Is It Just Me Or Are Most Fanfics That I've Read Lately Seem So Ai Generated... They're Worded Exactly

is it just me or are most fanfics that I've read lately seem so ai generated... they're worded exactly how a bot on sites like character ai or poe ai would reply 😭

like just reading them reminds me of those ai chats

did it or not ?

hoshina + gen oneshots! (separately) x gn!reader

arranged marriaged au! + hurt/cormfort + injuries + denial of feelings + platoon leader reader! + enemies to lovers (?)

warnings; it’s gender neutral reader but… lowkey lenient to male readers, but obviously only if you think hard jajaj, that’s all, also, change of work format! not proof read.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ hoshina soshiro

— he wanted NOTHING to do with you! not even as entertainment to see what could become of you both, NADA

— it’s not that he would argue with you or anything, but he’d speak a little harsher when it comes to you

— constantly asks why did he have to be married when both of you were in the defense force and could die any day

— at least he acknowledges your hard work

— mina actually likes you for him, so she always tells him he should show you affection, to which he gags at.

“ah, hoshina, don’t you think l/n looks good like that? sweaty, covered in monster fluids, look at how badass l/n looks, took down so many monsters…”

“what, are you saying you want l/n to take my spot as vice captain? since your praising l/n so much.” hoshina asks darkly while placing his hands on his hips.

mina shakes her head, expression neutral, “no, of course not, but maybe you should give l/n a nice reward-“

“ugh!” he groans, immediately walking away from her. he knows her expression wouldn’t show much, but he knew her true feelings. she was probably laughing in her head, mentally patting her back for ticking him off.

it didn’t help that you had defeated so many monsters, a few more than him. he eyes you as you flick some monster grub off of your shoulder, looking around to step aside, away from the scene. he hated going back “home” with you, you took the longest showers.

“good job today,” your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, like he said, you took long showers, so he sometimes zones out waiting for you to get out. “i wish i knew how to use blades,” you comment.

he stares at you, fresh out of the shower. your cheeks have a rosy color, definitely from the warm shower you had taken. your eyes weren’t on him, but with the way you said that, it felt like you were looking directly at him. you don’t talk much to him either.

“for a platoon leader your skills are too inadequate,” he bites before going to the restroom. “train more and you’ll be better suited.”

— honestly, you wish he’d at least make fun of you or something, not nag or insult your honed skills.

— you two lived more like strangers that shared a room, little talk yet always around

one day, you two had to face a group of honju. it wasn’t something either of you couldn’t manage, but for some reason, hoshina was having a bit of a hard time. especially with the way you kept missing your shots.

“the heck is wrong with you?” he ask as he slices the honju’s joints.

“the heck is wrong with you? you keep cutting off limbs and letting them fall on me! makes me miss my shots!” you argue as you hop off a wall.

“if we don’t take this one down we can’t help out with the other ones!”

“well if you weren’t all up on the honju then i would’ve shot it down already!”

mind you, you two were still honing your new, growing skills. hoshina was recently risen to vice captain and you as platoon leader.

“and i can’t slice it down because you keep shooting at the wrong areas!”

in the end, the honju got a good hit in you and him. minor injuries of course, but the next day you were sent off in a mission where plenty of platoon leaders were called to assist. hoshina was recently getting inside the house when you trudge up to him, looking absolutely worse than the day before from the honju.

your yored expression was one he’d never seen, mostly because he barely looks at you.

“woah there, did you age in the span of a day?” he finds himself joking.

yet you walk past him and go inside your home.

“nice talk.” he grumbles as he follows.

after your shower, you sit at the vanity, with a sleeveless shirt. there are fresh scrapes on your shoulders, your cheek is bruised and your hand are wrapped in bandages. he notices, because you hum softly as you put ointment on the scrapes.

“a mission?” he asks, surprising himself at his worry.

“broke my guns, had to use that blade.” you reply, closing the bottle.

“i told you to practice more close combat.”

“you didn’t say anything, you commented on my bad skills.”

“same difference.”

“if i die one day it’s your fault.”

he frowns, “how would it be my fault?”

and your eyes fell on him. and they gave him an answer he couldn’t hear. you’ll have pushed me so far away that you won’t make it in time when i need you.

— fighting beside you turns to be like fighting alongside mina. he carves a way and you hit, except only on those missions that aren’t nation threatening.

— at some point, he enjoys the teamwork.

— doesn’t show interest head on, he does it in silent ways. (like placing a cold water on your night stand. putting your books back in place when you’re too much in a rush to organize before leaving.)

— your determination for constant growth impresses him, he notices it when you beat him one day on slicing down a small kaiju

and just when he starts to appreciate you, something happens.

“hoshina,” your voice surprises him as he slices through the kaiju.

“l/n, what is it? kinda busy here-“

“VICE CAPTAIN HOSHINA! L/N HAS TAKEN A CRITICAL HIT!” okonogi’s voice goes through, “SHIELDS ARE DOWN!”

“uh,” you chuckle, “so are my vitals, have you said that?”

“what-?” he gasps as he dodges an attack, he’s in a tight spot right now.

“VICE CAPTAIN!” okonogi cries, “YOU MUST RELEASE MORE POWER! THAT KAIJU IS ADAPTING TO YOU!”

“yeah!” he hops off a rooftop and slices down the middle, causing a hit, but it’s bot enough yet. “someone back platoon leader! where is everyone?” he barks.

“we’re sending more reinforcements! the kaijus had overwhelmed our troops and many are severely injured! platoon leader l/n please hold out until back up comes!”

“we’re too shorthanded for backup!” hoshina argues. “i’ll finish this and head over!” he grunts as he attacks once more.

“so like, i’m bleeding out,” you say softly.

“PLATOON LEADER PLEASE STAY STILL! YOU DON’T HAVE STRENGTH LEFT!”

“how bad is it?” hoshina asks as he finally takes down the kaiju. he’s out of breath.

“VICE CAPTAIN HOSHINA HAS ELIMINATED THE KAIJU IN THE SECTOR!” okonogi shouts, “if anyone can go back up platoon leader, we’ll have victory soon!”

“just how bad is it?”

“the honju is a plant based type! it’s core keeps shifting!”

“and so are my organs, i wanna throw up,” you say.

“you idiot! hide! you can’t keep facing it! how far away am i okonogi!?”

“six minutes- PLATOON LEADER L/N YOUR SUIT IS OVERHEATING AGAIN! PLEASE STOP, YOU’VE ALREADY LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD!”

“I FOUND IT’S CORE!” you yell before going silent.

“VICE CAPTAIN PLEASE HURRY! PLATOON LEADER COULD DIE IF THEY DON’T PULL THIS OFF BEFORE YOU ARRIVE-“ okonogi gasps.

“okonogi? what is it? l/n?” he calls out as he dashed inside the building your squad had been.

the sight was ugly, many officers thrown about, blood and kaiju fluids everywhere.

“PLATOON LEADER L/N’S VITALS ARE DROPPING! PLEASE SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!”

