangely thrilling; the idea of you and Kishibe working a case together, with marks all over your skin just begging to be noticed. Marks that show he wanted you all to himself and needed everyone to know it.

When you push your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his suit pants pressing against you, you tighten your grip on his hair. He notices and responds eagerly, grabbing your ass over the thin fabric of your skirt and pressing you flush against him. The heat of his body makes your mind go numb.

You can smell his aftershave again, all over your body as he kisses and rubs and touches, but you have no complaints this time.

He leans in as if to kiss you again but stops just short, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“You have no idea how badly I want this,” he murmurs. “How badly I’ve wanted it. But … it might make things just a little bit complicated.”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you whisper, looking into his eyes to show your confidence in your answer. You’re too far gone to back out now. You haven’t felt touch like this in so long, having kept yourself so guarded and withdrawn for years. Kishibe understands; he knows the risks of this job, and he knows how lonely it gets. He knows you so well. Knows what you need.

“I’m okay with it,” he says, lips quirked upwards. He’s still pressed against you, his thigh spreading your legs open slightly. “Want me to show you how much?”

His eyes flicker down your body past your chest, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about doing. Every inch of your skin feels hot. Your clit pulses at the very idea of what he’s suggesting - it seems like his confidence might pay off.

“I want you,” you reply. You think about finishing the sentence with something a bit more articulate, but Kishibe’s eyes darken at your earnest response, pupils blown out and expression ravenous.

He places a large hand on your thigh, the exposed skin tingling under his touch. He slides it up slowly, so slowly, grazing up to the seam of your underwear. He runs a finger over your clothed core and you gasp, hips almost bucking into his touch. His thumb circles your clit then returns to stroking the damp fabric between your legs, so impossibly close to where you need him.

He’s so close to it. So close - if he just angled his fingers a little more, he could plunge two inside you, wringing orgasm after orgasm from you as you melt underneath him.

“Please-“ you choke, the pleasure almost becoming an ache. “I … I need-“

“What do you need, baby?” he whispers into the shell of your ear, teeth giving a gentle tug on your lobe when he finishes his question. “What do you need from me?”

“More, please. More.“

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate any further. Instead, he guides you to the countertop, pressing you against it at first, unable to keep from connecting his mouth to some part of you for too long (this time, it’s the swell of your breasts over the neckline of your blouse).

Once he pulls back, lips leaving your cleavage with a wet ‘pop’, he helps you up onto the countertop. Once you’re sitting comfortably on the edge, he slides his hands up your thighs again. You feel the cool marble on the underside of your legs, pleasantly contrasting the heat of his hands.

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips to allow him to pull them down, feeling the cold air against your exposed skin as he does so. You’re so wet and he notices immediately. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, a pink flush having settled across his cheekbones.

He’s annoyingly pretty like this, looking up at you from between your legs.

You want to make him feel good with your mouth too. The thought of it makes your head swim; between the tenting in his pants and the look on his face …

He cuts off your thoughts with a brush of his lips over your inner thigh. He kisses you again, leaving no inch of skin untouched as he gets closer and closer to your core.

When he reaches the divot at the very top of your thighs, he loses his control just a bit, pressing wet and sloppy kisses, the obscene sound of which would make you embarrassed in any other circumstances.

You let out a desperate, uncharacteristic mewl, but you don’t feel any embarrassment. This side of Kishibe - whose only aim is to make you come undone - you know that he won’t make fun of you. The only reaction he’s trying to get from you now is one of pure and mindless pleasure.

You gasp out loud as you finally get the contact you have been seeking; Kishibe presses a gentle closed-mouth kiss to your clit that makes your entire body shudder. With barely any contact he already has you quivering, goosebumps forming all over. The press of his mouth against your pussy is careful, explorative; lips and tongue tracing all over your slick flesh.

The first proper lick stokes a fire in your core, burning hot and desperate as you tighten your thighs around his face. His hands grip your legs and pull them apart further, allowing better access for what he wants to do.

Long, slow strokes up your folds and circles around your clit, all combining to make you feel pliant and boneless.

“Please … please … please …” you beg over and over, though you don’t want him to change anything, you just don’t want him to stop. You feel like crying at the thought of it being taken away for even a second, for him to stop the perfect movement of his tongue against your aching cunt. “Please keep going.”

He hums his approval and moves to start suckling your clit with just enough pressure to make your vision go white behind your now-shut eyes. You feel the slightest pressure against your entrance as he presses a finger hesitantly - you throw your head back with a desperate cry of “yes!”, and he pushes it in in one fluid motion.

