Mirio Togata watched helplessly as you paced around your dorm room in front of him. He knew when he told you how Tamaki had been kidnapped by the league of villains the anxiety would eat away at you.
Eat away at your heart. Chip away at your soul. It broke his heart to watch you break away at the seams like this.
It broke Mirio completely.
“[Y/N], calm down.”
“Calm down? Tamaki was kidnapped! He’s gone! He’s gone and you want me to calm down? My boyfriend was kidnapped and you want me to calm down?”
You stopped you're pacing to stare at Mirio, or rather glare, at your best friend. The glare in your eye was dangerous and horrific. Inside your beautiful orbs, he could see the hurt, the fear, and the sadness. It pained Mirio to look in your eyes.
Something he found so beautiful, tinted with something he never wanted to see in your eyes.
He knew telling you to calm down wasn't the correct course of action. Of course it wasn't. Your boyfriend, was missing. He'd go absolutely mental if it had been you to go missing. Absolutely feral if you'd been kidnapped, feral to get you back. Mental until he know you were safe.
“He’s supposed to be your fucking friend! Are you heartless? You should be worried! Don’t you even care about him?”
Mirio has to look away at your words. Yes, that's the role he was supposed to be playing right now. Your boyfriends best friend.
Best friend.
Not the pining asshole, eager to jump at any chance he could just to comfort you.
Not the pining asshole, eager just to be alone in your presence.
Not the pining asshole, absolutely in love with his best friends girlfriend.
Your voice cracked as you yelled at him, and a piece of his soul cracked with it. Yes he was worried, yes he cared, but not as much as he cared for you.
Yes, he was putting on a front, he didn’t want to worry you and put you through such anguish. He wanted to calm you down. Of course the heros would find Tamaki. He wanted you to be at peace. He never wanted to see such a pained expression on such a beautiful face.
But he couldn't deny he wanted to calm you down for all the wrong reasons.
He wanted to be the one to comfort you. He wanted to be the one to hold you in Tamakis absence. He wanted to reassure you, tell you the pros had it. Tell you everything would be okay.
Even if that meant you'd soon be back in Tamakis arms.
No, Mirio would never wish harm on his best friend. But he did wish to keep you to himself, just a second longer.
“I am worried, but pacing back and forth for hours as you have isn’t going to help him, or your mental health.”
With a distraught face, Mirio grabbed your hand and pulled you down onto the bed next to him. The tears started to dribble down your cheeks as you realized the harsh words you’d spoken to your best friend. Here he was comforting you, and you were so rude. He was always by your side, always the dutiful best friend.
If only you knew, why he stayed.
If only you knew, why he sought out to comfort you, why he volunteered to be the one to tell, you, your love had been kidnapped.
Mirio pulls you against him and you collapse with your head in his neck. How could someone so sad, bring him a moment of such joy. The tears kept falling and they didn't stop. Days of pent up emotions were breaking loose. The thoughts and tears you let in from the moment he was taken to now.
You felt perfect against him, Mirio thought. Like your bodies were designed for each other. It made him feel sick, even if, only for a moment.
How could he be having these thoughts, when his best friend was out there lost.
To Mirio, you in his arms was a priceless moment he wanted to revel in forever. And he would think about this moment, for manay nights to come. To you, being in his arms was just him comforting you as a friend.
“I’m sorry for calling you heartless.”
You didn’t mean it.
“It was really mean.”
You could kick me and I’d still love you.
“I know you didn’t mean it.”
“I just hate sitting around not being able to do anything. The villains have him, and I can’t even rescue him.”
Mirio’s hands run up and down your back in a comforting motion. It did little to soothe your thoughts, but it quelled your tears and sobs. It satiated a hunger in Mirio, a need to touch and hold you as close as he could.
“The pros are gonna do their job, they’ll bring him back.”
The door to your dorm room burst open and Nejire came flying in. Energetic and bubbly like always, she speaks life into Mirios words.
“He’s back! He’s back! Tamaki’s back, [Y/N]!”
You jumped out of Mirios arms and wiped the tears off your eyes with the back of your hand before you ran out of the door. Mirio walked out into the hall to follow you, but you hadn’t gone far as Tamaki had already been eagerly making his way to your dorm.
Where else would he go? That was Tamakis girlfriend.
As you wrapped your arms around Tamaki the smile on your face was undeniable. As you clung to your boyfriend the previous sadness in your eyes was replaced with relief and joy.
“Tamaki! I thought– I thought I was never gonna see you again.”
“I’ll always come back to you, always. I- I love you.”
It was a painful reminder to Mirio. Mirio, the best friend. He was Mirio, who yearned even when he shouldn't. He was your best friend and that’s all he’d be. He would never be the reason you smiled like that. He would never be the reason you had euphoria in your eyes. He would never be the guy you anxiously worried over. He would never be Tamaki.
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One of these late night thoughts again don’t mind me
Bear with me, but Sanemi being an absolute virgin and no one can convince me otherwise.
His body stiffens up when your hand brushes slowly over his hardened stomach, reaching for his belt and slowly undoing it while sweat forms on his forehead. What’s he supposed to do with his hands? Where should he look? Where is he allowed to look?
His movements are clumsy as you tease him with kisses up his ear, whispering promises of what you’ll do to him while his face slowly becomes more and more alike to a cherry blossom tree.
He is overwhelmed by everything— every gentle touch, every kiss, your smell, your grin, your lips, your just everything. Sanemi isn’t very experienced in pleasure, even when it comes to himself, so you having the upper hand for now was comforting at the least. Although he did stop thinking by about the time you unbuckled his belt and finally released the pressure that was building.
Sanemi felt exposed. A little too shy to look anywhere else but your eyes and never below the shoulders, afraid he might spontaneously combust on the spot (in more ways than you might think)
He can’t control his moans and whimpers, so he ends up moaning breathlessly against the palm of his hand while he covers his mouth— it did almost nothing to cover them up though.
Once he felt your hand around his dick, it was so over for him. You felt soft, gentle, while he shudders uncontrollably with every agonisingly slow stroke you’re gracing him with.
And fuck, as if his whimpers and throaty groans aren’t embarrassing enough, Sanemi fucking cries. You gently bit down onto his skin to leave another mark on his chest, alongside with the other hickeys while your thumb brushes over his glistering tip, smearing his precum over his head. He took a sharp breath. “I-I love you. Fuck. I love y-you.” — and that did it. Did he even last 5 minutes? Fuck.
You’re going to take it slow, you said. But Sanemi is not sure if he wants to take it like that anymore…
summary: they see someone else give you flowers, pre-relationship
pairing: karasuno boys x implied fem!reader (separate)
note from sunnie: this has been sitting in my drafts for a literal year. yikes. and it's like. really long. but each secton is relatively short? also I think it's really easy to guess who my favorites are whoops.
Daichi Sawamura considers himself a chivalrous guy. He holds open doors, walks on the half of the sidewalk closest to the road, and always, always carries your bag for you whenever he walks you home from school.
He's a gentleman.
So he's more than a little confused when he sees someone else giving you flowers during the short break between fifth and sixth period.
Okay. So maybe he hadn't yet gotten around to finally asking you out. But can you blame a guy? You make him so nervous, and he's already got an entire volleyball team worth of morons to watch out for. But even if they keep him busy, he had been planning on asking you to be his, officially.
And now some guy he'd never even seen before was giving you flowers.
Daichi is a gentleman, captain of the Karasuno boys volleyball team, and—if you were to ask Asahi—downright terrifying when he was annoyed with someone. He's crossed halfway down the hallway towards you before the guy (seriously, how had Daichi never seen him before?) turns bright red, glances at Daichi over your shoulder, and takes off down the corridor with his tail between his legs.
Daichi is starting to think that maybe Asahi was right about how scary he looks, but he's got other things to worry about as his feet finally carry him to you. He's nervous, he realizes, that maybe the flowers came with the offer of a date.
He's scared shitless over the possibility that you might have said yes.
"What was that about?" He tries to sound casual, hands buried deep in his pockets so you can't see how they're clenched into clammy fists. You turn to face him, finally, when he makes his presence known.
He watches as your pretty face twists into a wince, glancing between the bouquet of flowers held in your hand, the direction your suitor took off in, and then towards himself.
The flowers aren't even that nice, he thinks bitterly. Though he doesn't know enough about flowers to say it with confidence.
"You know that second year I tutor on Thursdays?" You ask, and he feels a swift sense of relief at two things. First being that your tone isn't the dreamy one of a girl who had been just swept off her feet by a grand romantic gesture of flowers, rather one on the verge of a wince. And second, he was older than the guy.
He didn't feel the most mature after having satisfaction in that, but it helped soothe his ego.
"Yeah, of course," He realizes he needs to give you an answer. It's hard for him to stop frowning at the flowers in your hand and smile like alarms hadn't been blaring in his mind ever since he stumbled upon you.
"Well, I think he might have gotten the wrong idea." You're not even holding the flowers like you want them, and Daichi's frown morphs into a grin. He's still a little annoyed that he hadn't thought to get you flowers first, but at least no one had come in to swoop you off your feet.
"Are you going to keep the flowers?" Daichi asks, doing a horrible job at keeping his relief and hopefulness from his voice. You shoot him a glance, having no doubt caught onto his weird tone, and he's hurrying to cover his mistake. "I mean, he still might think you're interested if he sees you carrying them around all day."
He's smiling, but it's his nervous one, and he can read it in your face that you have him completely figured out.
"You're right," You say, and it's all Daichi can do to keep from sighing audibly in relief. His heart is racing a mile a minute, and he still has to survive after school practice, somehow. "Do you think I could sell them to Tanaka and Nishinoya to give to Kiyoko?"
There's a beat of silence between your question and Daichi's response where he realizes you're being serious.
His nervous smile is replaced by a genuine one as he shakes his head with a chuckle. He manages to find some of his bravery and boldly swings an arm over your shoulder to lead you towards the second year classes.
"Let's see if we can find them quick. Kiyoko'll kill us if she finds out what we're doing."
He'll bring you flowers tomorrow. Ones you won't pawn off to his teammates for vending machine money.
Koshi Sugawara is only minding his business, walking to practice after school, when suddenly you're latched onto his arm.
Not that he's complaining. He'd just been thinking about you, and what you were doing, and if he could come up with a reason to see you on the day off from school tomorrow. He's a little flustered by your sudden arrival, by your hand curled around his bicep, but he's certainly not going to pass on the opportunity to have you close.
He's mid-greeting when he finally sees it. Clutched in your hand is a bouquet of flowers, wrapped in plastic and even still with the price sticker on the outside. His face twists in confusion, especially as he finally spots the flustered look on your face and the embarrassed way you glance over your shoulder behind you. He wants to check and see what you're so clearly running from, but his mind stalls as it snags on one tiny detail.
Someone gave you flowers. A really shitty bouquet, too, but that's not exactly the point. Someone—that's not him—gave you flowers.
He hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend yet, but he did take you out to dinner last week. He's not so much worried about someone coming to steal you away from him, but he is panicking that he didn't bring you flowers when he picked you up at your house and held your hand all the way to your favorite ramen place.
Isn't that Romance 101? He should have brought you flowers.
"I don't want to seem rude," Your pretty voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he swears he could almost sigh in relief when he sees you frown down at the poorly selected bouquet someone had presented you. "But I don't want these. Some second year just asked me out and gave them to me. I don't even know his name."
Sugawara could die he's so relieved that you want nothing to do with someone else asking you out. In fact, with the way you're clutching his arm tighter than you're holding the flowers, he feels like he could take on the world.
"I can get rid of them for you, if you want." He tries to sound casual, and not like he's overeager about the idea of dumping the flowers you got from some random in the trash. You nod, handing the offending gift off, and he feels his face warm as your fingers brush his. It makes him think of your date, of how your knuckles brushed together a few times before he was bold enough to thread your fingers through his. His face is surely bright red, but there's another question he can't seem to shake. "What did you tell him? When he asked you out?"
It's not an accusatory question. Not when you didn't even try to keep the flowers, or mention the guys name. No, he has no doubt that you turned him down. But he is incredibly interested in what reason you gave him, though.
"I told him that I'm already seeing someone," Your words are far from a grand, bold statement, but they're all he needs to hear. A grin takes over his features and he feels just a little dorky about the way he stands up taller and subconsciously puffs out his chest.
He likes your answer. A lot.
He likes it so much, that he's at your house a few hours later after practice. He'd spent most of it distracted, thinking about you and your smile and why you turned down the second year.
Mostly, he was thinking about the flowers he wanted to buy you.
The bouquet is clutched in his clammy hands when you open your front door, and though it was only a couple short hours since he had seen you last, the wind is still knocked from his lungs at the sight of your smile.
The fact that you're smiling and not trying to run off is a sign that he's doing good. Much better than the second year had done.
"I, uh, should've gotten you these when we went out last week." He can't help the way he stumbles over his words. You just make him so nervous. But you're smiling, and soon so is he, as you tug both him and the flowers inside.
He's pretty sure he hears you call him a dork, but he'll take the insult as long as you say yes to being his girlfriend.
Asahi Azumane feels his chest seize the moment you walk into the gym at the start of practice.
It's not his usual panic, though. The sight of you alone is typically enough to send his weak heart into cardiac arrest, let alone if you go so far as to smile at him. The first time you spoke to him, he's pretty sure he died for a few seconds.
No. When you finally race into the gym, moments before practice is supposed to start, shouting apologies to Takeda and Kiyoko about not being there earlier to help set up the net and ball baskets, Asahi's attention snares on something you set carefully by the pile of your belongings.
Flowers.
He knows he's staring, and he knows he won't have an answer that he could choke out if you catch him and ask what his deal is, but he can't change the course of his focus. Not when you came stumbling into practice with flowers, acting so casual about it, like you got them all the time.
Oh god, did you? Sure, he made it a point to talk to you before, during, and after practice as much as he could without wussing out. He probably knew more about you than anybody else on the team, your fellow co-manager Kiyoko included.
But what about outside of practice? Really, he couldn't blame anyone for getting you flowers. You're just too pretty and too nice, and he would have gotten you dozens of bouquets—if the thought wasn't more nerve-wracking than the idea of sending a serve into the back of Daichi's head.
Speaking of his captain, he swears he hears him and Sugawara struggling to stifle their laughter. No doubt they're laughing at him, still staring wide-eyed and gaping at the flowers you had brought into practice. It takes Nishinoya yelling his name—and consequently drawing everyone's attention to him—for him to snap back to focus.
