QUESTIONS IVE NEVER ASKED MY BOYFRIEND [series]

QUESTIONS I’VE NEVER ASKED MY BOYFRIEND [series]

JUJUTSU KAISEN X FEM! READER 

- in which the reader asks a series of question to her boyfriend that she haven’t asked before.

EPISODE ONE - RYOMEN SUKUNA

1017 words — november 13, 2022

EPISODE TWO - CHOSO KAMO

1066 words — november 15, 2022

EPISODE THREE - SATORU GOJO 

944 words — november 26, 2022

EPISODE FOUR - TOJI FUSHIGURO 

— 914 words — november 30, 2022

Rin „I can’t sleep unless my girls tits are smushed tightly around my face. Having her soft mounds engulfing my head is a must for me to fall asleep comfortably and it also becomes second nature to just burry my face between her tits. Nuzzling my nose as deep as possible so smell her scent while having a comfortable weight around my head calms me down in every situation. It helps me cope so good that I hide my face inbetween my girlfriends breasts whenever I feel overwhelmed with feelings and emotions I can’t handle on my own. If it’s particular harsh for me, munching on the soft skin and a nipple are the only things that can put me to rest while she milks my cock for all its worth; this might even be the best way possible to end my day. So at the end of it, I love being overstimulated and have to think of nothing while I lay on those soft tits as my girl fucks me dumb with her hand alone,, choking on my drool and letting it smother all over her chest. If I suckle her buds in my mouth, it puts me in a very deep slumber only she can wake me up from. Tits are really my safespace.“ Itoshi

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— LET ME LET YOU GO | toji x fem!reader -> synopsis: love is found in the last place you'd think to look, but it is truly meant for you?

-> cw: NSFW, MDNI 18+, angst and hurt/comfortj, character death, blood, alcohol, food, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, breast play, size kink, vaginal sex, a little bit of manhandling, love-making, vague references to canon

-> wc: 14.6k (i know 💀)

-> a/n: after much back and forth and scrapping the two route plan, i'm reposting this fic with just the first route because frankly, i lost interest in the second one. this was my submission for @strawberrystepmom's dilf collab that got way too out of hand. happy reading!! inspired by this song

Our story begins the way it ends. 

Atop a worn, faded stool in a dingy, grimy bar. Your hands steer clear of the slightly sticky counter, knit together in your lap instead. A thick fog of cigarette smoke hangs in the air, pungent and clogging your throat with every breath you take. 

To be perfectly honest, you’re not even sure why you’re here. You don’t like bars. You certainly don’t enjoy drinking either, and you most definitely can’t stand the film of dirt that clings to every surface around you. But there is nowhere else to go where he won’t be able to find you. 

People would call you an idiot for breaking it off, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he was so suffocating. And even though the air is polluted here, it feels like this is the first breath of fresh air you’ve taken in two years. Your lungs feel looser and your throat is free of the lumps that once invaded it near constantly. 

Because yes, whilst he was a man with great power nestled in the palm of his hand, with that came an insatiable need for control. How you presented yourself, how you took care of yourself, the company you kept, was all monitored obsessively by him until you reached the end of your tether but a few hours ago. Not even bothering to pack the bare essentials whilst he was at work, you crept out of his penthouse and headed for the most rundown part of town, knowing he wouldn’t dare step foot there. 

“Are ya gonna drink anything or just sit there?” the bartender grunts, slinging a soiled, damp rag over his shoulder. 

“Oh, um, just water.”

“Just water,” he grumbles under his breath, grabbing a cloudy glass and popping it under the running tap. “Y’know we don’t really get your sort around here.”

“My sort?” you ask.

He grunts again, sliding your drink over to you. “Rich. Best be careful darlin’, ya stick out like a sore thumb.”

The balding man is right. You’re painfully out of place here, still wearing one of the designer dresses that he bought you since he’d slowly replaced your entire wardrobe with clothing of his choice. But you would rather be out of place than shackled to a man who saw you only as an accessory.

“I’m not rich,” you mumble, taking a sip from your glass. 

“Yeah, well, ya look it to me. And probably to every other bastard in here. I’d get home now if I were you.”

Sighing heavily, you trace the rim of your glass with a fingertip, still freshly manicured in french tips, just the way he wanted them. “I don’t have a home.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he shrugs, moving away to serve another customer.

“He’s right, y'know. It’s not safe ‘round here for a girl like you,” says another gruff voice to your right. “Go home.” 

The voice belongs to a man, likely in his late twenties or early thirties. His thick fingers are wrapped around a bottle of beer, dwarfing it in comparison. He raises it to his scarred lips, fixing you with a green-eyed stare. 

“I don’t have a home,” you repeat. “That’s why I’m here.”

Quirking a dark brow, he hums curiously. “So ya came lookin’ to get killed or robbed, is that it?”

“No,” you say uneasily, shifting your gaze around the bar. It’s not exactly busy, but there are a few tables with scary looking people sitting at them, and you wonder if you made a mistake in coming here. “Just that no one will be able to find me here. That’s all.”

“And that’s a good thing?” 

“In this case, yes.” Eyeing him warily, you shuffle your seat to the left a little. “I don’t suppose you’re one of these people who’ll kill or rob me?” 

A wolfish grin tugs his lips up, green eyes glowing dimly under pallid fluorescent lights like murky emeralds. “I could be, sweetheart.”

Swallowing thickly, you nod, reaching a shaky hand towards your water and taking a steadying sip. His gaze burns into the side of your head, urging you to meet it despite the fear scratching at your stomach. 

“T-that’s not a definitive answer,” you say bravely, pushing your shoulders back a little and raising your chin to challenge his gaze. His brow bounces up again, disappearing into the mess of dark hair that flops over his forehead. 

“Guess not,” he chuckles, draining his bottle in one swallow. “So, why don’t you have anywhere else to go? Pretty thing like you should have a boyfriend, right?”

The casual compliment makes your cheeks prick with warmth, but you know there’s no sentiment behind it. “I used to. I broke up with him earlier.”

He makes a noise of understanding, gesturing to the bartender for another drink. “How come?” 

“We had… conflicting values,” you say carefully. His face scrunches up in confusion though it looks a little more like disgust with the way his scarred lip curls into a grimace.

“The fuck does that mean?” he asks bluntly and you flinch. Sipping delicately from your glass, you tap a nail against the side of it, the soft clinking noise distracting you from the sudden burn behind your eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumble bitterly. “It’s over now, anyway, there’s no point in picking it all apart. He didn’t love me. That’s all there is to it.”

“Well, good on ya fer dropping his ass,” he says gruffly, sipping from his new drink. Something shiny glints on his hand that rests on the bar, specifically on his ring finger. A silver wedding band. 

“And why are you here?” The words are out before you can stop them and you nod towards his left hand. “It’s late. Your wife will be worried about you.”

A sad smile flits across his scarred lips as he regards the ring on his finger, running his thumb over it with an unexpected tenderness. The greens in his eyes shine as he disappears from the bar for a moment, losing himself briefly to some place you know nothing of.

“She would be, if she were here,” he says finally, taking another large swig of beer. There’s a certain resignedness to his tone as he speaks, which alludes to the weight behind his statement. You can take a good guess and leave it at that, but curiosity wins out again.

“Where is she?”

“Didn’t anyone teach ya ta keep yer nose outta other people’s business? Thought you rich people had manners.” 

You scoff at that. “I’m not rich.”

“Ya sure look it. Sound like it, too.”

Rage suddenly seeps into your veins at his comment. You wouldn’t have to look or sound like this if he hadn’t drilled it into you. His sly comments and suggestions about your mannerisms were near constant, making subtle digs about how you spoke or what his parents would think about the way you dressed, accompanied by his favourite ‘don’t forget, people are watching’. Slowly, carefully, he managed to transform you into a person you barely even recognised when you looked into the mirror, so far removed from who you used to be.

All this time, you knew what he was doing, saw it clear as day that he was moulding you into the perfect little accessory for him to dangle from his arm. Part of you hoped he would stop at some point. If you tried hard enough to be what he wanted, maybe he would stop picking out your flaws with a fine toothed comb and go back to loving you the way he had right at the start, when you’d first met.

Unfortunately, even those first few months had been built on lies, as you learned a couple of nights ago. The truth was that your relationship began as an act of rebellion against his father, and nothing more. Choosing a partner that was ‘beneath him’ was supposed to get a rise out of him, but he had failed miserably - his father didn’t even acknowledge your existence. It had been his mother’s nagging that pushed him to flip the script to try and change you into something he could show off instead. She proclaimed that there was ‘something salvageable there’ and it was possible that you could be pinched and prodded into a pretty little thing worthy of her selfish son.

Though you were naive, your discovery of his true callousness - courtesy of his father’s warped genetics - gave you the push you needed to leave. Maybe he would come to his senses and follow you, maybe he would follow you anyway since you belonged to him or some other fucked up reason. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t even notice that you were gone. The thought made your heart ache and sing in the same beat.

“I’m nothing like them,” you spit. “I never will be.”

“Just callin’ it like I see it.”

Your lips curls in annoyance but you don’t offer a retort - he’s right after all. Silence falls between the two of you, both lost in thought. The faint sound of conversation and glasses hitting wood offers a backdrop to your musings, until they’re interrupted by his voice.

“I didn’t catch yer name,” he says, pushing his empty bottle away.

“Y/n.” He grunts in acknowledgement.

“Toji.” Standing from his seat, he moves over to where you sit, leaning casually against the bar. Up close, he smells smoky and warm in a way that tickles your nose, with the twang of alcohol sitting on his breath when he speaks. “Come with me.”

“Excuse me?” Toji leans closer and lowers his already rumbling voice.

“Four men have been watching you in this place already. Yer like a fresh piece of meat to ‘em. If ya know what’s good fer ya, and you value yer own safety, then get up and come with me.”

“How do you know?” you ask stubbornly even though you hop out of your seat, anxiety beginning to crawl under your skin.

“Because I’m a man and I know how they think.”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me too?” Toji groans, placing a large hand on the small of your back and shepherding you out the door and into the chilly night air.

“If I was gonna hurt ya, I woulda done it by now, don’tcha think?”

“Maybe you’re biding your time,” you sniff, shrugging off his very warm hand and creating another foot of space between you. “I don’t know you after all. Why would you help a random girl? Out of the goodness of your own heart?” The words are mocking, and it sparks something in him.

“Y’know what, you’re right. Why should I help ya? Maybe I should just fuckin’ leave ya here,” he grumbles, before adding more quietly. “Ungrateful snob.”

“Why don’t you?” He falls quiet as you walk, as though he is contemplating the answer he should give you. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, his head tilts back and he stares intently at the endless, starless sky, like he’s searching for something tucked away behind the clouds.

“Not sure,” he hums. “Maybe I just didn’t wanna see a naive girl get hurt. There’s too much evil in this world as it is.”

“Aren’t you a saint,” you huff, gripping the strap of your handbag more tightly. He chuckles at that and the sound is deep and rough like the crags of a mountain. His lips curve up in amusement, revealing a flash of teeth and it makes him look younger, you think. More handsome. More dangerous.

“Far from it, sweetheart.” 

The echoes of your footsteps fill the still, quiet air as you continue to walk. What exactly you’re walking towards remains to be seen, so you slow to a stop and turn to him. “Wait. Where are you even taking me?”

“You’ve got nowhere to go, right?” You nod. “Broke too, I’m guessin’?” Another nod and he heaves a sigh of resignation. “My place it is.”

“Wait,” you say again. This time, he lets out a long groan of annoyance. “Just like that?”

“Just like what?”

“You’re just gonna… Take me in?” Toji admits that it is strange for him to even speak to a stranger like this, let alone offer her a place to stay. He can’t quite put his finger on why, but he feels a sort of kinship with you.

“Yeah?”

“Oh.” Brow furrowing in confusion, you continue to walk again only to stop after a couple of steps. Toji turns when the sound of your footsteps cease, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“What now?”

“I… I’m hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach gurgles, having been empty since morning. Toji runs his tongue over his teeth in thought and huffs, grasping your wrist lightly and hauling you after him. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“The ramen place around the corner closes in twenty minutes. Hurry your ass up or you can stay hungry.”

“Such a brute,” you scoff under your breath, but you acquiesce and stop resisting, trying to fall into step with his long strides as he loosens his grip on you slightly. There’s a soft glow of warm light when you turn the corner at the bottom of the street, and your stomach growls loudly at the thought of a hot bowl of ramen to fill you. The closer you get, the brighter the light grows, coupled with the scent of food which wraps around you and hugs your senses. 

Toji pushes his way inside and nods at the singular man behind the counter, holding up two fingers as he takes a seat at a small table. The man gets to work putting together your extremely late dinner, ladling steaming hot broth into bowls over cooked noodles and topping them with halves of jammy eggs, slices of meat, sheets of nori and spring onions. Your mouth waters as he places the bowl before you and hands you a pair of chopsticks, thanking him quickly before you dive in.

Your companion raises an eyebrow as you practically inhale your food, eating with the sort of gusto you would be excommunicated for in the upper echelons of the city. There’s a happy smile on your face as you eat, completely at odds with your expression from earlier, even as a drop of broth runs down your chin. Absently, he reaches out a thumb and swipes away the liquid. You breath hitches when his skin suddenly brushes over yours, his touch oddly gentle and light. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, swallowing down another mouthful. “Got a bit carried away.”

“’s fine. Ya look like ya don’t get to eat much.” Shrugging, you set your chopsticks down for a moment to take a sip of water.

“He never let me eat what I wanted.”

“Really?”  Nodding, you set down your glass.

“He had special menus prepared each day when I lived with him and I had to eat whatever was given to me. If we went out, he’d order for me and so on.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Toji grumbles. “Who does shit like that?”