“where is it?” he asks as he runs across, slicing the vines coming at him.

“uh, go to the control room far back, full of vines and living plants, literally they’ll attack you,” you slur into his ear. “hurry before i get digested.”

“WHAT!?” okonogi cries.

he sees red. no wonder your life force was dwindling. “YOU’RE SO RECKLESS!”

slice after slice, he makes it through and strikes the core. it’s disregarded by him as he searches for you. soon, he stands before you.

he stares at your body, laid there on the floor surrounded by kaiju fluids, in your own blood. you’re breaths are too shallow, too painful.

“you want something…” you say lightly between breaths, “to do with me now?”

“what are you talking about-“

“platoon leader please don’t use your energy! it keeps dwinDLING! MEDICS! MEDICS!” okonogi screeches.

“you… you never look at me… never accepted me,” you smile tiredly, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

the gash on your side is seeping blood. your suit had given up from over exertion.

“can you stop?” he’s kneeling over you, trying to lift you out of the puddle. “if you don’t come back home with me, then i don’t want to go home.”

you close your eyes, there’s commotion far away. medics maybe? “we live like strangers under a roof…”

hoshina grips you, “i’m… sorry,” he bows his head, pulling you close but still so gentle to your wounds. “please know that i am grateful for you… all these years, you’ve also pushed me to extend my potential…”

“platoon leader! vice captain!” a medic calls out as they bring a stretcher.

“well…” you give a shaky breath, eyes closing, “guess i was… bound to… be in your arms…”

“y/n-?”

“WE’RE LOSING THE PLATOON LEADER!” and everything become white noise to hoshina.

was he going to go home to an empty house? was he going to lose you, after finally accepting that you’re now a part of his life routine, a routine he doesn’t want to exclude? what’s this ache in his heart? he feels cold.

“-out of danger zone,” okonogi’s voice brings him back.

— seeing you frail was never something he expected to see

— you were always standing, as badly as you were always injured, you never showed signs of injury until you two got home or he found you at the hospital

hence, seeing you on the hospital bed wasn’t ever in his mind. you just woke up, smiling at him. your smile is wonderful, he felt like that warmth radiating from you finally brought him back to life. after days of feeling lost, cold and alone, he felt like he was back on track.

“what? wanna be in my arms?” you grin, joking.

and neither of you expected him to take up the offer.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ gen narumi

— literally did NOT ACKNOWLEDGE YOU

— the audacity! you were so annoyed but you understood too, why would anyone want an arranged marriage?

— he’s cute, you loved looking at him even if he was just yelling at his screen when you were both on stand by

— he ARGUES. ALWAYS. just to get a rise out of you but you PISS HIM OFF when you don’t give him the reactions he wants.

“i want to sleep on the left side today.” he huffs, glaring down at your sleeping figure.

you had literally just managed to fall asleep after all his yelling and that bright ass tv. you glared at the wall, your back facing him as he looms over you.

“move,” he demands, shaking you with so much force you want to flip over and punch him.

yet, you close your eyes and roll over. literally rolling OVER him as you make your way to the right side, squishing him and making him yells and fight. still, you let that shove throw you off of him and settle on the right side. you fall back asleep, smiling at his grumpy remarks.

— as pay back he makes you go through brutal training. yet you always get back at him somehow back in the “comfort” of your shared room.

— you’re more serious about the things you have to accomplish outside of the battlefield, he’s not.

— he constantly berates you for your fighting style, just to piss you off

— at some point you lose confidence in yourself. had had been extremely harsh that day and the kaiju managed to make a good example of you. and gen had laughed at you for it.

“have you changed the bandages?” he asks, looming over you when you were trying to fall asleep.

you say nothing, ignoring his presence. yet, he cages you, practically on top of you with both arms to your sides as he glares down.

“y/n.”

your eyes snap open. that is the first time he’s ever called you by your name and it had to be your first name? his nerve!

“get off me,” you grunt.

“have you changed your-“ he’s easily thrown off of you by your action, he didn’t expect you to move.

“why do you care?” you growl.

he frowns, “i don’t want you messing up our bed sheets!”

you end up leaving the room, crashing somewhere else. he obviously didn’t chase after you, you aren’t that important to him. yet, he couldn’t sleep, remembering the way you left; angry, hurt. he had gotten used to you sleeping next to him, to you waking him up when the two of you had to assist morning duties.

he honestly felt like he couldn’t breathe well, until you came in the morning to change into your attire. he immediately sat up on the bed, staring at you as you move about. not a hello, not a “good morning captain, gotta wake up now” to be followed by his complaints. not even an acknowledgment, you got ready, freshened up and left. he didn’t like that.

— he lives for attention. for recognition. there should always be someone that gives it to him, yet that was the day he realized you don’t.

— it made him feel like he had to prove himself to you.

“lower the sound to the tv, it’s late,” you day dryly.

“i’m winning! listen to me win!”

you just turn over and go to sleep. when he shouts at his victory, his immediate response is to turn to you. yet, since you’re sleeping, you don’t acknowledge him.

he stomps over to you and forces you awake, sitting you up and practically trying to open your eyelids.

“NARUMI!”

“I WON AGAIN!” he roars, shaking you.

— honestly the relationship is more like child and guardian despite how old you two are.

— he has no plans for a family, said that loud and clear

— same way he tries to get a rise out of you, you do it to him when you catch him training late at night

“this is the third night in a row, captain,” you tease as he freezes mid air attack.

“THEY TOLD ME TO BE ON STAND BY IN CASE A KAIJU APPEARED!” he screeches.

“at one in the morning?”

“HOW ABOUT YOU POLISH THOSE HORRIBLE SKILLS OF YOURS!?”

you laugh, setting down a cold water bottle on the floor. “don’t over do it, or else they’ll notice you’re doing this again.”

“SHUT UP! I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING!”

— you’re literally always tidying up behind him. he never tidies up.

“l/n, where are my clothes?” he argues one morning.

“have you washed them?” you ask, annoyed.

he pauses. ever since you two married, he’s never really lifted a finger. well, even when he lived alone, the defense force would sometimes always send someone in to clean up. he’s tidy up once a month but it wasn’t often. now that he thinks hard, as he stares at you in the kitchen, it’s always been you doing almost everything.

“why haven’t you washed them-“

“gen narumi i will throw this knife at you, how about you prove you’re good at surviving in your own home the way you survive out in the battlefield?” you bark as you turn back to face him.

you never snap at him like that, it’s always a silent glare or a petty action. never verbal.

fine, he’ll prove he’s good without you.

— he’s never felt like he’s had a place to belong, no matter how much he proved himself worthy

— captain isao was a clear example of his first time feeling a sense of accomplished belonging

and now, coming home to an empty cleaned out house, he wonders why he feels out of place. it freaks him out, it’s been years since he felt like this. he’s proven himself more than capable of being the best at defending the nation from threats… yet.. why hasn’t he done the same to keep a home.

you didn’t give a divorce, simply asked to be elsewhere for a while, off on a mission that even you don’t know how long will last. yet, coming home to this isn’t… normal… anymore. time and time again, he was rejected from homes and hoped orphanages, that desire to have a home long gone after years or not being enough no matter how much he proved himself.

and now, he’s alone in these four walls again. where you had tried to make a home out of. where he, unknowingly, didn’t even have to prove himself worthy of having. of belonging.