Just his luck, he catches your eye, and he feels like dying on the spot when he glimpses the grin on your face you're trying to suppress.
"Is something wrong, Asahi?" You ask so sweetly, and his face burns so red he knows there's no getting out of it. Daichi and Sugawara burst into a fit of laughter, no longer trying to hide their amusement. Even you have to turn your cheek to hide your wobbly smile, but it's no use, because he sees it anyways.
He's so embarrassed, he feels it down to his toes, and he's so relieved when Coach sends them on some warm up laps to distract himself.
Except, he can't stop thinking about who gave you the flowers. Were they a third year? Were they in your class? Did he know who they were? Did they ask you on a date?
He wanted to run laps to avoid thinking about the flowers, but for the next two hours, all he can consider is the goddamn bouquet settled against your bag on the sidelines. At one point, a stray spike from Tanaka nearly takes them out, and Daichi tells him to be careful of your stuff.
Flowers are delicate and special, Sugawara had chastised. Asahi thinks he might be sick.
By the time the gym is cleaned, cleared, and Coach dismisses everyone, Asahi feels like his heart is going to beat straight out of his chest. He's not sure he's entirely in control as his feet carry him across the gym and to you.
"Hi," He starts lamely, but he's already off to a better start than he thought he would get.
"Hi, Asahi," You smile up at him, bag over your shoulder and flowers clutched in your hands. He watches as you try and stifle a giggle, doing a horrible job of it, and gesture to the flowers as if he hadn't seen them yet. "Aren't they pretty?"
"Yeah, uh." He continues just as witty as he started. "Who—who got them for you?"
Your eyes give you away, and he watches as your stare darts to the side, lip caught punishingly between your teeth to bite back a grin. With a frown, he follows the direction your attention had been previously been pulled in.
He finds that he's looking at Daichi and Sugawara, both doing a horrible job of acting like they were busy packing their bags to leave and not watching the interaction before them unfold like it was a spectator sport.
"Daichi? Or Suga?" He asks despite the way his heart has plummeted to his feet. He knows his face is probably pale, and you can read every emotion on his face.
He's a little confused, because it looks like you're struggling to contain a laugh. One more glance to the side, and he realizes his friends are having no such qualms.
"Guys," You turn and face Daichi and Suga, frustrated sigh falling past your lips despite the way they were just twisted up in a grin. "This is so mean. Can I just tell him?"
"Tell me what?" Asahi asks despite the way his two friends boo and complain about you ruining their fun. You hold up the flowers once more, as if he had forgotten their presence.
"Those idiots got me these, but they told me not to tell you. For a prank, apparently."
For not the first time that evening, Asahi is left gaping like a fish. Daichi and Suga are laughing so hard they caught the attention of the rest of the team. He's certain his face is bright red, but he can't think past the swell of relief he's feeling. He thought he had come so close to missing his chance with you.
Really, he can only think to do one thing.
"Please go on a date with me?"
Yuu Nishinoya wants to be able to brag that he's early to practice for once. He's got fifteen minutes until he's supposed to be on the court, and he's leisurely strolling up to gym.
Oh, he's going to rub it in Tanaka's face that he was early.
Except, twenty feet from the gym doors he stops completely in his tracks. His jaw is nearly on the ground, and any relaxed composure he had managed to scrounge together flies out the window.
Because there you were. And usually, your presence amps up his outrageous energy to level eleven just to hear you giggle at his nonsense, but you're holding something that makes his thoughts tumble over the edge.
You have flowers.
You're talking to your friends, waiting after school for your study group to start. He knows your schedule like the back of his own hand, because he adores the ground you walk on.
Even if you're not actually his girlfriend. Yet, he swears. But maybe he's losing his chance, because you're holding a bouquet of flowers that he knows for a fact you didn't have an hour earlier when he saw you between classes and begged you to wait for him to be done with practice so he could walk you home.
He's got fifteen minutes until he needs to be in the gym, and now he's scrambling to find something to one-up the flowers someone got you.
He checks the front of the school first, trying to desperately remember if there were flowerbeds he could borrow (read: steal) from and give you better flowers. Surely, you'd forget all about the bouquet some loser gave you when he presented the prettiest flowers in all of the Miyagi to you.
Except, there's no flowerbeds.
He's not the least bit embarrassed when he lets out a groan so loud a few of the students lingering by the front of the school flinch. He's borderline frantic, and he's never been the best at regulating his emotions in the first place.
You don't mind when he gets worked up. You just giggle all pretty and tell him the obvious solution to his problems. You have the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to his nonsense—Daichi and Sugawara had told him as much—and genuinely seem to enjoy being around him.
You deserve flowers, from him, but he can't find a single petal anywhere.
Practice starts in seven minutes. He's considering just drawing a picture of flowers, maybe giving you an IOU one bouquet. (Is bouquet spelled with one 'k' or two?)
He's sprinting down the hallway when he finally sees the answer to his prayers.
The vending machines.
He skids to a stop in front of the drink machine, palms pressed against the chilled glass and wide eyes frantically scanning through the options available to him. He's trying to remember which drinks he's seen you order for yourself, when the spots a juice brand he's never even heard of, tucked away in the bottom left corner.
It has flowers on the packaging.
His heart is racing and he knows he's running out of time, but he thinks he might just make practice on time if buys the juice and runs, maybe he'll even have to toss it to you in a sprinting drive-by.
That's when he realizes the fatal flaw to his plan.
He's flat broke.
A very undignified scream tears past his lips before he's sprinting off again, but this time he knows what he's looking for. He takes the stairs to the clubhouse three at a time—a miracle with his shorter than average legs—and throws open the volleyball club room door so fast and loud that it bangs against the wall.
Asahi screams. Daichi shouts for him to knock it off! Yamaguchi drops the uniform he was in the process of changing into.
"I need vending machine money!" Nishinoya yells, and nobody makes any attempt to move and give him some change. But then, through panting breaths, he gets out a few words to explain himself.
Mostly, your name and flowers and need juice.
Somehow, Tanaka understands what he's saying and translates for the group. Nishinoya promises to invite everyone to the wedding when, with only a few grumbles of complaints, his beautiful, beautiful teammates did in their bags for enough change to buy the flower-juice.
He's gone the second Sugawara drops the last coin from his pocket into his waiting hand and he barely hears Daichi shouting that he has five minutes to get to the gym as he takes the the stairs three at a time down.
The rest of his journey goes without much incident—though he did get yelled at by a teacher for running in the halls, it wasn't the Vice Principal so he's not too worried.
Juice in hand, he shouts your name the second he has you in his sights. You're not far from where he saw you last, talking with your friends and still holding that ugly bouquet. And okay, maybe the flowers weren't hideous, but they weren't from him, so he'd rather choke than compliment them.
He calls your name three more times before he finally skids to a halt in front of you, bent at the waist and offering the juice like it was made of gold. He's panting, and he's a little embarrassed about that.
He's an athlete, after all. Did he really panic so much he's out of breath?
But he decides it's all worth it when you grin at him and take the juice.
"Is this why you've been running around yelling for the past fifteen minutes?" You smile, and he swears it's like the heavens opened up around him to bless him with the sight. He opens his mouth to tell you just that, but Hinata calls his name from the gym door.
It's then that he realizes his entire team his standing in the doorway of the gym, watching the entire interaction. Tanaka is giving him two thumbs up while Ennoshita tells him off for being so obvious. Kageyama is arguing with Hinata about blowing their cover.
Your friends laugh, but you're still smiling, so he can't mind too much.
"There's flowers on the package!" He shouts while running backwards towards the gym, ensuring to bring your attention to the juice.
You laugh and promise to wait for him after, and he thinks he did pretty good.
Even if he was late to practice in the end.
Ryuunosuke Tanaka thinks that if he's devoted enough, you'll just have to fall in love with him. It can't possibly be flawed logic, because it's his logic.
Which is why he makes sure to always make it to your matches on time and cheering loud. It's as if you can't get anymore perfect—you just have to play volleyball, too.
He's already planned your wedding, six different ways, during the course of the match. Your team takes it in two sets, and if Ennoshita hadn't accompanied him to come watch you play, he probably would've taken his shirt off and swung it around.
Somehow, Tanaka is riding the high of your win—for all of eight and a half minutes.
That's how long it takes for him to watch, helpless and stuck in the stands, as some guy he's never seen before—someone totally unworthy of you—steps up to give you flowers.
He's practically raging in the stands, almost ready to tear the place apart. Ennoshita tells him to knock it off, and if the crowd wasn't separating him from the loser who brought you flowers, he probably would've done something about the smug look on the face of the guy encroaching on you. With a pout so childish he probably should be embarrassed, Tanaka can only watch you show off your flowers from the stranger to your teammates.
Oh, he can so do better.
If you want flowers, he'll get you flowers. He'll get you so many flowers you'll be sick of them, and the ugly bouquet from some random will be nothing more than a nightmare to you.
And he does it, too.
For two weeks, every day, he's bringing you flowers. In the morning before classes, or after school in that sweet twenty minutes where neither of your practices have started and he's able to talk to you all smooth-like.
Meaning he can barely get a word out to you after practically shoving the flowers into your hands.
Everyday.
For two weeks.
Ennoshita tells him he's being lame, but Nishinoya is all for it, and your smile is like a shot through his heart every time he hands you flowers. It's enough to sustain him, though he has to admit his wallet is taking a beating from his show of affection.
Everything changes when they're finally able to lure Nekoma to a practice match on their home turf. Old rivalries and new egos competing in Karasuno's gym, and minutes before the match is about to start Tanaka spots something holy from the corner of his eye.
It's you. Flanked by a few of your teammates and sizing up Nekoma within seconds, but it's you. Tanaka is distracted immediately, nearly taking a set to the face instead practicing a spike like he was ordered by Ukai. Daichi shouts something about staying focused, but Noya fires back at him a plea to not interrupt true love.
Tanaka hears maybe a third of what's said, because you're standing in his gym like you're going stay and watch—and you're holding flowers.
Ennoshita shoves him in the direction of you, claiming that it's obvious he won't be able focus on the match until he talks to you. As Tanaka approaches, your friends give encouraging smiles and slip away to talk to Kiyoko.
He means to ask what you're doing here, but the words don't come out. All he does is make fish out of water faces while glancing between you and the flowers, silently asking for an explanation.
"These are for you, after you win the practice match." You tell him simply, and with the way your pretty, pretty voice hits his ears, he knows it's true. He will win, because you said he will.
"Okay," He nods, eyes wide and face flushed. He knows he sounds breathless, but he's barely warmed up enough to use it as an excuse.
"And stop giving me so many flowers. I appreciate them," You hurry to assure, though he's ready to agree to anything you say. Anything. "but I've run out of vases to put them in. I've given the last four to my neighbors."
"Okay," He nods, again. Breathless, again. He's honestly not even sure this conversation is happening, but the grin that curves your lips upwards is too heavenly to just be a dream.
"Now, go kick some Nekoma ass, Ryuu."
"Okay,"
Tanaka turns around, and finds his whole team watching for his reaction. All he can think to do—to function, really—is raise his fists in the air and yell in victory.
You giggle at his excitement. Nekoma's Yamamoto can be heard wailing. Tsukishima comments about it being a creative way to mentally break the opposing team.
Tanaka hopes you stay watching him, because he feels ready to outplay Ushiwaka.
Tobio Kageyama hates studying. It's not as fun as volleyball, and takes up too much time and brainpower. He's not good at it either, which adds another level of frustration to an already unenjoyable experience.
But he gets to see you, which makes his Ukai-mandated tutoring sessions just a little bit more bearable.
You're quiet, which he likes, but you're not a pushover. You keep him in check—which Daichi says should earn you a Nobel Peace Prize, whatever that means—and on task, for the most part.
Though, he does spend the first ten and last fifteen minutes of each study session focusing more on you rather than his notes. He watches you with the same focused precision he uses to analyze volleyball plays. Tobio feels the same way, too; like he wants to know every part of you with absolute perfection.
It's why he doesn't notice the no-named scrub approaching in the final minutes of the study session. You're packing up, chatting with him about something he can't actually hear over his internal dialogue trying to figure out a way to ask you to come to Karasuno's next tournament.
It's too late by the time he realizes that someone else has come to steal your attention away. You, as always, are polite to the interrupter. Tobio is, predictably, not.
He keeps his mouth shut, teeth practically cracking together, and glares as the nobody hands you a bouquet of flowers. Tobio doesn't expect to get so worked up as he does, but the sight of you clutching flowers someone else got you is both a shot to his pride and has something tightening in his chest.
He doesn't understand it, and he doesn't like it.
The scrub leaves, followed out by nothing less than Tobio's harshest glare. You clear your throat, and his attention is snapped back to you, still sitting across the table from him. Your pretty brows are tugged into a pout of concern, and Tobio nearly melts at the sight.
"Everything alright, Kageyama?" You ask him, carefully quiet and mindful of the fact you're still seated in the library. He nods, stiffly, ears burning and unable to meet your gaze.
"Do you..." He trails off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to find his non-volleyball confidence. He winces at his awkward tone, but you remain still, attentive. The tight thing in his chest twists a little at your care. "Do you like flowers?"
You glance at the bouquet you were just given, like it's the first time you've seen it, despite it just being handed to you. Tobio watches as you fail to hide the grimace at the flowers, and he feels his ears burn even further when he realizes relief floods through him.
"I do," You explain, but you don't sound convinced. "I'm just... not into him."
Tobio leaves the conversation there, but he's still thinking about it a week later. That uncomfortable feeling in his chest when you were first given the flowers. By someone other than him.
He comes prepared for your next study session, albeit a bit stiff.
You're waiting at your usual table in the library, and it's on awkward feet that he approaches. You glance up from your textbooks when he gets close, eyes widening in shock when you see what he's holding.
A dozen roses.
Tobio can't look at you when he shoves the flowers in your direction, arm jutting out like he's handing you a loaded weapon and not a symbol of his affection.
But you're smiling. Warm and bright and wholly unlike last week's flowers from the scrub. There's another burning feeling in Tobio's chest when you accept the bouquet.
Pride.
Shoyo Hinata doesn't really believe his eyes when he sees you walk out to meet him in front of the school at the end of the day.