You shrug and continue to eat. Toji eyes you carefully for a moment before he follows suit and starts on his own bowl. Once you’re both done, he drops some cash on the counter and leads you out and in the opposite direction. It doesn’t take long for you to reach an apartment complex in an even quieter part of town. It’s old and a little rundown but appears to be in decent condition as he leads you up a few flights of stairs and unlocks a door, ushering you inside. You’re not quite sure what to expect. Maybe somewhere with no furnishings whatsoever or a place that is so messy it’s impossible to navigate. 

Instead, what you find is something perfectly ordinary. Slightly unkempt, but nothing that would make you recoil in disgust. Most likely, the general state of his home is courtesy of his wife, or rather his ex-wife. Perhaps you’re being judgemental, but Toji doesn’t seem like the sort of man to go out and buy floral curtains and a rug.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says gruffly, dropping his keys on the coffee table and disappearing down the hall. Nervous, you perch yourself on the couch, the soft seat sagging a little under your weight. It’s quiet. And a little lonely. You wonder how long he’s lived like this.

Before you get the chance to muse any further about your unconventional host, he reappears with blankets slung over his broad shoulders, along with a couple of flattened pillows in his hands. He drops them unceremoniously on the couch and nods towards them.

“Here. I don’t have a futon on hand so use these and the couch. And before ya ask, they’re clean.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“G’night.”

And with that, he’s gone.

Rolling your eyes, you set about getting ready for bed. Ten minutes are spent debating whether to sleep in your underwear or keep your clothes on and for a moment, you wonder if Toji will let you borrow something to sleep in. Deciding against it, you settle for sleeping in the tank top you wore beneath your dress and your leggings, shuffling under the sheets after you’ve plunged the room into darkness.

Staring at the ceiling, you replay the day that you’ve had. Leaving behind a vague note for your ex to find on his bed and then leaving his penthouse whilst he was still at work with no belongings other than your phone after rendering it useless by snapping the SIM card and blocking his number for good measure in case he tried to contact you. If he even tried to at all.

That was the thing with him. You never truly knew what he was thinking or how he felt or if he even felt anything at all. Everything he said and did was a means to an end, to make himself look and feel like he had been born as a gift to the Earth, like he was special and important. And, for a time, he had been those things to you. He was a man that you cherished and adored.

A man that you let walk all over you. To bend and change as he saw fit.

And look at where that got you.

Laying on the couch in a strange man’s living room, picking apart what you knew of your ex’s psyche. Hours pass, the thoughts rotating through your brain doing little to exhaust you, each one leading to more harrowing realisations of the state of your life. There’s nothing quite like an existential crisis at 3am.

Sick of listening to yourself think, you peel away the blankets and stand, stumbling through the dark to where you think Toji’s room is. The first door you open is the bathroom, small but relatively clean. The second door leads to a small room that couldn’t possibly be his based on size alone. That, and the fact that the only piece of furniture is a tiny crib in the corner, a lone bear sitting inside it. You’re about to step inside when his words from earlier echo in your mind and you think better of it, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door. Another time, maybe.

Finally, you push open a door to the sound of soft snoring, only now that you’re here, you’re not sure what to do. Do you wake him up? Clamber into his bed? Sit by the door and listen to the sound of his deep breaths so that you don’t feel so alone? Fiddling with your fingers, you run through your options twice before huffing and shuffling closer to his bed. Gingerly, you place a hand over the lump under the sheets and shake it gently.

“Oi. Toji,” you murmur. “Wake up.”

The man grunts and turns onto his back, the sheets shifting down a little to reveal pale skin stretched over a muscular chest. Your cheeks grow warm as an unwarranted image of him bare under the bedsheets rises to the forefront of your mind. Shaking your head to dispel it, your fingers brush over his skin in a second attempt, calling out to him louder this time and shaking more harshly.

This time, he snorts mid-snore and his eyes squint open, lips twisting into an irritated grimace. “The fuck’re ya doin’?” he slurs, voice thick and husky with sleep.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him. “Your couch is so uncomfortable!”

“Sorry princess, ‘s the couch or the street,” he mumbles, turning away from you and shutting his eyes. “Fuck off ‘n’ lemme sleep.”

“Please Toji,” you whine. “I… It’s too quiet. I don’t want to be by myself.”

With a groan, he peels his eyes open and sits up, the sheets now pooling around his waist and revealing more of his strong body. Something shifts deep within you at the sight of his silhouette illuminated softly by the streetlights beyond the window. It’s warm and tight, almost like a swooping sensation at the floor of your stomach.

“Whaddya wan’ me to do about it?”

“Can I stay with you?” His head tips back and he lets out the most long-suffering rumble of exasperation you’ve heard all night. You cringe a little, guilt washing through you.

“Yer already stayin’ in my house, ain’t that enough?”

“Please? I promise I’ll be quiet! You won’t even know I’m here!”

Persistent is a polite way to describe you.

“Oh my- Y’know what, fine! Do whatever the fuck ya want, but don’t fuckin’ wake me up for pointless shit again. Got it?”

You mimic the motion of zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key, making yourself at home on the floor at the foot of the bed like a cat. Rolling his eyes, he tugs the duvet back over his body and slumps onto his pillow, yawning tiredly as he tries to find sleep again. But the minutes pass by and any dregs of slumber have slipped away with them, replaced by nagging thoughts of his own, in a voice so heartachingly familiar.

You know she’s right - that old thing is so uncomfortable. And it’s cold too. He’d felt the cool air on his bare skin when you’d torn him from sleep. You chose to take her in, the voice says. Why? Out of guilt? Sympathy? ‘The goodness in your heart?’ God knows that’s hard to find. But she’s here now. Don’t just leave her there when you were so willing to get her out of that place to start with. The longer he listens to the voice, the more he softens, albeit begrudgingly.

“Oi,” he murmurs, still reluctant as he flicks on the lamp at his bedside. “C’mere.”

“I thought you were asleep?” you whisper, peeking up at him from the foot of the bed.

“Yeah and now I’m not. Get over here before I change my mind. It’s cold.” He offers no further explanation as he flips back the duvet on the empty side of the bed. Surprisingly, you don’t argue, but before you can even rest a knee on the mattress, Toji’s voice halts you. “What the fuck are ya wearin’? It’s freezin’.”

“Huh?” you look down at your ensemble, feeling self-consciousn all of a sudden. “I, er-”

“Top drawer. You can wear one of my shirts,” he interrupts, nodding over to a wardrobe in the corner of the room.

“Oh.” You trot over and pull it open, noting that there’s clothes in there that look like they belonged to a woman. Thoughtlessly, you pick them up. “These look like they’d fit me better.”

Holding up a set of floral pyjamas, Toji’s eyes widen in recognition, a spark of alarm zipping across his features as he all but flings himself out of bed. He removes the silky fabric from your grip and exhales shakily, folding them up with that same tenderness as before and carefully putting them back in their place. Instead, he pulls out a faded, black t-shirt that looks like it would hang to your mid-thigh once you put it on. 

“Here. Take this instead. Those are- Just don’t touch ‘em.”

“Um, okay.” You shift uneasily, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that they likely belonged to his wife but also that you’re now mere inches away from a very naked Toji, clad only in a pair of boxers. The urge to stare at his chiselled physique is near impossible to overcome and your eyes rove over the planes of his scarred, muscular body with unabashed intrigue. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Bathroom’s the door next to mine. Change in there.”

Mere moments later, you’re dressed in his shirt that smells like fabric softener, laying next to him. The silence feels unnerving and part of you wants to say something, wondering if you should break it and ask if this is okay. Instead, he breaks it for you.

“I never thought I’d have another woman in my bed like this,” he says quietly. “Least of all one that pisses me off so easily.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you turn onto your side to face him. “If this is too weird then I can go,” you whisper. He clucks his teeth, twisting to look at you in the lamplight, shaking his head.

“It’s just a bed.” Curiosity bites at your tongue again and you contemplate asking him about her once more when he speaks of his own accord. Lethargy loosens his tongue and his guard, it seems. “Ya asked me earlier what happened to her. She died.”

Oh. That explains the oddly defensive behaviour with the pyjamas. “How?”

Toji shrugs. “Car accident. It was late, and she was comin’ home from her parents’ place. The weather was bad and I don’t think she could see through all the rain. She skidded out and went straight into a tree, drivers’ side first.”

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp softly. Sorrow pinches his brows together and downturns the corners of his lips a little, but it gleams most brightly in the depths of his forest green eyes. “How long has it been?” you ask quietly.

“Two years.” Another question rises up your throat about the little nursery down the hall, but you force it down. That’s enough intrusive questions for one night. “So, why couldn’t ya sleep?”

Fiddling with the corner of the pillow case, you wonder if you should answer that or not. You know for a fact that once you start talking about what’s on your mind, you might not be able to stop. But still, your mind feels full and heavy, like it’s bursting at the seams. His question is a needle, poking a hole in it, pushing you to let it empty a little.

“It’s stupid. I know that I broke up with him, but I can’t stop thinking about any of it.”

Or a lot. Just like that, everything leaks free before you can stop it. The how, the why, the manipulation and control of your life, the way his family and friends spoke of and to you. All of it pours out of you in a steady flood. You didn’t realise that this whole situation had thoroughly torn you to shreds, and now you’re sniffling in a strange man’s bed, your tears soiling his pillows as he lays there quietly beside you and listens.

Toji offers nothing. No words of consolation, no sympathetic looks, no questions or even an awkward pat on your shoulder. He simply watches and listens, expression grim with just a small furrow between his dark brows. And by the time you’re done, drained and tearstained, you feel lighter and less alone despite his nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, messily wiping away your tears and snot on the back of your hand. Toji rolls his eyes and reaches over to his nightstand before pressing a tissue into your hand.

“Don’t be. Wipe yer face”

“But-”

“I get it,” he says simply, voice low.

“How could you possibly-”

“Yer grievin’, right? Might not be the same kind, but grief is grief, no matter how big or small. Dealin’ with that shit alone is twice as hard so don’t apologise. Take yer time and feel it or whatever.”

Blowing your nose noisily, you peek up at him through damp lashes, in awe of his unexpected piece of wisdom. Perhaps there’s far more to this large man than meets the eye. “You’re sweet, Toji,” you say honestly. He snorts, grinning in amusement.

“Didn’t bag my wife with just my looks, sweetheart,” he says, throwing you a wink.

“She must have been a wonderful woman to have put up with a brute like you,” you say, half serious, half teasing. Toji softens, a film of nostalgia settling over his eyes.

“She was,” he says gently. “She was beautiful and funny and so fuckin’ kind. I dunno what I did to deserve her.”

“Sounds like you really love her,” you yawn, feeling your eyes slowly begin to slip shut.

“I do. But I can’t keep lovin’ a ghost. That’s what she’d say to me.”

“So don’t. She wouldn’t want you to be sad about her forever.” 

Your comment is unfiltered and maybe a little blunt as the haze of sleep pulls you under, your breathing deepening and slowing. Toji looks at you thoughtfully, mulling over your words. A piece of him screams that he should ignore you, that you haven’t a clue what you’re talking about and that he can’t just stop loving his wife like that. But another part of him, the part that is bone-weary of grieving and aching loneliness, thinks that perhaps you are right. Maybe it is time for him to move on, to open his neglected heart a little and let in someone new. To make room for some warmth and softness.

The last thing Toji sees as he flicks off the lamp and shuts his eyes, is your sweet, unguarded face.

But one night turns into several, which quickly disgruntles your host.

“Ya need to get a job.”

You know you’ve overstayed your welcome, but what else are you supposed to do? You haven’t got a single penny to your name nor have you been in contact with your family for a long, long time. You don’t even know if they still remember you exist. He’s right, of course, but you don’t want to admit that out loud and see that annoying, smug smirk of his that makes your heart beat annoying loud.

“Do I?” you ask, eyes still trained on the cooking show you’re watching. Maybe if you stare at the screen really hard, he’ll give up and leave you alone. Wishful thinking, unsurprisingly. 

“Should’ve been the first thing ya did,” he says, not missing how you reflexively scrunch your nose in disgust. “Don’t gimme that fuckin’ look. Earn yer keep or find another bastard to leech off of.”

“And where do you propose I get a job?” you huff, turning to him with a withering glare.

“I don’t care, princess. Anywhere’s fine, as long as it pays. Hell, work in a strip club fer all I care.”

“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. The smug smirk you were trying to avoid crawls over his face and he leans closer, crowding your space to the point where you can feel the heat emanating from his brawny body. 

“Bet it’d be a sight to see,” he says, ever so softly. Your breath catches as his own wafts over your cheek, warm and enticing. “But I doubt ya could do it. Bet those hips are stiff as a board.”

“I could if I wanted to,” you say unconvincingly, subtly trying and failing to shift away from him. The couch is small and he’s got you backed up against the armrest. “But I still have my dignity, thank you very much. I won’t stoop to such means.”

“Get that rod outta yer ass. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that line of work if it means putting food on the table.” 

“Speaking from experience?” you bite back with a quirk of your brow. 

“No,” he says curtly. “But I’m guessin’ ya don’t have a lotta transferable skills under yer belt, so there’s no room fer bein’ a priss about it.”

His remark crawls its  way under your skin, because again, he’s right and it pisses you off. Leaning back in, you flutter your lashes and place a hand on his firm chest, feeling the strong throb of his heart under your palm. “I bet you’re just dying to see me on a pole.”

Catching your hand in his larger one, he yanks you in close until you’re almost nose to nose. “Maybe I wanna see ya fall off it and make a fool of yourself. Should knock you down a peg or two.”

Scoffing, you tug your hand back, ignoring the expression of self satisfaction on his face. “What do you suggest then?” He shrugs unhelpfully and it suddenly dawns on you that you have no idea what he does for a living. He, begrudgingly, bought you basic articles of clothing and toiletries and he’s able to live quite comfortably so he must have some sort of income. “What exactly is it that you do?”

Toji’s mouth sets into a thin line, the scar on the corner of his lips standing out more prominently against his pale skin. For a fleeting moment, your mind wanders back to that first night and the other scars you’d seen marring his skin. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but you’re pretty sure you didn’t hallucinate them. 

