❥ Timeskip! Haikyuu Captains Matching With You On Tinder | Kotaro Bokuto

TOKREV NSFW VISUALS | (PT. II)

feat: mikey, draken, chifuyu, kazutora, baji, mitsuya, hanma, kisaki, koko, inui, ran, rindou, sanzu, wakasa, izana, kakucho, shinichiro

tw: fem!reader & read the trigger warnings for each character !! the number tells you which link the tw applies to

a/n: yes that’s my twitter account dedicated to nsfw anime visuals, mind your business <3

Keep reading

literally my fav thing ever now.

⛓— 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 (𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰, 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨)

pairing. bonten!kokonoi hajime x fem!reader

genre. BDSM!AU, sugar d@ddy!AU, 18+, slight canon divergent

summary. in trying times, hajime kokonoi makes you a deal you can’t refuse. he wants to bend your limits while you’re only in it for the cash. the stakes of this unconventional agreement? the first person to kiss the other on the lips loses everything.

cw. Koko is a Dom, the reader is a sub, reader is a BDSM club owner, Dom/sub dynamics, heavy angst, injuries, explicit sex, exhibitionism, fingering, collar and leash, objectification, dirty talk, suspension, BDSM terminology, sub drop, (m) cum eating, cunnilingus, blowjobs, deep throating, mentions of piss play, finger sucking, contractual sex, guns, almost-knife play, sir kink, unprotected sex, suspension, ropes, shibari, spanking, slut shaming, brief mentions of a breeding kink, mentions of death, romance, fluff, heartbreak, cheesy romantic gestures, copious mentions of 80s music

wc. 18k+

a/n. written for @novaresque & @festive ‘s dirty money collab. i hope you all enjoyed this little something i put together and please support out all the other talented writers’ works too <3 (feedback and rbs are appreciated!)

༊*·˚ please listen to this playlist to enhance your reading experience

Parties were rarely your forte.

You were more of the one-on-one kind, but since finding yourself in this world of sex, sin, and secrets, there wasn’t much of a choice you could make when it came to the numbers talking. The kink-filled fiesta for tonight where you and the other girls had to entertain boasted the sight of scantily clad waitresses floating around the room in neck-breaking high heels, all, while they cradled trays of hor d’oeurves in their slim arms. One stopped in front of you and offered a tray along with a small smile.

You shook your head. “Could you guide me to the changing room?”

Her perfect, red lips pursed into a thin line and she gestured to the top of a curved stairwell. Her swift attitude change left you flummoxed; it wasn’t as if you both were from different worlds. Granted, her wares for tonight were different than yours, but the outcome of both your services was still the same: cold, hard cash.

You took the stairs of this luxurious, but remote mansion. Tension seemed to seep from every pore of this well-preserved house, and you shook off your malignant thoughts.

When you got the brief for this job, you had wondered just why a yakuza leader had a need for a horde of girls from a BDSM sex club to entertain his prospects. But, you were never one to question a client’s choice. After all, these girls were in your care and you had to make sure that their safety was in-line.

Patches, condoms, birth control, STD checks the very next week—one could not be too careful.

The other girls from your club were already in their leather straps, skimpy lingerie, and makeup while you quickly dabbed on your lipstick; switching from your plaid skirt and sweater combo into a skin-tight latex suit that would’ve made a demon blush. You left your hair as it was and donned on a mask made of similar material. A bell rang and it was your turn to entertain the men in the other room. You and the girls sashayed in, the music low and reverberating into the soles of your platform heels.

It was like entering into the heart of sin city. Tonight, civilization was sacrificed for carnality.

The various Doms and Dommes who came with their subs watched the party unfurl through placid eyes, nursing glasses of mocktails while their partner(s) kneeled on the ground, waiting patiently to serve them. LED lights flickered intermittently to the rhythm of the music, highlighting both darkness and brightness; fantasy and the real. The air was thick with tension at the sight of these numerous unleashed submissives entering, ready to entertain anyone who looked a little too closely at them. Every girl had to be screened, as well as the potential Dominants for tonight and since you ran a tight ship, your club was one of the most sought-after ones for these soirees. Even if the red lines on your financial statements said otherwise.

Never mind about that. There was still time to salvage it all.

Immediately, your eyes zeroed in on a group of men that matched the description in your brief. The leader was right in the center; a man of a shorter build with a fall of silver hair that was cropped at the back of his head, looking bored and disinterested. His right-hand men were on high alert and they scanned the area; one with a head full of cotton candy pink hair and the other with a scar down his face and a frown fixed on his lips. The rest of the executives were dressed to the nines; suits, metal rings, perfectly styled hair, luxury oozing from every pore down to the way they stood, tall and haughty.

Bonten.

The worst criminal organization in all of Japan.

A hand came to rest around your waist and you turned to find your client for the night. He was a stout man with a simpering expression, who smiled at you like how a predator would leer at a prey.

“Are you clear on what to do, Y/N?”

You nodded and gestured subtly to the group. “I’ll get my girls to sweeten up the deal for you.”

“Good girl,” he uttered salaciously in a manner that had chills creeping up your skin. Not the good kind.

You fixed him a smile and left his side to approach the leader. But, before you could even take a closer step, one slim hand impeded you from getting nearer. Staring up into snake-like eyes, you paused at the teasing gleam in them. With his fall of silver hair and a hanafuda tattoo etched right on his scalp, he had an aura of danger and calculativeness about him.

“What do we have here?”

Fixing him with your most seductive smile, you pressed out your chest and tilted your head to the side, giving him a clear view of your cleavage. “Can’t a girl approach a group of handsome men?”

Those sharp eyes scanned down your body and you shivered when the tip of his tongue slipped out to touch the corner of his mouth. “Now that you put it that way…”

“Let her pass, Hajime.”

Hajime.

A name that meant ‘beginnings’. When you looked back on this moment in the future, you would come to understand how entirely apt it was.

He let you go, but you weren’t paying the leader any attention. Your eyes trailed on him, and it was one of your girls who nudged you. You spared her glance, nodding; a green light to put in motion this plan to appease your wealthy client. A few of them joined the fray, sitting on wide laps, giggling and twirling their hair. Their leader was caught in the web between two of your best seducers; the deal was in good hands.

“So, Hajime,” his name felt like honey on your tongue. “What’s your flavour?”

He raked his gaze up and down your body, the curves, dips, and divots more inviting under the strobing LED lights. “Unavailable.”

You didn’t let your face fall, trained to endure rejection since the day you waded head first into this world.

“A tough call, but I could change your mind,” you purred and tilted your face up to meet his magnetic eyes. All of the men from Bonten were beautiful, but there was a particular allure to him that you could not tear your attention from.

Hajime moved like water with his lithe and lean frame; a tilt of his head, the tip of his tongue running on his bottom lip, the grace of his high cheekbones and plush lips. Even the way he was dressed—in a rich, red suit with cufflinks that cost more than two months of your rent—was enticing. He looked like someone you would let ruin your mind and soul without batting an eyelid.

“Let’s make a little bet, shall we?”

At the mention of a deal, he perked up.

Your brief on each member was crystal clear. Hajime was Bonten’s prized treasurer and a renowned money-making machine. He could turn thin air into crisp yen bills; his fast-track mind a treasure trove for any organization. If you could make good with him, your little club was set for life.

Men like him loved games that had a little skin in it, the high second to the rush of winning. You could sense that he would not refute you.

“What’re the stakes?” Ka-ching. This close, you could smell a rich scent of sandalwood wafting from his pulse points. You placed your hand on his broad chest, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the luxurious texture and straight into your palm like tiny sparks of electricity.

Batting your eyelashes at him, you stood on your tiptoes and skimmed your lips over his ear. “First person to cum loses and has to be ordered around by the other for the night.”

Debauchery beckoned and he was not immune to the electricity of this deviant party. You resisted the urge to gasp when a large palm curled around your waist, and he shifted closer to you, staring down into your eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this, little girl?”

A twist on your lips. Pushing him away, you gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Unless you’re a one-pump chump and you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

Hajime cocked one perfectly groomed brow, the whites of his snake-like eyes glimmering. “You play a tough game, princess… but I accept.”

Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

You could just imagine the stacks of yens waiting for you once you had Bonten’s personal endorsement as patrons. Many would call you money-minded, but after living on the streets for half of your life since you were disregarded by the people you called family—those supposedly tasked to nourish and cherish you—money was the way of life.

And you could tell he was a zealot of the same teachings.

“What’re your terms?” his low voice was enticing and you couldn’t wait to have him under you. Or, the other way around—you were not picky.

“When I win, Pandora will be under Bonten’s claim as one of their clubs.”

“And when I win?”

“You and your men get free access into my club for a month—no hidden costs, no sinking fees, nothing. Free service and all smiles,” you licked your lower lip, goading him into this agreement.

Hajime regarded you with a curious glint in his dark eyes. “Let’s up the ante.”

Before you could speak, he leaned in closer. Warm palms curled back around your waist and he bent down close enough to touch his lips with yours. “If you kiss me, you’ll lose. Bonten will blacklist your club and we will pretend like nothing has ever happened between us. And if I kiss you, I’ll lose money and my pride so that we’ll go with your terms. Deal?”

Ah. So, he was one of those men.

These rules were not foreign to you; many a man who entered the dark chambers of Pandora’s Box would implement a no-kiss rule to not fall in deeper with the women whose job it was to provide pleasure for them. You could respect his rules, and in turn, put some distance between you two.

Your heart was palpitating wildly in your ribcage at his last request, and you inwardly shook off the fog, filling your mind with reminders that this was temporary; once you got Bonten as a steady patron, you could forget that this night had even occurred.

Like making a deal with a Devil—albeit one that had a handsome face and tantalizing mouth—you nodded. “Deal.”

He took your hand, and with one clipped sentence, informed his group that he would be preoccupied for the next hour.

Leading you down to an unoccupied room, he closed the door behind you and you waited for his next move. There was a bed waiting in the corner, and a multitude of instruments lining the wall ranging from coiled jute ropes to floggers that would make any normal, vanilla person shudder.

Luckily for you, those instruments of torture and pleasure did not even faze you and you eagerly anticipated to meet the challenge head-on.

Hajime’s voice shattered your thoughts with the most important question for tonight. “What’re you—sub or Domme?”

In a voice that painted you in braver tones than what you felt, you uttered, “sub.”

He gave you another once over. “Y’seem nervous. This is your first time?”

Perceptive. That was a great trait that any Dominant would have. You shook your head.

“I’m always the one behind the scenes… never upfront.”

Hajime chuckled slowly. “Times must be tough if the head hen has to make an appearance.” Those dark eyes glittered. “Is that why you want this deal with Bonten so badly?”

Remembering your task for tonight, you shook your head. “My job is clear—do anything that will get my clients in your organization's good books.”

Hajime considered your words carefully and shrugged. “That’s none of my problem.” A glint in his serpentine gaze. “My main concern is how much of an investment my time with you will be.”

Surprising even yourself, you gripped the back of his neck and arched your body up to press against his solid chest, murmuring seductively, “Why don’t you come and find out?”

It was instantaneous. He growled and before you could comprehend, your back was pressed to the wall, his lips attacking your neck. “So sweet,” he uttered in a low tone, his hard-on obvious against your lower belly. “You better make my time worth it.”

Heat suffused across your body, drenching it with the high from his touch. You were no stranger to the rougher aspects of sex, but something about his mind-melting kisses down the column of your throat was making you squeeze your thighs and fighting back a moan. Each hot stamp seemed perfectly tailored to get you close to the tether of your patience and it was tested further when he abandoned your side to peruse the kinky articles lining the walls.