He's waiting by the front of the building, where he always is on days when your clubs end at the same times and he's able to walk you to the station. It's his favorite part of the week, and the only time he's willing to leave the gym before Kageyama.
Half the team still doesn't actually believe that you let him walk you.
He's grinning like always when he first sees you come into frame, nearly vibrating in place and calling your name as if you can't see him. Your smile is so pretty it catches him off guard, distracts him from his worst nightmare cradled in your arms.
You're ten feet away from him when finally notices, and his cheering stops immediately.
"Hey! Who gave you those flowers!" It should be a question, Shoyo realizes after the words fly out of his mouth, though it sounds more like a demand to tell him. You, sweet as always, don't scold him for his outburst.
"Hi, Shoyo," You greet him first, voice kind as you come to stand at his side. He's visibly pouting at the bouquet in your arms, but he can't find it in him care. "They're from this guy in my club. He asked me on a date, but I turned him down."
He tries not to let his joy show too obviously on his face, but he knows he's too easy to read. With his nerves calmed—at least for the moment—with the knowledge that you turned down the random guy from club, he's able to act at least a little bit normal on your trek to the station.
But now? Now he's on a mission.
He tries to hold normal conversations with you, really, but he's too focused on his secret task. He still carries your bag for you, even the flowers, begrudgingly, and nods along to everything you're saying. Even if he's not paying the most attention.
And, okay, he does feel a little guilty about not giving you his full attention when he waits the week for this very limited alone time with you, but it all pays off when he spots his target.
A flower bed.
Abandoning the bouquet in the basket of his bike he'd been pushing alongside you, Shoyo takes off into the yard of some random house on the way to the station.
You're calling his name in a hiss, but he's too focused on accomplishing his task. He is slightly aware he's technically trespassing, so he's careful to only take a few. Barely enough to be missed and definitely far less than what you deserve, but at least it's something.
He dashes out of the yard just as fast as he ran in, both your and his backpacks crashing with his quick movements. He stops in front of you, all wide eyes and hopeful grins while extending his bounty to you.
Flowers. Stolen from a garden, yes, but he hopes the fact that they're coming from him might account for the fact that they're a little limp from his manhandling.
"These are for you!" Shoyo declares, running on adrenaline and determination. Where he thrives best. "Please don't turn me down too!"
For a moment, Shoyo is frozen. He thinks he might've messed things up, or been too much, like Tsukishima always tells him.
But then you're smiling, and you take the stolen flowers from him.
"They're perfect, Sho," You're always so patient with him; he thinks he might be falling in love.
Shoyo finds just enough self control to not blurt that out, yet.
Kei Tsukishima likes to pretend that he doesn't watch you.
He thinks he's pretty good at it, too, when he's spent half a term watching you from afar without being confronted about it once. If anyone where to ask him, he'd deny it anyways, but there's a smug satisfaction he gets at not being caught.
He's lingering the hallway between classes, listening to Tadashi complain about some problem or another he's running into while practicing his jump float serves. Kei doesn't really hear him, because his attention is solely focused on you.
You're a little ways down the hallway, minding your own business while selecting from the vending machine. You're not in any type of danger that would require him to watch you so intently, but his attention has barely strayed from you since the moment you walked off with a muttered be right back, guys.
Tadashi is still talking, so he misses the way Kei's focus narrows on a second year approaching you, flowers in hand like he's living in some shoujo manga. He tells himself he doesn't care, but he stands straighter and narrows his eyes while watching the exchange.
The guy says something to you, looking like he's never talked to a girl in his life. You smile back—which Kei nearly rolls his eyes at—and take the flowers offered to you with a grin. As a final nail in the coffin, the second year hands you a folded piece of paper.
As soon as the guy walks off, Kei is closing the distance between the two of you. He doesn't even care that he might be blowing his whole I don't care persona, or his I'm not always watching you like a lovesick fool bit, either.
"What was that about?" Kei tries for nonchalance but it comes out more strained that he would've liked. You don't seem to notice the difference in his tone, thankfully, but he doesn't like the way you're smiling at the flowers so wistfully.
"He asked me out." You shrugged, fighting a grin that makes him scowl even more than usual. You hold up the paper he gave you, and now that he's not watching you from across the hallways, he can see the numbers scrawled across it. "Gave me his number and everything."
"Don't tell me you're actually going to entertain him." He keeps his voice purposefully flat, devoid of emotion. You shrug again, cheeks burning, and though he keeps his face neutral, Kei memorizes the way you look all pouty and flushed.
"I don't you," You sigh. "This is the first time anyone's ever given me flowers. Why not give him a chance?"
Kei does not like this answer. But he can't voice it even if he knew how, because it's then that Tadashi has finally made his way through the crowd, complaining about how he was abandoned.
Kei drops the conversation, but he doesn't forget it.
He beats you to class the next day, like usual. His seat is next to yours in homeroom, and he's already set up for the day with notes out and headphones on by the time you enter the classroom.
He tries to act like he's not watching your every movement, but he thinks he might be a little obvious with the way he takes one headphone off his ear when you get close—the one on the same side as you.
"Tsukki, what's this?" You ask, voice delicately soft in the otherwise quiet classroom. You're not drawing attention to yourself, or him, or the bouquet of flowers he left on your desk before you arrived. It makes him a little bolder, a little more willing to be honest with you.
"Flowers." He supplies, rather unhelpfully in his typical bored tone. Your intelligent eyes snap to him, and he has to fight his own urge to look away from your stare. He's crumbling and Kei Tsukishima doesn't crumble. "So you don't have to go out with that lame second year. You're welcome."
He sees you connect the dots, then. That the flowers are from him, and that he'd rather swallow his pride and admit you being asked out bothered him enough to do something about it than watch you go on a date with someone else.
Now he has to look away. The tips of his ears are starting to get too warm for his own comfort. Hence the headphones this morning.
"Thank you, Tsukki." You cheer, settling slowly into your seat as if you'd never seen anything so pretty as the flowers he bought you. Kei shrugs, tugging his headphones back securely over his ears.
"Don't think too much about it."
Tadashi Yamaguchi considers himself lucky to just be in your presence, always.
He's watching you with a focused look on his face while you explain one of the homework problems that really tricked you up the night before. He's walking with you and Tsukki to the club room before practice, where you're go your separate way and head home for the evening, and he's hooked on your every word.
It's why he doesn't notice the newcomer until he's standing in front of you, flowers held in shaking hands.
You're wedged between Tadashi and Tsukishima, so this newcomer has reason enough to be intimated. Tadashi can only watch—in horror—as this stranger holding out flowers to you babbles through some speech about admiring you from afar and wanting to get to know you better.
Before he knows you, you're holding the flowers and the guy takes off. Tadashi doesn't know what to do, not when he sees his chance with you slipping through his fingers. It's not like he's ever made it obvious that he likes you—god, he hopes not—but you are the walking embodiment of perfect.
And someone else just asked you out. In front of him.
"That was..." You laugh nervously, looking between the flowers and the two boys flanking you. Tadashi can only stare, face burning, while he struggles to string together a sentence that doesn't sound completely lame.
"Spare me," Tsukki huffs, rolls his eyes. It snaps Tadashi from his stupor, but just before he can tell his friend off for being rude, the blond shoves his shoulder in the direction of you. "Get it over with now, Tadashi."
And that was probably the worst thing Tsukki could've said before walking off.
He's left standing still, gaping like a fish at you. It doesn't help that you're looking to him for answers, still holding the flowers from another guy.
This is the worst way this could happen.
"Get what over with?" You ask sweetly, not sparing a retreating Tsukishima a second glance and instead putting all your focus on him.
Tadashi is certain his face is red. He's probably sweating, too. There's no stopping his nervous laugh, or the uncomfortable tell that something is up by the way he rubs the back of his neck while being unable to make eye contact with you.
"I-I don't want to sound lame." Tadashi stammers, backed into a corner by his best friend. You don't waver, pretty face twisted into concern the longer he drags this out. Now or never. "But, uh, I maybe had a plan to... to get the courage to ask you... out?"
It takes a moment for his roundabout answer to process in your mind, and every millisecond that ticks by in silence only deepens the wince on his face. He's finally going to do it. He's going kill Tsukishima.
You don't say anything. Not even when you turn, walking away from him. Tadashi feels his whole world fall apart around him for the time it takes you to walk ten feet to the nearest garbage can.
You drop the flowers in the trash, and walk back to him. Now it's his turn for his brain to catch up.
"Okay," You nod, determined, standing in front of him with no flowers and every expectation. "Do it."
"Do... what?"
"Ask me out."
You're so certain in your words, tiny grin cracking your soft lips. You want him to ask you out. He's still reeling from the devastation of watching you walk away from him seconds ago, and now he's suffering the whiplash of you telling him to ask you out.
This is going way better than he could've expected.
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Next day. Morning at the house in Los Angeles. 9:15 a.m.
Sunlight filters through the half-open blinds of the master bedroom, painting golden streaks across the messy sheets. You wake up slowly, feeling the familiar weight of Benito’s arm around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, warm and steady breathing against your neck. He’s still sleeping — or pretending, because when you shift slightly to stretch your arms, he murmurs a quiet “don’t go,” tightening his hold as if you might slip away. His entire body glued to yours, leg tangled with yours, chin resting on your shoulder even while asleep. It’s like he can’t stand even an inch of distance after last night, after the crying, the neediness he poured over you like a broken dam.
You laugh softly, turn your face back and give his cheek a quick kiss.
— Good morning, sleepyhead. I’m hungry.
He opens his eyes slowly, those dark brown, almost black eyes shining with sleep and something sweeter, more needy. He gives a crooked smile but doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls you closer, nose brushing your ear.
— Good morning, beautiful. Hungry for what? — His voice is hoarse, clingy, like a child asking to be held. — If it’s for me, I’m right here.
You roll your eyes but feel warmth creep up your neck. You try to get free, but he won’t let you. He gets up with you, stuck like a shadow. You go down the stairs like that: you in front, him behind, arms around your waist, steps synchronized like you’re one person. He kisses your neck lightly at every step, murmuring softly, “You’re so soft… don’t let go of me today, okay?” Needy as hell, craving every touch, every second like it might be the last.
You reach the spacious kitchen, with a gray granite island in the center and windows overlooking the lush green garden. You head straight to the stove, grabbing eggs, bacon, bread from the fridge. He doesn’t let go of you for even a second. He stays behind you the whole time, chin on your shoulder, hands spread over your stomach under the oversized T-shirt (his, obviously), fingers lazily tracing patterns over your bare skin as if drawing maps that belong only to him. His whole body pressed to yours — you feel his warmth, his chest rising and falling against your back, his morning erection brushing lightly against your ass, but nothing sexual, just presence. Just pure neediness.
— Help me out here, Benito — you say, cracking eggs into a bowl.
He laughs softly in your ear, but instead of helping, he slowly kisses your earlobe, lingering.
— I am helping. I’m motivating you. — His voice low, rough, full of need. — You cooking for me… fuck, Lu, this is paradise. Don’t ever leave me.
A shiver runs up your spine, but you keep whisking the eggs. He tightens his grip on your waist, one hand slowly sliding up to your chest, squeezing gently over the fabric — a tender, possessive touch, as if he needs to confirm you’re real. That you’re there, making breakfast for him, being his in a way no one else sees.
— I love when you do this for me — he murmurs, nose brushing your neck, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair. — It makes me feel… I don’t know, cared for. Loved. Don’t stop, okay? Stay like this all day.
You laugh, trying to focus on the bacon sizzling in the pan, but he gently turns your face to the side, kisses your cheek slowly, then the corner of your mouth — a kiss that isn’t quite a kiss, but makes the air feel heavy. He rests his chin on your shoulder again, hands returning to your stomach, circling slowly.
— You’re mine, right? — he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly with neediness. — My girl. My everything.
Then the phone rings. On the counter beside you, it vibrates with a video call. Ethan. You answer without thinking, placing it on the stand so your hands stay free. The screen lights up: Ethan in a white T-shirt, messy hair, simple bedroom background, a smile that freezes the moment he sees the scene.
You stirring eggs, laughing at something Benito murmured, and him behind you: arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, eyes closed like he’s in heaven, kissing your neck slowly while Ethan watches everything. Benito doesn’t even move away — he stays glued to you, hand tracing your stomach, body fully pressed against yours.
Ethan blinks, his face hardening.
— Luana? What the fuck is this?
You stop stirring the eggs. Benito opens his eyes, looks at the screen, gives a crooked smile but doesn’t let you go. He tightens his hold, as if saying “she’s mine.”
— Good morning, Ethan — you say, trying to sound normal. — Sorry, I’m in the middle of breakfast.
Ethan ignores Benito again. Eyes fixed on yours, voice rising.
— Breakfast for him? With him stuck to you like a dog in heat? You didn’t show up yesterday, Lu. I waited at the jazz bar. I texted, called twice. Nothing. And now you’re there, cooking for this guy while he hugs you from behind like he’s your boyfriend?
Benito tenses behind you but doesn’t speak. He just tightens his grip on your waist, chin on your shoulder, looking at the screen with narrowed eyes.
You swallow hard.
— Ethan, I… yesterday was complicated. I was going to tell you, but—
— Complicated? — He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. — Complicated with him, right? Because every time we make plans, he’s in the middle of it. Do you sleep together? Eat together? Live glued to each other? That’s not friendship, Luana. That’s you using me as a distraction while you’re with him.
The words hit hard. You feel your chest tighten, your eyes sting.
— It’s not like that… I like you, but—
— You like me? — Ethan interrupts, his voice loud now. — Then why don’t you show up? Why do you cancel all the time? I’m trying to be patient, but this is ridiculous. I’m not second place to anyone. If you want to be with Benito, then own it. Stop leading me on.
Benito murmurs something softly in your ear — “hang up, mami” — but you barely hear it. Ethan continues:
— You know what? I’m out. Don’t call me again. Good luck with your “friendship” that looks like a marriage. Bye.
The screen goes dark. Deafening silence fills the kitchen, just the bacon sizzling and your quickened breathing.
You stand still, staring at the black phone screen, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. Benito turns you around immediately, hands on your face, thumb gently wiping the tears away.
— Hey, Lu… look at me.
You do. His eyes are soft, worried, full of affection. He pulls you against his chest, hugging you tightly, one hand on your neck, the other on your back, rocking you slowly like you’re a child.