“I do… freelance work,” he says carefully. You raise an eyebrow, unhappy with his answer.

“Which is?”

“None of your business,” he shrugs, leaning back in his seat.

“It is so! I could be living with a- a murderer for all I know!” you exclaim, not at all comforted by his silence or how his eyes flit away at the word ‘murderer’, at which point your eyes widen and you squeal, “Oh my god you are a murderer!”

“Shut up, I am not!” he says, clamping a hand over your mouth before you can start yelling any louder. “I’m not a murderer.”

You say something that’s muffled by his large hand and reluctantly, he pulls it away so that you can huff. “What are you then? What’s so bad about it that you can’t tell me? It’s just a job! Or was I right earlier?” your eyes narrow in scrutiny. “That you sell your body for money and-”

“Holy fuck, will you shut up!” he yells, finally getting you to fall quiet. Toji’s glare is menacing as he draws close to you, only this time, a spike of fear runs through you. His voice is low, almost a growl as he speaks through grit teeth. “Ya don’t need to know what I do. All ya gotta know is that it’s dangerous and ya wouldn’t believe me if I did tell ya. If ya know what’s good fer ya, drop it. Understand?”

Breath trembling, you nod. This is the truth, that much is clear. “Is- Is that why you have all those scars?” you whisper and he eases up, softening a little when he sees the distress in your rounded eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I guess it is. Don’t start askin’ me how.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you lie, frowning dejectedly.

“Whatever. Just start lookin’, would ya?” 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Outside?” 

With a sigh, you slump down in your seat, mentally preparing yourself to start searching for employment. For someone so desperate for you to ‘earn your keep’ he’s incredibly useless in offering any plausible suggestions. You’ll have to do this by yourself.

The next few days are spent tentatively exploring the neighbourhood, taking deep breaths before popping into stores and restaurants and stuttering through questions about vacancies. It’s not like you don’t know how any of this works, you do. You went to school and university and you’ve got qualifications and were taught what to expect out in the real world. But what are grades without experience? You’ve never applied for anything before, let alone had an interview. This whole process is frankly terrifying. 

Fortunately, things begin to look up when you stumble across a quaint little cafe, tucked away on the corner of a street ten minutes away from Toji’s apartment. It’s run by an elderly couple who are relieved that someone responded to their tiny ad in the local newspaper (you haven’t seen any ad but they don’t need to know that). They’re eager for you to start and you’re looking forward to having something to do other than lounging around the apartment for the majority of your day. You return to Toji’s with a skip in your step and a smile on your face, excited to gloat that you found something all on your own.

“I’m back!” you sing. The night before, he had been ‘working’ and the note on the fridge said he'd be back in time for dinner. “Toji?”

“Kitchen,” comes his familiar grunt. Dropping the spare keys he gave to you on the coffee table, you pad barefoot into the kitchen, gasping in horror at the sight before you. Sitting at the small dining table is Toji, but what alarms you is the sheer amount of crimson that surrounds him. It’s only now that your gaze travels to the floor, that you  notice the blood splatters on the kitchen tile that lead to him like a trail of breadcrumbs.

“What the fuck happened?!”

“I had a knitting accident, the fuck does it look like?” he grumbles, gingerly dabbing at a wound with an overly saturated bloody cloth. His shirt is half off, one arm free of his sleeve to expose his midriff.  “‘s not as bad as it looks.”

“Let me guess, ‘ ya shoulda seen the other guy’?” you scoff, mimicking his deep rumble very badly.

“Well, yeah. You'd probably freak out if ya saw the state of him,” he muses, cracking a triumphant little smirk. The curious side of you perks up at his vague statement, but you tamp it down in favour of focusing on the issue at hand. That, and you think in this instance, it’s best to let it go.

“Where do you keep your first kit?” you ask, and he raises a brow.

“You’re not gonna poke yer nose in this time?”

“Just tell me where it is.”

“Bathroom. Under the sink.”

A few moments later, you’ve retrieved the little box that is already woefully empty and pull up a chair opposite him, setting to work after washing your hands. There’s barely enough alcohol left in the little brown bottle, so you pour it sparingly onto cotton swabs to begin disinfecting his wound. The gash is about four inches long, running diagonally just under the side of his ribcage. As you clean it, you find that it’s not as deep as it looks, and Toji is likely just clumsy when it comes to dressing his own wounds.

“D’ya even know what yer doin’?” he asks, flinching minutely when the swab grazes his gash. You mumble an apology, trying to be light-handed.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. I’ve watched plenty of TV to know the drill.”

“God help me,” he groans. Glaring at him, you press down a little harder, grinning slyly when he yelps. “Oi, watch it!”

“Whoops, sorry,” you say airily. “My hand slipped. Take your shirt off.”

“Excuse me?” Rolling your eyes, you dispose of the soiled swabs and rags, pulling out the last roll of bandages in the box.

“Take it off. How else do you expect me to wrap it?”

Clicking his teeth in annoyance, he slips off his shirt and drops it on the table, baring his torso to you. The scars on his body are numerous, some like angry, jagged carvings and others like quick lances over the surface of his skin. A soft exhalation of shock escapes you and your hands tremble as you unroll the bandages, shaken by the story his body tells in a language unknown to you. And yet, despite all its imperfections, he looks as though he was moulded by the finest sculptors, every dip and curve of his musculature still managing to warm your cheeks.

“R-raise your arms,” you stutter, cursing the heat gathering under your skin as his muscles flex with the action. Carefully, you dress his wound as best as you can, reluctantly drawing your hands away once you’re finished, awkwardly clearing your throat. “All done.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, lowering his arms. “You er, ya didn’t have to.”

You shrug, offering him a small, shy smile. “You looked like you needed help.” 

Standing you gather the remaining contents of the first aid kit together and head for the bathroom. Blood and clean tiles however, do not bode well for the absentminded, and you promptly slip through the sticky trail with a shriek. Before your head can hit the hard floor, a pair of strong arms catch you around your waist, halting your fall. Prying your eyes open, you blink up blearily at your saviour.

“Watch where yer goin’,” he says, but there’s no irritation in his gentle tone. “There’s no more bandages if ya crack yer head open.”

Effortlessly, he puts you back on your feet but his arms stay firm around you. You place your hands on his biceps to steady yourself, finding yourself growing more flustered when you look up to see him watching you intently. You are acutely aware of his hands on your waist, large and warm, firm yet gentle as though you might break if he held you the wrong way. He probably could snap you in two if he tried.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. “Just watch yer step.”

“Right,” you mumble, finally making an attempt to draw away. But his hold is like iron, pulling you in closer until you’re pressed against his broad chest.

“Y’know what my first thought was when I got hurt?” Not trusting yourself to speak, you shake your head no, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. “I thought ‘she’s gonna freak out if she sees this. Better wrap this up before anythin’ happens’.”

“Oh,” you whisper dumbly.

“Imagine that. Worryin’ about leavin’ a nuisance like you behind.”

“It’s unthinkable,” you joke under your breath and he chuckles, the vibrations rumbling against your chest in the most pleasant way. You’re both quiet for a while, until you remember the news you were so excited to share with him. “Guess what?”

“What?” he mumbles distractedly, gaze flicking to your lips for the merest heartbeat.

“I got a job.”

He pauses, narrowing his eyes at you in disbelief. “Liar.”

“I’m serious!” you laugh and this time, Toji actually smiles. It punches a hole right through your chest, the way it softens the hardened planes of his face and warms his eyes and makes him look sweet in a way you didn’t think he could. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is how he looked before his wife’s untimely passing.

“Well done,” he says genuinely, hugging you to him instinctively. His scent overwhelms you, distinctively masucline even through the smell of disinfectant and copper. The heat of his bare body radiates through your clothes and that swooping sensation rushes through your abdomen as he squeezes you against his chest. Hesitantly, you snake your arms around his neck and return his affection, burying your nose in the soft skin of his neck. It’s so nice, so damn nice…

Until he clears his throat and abruptly pulls away, having arrived back at his senses. You follow suit, embarrassed at being caught up in the moment like that, taking a step away from him to create some space between him and your pounding heart. “Uh, when do you start?”

“A-a couple of days,” you say, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. He nods, snatching up his bloodied t-shirt and slipping it back on. 

“Right. I’ll er, clean this up,” he says gruffly, gesturing to the floor.

“Okay. I’ll get started on dinner.”

“No,” he says after a beat. “Order in. My treat.” A bright grin lights up your face and just like that, the growing tension eases as Toji shoots you a lightly warning glare. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You’re a softie, y’know that?” you tease as you leave the kitchen, and he sags a little as he watches you leave. You might be right about that.

Luckily, over the next month or so, your little moment in the kitchen is never mentioned again. Neither of you will admit it, but you both think of it often. That day caused a shift in your relationship, and your arguments evolve to be lighter and more teasing - one might even say flirtatious. 

Toji finds casual ways to touch you, resting his hands on your waist as he squeezes past you in the kitchen to reach something, or brushing the hair out of your face with a touch lighter than air. You’re not exactly innocent either. Falling asleep on him when you’re particularly exhausted after a shift at the cafe happens far too often for it to be written off as a coincidence. The first time it happened, you’d woken up with a blanket tucked around your shoulders and a pillow under your head. You almost melted into the sofa cushions.

The cafe does exhaust you. It takes a while for you to adjust to working and learning the ropes, but your bosses are endlessly patient and kind, even through your many, many mistakes. You’ve messed up more orders than you can count, and spilled enough coffee to fill a bathtub. But you’ve finally made it through an entire month, almost bursting into tears when you receive your first pay cheque.

The sound of a knife hitting a bamboo board is the first thing that greets you when you arrive home, tucking the little slip of paper behind your back to conceal it from view. It takes more of an effort to hide your giddy grin as you seek out Toji in the kitchen, popping your head around the door and watching how his brow furrows in concentration as he chops vegetables haphazardly. 

“Hey,” you greet him casually, leaning against the worktop to peer up at him, lip caught between your teeth.

“Hey.”

“How was your day?”

“Fine,” he says slowly, turning to you with a raised brow. “Why’re you askin’?”

“Can’t I ask how you’ve been?” you huff, rolling your eyes.

“Not without an ulterior motive.”

“Then I guess you won’t wanna see this.” You slap the piece of paper on the worktop before him, watching his face intently for his reaction. Scrunching his face in confusion, he squints at it, before picking it up and scanning it. As he does so, his eyebrows arch up and disappear under his dark, messy fringe, emerald eyes widening in surprise.

“Is that-”

“It is,” you preen. Toji barks out an astonished laugh, catching you off guard. 

“Guess yer not like those snotty rich folk after all,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulders and yanking you into his side for a clumsy hug.

“I did tell you!” you huff, but you’re smiling as you meet his gaze, heart hammering in your chest as he squeezes you to him. Toji’s face softens.

“Ya did, didn’t ya?” he says fondly, dipping his head down to brush his lips softly over your temple. The gesture is so simple, almost casual, and still you melt in his hold, greedily soaking up this brief moment of affection. 

Lightly, his fingers trace the skin of your throat, brushing up over the ridges of your windpipe and settling under your jaw. You feel small all of a sudden, vulnerable under his strong, callused hands as he tilts your head towards his. Warm breath wafts over your lips and the rational part of you that should be telling you to untangle yourself from him right now is silent. 

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers.

Impulsively, you close the gap for him and capture his lips with yours.

Kissing Toji doesn’t unfold the way you expect it to. He’s surprisingly tentative the moment his mouth moulds against yours, unsure of if you’ll tug him even closer or push him away, like he’s waiting for you to decide if this is a mistake or not.  But when your fingers tangle in his hair to pull him more firmly against you, his restraint begins to splinter, as does yours.

Hunger courses through you. An aching need to have him closer than close, to swallow him whole, bones and all. A thrill rushes down your spine when his hands find your hips and he lifts you easily into his arms, kissing you more fervently when you wrap your legs around his waist. Gasping he pulls away for a breath, fingers digging into the softness of your flesh.

“Tell me to stop,” he says breathily, nosing at your cheek. “Say it.”

“No,” you whine, chasing after his lips. “I don’t want to.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.” You’re growing antsy, curling your fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “I just want you right now.”

“Yer so fuckin’ annoying.” He says it like he’s relieved, surging in to fit against you once more. Pulling you more flush against him, he runs his tongue demandingly over your lower lip, growling low in the back of his throat when you open your mouth under his insistence. Each kiss unravels further into desperation which ripples throughout your body, making your skin tingle with anticipation. You can feel the desire beginning to coil in your abdomen, swirling hotter when he sucks on your tongue.

He grunts, stumbling over to the nearest soft surface he can think of as he steps out of the kitchen with you and into the living room. Lowering you onto the couch he descends on you quickly, spit-slick lips running wet trails over your jaw and neck, nipping at the slope and grinning when you gasp his name. “Yer kinda cute like this. It’s nice when you’re not runnin’ yer mouth.”

“Shut up,” you pout, fighting the urge to squirm away when his hands rest on your thighs and roam up to the waistband of your jeans. His palms are hot even through the thick fabric, moving dangerously close to your drooling core. Your cunt throbs as his thick fingers undo your button and zip before working the material off your hips and legs. Tossing them aside, he presses his forefinger against the gusset of your underwear, your arousal sticking to the blunt tip through the fabric. 

“It’s always the ones that look the most innocent that want it the most,” he half sneers, enraptured by the way you twitch and pulse under him. “Haven’t even touched ya and you’re already drippin’. Did your ex ever make ya this wet?”

“No,” you whimper, pushing your hips against his finger. “We only had sex a few times.”

Toji is equally annoyed and elated by this information. “That so? Huh. Weirdo.”

“What’s weird is you’ve got my pussy in your face but you want to talk about my ex.” Huffing you turn your face away from him, letting your legs slowly fall shut. His hands stop you, holding you firm against the sofa cushions. There’s a darkness brewing in his eyes, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. Without warning, he tears your underwear from your hips, yanking you to the edge of your seat and spreading you wide for him.