“captain gen! how can we help you?”

“i wanna see how platoon leader l/n’s mission is going.” he says dryly.

everyone in the room turns to him, like he lost his mind.

“uh, i-if you don’t mind captain, why would that be?”

“i don’t have to explain anything to you!”

he doesn’t get to watch or hear how your mission is going. captain isao kicks him out, he put up a fight of course, but it was embarrassing to even try to come up with a valid reason. he doesn’t like you, always in his business, in his commodity, in every mission, every training. always cleaning ip after him, always telling him to go to bed early, always telling him to file out reports- always breathing down his neck!

you’re weak. strong enough to be platoon leader but still so weak! always coming home hurt. always needing medicine. always taking breaks during training.

yet, when he finally gets to see you in action again, after weeks of being denied your whereabouts, he finds himself seeing you. actually seeing you in action. you’re different here than in training, than when you had last fought beside him. yet, you could do better. he knows that, so he grows frustrated when he sees you take a hit and miss the perfect opportunity to subjugate the kaiju.

going against the rules, like always, he does it for you. you’re eyes are wide as you see him do just what you were trying to do. so easily. they superiors are barking in your in ears. they’re doing the same in gen’s. yet, you couldn’t hear them, only your anger and your frustration, you’re insecurity eating at you again.

“was i ever, even for one second, enough for you?” you yell, stomping over towards him.

“you had a chance and you didn’t take it!” he barks.

“GEN NARUMI! YOU WILL BE SUSPENDED!” captain isao roars in the in ear.

“FOR WHAT!?

“for always making everything about yourself!” you jab your gun at him, shoving him a step back. “where’s your teamwork? why do you keep making me feel like i don’t belong here!”

he stares at you, wide eyed.

he… he made you feel like you don’t belong? you, l/n y/n who always did better throughout every mission. you, who always messed with him when he didn’t get along with you. you, who was always levelheaded even to nag at him.

“only-“

“only the strong survive here! i know!” you seethe, “if you want me out so bad just tell me! don’t insult my skills! my efforts!”

“hey, i’m your captain-“ his argument is weak in his ears too.

hence, he feels, for the first time, like he actually is in the wrong when you growl and walk past him. you stomp off, fuming. are you about to leave the defense force? give him the divorce?

“just so you know-“ he yells, making sure no one else is listening in. “you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

you stop in your tracks.

“i’m prideful, i don’t play nice,” he chokes out, “but… don’t leave me.”

you turn around, anger long gone. but you’re still distraught. you’re just dissatisfied. “gen… not now.”

and he watches you leave.

— screw all his kaiju missions. he has to win you back, because just now he’s realizing he had you.

“gen, what are you doing.”

“i need money.” he says as he kneels before you when you finally return home.

you nudge his head with your boot, “get up. how embarrassing, you sure you’re my captain?”

“HEY! RESPECT ME-!”

you walk past him, leaving him alone. he huffs, watching you set your belongings back.

“don’t move those boxes!”

“you ordered a bunch of stuff from yamazon for what!?”

“it’s stuff we could need!” he argues.

you sigh and turn around, “like what, gen?”

“uh,” he scratches his head, then gives you an accusatory look, “i don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“uh, yes you do! have you forgotten we’re married!?”

he looks away, unable to form an argument. it’s a surprise, normally he’s quick to fire back at you, but he seems so at bay. it’s…

“disgusting,” you grimace, “what’s wrong with you? aren’t you used to being suspended? what’s with this change?” you look around, “hey, it’s even clean in here, despite all these boxes.”

“yeah so what?” he huffs, crossing his arms. “i’m way better at cleaning than you are, i just don’t like doing slave work often.”

“slave-“

“plus, we’re married,” he puckers his lips as he looks away from you, “aren’t chores like,, shared or something?”

you stare at him wide eyed. is he… for real? he glances at you and you’re heart skips a beat at the blush that crawls on his face. he’s for real. ah, what a darn cute knuckle head.

“this is only going to last a day isn’t it,” you chuckle to yourself.

book idea: eccentric author drags around doctors, seamstresses, chefs, etc... to do wacky stuff and experiments for their next book

on my knees

TEMPTRESS . . . toma hiragi x fem! reader

+ you think that having a small chest isn’t attractive. hiragi thinks that’s fucking ridiculous.

+ 5.7k words

+ NSFW (MDNI) // UNEDITED //oblivious reader // reader is written to be a B cup or smaller // intentional pov switching // tit play at the very end // you’re on this man’s last nerve // mentions of insecurity/self-consciousness // themes of noncon if you squint // mean!hiragi

+ yes i remember the poll i know BUT!! BUT BUT BUT i suddenly got the motivation to finish this one. it was supposed to be 1k words for hiragi and 1k for sugishita but yeah. i still haven’t gotten to sugishita yet, but it will be nowhere NEAR as long.

you’re doing this on purpose. you have to be.

beads of sweat dapple hiragi’s hairline as he sits rigidly at your kitchen counter, doing his best to occupy himself by thumbing through a recipe book you’d abandoned on the counter after your second failed attempt at baking some confectionery he’s never even heard of. the marble surface is cold against his skin as he hunches over the book in feigned interest, but it does very little to quell the heat running rampant through his body. he can spot your figure moving about in his peripheral vision, and he has to wrestle with the urge to sneak a glance at you.

something that he’s learned about you after becoming a frequent presence in your home is your newly developed habit of parading around your apartment in some of the smallest or most revealing tops he’s ever seen in his life—dainty bandeau–style tops that either cover the bare minimum or are adorned with a curtain of sheer fabric that baits him with flirtatious glimpses of your soft stomach as you move about; flimsy, little camisoles that seem more than fucking thrilled to show off the contour of your nipples and areolas; even tiny tops that appear to be nothing more than thin, delicate triangles of fabric bound together by a loose bow resting between your breasts that could be undone by a tug of his fingers.

you’re completely casual about it as well, shamelessly flaunting your new purchases and excitedly showing off to him as if the sight doesn’t leave his cock swelling with desire and straining against his jeans. he does his best to be a gentleman and prevent his eyes from lingering on your chest, only allowing them to briefly roam your figure when you ask for his opinion on the newest addition to your closet.

it seems as though every time he crosses the threshold into your apartment is a renewed clash between his wish to treat you with reverence and the flame of carnality you never fail to stoke, and it’s all he can do to remain respectful. you just make it so fucking difficult. how can he be expected to remain composed when you so brazenly seek his attention and have no problem cozying up to him dressed like that?