— Don’t cry over him, please. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t understand what we have.
You sniffle against his chest, the scent of warm skin and familiar cologne calming you a little.
— But he’s right… I wasn’t fair. I canceled yesterday because… because you asked me to.
Benito sighs deeply, kissing the top of your head repeatedly, lingering on each kiss.
— I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I can’t stand seeing you go out with someone else, Lu. It kills me inside. I’m right here. I take care of you. I make you coffee, I hug you, I spoil you all day if you want. You don’t need him. You need me.
He lifts you off the floor easily, sets you on the counter, stands between your legs, hands on your waist, forehead pressed to yours. Eyes locked with yours.
— You’re everything to me. Don’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.
You nod, more tears falling. He wipes them all away, kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the corner of your mouth — comforting, tender, full of neediness mixed with protection.
— Let’s turn off the stove and eat on the couch. I’ll feed you if you want. Just be okay, alright? My girl.
He hugs you again, swaying with you in the kitchen, murmuring “I’m here, always here” until you stop crying. The breakfast burns a little, but no one cares. He just stays there, glued to you, comforting you like the whole world depends on it.
⸻⸻⸻
Hey guyss!! This is one was..intense and revealing!
Summary: Benito’s long term friend hides him a big big secret, but what if he does the same?
Taglist: @chillxsimmer, @suns3treading
⸻
Next day. Morning at the house in Los Angeles.
Benito’s POV
He wakes up before her, like almost always. The smell of dried sex is still in the air — the stained sheet, his boxers stuck to his skin, her sticky thigh against his. He doesn’t move. Just stares at the ceiling, heart beating heavy. Last night he said “it’s not serious.” And now, looking at her sleeping peacefully on his chest, messy hair and mouth slightly open, he feels a tight knot in his stomach that isn’t lust. It’s fear.
Fear of fucking everything up. Fear of losing this — the friendship, the complicity, the way she laughs at his dumb jokes, the way she knows exactly where to press when he’s tense, the way she sleeps glued to him like he’s the safest place in the world. What if he pushes things forward and it doesn’t work? What if it turns into a mess, fights, distance? He’s seen that happen with so many people. He doesn’t want that with her. Ever.
So he decides: he’s going to hold the line. Friends. Clingy, affectionate, but no label. No risk. He kisses her forehead slowly, gets out of bed without waking her, goes to the kitchen to make coffee. When she comes downstairs, in tiny shorts and his T-shirt, hair tied in a messy bun, he smiles like nothing happened.
— Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?
She smiles back, but there’s something different in her eyes. Distant. Decided.
Lua’s POV
You wake up with your body sore from so much repressed desire and dreams that won’t stop repeating. His smell on the pillow, the sticky mess between your legs, the memory of the “it’s not serious” he dropped yesterday like it was nothing. It hurts. Hurts like hell. Because to you it is serious. It always has been. Since the Met Gala. And staying in this gray zone is slowly killing you.
You decide, right there in bed, staring at the ceiling: enough. Either you forget this stupid crush, or you leave for good. You can’t live on crumbs anymore — touches that almost kiss, looks that almost confess, nights glued together that almost feel like love. Almost isn’t enough anymore.
You grab your phone. Open WhatsApp. There’s an old message from a guy you met a few months ago at an event in LA — American, 6’3”, actor from a show nobody watches, but nice, funny, and clearly into you. Name: Ethan. You text quickly:
“Hey, are you free tonight? Wanna go out for dinner or a drink.”
He replies in less than two minutes: “Of course! How about the rooftop at The Standard? 8pm?”
You take a deep breath. Reply: “Perfect. See you there.”
Benito’s POV
He sees you on your phone while drinking coffee. Notices the small smile you give the screen. Asks casually:
— Who is it?
— An old friend — you answer, neutral. — We’re going out tonight.
He freezes with the cup in his hand. Old friend. Going out. At night. His stomach twists.
— Going out like… a date?
You shrug.
— Like going out. Relaxing. Haven’t seen him in a while.
He tries to keep his cool. Crooked smile, but his eyes betray him.
— Cool. Have fun then.
But inside he’s dying. Pure, raw, irrational jealousy. He imagines you laughing with another guy, him touching you, kissing you, taking you home. Imagines you moaning someone else’s name. He wants to throw up.
The day goes by tense. He tries to keep you home in a thousand subtle ways.
⸻
Afternoon: he calls you to the studio.
— Come here, Lu. I’ve got a new beat. Want you to hear it first. Only you understand what I’m trying to say.
You go. Sit on the couch. He plays the music loud, sits beside you, arm over your shoulders, like always. But today he squeezes tighter. Fingers tracing your neck slowly.
— Stay here all afternoon. We’ll order food, watch a movie, whatever. Like old times.
You smile, but gently move his arm away.
— Can’t today. I already made plans.
He tries charm. Leans in, voice low in your ear.
— What if I tell you I miss us? Just the two of us, no one else.
You look at him. For a second, you almost give in. But you remember the “it’s not serious.” You stand up.
— You said yesterday it’s not serious, Benito. So let me go out. Relax.
He has no answer. Just nods, forcing a smile.
⸻
Night. You get ready.
Short red dress, bare back again (because you know he hates and loves it at the same time), high heels, bold red lipstick. You walk downstairs. He’s in the living room, pretending to watch TV.
When he sees you, he slowly stands. Dark eyes, jaw tight.
— Fuck, Luana… you’re going like that?
— I am.
He steps closer. Stops in front of you. Hand goes to your arm, squeezes lightly.
— Stay. Please. We’ll order sushi, open wine, talk until dawn. Like always.
You look into his eyes. See the desperation there, mixed with raw jealousy.
— Not today, Benito. I need to… breathe.
He lets go of your arm. Takes a step back. Forces a smile.
— Okay. Have fun. Text me if you need anything.
You kiss his cheek quickly. Leave.
Benito’s POV (after she leaves)
He stands in the empty living room. The silence of the house feels heavy. He grabs his phone, opens Instagram, searches the guy’s name (Ethan, he saw it flash earlier on your screen). Sees pictures: tall, blond, perfect Hollywood smile. Imagines you laughing with him. Imagines his hand on your waist. Imagines you kissing him.
He throws the phone on the couch. Goes to the kitchen, opens a beer, drinks in long gulps. Sits at the counter. Thinks about texting: “come back home.” Deletes it. Thinks about calling. Doesn’t.
He feels like he’s dying of jealousy. Literally feels his chest tightening like it’s going to explode.
Lua’s POV (on the date)
The rooftop is beautiful. City lights, low music, Ethan is nice. Tells funny stories, compliments your dress, orders drinks for you. He touches your arm lightly, laughs at your jokes. It’s easy. It’s light. There’s no weight. No “almost.”
You genuinely laugh. Drink. Dance a little when the music gets good. He pulls you to dance, hand on your waist. You let him. You kiss him at the end of the night — good kiss, warm, no drama. Does he take you home with him? No. You say it’s late, that you have to go back. He respects it.
But you like it. Like being desired without complication. Like not having to guess. Like feeling something new.
You Uber back to Benito’s house. 2:13 a.m.
He’s awake. Living room light on. Sitting on the couch, beer in hand, red eyes like he hasn’t slept.
You walk in. He stands.
— So? Have fun?
You nod, take off your shoes.
— I did. He’s nice.
He swallows hard.
— Did you kiss him?
You look at him. Decide to be honest.
— I did.
Heavy silence.
He forces a smile.
— Good. I’m happy for you.
But his voice shakes. His eyes betray him. He’s wrecked.
You go to the bedroom. Sleep in the same bed. Glued together, like always. But today his hug is tighter. Like he’s afraid to let go.
Neither of you says anything else.
The “friendship” is cracking.
And you both feel it.
⸻⸻⸻
Okay, I HEARD YOU! Jealous Benito is in the building!! What do you think?
He lets you go. Turns his back, stretches out on the bed like nothing happened. But you see it: the obvious morning erection under the sweatpants, the way he discreetly adjusts them before getting up. He knows you saw. Doesn’t say anything.
You go to the bathroom. Close the door. Lean against the sink and take a deep breath.
He knows.
Or at least strongly suspects.
And you know that he knows.
But neither of you says anything.
The “friendship” stays intact for now.
Except now there’s a new weight in the air. An electric silence. Touches that last a second longer. Looks that don’t look away as fast.
He orders coffee. You shower. When you come out, he’s lying down again, cap backwards, scrolling on his phone. He motions you over with his hand.
“Come here.”
You go. Lie down next to him. He pulls you to his chest automatically. Hand on your thigh, thumb circling slowly.
Neither of you mentions the dream.
Neither of you mentions the dampness you still feel in the underwear you just put on.
Neither of you mentions that his dick is still half hard against your leg.
You just stay there. Stuck together. Like always.
But now you both know it’s not just friendship anymore.
It’s not a relationship yet.
But it’s not just that either.
⸻
Later that same morning. Fasano suite.
Breakfast arrived a while ago, but you’re both still in the king-size bed, leaning against the headboard, trays abandoned on the floor. He’s in loose shorts and shirtless, you in tiny shorts and an oversized T-shirt. The AC is cold, but you’re glued together anyway: his leg over yours, his arm thrown over your shoulders, his fingers lazily playing with your shirt strap.
You’re laughing at some stupid story he told about a show where he almost fell off the stage because a fan threw her underwear at his face. The conversation flows easily, like always. Until, out of nowhere, he says:
— Damn, seriously… what’s the craziest thing someone’s ever asked you to do in bed?
You laugh, cover his mouth with your hand.
— Benito, for God’s sake, we were talking about a show two seconds ago!
He pulls your hand away and quickly kisses your palm without even thinking.
— So what? We’re friends, right? Friends talk about this stuff. Go on. I’ll start.
He shifts closer, turns on his side to face you, elbow on the mattress, chin in his hand. Eyes bright with curiosity and mischief.
— I’m crazy about giving oral. Like… really crazy. For me it’s the best part of sex. I can spend hours doing it if the girl lets me. I love the taste, the way she shakes, the sound she makes when I hit the right spot. It’s like… meditation, you know? I focus everything there. If I could, I’d live with my face buried between someone’s pussy.
You feel your face heat up, but you laugh it off.
— Jesus, Benito… just like that?
— Not out of nowhere. We’ve been here for years, right? I’ve heard you moan in your sleep, seen you cum sleeping next to me… — he winks, crooked smile. — Time to trade stories, Luana.
(Yeah, he calls you Luana when the conversation gets heavy. A name only he uses. No one else.)
You sigh, roll your eyes, but end up playing along. The vibe is relaxed, like bar talk.
— Fine. My weak spot is… when someone goes down on me slowly. Like, really fucking slow. No rush. If they know how to make circles with their tongue, light at first, then more pressure… I lose it. And if they add fingers… I’m done. I come fast like that.
— I wanna fuck somewhere actually public. Not like some club bathroom or whatever. I mean… an elevator with the cameras off, or onstage after everyone’s gone home. Low lights, just us. The risk of someone showing up drives me crazy. And if I’m singing to her while I’m fucking her… holy shit, I think I’d lose my mind.
You bite your lip, imagining it.
— Damn… that’s hot. I’ve fantasized about mirrors. Like, having sex in front of a big mirror, seeing everything. Seeing him going in and out, seeing my face turned on, seeing him look at me through the reflection. It makes me wet just thinking about it.
He lets out a low “carajo,” discreetly adjusting his shorts (you notice, he knows you noticed).
— Mirrors hit different. I’m into watching too. But my wildest kink? When a girl tells me to shut the hell up. I’ll be talking dirty, moaning, and she just puts her hand over my mouth or whispers, ‘shut up and fuck me.’ I swear, I fold right away. I’ll obey anything.
You laugh out loud.
— You? Submissive? I need to see that to believe it.
— Test me someday, Lu. — He winks. — Now you. Crazy fetish. No holding back.
You think for a second, feel the heat rising again.
— Okay… I like when someone eats me out from behind. On all fours, but with his face buried there. Like, holding my hips and licking me hard, tongue going in, sucking my clit from behind… and sometimes lightly biting the inside of my thigh. It’s animalistic. Makes me feel… hunted.
He swallows hard. His eyes darkening.
— Fuck, Luana. That’s… holy fucking shit.
Two seconds of silence. Heavy. Electric.
He breaks it first, laughing to ease the tension.
— See? Real friends talk about this stuff. No judgment.
You laugh too, but it comes out hoarse.
— No judgment. Just… curiosity.
He pulls you closer, arm around your waist. Kisses your temple slowly.
— Curiosity is good. Let’s stay curious then.
His hand slides down to your thigh, thumb circling slowly on your inner leg. Doesn’t go any further. Just stays there. Circling.
— God, Benito, you’re impossible — you say, laughing, but feeling the heat crawl up your neck. His hand still on your thigh, moving slowly, like an innocent distraction. You both know it isn’t.
He laughs too, low and rough. Leans closer, elbow on the mattress, face inches from yours.
— Impossible why? We’re just talking, Lua. Friends talk about this. Come on, keep going. Tell me a crazy experience you had. Like, the best sex of your life.
You hesitate for a second, but the vibe is so relaxed you give in. You cross your legs, feeling the dampness still there from earlier (and now getting worse with the conversation), and sigh.
— Fine. The best was with a guy I met at a festival in Rio. We were dancing in the middle of the crowd, sweaty as hell, and he pulled me into the unisex bathroom. It was quick, but intense. He lifted me against the wall, fucked me standing up, hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. The risk of someone walking in… fuck, it drove me crazy. I came in two minutes.
He nods slowly, eyes locked on yours, like he’s picturing everything.
— Holy shit. The risk is insane. I had something similar, but on a plane. Flight attendant, night flight to Miami. We went to the tiny bathroom, she sat on my lap, grinding slow so we wouldn’t make noise. I was sucking her tits while she rode me. Lasted ten minutes, but it was epic. The turbulence helped.
You laugh, imagining it.
— You’re a walking danger. I also have a calmer desire. I want to have sex on the beach at night. Sand, waves crashing, nobody around. Full moon so we can see everything. Him fucking me slow from behind while biting my shoulder.
He lets out a low groan, adjusting his shorts again.
— A full moon is romantic as hell. My dream? Having sex in a moving car. Like… her driving, me in the passenger seat, my hand sliding between her thighs while she keeps her eyes on the road. Or the other way around. Something about the danger of it makes me hard on the spot.