“That’s enough outta you.” Warmth, unlike any you’ve ever felt before, glides heavily over the length of your sex, fluttering roughly over your clit and pulling a choked whine from your throat. Looking down, your body flares hotter at the sight of Toji’s head buried between your thighs, his tongue lapping hungrily at your cunt.

“What are you- oh!”

“Shut up. I’m just doin’ what he couldn’t,” he grumbles, slipping his tongue inside you and letting you grind against the length of his nose as he tastes your insides. He groans appreciatively, long and deep as you clench around the wet muscle, writhing pathetically in his tight grasp. Your chest heaves as he builds you up quickly, pushing you to the edge of climax with unrelenting mercy. Never before have you felt pleasure like this, so intense and purposeful, rushing through your blood like lightning and gathering in the darkest depths of your body.

Toji doesn’t stop. He introduces his thick fingers, fitting them slowly into your sopping hole, one after the other, until you’re dizzily creaming around three. He tuts, crooking them up and watching how your back arches to follow the sensation.

“Still so tight,” he says to himself. “Ah, fuck it. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” All of a sudden, he draws away from you, nudging his slick fingers against your lips, ignoring how you whine at the loss of his touch. “Here. Suck.”

Dazedly, you wrap your lips around his fingers, grimacing a little at the foreign tang that comes with it. He pushes his sweatpants down with his other hand in the meantime, and you almost balk at him.

“Fuck.” Toji gives you no time to prepare for what lies beneath his clothes due to his lack of underwear, his stiff cock standing to attention. There’s a slight curve to his thick, veiny length, ending in a bulbous tip that oozes precum. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his sheer girth. “Y-you’re um-”

“What?” Unconsciously, your legs part further, curious as to how he’ll fit inside you. He doesn’t miss your reaction, how you bite your lip or how your fingers creep towards your centre. “So big.”

Smirking, he bends at the waist until you’re nose to nose, pulling your legs around him so that his cock kisses your clit. “I know. Ya still wanna do this?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “You haven’t made me cum yet. Thought you were gonna do what he couldn’t?”

Rolling his eyes, he grasps your chin between his fingers and forces your gaze down to where his cockhead rests against your mound. It looks even bigger up close. “Ya sure ya can take it?”

“I don’t care. I want you regardless,” you breathe, peeking up at him through your lashes. Toji wears an unreadable expression, staring into your eyes intently. You’re trying to figure out what it is, but then he draws his hips back and forth a little, dragging himself through the mess he’s caused between your legs, eliciting a sweet little whimper from you as he grazes your pert clit.

“Ain’t that sweet,” he coos mockingly, parting your folds with his tip and finding your fluttering hole. Guiding himself forwards, he presses into you slowly, eyes flicking between your face and where you come together. All of the oxygen in your lungs rushes out in a strangled gasp as he fills you, moaning low himself as you grip his cock tightly with your slick walls.

“T-Toji! Oh fuck!” you squeal. It feels like he’s breaking you into two perfect pieces, splitting you wide on his cock as he finally meets resistance, his heavy balls resting snugly against your ass. He’s got you whining already, unable to form full sentences. “‘s so big!”

“I know sweetheart, I warned ya,” he hums, rolling his thumb soothingly over your clit. “Lift yer arms.”

Obediently, you follow his instructions, lifting your arms over your head, your shirt dragging up a little and revealing your belly button along the way. One large hand fastens firmly around your wrists, pinning them against the back cushions as he draws his hips out before slamming them back into you. You keen loudly, and he grins diabolically. “That good?”

“So good,” you moan, nodding pathetically. He chuckles, breath hitching slightly when you squeeze him involuntarily. Every thrust makes you lose your breath, the slap of skin and your shameless moans filling the air. He’s stroking places inside you that you didn’t think were possible, making your head swim and your eyes water as he picks up his pace. Your body is putty in his hands, soft and malleable to mould to his will, to bend to his every whim - and you want to. 

Toji reaches for the hem of your shirt and pushes it up and over your breasts, tugging down the cups of your bra without pause and grabbing all the flesh that fits into his palm. “Such pretty tits,” he croons, pinching your nipples roughly and grinning when you yelp and start to squirm. Bowing his head, he drags his tongue over your heated, damp skin, swirling it around the stiff peaks before pressing wet kisses to them. “Who knew you could be so fuckin’ cute, hm?”

“Fuck, please Toji!” you mewl, bucking your hips clumsily to suck him in deeper, to pull him closer and grind your clit against his bristly pelvis. 

“I like ya like this,” he grunts, kissing you messily. His fingers travel down, gliding over your navel until he finds where his cock pistons into you, slowing down a little to catch the slick dripping down your skin on the tips of his fingers. He smears it up to your clit, rolling his hips rhythmically as he draws quick circles around the stiff little bud.

“Gonna cu- ah!” you cry, thighs trembling. Releasing your wrists, he pins you open, giving you the chance to finally throw your arms around him and dig your nails into the scarred skin of his back. 

“Go on,” he pants. “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. That’s it.”

For a split second, your vision turns white as you squeeze your eyes shut and convulse around him, clinging onto him for dear life as his thrusts grow disjointed. Your breaths are shaky as your orgasm ebbs and he pulls out, tugging on his cock roughly before cumming himself with a satisfied groan, abs flexing as he spills his thick spend over your tummy.

“Fuck,” he groans to himself, still hovering over you as you both catch your breath. “Shoulda done that sooner.”

“My legs are cramping,” you complain breathlessly, trying to unwrap them from around his waist.

“We only went once,” he scoffs, despite rubbing soothingly at your aggravated muscles, his fingers kneading at them firmly. 

“Yeah but I’ve never had something that big inside me!” you shoot back, flustered. He laughs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Thought you ‘wanted me regardless’?”

“That was in the heat of the moment,” you huff, cheeks burning. Toji’s hands on your thighs slow down as he lowers them, letting your feet rest on the ground. 

“So ya didn’t mean it?” 

“I did.”

“So ya want me?” 

“No!” you say, grimacing as you sit up and feel the stickiness between your thighs. Sighing, you take his hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “Can we talk about this after we’ve cleaned up? I feel gross.”

Toji tugs you up off the couch, catching you when you stumble on shaky legs. “Alright.”

You shower separately, which gives you both a chance to ruminate on what just happened between you. As you lather shampoo into your hair, you reluctantly examine the past couple of months. 

Whilst he is rough and boorish, you can’t deny the unlikely bond that you’ve formed. He took you in when the rest of your world looked down on you, when you had nowhere to go. He fed you, clothed you, gave you somewhere warm to sleep, even encouraged you to stand on your own two feet. The gentle, soft side of his heart is undeniable, partially buried alongside his wife - but it’s still there, living on in his tender touch in honour of her love. The part of it you’ve experienced has touched you so deeply that an unexpected fondness for him has flourished.

Then there’s the simpler side of you, the side that stares shamelessly at his ruggedly handsome features and the strong contours of his body. There’s no denying your attraction, ever since the first night you met. Just thinking about what transpired earlier makes you rub your sore thighs together, still feeling the echoes of his fat length buried deep inside you. 

Turning the water off once you’re done, you lean your forehead against the cool tile and shut your eyes for a moment. He gets on your nerves and flusters you to no end, that much is plain. But what baffles you most is the soft smile that creeps over your face unbidden every time you think of him. What gives you pause is the little skip in your heart when you come home to him, excited to tell him all about your day. Or when he touches you and happy little sparks tingle through your veins.

Plopping down into a seat opposite him at the little dining table in his kitchen, the two of you share the meal he finished preparing whilst you were showering. You prod at your rice distractedly, splitting a grain between your chopsticks. Unsure of what to say, you glance up and find that your companion is fidgeting too. Apprehensively, you wet your lips.

“Toji?”

“Hm?”

“Do you- Should we um. Should we talk about it now?” He hums again but nods slowly.

“Go on.”

Sucking in a nervous little breath, you sit up a little straighter. “Okay I… I uh- I meant it.”

Toji raises his eyebrow at you. “Thought it was ‘heat of the moment’ or whatever?”

“It was,” you admit with a sigh, feeling your cheeks flood with heat. “It was but… It’s true.”

“So… What does that mean, exactly?” he smirks, clearly enjoying how you squirm under his questioning gaze.

“I- Oh, I can’t say it!” you whine covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. Toji laughs, deep and rumbling. 

“Why the fuck not?”

“Cos it’s embarrassing!”

The sound of a chair scraping against tile makes your ear twitch, closely followed by the soft pad of slippers, but you refuse to budge. Warm fingers wrap around your wrists, gentler than earlier but no less firm, prying your hands carefully away from your face. He’s crouched beside you, so close that your breath catches.

“Look at me.” 

“No,” you say stubbornly, squeezing your eyes shut. “If I can’t see you then it’s less embarrassing.”

“God, yer so annoying.”

“So I keep hearing,” you sniff. 

“Say it,” he says softly. “I won’t laugh. You can keep your eyes closed if it makes ya feel better.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Okay. God this is so stupid,” you mutter. It feels strange trying to form the words with your lips, shaping them awkwardly around thin air a couple of times, like your own body is opposed to your confession. But you manage to get the words out, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. I like you.”

“What are ya, sixteen?” he teases, chuckling when you whine in protest.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughin’!” he insists, but amusement spills from him anyway, deep and joyous in a way that makes your heart pound and soar.

“You are! I take it back, I don’t like you at all!”

Suddenly, he lifts you out of your seat, ignoring your screech of surprise and pulls you into his lap instead, settling down on the cool floor. His arms are caged around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, until you swear you can feel his pulse thump against yours.

“Liar,” he whispers, brushing your hair back clumsily as your eyes flutter open into a pathetic glare. He kisses your pout away, swallowing your gasp with his lips. “I can’t stand liars,” he says, kissing you again. 

“Good thing I’m not lying then,” you mumble into his mouth, unable to stop yourself from smiling cheekily.

“Stop talkin’ and kiss me.”

Life begins to change. Toji dares to let his softness out more and you make an effort to dial it back on ‘being stuck-up’ as he calls it. When you’re not annoyed at each other, living together is pleasant, and being together even more so. You don’t think anyone has ever filled you with such warmth before, at least, not how he does. It’s not the gooey, sticky sort of affection you often see on the TV, but it’s soft and comforting.

There’s no label for what you are, not yet at least, but you’re okay with that. The two of you are still struggling with the past, but now you have a hand to hold when you navigate the pain. And having a hand as big and warm as Toji’s makes you feel safe.

Despite all of this, you still butt heads and it almost always ends in the same way. Arguments end with the two of you naked and under the covers, each sporting your fair share of bruises and bites. Bickering ends with you pinned against a wall and Toji with wet fingers and a wetter chin. Trying his patience usually gives you a sore throat or a red backside. But when you’re tired and sweet after a long day and there’s no bite left for your bark, it ends with you in his arms, your head pillowed by his broad chest.

Life is better.

There’s just one small issue. 

Not quite an elephant in the apartment, more a buzzing fly that reminds you of its presence every so often, hauling your worries out from the back of your mind and thrusting them into the limelight. See, you can’t help but wonder about what goes on in that head of his, what truly lies in the depths of his shielded heart. Judging by actions alone, you should be sated and secure. But you don’t know how many layers lead to his core, how many times you have to score him with your scalpel to peel them all back and figure him out. 

Your worries manifest sooner than you think.

There’s a storm raging outside, rain smattering heavily against the windowpane and rattling their aged frames. The wind howls and it’s dark and gloomy for a Saturday, but you’re warm under the kotatsu with your lover, who leans back on his elbows, watching you lazily through his overgrown fringe.

You gave up playing black jack an hour ago, conceding to let him teach you to play after going round in circles trying to pick a movie. Needless to say, you can’t quite get the hang of it. Either that, or Toji is an excellent player. Or he’s cheating. Regardless, you’re now attempting to build a tower from the discarded cards, tongue poking out in concentration. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you focus, the cards collapse yet again and you groan exasperatedly.

“How do they make this look so easy?” you mumble to yourself.

“Glue.”

“Obviously,” you say sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at him when he smirks and you give up, letting the cards lay flat in front of you. Instead, you crawl over to him, clambering into his lap so that you can straddle him. “I’m bored,” you pout, throwing your arms around his neck. “Entertain me.”

“The fuck am I, a clown?”

“You sure look it with your hair in your eyes,” you tease, pushing the strands back and revealing his pale forehead. “You need a haircut.”

“I haven’t had time,” he says, gently tugging your hand away. Your nose scrunches in annoyance and he leans forwards to nip the tip of it affectionately.

“Oh! Why don’t you let me do it for you!” you suggest, perking up at your own idea. 

“Have you ever cut hair before?”

“No, but how hard can it be?” you shrug. Hopping off his lap, you wrap your hands around his bicep and tug. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” he relents with a roll of his eyes. “But fuck it up and it’s my turn with the scissors.”

Ignoring the evil gleam in his eye, you drag him to the bathroom, flicking the light on and pushing him down by the shoulders to sit on the edge of the tub. You rummage through his little cabinet, triumphantly pulling out a pair of scissors and a comb, completely missing the way his eyes cloud slightly.

After thoroughly wetting his hair, you get to work, combing it out so that it plasters against his skull. Like this, the back hairs reach down past his nape and his fringe falls well past his eyes. “This won’t do,” you tut, snapping the scissors a couple of times, a little too gleefully for his liking. You take a lock of hair and trap it between two fingers, running them down the length to straighten it out and gauge where to start trimming, the way your own hairdresser used to. 

And then you begin.

The snip of the scissors echoes off the bathroom tiles as you work your way around his head, tilting it this way and that and grimacing a little when it looks wonky. It’s shoddy work by professional standards, but you reason that he doesn’t style his hair anyway so it shouldn’t be too obvious. You're lost in your task until he speaks up quietly and makes your hands pause.

“Surprised they’re not rusty.”