You feel a bit conflicted about closing your eyes because the image in front of you is so enticing; a few strands of his dark hair are stuck to his forehead with the faint sheen of sweat that’s building as he fucks you with his fingers, his eyes looking up at you beseechingly through dark lashes with a particularly firm flick of his tongue …

You want to keep looking at him, you do, but you can’t. It’s too much. The sensation is building quicker than you can react to it, and so you lay back on the counter, your back arching as he keeps up his perfect pace.

The pleasure is low and warm and unending, deep inside you, and for a brief moment, it scares you that Kishibe is the one doing this to you.

Kishibe, your annoying coworker who you’re supposed to be keeping at arm’s length - he's the one making you scream and cry out his name as if it’s the only word you can remember.

Kishibe is the one who’s making your eyes roll back into your head, the one who’s taking you apart with just his mouth and fingers (now, two of them).

You’re surrendering yourself to him, and yet, you don’t have the slightest urge to halt any of it.

Heat starts collecting in your core, a ball of warm pleasure starting to grow and grow until you couldn’t contain it even if you wanted to. He can feel you tighten around his fingers and speeds up without altering the pressure, just giving you more of what you need. Your incoherent babbling only spurs him on.

When you tip over the edge and quiver desperately underneath him, coming apart entirely, it takes you by surprise; there was no build-up because it was all too overwhelming, too blinding, to be able to determine at what point exactly your pleasure started to crest.

It just takes over.

When you come down from it, you decide to take just a minute to collect yourself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You close your eyes again, blinking back the tears that collected against your waterline.

It’s a little strange. You haven’t had a sexual experience like that since … well, ever.

Thinking about things rationally, you come up with a few reasons for your very enthusiastic response. First and foremost, you haven’t had sex in a long time, not since joining the agency, not since dating became too messy. You’ve been a bit stressed, too, a bit pent up. You needed some relief. You haven’t had any … alone time in a while, either.

But as you noted earlier, you’re not listening to the rational part of your brain tonight. Not one of those reasons explains the effect Kishibe just had on you.

And the most confusing part is that even after making you come harder than you have in years, you want him even more intensely now.

Sitting up on the counter, you drag him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You run your hands up his chest, fingers grazing off the tell-tale outline of the cigarette box in his pocket. You move to rest your hands against his nape, feeling the prickliness of his undercut against your fingertips.

His pants are still on but you can feel he’s painfully hard, straining against his zipper as he clings to you.

He starts unbuttoning your shirt and you do the same to his, taking in the view of his sharply-cut torso as he sheds his clothes.

It’s all lean muscle, thin white-lined scars covering his chest, a few freckles here and there. A painful-looking blue-black bruise sits above his hip and you frown upon noticing it. He pries your hand away from his shirt buttons, bringing your index finger to his lips and kissing it softly.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You want to press further but relent at the last moment, going back to finish your task of unbuttoning his shirt. You can be concerned later; now, he needs you as much as you need him.

“Where do you want to -?” he asks, trailing off at the end.

You widen your eyes suggestively, glancing down at the countertop beneath you.

He scoffs. “... here?”

You shrug, smirking coyly. “Why not? Curtains are shut. And even if they weren't, it's not like we haven't disgraced ourselves enough already.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he says with a grin, eyes flicking down to catch a glimpse of your chest.

You hop down from the counter and kiss him again, hastily unzipping his pants and taking him out of his underwear. Thick and heavy in your hand - the overconfidence comes from somewhere, obviously - you feel him throb against your touch.

A few gentle strokes and he’s groaning, eyes shut and head tilted back, beads of precum gathering at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight; Kishibe, having just opened his eyes, snaps when he sees the effect this is having on you. He spins you around and bends you over the counter, tugging your skirt up above your hips. You’re standing here so exposed - no shirt, no underwear, only the thin fabric of your skirt shielding your naked form - but you trust him now, just as much as you do when your life is in his hands.

He drags the tip of his cock against your pussy and you gasp.

You’re not sure how, but you feel empty without him inside, even though you haven’t even felt it yet.

You spread your legs for him, wet and stretched enough to take whatever he has to give you.

As the head of his cock pushes inside you, Kishibe is the one to moan then, deep and low.

“Oh baby,” he breathes. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel so good already, my love. You’re squeezing right around me, fuck,” he stills against you, hands on your hips preventing you from sliding back against him. “I … I need a second.”

“Done already?” you tease, looking back at him over your shoulder, your shaking legs barely supporting you. You grip the countertop more firmly to steady yourself. “Surely not?”

“Can you wait a few minutes to give me shit?” he retorts, and you feel his smile as he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Usually I’d say you’d have every right, but I don’t think you want to get into that right now.” He pushes in further then, inch by inch. “Or do you?”

“You’re right,” you laugh airily, “you’re right, just … keep doing that, please.”

He slides in further, almost to the hilt now. He grips your hips with both hands as he seats himself fully inside you.