Choosing a loop of the softest jute, he beckoned you closer. You took a tentative step towards him and he gripped your chin, forcing you to look into his sharp eyes that were studying your every move. Unfurling the bindings, you were mesmerised when he grabbed your hands and spun you around, looping them around your pliant wrists. Breath caught in your throat, you recognized the design he was wrapping you in—diamond shaped criss-crosses strapping across your breasts, making them strain against the thin latex. Traversing down your body, the designs were deftly rigged to support your body while holding it open and you had never felt this vulnerable.

It had been years since you were in this position—helpless and waiting for a man’s next move.

Kokonoi was fast; the ropes snaked around your torso and thighs in record time and before you could fully comprehend, you were caught in his web.

Admiring his handiwork, he fingered your mask, grinning at how adorably you were squirming.

“Comfortable?”

You could only manage a nod. He tugged on the knots and a whimper was caught in the back of your throat. The ropes dug into your skin but it was not painful enough to make you wince. His expertise would’ve amazed you if you weren’t so caught up in the rush of his fingers trailing down your body.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured and you flushed. “So, what’s your name?”

Licking your lower lip, you smiled softly. “Anything you want to call me tonight, sir.”

He arched a brow at you. “Your name, then.”

This was not part of the plan. Discretion was highly valued within an underground party, and the risk of Bonten’s treasurer finding out your true identity was alarming. There was no telling what he could do if you displeased him tonight. Recognizing your hesitance, he exhaled a laugh. “Trust me, I don’t make it a habit to terrorize a prostitute. Your name will be safe with me.”

Perhaps, you should have taken the time to figure this out before he put you in ropes. Summoning the shreds of your coherence, you stuck your jaw out with a defiant tilt. “My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?”

“Kokonoi Hajime,” he supplied with no preamble. “Although, I would much prefer that you would call me ‘sir’ while we’re playing.”

You nodded. That was a fairly simple rule.

“Now, what are your hard limits?”

Even though every girl had their preferences, yours leaned towards the softer side and you informed him of this in a steady tone. “No scat play, no blood play, no weapons play, no anal play. And definitely no piss play…” you amended, “Well, not yet for the last part.”

“Intriguing,” he surmised and it felt like a backhanded compliment. Sensing your hackles rising, he helped you to your knees with a charming, bloodless smile. “What I meant was that you’re interesting, Miss Y/N. I’ve never met someone like you.”

You shrugged, the action considerably hard with the ropes wrapped around your chest. “What can I say—I aim to please.”

A thumb found its way to your bottom lip. Parting it, the digit pressed down on the soft, red-painted curl. You tasted the salt from his skin and shivered when it edged deeper to rest on your tongue, impeding your words.

“Such a smart mouth,” he murmured, eyes darkening. “I wonder what you would sound like when I finally put a gag on you.”

Crooking his thumb from your gasping cavern, he soon replaced it with his index and middle finger. You suckled obediently on the appendages, staying true to your words—aiming to please. A warm buzz was filling your bloodstream and your eyes clouded over when he used his free hand to draw down the zipper of his expensive, hand-stitched pants. His cock was a work of art; six inches, veiny and oozing a bit of pre on the pink tip. Your mouth started salivating more even without the help of his fingers.

“Suck,” he commanded and you didn’t have to be told twice.

Tucking your teeth behind your lips, you took him in, relaxing your throat so he could finally settle to the back of it. One hand curled possessively on your nape and the other dangling by his side, Hajime was a languid sight, watching you swirl your tongue on the leaking head, bob your throat up and down his length; no sign of resistance coming from your end.

“Fuck—you’re good,” he groaned and tossed his head back. Your skin was electric; goosebumps rising and pussy clenching at his flavor. He was sweeter than anyone you had ever sucked off, growing from a modest six-inch to packing on an extra two more at his full mast; hardening from your ministrations. Cool fingers nudged your chin up to a pair of dark eyes pulling you into their bottomless depths.

Maintaining eye contact while gagging on a dick was not exactly your expertise, but you made it work.

“You look so pretty getting wrecked by my cock.” Pumping his hips, he grasped your neck, fucking himself down your throat, gravelly groans escaping his plush lips. “G’na fucking—ah—”

One hard tug; your nose was pressed right to his pubic bone, fine, light hairs rasping your cupid’s bow, his stuttered moans reaching your heated ears. Hajime thrusts turned sloppy and with a pinch in his brow, he blew his load right down your waiting throat, forcing you to take him all in.

Thick and heavy, you had trouble swallowing down his seed, but you made yourself do it; the dollar signs clouding your mind to anything that remotely resembled your tattered dignity and modesty that was soiled from the ropes holding you apart.

Dribbles of white dotted the front of your latex one piece and you gasped when he released his death grip around your neck. Mind filled with static and jaw aching, you barely comprehend him helping you to your feet, unlooping the ropes from your woozy body. Suddenly, your body met the bed, limbs arranged to accommodate his weight in between your thighs.

A shudder ran through you when he dragged his middle finger slowly down the seam of your suit, right where your aching clit demanded attention. Those same tantalizing lips pressed onto the swell of your nub through the material, mouthing and nipping, tongue swirling as he teasingly ate you out.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he mumbled and dug the tip of his finger right into the stretchy resistance of the latex covering your sopping entrance, saturating the material further.

He slid the seat of your suit aside and ran his tongue in between your folds. Barely cognizant, you grunted when that perfect tongue teased your drooling hole, lapping at every drop of arousal your body was giving up to him.

“Fuck,” Hajime groaned from between your folds. “So sweet.”

He was getting drunk on your pussy and you were getting high on his tongue. Despite the fact that you had many clients in your short career who went down on you, there was no denying that this man was in a league of his own. Hajime ate you out like he was a desperate, starving man and your pussy was his oasis—his enthusiasm and skill unparalleled.

Sounds of his muffled groans, your keening mewls and his tongue lapping at your wet flesh were sending you out of orbit; right towards a blazing orgasm.

The thin band around your lower belly snapped; it crashed into you just as he plunged his tongue into your weeping hole, and he grunted; half in delight and half in shock at the spurts of juices coating his taste buds.

It was filthy; it was primal.

It was perfect.

You sagged back onto the bed, limbs tangled with his. Despite the fact that he had merely gone down on you, you felt like you had endured a bout of marathon sex; forehead slick with sweat, lids half-mast, chest rising and falling.

Completely and utterly fucked out from that release.

Sitting up, he pushed back a strand of loose hair, sharp eyes trailed on your barely-lucid expression. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you murmured, the word heavy in your mouth that felt like it was made of cotton.

His tongue poked out, gathering the last of your juices in the corners of his lips and you resisted the urge to lean forward and taste for yourself—bearing in mind the stakes if you should lapse.

Your movements were uncoordinated and sloppy at best, and he helped you to your feet, readjusting the straps of your suit to helping to make you decent once again. Tucking himself back into the confines of his pants, you chanced a glance to find him deep in thought.

Not knowing what was going on in his mind, you were left in shock when he uttered, “I want to continue this.” Before giving you an opening to pry deeper, he supplied, “My position in Bonten comes with a lot of stress and I could use some help alleviating it.”

He gave you a prodding look. “One month. You live with me and help around the apartment and in turn, I give you money to help your dying club.”

Your expression melted into one of shock. “H-How… I never told you—”

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” he teased and leveled you with an unfathomable stare. “After all, that was why you approached me, right? Your club needed the funds. If I’m guessing by your worn-out outfit—” he ghosted his glance down your barely clad body. “—it’s about three to five million in debt?”

You didn’t know what to say. He had read you like an open book and was now openly judging its contents. But you were nothing if not shameless in getting what you wanted. Summoning what remained of your common sense, you interjected, “I’m going to need a contract and a deposit.”

He arched a brow at your forward request though there was no refute. Removing a glossy rectangle from his pocket, he flipped it over and handed it to you. “This is my number. I’m willing to put half of five million yen into your account as a deposit.” The next requisite came next, “In turn, you move in with me tonight. Call me once you make up your mind.”

Without another word, he left. You stared at the card in your hands for almost five minutes, debating the pros and cons of taking him up on your offer. Hajime did not strike you as a dangerous man even if he ran with the sharks; on the contrary, there was something about him that was endearing as it was alarming at how easily he had made this offer. There was little doubt that he was loaded; his clothes and high position in Bonten made that apparent.

But did you want this?

Domestic arrangements between clients and girls like you were uncommon and wading into it would be like reading off a half-drawn map that led straight right into the heart of uncharted territories.

Could you trust him?

Most importantly, could you trust yourself around him?

One glance around this sex-scented room made up your mind.

He wanted your company, and you needed the money.

What could go wrong?

Not even a few hours after the call when you told him your address, three men in black suits stood at your front door, waiting to escort you right to his penthouse.

There, you were briefed by his personal assistant on where you would be sleeping, what you would wear daily, the rules of this household and a contract you should abide by. Rigorous exercise was to be observed as well as a healthy diet with six small snacks would be allocated throughout the day. You had to give your consent for Tokyo’s top gynecologist to conduct an initial pap smear to determine that you were free from any diseases. The details were simple; during the one month, you would belong solely to him.

Kokonoi wasn’t here to oversee the prerequisites and to get you settled in. It was his assistant who handed you the pen and interestingly enough—an NDA on top of the already mounting documents.

“Mr. Hajime is a private man and would not like his affairs to be on display,” the mousy, slight man clarified. You perused through the clauses, eyes landing on one particularly interesting one.

The arrangement pertaining between the party of (1) Kokonoi Hajime [the Dominant] and (2) L/N Y/N [the submissive] will be subject to termination through written or verbal consensus without the other party’s prior knowledge. Both parties reserve the right to terminate the agreement on discretionary grounds and all matters will revert to their original state, not including status and monetary gains during the period of the agreement.

You were no law student, but according to the grounds, Hajime and you could end this little arrangement anytime, and everything he had given you would have to be returned to him. Your lower lip curled. Possessive. Hajime was striking you as a man who left no stone unturned, and it was evident when all your items were packaged and you were introduced to a wardrobe filled with silk dresses, lacy lingerie, branded heels that would cost you three months of your earnings, and more jewelry to fill an entire store.

To say he was rich was an understatement.

Who exactly are you, Hajime?

That question would, unfortunately, never be answered. You couldn’t even call and tell one of your best friends and colleagues, Sachi, where you were due to the NDA. If a gilded cage could be filled with luxury, it would be this penthouse that overlooked Aoyama. A city bleeding with cutting edge fashion, the latest cafes and decked with skyscrapers, it was a far cry from your apartment with its rusted window ledges and threadbare carpeting down in the outskirts of Shibuya.

For days, you would spend your time lounging on your bed, perusing his extensive library, and reading through volumes of noir fiction, historical biographies, and Murakami. You admired his taste, and those paper worlds were enough to keep you occupied from the real one. When you weren’t nose-first in a book, you would be working out in his home gym, speaking to the personal trainer he had hired for you, and mindlessly scrolling on social media.

Through it all, he hadn’t even texted once.

That all changed when you received a clipped voice note from his assistant to get ready. Tonight, Hajime had a deal and he wanted you to be there with him.

You were whisked away by a team of professional but friendly stylists. They made sure you were well-scrubbed, shaved, and moisturized before they worked their magic on you; makeup that highlighted your natural features, hair styled sleekly, and a black silk dress that wrapped your figure perfectly.

Unlike a doll, you sat, pretty, and perched in a limo that took you straight to a 5-star hotel that was located fifteen minutes away from the penthouse. A lanky figure dressed in a rich, black suit, with his silver locks fanning around his face that mingled together with the smoke of his cigar, stood waiting for you at the entrance.