“Hm?” Raising the scissors to eye level, you inspect them carefully, noting that the blades are a little dull but otherwise functional. “Oh yeah, they were right at the back. I didn’t even think you’d have a pair.”

“They’re not mine. They were my wife’s.” Something twinges in your chest at the mention of her. He doesn’t speak of her much as it is, but the moments he does, an ache flares and you feel on edge. 

“Oh,” you manage. “Did she cut your hair too?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling to himself, dipped in longing and melancholy. “She was kinda like you, y’know.”

“How so?”

“Clumsy,” he chuckles. “She loved tryin’ her hand at new things even if it didn’t work out. The first time she cut my hair, one side was an inch longer than the other. When I pointed it out, she told me I was seein’ things.” You laugh along with him, but it sounds hollow to your own ears.

“You really miss her, don’t you?” you murmur, running your fingers soothingly through his hair. He leans into your touch with a sigh.

“Yeah. Always. She was the love of my life”

It feels like a boulder has been dropped in your stomach.

You can’t even compare to that lofty position in his heart.

How can a few words feel so heavy? How is it possible for him to put a crack in your heart like that? With such nonchalant ease? They echo in your mind, corner to corner, distracting you to the point where you nearly cut his ear. Quickly, you finish up, wanting to escape the stuffy atmosphere hanging in the bathroom. 

“Done,” you tell him quietly.

“Thanks,” he says, standing and kissing your forehead, not noticing the wetness shining in your eyes. Peeking into the tiny mirror above the sink, he inspects himself with a satisfied hum. ”Not bad for a first timer.”

You leave him to shower off the remaining hair clinging to his skin, retreating back to the living room. Shoving your legs under the kotatsu, you lean forwards and rest your forehead on the table, squeezing your eyes shut to stave off the burning sensation building behind them.

Rationally, you know it’s shitty of you to be jealous of a dead woman - she’s not coming back to take your lover away from you. You know that. And she was his wife, his family. A loss that deep stays with you forever. You know that.

And still. 

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that she has a hold over him even though she’s not here. It’s not fair that sometimes, in the wee hours of the night, he still exhales her name as he sleeps. It’s not fair that you sometimes catch him looking at you with longing, but like it’s not you he’s seeing. It’s not fair that he admits to loving her so easily and not you. She may be dead, but she lives on forever in his heart with him, a place you may never be able to reach.

Quietly, you allow the tears to fall, sluicing down your cheeks in hot streams as your shoulders shake with your sobs. You gulp down every noise, every sharp intake of breath, squeezing your lips together tightly so that he won’t hear your pathetic little sniffles. Your heart aches in your chest, a visceral pain that makes you crumple in on yourself, forcing you to curl up to make it ebb. And it’s at this moment that you come to a devastating realisation.

You are in love with a man who will never love you back. 

As quickly as you find bliss, it begins to slip through your fingers.

It may just be your imagination, but it begins to feel like Toji withdraws from you more often. Part of you wants to do the same, to pull back and see if he’ll reach out and tug you back in. The other part of you wants you to double down on your efforts, as if trying harder and being more sweet and obedient will endear him to you. 

Unfortunately, in your limited experience, neither method has worked before. Your ex didn’t care for your effort, nor did he even bat an eye when you left without a word. An ugly part of you likes to tell you that Toji is the same, that he doesn’t care if you stay or go. That you mean absolutely nothing and your relationship is built on convenience because he misses human touch and warmth. Because you make a good distraction from his grief. 

His latest ‘job’ also takes up a lot of his time, and he’s away more than usual, sometimes days at a time. Being alone is difficult, especially with the tumultuous state of mind you exist in. You can’t help but let your thoughts wander to where he could be going on these excursions.

It’s like there’s a chasm that’s opened up between you, yawning wider the further you journey, pulling your once joined hands apart until you’re clinging on by your fingertips. There’s nothing you can do as the distance grows wider and the inevitable approaches.

It’s the reason you find yourself in that same barstool once again, looking less out of place than the first time. A glass of water sits before you, condensation pebbling on the sides and dripping down to pool on the streaky surface of the bar. The bartender chooses not to warn you away this time. After all, you’re not his problem - he’s not telling you again. So he lets you sit quietly, morosely running your finger around the rim of the tumbler.

I’ll be at the bar after you finish work. Meet me there.

That’s all he had said to you before you left for your shift, ignoring your look of confusion as he disappeared without another word to go and shower. You’d stood in the genkan for a few minutes, mind racing with reasons as to why he would want you to meet him at the place where everything began. To fix things? Break them off? You’ve been plagued by questions all day, distracted from working until you finally clocked out and headed back to the start.

Now here you sit, waiting for your lover, wondering if he’ll even turn up. Each time the door opens, you peek up, hoping that it’s him, deflating further when it’s not. Eventually, you give up on checking, sipping from your glass and fighting the sting in your eyes. 

A hand jolts you from your musings, large, warm and familiar.

“How long have you been here?” Toji grumbles, tugging out the stool beside you and sitting down.

“Nice of you to finally turn up.”

“Somethin’ came up,” he says vaguely and you roll your eyes, keeping them focused on your water.

“Obviously. Why did you call me here?”

“To talk,” he says simply.

“We couldn’t have done that at home?” He regards you carefully for a moment before he calls for the bartender and orders a drink. Silence pervades the space between you as he waits for his beer, promptly taking a draught and sighing heavily once he swallows.

“So… Why are we here?” you ask again, watching him rub his chin irritably.

“Cos I haven’t been fair to you. I know the past few weeks have been rough with me bein’ away a lot,” he admits slowly. “But it’s not just that. I don’t want you to take this badly but I realised something.”

“What is it?”

“I guess- I’m still grieving.” Another pause. “I’m still in love with her.”

And there it is. 

You’re not sure how you expected to feel once hearing his confession. Mostly, you feel empty. Wrung dry. The past few weeks have been difficult indeed, between being lost in your own head and the constant arguing - you are emotionally drained. What should be making the tears spill down your cheeks, makes you feel bone-tired instead.

“I know,” is all you say. Toji takes your hand in his, running his thumb comfortingly over your knuckles.

“I’ve been tryin’. I swear.”

“I know.”

“I wanna love you. I really do.”

“But you don’t,” you say bluntly, pulling your hand away. “How am I supposed to compete with a dead woman?”

“You’re not competin’.”

“Toji.” You say his name quietly, letting the syllables roll off your tongue gently. “You don’t have to force yourself.” 

Frustration marks his brow as he takes your hand back and squeezes it somewhat defiantly. “I can’t keep livin’ like this. I know that. Let me fix this, I just need a little time. Can I have that?”

“I don’t know.”

Abruptly, he tugs you out of your seat, tossing a small wad of notes on the bar before leading you out into the cool night. The frigid air kisses your skin and makes you shiver, so he pulls you into his side, wrapping a thick arm around you to lend you his warmth. The gesture makes your traitorous heart flutter, even as it cracks down the middle. 

“Let’s go get some ramen,” he suggests, guiding you down the vaguely familiar route. Humming noncommittally, you let him string you along the pavement, not missing the way his arm tightens around you slightly. Strong gusts of wind try to slip between you, like nature itself is trying to pull you apart. But he holds fast and refuses to let go. Not yet, at least.

The ramen shop is exactly how you remember it. Warm and cosy, quiet at this hour. It smells just as good as it did last time, transporting you back to your first meal together. You sit at the same table and the ramen that arrives looks exactly the same. But when you take your first bite, there’s no fervor, no eagerness to the way you eat like there was back then. You eat delicately, slowly, and despite your taste buds exploding with flavour, something doesn’t taste quite right. 

Bitter.

Like the taste left in your mouth from Toji’s words is still sitting heavily on your tongue, disrupting the savouriness of the broth.

“How was yer day?” he asks conversationally.

“Fine.” The tense air sits heavily on your shoulders when you don’t elaborate, weighing you both down until he speaks again in an attempt to shatter it.

“I’m uh, leavin’ again tomorrow.”

“So much for fixing things,” you scoff quietly, stabbing at your noodles. He sighs heavily, fixing you with that intense stare he looks at you with when he’s deadly serious.

“Look, this is the last time for a while. I’ll be gone a week and then I’m all yours.”

“Really?” Hope leaks into your voice as you set your chopstick down. 

“I promise. Is that okay?”

Eyeing him warily, you nod, a little bit of relief daring to soothe your heart. He gives up on small talk after that - it’s really not a strong suit of his, so you eat in relative silence, the only sounds coming from the kitchen and your slurping and chewing. The silence is a little easier to breathe through as you finish your meal. He promised. That has to mean something. 

He unlocks the door and you both toe your shoes off once you get home. Barely two steps inside and his arms are around your waist, lips brushing softly over the delicate skin of your neck. Out of pure habit, you let your head loll to the side, inviting him to explore the planes of your throat with his mouth. His teeth graze lightly over your pulse point before he travels up to kiss at your jaw and cheek.

“I meant it,” he whispers, voice husky in your ear. Warm hands slip under the hem of your hoodie, his thumbs stroking at the soft skin of your belly. Resting your hands over his, you loosen his grip and tug him towards his room, not even bothering to flick any of the lights on as you turn to face him.

“Show me. Show me what I mean to you.”

That night, Toji makes love to you with a sweetness you’ve never felt before. Every drag of his lips on your skin is warm and tender, tracing paths over every contour of your body. His touch is almost reverent, fingers gripping at you with a restrained desperation that kindles hope in your heart. His whispers of praise make you mewl, back arching into him to pull him closer, to make him yours, because he’s all you have in this awful world.

When he pushes his cock into you, he groans your name like a benediction, breath hot on the shell of your ear as his hips fluidly roll back and forth. Toji clutches you to him like this is the last time he’ll be inside you, the last time he’ll get to pour his love into you with just a brush of his fingertips. There’s almost a finality to the way he fucks you, stretching out every last sensation like warm taffy, prolonging it until he’s forced to let go.

You lose count of how many times he’s made you cum, how many times he’s filled your cunt, how many kisses he’s branded into your skin. Over and over, again and again, until your tears dampen the pillow, equal parts pleasure and sorrowful yearning. Until he’s burying his head in your neck and his strong arms shake and give way, winding around your waist.

“Don’t let me let you go before we’ve even gotten anywhere,” he murmurs, kissing the hollow beneath your ear. “Give us a chance.” You’re too incoherent to respond so you offer him a sleepy nod and snuggle into his bare chest, drifting off to sleep with a warmer heart than you started your evening with.

Morning arises bright and cool, but you’re snugly wrapped up under the sheets with your lover, the cold unable to nip at you from the safety of his arms. Toji is already awake as you stir, offering you a gruff ‘g’morning’ before he starts to untangle himself from you - or he would if you weren’t clinging to him so tightly.

“I gotta go, sweetheart,” he says, gently prying himself out of your grip. “I’m meetin’ someone in a couple hours.”

“Plenty of time for you to stay with me a little longer.” Shaking his head fondly, he leans down to kiss you softly, cradling your cheek in his palm. 

“I can’t.” His expression is apologetic as he breaks free of your hold, not missing the dejected look on your face when he straightens up. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be back before ya know it.” Huffing, you slump back into the pillows, drawing the duvet tight around your neck to ward off the chill. You watch him longingly as he exits the room, still completely bare from the previous night.

Compared to last night, you feel better. The tightness in your chest has loosened some, though you still remain dubious. A couple of promises and a night of love-making doesn’t quite cement his words the way you’d like, but it’s a start and you can’t help but feel hopeful. Despite this, something sits in your gut, a quiet anxiety that you quickly dismiss as hunger despite the way it makes your skin prickle. 

The feeling persists even after you bid Toji goodbye, pressing one last longing kiss to his lips, fingers curled into the dark t-shirt he’s wearing. “Stay safe,” you murmur into his chest. “I’m not patching you up again.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grins reassuringly as he pulls away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry yer pretty little head about me.”

“I’m serious, Toji.”

“So am I. I’ll be home before ya know it.”

The apartment is unnervingly quiet once he’s gone, amplifying the feeling of dread that’s been swishing around your stomach all morning. The feeling doesn’t abate as the day wears on and night falls again, even when he calls you as you’re falling asleep. It spreads through your body like a disease, crawling sluggishly through your bloodstream day after day, steadily approaching your fragile heart. 

The calls stop after the fourth day and that’s when it begins to suffocate you.

A week passes by and still, there’s silence despite your periodic calls throughout the day. He hasn’t returned like he said he would. Worry gnaws at you ceaselessly, devouring your ability to eat and sleep, making you sick to your stomach. You have no idea where he is, if he’s even okay or- 

No. He can’t be. Not like this.

Not when he promised to come home. When he looked at you like he meant it. When the two of you have so much left ahead of you, so much to explore and learn about the other. When there are places you want to go together, dates you want to pester him into taking you on, finding out who that damn empty crib is for. Not when you want to tell him properly that you love him. When you’ve just decided you’re going to wait for him to love you too.

Our story ends where it began. 

You, seated atop that same barstool once more, in that dimly lit bar, alone. 

A shrouded figure, tall and lean stops a few feet away from where you sit. You catch sight of a lock of long, dark hair and long, elegant fingers. Caught between two of those fingers is a small, rectangular envelope. The figure places it on the bartop and beckons the bartender over, murmuring something quietly to him before swiftly making their exit. The bartender eyes you sympathetically before sliding the envelope over to you.

“I’m assumin’ this is for you,” he says.

On the back, in an untidy chicken scratch, is your name. The envelope is stained with dried, bloody fingerprints. 

Oh bitter, bitter, irony.

You’re in love with a ghost too. 