he recalls the first time he’d showed up to your place to find you clad in a loose–fitting, baby–blue tank top with a neckline that plunged so low that it was a miracle he didn’t catch a glimpse of your areolas. you had seemed perplexed when scarlet flooded his cheeks and he was rendered speechless, only to then grin when he awkwardly asked you if you were hot and wanted him to turn up the air conditioning. he was stunned when you dismissed his concerns with an airy wave of your hand and laughed that you didn’t think anything of it.

and truthfully, you didn’t.

it wasn’t that you were necessarily insecure about the size of your chest--at least, that's what you told yourself. you didn't like to think too hard about it. but what you could say for certain was that you didn’t believe it would ever be viewed as a catalyst for desire or as anything more than “cute” at best. the idea that men preferred large breasts had been hammered into your brain for as long as you can remember, but you had reached a point of utter exhaustion where you figured that the right person for you surely wouldn’t be deterred by something as trivial as that.

so, with that in mind, you decided to indulge the skimpier styles that your insecurities deprived you of, and you ended up wearing them around your apartment to grow accustomed to them. so what if you didn’t have the biggest tits on the block? the clothes were too cute to pass up. plus, you could get away without wearing a bra most of the time, so why not?

you definitely didn’t think that hiragi would think twice about it, either. in your eyes, he never expressed a particular interest in your breasts, so you figured that it would be alright to continue dressing however you wanted around him. surely he wouldn’t mind if you went without a bra or if your tops covered only the bare minimum, right?

wrong.

in fact, if it were up to hiragi, your chest and collarbones would be littered with hickeys. the only reason he’s refrained and kept his attention off your chest thus far is because he feared making you uncomfortable or frightening you off with his fervor. the way his large hand could completely engulf your breast alone was enough to cause saliva to pool on the cusp of his tongue, so he was less inclined to discover what would happen to his brain and you if he indulged himself. 

it frustrated him. you seemed so unabashed, so certain that you could do whatever you wanted and that it would be a cold day in hell before he ravaged you. after all, you knew that at the core of his magisterial and somewhat jagged exterior existed a heart of gold and an unwavering desire to protect those he cared about. he was a natural-born leader, a protector. but, in unearthing such passion and being granted glimpses into the softer parts of his soul, it often slipped your mind that the influence of his exterior was still very much present. you’re none the wiser to his desires to hold you accountable, to make you just as flustered as you’ve made him.

“hey,” hiragi hums in surprise when you appear beside him, neck craning to take a peek at the contents of the page he absent–mindedly flipped to. “what are you looking at?”

momentarily forgetting his internal debate, he turns his head to acknowledge you, only for his eyes to subconsciously flick downward at the sight of exposed skin in his peripheral vision. he had forgotten that about two hours ago, you’d caved beneath the summer humidity and stripped off your oversized tee, leaving your torso bare aside from what you’d eagerly explained to be a “bralette.”

according to you, it served the same purpose as a bra; it just looked nicer. this one in particular is fashioned out of transparent, baby–pink lace and embellished with delicate floral patterns, the fabric plunging into a softly curved v-shape that converges at the middle of your sternum. 

pretty.

he inhales sharply, ears flushing, when he notices that the petal designs adorning your chest do almost nothing to conceal you. despite the color of the material, your areolas are plainly visible, causing a zing to rocket up his spine. his grip on the book tightens until his knuckles blanch.

your brows furrow with concern when he doesn’t respond. “you okay?” you casually clasp your hands behind your back, consequently pushing your chest outward. he immediately tears his gaze away.

goddamnit. “uh, yeah. ‘m fine.” his tone is a bit more curt than he’d intended it to be. “just reading.”

“yeah?” you smile. “i never pegged you for a history guy, but i think the history of the blueberry muffin is pretty fascinating, too.”

“huh?” his eyes finally focus on the paragraph before him, and he winces when he realizes that he’s been “engrossed” in a story about sacks of flour and ripe blueberries being hoisted over mountains. “oh . . . yeah. pretty cool, huh?”

at first, he expects you to tease him for his perceived interest, but you’ve already reverted back to your worrisome expression and are now searching his face with troubled eyes. “you sure you’re alright? you look a little flushed. you might have a fever.”

“no, i—”

heat flares in his cheeks when you step closer—close enough for your chest to graze his bicep—and press the back of your hand to his forehead. “yeah, you feel a little warm.”

“i’m not sick!” he barks, succumbing to his vexation for a split second. you sharply withdraw your hand at the aggression sharpening his tone, and a thorn of guilt twists deep into his gut. he exhales deeply, raking his fingers through his soft, unstyled locks. “sorry,” he mutters. “it’s just . . . look, i don’t have a fever or anything, ‘kay? i didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”

“then, what’s up?” the softening of his voice emboldens you to gently place your hand on his back and rub small circles over the cotton material of his sweatshirt. “is something else bothering you?”

is something else bothering him? he blinks, incredulous, at the innocuous twinkle in your eye. do you really not know? how could you not think anything of walking around for the past hour donning sheer fabric that shows him everything? he can’t fathom you behaving so boldly without at least possessing some sort of awareness.

he raises a brow. “you bein’ serious?”

you stare, taken aback, and your hand slows to a halt. “huh? yeah, why wouldn’t i be?”

he can’t tell what has him further suspended in disbelief—the fact that you genuinely don’t understand or the fact that you have the gall to then proceed to adjust one of the straps on your bralette without breaking eye contact. his mind insists that you have to be fucking with him, but the earnest perplexity in your gaze argues otherwise. this makes zero sense to him. surely, you can’t believe that he should be indifferent to something like this. there’s no way. you should know better than that. he idly taps the fingertip of his index finger against the counter. but, if that’s not the case, then . . .

he needs to figure this out. “you, uh . . .” he’s reluctant, uncertain as to how to phrase his dilemma or how he’s even supposed to approach the issue to begin with. he offers a small nod toward your chest, but he keeps his eyes firmly planted on the space beside you. “it’s not necessarily botherin’ me, it’s just that your . . .” he mumbles. “is it s’posed to be see–through?”

“what?” you tilt your head slightly, only for your eyes to pop open in realization. “oh! you mean this?” you pinch the lace hem between your fingers. “it didn’t come with an extra layer, so i guess so. sorry. it’s supposed to go under clothes, but it’s just you here. plus, there’s not much of anything there, so whatever.”

a small, apologetic smile punctuates your final statement, but it hardly registers in his brain. rather, his brows are knit together in confusion, and he stares blankly as you nonchalantly shift your attention to something across the room. “huh? what’s that matter?”

“huh? what do you mean?” your eyes flicker back to his.

his lips part, but he remains silent, his jumbled thoughts tangling around his tongue as he processes your words. everything finally clicks into place, a wave of clarity sweeping away the stains of bewilderment obscuring his understanding of the situation. do you think . . ? certainly not. certainly, you aren’t insinuating that you anticipated indifference simply because of the size of your chest. that would be ridiculous.

but, he has to be positive.

after a beat of silence, he inhales deeply. “lemme ask you something,” he slides off the stool to stand before you. “what was goin’ through your mind an hour ago when you had the bright idea to strip?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slowly rolling back to acquire that extra inch that brings him to his full height. 