You knew it would be a stretch, but this - the feeling of being so impossibly and blissfully full - takes you by surprise nonetheless. He stays there for just another moment as you adjust to him and you feel his thumb stroke slow, soothing circles along your lower back as you inhale slow and deep.

You push back against him when you’re ready for him to start moving, and he doesn’t hesitate. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts back inside you with a groan, the slap of skin against skin echoing around the kitchen. He sets a strong, steady pace; hips snapping against yours as you rest your forehead on the counter, chest bouncing as he fucks into you as though he’s thought about doing this for years.

Kishibe reaches over and grabs your hands from the counter, crossing them behind your back and holding them in place with his own. This position means you arch further, allowing him to thrust deeper inside you, reaching spots you never thought anyone could hit.

His grip on your wrists is tight but it never hurts; he’s handling you with such care, far more thoughtfully than you would have expected. That being said, he’s not treating you like you’re fragile or breakable - you wouldn’t like it if he did - rather, he’s touching you like your enjoyment is by far the most important aspect of this. He’s treating you like a partner.

You turn your head so your cheek is resting on the surface. You just want to angle yourself so you can look back and see him. You need to see him, you need to know if he’s as fucked out as you are, reduced to utter desperation, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re so tight and drenched and messy around him.

When you see him, your breath hitches. Your guess wasn’t too far off.

Kishibe’s flushed now, pink tinting his face and neck, and his chest rises with short, shallow, primal pants. He’s biting down hard on his lower lip, so much so you think it might bleed, and he’s looking right at you, meeting your gaze head-on. His brows are knit tightly together, jaw pulled tight as he keeps his focus on you. He looks to be as close as you are.

When neither of you look away, unable to tear your eyes off eachother, he speeds up his thrusts. He’s chasing his end now; his pace is frenetic, and he lets out a throaty groan when his cock slips out at one point, the speed of his movements and the wetness between your legs making everything a messy, perfect blur.

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t fucking stand it,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a disbelieving chuckle, “I should have said it sooner. Fuck, you’re so, so beautiful, it drives me insane.”

He lets go of one of your hands, keeping the other pinned behind your back, and you quickly bring it between your legs and trace circles around your clit with your fingers. You’re so wet - both from his mouth and from the way he’s fucking into you now - that you can hear your fingers moving, which means Kishibe can too.

He leans down and moves his free hand to join yours, collecting some of the wetness between your legs and rubbing your clit in tandem with your movements. You shift your position to allow him to touch you as he wants to, the weight of him against your back and the warmth of his breaths hitting your damp skin wringing a carnal moan from you.

“So pretty for me, aren’t you?” he says, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. I could do this for hours - could hear you make those noises for the rest of my life, fuck, you’re doing so, so well, my love.”

You feel it build so quickly that you gasp his name in surprise, the word almost sounding like a question. He understands, keeping the pace of both his thrusts and the circling of his fingers consistent.

It washes over you like a tidal wave; pulses of explosive pleasure rippling through your muscles, making your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath catches in your chest, only a shaky, weak-sounding moan escaping your lips - you can’t even think of any words right now, let alone speak them.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Kishibe mutters repeatedly, “oh, fuck, that’s it.”

You feel his cock pulse inside you, his hand releasing the arm that’s still behind your back as he grips your hips instead, grinding into you as deeply as he can. A few more shallow thrusts follow, aftershocks making your cunt flutter around him, and then he stills again, the sound of both your heavy breathing filling the room.

He doesn’t pull out right away. He straightens you up a little, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck and rubbing up and down your arm. It feels nice; you feel so serenely calm at that point, you could almost fall asleep resting against him.

He straightens up fully once both of your heart-rates return to normal and the sweat on your skin starts to cool, and then he pulls out, grabbing a tissue from the counter to clean for you.

You fumble with your skirt to pull it further down your thighs - not to hide anything from him, but to provide the tiniest bit of warmth now that Kishibe’s body heat is no longer distracting from the cold.

He picks up his jacket from the floor and walks behind you to rest it on your shoulders. You smile gratefully, letting silence settle between you. He stays there, wrapping an arm around you from behind.

“Do you want me to head away?” he asks, and you can tell from his tone that he wouldn’t be upset if you did.

You shake your head.

You don’t want him to go yet. Not just yet, not when you’re still processing all that’s just happened.

“I know it could get complicated,” you begin, trying to reason with him and yourself. “But ... no. I don't want you to go. I ... you can stay over. If that's something you'd like to do.”

“I would."

You let out a short chuckle, half-relief and half-bemusement. “Then I think we shouldn’t talk about complications anymore. For a while, anyway."

“I agree completely,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“First time for everything.”

