Mikrokosmo

Your hair is pulled into a ponytail underneath the red and black striped hat, and your blue collared shirt beneath your black waist apron isn’t the least bit attractive. But your face certainly is, even as you stare down at him with an annoyed expression beneath your lightly made-up face.

“What?”

“I’m not a mind reader,” you huff as you set your hands on your hips, chin gesturing toward the laminated menu near the wall. “You have to customize your order.”

Feisty, Suna thinks, pursing his lips as he snatches the menu. You give him time to think about it, but his eyes aren’t on the menu in front of him. They’re on you—the way you sit down behind the counter in front of a few open books; the way you twirl a lock of hair that’s fallen from your ponytail around your pointer finger as you read; the way you look up and your pretty eyes narrow in annoyance when you see that, yet again, he hasn’t even looked at the menu.

It’s situations like these that get girls like you kidnapped. He’s seen it all the time. Girls who work late at night and lock up the store, only to be dragged into a back alley when their back is turned. Girls who talk smart to the wrong crowd and find themselves in the trunk of a car for it. Girls who simply walk down the street and disappear when no one is looking—only to wind up in his shipments, drugged out of their mind, no longer able to even remember their name.

Girls like his sister’s best friend.

There’s a camera in the front and a camera in the back, but those are easy enough to wipe clean. Sakusa does it all the time, after all, when some dumbass opens his mouth and spreads word of the Black Jackals’ business. It would be easy for Suna to do the same—take you out back and make you cry for mercy when he shows you who you’re snapping at. But he doesn’t. He looks down at the menu before him, ignoring the way his phone dings with another message, and orders a chicken cutlet mild curry with a cola on the side.

Your eyes don’t flick up to him once as he eats, too busy poring over the textbooks in front of you. He’s the only one in the store this late, and you scribble something in a notebook before flipping the page and moving on. When he stands, he flicks his eyes down to the pictures in your book. X-rays, scans, pictures of the human body. Anatomy of some kind, and he assumes that you’re a pre-med or medical student, working this minimum wage job to keep you afloat during school.

Your background is easy enough to decipher, but he can’t say the same about the smile that slides to your face when you look up and bid him goodbye.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

Ushijima’s jazz club in Harajuku is as tacky as ever and even the waitress on his lap can’t keep his attention as she rocks against his thigh. Sakusa and Ushijima discuss some kind of business that probably has to do with the Adlers’ missing underboss and the way Kageyama lingers closer to Ushijima’s side than he did before. But once that’s finished, they talk about nothing of importance, and Suna follows Sakusa’s line of sight to where a pretty girl talks to Oikawa Tooru at the bar.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffs. “You’re both so boring.” The phone in his hand won’t stop vibrating so he throws it on the table in front of him. Between that and the annoyance of even being at the club for no good reason, he’s on his last thread of patience. He whispers at the woman on his lap that it’s time for some real fun, and she giggles as she stands. “Why am I even here?”

“Your delivery will be ready tomorrow, the same as always.”

“Make it twice the amount for making me come all the way out here just to hear you say that,” he complains to Sakusa, tugging the woman to follow him to the back of the bar.

They barely make it to the hallway before she’s all over him, hot kisses pressed to his lips before he shifts her around to bend over and grab the wall. It’s quick, it’s messy, it’s just what he needs to calm down. At least, that’s how it usually is, but as he thrusts into her from behind and makes her whine, his mind wanders.

To, of all places, CoCo Ichibanya.

Suna thinks about the way the 800 yen dish was more filling than anything he’d eaten in weeks. Thinks about the way you scoffed at him, annoyance clear in the crinkle of your eyes. Thinks about the way you twirled your hair around your finger as you studied, lips jut out in a pout. Thinks about those same pouty lips parting in pleasure as he thrusts into you, your teeth as sharp as your tongue when they bite down on his shoulder, cumming for him with a high-pitched whine and—

His orgasm hits suddenly, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure ripples up his spine and his cum fills the condom. Fuck, when’s the last time an orgasm hit that hard? There’s goosebumps all over his body, a bead of sweat dripping down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his black button-up shirt. He lets go of the woman’s hips as he pulls out, tying the condom off and throwing it into the garbage. He leaves her in the hallway, just as he found her, Washio obediently following behind him.