“uh . . .” your eyes widen a fraction of an inch at his close proximity. “i don’t know what you mean, toma. i was just too hot. i wasn’t really—”

“you were.” he insists. he removes a hand from his pocket to lightly tap a finger against your forehead. “don’t lie to me. you’ve always got something goin’ on up in that head of yours.”

“no, it really wasn’t anything important!” you insist. “i just—” you hesitate, a shadow of hesitation crossing your features. “i know that guys don’t think anything of small boobs, so i thought it would be fine! i thought you would just see it as like, y’know . . . just as whatever. that’s literally it. that’s all i was thinking!”

you’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“so,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “lemme get this straight. you think that just ‘cause you don’t have big tits means that i wouldn’t care about you prancin’ around wearin’ shit like that?”

you flinch, and he regrets not having selected his words more meticulously. but, before he can backpedal and correct his mistake, you avert your eyes and fold your arms petulantly over your chest. “well, if you say it like that . . .” you mumble, “then it sounds bad.”

“well, then you’re really not gonna like what i have to say next.” he crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “thinkin’ that guys don’t care about their girl walkin’ around half–naked is about as stupid as firing a gun straight up and expecting the bullet not to come back down. i dunno what kinda guys you’ve been talkin’ to, but something like . . . that doesn’t matter.”

“have you seen literally any piece of media or met any other man? it does—”

“no, it doesn’t,” he grunts. “look,” he sighs, shaking his head. “i’ll be honest. i wasn’t readin’ shit out of that book. i was only pretending so i didn’t keep starin’ at you and make you uncomfortable, ‘cause i thought you knew that any man with a shred of common sense would have a damn field day with you wandering around like that.” he kisses his teeth. “doesn’t matter if you’ve got the biggest tits in the world or the smallest. any guy that wouldn’t look twice at you when you’re this pretty and dressed like that has to be out of his damn mind, and i gotta say . . .” he allows his gaze to roam for a moment, catching the stutter of your chest as you listen to him speak, “i’m disappointed you think that low of me.”

this time, you don’t have a retort already rolling around in your brain. it’s as if his words have wiped it blank and scattered your thoughts, leaving you to stare at him in what can only be described as sheer wonder. for a moment, hiragi’s shoulders relax, believing that he’d managed to get through to you. but, almost as soon as he dares to exhale, the corners of your lips twitch upward, and your laughter splits the air.

“aw, toma,” his eyes round when they search yours and find nothing more than twinkling mirth and mischief. your arms unfold to swing playfully down to your sides. he stiffens, head retracting slightly when you lean in with a jocose grin.

you’re close—close enough for there to only be a hairsbreadth of an inch between your bodies. a shadow of molten lust seeps into his emerald irises, melting them down into muted, viridescent pools lit only by the smoldering flame flickering beneath the surface. but, you don’t seem to notice, head too stuffed with cotton and saccharine adoration to realize that your antics have landed you in the perfect position to be ensnared and swept off your feet before you can even think to smear that pleased grin off your face.  

it doesn’t matter if it’s your intention or not—you’re pushing him, testing the waters, steadily chipping away at his last fragments of discipline until they’re whittled down into tapered fangs poised to sink greedily into your soft body. but, he resolves to remain still, letting you handle him as you please. after all, he’s done all that he can. the consequences of whatever you decide to do with the information he revealed to you will fall entirely on your shoulders.

your hands raise to cradle his face between your palms, and you coo, “i have the sweetest boyfriend ever! always the gentleman.” when you release him and take a step back, he notices a glint of something almost wistful in your gaze. “but, you don’t have to say any of that. i’d rather you be truthful than try to make me feel better, and you really don’t have to! it doesn’t really bother me anymore. it just is what it is, y’know?” you shrug.

disbelief flares inside him as he lowers his arms back to his sides and stares at you, aghast. he can’t believe it. even after all of that, you’re still not taking him seriously. 

“you think i’m lying?”

“i have to admit,” you confess with a chuckle, “it made me happy to hear you say that. but,” your index finger lifts to tap against his chest, and the sparkle in your eye has returned, “i’ve heard it before. it’s the same, old story, but there’s never any follow–through.” you chuckle, but his features soften in surprise when he notices the slightly wry edge to it. “see, half the time the guys saying it are just hoping that girls will be insecure or ‘appreciative’ enough to fuck them just because they’re ‘different’ and ‘not shallow,’ or whatever.” suddenly, your eyes widen, and you rush to correct yourself. “oh! but that’s not to say i think that’s what you’re doing. i know you’re not like that. but, like, for example, up until literally today, you’ve never really expressed any sort of interest in that part of me, and it’s okay, toma. seriously. i’m not expecting you to or anything, so you don’t have to feel bad.”

it’s right then and there that it truly dawns on hiragi that this isn’t about you toying with his restraint or playing dumb. rather, this is about a misconception that’s so deeply rooted in your psyche that you believe it to be the truth. he had a difficult time wrestling with the idea, but now . . . a dull ache of culpability bleeds throughout his chest as he realizes that in the end, it doesn’t even matter why he kept himself reserved. what matters is that he did, and now he doesn’t even have a leg to stand on in convincing you, because all you know are his actions—or, he supposes, his lack of action.

“shit,” his voice is so quiet that it’s intelligible, and his eyes flutter shut in resignation. all at once, every ounce of the tumult and guilt churning in the pit of his stomach roils into a surge of agitation. had he known what to say to dismantle your misconceptions, had he taken the initiative to demonstrate his feelings, had he been more attentive or perhaps more in–tune with you as your boyfriend—then maybe neither of you would even be here, the helpless frustration simmering in his gaze reflecting off the jumble of unreadable emotions in your own, standing on opposite sides of the same spectrum with zero intention of budging on your views despite there being only a fraction of an inch of space between your bodies.

but, you are. 

he loathes the feeling of being powerless in the face of turmoil—of being unable to fully comprehend or relate to the depth of your issues and thus being left to scramble for a solution unattainable by his own wisdom or the hardened fists he’d relied upon for years. he doesn’t know what to do, and it’s both disheartening and vexing.

this is nothing like when he’d mentored his underclassman or tried to boost morale among disheartened gang members in the past. he’s never been quite skilled at appealing to women or handling their emotions, either his intimidating physical appearance or his rough and occasionally crude manner of speaking tending to spark more anxiety than comfort. the rational part of his brain reasons that a more delicate, gentle approach would be suitable for handling your insecurities. but when all he’s left with is dogged determination, internalized frustration that he hasn’t yet found an outlet for, and a particularly agitating throb of desire that’s been wreaking havoc on his self–control for the better part of a week, he finds that his composure is wearing thin.