“You wound me,” he whispers, feigning offence but kissing your hairline anyway. “So does this mean I get a tour of your apartment now?”

Taking the hand that’s wrapped out you, you tug him in the direction of your bedroom. He makes a few characteristic comments on your furniture choices and you elbow him without any malice, pointing out some of your favourite pieces as you make your way through your apartment.

It feels strangely normal; you crossed this boundary together, but the world hasn’t fallen down around you.

He’s still the same, you’re still the same … mostly.

You know there’ll be a conversation tomorrow. It can’t go unaddressed considering you spend your working day together, but there’s no use spoiling the serene temporary escape the two of you have carved out for yourselves.

You reach your bedroom and he follows you into bed wordlessly, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. You interlock his fingers with yours.

Nestled in the sheets with him, you fall asleep more quickly that you have done in recent memory.

After your entire adult life spent on death’s door, you allow yourself to feel an emotion you barely even recognise anymore.

You feel safe.

#kishibe #kishibe x reader #👹👹👹

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togesbunny · 1 year

Text

┌─ “ ! „ TWO OF CUPS .03.

tw. incest, dubcon, peeping, creampie, coercion/emotional manipulation, unintentional voyeurism, jealousy, angst, love triangle wordcount. 5k

part 01 part 02

a/n. she's hEREEE she's here the emotional baggage fuckery is back finally!!!! aaaaahhhh yes i finally got off my ass and rewrote and finished part three thanks you so much to @seijorhi and @darlingsanzu for betaing and sitting through my insufferableness about the itoshi sibs i juST ughhhhh!! i hope you like it and yes there will be a part four which should be the final part and yes i will try tofinish it soon-ish <333

itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae

The picture is a little creased, faded with time, but it’s still visible enough to keep. It’s more valuable than a digital copy, in this case. Because there’s an obvious scratch right over Sae’s perfect smile that gives Rin every reason to want to grin back. At least the wear and tear of the universe is on his side this once. You’re adorable in your matching jersey, little toddler hands sticking out of the arm holes as you’ve wrapped yourself around an equally small him.

Nostalgia isn’t a feeling he wants to linger in much though, because even on an innocent reflection of the past like this one - where Sae is throwing up peace signs and dribbling a ball as the two of you watch enchanted - there’s a treacherous truth displayed.

As he’s holding you, his only baby sister, in his arms, he stares at the ball; the talent, the glory, the unequivocal challenge, and you; you’re watching Sae.

It’s how it's always been, and with a bitter swallow, Rin has to wonder if the way he always trailed two steps behind will be how it ends. If he can’t keep you, if Sae really does take him up on the threat to steal you away from under his nose, would you struggle? Would you even understand if he explained it? Somehow, he doubts it. Somehow, he thinks that you don’t see anything wrong with the fact that you whisper Sae’s name in your sleep.

No simple scratch over Sae’s smile on a childhood picture is going to stop you from loving the guy. And worse still, it isn’t even his picture. It only reappeared in the house when Sae came home to stay with you, creased, cherished, and though Rin isn’t sure if Sae is even capable of true feeling for anything that isn’t himself… it looks loved.

A better man would take that as a sign to back off, maybe. A better man wouldn’t drag his little sister out of a shared bed and strip you down to nothing, pretending to be a helping hand. Kiss your lips, play with your fingers until you give him the first real smile of the day. Hopeful, and deeply, truly forgiving of his every flaw. It’s everything he isn’t. Instead he is towered over you with one hand on the granite tiles with his body just a few breaths from yours as you hum a little song. The showerhead is big enough to have you drenched, and him close enough to have the steam and heat of the water drawing random swirls along his vision, breathing in, breathing out. The heat of the air clears his lungs, but nothing takes the sticky, pressing feeling on his chest away when you’re this close. Breathe in, halfway out as you clear your voice.

“Do you think Sae will be allowed to stay a little longer, nii nii? I know he’s gotta practice, but—” The sound of the shower drums away the rest of your question. Water runs from your neck, along shoulder blades down the line of your back, and he wants to groan and grunt at the way your butt almost brushes his fucking cock. It’s ungodly. It’s vile, and maybe if you were any less trusting, you could feel the way his eyes roam when you tell yourself ‘no looking’, or how his waist ‘accidentally’ brushes up against you almost every time. You’re none the wiser, though, that’s the problem. “Rin nii?” He looks up from your steamy, perfect fucking body that’s chubbing up his cock to lean his chest against your shoulder as he grabs the shampoo bottle, and gives a faint hum to signal hearing you.