-> taglist: @sookisaurus @dragonslayer-5fanfiction @chloee0x0 @watyousayin

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a bit dirty - ch3

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch3 | next (coming soon) [masterlist]

// probably a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6874 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, hotel, disgustingly sweet, needy as fuck, kissing during sex, fucking your boss, names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’d think that seeing osamu nearly every single day after the night that you fucked him in your place of work, in his restaurant, would ruin something between the two of you. 

and sure, yes, there was always, and still is, ruminating under your skin, simmering in the depths of your stomach, resting at the forefront of your mind: the memory of that night, not even the act or the desperation, but the succeeding moment where he held you in his arms, kissed the back of your neck, the point in time before you told him it was a bad idea, the one where he didn’t regret a thing and neither did you.

even the morning after that night in onigiri miya, you two joke like it never happened. well, sorta like it never happened, because when you got there a bit early, osamu was already there. he was leaving the bathroom, wiping sweat off of his forehead, mop in hand, and both of you knew exactly what he was doing. neither of you said it, but the sheepish smile that you wore and the embarrassed adjustment of his cap as he put away the cleaning supplies spoke loud enough.

and that day you moved in sync, just like always. it was busy, really busy actually, but with the two of you working together, people were sat and fed and paid and gone all with a smile on their face. it’s wordless, the way that you compliment each other. you remember the things that he forgets and he knows exactly when you need a bit of extra support. 

there’s always been an inkling of synchrony ever since you started working there, but as you learned the ropes a bit more, as you memorized the menu and fully understood the ordering system, the two of you got even more dynamic. 

part of it, maybe most of it, was the fact that you genuinely cared about this place, about osamu’s well being and success and the way that his reputation was perceived. you wanted every customer that came in to leave happy, to tell their friends about the nice girl that worked at onigiri miya and the delicious food that they had.

you became indispensable, really. 

some days it was just the two of you. on busy saturday nights that used to easily need 3 or 4 workers plus osamu running around and taking orders and clearing dishes and packing to-gos in the tiny kitchen, your team of two got along just fine. help was nice and always welcomed, but when it came down to it, osamu knew he could count on you, on just you, no matter what. 

so when he asks you if you’ll work a catering gig with him a few hours out of town over the weekend, you probably shouldn’t be surprised, but you are, not because of anything work-related or because you feel like he should ask someone more capable, but because it’s only been a few short weeks since that night in onigiri miya and despite the fact that in your work environment nothing has changed, you still find yourself terrified that you’re going to revoke your treaty of no more. 

“me?” you ask, bag on your shoulder, no longer on the clock, and a few steps from the door. he’s caught you on your way out, a casual invitation in the empty restaurant that draws you back towards the bar where he’s standing. 

“c’mon, yea, of course, who else?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. then he explains further, “travel and stay will be paid for obviously. we’ll drive up the day before, stay the night, work the event, and then drive back that night,” he explains, leaning on the counter top, one arm over the other. he points at you to make his final sell, “and it’s overtime pay because it’s a catering event.”

truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the money, aren’t thinking about it even after he’s mentioned it, you have much more on your mind like, why me why me why me why me?

“why me?” you ask, unsure why it’s made it past the barrier of your brain and lips. it was supposed to stay trapped in your mind. you’re grateful it’s only those two words and not the full string of when we’ve literally had sex two times and it’s hard enough for me to keep my hands and mind off of you when we’re in this fucking restaurant let alone a roadtrip to another city. 

he laughs, “if i bring anyone else, i’ll actually have to bring two or three instead of just you, and then everyone needs their own hotel room, and then i have to make sure i have enough room in my car.” he waves his hand at the thought of the hassle. “easier to bring the best person than a few good people, y’know?”

their own hotel room. and now you can’t get the idea out of your head, of osamu inviting you into his hotel room, of him slipping you an extra key and asking you to spend the night with him, how he wouldn’t even have to ask for you to go back on your word so quickly, how different it would be to have sex with him in an actual bed and not on top of a sink or up against a bathroom wall.

you know it shouldn’t, but it’s only making you lean in the direction of yes even more (as if you weren’t already going to say yes just because he asked). it probably won’t even happen, isn’t even a thought on his mind. he said it himself, it was just easier to bring you.

“plus,” he tacks on, “i’d enjoy your company maybe a bit more,” he adds, “might be a bit selfish.” his smile says it all, contagious and bright as he asks, “so, whaddya say?”

“of course,” you nod, no hesitancy. 

/\ /\ /\

in the aftermath of the busyness of your last shift before you leave for the catering event, you’re smoothing out all of the details that you might need to know for the weekend. 

what the event is, anyway: some corporate business meeting something or other, he doesn’t really remember the name, he just knows how much they’re paying and what they’re paying for

the plan on how osamu is picking you up: if you just give him your address, he can just pick you up so you don’t have to make your way to him or the restaurant

what time you’re leaving: at noon, the hotel that you’re staying in is also the place that the catering event takes place in. it’s about a 4 hour drive or so.

you’re making note of all of these things in your head, nodding along to the information that he’s giving you. “so, you’ll be able to sleep in?” you ask in response to the late start time.

he stops what he’s doing, rag left on the countertop as he laughs, throws his head back and shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. if he weren’t as kind and considerate as you know he is, this could’ve come off very differently. “absolutely not,” he shakes his head, “i’ll be coming in to prep for the morning here, making sure that everything is in order for sumu to be in charge while i’m gone.” he says the last part with a shiver. 

“what? he doesn’t do a good job?” you ask, tilting your head, but you can’t hold the joke for that long, so you laugh right along with him. 

“thought you were serious for a second,” osamu says, still laughing, “shouldn’t be too bad this time ‘cause we’re not even gone for a full day, really. i’ll prep for him the morning of and close for him the night we’re back. won’t be that bad.”

“he doesn’t know how to close?” you ask, reaching out to grab the rag that osamu left on the counter while he laughed at the thought of sleeping in for once. you take over for him, wiping down the counters carefully, thoroughly. 

osamu recovers, smiles at this tiny gesture and then moves to restocking the fridge. “nuhhuh. don’t trust him with numbers and receipts, just have him throw everything in a paper bag for me to take care of when i’m back,” he calls from his crouched position on the floor. 

“y’know, i know it wouldn’t help you now, but you could probably teach me how to close if you wanted,” you offer, and he’s really grateful for the fact that you’re not able to see how much this affects him, “or open or both,” you plop the rag back into the clean water before finishing the few bar glasses in the adjacent sink, “that way you could sleep in once in awhile or not have to worry about closing all by yourself sometimes.”

he’s quiet for a second because he’s feeling a lot of feelings that have nothing to do with training you to open or to close and he’s trying his best to sort through them quickly to offer you a reply. to you, however, the silence feels like contemplation on how to tell you he doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so you add quickly, “if- if you wanted? y’know, or if you don’t think i’m ready, i completely understand-”

“that would be really great, actually,” he cuts you off, soft and polite, “i really appreciate that.”

you’re warm now, trying to sort through a lot of feelings that are arising into your chest and your cheeks, so you just hum in response. the two of you finish your closing duties together and as you’re clocking out, you ask him one last question, “oh! last question,” you say, turning to him after you punch the buttons into the computer, “since we’re not at the restaurant, should i still wear my uniform?” 

“it’s a bit nicer of a catering event, actually,” he notes, “you could wear your uniform if you want but probably should wear something else, something a bit more professional, maybe? black pants, maybe a skir-”

“a dress?” you cut him off. 

if he says his words too fast, he’s worried that he’ll seem woefully unprofessional, but if he waits too long he’s worried that you might mistake hesitancy for reluctance. “yea,” he says, nodding, “that would be- that would be perfect,” he adds on, trying to be a bit more casual, a bit less flustered, “or whatever you wanted to wear.”

“great,” you say, nodding, “i still haven’t packed yet, so that is very helpful.” you wait a pause to see if he’ll continue the conversation, if he has anything else to say, because if he said a single other word, you’d sit right down and talk with him all night. you wait long enough and you’re somewhat grateful for his lack of response, because you need a good night’s sleep to be sharp enough for this weekend. “do you need anything else?” you ask, apron in your bag, bag on your shoulder, body towards the door.

he shakes his head, a smile on his face, “see ya tomorrow.”

“see ya tomorrow, samu,” you say, a small wave thrown as you leave the restaurant, unnecessarily giddy and very light.

/\ /\ /\

when he picks you up, you’re not prepared for how casual osamu looks, sunglasses and baggy black t-shirt as he walks around the front of his car to grab your bag. your tiny bag, your backpack. you were only going to be away for a night, you fit everything in a small black bag that you most definitely could carry, but he asks if he can put it in the back for you anyway. 

he opens the passenger door for you too, doesn’t linger around, just props it open for you to climb inside and you’re really not sure how you’re supposed to get through this car ride, let alone the better half of a weekend with just the two of you.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu teaches you all about how catering events differ from the regular restaurant. “they’re actually easier, honestly, ‘cause we’ve only gotta worry about the people in front of us, not seating or packing orders or answering the phone, just one at a time,” he says. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu tells you all about his favorite songs, cycling through playlists and telling you why they mean so much to him. he learns about yours, not because you offer them blindly even, but because he asks, hands you his phone and tells you to play your favorite album cover to cover, we’ve got time. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu explains the reason that he and his brother are so close, highlights moments from his childhood that he thinks contributed to who they are today, asks about your family and where you grew up, and is surprisingly good at driving while looking over at you with admiration in his eyes every other second.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu takes you to one of his favorite places to eat, hidden in a small town with a shitty parking lot, and he asks if he can order for you, recalls the time that you told him you were adventurous and not picky, but still asks you to trust him and you answer back a bit too quickly that you do. the food is simple but incredible and osamu listens to every word you have to say about it even though they maybe aren’t as concise as his and when the bill comes, he pays it in full, doesn’t listen to a single complaint that you have about splitting it or paying for your own.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu brakes a little bit too hard, reaches over and puts his hand on your thigh to warn you and your stomach has not stopped doing flips since. you have to fight yourself so hard to not put your own hand on top of it, to spread your legs a bit wider, to lean over and kiss him so hard that you cause an accident. 

on the drive to the hotel, you realize that there’s no way you make it through this weekend without doing something you should maybe regret, but don’t.

/\ /\ /\

but when you get to the hotel, osamu only asks for one key, no secret second one that he can slip you as a knowing gesture. your rooms are on opposite sides of the huge hotel, no running into each other late at night or being one wall away, and even though the two of you get dinner together after you’ve freshened up a bit, it wraps up pretty quickly.

as the two of you get up from the table, osamu reasons, “should probably call it an early night. we’re on at like 6 or something,” he says, “i’ll meet you at the bottom of the elevators at 5:55 to walk over there together?”

it’s the perfect opportunity for him to be bold or you to be outward, but you know that he’s just respecting exactly what you told him. he’s not going against your hesitant advice for last time to be the last time. he’s being perfectly attentive and a much better person than you probably would’ve been if the roles were reversed. 

“that sounds great,” you say, whining a soft question about why the conference has to start so early and he throws back a teasing quip of how you agreed to this and how business people need good breakfasts too. you walk back with him to the elevators, but you enter different ones.

and the two of you go up to your separate rooms alone.

/\ /\ /\

given that the night had to go as it did, vis-a-vi you not spending it with osamu, you’re grateful for how early you went to bed. waking up before sunrise is never fun, but you feel almost ready to accomplish a full day because you had a pretty good night’s sleep. 

you meet osamu at the bottom of the elevator promptly at 5:55am in the black dress that you mentioned in passing and your onigiri miya embroidered apron in your arms and you’re cursing yourself for not expecting this. 

all the signs were there, all of his mentions of a nicer event and nicer clothes and how of course it didn’t just apply to you. when you round the corner, you see him. hair combed neat, bangs pushed back, black collared long-sleeve button-up, and tan pleated dress pants, and you feel like you need a do-over of this morning, because how are you supposed to just not tell him how good he looks this morning and walk to work like the only thought in your head isn’t how badly you want him.

“morning,” you call out, soft so that you don’t startle osamu who is looking down at his phone, scrolling to pass the time. “have you been waiting long?” you ask.

“only a few minutes, my fault for wak-,” he starts, clicking his phone off and putting it in his pocket, and then he sees you… and then he takes a few moments to really see you, trying to cover up his wandering eyes with the rest of his stumbling sentence, “for- uh, for waking up on time, or- er- early.”

“how did you sleep?” you ask, breezing over his reaction, because if you focus on it too long you will sound the exact same way.

“good,” he nods, short response because he’s learned his lesson, “you?” he gestures towards the direction that you’re heading and starts to move, slow steps until you’re right next to him.

“not bad, pretty good,” you say, hesitating a bit because you know the connotation of your next words, but he’s looking at you patiently, genuinely listening and caring about how you slept last night and his collar is neat against his neck and if you don’t say something, he’ll never understand how sorry you are for wanting that last time to be the last time. “king bed was a bit big just for me,” you say as you approach the stand of tables and warmers and portable burners.

you step behind them, pausing to see how he’ll respond. you’re hoping for a sorry or a flirty is that so or we don’t have to check out until 3, but instead he just asks, “do you want me to do up your apron?” it’s the only time he’s asked this since your first week and you’re slightly confused until you nod yes slowly and he steps behind you, hands on your waist as he holds you still.

he pulls the apron out of your arms, smooths it over your stomach, tugs on the strings, sending you softly back into his chest. “sorry, doll,” he says against your ear, making no move to separate this contact. your eyes dart around the open hall that the stand is occupying. there isn’t a single other person here, but your heart is beating like you’re on full display. 

he runs his hands down your sides and your hips, holds the strings of your apron with one hand as the other ghosts over the tight fabric of your dress, palm kneading into your ass, sliding down the tops of the backs of your thighs. when he moves his hands, his hips replace them, pressed taut against you as he makes a pretty bow against your lower back. 

osamu pulls away from you slowly and when you turn around to face him, you can see his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before, a look on his face asking for confirmation. you put your hand on his chest, on the dull thumping beneath his sternum, “thank you, samu.”