“hey,” he’s snapped back into focus at the feeling of your ticklish fingertips sliding over his hands, coaxing open the fists he didn’t realize he’d balled them into. “either way, i appreciated it.” he expels a deep, drawn–out breath at your reassurance. perhaps it’s due to the heavy sense of responsibility that’d been drilled into him during his time in furin, but he can’t bring himself to accept your words. he should have done more. he should be able to do more. he’s mowed down countless opponents in the past and garnered respect from even more, yet he can’t manage to do his job as your boyfriend?

that can’t be true.

when he doesn’t reply, you toss your arms around his waist in a loose embrace. “c’mon, quit sulking,” you tease. “if you keep frowning like that, you’ll have wrinkles in three years.”

“i’m not sulking,” he gripes, but the way he folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter tells you otherwise.

“you are.” you retort playfully. you’re intent on closing the distance, and hiragi can’t help the rosy blush that blooms along his cheeks when you push your chest up against his forearm in the process. you’re quick to notice, and a devilish smile crosses your lips. “oh, don’t tell me. what, is my voluptuous bust bothering you? is it distracting?” you snort, suggestively raising your brows. but hiragi doesn’t find your taunting amusing.  

“what’s the matter? why are you so quiet?” hiragi’s jaw ticks, the mirthful twinkle in your eye exacerbating the heat welling under his skin. “you’re pretty red—oh, was i right all along and you do have a fever?” 

“you’re pushin’ it.” he grunts.

“i’m not doing anything.” you protest, but you both know that you’re full of shit. “i can’t be worried about my boyfriend’s health?”

a vein pulses in his temple.

ignoring the murkiness seeping into his gaze, you lift your hand with an ostentatious flourish and make a show of placing your palm flat over his forehead, melding your body flush against his. “just as i thought. not only are you flushed, but you’re pretty warm, too. say,” you release him and step back, planting your hands on your hips in feigned contemplation, “it’s still kinda hot in here, isn’t it?

“no.”

“mm, i think it is,” you grin. “at least, i’m a bit warm.” you reach out and tug on the hem of his sweatshirt. “maybe you should take this off.” your eyes light up with a new idea, and he feels his jaw slacken, world slowing to a crawl, when you hook your fingers beneath the band of your bralette with a wicked glint in your eye. “or, maybe, i should take this off—”

all at once, the maelstrom swelling in his chest detonates, splattering his muscles and veins with a white-hot smattering of frustration that licks over every fiber and striation until he can practically feel the steam emanating from his skin. your laughter cuts off into a surprised gasp when his large hands clamp down on your hips, calloused fingertips dimpling the soft flesh just above your waistband as he hoists you up and slams you down onto the counter as if you were nothing more than a glass paperweight. 

he scoffs when you have the audacity to look shocked from your place seated atop the marble surface, pretty eyes wide with surprise and hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders for balance—or maybe it’s to keep him at bay, he isn’t certain. “toma . . ?” to his satisfaction, your voice is now hushed, stripped of every salacious undertone and taunting lilt that had been driving him up the fucking wall.

your eyes nervously flicker down to his hands when they brace themselves on the edge of the counter on either side of you, sinewy arms bracketing you in and barricading every quick escape route. you wither under the dark intensity of his gaze, and when he speaks, his low, gravelly tone borders on a growl. “so, you still think i’m lyin’, huh? 

you flinch as he renews the topic that you’d been adamant on dismissing. your lips form words, but your voice is still wedged in your throat as your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere and the fact that you were literally swept off your feet.

pride sears his chest as he realizes that he has you exactly as he needs you—subdued and finally ready to fucking listen. all you needed was a little jolt back to reality, it seems. it is a shame, really, how you’ve forced his hand. maybe if you had teased him just a little bit less . . . or maybe if you’d refrained from pulling that very last stunt, he’d have been ready to demonstrate his gratitude to you for dialing it back. unfortunately, now he’s wound too tightly to let you off the hook without returning the favor.

he chuckles dryly. “what’s the matter? why’re ya so quiet? had the biggest mouth just a second ago.”

indignation sparks in your eyes as he shamelessly throws your words back in your face, but such tiny scintillas aren’t enough to sustain the steadiness of your voice as you mumble, “i don’t . . . i don’t know what you want me to say.” your fingers curl into his sweatshirt, drawing the loose material into your fists.

he scoffs. “‘course not. that brain of yours always stops workin’ right about now, doesn’t it?”

“hey!” you object. “i’m not—”

but, he’s reached his limit, and he doesn’t intend to let you hold the reins anymore. you will hear him, even if he has to pluck at a couple of your strings to make you.

you owe him that much.

“you think you’re real cute, huh?” he cuts you off, the sunlight glinting off the sharp points of his pearly white teeth a drastic contrast to the shadow of bated need swallowing up his irises. “tell me. you been havin’ fun runnin’ around and hangin’ all over me with your tits on display? bein’ a damn tease? almost makin’ me pop a blood vessel tryin’ to keep my eyes up? all ‘cause you thought i wouldn’t care?”

a wave of something unreadable floods your gaze, and you wince. “wait . . . you were being serious?” you pipe up timidly.

“deadly.”

reluctance tinges your features, and he can practically see your internal divide as you drift between the past and the present—between the words of some asshole and the unfiltered, undeniable need flaring in hiragi’s gaze. “i didn’t know you were actually . . .” your voice trails off. “but why? it’s like every guy—”

“doesn’t matter.” he leans forward until his face is level with yours, and the conflict swirling behind your eyes is clearer than ever. “this isn’t about anyone except for you and me.” his voice is a low rumble. “no one else.” you don’t answer. instead, you break eye contact with a slight downward tilt of your head, cheeks warm with embarrassment. his palm moves to cradle your jaw, blunt fingernails sinking harmlessly into your cheeks as he angles your head up and redirects your line of sight back to him. “you understand?” his voice is firm yet not unkind, bearing an edge just rough enough to get his point across.

 his grip yields under the tiny nod you return. “i understand,” your response is timid, but there’s a tiny seed of a newfound acceptance beginning to take root in your eyes that makes his stomach flip.

in one smooth movement, he releases your face and slips his fingers beneath the dainty straps of your bralette, sliding them off your shoulders and down your arms. your petulant, mild whine of “hey!” is kicked to the backburner as he hooks his fingertips over the band at the center of your chest and yanks the fabric down to expose you entirely.

you yelp in surprise and snatch your hands away from him, but he hardly notices. his mouth waters as his eyes brazenly roam the expanse of your chest. “christ, look at you.” he mutters, occupying his tongue with skimming over the tips of his teeth to ward off the urge to pop one of your nipples in his mouth and abuse it until it’s swollen and shiny with saliva—exactly like he’s been dreaming about. “fuckin’ perfect.”

embarrassment is scrawled across your features at his crude language and the sudden barrage of attention as you sit, stone–still and rigid with uncertainty. your skin is hot to the touch, and hiragi watches in displeasure as your shoulders bow forward ever–so slightly, as if curling into yourself to evade his view. it becomes clear to him that your brain is still suspended in limbo as you try to comprehend his behavior. it’s almost amusing. for as much as you were running your mouth before, now you can’t bring yourself to raise your eyes any higher than the silver chain peeking just above the collar of his hoodie, and your arms instinctively snake across your chest to conceal your breasts.