At the sight of you, he nodded, and his guards relinquished you to him. He allowed you to take his arm and despite the days of slight irritation at not even his presence at home, you relaxed by his side.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured, and you had forgotten how raspy and low his voice could be when he was turned on.

“You have a dedicated team,” you mused, and he smiled.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home much. Boss has got us working long hours and tonight is the culmination of a deal we’ve been trying to land with one of Seoul’s highest jo-poks.”

The mafias. A shiver ran down your spine and you pressed yourself closer to him when he brought you past arching doors and into a private room. Beautiful women lounged around, surrounding a group of men with hard eyes, sitting opposite the same ones you had encountered at your club. According to Sachi, she had whispered that the deal between Bonten and your previous client had fallen through because the man was audacious enough to not give proper bottle service to the head—a man with bottomless dark eyes and a cropped fall of silver hair.

You were the only woman from Bonten’s entourage, and you didn’t miss how Hajime’s colleagues eyed you up and down. He sat you down right on his lap, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

The bartering began. Sharp quips both in Hangul and Japanese were shared across the group, both parties frosty, but defrosting considerably when drinks were introduced. Though the jo-poks drank, Bonten’s head—Sano Mikey—never consumed a drop of alcohol. So did Hajime.

He did most of the talking together with a man who had a scar running down his right eye and streaks of white in his low-slung ponytail. You barely understood Hangul, but you could tell their Korean counterpart was growing annoyed.

“No,” Hajime retorted suddenly, and one of the men stood up swiftly. Instantly, Glocks were drawn, and you choked back on a scream. The women froze at the sight unfurling before them, no longer speaking quietly but eyeing the scene with the same fear that flashed in your eyes.

“Stand down.” Bonten’s number 2, Sanzu Haruchiyo uttered. “We don’t want things to get too messy, right, boys?”

At the sight of the wide-eyed women, the head jo-pok grunted a command and his men retracted their guns. Mikey nodded and Bonten did the same. The negotiations continued.

You flinched when cold fingers touched your bare thigh, slowly inching up your dress. “Safeword?” he breathed in your ear.

It flashed through your mind instantly. “Red.”

“Good,” he murmured and from your periphery, you could just make out his serpentine grin. “Any complains before I finger-fuck you in front of them?”

“W-why?” you could barely speak when half of your lower body was exposed.

Hajime shrugged. “You’re our good luck charm for the night, baby.”

“Me—?” You barely held back on a moan when he found the seat of your panties and slid it aside. The men opposite you were entranced, staring at Hajime’s deft and nimble fingers tracing the swell of your clit. Your mind turned fuzzy around the edges when one finger slipped deep inside you, eliciting a low, dulcet moan from you.

You were nothing more than a prop for him to play with, seated obediently on his lap and taking two of his fingers like a champ. The sound of your pussy squelching around his digits made the men glance at each other uncomfortably, but the slight tents forming in the front of their slacks were unmistakable.

They were plainly getting turned on by your pleasure-contorting features and it wasn’t just them. The rest of Bonten shifted in their seats, adjusting their pants while trying their hardest to not steal too many glances at your writhing form. You arched your back, hiding your face in the crook of his neck when he found that one spot that made your toes curl. You were freely dripping down his wrist, those dexterous fingers better than any toy you have ever used. Soon, you were at the precipice, and he wasn’t stopping.

From somewhere to your right, a low, gruff voice: “So, do we have a deal?”

The head jo-pok narrowed his eyes and he muttered something about dirty tactics under his breath. He slapped his thigh and nodded. “Deal.”

Hajime’s fingers stilled in you and your hips twitched, a soft moan wrenched from your swollen lips that you were biting down to not scream out his name. The rival gang followed their boss out of the room and left Bonten glowering in the aftermath of their victory. A perfunctory kiss was pressed to your temple. “Thank you for your help, princess.”

Swiftly, Hajime swept you back to your feet and out of the room, high on his victory. The reason for your presence became even clearer when he dragged you to the back of his Rolls Royce, uttering in a clipped tone for the driver to take you both back to his apartment.

He sat you back on his lap and you whimpered at the friction from the rough fabric of his pants rasping against your sensitive nub. “You did well, Y/N.” Glassy-eyed, you stared up into his dilated ones and your hips twitched when he peeled off your panties, tucking it neatly into his pocket.

“Won’t be needing these.” Spreading you out on his lap, the sound of metal teeth dragging down punctuated the air like a cuss word, signaling to your woozy brain what was going to happen next.

“Gonna take your sweet pussy,” his voice had grown hoarser against the shell of your ear. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you—you want that?” You were panting, eyes scrunched close and nodding.

“Y-yes.”

“You liked it when I showed you off, huh?” he growled, and you tossed your head back at the feel of his fat cock splitting you into two. You were already leaking from his ministrations back in the hotel, and there was no resistance when he sank to the hilt. His pristine suit was your clenched fists victim and you glanced at him, the mightiest urge to plant your lips right on his driving you quietly insane. But you recalled the rules he had laid out and the deal you had both struck.

Everything was fair game except for his mouth.

Hajime didn’t bother to hide your figure bouncing on his cock from the driver’s wandering eyes; for his part, the other man kept his eyes firmly on the road.

“Liked it when I played with that slutty pussy in front of those men.” One firm thrust and your eyes rolled back into your skull, whimpers falling from your lax mouth. “Tell me the truth.” One heavy, ring-clad hand fell onto the plush fat of your ass in a loud smack. Biting pain bloomed into heat. You cried out.

“I liked it,” you whimpered, and he shook his head, eyes trailed on the hypnotizing movements of you fucking yourself on his static cock.

“That’s not what I said.”

You clasped a palm to your mouth to keep from spilling out an endless stream of moans. Hajime did not even care to move, content to watch you use his cock as your personal, sentient dildo. He was biding his time, waiting for you to crumble.

“I liked it when you p-played with my slutty pussy in front of those men,” you admitted in a trembling whisper. One swift tug and your strapless bra was exposed to the cool air, another sharp movement and your nipples were hardening right in front of his amused expression.

You shrieked when he crushed a nipple between two fingers, twisting it harshly, pain transformed to pleasure that it struck a sharp ache into your belly.

It was unnerving how easily he could peel back your layers of distrust and bring out the darkness of your desire right into the light.

His cock was the perfect length and girth, every thrust bringing you closer to that aching nirvana you had been struggling to reach for the whole evening.

The car was becoming too hot, the first tendrils of steam curling on the windows. But Hajime stole your attention back to him, ducking his head down and swirling his tongue over your aching nipples. You spread your legs to take him closer, and he took advantage of your body pressed impossibly close to his to tease your aching clit, rubbing circles on it as he flicked your pebbled nipples with the tip of his tongue, pouring his heated desire into your body.

Your dress slipped down to your waist, and you were steadily riding him while the car jolted at every bump; the impact jostling you more and drawing him deeper into your walls.

“Your pussy’s so warm and wet,” he thumped his head back to watch you lazily taking his cock, a glint in his sharp eyes. “You’re perfect.”

His praise made your cheeks warm, and you stuttered a moan when he gripped your cheeks, spreading you wider to take him even deeper. Your walls sucked him in and refused to let him go; your body grinding on him, every instinct hell-bent on taking him higher.

“Don’t cum,” he warned, one hand coming to wrap around your neck. “Not until I say so.”

A pinch in his brow and a moan that fell from his plush mouth—warm seed expelled deep into your quivering hole, and you begged him with your eyes, but he did not give in.

Exhaling, every muscle in his body was zapped of energy and he sank back into the velvet seats. There was no love when he cupped your face, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Behind your hazy thoughts, you sensed it was done out of cursory requirement rather than true affection.

Kokonoi Hajime was a drug to you, encroaching closer to an addiction.

Addictions were painful and could only end one way.

But you didn’t care; the high was worth it.

“You did well,” he uttered quietly, drawing your pulsing, and shaking body close to his chest. One hand cupped your cheek, his thumb running circles on your jaw. You were completely drained, your clit throbbing pathetically in search of a high that had been cruelly unfulfilled.

“What do you want to eat?” As if he had not just fucked you in the back of his ostentatious car, he removed his softening cock from your depths and conversed in normal tones. Despite his callous nature, he slipped back the front of your dress into place and arranged the hem to make you decent once more.

“Can I have my panties back?” At a quick look from him, you amended, “—sir?”

A teasing quirk of his lips and he shook his head. “Let’s go to a restaurant.” Leaning forward, he called for the driver to stop at a nearby stretch of eateries. You could barely focus on dinner, the globs of cum dripping down your thighs to stain your dress stealing your attention. It was a miracle that your hem was long enough to hide the trickling, milky droplets from exposing your previous debauchery for the elegant patrons to gawk at.

You and Hajime made small talk that mostly consisted of him asking about your business. It wasn’t too much of a revelation to share that you had gotten this club from one of your many, eccentric aunts who put you down as the inheritor to Pandora’s Box when you were just 21; all under a guise to help you with your business acumen.

He found it interesting how you were passionate about the place, nonetheless. In turn, he revealed bits and pieces of his life to your eager ears; how he had been a delinquent during his boyhood days, a few select businesses he could divulge in without getting you in trouble, and—interestingly enough—his love for 80s music.

“I noticed you had a stack of records,” you commented, and he hummed.

“Yes.” Leaning forward, he held a look in his eye that sparked. “Have you ever heard music played from a gramophone before?”

You confessed that you haven’t.

“I must show you how good it is—beats even the most expensive speakers.”

Paying for the extravagant dinner, Hajime was nice enough to not put your dignity on the line by fucking you in front of his driver for the second time tonight. Rather, he chose to bring you into his bedroom where he laid you down on the satin sheets, instructing you to remove his clothes with just your mouth and teeth. It was a struggle when you reached the button of his pants and he helped you by popping it open so that you were at liberty to grip the pleat with your front teeth and drag it down his right hip first—then his left.

His shirt was already unbuttoned, and it was not a huge stretch to remove it from his shoulders, his pants and boxers soon following—leaving him completely bare. You admired the divots of his lean abs, snaking your eyes down the curl of white scars that littered his torso like faint constellations.

As quick as you were on the bed with him, your world turned upside down when he hoisted you over his shoulder, gracing you with another heavy-handed spank on your tender ass. You were too late to notice the hooks on his walls or the gleam in his eye that spoke of salacious mischief.

“Are you clear with your safeword?”

Hajime was still not done playing and to be honest—neither were you. He set you back on your feet in the middle of the vast room.

Nodding, you stood stock still while he fetched a round of silk rope. Fashioning it around your wrists, you obediently let him tie you up, completely submissive, and willing for him to do anything that he pleased. Once the ropes were laced around your body and formed a harness to support you, your attention was caught when he flipped a switch and a part of the ceiling started to lower down.

Despite your bound form, you gaped at it in awe. No way—

He impeded your whirling thoughts by gripping the two ends of the bindings around your waist and chest to loop it onto the now lowered mounts. It forced your back to straighten and your posture to be similar, the weight of your upper body completely relying on the strength of the knots that looped around your torso and the ones that kept you suspended from the modified ceiling.

Hajime clicked his tongue. “Forgot to undress you. Wait—”

He walked into the adjacent bathroom and came back with a knife. Heart in your throat, your safe word was right on the tip of your tongue. But he never ran the blade on your skin; the sound of it slicing through your silk dress and expensive bralette was one you would never forget, though. Once your clothes were in tatters on the ground, he grinned at you, clasping his large palms around your waist.