“It’s just been so long since we were all together again,” you breathe then, and hum so softly, encouragingly, as his long fingers find your head to slosh the artificial fruit scent around your scalp. Another little noise has his lashes fluttering, sliding his other hand down your neck to take a solid hold of your shoulder. And then a puffed breath, as you turn halfway towards him and make him catch a flash of your perfect fucking tits, to make matters even worse. Truly, you must believe him to be a saint, he thinks as all his muscles flex and unflex. He’s so wound up with Sae being around to ruin it that he can barely stand looking at you without wanting to grab his cock and pull until he sprays cum all over the swell of your ass. “Ahh, that feels- ah- really good.” He can’t help it. Nothing makes the longing go away.

“Thank you for taking care of me, niichan… I- I don’t like being alone.”

Dead silence. He needs dead silence to get over your unapologetic admiration. To be locked up in solitary confinement and have a metal rod jammed through both ears, probably. Rin swallows the thick feeling on his tongue to the best of his ability, watching the soap run down your hair, before ever so gently leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. And one to your jaw, and neck, and then the crook of your shoulder. Forget about anything else, his brain blares, forget about — his voice cracks when he calls your name and wraps a lone arm around your stomach to stop you from moving. “You know I love you, right?”

You seem similarly frozen in time for a few tense heartbeats, water rushing along your face and making every inch of you glitter under the lights. Before you wipe your eyes and nose, and nod. “I know. I love you too, nii nii.”

Your lashes are dark, long, and too wet. And your lip bobs up and down a few times as you go to smooth your hands down his chest, and Rin can’t fucking help it— think that you’re looking through him. There’s a commotion outside the hall before the way you look at him can be addressed. The door creaks as it opens, before footsteps make their way to the bathroom and there’s a little knock. Sae’s voice is low and sleep filled as he calls out your name, and you pull your hands away from Rin. Leaving your touch to burn long after it’s gone.

“Are you in the shower?”

“Mhm, I’m almost done.” He doesn’t want to look at the way you fidget, and draws his hand back from it’s steady position on your hip to grab some soap.

Sae’s irritating mockery of a voice is strangely gentle when speaking to you, and he imagines his brother leaning against the door as he talks. “That’s okay. Want me to join you?” Rin almost chokes on it. You don’t hesitate to hum, and play your fingers along your hand palm.

“If you want to. Rin’s in here too, so there’s not that much room, but-” The sharp snort from beyond the door cuts you off, but Rin would overlook that any day if Sae would just keep his damn mouth shut. As if he’d ever be that lucky.

“Ah, I was wondering where you went. You’re showering with our little sister? Fucking pervert.” The cold laugh only makes his eyebrows lace together harder, as his jaw clenches hard. The irony is lost on you, of course, because you look at Rin with a little head tilt. And try to shy away from him when he grabs your hand to lace it together. “Well, let me know when you’re done. I need to head to the store later and I wanna shower first. Hurry it up.”

Adrenaline pumps through his blood as he wipes some of the sweat of his brow. The short blades of grass crunch under his feet, and the ball flies - as usual - in a perfect arch towards the one corner of the goalpost, heading home. The field’s otherwise abandoned, and the cold sky makes his puffs of hot breathing into little clouds that linger before fizzling into nothing.

Only the bright white of large led lights, and to the side, you. You’re buried in his jacket, hands deeply hidden into the oversized pockets as you walk from the boundary lines towards him. “Nii nii!” Your voice bounces around the space overzealous, and it warms his face instinctively. It’s entirely too domestic. As he leaves the spare balls to jog up to you, his stomach flips. It’s down season, so really, this should be his rest time. But he’s been… unusually agitated, for lack of any better way to describe it. Days seem longer when he can’t even get close to you without receiving a sneer or a disbelieving chuckle from some corner of the house.

Your shared house, of just you and him. Sae doesn’t care nearly enough about what should be the consequences if it were anyone else. He could just kick him out, if it were different. But sadly, you’re not anyone else, and you’d sooner bend yourself into impossible shapes than willfully ask your other brother away. It’s not like he’s being more distant for the redhead’s sake. No, he wants to let out a dry chuckle at the idea, anything but. If it was up to just him, he’d let Sae rot in his sourness and implications. It’s only out of necessity, because you care about what Sae thinks of you. And the guy fucking knows it.

Rin instead takes in with a tiny smile how you’re dressed entirely in his clothing, like you’re some cheesy couple, unwilling to be separate people from one another for even a second. It calms the possessiveness enough to pull you into him when you reach him, two hands full of ass as he makes you wrap your arms around his neck and picks you up against his sweaty body. “Mhm, you look cozy.”

Your mouth quirks up before you giggle, and let him bury his face into the side of yours.

He kisses you, leaning down into it before you can say another word, and you giggle an embarrassed little ‘Rin’ into his lips before pulling away. But his large hands are still holding you off of the floor and forcing you into another hug, and you don’t struggle much against it anyway. He should really be more embarrassed. About the way his lips long to slot over your pulse point and bathe you in possessive kisses that leave the deepest marks. After just a few kisses along your neck you pull back and mumble something about the tickling, and then land back onto the ground when he puts you down.