— Damn, Benito… that’s insane.
He smirks crookedly.
— I like being dominated verbally. Like, her telling me what to do — ‘lick here,’ ‘faster,’ ‘don’t come yet.’ It makes me completely submissive. And if she ties my hands with a tie or something light… yeah, I’m fucked. I’ll do whatever she wants.
You shiver.
— Tying hands, huh? My crazy fetish: ice. Like, running an ice cube over my nipples, my stomach, down to my pussy. The cold mixed with the heat of his mouth after… makes me shake all over. And if he pushes the ice inside while going down on me… holy shit.
He swallows hard, hand squeezing your thigh tighter.
— Ice is intense as hell. I’ve never tried it, but now I kinda want to. Craziest experience I had? A threesome with two girls in Vegas. They were making out while one was riding me and I was going down on the other. It was chaotic, but insane in the best way. That’s when I learned splitting your attention is an art.
— Threesome? I had one with a couple. The guy fucking me while the girl sat on my face. It was intense, like an overdose of pleasure. But I prefer one-on-one, to focus.
He laughs.
— One-on-one is better for connection… My fantasy? Fucking in a recording studio. Mic on, catching her moans mixed with the beat. Then listening to the track later and getting off all over again just from the sound of it.
— That’s sick, Benito. I love it. My fantasy: waking up to oral sex. Waking up already feeling his tongue there, slow, taking me from sleep to horny. No talking, just feeling.
— Fuck, Lu… that’s perfect. I’d do that every single day. My craziest fantasy? Doing it underwater. Pool or ocean, her wrapped around me, floating while I slide in slow. The water making everything smoother… easier… hotter.
You bite your lip.
— Underwater is romantic and dangerous. My desire: toys. Vibrator on my clit while he fucks me. Or an anal plug, feeling full on both sides.
He blinks, surprised.
— Anal plug? Strong.
— Another crazy fetish: light voyeurism. Like, him watching me touch myself without touching me at first. Telling me slower, faster, until I beg for him to get inside.
He lets out a long sigh.
— Voyeurism is pure turn-on.
— Rooftop? You’re insane. I had one in a stopped elevator. Hit the emergency button, he fucked me against the wall. Two minutes, but the fear of it moving again… pure adrenaline.
— Elevators are classic. My fantasy? Boss-and-secretary roleplay. Her in a tight pencil skirt, me telling her to sit on the desk, spread her legs for me… but then she turns the tables and ends up dominating me instead.
— Turning the tables is hot. My crazy fantasy: food. Whipped cream on my tits, strawberry on my pussy, him licking everything slow. Sweet and dirty at the same time.
He licks his lips.
— Food is sensory overload.
— My desire: a massage that turns into sex. Oil all over, his hands sliding, fingering me while massaging my back.
— Massage is the perfect foreplay. My weirdest kink? Whispers. Her whispering dirty things in my ear while she rides me slow. ‘You’re mine,’ ‘come for me.’ It makes me come in my head first.
You feel your body react.
— Whispers are powerful. My fetish: biting. Neck, nipples, inner thighs. That light pain that turns into pleasure.
— I love biting — I’m obsessed with it. Craziest experience? Hooking up on a train. Empty carriage, middle of the night, her on my lap, rocking slow with the motion of the tracks.
— Train? Risky. I had one in a park at night. Bench, him taking me from behind, hand over my mouth.
He laughs.
— A park? That’s next-level exhibitionist, damn.
— Mirrors amplify everything. My fantasy: being blindfolded. Not seeing anything, just feeling. Hands, mouth, dick… total surprise.
— Blindfolds are a trust game. My craziest desire? Fucking after smoking weed. Everything slower, every touch amplified… laughing halfway through because it just hits different.
You nod.
— Weed makes everything better. My desire: shower sex. Soap sliding, him washing me, fingering me under the water.
— Shower’s a daily thing, but still sexy. My fetish? Ripping her lingerie. Buying it just to tear it off right there, loving the look on her face.
— Ripping lingerie is aggressively hot. My fantasy: sex on a boat. Waves rocking, sun on our bodies.
— Boats are luxury. My fantasy: tantric sex. Hours without cumming, just building energy.
— Tantric is a patience test.
You sigh.
— My fetish: being carried. Him picking me up and fucking me against the wall.
— Being carried is man-handeling..
You both go back to talking about random stuff. Music. Shows. Trips. But the air is different. Heavier. Denser. The touches are the same as always… they just carry the weight of everything that was said now.
He knows what makes you come.
You know what drives him crazy.
And the “friendship” stays strong.
For now.
⸻
Wowwww, that was long! I got really envolved with that talk as you can see. Hope you enjoyed it!! - Xx 💋
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the first time you called benito ‘papi’ and he short-circuited like crazy.
benito has been called ‘papi’ in every occasion he’s been in, it’s not something special - people called him that a lot, his fans too, even his friends does that.
petnames aren’t a new thing for him, so many women have wrapped their voices around sweet little endearments, testing how they fit against him: cariño, bebé, papi, and none of it ever really stayed. nothing lingered long enough to feel personal for him. hence why he preferred to be called by his name, benito.
but you. oh, you.
he remembers the first time you called him with that nickname. it was not supposed to come out either! you were just there studying spanish, it’s been a while since you did this with benito in your mind - to understand him well. benito keeps saying that you don’t need to study another language just to be with him, he keeps reassuring you over and over again that it’s alright; he will love you despite.
but you insisted, to love him is to love his roots - and that starts from his mother tongue. you started studying spanish on duolingo, then to some spanish songs; you’d sit there with the lyrics open, pausing every few seconds, mouthing the words like they were fragile glass. rolling your r’s under your breath. replaying the same line until your tongue stopped tripping over it. and you shifted into some spanish tv shows. you’re not fluent yet, it will take a long time to do so, but you’re getting there.
benito is also there throughout your little journey of speaking spanish, he will occasionally slip some spanish words whenever he talks to you. some endearing words too. he’ll cuddle you up while calling you ‘amor’ or ‘cariño’ or ‘querida’ - little petnames that will make you go all red every time he says it.
but you noticed how people would call him ‘papi’ - you do understand the meaning of it. heck, that pet name has been around for a long time. but you never got the chance to say it to him. truthfully, you’re embarrassed! what if he thinks that it’s cringe and he might get the ick? or worse, he won’t feel anything?
so you decided to keep it in the back of your mind. you don’t want to try something risky, not when you’re sober.
and now you’re drunk.
you’re half-drunk, actually. still sober enough to tug on benito’s sleeves as he turned his back to you, both of you are now at the party that he got invited to. he decided to bring you as a plus one, and now here you are, getting all doozy.
“what’s wrong, mami? you good?” he asks, his palm carefully rests on the side of your cheek. and you nuzzle into it, trying to search the warmth that you’ve been seeking all night.
“can we go home?” you mumbled into his palm. your eyes looking up to him with plea.
he chuckles and nods. anything for you, he said.
they don’t go home right away, though. you’re sitting on the trunk of his car, your legs swinging above the pavement. you hum, enjoying the distant music that keeps blaring behind you.
and he’s now standing between your knees, close enough that his thighs brush yours everytime you move.
“you okay, baby? talk to me,” he murmurs, voice lower now. his hand now rests on your thighs, making circles on it every time you swing.
“just a teeny bit overwhelmed, ‘m sorry,” you whispered the smallest truth you can manage. seems like your body can’t be asked to dance when all you want right now is to nuzzle in the crook of his neck while being cuddled by him. maybe you’re drunk now and all you want is for benito to coddle you and to baby you ‘til the morning comes.
he smiled softly, ever-so endearingly, “está bien.” that’s okay.
maybe it’s the alcohol warming in your veins, loosening your tongue, making you braver than you’d ever admit to being sober.
because you don’t think.
you just giggle, soft and airy, swaying slightly in his arms.
“gracias, papi.”
he froze. and you can feel your heart racing just by the fact that the endearment that you keep in the back of your mind slip easily just like that. fuck, you don’t meant to say it! what if he gets the ick? what if he feels like it’s cringe? what if—
“fuck, what did you just say?”
his voice is now lower, darker. he steps back just enough to look at you on purpose. your red ruddy cheeks now blossom like a ripe apple, he’s trying to confirm what he heard from your mouth.
“i—i don’t meant to…”
he lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. runs a hand down his face.
“fuck, pretty, you can’t say that and expect me to be okay.”
you shrink a little. “i supposed that it’s nothing because people said that to you a lot, right?”
“but you’re not people,” he pauses - taking one step forward to you. “you’re my girlfriend, y tú eres quien me vuelve loco, you’re the one that makes me crazy. fuck, i was thinking when will you say that to me and i’ve been preparing myself just in case you said it but turns out i still can’t contain myself.”
“say it again,” he says quietly.
your eyes widened, “no.”
he steps even more closer to you.
you shake your head, suddenly shy. “benito—”
he smirked, “don’t ‘benito’ me now. you was real brave like two seconds ago.”
his hands finds your waist, pulling you gently against him. not rough, just enough to make your breath hitch.
“come on now, mami. i’m waiting.”
your fingers curl into his shirt, shyly, ever-so gently. your voice now drops instinctively when you try again.
“papi.”
it’s barely above a whisper.
and he actually short-circuits.
like visibly.
his eyes close. his jaw tightens. he exhales through his nose like you just knocked the wind out of him. he groans - not dramatic, just helpless, and pulls you fully into his chest like he needs to hide you from the consequences of your own mouth.
“nah,” he murmurs, shaking his head once. “you’re going to be the death of me.”
ex!benito can’t celebrate his achievements when it’s not with you
summary: you’ve broken up with benito months ago because he keeps second guessing his love and his work. but then the grammy came - and he realizes that he can’t celebrate his achievements when it’s not with you. he grovels, he begs, and he gets
tags: benito antonio x reader, fem!reader, a little bit angst but fluff in the end, i just wanted to write about bad bunny since i’m in love with him. do request if you want more from him!
prequel here.
liked by yourusername, vogue, nfl, and others
badbunnypr grammy 2026 🏆🏆🏆
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user1 te amo! felicidades GOAT!
user2 la cabra 🐐
user3 love you papi
user4 ugh i wish that she’s still with him rn
↳ user5 who?
↳ user4 y/n 🥲
↳ user5 oh 🥲 yeah we miss them both but let’s respect their privacy… it’s been a while since we’ve seen her too right?
user6 HOLY FUCK PAPI
yourusername congratulations benito 🏆🏆🏆 well deserved
↳ badbunnypr gracias mami ❤️
↳ user4 HOLY FUCK
↳ user6 FUCKKKK she’s so supportive i’m going to crumble and cry WE MISS YOU QUEEN
↳ user7 it’s been a while since she’s active too like she’s active here just to tell him that she’s proud oh mama #nooticing
liked by badbunnypr, gqmagazine, lewishamilton and others
yourusername debí tirar más fotos 📸
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user1 who is that in the back WHAT THE FUCK
user2 WHAT
user3 DEBI TIRAR MAS WHO THE FUCK IS THAT
↳ user4 i think you saw that right
↳ user3 does this mean that they’re together again what the fuck
↳ user5 i don’t think so 😂 benito said that he doesn’t want to do relationship in the meantime right and he wants to keep things private. i think this post is a tribute for his grammy
user4 oh my god pretty don’t tease us like this 😭😭😭 hiding HIM behind the dumps is ABSOLUTELY INSANEEEEEE WE SEE YOU
user5 we miss you
badbunnypr qué linda ❤️
↳ user5 GIRL?????
↳ user7 OH MY GOD
↳ user8 WHAT AM I MISSING
↳ user10 this is the most friendliest and the most romantic tribute at the same time
↳ yourusername ❤️
liked by yourusername, omarcourtz, tmz, and others
badbunnypr el hogar es donde está su corazón 🏠 home is where her heart is
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user3 ????? HELLO
user5 oh my god i’m hyperventilating that’s her right?
↳ user6 by flesh 😭 i think that’s her oh mama we’re getting them back
↳ user5 i’m screamingggg rn
user6 FUCK FUCK FUCK
user7 i’m going to kmsnsmsksks
user8 if they’re together again i’m going to SCREAM I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS
user9 not so discrete huh bb
user10 PLAYBOY OOOH LALA
yourusername i think you left your hoodie here silly
↳ user10 HELLO TMZ REPORT THIS PLEASE
↳ user11 oh my god it’s confirmed WE ARE GETTING THEM BACK
↳ user12 i can’t wait to see her dancing on the stage again with him 😭 prfvr!!!!
↳ user13 we are so obviously getting them back lmao
↳ badbunnypr it’s because you’re wearing it mami, keep it ❤️
Can I request an one shot where the reader and Sanemi have a half silly half serious fight and the reader goes to sleep on the couch. But Sanemi kind of regrets it and spends the rest of the night trying to convince his wife to go back to bed? (I have a very unpopular opinion that Sanemi would be as shy as Genya around his loved one, as if he were just a child waiting to be loved.) (I love your writing btw)
— COME BACK TO BED.
pairing: fem!reader x sanemi
genre: fluff
a/n: I ABSOLUTELY MELTED WRITING THIS
It started stupid.
Not tragic, not explosive—just one of those dumb little arguments couples have when they’re tired and hungry and both too stubborn to blink first.
You were washing dishes.
He was sharpening his blade at the kitchen table, jaw tense, shoulders tight after a long patrol.
You told him—gently—that he didn’t have to go on tomorrow’s mission if he was exhausted.
He took it as you doubting him.
You rolled your eyes.
He snapped something snarky.
You matched it.
And somehow the conversation spiraled into absolutely nothing.
Half silly, half serious—equal parts concern and pride.
Eventually, you sighed, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and headed toward the living room.
“Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
Sanemi scoffed as he crossed his arms, pretending he didn’t care.
“Yeah? Do whatever you want.”
But the second the bedroom door shut behind you… regret hit him so hard he had to sit down.
Because the bed felt too big without you. Too cold. Too wrong.
He paced for a while, muttering to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Stupid… idiot… why’d you say it like that. She was just worried about you.”
He peeked down the hallway.
Dark. Quiet.
You were actually staying on the couch.
Sanemi’s stomach twisted.
He hated fighting with you. Not because he feared losing, but because he hated being the reason your shoulders tensed and your voice went flat.