Your every nerve ending was on fire; his touches seemed to amplify the weight of his body as he crushed you to his chest, formidably signaling his strength. Hajime slid down to his knees, and completely under his mercy, he started to tongue-fuck you, cleaning off his own cum from your pulsing walls. You cried out, knees buckling, but he showed you no respite. Hitching one thigh onto his shoulder, he continued to lap at your puffy folds, stopping to show your clit some attention. Your whole frame jolted when he started giving your nub little suckles as if he was drinking from it; your juices smearing his chin and cheeks.

You would say it once and you would say it again—no one ate pussy as good as Kokonoi.

Soon, you were trembling, hips stuttering from his ministrations that you didn’t feel him rimming his thumb around the puckered flesh of your ass. A clipped whimper escaped from your clenched teeth and he gazed up at you, sharp eyes observing your salacious expressions.

He must’ve liked what he saw, for Hajime stood up and, without another second to waste, slid his swollen, fat cock right into your welcoming pussy. Your walls rippled around him and you cried out, head tossed back in utter ecstasy. Despite being supported by ropes and almost hanging from the ceiling, he was gentle when he pushed your hips up and down his length.

“Like a fuckin’ cocksleeve,” he growled in low tones. Loose locks of his silver hair stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were splotched with red. “G’na make this pussy all mine.”

“Yours,” you mewled, nodding frantically, and whined when his thumb circled your clit. “M-make me yours, sir.”

“Such pretty manners for a filthy little slut,” he mused. He picked up his speed, slamming into you with a ferocity of untamed desires, holding onto your hips in his bruising grip as the smell and sounds of sex unfurled across the monochromatic room.

Your thighs tensed around his torso and you squealed when he lifted you up, letting your legs wrap around his waist firmly while his mouth busied itself by toying with your nipples. His heavy balls m filled with potent seed that was ready to be deposited right into you slapped against your ass wetly.

“Sir, please—”

“You gonna cum?”

You could only nod, your lashes clumping with tears, a hiccup breaking free from your chest. “W-wanna cum so badly…”

He grunted, crooking his face forward to rest it between the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Then, cum.”

You screamed out a warbling sir! when he bit down on the soft skin there, the heavy pressure in your lower body overflowed and tumbled out in streams of slippery juices that drenched his lower body. Hajime grunted and spilled his seed into you for the second time tonight, his moans clipped and harsh.

There was no doubt that you were floating; your mind was hazy, eyelids heavy when he finally relinquished your body back to you, the ropes falling around your feet like coiled snakes. You felt like you were no longer in your body and would’ve crumpled to the floor if it wasn’t for his strong arms wrapped around your frame. He carried you to the bathroom and almost lovingly cleaned you up; starting with your drenched folds that were still leaking his seed and working his way to removing your makeup.

He brushed away your tears and planted a soft kiss on your cheek, all while you were still holding onto him and sniffling like a baby.

“Did I hurt you?”

Shakily, you whispered, “No.”

Apparently understanding a reveal that you were not privy to, he brought you back into the bedroom and settled you onto his giant king-size that felt like an island in the middle of a monochromatic sea. Running his hands down the length of your spine, he tenderly kissed your neck and cheeks until you stopped crying and hiccupped into a content silence.

There was a point when his lips almost touched the corners of yours and you snickered to yourself, despite your exhausted state. He raised a brow at your little blip, and you chortled, “Close enough to almost lose to me, handsome.”

A nasty grin flashed across his mouth and he rolled you over, pining you onto the soft mattress. You jerked when his smooth, slim fingers slipped back into your heat, curling upwards.

“Ah—!”

“I’ll show you,” Hajime promised, kissing your pulse point as he curled those same digits carefully, grazing your spongy sweet spot. “I never lose.”

Despite your hesitance, the days you spent with Hajime were the most memorable.

Besides being good company, you were shown a new world of pleasure and pain that you had never passed the threshold of. Since that night when he had claimed you for his own, there wasn’t a single 24 hours that passed without his cock finding its home in your willing walls.

He would bend you over his knee, spanking you until you were crying from both your eyes and pussy; fucking your mouth until he came down your throat; running those cold, ring-clad hands down your bare and bound body; keeping you tightly on the line between pleasure and pain until you could not tell one boundary from the next.

There was one Friday night where he placed you on his frosty dining table and fucked you with his tongue; imposing a rule that you were not allowed to wear any clothes anytime he was home. Lazy afternoons when he deigned to grace you with his presence was spent face first in his luxurious bed with his cock pumping in your lazily. Saturday nights were spent dangling from ceilings while he took you in any position that struck his perverted fancy. Sunday mornings were designated solely for riding him in his bathtubs as the warm suds clung to your breasts.

Particularly fond of showing off your body anytime he wanted, he would intersperse these already debauched sessions by pressing you against his ceiling-to-floor windows so that he could fuck you in front of Tokyo’s wealthiest district. There was even one memorable night when he had collared and leashed you just to bend you over the railing and slam his hips heavily against yours as the cool city air teased your puckered nipples; whispering into your ear how you were unraveling like a little slut for all the world to see.

He had made good on his promise to deposit half of the five million he owed you which you discreetly passed on to Sachi so she could help pay off the mounting debts. To solidify the possession he held on you for these full 31 days, he had gifted you with a custom-made collar that was a diamond choker with his initials dangling from it. You were to wear it day and night, but you didn’t mind. You loved its weight around your neck and displayed it proudly with your low-cut dresses whenever he took you shopping in Shibuya.

Shades covering his eyes and draped in a Bottega Veneta coat that hid his Balenciaga shirt and pants, he not only showed you a world of pleasure but also a world that was previously inaccessible to you. A world of revolving dressing rooms, flashing diamonds and the smug smirk of a black card passed to waiting cashiers.

Hajime Kokonoi had turned your world completely on its head.

And you weren’t complaining.

If he brought you to the greatest heights of hedonism, you reminded him of its homely roots. You enjoyed cooking for him, using his card to buy the freshest ingredients to try out recipes that you had always been aching to but could not afford due to your financial constraints. He enjoyed sitting back and watching you flit around the kitchen in one of his ratty branded shirts that came down to your knees as you whipped up another meal for him.

Once, he had brought your Bento box to work and threatened to shoot Rindou who was eyeing it if he so much as laid a finger on your pristine food work.

There was not much you could complain about during your stay with him. When he wasn’t pounding his insatiable cock into you, he spent long hours at work to come back home with a new record for you to listen to.

Nights were spent bantering and debating over which band had the better singles and while you were protective over your taste in music, it was nothing compared to Hajime who had to be elite in every single way.

One thing you both agree on? The 80s would’ve been nothing without the brilliance of Billy Steinberg’s song writing prowess.

Tonight, was devoted to his greatest hits which comprised of your personal favorites like True Colors, and I’ll Stand by You. Watching you sway along to the music, he had to join in the fray, and you giggled when he took you in his arms. His initials in the clavicle of your neck shone as he spun you once and were you even surprised that Kokonoi Hajime was an expert at waltzing?

“I took a few classes,” he admitted, the curve of his body warm against yours. “I wanted to impress someone.”

This close, you wished you could kiss him.

Moonlight spilling over sharp features, painting his skin a milky white, highlighting the scars on his body—Hajime was a work of art.

The hoodie you had stolen from him was the only barrier between his bare chest and your body, a thin film that could not quite mask the seeping heat that filled your chest with cotton; the music from his old gramophone swirling around both your bodies akin to the slow twirling dust motes that was stirred from both your swaying bodies.

Say my name, sun shines through the rain. A whole life so lonely, and come and ease the pain.

The 80s hit crooned from the burnished silver pavilion, the lyrics a double meaning for the affection you wished he would bestow unto you.

But, Kokonoi Hajime was a man of barriers and tall walls. You had no inkling what could’ve happened to make him this guarded and it hurt your soul to imagine the world of pain he hid behind his snarky exterior and sharp quips.

“Never knew you were a fan of The Bangles,” you murmured into his neck and he hummed.

“My music taste is impeccable.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Glancing up at him, he beat you to the punch, gazing down at you with sharp eyes that had softened and turned hazy.

You curled your free palm on his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his jaw. “Perhaps you do.”

He leaned into your touch, that simple action making your heart melt from your chest right into your belly.

“Admitting defeat?” he grinned and you didn’t stop yourself from leaning up to kiss his cheek. Your half-mast gaze met his, carving into his consciousness and he almost fell into the force of gravity that was your lips. Kokonoi had to rein himself in from charting the last few inches to plant his mouth directly on yours and instead, he nestled his lips right on your temple, inhaling in your sweet scent.

There was more than just Bonten’s funds on the line if he lost to you—there was so much more than that.

His heart that had been echoing back dull thuds to ensure he was kept alive whilst he moved in a fugue from the days he had to spend away from Akane was suddenly tripling in speed and yearning. Kokonoi could barely breathe and keep his mind afloat from the urge to claim your lips for his.

The face of another woman—a woman he swore to spend the last days of his life together with—shimmered in the background, beckoning him to stay true to her. To stay true to a slim promise of a return; a return from the brink of death which he was constantly standing on the precipice of since his forced separation from her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and squeezed your palm in his. You glanced up at him, mouth parted in confusion. “I can’t.”

He pried himself from you and leaned down to press one more kiss on your forehead. The music was still on a loop when you watched his broad back disappear down the hallway, leaving you in the middle of the living room; two figures no longer swaying in the half-darkness but a lone one fighting the urge to dissolve into tears.

For the days after that, it was tense in his apartment. Hajime would leave for meetings and only return when the clock hands touched 3 in the morning.

His intent was clear—he was avoiding you.

While you endured this respite from the heavy emotions of the last night you found yourself in his arms, you could not quite forget how it felt to be safely entrenched in his warmth. It was another day overseeing logistics at a club and you were aching for a hot shower and dunk in his large, claw-foot bathtub.

But, when you reached home, you were surprised to find his Bottega boots already by the doorway. Cautiously, you unlocked the door, and heard someone cursing softly from the other end.

What waited for you behind the door made your face blanch with fear.

“H-Hajime!”

Cuts that seeped blood littered his face, his lower lip split, his bare torso covered with nasty red imprints that would soon turn purple in tender bruises. His hair was up in a ponytail and he was halfway tearing through a strip of bandages with his canine tooth when he froze at the sight of your horrified expression. Setting his instruments down, he threw you a sheepish chuckle.

“Y/N. You’re home early.”

Putting your purse down on the sofa, you rushed to him, immediately taking the kit from his shaky grasp and setting to work. Dabbing antiseptic on a cotton ball, you touched it to the cut on his lip and he hissed, jerking his head back slightly. Frowning at his shifty antics, you decided to take matters into your own hands and hop onto the kitchen counter, bringing him into the circle of your legs while he tittered with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to—”

You cupped his face firmly in your palm and forced him to look straight into your face. “Stay still.”

He sighed and gave up on his resolution to not have you close, letting you work on his wounds. Winces, hushed cursed words under his breath and flinches—you ignored it all to tend to him.

Once he was patched up and you were satisfied that he could move without hurting himself, you dropped your thighs from around his narrow waist, releasing him back to freedom. But, he didn’t move. Calloused fingers skimmed down your calf, and you shivered at his first real touch on your skin for the first time in a few days, drowning yourself in his presence.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, though you had no idea what he was apologizing for. “I wasn’t careful, I—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you uttered. The air thickened with tension. You forced yourself to rip your eyes away from his prodding, dark ones that had the power to drown you if you waded deep into them for too long.

You swore you wouldn’t find yourself in his riptide anymore.

Kokonoi had made it abundantly clear that night in the living room that he was not capable of giving himself into this affection you sensed he harbored for you; you were not one to hang around if someone was unsure about their true intentions. Despite it all, you wanted to give him a chance.