It’s second nature for you to attach yourself to Rin’s body when looking up at him and to wrap your arms around his waist, and in turn, he does his best to keep his eyes from wandering too much. “It’s cold, why’re you out here? Watch niisan play?” Your fingers squeeze before you breathe, and your smile slips just a little. Obvious.

And whatever sort of look must come over his face has you grabbing him a little tighter, keeping the hug going. He doesn’t want to think about the millions of times he’s demanded it with so much unveiled disdain that you’re always trying to soothe him. He doesn’t want to think it, but for some reason- it still pops up into the back of his head. You nuzzle into his chest, hope the warmth in your eyes sinks down into his bones. But the moment can’t last, and you eventually open your mouth to let out a slow mumble. “Sae nii wants to take me to some new bar in Kabukicho. I’ll be back soon though.”

Though his mouth tugs down, he lets out a hum, and a dry, non-amused chuckle follows. “Yeah. Do whatever. Sae’s only here every so often, right?” He turns to get away from the way your face falls, unable to help it. Rin rolls his tongue around against the roof of his mouth. Like taffy, the jealousy sits in his mouth and sours a little further each time he swallows. It’s a special kind of torture.

You try to help it, as always, sewing the tearing edges together as best you can. But it’s no use. As long as Sae keeps winning, Rin will keep fighting back. That’s just the way of things in the Itoshi household. “You can come with us, nii nii,” you pout into the dusty clouds of breath that covers your face in fog. But the noiret stands fast. Pride is an ugly thing when it gets broken. It now winks at him each time he walks around in his own house. Try as he might, he can’t escape you. And though your eyes might flick towards the eldest for guidance, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Sae runs ahead again and leaves you stranded in his wake.

From somewhere on the parking lot, an expensive car roars and flashes it’s lights to call for attention. Your shoulders square as you hide yourself further into his puffer jacket, and your long lashes seem to plead with him. “Rin nii?”

“I have to practice,” he mumbles back, and drops the ball onto the curve of his foot to set it into another long arch across the field— anything to keep himself from having to look at your face as it falls. “Get home safe.” You take a shuddered, little breath, before your shoulders fall and you turn to make your way back to the sideline and past it. He feels bad, sort of, but tonight is a little rough.

He wants to just play out here until his toes and fingers go numb. He doesn’t want to see how your eyes shine when Sae gives you a sliver of attention, when his own betray him as a man who spent most of his life loving you. Surely he has more self respect than that.

There was always something selfish about it. About the way he would run ahead, hogged toys and attention, and cherished himself. A greedy, unrelenting draw towards success, whatever that even meant when he was 6 and beating everyone around him in athletics and running them off his tail faster than people could wish to admit. A monster of ‘natural talent’ that called his name from the quiet confines of the spotlight, and for good reason, he was more than glad to shake hands and let it run wild upon his life. That selfishness wouldn’t be pushed aside for anything. Or anyone.

It was only an unfortunate consequence that you and Rin had to come after. Sae didn’t start out trying to antagonize anyone. Despite that — time changes things. Fractures once familiar memories. Unties knots. He might have started out not trying to antagonize Rin, but he isn’t stupid. Sometimes it feels like that’s all they’re good for now. If not for you. Their smallest, trying to glue the shards back together again and again and over again.

It was always that way. Their little fixer, their little cheerleader. The favorite bench warmer, or something like that. Rin sets alight at the core when he looks at you, and he’s not exactly good at hiding it. The only reason your parents didn’t see it was a plea of sanity, and a little bit of delusion. How do you make peace with the fact that not one, but all of your children have crossed opposing wires in their brain? That your pedestal-raised, untamed prizes of offspring have taken to tying the last remaining semblance of normalcy to their own side with diamond chains. It’s only a matter of time before one of the chains gives out, and the perfect, little family shatters.

The fan buzzes with a soft hum that has him glancing over his shoulder at the side of your face, cheeks soft and long lashes hiding admiring, unrelenting hope in your eyes each time they find him. No, Sae isn’t stupid. He knows that you call him much more often than you’re willing to tell Rin about, and that you like it a little too much when his hand slides down your spine to pull you into him. He knows that you don’t just look at him with a platonic appreciation. And that it’s as much his fault for letting it get this far as it is yours for pining for something that wasn’t meant to be yours. But that’s what happens when big brother becomes an unattainable standard that parents set, isn’t it? You find ways to close the gap.