So he tried to wait you out.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tossed. Turned. Sighed. Grumbled.
Even punched his pillow once for good measure.
But sleep wouldn’t come—not without you breathing beside him.
Eventually, he gave up.
Barefoot, shirtless, still grumpy but softening, he walked into the living room.
And there you were… curled under a blanket, breathing steadily, cheeks pressed into the pillow you stole.
His whole chest melted.
He approached quietly, kneeling beside the couch, elbow resting on the cushion so he could see your face. Moonlight spilled through the window, highlighting every feature he adored.
“…Hey,” he whispered, voice rough.
No response. Just the gentle rise and fall of your chest.
He swallowed, nervous.
The Wind Hashira—nervous over his own wife.
“Look, I—” he whispered, then sighed. “You weren’t wrong, okay? I get tired. I know that.”
His fingers hovered over your hair but didn’t touch, not without permission. He was trying to show respect, even while apologizing.
“And I know you said it because you care. I just… I’m not used to that.”
His voice softened so much it barely existed.
“I’m trying to be better at accepting it.”
He sat on the floor beside the couch, back pressed against it, knees drawn up.
A beat of silence.
Then a confession, tiny and terrified. “I don’t want you sleeping out here. I hate it.”
Still nothing.
He peeked up and immediately panicked.
“Not—not that you can’t! I just—shit—” He raked a hand through his white hair, flustered. “I sleep better when you’re next to me. That’s all.”
He waited again.
When you didn’t move, he gently draped another blanket over you—tucking the edges around your shoulders so you’d stay warm.
He sat there a moment longer, staring at the floor, thinking. Then, slowly, he climbed onto the couch.. well, half of him. Kneeling on the floor, he rested his head on the cushion near yours, arms folded beneath his chin.
He stayed like that—close, but not touching—just breathing you in.
Finally, you spoke, voice soft. “You’re uncomfortable like that.”
Sanemi straightened immediately, eyes wide knowing he got caught.
“You’re awake?!”
You opened your eyes, amused. “I’ve been awake.”
His face flushed—deep, bright pink climbing all the way to the tips of his ears.
“O-Oh.”
Silence. Then, quieter, vulnerable.
“Did you hear all that?”
You nodded, smiling gently. “Every word.”
He groaned and buried his face into the pillow beside you.
“Kill me now.”
You laughed and reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. He melted instantly, leaning into your touch like a starved cat.
“…I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I know you worry because you love me.”
You caressed his cheek, thumb tracing the scar near his lip.
“And I shouldn’t have walked away. I’m sorry too.”
He looked at you then—truly looked—and his expression softened into something shy, almost boyish.
“Will you come back to bed?” he asked quietly. “Please?”
Your heart flipped.
Because Sanemi didn’t say “please” often—only when he meant it.
You nodded. “Yeah. Take me.”
Relief crashed over him. He stood and offered his hand to help you up, fingers trembling the tiniest bit.
When you rose to your feet, he didn’t let go.
He led you back to the bedroom, pulled back the covers, and waited until you slid in. Then he climbed in beside you—hesitant, nervous, hopeful.
He held still, unsure if he had the right to touch you yet.
So you scooted closer, resting your head on his chest.
He exhaled shakily—like he’d been holding his breath all night—and wrapped his arms around you, tucking you beneath his chin.
“…Thank you,” he whispered. “For staying.”
His heartbeat was fast—boyish, vulnerable—proof that the bravest man alive was still terrified of losing love.
You kissed his bare chest, slow and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere, Sanemi.”
His grip tightened—not possessive, just relieved.
And finally, he relaxed.
“Good,” he mumbled sleepily. “Because I really, really love you.”
You smiled into his skin. “I love you too.”
He fell asleep like that—clinging to you, face buried in your hair, wearing the softest, shyest smile.
And the couch stayed empty for the rest of your marriage.
category: slow burn, romance, fluff, angst, smut, plot with pōrn
warnings: explicit content mdni, very mild violence, masturbation (f), special guests: the uzui clan
word count: 4.5k
author's note: smoochy smoochy smoochy (˵˘ ³˘˵)
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taglist: @dearestsam
Makio, Tengen, Suma and Hinatsuru sat at a low table in the back of the playhouse. At first, they were just out on a regular date, sharing drinks and small bites, updating each other on day to day life.
Until...Suma’s big, blue eyes caught a flash of the former Wind Pillar’s albino-white hair.
Sanemi? At a busy place like the playhouse?? He was with…
A WOMAN?!!????!!!?!
“Hina, is that her?!” Suma whispered to Hinatsuru on her right.
The purple-eyed woman glanced to where Suma pointed, and sure enough, it was Sanemi, searching for a table, with you in tow. She nodded with a cheeky smile, confirming.
You were so beautiful, they both mused.
You were dressed to the nines, your hair and makeup absolutely flawless. Your kimono tonight was a shimmering, pastel green silk with a white accent belt. You had two jasmine flowers woven into your hair, pinned up in an elaborate style. Sharp winged liner on your eyes, and a blurry kiss of red on your lips—completed the look.
Just radiant.
Sanemi, also looking dashing, was wearing a black and silver printed kimono. The pattern was hand stitched whirlwind clouds, in a diagonal set. Expensive. It was more formal than anything he’d ever worn around them. Along with his normally staticky hair being combed back, It made his movements…smoother…than usual.
He held an affectionate gaze on you, ensuring you were comfortable before taking his place beside you. This energy from him was completely foreign to Tengen’s wives!! Suma then furiously shook Tengen’s arm at the sight of you with Sanemi, trying her best not to squeal.
Tengen took in your appearance, and smiled proudly. Of course Sanemi found himself a gorgeous, perfect flower. No wonder the brute was a nervous wreck about you!
He nudged Makio, and upon seeing you both, she had to slap a hand over her own mouth to prevent the ambiance in the playhouse from being disrupted.
The group’s evening was spent dissecting a different show than the one unfolding on the stage, this new plot having completely swept their attention.
—
Hand in hand, you shuffled through the playhouse behind Sanemi. The place was quickly filling up, so you both didn’t have time to properly regard each other if you wanted a good seat.
Sanemi would look at you later.
Right now—he had a mission—get his date the best seat in the house.
While he searched in the middle section of the crowd, you found yourself waving back at acquaintances and favorite customers as they recognized who you were. They expressed heated curiosity over the man who had you on his arm, brows raising and quick whispers between them as they tried to confirm his identity.
Sanemi was taken aback at how popular you seemed to be. It did make sense—just look at you!
But now…that attention was also on him! He resisted the urge to turn and haul his ass right back out of this busy establishment, dragging you with him.
A micro-sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he found the perfect seats. There was a table for two, right in the middle section with an incredible view of the stage. Nobody’s heads obstructed the view, and you could get a good look at the musicians performing the opening music. He stopped walking and turned to you, ushering you to your preferred side.
Finally sat, he took a moment to appreciate your makeup. You looked like a doll—completely unreal. He felt bold tonight. He’d stare at you until you noticed. Until your attention was stuck to him like his was to you.
You finished a brief, hushed conversation with a regular nearby and laughed lightly, gradually turning to your date.
Sanemi was sat next to you on the tatami mat, still holding your hand in his lap, gazing at your face.
“Hi,” you finally acknowledged him, shifting in your seat toward him.
“Hey,” he said back, softly, his smile now reaching his eyes.
Your heart leapt at the way his thumb massaged the back of your hand. You broke eye contact first, a bit nervous, all of a sudden.
His smile grew, and he continued to stare at you, unabashedly. You looked divine tonight. He’d look for as long as he could.
The pair of you hadn’t noticed the group of eyes behind you that settled on you both after you took your seats.
The lights went dim, and the heavy red curtain was drawn off the stage. Sanemi couldn’t tear his gaze from you until halfway through the opening monologue.
…
The show carried on, and was actually—quite entertaining! An epic tale of two kingdoms at war!! Sabotage and betrayal… An evil king… A scorned prince… A secret child!!! A new love…starting to bloom~~~!
Sanemi stole a glance at you, and caught how your lips parted as the lead couple kissed on stage. Your tongue darted out, just a little, and you swallowed.
Fuck. You were so beautiful.
He gathered his courage, and rose his hand up to your cheek, waiting for you to turn to him.
You did, your skin warming up under his touch, and your eyes connected with his in a heated gaze.
He read your eyes. The the soft, pink lights from the stage illuminated your pupils, and Sanemi could see the whole universe within them.
His pupils, now also dilated, settled on your painted lips.
He dove in.
And you melted.
The music crescendoed, and his tongue slipped into your mouth, deepening the kiss.
The crowd cheered, and just before the lights went dark, he pulled away, relishing in how your eyes fluttered open, and how your lipstick was smeared a little on your puckered lips, as he squished your cheeks between his thumb and fingers.
He smiled at you, slowly licked his bottom lip, then let go of your face, and playfully bumped your shoulder with his, before turning his attention back to the stage…still stroking your hand in his lap.
The lights came back on for the next scene, but you were still looking at Sanemi, vibrating with arousal.
How could he kiss you like that—and then—stop???
Your knee bounced with frustration for the remainder of the first act…
—
It was the intermission of the show, and you desperately needed a moment with Sanemi.
You had found a quiet, secluded corner in the lobby of the bustling playhouse, and backed him against the column of the hallway. It must have lead to backstage, nobody being there aside from a few busy stagehands scurrying around.
In a mess of lips, teeth and tongues, you kissed Sanemi—eagerly. You were hungry for him…Famished for him!!! He had no idea what floodgates he opened within you after that first kiss... You pressed closer against him, delighting in the way his hard chest made your tits squish!
You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop~!!!
“Sanemi,” you panted after forcing your lips away for breath, “I really like you, you know that?”
He blinked at you, lips still puckered. He had to recover from that wallop of a smooch! He was also surprised by your sudden confession. I mean, at this point—of course he knew you liked him, but to feel you pounce on him, and to hear you declare it…it roused something in him.
“(Y/n), I like you, too,” he started, low and slow. “You’re so…sweet.”
His arms tightened around you, and he backed you up onto the opposite side of the dimly lit hallway. He pressed his body into yours, just enough to trap you against the wall. He grabbed and kissed your hand, just like on the wisteria walk.
!!!!!
You knew this move. He wouldn’t make you cower away. You were fine. This was fine.
What wasn’t fine—was how he kept going. He kissed your palm next, then the thrumming point on your wrist. He hummed as he registered your pulse speeding up… Where was he going?
Up??
Higher???
He nudged your silken sleeve up with his nose, planting gentle, wet kisses up the length of your forearm. When he reached the soft, fleshy valley of your inner elbow, his kiss became deeper, inhaling your scent before blinking up at you with hooded eyes.
Beneath the layers of clothing you had on—your pussy gushed, to put it plainly. Sanemi was—turning you on!!! Your chest was rising and falling more rapidly. You were hanging on by a thread of anticipation.
How far would he try to go???
You were in public!!!!
To your delight—and dismay—he removed his lips from your arm…and instead interlocked his fingers with yours. He held your hand to his chest, in a vulnerable move. You could feel his heart thumping along through his formal robe, faster than before.
You did this to him, too.
And he wanted you to know. His expression was soft, but serious. He tilted his head a little, waiting for your response.
Gods.
You looked up at Sanemi, out of breath, body alight with desire for him. You would surely pass out if you didn’t move away from this private corner of the playhouse...
You quickly took your hand from him to fix your hair and adjust your clothes, trying to remain presentable. “We should get back to our seats, the show will start again, soon.” You mumbled, shyness washing over you.
Before he could respond, you dragged him out from the corner of the lobby, keen to sit again and calm down. You checked pointedly left, and then right for any spies, before hurriedly leading him back into the main house.
…
You didn’t check behind you, though… and missed the villain of the play, in the hallway, smiling wickedly at you and Sanemi… He was going to use this little romance to his advantage during the next act!
He laughed darkly, fully in character, and stepped through the door to backstage.
—
It was difficult for you, being in public now. All you wanted to do was to hide away with Sanemi and feel more than his heartbeat…
Upon settling back in at the low table, you straightened your posture, and fixed your gaze ahead, determined to see the rest of this date through with no snags.
You were, after all, a lady, and had to maintain your composure.
…
It was hard for Sanemi to not notice the shift in your mood...
Did he do something wrong?
Before he could ask you, the band started drumming up a new sound, and the players returned. There was a short comedic scene involving the audience to get everyone back into the story of the play.
The main villain—the Yokai King—and his evil goons, were traipsing through the audience walkways, breaking the fourth wall. Patrons laughed and gasped as the players bounded around in their costumes, harassing unfortunate individuals. They’d get kind of mean… throwing insults at people, taking peoples’ drinks and snacks out of their hands, riling them up—all in character.
The Yokai King had finally found you in the crowd, and locked you in his sights. He noticed how Sanemi was intently focused on you, but you were taking in the show.
He would stir this little pot right on up!
“WHAT have we here~?” he bellowed, commanding the attention of his henchmen. They knew this cue—their main audience victims of the night. “A fair maiden!! And a poor CHUMP…What a pretty, PATHETIC pair!” he shouted.
His goons cackled, and the audience whooped with an “Oooooooo!!!!!!”
Sanemi felt steam rise from the crown of his head as the villain approached your other side.
“Surely you’d be better off with a REAL MAN…like the mighty KING of the Yokai!”
His goons cheered. The audience jeered.
You glanced around, a bit flustered, and laughed nervously. You tried to play along and be a good sport, waving away the henchmen as they got closer to you and squealing a bit.
Sanemi, however, was frozen on the spot from the pressure of a thousand eyes on him. He tried to formulate a witty response, but before he could, your hand was being raised up high, your knuckles almost pressed to the Yokai King’s villainous lips—!!!
…Almost.
Sanemi was much quicker.
“You BASTARD!!!”
!!!!!
The audience erupted in concerned gasps and laughs of disbelief—at the sight of the mighty Yokai King—suddenly being suspended in the air!!!!!!!!
Sanemi had his fist wound up in the front of the Yokai King’s gaudy costume, pressed sharply against his clavicle as he held him high. The poor actor’s heeled boots dangled next to you.
You were still seated on the floor, in awe. A flurry of arousal shot through you as Sanemi shook the man about, valiantly defending your honor. You covered your mouth with your sleeve, trying not to gawk at the veins of his exposed arm.