Pitching his head forward to rest on yours, you inhaled the scent of blood mingling with sandalwood.

“Can you…” he swallowed, “Can you join me in bed?”

You exhaled a laugh. “You sure you can fuck me in this state?”

He warmed at your teasing tone and clicked his tongue. “No, dumbass. I wanted to just… I just want to hold you.”

A lump formed in your throat. Despite recognizing that if you gave in to this temptation, you would just be deluding yourself further into this fantasy with no roots, you nodded.

“Okay.”

Taking you by the hand, it was Hajime who led you into the wide room, settling down on the bed and wrapping his arms around your waist. Completely smushed to his side, you sighed and undid his ponytail carefully, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You have such a pretty voice,” he remarked, eyes drooping from the combination of painkillers and your comforting scent. “Sing for me, please?”

Exhaling a quick gust at his uncharacteristic neediness, you gingerly cupped his face and nodded.

“Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling,” your mellifluous tones were heavenly, caressing his bruised body and giving him a soft cushion from the heavy punches he had sustained today. The medicine he ingested worked in tandem to make him drowsier and pliant to your soft touches. He didn’t lean back or flinch when you kissed his forehead, nestling closer into your side, drifting off.

His snores reached you and you stopped humming, gazing down at him with soft eyes. Gently brushing his silver hair from his temple, you frowned sadly at the sight of those lacerations on his pretty face. Hajime truly was too precious for this life, and a part of you wondered what could’ve made someone this brilliant choose a world of sin and violence. You mulled over his potential; how things would’ve worked out differently if you both were under a circumstance that was not borne from bets and deals but genuine affection.

“He finally sleeps,” you whispered to yourself sadly. In the realm of rest, he seemed much younger than a man in his early thirties, and you could plainly imagine how unfettered he would be if the burdens of an organization did not weigh down on him.

Touching the tips of your index and middle finger to your lips, you gently pressed it to his soft ones in a mockery of your first real kiss with him.

Hajime did not stir, still fast asleep and you chuckled forlornly. Quietly—so quiet that it was only you who could hear—you pressed your lips to his forehead, mouthing I love you against the salt of his skin; hoping that when this arrangement eventually ended, he would hopefully understand the weight of your implicit affections. One that your tongue could never relinquish out loud in this lifetime.

There were times in your life when you cursed your curiosity.

The phrase “fuck around and find out” had never been truer than when you decided to snoop in his home office. Hajime had never explicitly told you that it was off-limits, just that you maintained a safe distance from it whenever he was home. But, with him gone for a quick business trip to Osaka, you were left to your own devices.

Earlier, you had received a call from one of your dearest friends, Inui Seishu. Having met the quiet but affable mechanic when you visited his shop once to get your car fixed, the both of you struck an unlikely friendship.

“Where are you now?”

You couldn’t tell him; it would be directly in violation of your NDA. Lounging on the large L-shaped sofa that Hajime loved to take you on, you shrugged. “I’m… on a vacation.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Being with Hajime was a respite from your dreary burdens. You could picture Seishu’s pinched brows.

“I asked Sachi where you were—I haven’t even seen you around the club.” If you didn’t know him any better, Inui sounded annoyed. But, you were familiar with his ticks and what sounded like irritation was his manner of expressing concern.

“I’m fine, Sei,” you muttered confidently. Glancing around the space, you recalled your mission for the day and hastened to get it done before Hajime could return. “Look—I’ll catch up with you next week, okay? I’ll tell you everything.” You emphasized the last word.

You had one more week left on this agreement with Hajime and if it all went well, you would be on the way to getting an incredibly wealthy patron for your club. Neither of you had violated the “no-kiss” rule despite how close you had gotten to it that night when you both slow danced in his living room.

“Okay,” Seishu finally exhaled. “I’ll see you then.” The line disengaged and you made your way to Hajime’s office, prying the door open quietly so you could slip right in. The space was drenched in monotonous hues similar to his bedroom. A large mahogany desk dominated the front space and a sole picture frame stood facing the reclining leather chair.

You tiptoed to it, wondering if it would be an image of his family or even his colleagues. The girl imposed in the glossy square was someone you had never seen before, but still struck you as vaguely familiar. She had a fall of soft, blonde hair and bright blue eyes; innocence personified. You were entranced by the curve of her smile that you did not notice the door creaking open.

“Y/N?”

Your heart imploded in your chest and you gasped, whirling around to come face to face with Hajime’s thunderous expression.

“Just what the hell are you doing here?” he bit out and strode over to you with his long legs. You shrank back from his anger, and in your sudden flinch, your palm knocked the frame off his desk. Instantly, his face contorted into panic and he pushed you aside to catch it before it could shatter to the ground.

The sound of glass breaking was second to his heavy breathing.

“Hajime—”

“Get out.”

Curling his palms protectively around the square, his glare was terrifying and you ceased to breathe. Touching your throat, you didn’t have to be told twice; you dashed out of his office, the door jarring close with a loud boom echoing across your mind like the echo of a gunshot.

You staggered back to your room and sank onto the plush mattress, mind drawing a blank. Despite the nature of this agreement, Hajime had never once been this calloused with you, and when you heard the door closing hours later, you gingerly stood up, exiting the room to find an empty penthouse.

Who was that woman in his picture?

Was it his lover?

While many men who engaged in your service often did it behind their wives back, you had a preconceived notion that your current client was completely single. Not once did he hold onto your sleeve, blubbering to you not to tell his wife about his sordid affairs. Nor did you find any indication of a spouse from his late-night messages.

Hajime was never one to even feel a scintilla of guilt when he took you and as far as you sensed using your years of experience, he was not attached.

So, who exactly was that blonde-haired and blue-eyed woman in his picture frame?

The doorbell ringing broke your thoughts.

You ambled towards the door, swinging it open without a second thought and who you saw on the other end made your heart plummet straight to your gut.

Inui’s blue eyes widened with surprise.

“Y/N—”

“Seishu—”

You clamped your mouth shut when he took in your appearance. The purple marks littering your throat, Hajime’s initials glittering against your skin, the scent of his lavender softener clinging to your clothes.

The truth was right in front of him to deduce.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I’m staying. With a client.”

At that reveal, his nostrils flared slightly.

“Do you know whose house this is?”

Your brows furrowed and you regarded him carefully. “I’m sorry. It’s an NDA. I-I can’t tell you—"

“I didn’t know you were this kind of woman—someone who would fuck around with the man my sister was engaged to.”

Engaged?

Your whole world seemed to fracture at the edges. The picture perfect universe that you had centred around Kokonoi seemed to shatter like glass whose jagged edges cut you right to the bone.

“I-I didn’t know—”

The blue eyes and blonde hair imposed on a glossy square suddenly made sense. It was the female version of Seishu who was lovingly kept on Hajime’s desk all this time. But Inui had never mentioned a sister to you before…

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he said evenly, but with the poison from his words, he may as well have been cussing you out. You flinched from his tone and regarded him with wide, wet eyes.

“Seishu—”

“Vacation, huh?” his voice was deathly even. There wasn’t a tell-tale sign of rage on his face, but you still felt like you were waiting for a volcano to explode. Inui was like a simmering fumarole; he wasn’t dangerous when you stood from a distance, but if someone wandered too close when he was in one of his moods, an eruption of sulphur dioxide would slam into them like acidic needles.

You had seen it when he reasoned with ruthless customers but you had never been staring in the face of it. Those arctic eyes had the power to cut through even the thickest woollen sweater you wore to leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Swallowing hard, you tried to defend yourself. “No, it’s not what you think, Seishu—”

You were stopped from your stammering excuses when the door jangled open and Kokonoi stepped in. His sharp eyes widened at the sight of his submissive and former best friend standing a few feet apart from each other.

“Y/N. Inupi.” The air was thick with tension and he regarded the both of you carefully. “Do you both know each other?”

You opened your mouth, but Seishu beat you to the punch. “No.” Those cool eyes flitted once towards you. “I’ve never met this woman in my life.” He cleared his throat and regarded Hajime once more. “You said you wanted to speak about Akane so here I am.”

At the mention of her name, all traces of calm were scrubbed from Hajime’s expression. His mouth was set in a firm line and he nodded towards the office that he had just evicted you from hours earlier. The two men left you alone in the living room, quietly brimming with despair and confusion as you quietly walked towards the door to try to make heads or tails of this fucked-up situation you were just thrusted into.

“… how could you do this to her?” Seishu’s tone was dripping with unadulterated anger.

“—wasn’t like I intended—”

“Akane… disappointed…”

A strangled sound from Hajime. “I know. I know. But, it’s temporary… one more week…”

There was a loud crash and you could make out Seishu’s low growl. “You fucking, cheating bastard! My sister’s fighting for her life and you’re fucking around with a whore?!”

Your palms flew to your mouth to smother a gasp at Kokonoi’s next words.

“I’m sorry—Y/N means nothing to me. I swear.”

His next words destroyed the last vestige of hope you desperately held onto that what you had with Kokonoi was real. Was verging on something worthy to be called love.

“She will never be Akane. Your sister is the only one who has my heart.”

You had heard enough. Stumbling back to your room, you used what was left of your throbbing thoughts to piece together what had just transpired.

Hajime was engaged to Seishu’s sister—a sister you had not once known about—and it was apparent that whatever happened, she was no longer in the picture. The collar around your neck burned and your eyes filled with tears.

You had been wrong to think there would be no strings attached between you and Hajime. In the most twisted way, you were both connected through Seishu and apparently, his sister who was dying. There weren’t any words you could use to name the hot, pulsing coil that had lodged right in the middle of your chest; one that gripped your throat and forced you to cover your sobs tightly with open palms.

The one thought that rose from the back of your mind was: How could Seishu not talk about his own sister? What was so horrible—so unimaginably painful—that he would not even divulge this bit of information to a friend?

Your answer came a few hours later from a soft voice filtering from the hallways. You roused from your seat on the floor, pressing your ear to the thin wood and dashing away at the cold tears stuck to your cheeks.

“It’s been 15 years, Hajime. We have to prepare for the fact that she will never wake up.”

Settling back into bed, you didn’t hear the door opening, nor did you respond when you felt Hajime’s arms wound around your cold body. Sorry, he mouthed into your neck and you nodded, not exactly sure what you were forgiving him for—the fact that he was engaged… or he had blatantly said you meant nothing to him.

The night dragged on with no reprieve.

She will never be Akane.

She will never be Akane.

She will never be Akane.

You fell asleep with the taste of tears heavy on your tongue, in the arms of a man you once thought you could have fallen in love with whose heart was never yours in the first place.

Hajime could sense that something was amiss.

Since Seishu’s untimely visit to his apartment, you hadn’t even spoken to him. If it weren’t for his wandering hands or his presence in the house, you could barely even look at him. Nights after the altercation were spent with him staring at your sleeping back, his fingers twitching to run down your spine and summon your smile back to him. There was no spark from you whenever he played those same 80s songs that you loved, or when he bought you something pretty from your favourite designer store.

It came to a point that if he didn’t speak to you, you wouldn’t even acknowledge him. You were punishing him, that was for sure—but for what?

Was it when you broke Akane’s picture? If it was, he had already put that accident aside. As much as he wanted to ruminate on what was upsetting his submissive, Bonten still ate at his time and efforts; there would be deals to close, more income to be sourced and another gala to attend in honour of the new alliance together with the jo-poks.

He could not afford to get distracted by your silence. You had only looked at him with empty eyes when he told you that you were his plus one for this momentous event. Months of bargaining and logistics culminated to this night that would honour the blood, sweat and frustrations he had wasted trying to bring Bonten to new heights.

And Hajime could not afford for you to bring him down.