“don’t.”

the stern authority in his voice splinters the tension between you, and you immediately freeze in place, eyes shooting up to his. there’s a moment of heavy silence that stretches between you, suffocating and cumbersome as it drapes itself over hiragi’s shoulders. it’s a moment of waiting—waiting for you to cleave through his control with a single word, waiting for you to push him away and establish boundaries, waiting for any sign of rejection that would cause him to withdraw entirely and give you room to breathe. 

but, you refrain.

it’s slow, akin to a flower’s petals unfurling under the kiss of sunlight. but he can see it in the ebb of the guarded furrow of your brows and the shift of your expression into something more open and trusting; the measured bloom of need that’s beginning to emerge from beneath the gossamer sheen of embarrassment and inhibition veiling your eyes; the gradual relaxation of your muscles until your hands fall acquiescently into your lap and your tense shoulders decompress—you’re making the step toward relinquishing yourself to him, trusting him.

the sight provides the assurance he needs, and just like that, the dynamic resumes.

“spent all damn week showin’ off. don’t know what you’re gettin’ shy for now.” he mutters, and you frown at his words.

“no—” you gasp softly when he dips his head down to plant a heated kiss on your shoulder, “wasn’t showing off. you’re just being mean.” 

he can see the goosebumps scatter across your chest when he huffs a low laugh, warm breath caressing your collarbone. “me? if anyone was bein’ mean, it was you. you know how difficult you were makin’ it to keep my hands off ya?”

“how was i supposed to know?” you whine, squirming under the ticklish sensation. “you never . . . i thought . . .”

“i know i didn’t, and ‘m sorry. i should’ve.” he can hear the hitch in your breathing at his murmured confession. “just didn’t wanna scare ya off.” he retracts his head to meet your eyes and places a warm hand on your thigh in an attempt to reassure you. but when he feels the prickle of goosebumps beneath his palm and spots the heated dilation of your pupils as you observe him, he chuckles. “although, it looks like i never had anything to worry about to begin with.”

“of course not.” you mumble shyly. “just tell me next time.”

“deal.” he cracks a lopsided, wolfish grin. “so, you gonna give me the chance to make up for it?”

your eyes round, flustered at the implication of his offer. it’s one final chance for you to back out—for you to successfully extinguish the lecherous flame stirring within him, because he’s not sure how well he’ll be able to wrangle himself back in once you finally let him have his way with you. instead, your head bobs forward in a quick, little nod, and you confess sheepishly, “i would like that.”

his heart thuds in his chest at your permissive words, and god, he hopes that you know what floodgates you’ve opened. . .

you squeal when his head dips low without warning, fingertips rough with greed as they eagerly pinch and grope at your supple nipples, sharp teeth already grazing over your skin in search of the best place to leave the first mark of many. it happens so abruptly that you choke on the gasp that’s punched from your chest, body trembling beneath the blitz of stimulation.

. . . because he’s certain that by the time he’s satisfied, weeks from now, long after the marks of tonight have vanished, merely catching a glimpse of your bare skin in the mirror will be enough to remind you exactly how he feels about you.

THIS

  — ★ FIVE STAGES OF LOVE

☆ — “IT SEEMS THE HOSHINA CLAN WILL WELCOME THEIR NEW MADAM VERY SOON.”

featuring: Yandere!Hoshina Soshiro x f!reader

synopsis: You weren’t supposed to find out... but you did, and Hoshina Soshiro had no choice. Surely you’ll understand, right?

contents: female reader, reader is an officer in the third division, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, suggestive at the end, hoshina soshiro is a scary yandere, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like kaiju number twelve

word count: 1,8k

“Vice Captain, can you stop being so kind to me?”

Stunned, Soshiro looks up to find you standing nervously. He eyes the training field— everyone is either chatting amongst themselves or walking back to get dinner. His gaze shifts back to your trembling figure.

You probably said those words as a joke. But what if you really took notice of his affection towards you? Soshiro tries to keep his expression calm although his stomach is slowly starting to turn, He tried so hard not to let them show.

“I mean no disrespect, it’s just that... I fear I’m going to get the wrong idea.”

Your shy expression makes his head spin. “Yer’ not wrong,” Soshiro probes your reaction, standing up to gently scoop your hands when you blush. “I like ya’ a lot.”

He’s unsure how you will react. For a split second, the only thing he can hear is the own thundering of his heart. Then, you gasp and look up at him with eyes wide open, also catching him off guard.

“R-really?! Me too! I like you... too...” After bursting out those words, your cheeks turn red and your head drops to the ground.

No longer trusting his mouth to say the right words, Soshiro lets his body to do the talking, moving forward to pull you into an embrace. You giggle, and at that moment he knows—

There’s no way in hell he’s ever letting you go, so help him God.

STAGE I: INFATUATION

Soshiro is a hardworking man.

Born into a distinguished clan that left him with a legacy many claim as outdated and archaic, Soshiro has never stopped running. Everyone thought he couldn’t do it, so he proved them wrong. He surpassed Japan’s so-called ‘strongest anti-kaiju combatant’ and everyone has no choice but to acknowledge his abilities, granting him honor, wealth, and the position of Vice Captain of the Third Division.

In his division alone, Soshiro has seen many talented officers, but not many people can rival him in endurance. So when you enter his line of vision, he grows curious. You’ve always been working harder than the others, training for a bit longer, so eager to do your job well.

Soshiro admires your dedication, drunk on the way you hang on his every command while you study his movements with those beautiful eyes. Soon, he can’t help but to search for your face in every crowd, half hoping you’d notice him staring.

He knows he’s falling. It’s not a bad thing, he thinks, to fall for someone who shines as bright as the sun.

Unfortunately, he’s not the only one struck by your charm. He’s aware of the stares you get from male officers, their pathetic excuses to start conversation with you, how your name always pops up in their gossip. He took care of the impudent ones.

Slowly, carefully, he handpicks the people in your platoon, making sure to surround you with polite, respectful officers, mostly other ladies— because why would you ever need other men when you have him?

STAGE II: INTENSIFICATION

Soshiro is a wonderful boyfriend. It’s no secret that he’s a reliable vice captain, beloved by his division, but somehow he’s even more attentive with you.

When Kafka accidentally injured you during training, Soshiro immediately drops everything to rush towards you, making sure you’re okay—and you are, just a few bruises and a gash—before lifting you up and carrying you to the infirmary, dressing your wound himself.

Kafka returns late that night, telling you that he received punishment for the small incident with you earlier. You’re a bit worried for him but he waves it off, laughing as he limps to his quarters.

You sigh, Soshiro can be such a worrywart.

Then a new recruit enters. Quickly, he’s enamored by you. Pretty senior, he’d always call you. Everyone mocks him and tells him there’s no way he can compete with your lover who just so happens to be their division’s vice captain, but he just laughs and tells them it’s a platonic kind of love.