Your unconscious way of closing the gap is to place yourself on the edge of his bed and talk, talk until you can’t talk a second longer. Usually until he shuts you up by wrapping his arms around you and kissing you until you run out of air in your lungs to make it a second longer. That’s how it started, all those years ago. A sleepless night of sudden, self-shattering doubt, where he’d snuck across the hall in the comfort of twilight. And settled for a soft, misguided kiss; just to prove he could.

And you being you, had looked at him with those big, clueless doe eyes and hadn’t peeped a word about it— because who are you if not undyingly loyal to the worst of the worst. Sae doesn’t get it. But it seems he is, at heart, exploitative by nature, right? Why else would one kiss have turned into two, and then many, stuffing his insecurities deep within his little sister until she breaks first.

Your cheek is rolled against the couch now, and your legs tucked close against him as he watches a rerun of another old match, but it seems that tonight, something’s different. Ever since he stole you away from Rin yesterday, the guy’s been unapologetically standoffish. And now you’re unusually quiet. Or, not so much unusual as uncomfortable, and making it unable to ignore it. Sulking and sniffling in the crook of your elbow with all the poise of a third grader.

His face turns to regard you, and he clicks his tongue. “What’s the problem?”

You don’t speak for a moment, but eventually have to give in to the unfailing stare burning a hole between your brows. Voice soft as it lays open the groundwork, and suddenly Sae’s throat closes up. “I miss Rin nii.”

The house is too quiet.

The thumping of the headboard is sort of unbearable. Cold and cruel and too noisy even for him, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill he feels singing into his blood as your eyes are closed tight, cheeks and ears burning with heat, and tears suffocating most of your cries for the low, clueless way you mumble his name. In some ways, he had wanted to do things differently. If it had been possible to contain his temper for once in his life, maybe he would have liked to try to make you happy with a gentle kiss and an even softer admission of guilt.

Apologized for fucking you up the way he did. Take responsibility.

The way he’s got both your wrists in one hand and his other on your throat isn’t gentle or soft. But Sae isn’t exactly one to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Your thick pearls of tears down your temples are enough to have him gritting his teeth and letting his hips connect yet again with the skin of your ass as he slots himself right between your legs. “Niichan, Sae niichan~” you whine out so pitifully below him, gasping and squirming and grabbing at his shoulders.

He grunts. “I don’t want to hear it.” You look like you’re not sure whether to beg him to get closer, deeper- or to drag your nails down his face- and the look has him biting his bottom lip so hard it soon tastes only of copper. Eventually though, a thought makes it through the squeezed opening of his throat, and he grabs your face to aim it at him. “You got some fucking nerve. It— Rin didn’t care about you until he realized that I wanted you. I was the one who cared first. Me.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice as it comes out raspy and only interrupted by his own hysterical heartbeat, and he stares deep into your matching irises again. “Me. Say it.”

Your mouth twists into a thin line, wobbly as his cock slides between soft lips and makes the wetness squelch between your bodies. His sweat beads at his hairline, and your nails dig deeper into his shoulder. He ruts himself deep, with a steady rhythm that rings through the house and makes your legs shake. Eventually you crack a little when he pries your chin from the way you hide it into your shoulder, and kisses you hard. He means it though, through teeth and spit all the same. “Sae nii- iichan,” your voice breaks when you mumble it, and a trail of silver runs along your temple. You still try to pull out of his white knuckled grip, pouting. “I don- I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I just meant that- I- didn’t want to m-make -hick- Rin nii upset. Let go of me.”

“Why should I?”

He holds his steady thrusting for just a moment to regard you seriously, and watch the way the heat in your face swirls all around. Lips plump and parted, sweetened by his mouth. Skin sticky, your pussy leaving glimmering slick all over his thumping cock. You don’t say anything, and he moves instead to rub your puffy clit under his thumb with too much precision. It makes you squirm, and makes you pant and whimper. You don’t like to face the facts, don't like it when he calls you out for it. But as much as you can’t tell him no with his hands on your body and your tits in his mouth, he wants to hear you say he’s the favorite sibling.

His voice is a little gravelly still when you whine his name and he shuts you up by burying his cock to the hilt into the hot clutch of your tight cunt, and licking along your tongue. “You love me. I know you do.” It’s about the one thing he knows for sure about you. His neck burns when your hand slides along it to tug through the shorter hair, and whine against his mouth and nod.

“I love you, Sae niichan. L-love -y-you.”

With a short chuckle he pulls back, eyes wide and feeling a little too hysterical, just as fired up as he is on the field. Maybe even more. You’d deserve that much. His throat is dry as he slides the head of his cock against that spongy part of your walls and when your eyes flutter hard, grabs your tits too. Your knees land by your shoulders as his balls clap against your ass and you look so pathetically at his mercy, a little sister cunt just for him. Your crystal tears roll over in bunches, as he jackhammers his fat, hot cock into you. Until your eyes roll and your toes start curling into the blankets. Only then does he allow for the way you clamp at him to get pulled a little tighter, a little softer.