The end of this agreement was looming and as much as he wanted to bring up the idea of you continuing on with this relationship you both had, he was scared of what you would say. Your club was flourishing, that much his insiders could inform him.

What if you turned him down and discarded him aside like so many did before; only in the pursuit of his money and not willing to see the man behind the yen signs?

He froze when he felt your hands on his back. Turning around, he gazed down at your perfectly made-up face, your red-hued lips parted slightly when you helped tighten the knot of his tie, smoothing the lapels of his suit. Hajime caught your hands and brought it to his lips, grazing his mouth on the ridges of your knuckle.

“You look beautiful.”

You mustered a smile and thanked him politely. He tried not to let his face fall into a frown when you turned around towards the high dresser, fastening on a pair of diamond earrings he had bought for you.

Hajime made up his mind; he would ask you to be his permanent submissive after the event. He hid his nerves by coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

There was the longing and yearning that festered in his soul to tell you the truth; the unconscious form of a girl trapped in a decade-long coma. A girl who once told him to not kiss her and to save that precious gesture for someone he truly loved. A girl he promised to Seishu in the hospital that he would always look out for when his estranged best friend begged him to take care of her bills. And in return, Inupi would allow him to marry her. Akane.

He thought he was in love then. But now, amidst his lapsing judgement and self-control, Hajime found he could not fulfil that promise.

All for the wrong reasons.

You smiled at him through the mirror, a flitting shadow of sadness passing in your eyes before it disappeared and you leaned back into his embrace.

No words were shared when he nipped your neck, lifting the hem of your dress to expose the lacy thong he had bought for you. He loved spending his money on you; no matter what he bought for you at any amount, you still refused to take it and he enjoyed spending minutes persuading you on why you needed another diamond necklace in your collection.

Eventually, you always caved in and accepted his gifts meekly. That was what he liked about you; how you did not readily latch onto his riches and resources but made it a point to return the favour by showing your own brand of affection—whether by cooking him a hot meal or spending time with him in the porcelain tub while he groaned about Bonten and their shenanigans.

You gasped softly when he traced the swell of your clit through the material. Bunching it around his fingers, he slipped the material off your thighs, lovingly smoothing kisses down the length of your throat. There was no time to waste; he wanted you as much as you wanted him. Your whimpers bounced across the room when he slipped his cock through your folds and settled deep into your creamy depths.

Hajime loved it when you were always ready for him; his perfect girl.

He lifted one of your legs in his strong grasp as he pumped his cock into you, your scrunched expression of pleasure in the mirror getting him higher than any black market drug he had sampled.

“Play with your tits,” he grunted into your ear, and you obeyed him, slipping off the dress straps and releasing your breasts from their lacy confines.

You swirled, pinched and pulled at your nipples while he pounded into you, your mewls transforming into heavy breaths and keening moans. Hajime bit down on your pulse point the same moment his thrusts turned sloppy and he spilled his seed into your sweet walls. You came soon after he did with a lusty cry, a sheen of sweat marring your forehead and he grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Time to celebrate, princess.”

The both of you arrived at one of the many 5-star hotels under Bonten’s control, and he kept his arm possessively around your waist the whole night. Mikey dedicated a toast to him for all his hard work and the room erupted into applause, the recognition second to your proud smile.

By the end of the night, he was riding on a high, eagerly awaiting for the moment he could return back home and tear that red slinky number with a high-thigh slit from your precious body as he fucked you right into his sheets.

The moment Mikey’s speech ended, he grabbed your hand and wrenched you from the ballroom, pressing his body against yours. His need was apparent from his cock stirring against your lower body and your eyes widened, but you did not impede his excitement.

Rather, what you did next was gently wrench his hands from your waist.

The hallway was quiet, the party locked behind the heavy ballroom doors. There would be no one to judge both your affections, so why were you pushing him away?

“Princess—”

“I need to tell you something, sir.”

“Princess,” his tone drenched with disapproval. “I told you that you could call my name when we’re around others.”

You didn’t reply, teeth catching on your lower lip. He wished you would speak; the silence was unnerving.

But, what you did next was infinitely worse than if you had blatantly ignored him for the whole night.

You approached him, a soft and sad smile in place. Hajime could barely breathe—could barely move at what you did next. Reaching up to unclasp the collar he had given you with his initials on it, you let the chain furl into your clenched palm and press it into his lax one. Standing on your tiptoes, you tilted your head up, lips grazing his cheek, inhaling in the scent of sandalwood for one last time. Tears pricked your eyes and you forced them down, fixing him with a watery smile.

“Y/N—” his voice was ragged, breathless with pain.

You interjected before he could. “I heard what you and Seishu said.” The fingers wrapped around your cold ones twitched. “I understand that what I thought we had was purely just my own delusions. Thank you for clarifying that, sir.”

A pinch in his brows. He always hated it when you were formal with him. The memory of the first time he allowed you to call him by his given name tore through your mind and you fought back the wave of heartbreak. You had been in love then; nothing mattered but Hajime and how he felt about you that you were willing to risk losing a part of yourself just to appease him.

But, you had been deceiving yourself. Kokonoi Hajime only had one person in his soul and it would never be you.

His heart was with a girl who had blue eyes and blonde hair; a soft smile and innocence conscripted in her soul. A person that you were not.

“Don’t,” he uttered hoarsely. There was nothing he could focus on beyond the dejected sorrow you kept hidden behind a forced smile; the shimmering world of luxury and corruption around him narrowing into pinpricks at the sight of your lachrymose eyes and trembling lower lip.

You shook your head. “I won’t be her. I won’t ever be her and I know that now. I’m sorry for overstepping my boundaries.” Releasing his hand and leaving your collar in his grasp, you knew what you had to do next. Sucking in a deep breath; before he could even stop you from doing what could not be undone, your fingertips were as soft as dew drops on his cheek, your lips even softer on his.

Kokonoi’s eyes slipped closed, and despite himself, he couldn’t bring himself to stop you from ruining the agreement, not when he tasted the salt of your tears on his tongue. Your lips were even more heavenly than what his poor mind could conjure. He could not help it; strong arms vined tightly around you, slotting his face to catch more of your mouth on his. No, don’t do this.

His heart was screaming at him to not let you go, but his mouth could not form the words. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me.

You pulled back, and if a smile could be both beautiful and tragic at the same time, Hajime was positive that it would be the very same one etched on your slightly swollen mouth.

Do you feel the same?

Nights of dancing in his living room, hearing your sweet laughter, feeling your smooth skin under his fingertips…

The last words you ever uttered to him tore through his mind like a blaze, rescinding the last of this agreement with a firm yet dejected finality.

The final credit roll for this mockery of a love story.

“You’ve won, Hajime.”

Kokonoi swallowed and stared down at his hand that yours had slipped out from. The necklace he had gifted you was still warm to the touch from your body heat. He lifted his head, about to call out for you when he was swarmed by Bonten underlings, all of them wishing him a hearty congratulations for this successful deal now that the toasts were over.

But, he pushed them aside, glaring at anyone who stood too close. Fighting out from their grasp to return to yours, he whipped his head around in a frenzy. You were nowhere to be seen. In a sea of black, he could not find that one red spark that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt in his whole damn life.

Am I only dreaming?

The memory of you in his arms, head on his bare chest, swaying to the music. Your bright smile when he tried to hum the song lyrics into your ear. The softness of your palm in his. The peace that fractured to give way to an incomprehensible burning sensation that tore through his chest.

Y/N. No. No. Please…

“Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling,” you sang to him, and Hajime swore that he was in heaven, your sweet voice wrapping around him like the softest goose down no expensive comforter could compare. Soft fingers in his hair, lulling him to sleep right at your side.

His whole chest felt like it was caving in. Stumbling to the front of the club entrance, he frantically sought you out, but just like his dreams that went up in smoke, you had evaporated from his sights.

Do you feel my heart beating? Do you feel the same?

His eternal flame had long gone out and he was once again too late to save it.

1 Year Later

“Akane is dead?”

“Yeah.” A sharp exhale from Seishu. “She passed on a few months ago.”

Upon hearing Inui’s voice on the phone, your guard had been up. But, your friend had called as a peace offering to smoothen any bad blood that still existed between you and him. While you appreciated the gesture, you had no idea how to react; the first thought in your mind was: how is Hajime?

But you were not that calloused to disregard his pain. “I’m so sorry.”

An exhale from the other end of the line. “Look, I know this is weird, but I don’t blame you. I was…” he struggled to come up with the proper diagnosis to his temperament that fateful day in Kokonoi’s apartment. “I was a complete and utter ass to you, Y/N. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you felt for Kokonoi was real and I—I overreacted.”

You sank back into your lecture seat, thumbing the pages of your filled notebook to buy some time to reply.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you muttered. A smile ghosted the corners of your lips. “You were a huge ass, Seishu.”

His chuckle was strained. “I never expected you to end up with Hajime of all people. He didn’t even tell you who my sister was to him?”

You shook your head, forgetting that he could not see you. “No, he didn’t.” A year ago, if this conversation were to occur, it would’ve sent a pang of agony straight to your soul. But, that was then.

You were now a little wiser and better at making choices that did not center around losing your heart to a man who didn’t even have one.

“What an ass,” Seishu snorted and you were hard-pressed to disagree with him. “I heard you’ll be attending that new club’s opening.”

You winced. “Yeah, well. Just because I closed mine doesn’t mean I can’t show an old colleague some support.”

A pregnant pause. “Are you alright, Y/N? You barely even call nowadays and I’m worried.”

“Well, there was the accusation of me being a whore,” you supplied and could picture him wincing.

Kissing his teeth, Seishu tittered. “You’re never going to let this go, huh?”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ at the end of the sentence and smiled at his groan.

“I’ll make it up to you, okay?” he offered, “Breakfast at that expensive ass brunch spot you’re always whining about. Bottomless mimosas. My treat.”

“What if I start crying?” you challenged and he exhaled a laugh at the reminder of how alcohol had the power to get you blubbering. It was not your fault you were an emotional drinker; this whole year has been a clusterfuck for you and if anything, you deserved to have a good cry and get wasted at the same time.

“I promise I’ll listen,” he added after a beat, “And probably cry, too.”

At the reminder of his sister, you sobered up. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Seishu. I never knew Akane, but I could tell how much you loved her.”

Another passing silence. “You should get back to class, ‘kay?” Typical Inui. Getting him to admit his true sentiments was like squeezing blood out of stone.

“Okay.” You sighed. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll see you tonight.”

“No, no,” he uttered. “You go to that party. I have to settle Akane’s death certificate with the local councils. Those dumbasses are taking forever.”

It didn’t feel right to pretend that everything was alright when your friend had just lost his sister, but you reasoned that perhaps he wanted some time alone. You could respect his wishes.

Bidding him goodbye, you made your way back to your cramped apartment. The dress you had picked for tonight was one of the pieces that he had once got for you under the guise of making you fit better into his world. The only one you didn’t send back to his address because it reminded you of the first night you started falling for him. Though it wasn’t good luck to wear a dress that your ex had gifted you, it fit the theme for Sachi’s club opening tonight—black, slinky, and utterly sinful.

When one door closes, another one opens.

But, in your case, you had been knocking and knocking without seeing the results. With the last of the money you had gotten from Pandora’s closure, you used it to pay for your business management diploma. If anything, you could always put down ‘BDSM club owner’ in your resume to impress future interviewers.

Time edged closer and closer to the event and you reluctantly got dressed, slipping on some makeup and a pair of heels that made you wobble if you walked a little too fast. It was funny how a year of relinquishing platform shoes had made you unstable and the thought was ironic considering you once could spend hours in them with no complaint.