“mornin’ rush starts at 7, so we should probably prep,” he mentions, bending over to pick up the rice cooker from under the table, conversation back to normal no matter how much you wish it wasn’t, “should be done after the lunch rush at 1:30,” he says, turning his attention to you, looking you straight in the eyes, “and i think check-out’s at 3.”

if you were trying to play coy right now, the whimper that leaves you ruins the entire facade, but you aren’t. you unabashedly need him right now, or at 1:30 whatever, and you want him to know that. “okay,” you nod, “1:30,” you repeat.

the second that you start working the morning shift, you’re moving nonstop, a constant line for most of the day. you have a few steady hours of non-stop work, and osamu is right, it is much easier. you only have to focus on one person at a time and you and osamu work just as well here under high, ballroom ceilings, serving onigiri to people in suits and blazers as you do in the small walls of onigiri miya.  

when you’re busy, it’s hard not to think only about the task at hand, at taking orders and making onigiri and politely conversing with customers. but when it slows down, when the tiny break right before 11 hits, when the late risers have finished their breakfast and the lunch cravings haven’t quite hit yet and not a single person shows up at the booth or even in the surrounding area, it’s much harder not letting your mind wander.

it’s only you and osamu, only the two of you, pressed up against each other, leaning on the back table, not saying anything, but a million things on your mind, not a single one not about him. you look over at the clock on the wall. it’s been 10 minutes since you’ve seen one other person.

“does it usually get this slow during catering events?” you ask.

“nah, but i think everyone is gone for meetings and whatever for another few hours,” he says, gesturing to the large floor sign with the schedule plastered on the front. “it’ll pick up once everything lets out at noon, but we’ve got like an hour until then.”

your eyes are up on the clock again, seconds tick, tick, ticking by, but not fast enough. 1:30 is too far away, isn’t close enough, not when there’s no one around and osamu’s side is pressed up against yours and his hand has just moved to rest against your other hip, arm across your lower back because he just wants to touch you. 

“i don’t think i can wait until 1:30,” he says, quietly and only to you, as if there were anyone else around to hear if he talked normally. you turn to him, chest against his side now and his hand moves to pull you closer, fingers spanning over your ass, gripping into the fat. 

you look up at him and you don’t even have to say it, don’t have to verbally reciprocate this impatience, he can see it on your face. you want to kiss him. he needs to kiss you. you can’t kiss here in the openness of the hall and it’s making everything have to happen much quicker. if you could kiss him now, feel his lips against yours and his hands against your body, you could’ve waited a few minutes to start undressing him, to walk back to your hotel room or find somewhere a bit more private, but without his lips on yours, you needed to get out of here right now. 

your eyes flicker to the sign, employee bathroom, and osamu follows your gaze, chest forward, immediately ready to follow you. he roots around the stand, finds a sign that says something about stepping away for a minute and puts it at the forefront of the booth and then you’re gone. he’s following you so closely, hand in your hand, rioting pulse against your own.

he barely has time to lock the door before you’re on him, pulling him, grabbing him, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt in a hurry to feel his skin in your hands, lips smashed against his as you do so and the second that they meet, all feels right in the world.

it feels like everything slows down and you let it. your heart beats a bit slower, more regular, you’re more careful with this buttons against his chest, your kiss is sweeter, softer. he’s holding your face in the palm of his hands, no tongue or teeth, just a deep kiss that has your stomach in knots, that could make you break down in tears, that could give you a toothache.

“m sorry i said,” you say against his lips and he moves to pull away but you push right back. you don’t care if he can barely hear you, you need to kiss him. you don’t want to stop kissing him. if you spent the entire hour in this bathroom just kissing him that might be satisfying enough. “sorry i said we shouldn't do this again, was really dumb,” you murmur.

he tries harder this time, pulls your face away from his, wipes the gathering tear in the outer corner of your eye, gives you a tiny peck, and then says, loud for you to hear it, “it’s alright, sweetheart, just glad to kiss ya again.” he has to wipe more tears now as they start falling down the side of your face, dripping off of your chin before he can catch them, and you don’t really know why you’re crying, you just don’t want to stop kissing him, don’t want to be without his touch or out of his grasp.

the second that his lips are back on yours, the tears cease, happy to feel him again and taste him again and you’re so slow to unbutton his shirt, but you don’t pull away until each one is open. you place both of your palms on his bare chest, slide them down the toned muscle and his abs, push your fingertips around his sides, and clasp them behind his lower back, pulling him with you until your lower back meets the counter.

he leans down, forehead against the top of your head, speaking into the tiny confines he’s created with the two of you pressed together and the boundaries of your chests. his breath is warm and his words shake you, “think i can properly taste ya now, pretty?” your knees are weak as you nod against him, whimpers plentiful as he helps you jump onto the counter and sinks onto his, perfectly level with your squeezed together thighs.

osamu places his large hands on top of your thighs, thumbs digging down against the insides to pry them open, dress riding up to your hips as he spreads your legs wide. you’re already drenched, soaking wet just from kissing him and listening to his voice and you aren’t the least bit embarrassed. he moves your panties to the side with one hand, pushes his other up your thigh, thumb following the inside until it brushes up against your cute little clit, flicking it with the pad gently. 

at the first touch, you recoil slightly, jumping at the sensation. osamu reaches up, places one hand on your hip, a tender reminder to stay put, and then he can’t help it. he leans forward quickly, tongue hanging out of his mouth, running the flat of it between your slick folds, curling his tongue to gather your juices, to taste them as they run down his throat.

the second that he tastes you, really tastes you, finally tastes you, he can’t control himself. he hooks both arms under your knees, pulling you closer, knocking you off balance slightly, back colliding with the mirror as he pulls your cunt into his mouth deeper. he’s using everything he can to taste you, to get you off, his teeth and tongue and nose and lips and you can feel every single little detail.

the noises coming from between your legs are so lewd, so vulgar, the wet slurping and heavy panting breaths every time he comes up for air. he squeezes your plush thighs against his cheeks, can’t get enough of your delicate skin and your sweet taste. he’s murmuring things into your soft pussy now and you can’t hear him, but you can feel the vibrations and if you weren’t so close to coming all over his tongue, you’d care more about messing up his hair as you thread your fingers into it, grabbing tightly onto his locks as you pull him in deeper. 

“samu,” you cry, tears starting again because the way that the tip of his tongue is prodding against your tight hole, circling around the rim, teeth scraping against your throbbing clit, mouth rubbing against your puffy lips, your core is on fire, so tight, and you’re coming all over his face, flooding and gushing, and the noises don’t stop, they get worse.

they get wetter and more intense and you’ve already come on his pretty face, but he looks up at you, mascara smudged against your cheekbones from crying two times already, and he decides that he needs to taste your come again. you’re so sensitive and he’s so good, it doesn’t take very long at all for you to be creaming all over his perfect tongue again.

“taste so fucking good, puppy,” he practically growls, low and breathless, standing up, chest sliding between your legs, “need-,” he breathes, “need to feel you all sloppy on my cock again, babygirl, yea?” you nod, reaching a hand up to rest on his chest and he leans forward for you to reach. your other hand stays gripped around the edge of the counter, bracing yourself for his thick, fat cock to split you open. 

you don’t need to watch him undo his dress pants or take himself out of his boxers. you keep your eyes on his, lift your chin up slightly because you can’t find the right words for if you don’t kiss me right now i’ll cry again. you don’t have to. he leans down, leaking cock pressed against the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips to yours, sweet and soft, back of his fingertips falling down the side of your jaw, palm resting on your collarbone as he pulls away. 

before he slips inside of you, he leans back, squeezes your legs together and rests them on one of his shoulders. he uses his hand to guide himself, rubs the underside of his head against your sloppy lips, grunting softly at how good you feel against his sensitive tip. this grunt only gets louder, deeper, more guttural as he sinks inside of you, thick cock pushing through your puffy lips and slick folds, and he turns his head, kissing the side of your calf.

he’s all the way inside of you, hips pressed against the backs of your thighs, kisses your leg again, shaky and ruined as he shudders, “fuck, bunny, missed ya, missed ya so much.” you don’t know what’s fluttering more, your tight, gummy walls around him or your flipping, empty stomach, and you don’t know how to communicate how much you missed him too. 

when you try, it comes out as, “deeper, samu, please.” it’s whiney and desperate and skips out of your tight throat, but he hears it. he understands what you mean more than you even do, spreading your legs again, letting them fall against the edge of the cold counter as he wraps his arms around your back, scooches you closer to him. your chest is pressed against his, forehead against his shoulder, his hand is on the back of your head, holding you close. he pulls you closer to him, deeper onto his cock, one hand on the small of your back, hips pressing forward to meet you. 

his hand migrates to the back of your neck, fingers twirling around locks of your hair as he stays buried deep inside of you, not moving, just feeling you surrounding him. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face deeper into the crook of yours, aching to have him impossibly closer. 

when he finally starts moving, his strokes are long and slow, pulling out so that his swollen head is the only thing inside of you and pushing back in until his hips are pressed flush against the insides of your thighs. “‘s that better, baby?” he asks into your soft skin.

“‘smuch better, thank you, samu,” you say in between soft moans and tiny sobs. “thank you,” you repeat, circling your hips, disrupting his steady rhythm because you just can’t sit still. he doesn’t mind, pulls away to watch you squirm as his cock disappears between your sticky folds.

“c’mere, doll,” he coaxes, helps you down and holds you close as he switches positions with you, his lower back on the edge of the counter, lifting one of your legs and resting your knee beside his hip and the top of the sink. “lemme fuck ya harder, okay, dove?” you whimper, nodding so hard that you make yourself dizzy, forehead falling against his shoulder again, kisses placed into his collarbones because you need your lips against some part of him. 

every time he pulls his hips back, slides his cock out of you to fuck into you again, gravity has you falling back onto his cock, harsh and sudden, filling you full every time his hips move away from you like you’re magnets. he wraps one arm around the small of your back, the other bracing the weight of the two of you with his fist gripped around the edge of the counter. 

he holds you against him and thrusting up into you is less like his cock driving up into you and more like moving you up. he can’t feel the drag of his cock parting your tight walls, but he can feel the pressure of your thighs weighing on his hips as he fucks upwards and he can hear the cute little noises you make as you fall back on his cock and he decides that he has to get you back into this position again, it’s like air to him.

“princess,” he whines, and you hum.

“babygirl,” he coos, and you hum louder this time in case he hasn’t heard you over the clapping of your sticky skin against his.

“my pretty angel,” he adores, and this time you pick your head up off of his shoulder, thread your fingers into his hair to force his attention, to show you that you’re listening really good, 

“samu, baby, what?” you ask, voice like flowing honey. you repeat yourself because it feels good leaving your lips and the smitten, blushy look that arises on osamu’s face needs to stick around a little longer, “samu, what can i do for you, baby?”

the answer is just this. he doesn’t say anything and he hopes that you understand, the only thing that he needs right now is you, is this, this slow, intimate moment where he’s looking at you and you’re looking back at him and he can hear every single time that your thighs slap against his and he can feel how warm you are and watch how pretty you are, and there’s only one thing that could make this better. you lean forward, press your lips onto his, exhale a breath against them. okay, there are two things that could make this moment better. “pretty girl, can you come for me?” he says, but that’s not quite right, so he corrects himself, “can i make you come?”

you swallow harshly before you nod, bracing yourself for the pick up in speed and force, and you’re glad that you do. when he starts to fuck into you harder, faster, not letting you fully fall back onto his cock before picking you up again. you almost fall to the floor. you’re balancing on one leg, but it’s nearly worthless, rendered jelly at this point, so you hang off of osamu’s neck. 

he doesn’t slow down with this extra weight, of your arms around his neck and of being completely responsible for you right now. really, the responsibility he’s feeling and the trust that you’re putting in him only makes him want you more. “come, puppy, lemme feel it, make a mess for me, yea?” 

the whimpers that tear from your throat fill his head so full that there isn’t much room for anything else up there, only the responsibility to hold you and the need to fuck you through it. you’re trying to get his name out of your mouth, but you can only give him broken syllables, though that’s enough for him. “s-a sa s- sam- amu-”

“i know, babygirl, i know,” he whispers, and he feels bad that he can’t give you another or wreck you even harder, god knows you’d come undone so much faster a fourth time, but he’s so close, so fucking close hearing you so ruined, feeling you dripping down his cock. 

“angel,” he says like a question, “don’t wanna make a mess on your nice black dress, doll. can i come on your pretty tongue, pumpkin?” he asks. 

“will you let me kiss you after?” you worry, the only thought that’s making you hesitate even the slightest amount. 

“oh, sweetheart, nothing could stop me,” he says, pressing a kiss into your temple before helping you to the floor. 

the tile is cold on your knees, but you only feel it for a second, the sensation lost to your brain as the only one that inhabits it now is osamu’s heavy cock on your tongue. his fingers are softly pinching your chin, thumb rubbing against your bottom lip as he pumps his fist around his cock once, a second time, and on the third stroke, his load is spilling onto your tongue. it doesn’t take him long at all, looking down at you looking up at him, heavy lashes and smeared mascara, kind eyes and swollen lips, pretty wet tongue and heaving chest.

he’s come between your thighs enough times for you to know how his release feels, slow and thick and plentiful, and on your tongue it’s no different, but you can taste it, bitter and salty but addicting, and it slides down your throat so nice that you barely have to swallow. you wrap your lips around his head, flick the tip of your tongue against his slit as one last rope coats the inside of your cheek. 

the second that he’s done, before he’s even caught his breath again, he helps you to your feet, picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist and kisses you as hard as he can. he can taste himself on your lips and it’s driving him fucking crazy because he knows you can taste yourself on his lips and he never wants either to fade. 

he can’t stop kissing you, can’t pull away from you, but neither of you can breathe. it was already hard enough recovering from something like that when you were able to catch your breath. when he finally does pull away, you can’t stop smiling. you place your palm on his cheek, gently, softly, run your thumb over his bottom lip because you know you can’t kiss him right now and this will just have to do for the moment. 

when your breathes return to normal, when the room isn’t filled with harsh claps and lewd noises and desperate moans, when even the sounds of tissues being discarded and clothes being smoothed fade, you can hear a voice outside.