Before Sanemi could do any serious damage to the player’s costume—or body—the ensemble of henchmen clamored and dragged their humiliated King away from his hold, some of them genuinely afraid that their lead actor had taken it too far this time...
The entire audience, especially the Uzui clan, cheered and clapped, in hysterics~! Tengen was ecstatic at the flashy scene, and proud of Sanemi for rightfully protecting his lady!
The crowd rumbled in agreement, then started to settle down as the villains retreated to the stage.
Sanemi felt you take his wrist, gently urging him to sit back down. He huffed, and sat with a heavy plop. He didn’t want to lose his cool in front of you… But his knee was bouncing from the surge of adrenaline, and his muscles were amped up—ready to fight! He was prepared to cause a bloody scene, worse than anything the players could ever put on!!
You noticed, and removed your hand from his wrist to give him a moment.
He had to calm down.
The actors were soon all back on stage, and the lights in the house faded back to a proper black. The players quickly moved to set up the final act—the epic final battle, with the hopeful defeat of the dastardly villain.
Sanemi took a breath, and tried to focus on that bastard on the stage. He wanted to enjoy watching the Yokai King fake-die.
…
But he was still worried about you. He could see that your teeth were gnawing at your lip. Were you upset with him?
He couldn’t stand it…
…
While the actors warred on stage, fake blood splattering along the stage floor, you warred within yourself.
What was proper? What was improper? Would you be scorned if you gave yourself to Sanemi?
How much of yourself were you allowed to give?
You never had guidance on courtship. Your parents had been taken from you by demons at a young age. Your aunt and her kids were no help, either. She had an arranged marriage that ended in her husband’s untimely slaughter, also by demons, shortly after their twins were born.
And at the bakery…your sensei insisted that nobody was good enough for you. None of his delivery hires, none of the regular customers… You didn’t know what kind of man would get his approval…
You winced at the sight of more blood, this time spraying from the hero’s arm, and you held your own arm to steady yourself...
…
Sanemi noticed you tensing up even more.
What was the issue? Earlier, when he kissed up your arm in the lobby…did he go too far? Did he push you too fast? He racked his brain, replaying every single one of his advances toward you with a critical eye. Whatever he did wrong—he’d never do it again.
Whatever it took to keep you by his side.
At the peak of the fight, the audience gasped, all on edge, waiting to see who would deliver the final blow. Your insecure thoughts were blown away by the intensity of the energy on the stage! It was permeating throughout the room!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The hero had done it!!!
At the last second, he stabbed the Yokai King, driving his sword to the hilt, bringing him to his knees. The demon coughed up a mess of fake blood, then collapsed with a howl! The villain’s reign of terror over the playhouse—was no more!
There was a thunderous eruption of cheering from the crowd...
And you slipped your hand back into Sanemi’s.
He exhaled in relief. You weren’t upset with him.
…
After the triumphant battle, the players closed out the show with more music, making the atmosphere in the playhouse now open, jovial... a little tipsy. Everyone was either singing along, clapping, or chatting and drinking with their friends and dates, minding their own. A few couples were cuddled up together. Some of them were kissing, or close to it, not caring about the rest of the patrons around them.
Your nerves had subsided.
You could do this.
You turned to Sanemi, who was already looking at you, studying you. You looked—neutral? No, tired? No… How were you feeling?
You said nothing, but fixed your gaze on his mouth, determined, and placed both hands on his shoulders, planting a slow kiss on his lips.
He froze, registering that you were kissing him—more intently than before. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into you. He snaked his arms around you and, very gently, tugged you closer to him. His hands settled on the small of your waist.
Your tongues danced, more rehearsed this time, and you both fell into a rhythm. After noticing that the lights were still dim enough, you didn’t mind the public setting anymore, and deepened the kiss, pressing your chest against him and threading your fingers through his hair.
Sanemi let out a sigh that he didn’t realize he was holding.
You would be his undoing...
…
Immersed in each other, you didn’t notice the quartet of lovers a few rows back, gasping and frantically slapping each others’ knees in delight at the sight of your make-out session. Tengen nodded victoriously, silently cheering his friend on. “My ladies, let us give them some privacy and hit the tea house. Shall we?”
—
You were standing at your family’s gate, already over the threshold with it still open, prolonging this conclusion to an incredible third date night. Your lipstick was smudged, half on your lips, half on his.
Sanemi could still taste it…and you.
Your hair was disheveled, and a flush had been present on your skin for the majority of the walk home.
He had stopped you every dozen steps to kiss you more.
Your hands, still connected by the tips of both of your fingers hooked together, sat suspended in the gateway as you separated further.
Neither of you wanted to let go.
Sanemi reluctantly chose to do the gentlemanly thing, release your hand first, and offer a deep bow. Then, he straightened up, and regarded you with a final, affectionate look, and a dashing smile. “Good night, my fair maiden.”
Oh.
Your panties were fully ruined now.
You’d play along. “Good night, my dashing Lord,” your voice was quiet, not wanting to disturb the air around you both.
He playfully smirked at your response, and your blush, and you gave him one last smile and a shy bow before closing the gate.
He spun around with whimsy, grin plastered on his cheeks, and started his pathway home.
Going forward, Sanemi would make it a point to see you every day. The whirlwind in his heart, and the tingling of his lips…let him know that he had no say in the matter.
—
“So, who is he?” your aunt Kimiko was cooling down some coals by the open window. Her thin brow was raised at you in an arch that only a mother could master.
“Who?” you asked.
“Spill!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,“ you said, closing the door behind you.
“Go look in the mirror and then see if you know.”
“I—,” you shut up, and did as she said. There was a mirror to the right of the front door.
And—
Holy shit.
You looked like you had been caught in a whirlwind. The evidence of your lover’s affections was loud!!!
“He’s—oh, Gods…why now…” you whined to yourself.
“(Y/n). You will tell me who ruined your hair and lipstick—now.” She didn’t yell. She never needed to. You were a grown woman, but you also respected her as your guardian.
“He’s…a gentleman. We just kissed for the first time tonight.”
“…Just one kiss with him did this to you?”
“Well, we did have more time… Anyway!!!” you waved the heated memory away. “He did not take advantage of me. I promise.”
Kimiko hummed suspiciously and held your gaze, almost daring you to be caught in a lie.
You stood firm.
She decided to start her signature rapid-fire interrogation. After raising you, and two crafty, rambunctious twins, she had honed her detective skills to the max! “What is his name?”
You were…as ready for it as you could be. “His name is Sanemi Shinazugawa.”
Kimiko laughed. No way. “The Hashira?”
“Yes. He is not a Hashira anymore, but he still trains.”
“What does he want with you?”
“I don’t know?? He buys me mochi and we walk together… Tonight at the playhouse was our third date.”
“When will you see him again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see him in town. He comes to find me sometimes.”
She hesitated for a split moment before asking the next… “Is he gentle with you?”
“…Yes.”
“Do you like him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want him?”
??? You couldn’t speak! “I—,”
“Do you dream about him?”
Your aunt was relentless!!!
“Oba-san!!!” you blushed furiously, because yes, you had been dreaming about Sanemi… in ways she could never—ever!!!!!—know about… “I can’t do this right now…” you whined.
Kimiko laughed a little. “I am just teasing you, (Y/n)-chan.” She finished with the coals and cleaned her hands, giving you a moment to recover.
“You must bring Mr. Shinazugawa by the house and introduce him officially,” she continued, more serious now. She closed the window shutters, and locked them. “Fighters are… unpredictable. I was lucky with your uncle. He never hurt me, but he did have a temper sometimes…and some violent tendencies… He died so soon because he didn‘t know when to back down from a fight he could not win.”
You started to take your hair down in the mirror, and pondered over her words.
Your aunt Kimiko was wise beyond her years, largely due to trauma and loss, but also because your family had placed an emphasis on education for all the children, especially the girls. All of you were required to learn reading, writing and maths, before being married off or starting work. Your aunt had carried out your mother’s will, and educated you alongside her twins.
When she was not working as a seamstress and bookkeeper for the city’s kimono warehouse, she taught you—from books, and from life.
You had a good head on your shoulders, and she trusted your judgement. “I take it you don’t want a traditional arranged marriage, then?” she asked, needing to be sure.
“I…haven’t thought that far, Oba-san. I never thought I would marry, to be honest. I’ve been working since before I bled. I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“That’s not true… Clearly you don’t need help with catching the attention of potential suitors!”
In a hushed, snide chirp, you turned the tables on her, “Why don’t you remarry? You could manage a husband and more kids with the way you’re on my ass…” You rarely swore at all, let alone at your beloved aunt.
You just wanted to clean up and hide under your bed comforter as soon as possible...
“Ha!!” she genuinely laughed at your frustration. “You’re so funny after you drink…”
“Pshhh… I didn’t drink that much.” You finished with your hair and turned away from the mirror, to Kimiko. “I promise, I will introduce him to you formally as soon as I can,” you offered a sincere bow of respect.
“You better,” she chuckled and gently poked your cheek. She moved to extinguish the remaining candles in the small living area.
“Good night, Oba-san.”
“Goodnight, sweetpea. Good luck with work tomorrow, I saw you have a very big order...”
“Mmm-hmm.” You grabbed your leather order book from the kitchen table, and put it inside of your satchel hanging by the door. You wanted to be prepared for the long day ahead of you.
You both quietly retreated to your rooms, hers being the larger of the two that she shared with her twins.
Your room was on the other side of the humble home, nestled into a corner. It was an addition that Kimiko splurged on after you got older. It was spacious enough for a futon, a dresser, and a cushion in front of a small floor vanity. Your hair tools, makeup, and clothing were neatly arranged.
You sighed as you wiped off your makeup and settled into your space, grateful for the privacy.
…
“…You’re so…sweet…”
Sanemi’s voice echoed in your head.
Your breath sped up, and you could feel your panties becoming uncomfortably wet. With frustration, you removed your clothes and tossed them in your laundry basket. Kimiko would scold you if she found them on the floor.
You glanced back at your door to confirm it was closed—and locked, before indulging…
“Gods, he’s so handsome…” you mumbled to yourself, closing your eyes and imagining his face, his intense hooded eyes, his smile…his lips on your arm…
You took a deep, flustered breath, and settled into bed.
You’d spend the next hour, using your fingers to relieve some of this tension. You wished they were Sanemi’s fingers…
His long, thick, calloused fingers…
You thought back to…his arms, the way he held you closer… He was so warm…his kisses, his hot tongue!!!
And then—how he almost fought over you… that was so….fucking……exciting!!! He saved you in front of the whole city!!!
Your hand sped up, and you bit your lip, trying not to moan out loud and wake the whole house up…
Sanemi made you feel so…exhilarated!!!
You missed him so much, already!!!
You imagined him on top of you… his hands on your tits, his—fingers!!!!—inside of you!!!!!!!!!!
“Fuck~!” you whispered before slapping your free hand over your sinful mouth…
Three times, you would reduce yourself to a puddle of pleasure, with Sanemi sooooo deeply in mind~~, before you passed out.
And then, yes, you dreamt about him again. Vividly.
Fourth time this week.
It was safe to say you’d need to make your tea extra strong in the morning...
~
kny masterlist | writing disclaimers | chapter index
Been frothing at the mouth recently imagining a virgin Kyojuro. Idk something something him jacking off fantasizing about you and feeling SO guilty about it afterwards
But that first time...would he let you take the lead? I could see him being so earnest to please you, sweet man
Would he let Uzui teach him how to pleasure you so that he's prepared? Or would he be too embarrassed?
i think uzui, being as blunt and straightforward and cheeky as he is, would just begin to drown him in tips and tricks without kyojuro even having to ask for them - he wouldn’t ask by the way, or at least not for a very long time… he strikes me as a very private person with anything concerning intimacy, so it’d definitely take a while to pull something out of him regarding that.
so yeah, the second uzui finds out that you’re dating and that it’s getting serious between you two, he is immediately pestering kyojuro the next time they hang out. have you done this, have you tried that, oh i bet she’d love it if you- tengen’s stream of thoughts and questions nearly drives poor kyojuro to a melting point from how flustered he gets just thinking about it. it’s even worse now that uzui is putting ideas in his head.
yes, he lets you take the lead the first time and maybe a couple more times after that. he’s overwhelmed and sensitive and super responsive to every kiss and touch you give him; all blush and these quick, shaky little breaths that don’t exactly help his pounding heart. if your first time is a bit planned out instead of fully spontaneous, that he maybe has a vague understanding that tonight is going to be the night, he gives in to jerk off before he meets up with you because he knows it’ll help him last longer. otherwise, he’s ready to spill the second you climb on top of him and look him in the eyes.
also, since we’re on the topic of him touching himself, i think he’s peculiar because he has an insanely huge libido, but he rarely sates it by his own hand. he sees it as a distraction of sorts; after all, so many other things are more important than lustful temptations. however, that doesn’t mean that the urge is not there!
even worse: it grows even stronger when he starts noticing and developing feelings for you. he’s horny out of his mind after seeing a mere sliver of your stomach when your shirt rides up, or the sweat that sits on your neck and collarbones after training, or when tengen slaps him on the shoulder and tells him that he needs to get his head between your thighs and eat your pussy already, but at the same time he’s so modest and careful and chivalrous, you know? these thoughts that keep popping into his head make him feel like he’s stuck in a constant battle with himself.
but when you finally do start sleeping together and he eases a little more into it and gathers some experience… oh boy, he’s bending you over every surface every chance he gets.
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A/n: So these aren’t really head canons, just scenes. I thought that would be better for this. I have been wanting to write this since I got this request. I don’t think I’m super funny, so I rewrote some scenes a few times and writing for each Hashira is a lot but, I love doing it and I had SOOO much fun with this. I hope it makes you laugh. I apologize for the delay!
Setting: KNY universe
───── ✦ ───── ✧ ───── ✦ ───
MDNI 18+
Cw: NSFW, smut, restraint, dominance, submission, interrupted sexual activity, rough sex, choking, group sex, accidental voyuerism.
Giyuu Tomioka
You're pinned against the wall of his quiet estate, Giyuu's usual reserved manner is replaced by a raw need as his lips crash against yours. His calloused hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against his growing cock.
“I've wanted this since I first saw you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough with desire.
He tears your bottoms down, fingers sliding between your thighs to find you already wet for him. He tugs down his pants and grabs your legs to wrap them around his waist. With one hand he lines himself up with your entrance.