Once you were bundled into the back of the cab, you settled your breathing.

Tonight was not about you and wallowing in self-pity. It was to celebrate Sachi who had struck a good deal with a local gang who gave her the funds she needed to open her very own club.

You could return back home later to lick your wounds. There would be plenty of time for that.

The party was in full swing when you finally arrived. Your best friend and ex-colleague was resplendent in a sequined gown and she quickly ushered you to the middle of the group of men who were responsible for turning her dream into a reality. Despite how much you told yourself to be happy for her, you could not hide the envious antipathy when she flitted from patron to patron, making sure that the rooms were in pristine condition, that food and drinks were well stocked.

In another world, it would’ve been you in her shoes. But, you had to accept that your time in that reality was over. You were trying to make a name for yourself in a different way—with or without Pandora’s legacy.

The LED lights were making you heady and you swept your gaze lazily across the room, stopping when you felt the heavy presence of someone staring at you. Lifting your head, your blood froze at the sight of sharp, dark orbs framed by a fall of silver hair. He did not look away, mouth parted in surprise, brows raised.

As if twelve months and an ocean full of secrets did not stretched between you both, you found yourself drowning in those beloved eyes, a lump forming in your throat. Kokonoi Hajime right in the flesh.

He moved his mouth, murmuring something to another group of men dressed all in black, and stood up. Moving towards you.

You shot to your feet before your mind could play catch up and staggered towards the exit fast as your heels could take you.

A hand around your wrist held you back and you whirled around, stunned to find him staring down at you. Time did many things but erased the weight of your true emotions for Hajime. Just the scent of sandalwood alone brought back memories of limbs tangling together, his dark eyes amusedly following your figure as you danced around his kitchen, your bodies intertwined as he twirled you in his arms to the melody of timeless love songs.

The last kiss you both shared before you left him alone in the middle of that hallway, reeling from the staggering sorrow.

“Y/N—”

“I didn’t know you were here.” You blurted out, eyes flashing. “I-I… wouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have—”

“Please,” he implored, tightening his grip on your wrist. “Don’t go. Let me explain myself.”

Your brows furrowed. “E-explain yourself?”

He inhaled deeply, the act expanding his broad chest that stretched out the pristine dress shirt Hajime chose to wear for tonight. Fuck. How could you still be attracted to him after everything he said and did? It was impossible.

He dropped your wrist and steeled himself. “Seishu told me everything. How you might’ve heard what I said in the office. About Akane. I—” He struggled to speak and shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry. I never meant those words, I—”

“It’s fine,” you interjected, forcing a smile. “I told you—I understand. You don’t have to explain to me.”

“I want to.” The insistence in his tone was what made you pause. You couldn’t do this; you had spent a whole year trying to get over Kokonoi Hajime and you did not want to repeat that nightmare again.

So, to test him, you said: “I heard that Akane’s passed on.”

You watched his expression carefully. His gaze wavered but he did not look away from you. “Yeah. She did.”

His reaction was throwing you off. “Are you not upset?”

“Of course I am,” he whispered, and you had to strain closer. A live band was starting on the small stage and they were playing one of your most adored love songs.

“When a man loves a woman…” the smooth vocals of the young lead singer dressed in a pin-striped jacket suit crooned around your shell-shocked body.

“Akane was a girl I was in love with when I was a boy. But, it’s been years.” His dark eyes flashed to you. “I thought I would never get over it, but… but then I met you.” A heavy swallow. “I met you and I fell for your sweetness. Your kindness. How you loved me for me. I always—” he faltered, “—I always thought that love was waiting for someone to come back. To be patient enough to weather the hardships even if it was impending death. But you… it was easy with you. You made me want to spend every second with you. To try and experience what real love was like besides pining and waiting.”

You looked away, unable to even glance at his earnest expression.

“Y/N, I’m in love—”

“Stop.” You gently pushed him away. Tears shimmered in your eyes. “You promised a dying girl that you would marry her. That’s not something light, Hajime.” You inhaled shakily and uttered, “That’s not something I can compete with. And she—her death is still fresh.” Shaking your head, you said softly, “This is not right. What we would be doing is not right.”

“No,” he murmured, snaking his arm around your waist to draw you closer to him. “She… she never held the same feelings for me. Not like how I did for her. I only wanted to marry her so I could take care of her hospital bills.” He was desperate when he uttered, “It’s nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

You almost believed him. Almost.

It was a mistake to come here tonight. Hajime was still reeling from the grief and he didn’t know what he was saying. How passionately he had declared Akane was his only one that night that even you as an eavesdropper believed him wholeheartedly.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed and gently flicked his hands away from you, ignoring his crestfallen expression. “But this is too much for me. I-I don’t want to hurt Seishu—”

“Why? What about Inupi?”

Your bottom lip trembled and you took in a steadying breath. “Seishu is my friend. I knew him long before I knew you.”

Kokonoi’s sharp eyes hardened. “Yeah, he told me that.”

You begged him to understand. “I don’t want to hurt him or the memory of Akane by doing this with you. I don’t want to lose a friend.”

Hajime found no argument in your rationale. He could only watch as you left him for the second time.

But, before you could step out from the club, you heard a commotion from the stage, the twang of guitar strings and a microphone whining piercing your eardrums.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your entertainment for tonight, ladies and gentlemen, but there’s something I need to do.” Your wide eyes found Kokonoi’s pleading ones. Beside him, the lead singer was thumbing a wad of cash. The music started up again. Your heart palpitated erratically at what he did next.

“This song that I so rudely interrupted is dedicated to the one girl that I can’t live without.”

On cue, the guitarist strummed the first note and the lights turned a deep blue. Everyone’s eyes were on you, the whole room seeming to circle around your frozen form.

“When a man loves a woman, spend his very last dime,

and trying to hold on to what he needs,

he'd give up all his comforts.”

He poured his whole soul into the lyrics and you lifted a hand to your face, covering your parted mouth at his unexpectedly romantic gesture.

“Trying to hold on to your precious love,

And baby baby please don't treat me bad~”

You cringed at Hajime’s struggling at the high notes and you snapped to motion. Quickly rushing to the stage, climbing up the short steps to launch yourself into his arms. From the crowd, the group of men that had arrived at the club together with him, cheered and jeered when you held onto him as the music still continued.

Hajime embraced you back fiercely and you sobbed, face buried in his shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” you cried over the swaying melody that was getting the crowd in a mood.

“I know,” he mumbled, uncaring that he was declaring his love to you in front of mafias and prostitutes alike. “But, I’m your idiot, right?”

You took him by the hand, bowing your head slightly in embarrassment and apology to Sachi who was smirking and shaking her head at you in amusement. The both of you rushed off the stage and Hajime didn’t care anymore; he dragged you to his car, and unlocked it, pushing you into the backseat.

Frantic hands gripped your hips and ran down the outline of your body, committing it once more to memory. The scent of sandalwood flooded your sinuses and lodged into your pores and dress, reminding you with breath-taking clarity that Hajime was once more in your arms.

A strong palm gripped your cheek to anchor your gaze on his. Those dark eyes that you were falling in love with all over again prodded yours, your fingers slipping through his silky locks, drinking in his soft but mischievous expression.

He leaned forward, and your breathing stopped.

Soft as goose down, as tender as the first sun rays breaking past a long winter night, Hajime kissed you.

Trembling hands came to cup his face and you drank him in as much as he was inhaling your rekindled love. Noses grazed, whispers of both your mouths loud in the pressing silence of his Rolls Royce. Needless to say, you were on cloud nine.

He pulled back, a string of wetness connecting both your lips together. Half-mast dark eyes closed and like falling back into the centre of gravity, he folded, lips hungrily on yours once more.

You moaned into his mouth and he tightened his grasp around your waist, one hand trailing up to grip the nape of your neck to keep you in place. But, he didn’t have to hold you down; there was no place you would rather be than in his lap, kissing him soundly.

“Hajime,” you sighed and he hummed, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. “More.”

He exhaled a short laugh. “Let’s go back home, princess.”

“Show me you want me.” The hot stamps of his fingertips gliding down your body have you gasping for more. You were already halfway dressed, splayed across his wide bed.

Kokonoi had been to the best museums this world could offer; he had even spent days wandering The Louvre, drinking in the famous paintings and sculptures with an appreciative zeal.

But, none of them could compare to this masterpiece waiting for him; legs parted, naked chest heaving with nipples circling and hardening, lower lip caught between her teeth.

The prettiest painting coming to life. All for him.

“Want you, Hajime,” you whimpered, tears beading on your lashes. The sight of your cute expression has him harder than steel and he gripped your cheek, pushing his mouth roughly on yours. The both of you were frantic; teeth clacking together, tongues clashing, loud smacking sounds of needy mouths meeting over and over again. It was as if you were exerting a year’s worth of pent-up kisses, on a high at tasting his lips so freely.

You fisted his silky silver locks in one hand and the other was laced with his fingers that were pinning yours to the bed. Hajime ground his erection onto the seam of your panties, the thin material slowly pooling with your arousal. You gasped when he released your hand, slim fingers stroking your clit through the lacy fabric. He pushed it aside and you weren’t prepared when one finger split your folds apart, slowly sinking into your twitching hole.

“Nggh… hah….”

Sharp eyes that were edged with hazy softness drank in your every expression, committing them to memory. It had been a long year without your taste, your touch and your presence. Hajime was desperate for you; more, now that he had you back underneath him.

It was heady and disruptive how you could turn the calculative and proud Bonten executive into putty. The power you had over him was not one he readily relinquished to anyone. But for you, he would make an exception.

Soft kisses littered down the column of your throat, going over the marks he had left in his ecstatic haze earlier in the car. “I’ve missed you.” His words were barely audible, but it resonated through you like the shock of an alarm all the same.

You curled your palm around his cheek, pressing his mouth to yours and the atmosphere deepened; growing sticky and warm. His fingers slipped out of your heat and he peeled your underwear off, the last barrier holding you back from him disintegrating. He replaced those nimble digits with his cock and the stretch burned, but you bore it for him. The sweetest mewls left your swollen lips, your ankles hooking around his narrow waist.

It wasn’t like the frenzied fucking sessions you both had a year ago, but it was tempered by something softer. Gentler.

Regret and relief dripped from his kisses on your waiting mouth and you shuddered at the ardour he was exhibiting. Like a dream come true, Kokonoi was reciprocating your long-held affections for him. Every stroke of his long, thin cock against your walls was met with caught moans in the back of your throat.

“Wanna hear you,” he murmured right into your ear. “Let go and let me feel you, baby.” Your eyes scrunched close in ecstasy, your body feeling like cotton yet heavy at the same time. A drawn-out moan slipped past your defences and your back arched; hips meeting his stroke for stroke.

Those plush lips peppered kisses on your nose, your cheeks, and your waiting lips, and your walls clamped down on him, drawing him in deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, on the verge of bursting into tears and the strongest orgasm you will ever experience in your life. “Don’t stop, Hajime.”

He picked up his pace, all but drilling into you. Your cunt tightened and he grunted, feeling it, too. You nipped his bottom lip affectionately and his mind went blank, filled with nothing but the thought of spilling his cum deep inside you.

“Gonna make you mine forever,” he gasped out, brows pinching together. You nodded frantically, grappling at his hair and running your acrylic nails down his back. “G’na—fuck—gonna fill you up with my seed and get you all round and pretty with my baby.”

He was rutting deeper into you now, head of his cock slamming right into your cervix. Hajime was so intertwined with you that you didn’t know where you began and where he ended; limbs tangling together, mouths pressed against the other, fingers greedily seeking purchase in each other’s skin.