He’s a good friend; it’s flattering to have a younger brother who always sticks so close to you, showering you with praises. Of course, you kept your distance. You don’t want to give the sweet man false hopes and you’re too in love with Soshiro to ever look at someone else.

You never noticed the weight of Soshiro’s gaze as it falls on the two of you.

STAGE III: OBSESSION

Your world crashed down when Reno breaks the news to you— a death in the third division. You knew what you were signing up for when you entered the force, but nothing could prepare you for the loss of a good friend.

Your platoon surrounds you, patting you on the back as you mutely stare at him on the hospital bed— the pale lips that would call you pretty senior no more.

After you return to the base, Soshiro quickly finds you. He takes you into his arms as you cry in his embrace.

“How did this happen?” You gasp in between sobs, “How..?”

The new recruits weren’t supposed to be in the area he was found in. It was supposed to be closed off, only for the more-skilled officers to enter because it was swarming with kaiju. Not a single person in the platoon knows how the heck he got himself there, with no one to accompany him.

Soshiro rubs your back comfortingly, humming. “’s an unfortunate accident. A miscommunication, perhaps? He heard the area code wrong and-”

“But that’s impossible!” You sob harder, resting your head against Soshiro’s chest in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Someone suspects he got a private comm from someone to go to that area, it’s just so weird...”

“Well,” Soshiro sighs, “it is a battlefield after all. Accidents are bound to happen. You hafta’ know that as unfortunate as it is, things can quickly get out of control.”

Your blood runs cold at his distant tone. Hiccups paused, you slowly look up at him.

Soshiro tilts his head, then he smiles. Dazzlingly.

You pretend your knees do not tremble— because no matter how hard Soshiro tries to act dumb, you know he’s always the one in control.

STAGE IV: DESTRUCTION

Soshiro knows he doesn’t love in halves— it isn’t in his nature.

He does things earnestly, polishing all of his talents until they gleam and sparkle. He knows what he likes and what he dislikes— there’s no grey area when it comes to his feelings.

Soshiro loves you in extremes, but there’s a catch to that. His love is great, but his jealousy is even greater— it writhes like a great serpent, eager to be lashed out. He tries to hide his ugly sides from you, but everything always spirals out of control and he ends up with more blood on his hands.

It’s your fault— why did you have to be so perfect?

Soshiro wants to hide you away from the rest of the world, but he has his darned duties and responsibilities. Only in the darkness of your room can he fully show you how much he loves you, ravishing you until his name is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. It becomes a routine. But it’s not nearly enough.

Even now, as you caress his hair, sweat still glistening on your forehead, Soshiro still misses you. He wishes he can press himself closer to you, to feel you more, to become one with you.

“Soshiro, can I ask you something?”

You retract your hands from his hair and Soshiro fights the urge to sigh in disappointment. He gazes at you but you don’t meet his eyes, so he settles on kissing your forehead.

“Anythin.”

“Did you have something to do with Izumo’s recent transfer?”

His eyes narrowed. Well, duh. Of course he did.

The transfer was him being kind. If he had it his way, he would raze the Izumo Family to the ground along with their darned greenhead scion who dares to look at his girlfriend with lovesick eyes.

“I approved the request, yes.”

He dances along the edges of the truth, but you are having none of it.

“No, Soshiro. Tell me the truth.”

The defiance in your eyes awoke a fire in him.

“What do you want me to say, darlin’?” Soshiro challenges you, his voice soft but spiked with venom.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair. “I want the truth, Soshiro.”

Your lover merely smiles at you. Innocent, taunting, daring you to find fault within him. Soshiro knows he’s a very careful man, he hides his true nature well— but you were no fool.

“Forget it. Let’s take a break.” You give in, rolling on your back to distance yourself from the violet-haired man. It breaks your heart to say it, but you were starting to feel suffocated with all his secrets.

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Soshiro—your gentle, loving Soshiro—grips your arm hard and gazes at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

STAGE V: R̵̪̾Ȅ̷̥̟̠͚̀͑͊̋͛̈́̓S̸͎̺̺̍̃̌̇̌̈́͘O̴̧̮͍͉̻͛͌̔ͅL̵̪̖̬̖̘̬͇̄̾́́̄Ù̶̻͙̏͆̋̉̉͝T̴̹̹̤̣͇̙̬͕̉̀͑̿͛̇͘I̵̻̥̫̜͖̲̓̍̐̑͗͊O̷̢̩̮͍͉̍͒͛̇̑̓̾̚Ṅ̸̡̢̻͉͂̋͑̔̓

“A break?” Soshiro’s voice trembles with anger. In one swift motion, he’s on top of you, pinning your hands above your head. “Yer kiddin’, right? And if I say I had somethin’ to do with it? What then?”

You look in horror as Soshiro’s expression changes several times in the span of a few minutes. He’s losing it, you can tell, and it’s all because you pushed him.

“I just hate it when a buncha’ nobodies stare at what’s mine. I tried to be patient, I really did,” he shakes his head mournfully, “but they never learn.”

“And what? You transferred them? Fired them? K-” the word kill lodges itself on your throat as your eyes burn with tears.

Soshiro stares at you blankly. “’m just lookin’ after what’s mine. Yer’ gonna leave me for that? Hardly seems fair.” his one-hand grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen even after a few tears escape your eyes.

Suddenly he pauses, like he’s recalling an important information. There’s something in his gaze when he looks down at you— something feral.

“Y’know,” Soshiro muses, “the seat of the next clan head is promised to whoever gets married first between my brother and I.” He runs his free hand down your body, stopping to gently rub circles on your lower stomach.

“I never really cared much about that crap, but I can’t have ya’ running away from me,” the hand that is previously rubbing your stomach now moves down to spread your thighs apart. “if I get you pregnant with my child, there’s no way yer’ gonna leave me, right?”

He words it like a threat, yet it makes you shiver in anticipation. You want to push him away, but every fibre of your body is screaming for him to continue— perhaps you’ve also fallen into the depravity of his love.

He slips a hand inside your underwear and you relinquish control, letting the pleasure cloud your brain. Your mewls only fuels Soshiro’s fire, his own breaths getting heavy as he trails soft kisses down your neck.

“No objections? Good,” Soshiro leans back and chuckles at the sight of you, so pliant under his touch, “then it seems the Hoshina clan will welcome their new madam very soon.”

art by suou2280 on twitter

taglist: @bgyuus, @plsmarrymehioriyo, @o-sachi, @iamjellyfish, @vashyuu, @moon-cakiie, @17020, @eeiternity, @ryescapades, @vash-yuu

end notes: if narumi is a lovesick fool who embodies the original meaning of ‘yandere’ to the tee, then hoshina is the stereotypical, scary, controlling yandere that makes you shat your pants. hoshina girlies i hope i did him justice!! i’m gonna go to sleep now goodbye snork mimimimimiimimi

WHY IS THERE NO DANDADAN FICS 😭😭😭😭