“does anyone know where miya-san is? it’s nearly noon and he’s still not back.” 

the bliss dissipates quickly, bubbles of whatever feelings are floating around between the two of you are popped. the neediness has come down, your one-track minds now have more, and the moment you so badly wanted to capture in your heart forever now has a horribly tainted ending. 

there’s no mention of we shouldn't do this again as he leaves first, and maybe it's wordless, maybe it's gone unsaid, because it doesn’t need to be said. the ramifications of your actions are laid out in front of you. you have the entirety of the 5 minutes that you wait alone in the bathroom to count every single consequence of this stupid lust-driven endeavor. 

or maybe neither of you have the strength to try to stop yourself anymore. maybe it goes unsaid, because you both know that you shouldn't do it, but neither one of you is going to follow that. you already tried it once and you couldn’t even make it a few weeks, wouldn’t even have lasted this long if you were alone together like this sooner.

so why try?

you’re not exactly sure which one it is, which reason of unsaid caution you should follow the path of, but you do know that you’re going to spend every single day until then trying. you open the door to the bathroom. maybe one day you’ll figure it out.

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FORGETFUL (2.7k)

— isagi yoichi x reader

SYNOPSIS: after winning a match, the only thing isagi wants is you. though there’s a little problem…

TAGS: characters 20+, minors dni, mature content, fem!reader, established relationship, fingering(f), oral both ways, sucking his fingers, swearing, very much in love, aftercare, pro player!isagi

NOTES: meet my new boyfriend isagi yoichi.

it always took a while for the adrenaline to finally leave isagi’s veins after a match. there’s the pump of blood in his ears when he shoots the final goal, the roar of the crowd and the crushing hugs of his teammates when it all happens. it’s all so quick that when he has to recall his emotions in an interview immediately after, he’s pure ego and cockiness.

he scored because he’s the best. he won because he’s the best. what else could the answer be? especially when his gaze shifts to yours when the interviewer asks, “and what’re your plans to celebrate your win?” 

his pupils are blown out, barely any of the midnight blue of his irises to be seen. the crowd is chanting his name but he’s staring at you in the stands. his grin leans to one side and sweat drips off strands of his dark hair. he swoops it back with one hand to reveal his forehead and gives you a heart-clenching wink.

you don’t roll your eyes like you would when he flirts at home because currently, you’re in his world and he’s in his element. you’re in awe, your heart racing against your ribcage. an elated grin coats your face, paired with a little wave like he’d ever miss you in the crowd.

he leans forward into the microphone, low and flirtatious, “hopefully spend some time with my beautiful girlfriend. i think i deserve some love tonight.”

as soon as isagi kicks his hotel room door closed he’s ripping off his t-shirt in one swoop over his head and you know to do the same. it’s all a rush, a push of bodies, messy kisses, uncontrolled moans and a frenzy of hands. calloused fingertips are on your bare waist, your ass and the back of your head so your lips can meet his. you’re unhooking your bra and no coherent thoughts form as he sucks a spot on your neck. 

“all i fucking thought about was you when i scored that goal, baby. fuck the trophy,” he sloppily kisses over your chest and your hand pushes his face into you, “all i want is you.”

isagi’s touch and voice are rough, desperation finally unleashing like you’re under a time constraint. he shuffles your body with his against the wall and whines into your soft skin. you feel how eager he is against your stomach.

“wanna devour you, princess,” he breathes, fingers finding the button of your jeans and ungracefully popping them open.

“the bed, ‘ichi,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you by the ass. your legs circle his waist and a moan falls from your lips at the feeling of him against yours. there’s a harsh romanticism to it, a special type of glory where you feel like you won because he did. where he treats you like a gift with confidence that can come from succeeding when doing what you love. he got his moment to celebrate with the country earlier, you love that he always wants to spend the nights with you.

you know how he gets, his mind is on one track. kiss you till you’re senseless and fuck you till you’re begging to come. your hands smooth over his muscled shoulders, the muscles over his chest. he’s so beautiful and he’s all yours.

he plops you on his fresh white bed, causing you to bounce a little with the impact. his smile and blazed eyes make you feel everything. beautiful, loved, alive. he grunts above you, staring at your breasts and the damp spot on your underwear. isagi couldn’t have done it all without you, you make everything worth so much more, there’s so much more meaning to his actions when you’re there to look at him after. your eyes are just as blown out with bruised lips, staring up at your lover.

“s-so proud of you ‘ichi, my starboy,” you whisper and the pace slows down. he’s a fool for praise, he loves when you’re watching him and when you see him win. his breath hitches as he moves to yank off his jeans, leaving only his underwear on as he cages you in, forearms by your head.

“thanks princess, i love you,” he bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flicking over your face and body. he blissfully sighs when your hands drift over him and your arms loop around his neck. isagi’s shoulders are wide, biceps in biting distance and you get a whiff of his sea salt body wash he used back at the stadium.

“i love you too,” you hum, and he can’t help but press his lips to yours. then again and he nibbles on your bottom lip like he can’t get enough. “yoichi.”

“baby.”

“i think you deserve some love tonight.”

your words mirror his words from his interview and your boyfriend’s gaze darkens in real time.

“fuck,” he groans, resting on one arm to pull off his tight black underwear. one heavy breath leaves him when his cock slaps against his stomach and your hips jerk up so it can meet your clothed centre.

he grinds himself against you, rocking with a rhythm that makes your eyes flutter shut. he knocks your clit sweetly every time, “please ‘ichi.”

“want me in, baby?” he whispers, looking between your bodies at his weeping cock against your cute panties. you’re so familiar like he’s always known you, shaped just for him. “shit, d’you want me to fuck you?”

you release a moan in his ear, “yes, yes,” 

isagi hooks his finger in the centre of your panties, not even bothering to pull them off. he circles your clit with your thumb, using your wetness to glide across you softly. he stares at your twitching body, how your hands reach to touch him and the pretty whimpers from your lips.

“yoichi,” you plead and he laughs.

“okay baby, okay,” though it’s only when he fists his cock to position himself inside you that you remind him.

“condom, ‘ichi!”

you lift on your forearms as isagi’s eyes widen. “oh shit, can’t believe i almost forgot.” he mumbles, picking up his jeans from the ground to search for his wallet.

you’re barely paying attention to him, your hand drifting to your stomach for anything between your legs. “come on, starboy before i sort myself out.” it’s almost a threat, almost.

it’s only when a loud shit slips through do you look up at your boyfriend, completely stressed with his id cards, cash and bank cards dashed haphazardly across the bedside table. he’s raking his hands through his hair and his cock is leaking pre, leaving traces on his stomach.

“don’t tell me you don’t have one,” you whine, flinging your head back.

“i thought i… when were we together last?” 

you’d call him cute from how stressed he is if you weren’t bursting to be touched. “i dunno, i was with you in spain?”

“fuck, i didn’t get a new one,” he groans and you sit up, hands on his thighs.

“none in your suitcase?”

“nah, completely forgot.”

“guess you used all your luck for the match then, didn’t you?” you try to joke but it comes out strangled with how needy you are. as much as isagi wants to punch himself, he drops a kiss to your lips.

“i’ll go out and get some now, wait for me here pretty,” he rumbles but you shake your head.

you pull his arm so he rests on top of you again and isagi lets you. there’s nowhere he wouldn’t go for you.

“no, stay with me. we can do other things and you can get some tomorrow,” you say and interest flickers in his pupils. 

“okay,” he stuffs his head in the crook of your neck to lay kisses, “sorry babe.”

you laugh, “it’s fine, just please touch me before i explode.”

isagi shifts his focus to you completely, ignoring the stupid condom problem and the tight sensation at his lower stomach begging to be fixed. he presses a kiss into your cheek, down your chest where he bites the side of your breast to the prized space between your legs. he doesn’t think as he pulls off your underwear, throwing them in the direction of his jeans to stuff in a pocket later.

he’s fixated on your centre, how you’re so beautiful, all wet and shiny and whimpering for him. he groans before he delves in, the rumbles from his throat only heightening your pleasure. his lips wrap around your clit and your hand flies to his hair to keep him in place. 

you’re the sweetest, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted and he feels like he’s not even present with how softly you’re mewling his name. “ichi… oh, oh, oh,”

he slurps you up, two hands on your thighs to stop you from shuffling and twitching over him. it’s loud and messy, his spit mixed with your wetness and when your hips begin to grind on his mouth, he plunges two slender fingers inside your pussy.

your back arches off the bed in surprise and isagi grins momentarily at the sight. “c’mon princess, so pretty for me.”

he moves his fingers at the same pace he would his cock, fast yet with skill, rubbing against your softest parts and the parts that make you go crazy. he pecks around your clit, giving you little kitten licks which he knows makes your body twitch and adoring how you’re leaking up to his wrist now. you’re close, your lower stomach tightening and your thighs are beginning to clench around his head to keep him there.

“yoichi, i’m about too… oh fuck ‘ichi,” 

he loves it, his smile is wicked across his lips. “let go for me, all for me, c’mon.”

when the wire finally snaps, bursts of white hot electricity rush through your veins, shaking your body without a choice. your thighs clench mid air and isagi sucks on your clit through it all, his fingers still pumping for more. 

it all makes you feel lightheaded and sleepy so you tap his shoulder twice for him to begin to slow down. isagi stares at you like he does his trophy. glazed eyes, wandering to the sweat lining your forehead and your heaving chest. your inner thighs are all damp and so is his hand. he licks up his wrist to get more of you though stops when he stares at your parted lips.

“you okay, baby?” he whispers, kissing your thighs and the grin doesn’t slide off his face when you nod lazily.

“yeah, ‘ichi,” you reply, breathless.

he kneels on the bed, brushing his fingertips over your bottom lip. your eyes flutter open at the touch, finding him immediately. his expression is wistful and you don’t miss how hard he is against his stomach.

“taste yourself, princess. you taste like heaven,” he drawls and his chest tightens when you open your mouth for him to put his fingers inside. his eyes widen when you begin to suck, hollowed cheeks and your tongue swirling around his digits.

“fuck, not like that or i’ll come right now,” he warns and you don’t break eye contact, you suck until his eyes begin to laze and his breath weakens. 

then you pull him out by the wrist, “anything you want, starboy. you’ve been waiting for so long.”

there is some sympathy laced in your tone as you stare at your footballer and isagi looks close to begging after waiting so long. 

“c-can you hang your head off the bed? wanna be in your throat,” he rumbles, fisting his cock up and down to relieve some of the pressure. you watch the movement, his abs tensing and his thick forearms.

you hum in response, angling your body as he asked. he keeps his hand at the base of his cock as your mouth opens wide for him, and then he slowly slides in.

“shit,” he groans and you hold on to his thigh for some grounding. “oh baby, i’m gonna fuck you properly tomorrow, o-oh shit.”

he thrusts his hips as he would in your pussy, the feeling of his cock pushing down into your throat. there’s more space for him at this angle, more space for him to go further. spit builds in your mouth and being upside down makes you feel lightheaded in the best way. he smells strong, all man and the praise he sends you has your hand reaching between your legs again.

what isagi makes up for in girth he has in length. he’s everywhere, his veins imprinted along the side of your cheeks and the weight of him on your tongue. you’re drooling out the corner of your mouth and isagi can only make these animalistic grunts.

“i’m not gonna last long baby,” his voice is deep, every word from the pit of his stomach.

he eyes your throat and that’s all it takes for him to snap. he can see his length, every thrust and every gag that comes from you after it. it’s so raw and graphic and ropes of come burst down your throat. 

“m-mother… fucker,” he clenches his teeth, leaning forward over your body and he almost misses the orgasm shaking through you too as you tickle your clit.

when he’s done and you’ve swallowed all you can, you’re tapping his thigh twice for him to move. he flops beside you on the bed, pulling you up into his arms.

he’s all heavy breaths, chest heaving and his eyes are shut so he can come back to earth.

he forgets all about his win at this moment. about football, how he scored and the whirlwind after it all. all he knows is you. you smell like him and he can still taste you in his mouth. 

“i wasn’t too rough was i?” he murmurs and you kiss his jaw.

“no, perfect,” you reply and he hugs you tighter to his chest.

now this is finally when all the excitement and adrenaline from today has left isagi yoichi’s body. he’s just a bundle of limbs and muscle, yours to look after like he would for you.

it’s quiet and comfortable but when you glance up at him, you think he’s fallen asleep. 

“no, no, we gotta go shower, ‘ichi. you’re all sweaty and i’m all sticky,” you push at him to climb out of his arms but you’re left with a groaning boyfriend.

“can’t we just sleep like this? i just won a match and had the life sucked out of me,” he smiles at his own comment, “literally.”

your favourite midnight blue eyes blink up at you and you find it so hard to say no to them. especially when his hand drifts to your waist and he lays a kiss on your breast. 

“fine, then at least go under the covers and i’ll wipe down my legs.”

isagi can’t let you do that after he was the one that participated too. so he sits up, silently, kissing your lips before padding his way to the bathroom. he returns with a damp wet cloth and a clean towel to wipe you down with nothing but love and care. 

“everyone was screaming for you when you did the final goal, ‘ichi, it was insane,” you whisper, eyes nearly closing and all your words so soft. sleep was clearly catching up to you too. 

isagi smiles, nodding along, “i only heard your cute scream at the ref when that idiot fouled me.”

once he’s done, he picks you up to tuck you into the bed. it’s been a long day for you too, supporting him in the crowd and feeling everything he did. 

“shit ref,” you mumble against his bicep as he pulls you in tight. it’s a phrase he says all the time, now being said by you.

“enough football,” he sniffs, stuffing his head in your neck. he inhales your scent and he can’t think of anything better, “i love you.”

you’re barely awake, eyes shut with a ghost of a smile on the pillow, “love you too ‘ichi.”

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isagi eating you out oneshot incoming!! interact if u want a tag <3

will be posting it when i come back home from school and i’m really excited to show you guys :3 he is so special to me so i’ll probably make more lovey dovey oneshots for him soon !! (though this one was just pure filth oops)

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