“More, more, more,” you pleaded, tongue thick. He obliged and lifted one of your thighs to hook around his shoulders, the angle making you see stars.

“Hajime!” Your body relinquished all control and you careened down the sharp edge, bringing him along with you. Warm spurts of his cum filled you up to the brim, overflowing down your puffy folds where it mingled with your squirted juices. He made sure to fuck every single drop into your waiting walls, holding onto you as the high short-circuited through his veins and left him unable to move.

His larger frame caged you to the bed, completely draping over yours while his cock twitched, cum draining right into you. You held it all in for him, beyond exhausted as the combined weight of his body and the comforting scent of sandalwood sent you straight up that blissful peak.

Hajime caved into the temptation to kiss you over and over again until you were moaning against his mouth, your arms tiredly circling around his shoulders as you both stayed like that for a few more minutes; his cock and seed still stuffing you to the brim, his lips never relinquishing yours.

“I love you.”

Your eyelids fluttered open and you blinked. Those dark eyes were gauging your reaction, waiting for your response.

A smile broke on your kiss-swollen lips. “I love you, too.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled again and you shook your head. It was time to stop apologising and to start mending the tears of this relationship. Hajime seemed to be on the right page. He took your hands, soft lips pressed to your knuckle. “Can we start over?” A sheepish grin grew across your skin. “I would really like to take you out on a date.”

You arched a brow at him, fighting back a smile. “Only one date?”

He caught on to your teasing mood and huffed a laugh. “Maybe a few more dates, just to be sure.”

“We kinda did everything upside down,” you pointed out. He doesn’t refute you, playing with your fingers in his long, paler ones.

“Do you think we can turn it the right side up?” There was hope in his voice but also worry. Those shining dark eyes pinned you to the spot, drinking in your reactions. Hajime’s fractured heart was beating hard. After years of being haunted by Akane and subsequently losing her, he knew that if there was anyone in this godforsaken world who could make him feel like even an iota of his old self, it would be you.

Not necessarily fully healed. Not completely unblemished. But, on the road to recovery and redemption.

He waited.

“Okay.” Your smile was brilliant as it was dazzling with forgiveness. “You owe me a full year of dates, flowers, cuddles and sex, Hajime.”

A relieved smile stretched across his lips, his once dormant heart beating with erratic colours. Painted by your sweet grin.

Your new beginning. Your Hajime.

“Yes, ma’am.”

©all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost across different platforms or claim as your own

WHEN THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU !!

content : gender neutral reader, fluff, not proof read 

characters : mikey, mitsuya, baji, sanzu, rindou, ran

notes : ooo i hope y’all like this one i was a nervous to post it hehe :0

˗ˏˋ MIKEY

Keep reading

THEY COULD DO THAT TO ME ANY DAY AND I WOULD EVEN PAY THEM

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)

reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!

“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”

The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.

"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹

toji x crybaby reader <3

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut under the cut !

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji is a flawed man. 

short-tempered, married to his money, slow to show affection. but the one thing he does excel at is comforting you.

he knows you’re a sensitive girl, knows just how easy it is for you to get teary-eyed and red in the face over comments that otherwise seem like nothing to the untrained ear. 

you have a kind heart is all, too giving to a world that only knows how to take. he tells you that every time you break down in his arms, thick hands rubbing circles into the small of your back.

his father would have slapped him across the face for crying. called him soft, whiney like a girl. put him to work for the rest of the day to shape him into a man.

he wasn’t his father though, and you weren’t a zenin.

you were soft in the best way, tender-hearted and too trusting. a daisy among weeds, swaying idly in the too-strong wind. nothing like a zenin, nothing like him. 

he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do the first time he’d seen you get upset, standing there in the kitchen like a fool while you babbled on the phone with his bank.

it was a fraudulent charge, small, maybe only 10 dollars. probably dropped his card while paying for gas again, not the end of the world. the customer service rep assured you that much.

it was the principal, you sobbed. you’d lost his card and hadn’t even noticed. why wasn’t he upset with you?

he doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell you it was okay. that he didn’t have it in him to ever be cross with you, be it a ten-dollar charge or a thousand-dollar charge. 

instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling your body flush with his to press soft kisses to the crown of your head.

you were warm there, warm everywhere really. the thrum of your blood heating your skin from the inside out. toji liked that about you, how you offset the perpetual cold of his much larger hands. 

physical touch was something he knew well. toji wasn’t—still isn’t good with words, opting to stay silent and just hold you while you sniffled into the receiver. he got the message across, he always does.

his methods are unorthodox for that very reason. he doesn’t comfort you with his tone, he does it with his body. whether it be thick arms squeezing you until you get your breathing under control, large hands tracing shapes into your tummy until you stop spluttering, or toned legs splaying wide to let you crawl into his lap, resting on him until your bodies reach the same temperature.

toji fucks you on your good days, likes to tease you, get you squirming. the key difference is that he makes sweet love to you on your bad ones. holding you flush to his chest while he rocks into you under the safety of your shared blankets.

you feel like a furnace under him every time, heat radiating off your body and into the deeper parts of his soul. 

he gets mouthy once the feeling of you wrapped around him flicks that little switch in his brain. turning off the mental barrier between him and his inability to use his words. 

“sweet girl,” is what he calls you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“gotta stay close to me, gotta keep you safe, huh?”

and keep you safe he does, tucking your face into the curve of his neck so you don’t have to look anywhere but him. letting you moan, and pant, and sigh into his skin while he rocks against that special spot situated deep in your core.

he goes harder when you ask him to. not faster, but harder—he knows the difference, letting the resistance in his hips subside so he can sink to the hilt over and over. 

the juxtaposition makes his head spin. how do you manage to sound so sweet while asking for something like that? able to melt his heart even on the brink of orgasm.

you kiss him when he fills you up, letting him sink on top of you with a huff and a shy laugh. he listens as you open up about the good parts of your day, his soft hums of agreement spurring you on.

toji wishes he was taught to articulate himself better. he’s trying, he really is. though the “i love you” he says into your skin seems like his best shot at a start. 

orrrrder up! ft. touya todoroki (3)

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

warnings&a/n: you know the drill guys keys jokes and bullying. sy has learned that she's verrrry bad at leading up to romance so if this is bad then look away. thanks you.... and crazy how i literally have the material to already start on a part 4 my brain is straining from this. ALSO touya owns a motorcycle. he is a biker. you can't take this away from me. I LOOOVE YOU GUYS XOXOXOXOXO!!!!!

link to part 1 || part 2

ur aki thirst is hella hawttt asdfjsuebzjdnd then how about aki corrupting his junior virgin!f reader, wdyt???

+ f!reader (she/her). corruption kink. fingering. blowjob. nasty aki <3. pervert!aki. not edited, came straight out of my coochie. cumshots. unprotected. mentions of puppy eyes + leash. aki jacking off. dirty talking. lmk if i missed anything!

—

the first time aki hayawaka laid his eyes on you in the headquarter’s lobby, he was struck by the immense need to make you his. the new recruit, a shy devil hunter who couldn’t meet his eyes, would fidget under his stares, lashes fluttering as you tried to peek at him.

it’s cute, you’re cute, he thinks. aki believes it’s your innocence that renders him completely out of his mind every night in the shower. a fresh devil hunter who probably doesn’t know how to finger herself— the thought has driven him jacking his cock off until he squirts thick cum and watch it snake down the tiled wall of the bathroom. he would come out limping with sick and perverted thoughts of teaching you until you become so good at receiving his cock with your pussy and mouth that you wouldn’t be able to live without it. you wouldn’t be able to live without him.

at first you were a challenge, yes, squirming and whining the first time he wraps his mouth around your nipples. he would ask you the questions: “have you ever got your titty sucked?” “have you ever fingered yourself? rubbed your clit while you pinch these tight nipples?”. questions that’s always been answered by a whiny “no” and a pussy so wet. with a smile so endearing, he’d reply then, “well, try putting in one finger in your cunt tonight. tell me how it feels tomorrow, i’ll wait.” and the next day, “how about two fingers? rub your clit, too.”

these advices, the ones he has been willing to demonstrate in empty cubicle stalls in the headquarter’s comfort room. with your underwear and pants rolled down to your knees, you propping one foot up on the toilet bowl, with aki fingering your sweet pussy with two fingers. of course, it doesn’t end there. not after telling him you have never performed blowjob on anyone before. and so while your fingered pussy pulses and drips arousal, you kneel before him, glazed eyes, tongue out, letting aki tap his cock and smear his precum all over the soft muscle.

little did you know, aki’s lessons are meant for something big: like spreading you open, finally on his bed, letting you experience the taste of a good fuck. and good did he fuck you the first time. he’s greedy and hungry, pitching his hips over and over, ramming into you so deep you squealed and squeezed him so hard he came with hot spurts of cum shot straight to your pussy. he fucked you all night— he’d basically squirted watery cum on your stomach, legs, pussy folds, and tits— doing so much as to wipe his slit against your nipple. his balls had been sapped, and he was trembling, gasping, eyes crossing.

aki believes that months of corrupting your innocence had been worth it— more than worth it. he meant, not all men would have a pretty girl waiting at their door, all naked except for a leash wrapped around her neck, pussy already slabbering, greeting him with those puppy eyes while begging, “fuck me, aki, please?”… right?

—

by 8kh. + masterlist.

Sex with Bakugo is good, you decide. Not spectacular, but good. He likes to nudge his nose into your cheek and whisper little quips to urge you on, even as you lay there and take it. The way he cages your body under his is... gentle. Too gentle. Aggravatingly gentle. With his attitude, you thought he'd fuck you rough and raw, into the fucking carpet, but instead, he caresses. He delays. He kisses. He-

Bakugo rips himself away from you, all huffed breath. "Where do you go?"

His voice brings you back to the moment. The room shifts as your eyes adjust back on to him. His cock is still inside you, just barely, only the tip like it's a forgotten detail between you. Sex with Bakugo is good because it's warm. Sometimes, his hands literally crackle with heat around you.

Now, they pull away from you and the room goes cold.

"You went fucking dead behind the eyes." He gestures to his own face, like it makes everything makes sense. "This face like you're-- Like I'm--"

Unlike Hawks and his forehead kisses, Katsuki rubs his thumb back and forth in whatever space he can find. Today, it's your inner bicep, up and down with too little pressure.

Up, down, up, down. The motion clogs your mind. Sex already leaves your brain sticky with memories and the damn touch just adds sand to grind between the gears. You need to smile and ask him a question, something needling and clever, with just enough of an edge that he's turned away from you-

"Don't deflect."

You nearly activate your quirk on instinct. Too seen. He's got you pinned under his sight, when you'd rather be pinned by his body.

Sex is supposed to be uncomplicated. Hawks fucks you without preamble or pretext. Why does Katsuki insist on bringing emotion into it?

"Just tell me what's wrong."

"I'm thinking about something else."

"'cause I'm fucking you bad?"

You almost smile at that. "No."

Silence hangs about you as you wait for the following up question, but it never comes. Instead, Bakugo pulls fully away from you and rolls to his side of the bed, adjusting the sheets around him. You're left there, looking at the textured ceiling as he sighs to himself.

"Listen," he says. "These games you play, I- I'm not gonna fucking wrangle it out of you, but-"

He grumbles out a noise between a sigh and a groan.

"Fuck, girl. I like you. Let me like you."

This tickles a part of your brain. Likes you? No one likes you. People are fascinated by you, perturbed by you, obsessed with you, but they never like you. You're unsettling, disturbing, barely even human-

"You like me?" It even feels wrong to say, but Bakugo just shrugs one shoulder.

"Why else would I fuck you?"