“Cumming? You’re big brother’s favorite girl, mhm-” he grunts, red hair sticking to his forehead, as he leans into the embrace just enough to fuck with heavy thrusts into the tightness of your hot pussy until it starts spasming around you. “Best -f-fucking pussy around. No one does it like you, ‘mouto.” He only notices there’s a tear when it tickles his collarbone on the way down, and no, no— he’s not crying over this. Not as you stare up at him through almost closed eyes with a hung universe in your eyes. Fuck. He hides his face into yours by crashing his lips to yours and letting his tongue swallow all of your moans and noises until you start really shaking, and clamping your legs around his body.

You cum with Sae’s tongue down your throat, and his arms burn as he lifts himself up from your body to fuck though the incredible feeling of you clenching down on him hard enough to black him out. It hurts how good you feel, before his hips automatically speed up with each noisy ‘pap’ to chase his own orgasm. “Niichan, niichan, y-you c-,” you break yourself off with a high pitched aftershock, and tug at the hair still locked between your fingers, “feels- so- g-gud- niichan!

“F-fuck, I-ugh.” His cock is so hot as he spills white ropes of cum into your dripping pussy before he even has a chance to think about it, pulling out halfway to spurt the rest of it between your legs with a rasped swear, before collapsing to your side and beaming in the sticky heat of the room. “Holy fuck.” Your arms wrap around his stomach and you bury your face into his side, and for a moment, he even allows his arm to wrap back around your shoulders. Because you’re good. You’re so good to him.

He doesn’t know how long you lay with him, but eventually the shallow breathing and soft touches cool, and when they do— he feels numb. The hot-headedness is gone. And with it comes the ice-cold realization that he’s gone and done it now. Your cheeks are still warm against his chest, and you shiver a little when he sits up. He hums. “Y'kno, this is a pretty nice guest room, but I’m kinda missing my own bed.”

A small frown digs itself between your brows on your pretty face. Your hands go for the blankets first, cover yourself up a little, and then you follow the way he sits up to shake off some of the daze. And his heart beats hard, too hard, when he slides off the side and your unsure look turns into a pout. “Sae nii. I-”

“Help me find my boxers.” The clamminess of the room is too fucking much, you have to understand that. The soft shuffle isn’t enough to ignore the way you’re burning holes into his skin. So he shrugs it off and picks a new pair out of the dresser instead, putting it on. And for a moment it works. Pulling on a shirt, sweater and some sweatpants is enough to clear his head just enough to toss you a bottle of water. You don’t catch it, and it lands with a sad poof on the soft covers.

But it’s nothing compared to the way you ruffle the softness even closer to your body, and your voice is barely a breath as you bite your tongue. “Sae nii?”

A dark room has never felt so revealing. He adjusts the sleeves of his sweater, giving a sideways glance to the crown of your head. Any lower he can’t stomach. “I’m heading home,” his voice comes out dry, as he opens the door to the hall, and heads straight for the car keys.

Rin doesn’t say anything when the door of your room opens, but he’s awake. 03:25— the blue light informs, and he slowly manages to pull one of the headphones out by its cord. Your small shape curls into bed like a fawn, slow and unsteady, and you breathe his name. But it isn’t the same, and it only takes a few seconds for him to feel, as well as see, how you nuzzle up half onto him. You’re cold, and your hands shake a little when you look into his eyes and go to melt your foreheads together.

In any other situation, he would think he was dreaming. Cross my heart and hope to not to wake, lucid in love. In any other situation, you wouldn’t be up halfway through twilight as you go in mouth first to his own and kiss him hard and deep enough for him to feel your heartbeat. Your lips are sweet though, and your one hand wraps thumb and fingers all along his shoulder, and squeezes until you shake. You push your tongue into his mouth as Rin’s eyes blink away the darkness, and his tongue brushes yours. It’s wet and hot and too real, your free hand going to find his where it rests on his chest, and you drape your leg over the rest of his body.

And he floats. Shakes, with tongue against tongue and your mouth slotted against his when you moan into it. This isn’t how you kiss him. This surges through his blood like poison, and has him humming back and pulling you further on top of him until you stop shaking so hard.

Your nose and lashes are wet, but you kiss him full of sugar and leave every inch of him in ambers. Rin allows you to curl up on his chest like you need, and links fingers with you, as he kisses down your mouth and neck as you gasp and pant and shiver like a bunny. Shoves his hands under Sae’s spare shirt to drag his long fingers along your spine, and you cry, and you cry, and you cry.

#:(#bllk #blue lock smut

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