Then—
Pure, sweet, bright eyed, Tanjiro walks in, with Nezuko on his back. "Mr. Giyuu!”
Giyuu immediately lets go of you, you fall to the floor with a thud, he barely pulls up his pants in time.
“I have a—“ Tanjiro freezes, eyes wide as he takes in the compromising position.
There’s a beat. A very long one.
Giyuu stares back at him, face completely blank, ears slowly turning red.
“We are—Training,” Giyuu says flatly, scratching the back of his neck.
Tanjiro nods too fast. “Y-YES SIR. VERY ADVANCED TRAINING. I SEE THAT NOW.” He spins on his heel so hard Nezuko is probably getting whiplash in her box. He marches straight back out the door. “I’LL—COME BACK IN….SEVERAL HOURS—MAYBE TOMORROW!”
The door slams.
You’re still on the floor, heart racing.
Giyuu exhales, drags a hand down his face, and without looking at you mutters, “This is why I live alone.”
From outside, Tanjiro’s voice echoes faintly: “I DID NOT SEE ANYTHING.”
Giyuu shuts his eyes.
“…I’m moving.”
Kyojuro Rengoku
“You truly burn so bright…it takes my breath away!” Kyojuro says as he carries you from his front door to his bedroom.
He lays you down gently before tearing down your bottoms. Then he’s diving between your legs, wasting no time. His tongue working with the same passionate energy he brings to battle. "So sweet for me,” he moans against your core, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you.
You grab his hair and pull him closer, “Kyo—don’t stop!” You moan loudly.
He’s just about to insert a finger when—
“Boy! Kyojuro! What the hell is all this—“ The former Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku, the father of the man between your legs, stops mid-sentence, face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
There’s a split second of stunned silence.
Kyojuro looks up from your thighs, bright as ever, completely unbothered. “AH! Father! Wonderful!”
You choke on air. Shinjuro scoffs.
“This is NOT wonderful,” Shinjuro snaps, turning sharply away and jabbing a finger at the wall.
“And you?” His fiery gaze turns to you. “Clothes. On. NOW.”
You hurriedly reach for your pants and can’t find them. You settle on covering yourself with Kyojuro’s haori that’s lying at your feet.
You clear your throat and look back at Shinjuro, who is giving you a death glare.
“It’s nice to meet you! It is truly an honor!” You nervously exclaim, trying to ignore the whole situation.
Kyojuro springs to his feet with military enthusiasm. “I apologize for the—SURPRISE TRAINING SESSION!”
“THAT IS NOT TRAINING,” Shinjuro roars.
From the hallway, Senjuro’s small voice pipes up, deeply confused: “Is everything okay…?”
“NO,” Shinjuro bellows back. “EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY.”
Kyojuro leans down toward you, whispering with a grin far too cheerful for the situation, “We will…resume later.”
You hear Shinjuro grab a bottle off a table, muttering as he storms out, “I need a drink. Several. And I’m burning this house down.”
The front door slams.
Kyojuro beams at you anyway. “Well! That could have gone worse!”
Tengen Uzui
Tengen strips you, his three wives watching with amusement. He's always believed in sharing pleasures, and tonight you're the center of attention.
"Let's make this unforgettable," he purrs, his large hands exploring every curve as his wives join in.
Suma's giggling, Makio's whispering in your ear, and Hinatsuru's gentle laughter fills the room.
Just as Tengen aligns himself to enter you, the door slides open and his best friend Kyojuro stands there, face turning beet red, it almost matches his hair.
"Uzui? I was told to—“ He stammers backward.
“I—THIS IS NOT—I APOLOGIZE—“ Kyojuro stutters.
He trips over his own feet trying to retreat, arms flailing, nearly taking the door off its track before disappearing down the hallway.
There’s a stunned silence.
Suma bursts into laughter, doubling over. “HE SAW EVERYTHING!”
Makio snorts. “The Flame Hashira just combusted.”
Hinatsuru calmly reaches over and slides the door shut and locks it. “He won’t be back.”
Tengen throws his head back and laughs, loud and unapologetic. “HA! Now that is what I call an unforgettable entrance.” He grins down at you, utterly unfazed. “Don’t worry—he’ll recover. Eventually.”
From somewhere far away, Kyojuro’s voice echoes faintly:
“I WILL NEVER OPEN A DOOR AGAIN.”
Obanai Iguro
"Such a disobedient pet," Obanai murmurs, his tongue flicking against your neck as he restrains your wrists with his hands. You’re lying completely exposed on his futon. His serpent-like nature extends to his preferences in the bedroom. He likes dominance, control. It’s how he claims you.
"You’re all mine," he says as one of his hands wraps around your throat, the other still holding your wrists above your head, his lips trail down from your cheek and find your sensitive nipples.
You tug on his black hair to pull him up. You’re so desperate. You need him. You don’t want to be tortured.
His mismatched eyes meet yours, his grip on your throat tightens. “No. Remember how you didn’t listen to me? Remember your attitude? You’re going to beg for it.”
He shifts but doesn’t release his grip on your throat or wrists. He starts grinding against you, slowly and deliberately, while you beg and whimper for his cock.
Then…Mitsuri bursts in. "Iguro! I brought you—!” Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene.
There’s a full second where no one breathes.
Obanai’s grip loosens immediately like he’s been electrocuted. His eyes go wide but not with lust, with terror. “Kanroji—this is not—“
Mitsuri blinks once.
“Iguro—STOP!” she yelps, dropping everything and shoving Obanai off you with surprising strength.
Obanai hits the floor in a tangle of limbs and haori, hissing. “WHAT—KANROJI?!”
You blink, stunned, unable to form words.
Obanai stares up at the ceiling, equally shocked.
Mitsuri immediately kneels beside you, hands fluttering. “Are you okay?! He looked like he was hurting you! Iguro, you can’t just—just—choke people like that!”
“I WAS NOT HURTING ANYONE,” Obanai snaps, mortified, sitting up too fast. His face is entirely red beneath the bandages. He breathes slowly. “That was…consensual. Mutually agreed upon. Entirely—“
He gestures vaguely and finally gives up. “…Not violent.”
Mitsuri processes his words.
“Oh.”
Her face turns pink.
Then pinker.
Until it’s almost a deep red.
“OH.”
She slowly covers her face with both hands. “I—I—thought—you looked upset and I just—pushed you… oh Iguro, I’m so sorry!”
Obanai groans and drags a hand through his hair.
Silence stretches.
Mitsuri peeks through her fingers, glances between you, then Obanai, then back at you.
Her voice drops to a tiny, hopeful mumble.
“Um. If—if everyone is okay and I misunderstood and this was, um…on purpose…it seems…fun.”
“Yeah it…um…it is.” Obanai says, slowly and furrows his brows at Mitsuri in confusion.
“Maybe I could join?” She whispers shyly.
You look at Obanai.
Obanai looks at you.
You both nod.
And then you’re pulling Mitsuri towards the futon.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
"Fucking finally," Sanemi growls as he practically rips your clothes off and pushes you onto his futon. His rough handling sending thrills through you.
He's always been intense, yet gentle. But that gentleness is gone, replaced by pure sexual frustration. It’s been weeks since you’ve had any sexual contact.
He pins you beneath his muscular frame. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted you," he says, his scarred hands gripping your thighs and pulling you towards him, hard enough to leave marks.
He shoves down his pants and lines himself up with your entrance. He slowly thrusts into you and once you adjust, he’s fucking you into the futon with a punishing force.
Suddenly, Genya opens the door. "Nemi? I can’t find—“
All three of you freeze.
Sanemi reacts on pure instinct.
“OUT.” He yells.
He lunges for the nearest blanket, flinging it over you so fast it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs, then whips around, his veins bulging. “GET OUT. TURN AROUND. WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM.”
Genya’s eyes go wide. “I—sorry— I didn’t—“
“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE,” Sanemi roars, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door as Genya scrambles backward down the hall.
“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,” Genya yells, sprinting away. “I wish I was blind.” He mutters to himself.
Sanemi hurries to the door and slams it shut.
He stands there, chest heaving, hair wild, hands clenched.
“I’m disowning him,” he mutters.
“He didn’t mean to—“ you try to diffuse the situation but Sanemi cuts in.
“Are you okay?” He asks, walking towards you.
“Yeah…I’m okay. Are you though?”
“I’ll be better once we actually get to fuck.” He groans, plopping onto the futon next you.
Gyomei Himejima
"Beautiful," Gyomei whispers against your skin, his massive frame hovering over you with surprising gentleness.
Despite his size and strength, he's tender in his lovemaking, his large hands exploring your body with reverence.
"I will cherish this moment," he says, his beads clicking softly as he moves.
He's just entering you slowly when—
Muichiro decides to stop by for a visit.
He slides the door open without knocking. “Gyomei, I was wondering if you—“
Silence.
Muichiro stares.
Gyomei freezes like he’s been struck by lightning.
The prayer beads stop clicking.
“Ah,” Muichiro says. “So this is what you’re doing.”
Gyomei immediately recoils, hauling himself back like he’s been burned. He scrambles for a blanket, covering you both with frantic gentleness. “I am sorry!” He booms, voice echoing through the estate. “This was not meant for anyone to see.”
Muichiro tilts his head. “…Should I come back later?”
Muichiro considers his words. “Okay.” He turns to leave, then stops, glancing back. “Is this why you’ve been smiling more?”
Gyomei’s face goes red. He presses his palms together. “Please forget everything you have perceived.”
Muichiro nods. “I will not.” Then, helpfully, adds, “You left the door unlocked.”
He slides it shut behind him.
The room is silent.
Gyomei exhales slowly, then bows his head toward you, mortified beyond words.
“I will be praying for forgiveness for the rest of my life.”
Mitsuri Kanroji
"Oh, I'm so excited!" Mitsuri squeals as she tackles you onto her futon, her strength surprising as she pins you beneath her.
"You're just so cute…and so hot…I’m going to melt!" she says, planting kisses at your neck and shoulders.
Her pink hair brushes against your skin as she undresses you with immense enthusiasm.
Just as she's about to start touching you with practiced ease, Shinobu slides the door open. "Kanroji—“ Shinobu’s eyes widen slightly before she smirks. "My, my, quite the workout."
Mitsuri freezes like she’s been caught mid-crime.
“Eep!”
She launches herself off you in a flurry of pink hair and limbs, immediately trying, and failing, to cover you with a blanket. “Kocho! I—I was just! We were—“
Shinobu raises a brow, smile sharp and delighted. “Stretching?” she offers sweetly.
Mitsuri’s face goes crimson. “NO—! I mean—YES—! But also—“
You barely have time to sit up before Mitsuri’s already spiraling, her hands flapping. “I didn’t mean to—I mean I did—but I thought you were coming over tomorrow—and I forgot to lock the door!”
Shinobu chuckles softly. “Relax. I’m not here to scold.” Her eyes flick between the two of you. “Honestly, I’m impressed. That position takes stamina.”
Mitsuri squeaks and dives face-first into a pillow. “I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY.”
Shinobu turns to you, utterly composed. “Just… hydrate.” Then she slides the door shut again, pausing only to add, “And maybe next time…lock it.”
Mitsuri lifts her head slowly, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Do you think she’s going to tell anyone?”
From the other side of the door, Shinobu’s voice floats back, sing-song sweet:
“Oh, absolutely.”
Mitsuri screams into the pillow.
Shinobu Kocho
"Are you nervous?" Shinobu asks sweetly, though her eyes hold a dangerous glint as she ties your wrists with purple silk.
She's always enjoyed mixing pleasure with a bit of pain, her small frame betraying her dominant nature.
“Don't worry," she purrs, trailing her fingernails down your stomach, "I'll make it hurt so good."
She's just teasing you with a small trail of kisses on your neck.
Then—
A soft voice.
“I—?" Kanao’s expression remains shocked as she takes in the scene, simply waiting for instruction.
Shinobu freezes.
Completely.
The silk goes slack.
“Um,” Shinobu says lightly, a beat too late.
She clears her throat, smile snapping into place like armor. In one smooth motion, she unties your wrists, drops a blanket over you, and straightens her haori. “Kanao, this is not what it looks like.”
Kanao blinks once. “It appears to be exactly what it looks like.”
Shinobu winces.
“Medical,” Shinobu tries. “Stress relief. Very advanced. You wouldn’t understand.”
Kanao nods, turns on her heel, and slides the door shut with surgical precision.
Three seconds pass.
Shinobu exhales slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple. Her smile is still there, but it’s cracked. “Well,” she says sweetly, looking at you, “that was deeply humiliating.”
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku headcanons (kinda angsty) ˚.✦
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who makes time to visit your estate once a week to have dinner with you and catch up about your days.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who always has a funny story to tell you about his colleagues. You know them by name, at this point. Tengen and his crazy occurrences, Sanemi and Giyuu fighting all the time, Shinobu testing different poisons, Muichiro and his big eyes... It's endearing to hear Kyojuro talk about them so fondly.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who compliments your food every time, a couple of times if necessary; when arriving (about the amazing smell of your house), while sitting, after finishing and a few hours later when you two keep talking.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who, after two rounds of drinking, he rests his head on your lap asking you to run your hands through his hair.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who leans into your touch without thinking when he’s tired, who’s always trusted you with his exhaustion long before he trusted the world with his strength. His hair is warm under your fingers, still faintly smelling of smoke and clean air, and when you comb through it slowly he sighs like he’s finally letting the week end.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who has the habit of talking about your childhood at that point. His cheeks are flushed because of your touch and the drinks, his mouth remembering him sneaking out to your roof after training with his father, talking until it was too late and returning home after giving you a kiss on the cheek.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who never talks about that time when both of you went to see the fireworks in the town and moments before the fireworks started, he asked you if he could kiss you.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who still can't believe you said yes to him. Can't still believe he shared one kiss with the love of his life when he was fifteen, and never again.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who wants to change that. But doesn't know how. He sees you settled in your home, with no one bothering you except the cat you feed every night and him coming once a week. He knew that's what you wanted, a calm, accommodated life, with no pressure.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who knows if he decided to take the step, he would take the calmness you fight for off your life.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who stays in your lap longer than necessary, even when the drinks have worn off and the night has settled into something quiet and ordinary. He doesn’t rush to leave. He never has.
childhood best friend!kyojuro rengoku who loves you so much that he knows he shouldn't have you.