As the bright lights and cacophony of Tokyo pass by him, Suna stares out the window, eyes squinted in annoyance. What does one lowly minimum wage worker even mean to him? Nothing in the grand scheme of things—and certainly nothing even in the smallest bit of things. Yet as soon as Washio steps out of the car at his apartment complex, Suna orders the driver to take him to your CoCo Ichibanya. The shop is closed but he sees you scurrying around inside, none-the-wiser to the mafia boss watching you from the car. His eyes follow you as you lock up and start to walk down the street, your school bag swung over your shoulder.

It’s only when you disappear around a corner and he pulls out his phone to call Sarukui so he can find information on you that he realizes he doesn’t know your name. You were wearing a nametag but it’s not much to go on, not in a city as big as Tokyo. Suna lets out a sigh of annoyance as he pockets his phone and orders the driver to take him back to his penthouse.

Good thing curry has been on his mind the last few days.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

As soon as Suna became head of the Raijin clan, he named Washio his right-hand man, and for good reason. For as short as his temper is, the underboss has the brawn to back it up, and it works out in Suna’s favor when shit goes south.

Today he sits back against his desk as Washio sends his boot into the side of the head of this week’s deliveryman. Half a tooth lays in the pool of blood that trickles from his mouth, and the man’s pained grunt is barely audible over the sound of Washio’s boot pressing his head into the carpet.

“I pay good money for my shipments,” Suna muses as he taps his fingers against the wooden desk beneath him. “So I expect them to be brought to me in top condition.”

With a few quick presses of his phone, he pulls up a video Sarukui sent him a few hours prior—of one of the girls he purchased bleeding from a large cut on her forehead, her light hair matted with specks of dark red around her temples. He hands the phone to Washio who practically shoves it in the man’s face, and the man cringes as his bleary eyes watch the video.

“Does this look like top condition to you, Komi?”

Suna pauses for an answer, but when the man can’t give one, Washio sends his boot straight into the man’s shoulder. There’s a sickening crunch sound before Komi Haruki hollers in agony, trying to roll away from the pain. The Raijin boss watches with disinterest until Komi settles down, sniffling as he grits out,

“I-It wasn’t me, Suna-san. It was Ginjima. He wanted a taste of her but s-she fought back, you know… please, I can—”

“Make it up to me?” Suna finishes for him before he hums in disinterest, throwing the knife on his belt next to the man on the floor. He looks at Washio, and even though the underboss seems to understand what he’s requesting, Suna still says, “Make sure it’s the same.”

Komi screams in pain as Washio carves a chunk out of the man’s forehead, blood dripping down his temple and pouring over his eye. His face bounces off the hardwood of Suna’s office floor when Washio lets him go, but luckily Komi knows to stay quiet to stay alive. Washio cleans the blood from the blade with a handkerchief from his pocket before he hands it back to Suna, and Suna sheathes it back on his belt.

“You’ll match with your friend Ginjima,” Suna comments before he motions at Washio with his chin. The bloodied man on the floor is nearly dragged out of the room as the underboss takes out the proverbial trash.

He didn’t always start out in the human trafficking business. His first venture was Pachinko places that spawned underground gambling parlors for the rich and bored businessmen and politicians around Tokyo. It was during a poker match at one of his parlors in Ginza that Suna first caught wind of it. Some lowlife was offering up his favorite girl as collateral in the match and Suna was surprised enough to set down his phone and cross his arms over his chest.

“You’re betting human lives?” he asked in his usual monotone voice.

“I’m betting my property,” the man shrugged, gold tooth glinting in the parlor’s bright lighting. “Bought her fair and square a few weeks ago.”

There were no rules in the parlor—he made sure of that when he created the joint—but betting a woman was a bit too much, even for him. So he bought into the game, fox-like eyes watching the man’s every tell, eyebrows crinkling, lips furling. When he set down a straight, Suna smirked, calling Sarukui over with a wave of his fingers.

“Get this man’s address and grab my prize,” he said before laying down his full house.

The girl was delivered to him not even two hours later, showing up in a torn gold dress, her right cheek swollen and bruised. Suna stared at her for a moment before he commanded Washio to order the red peonies from Sakusa’s shop, Itachiyama’s Flowers. Her eyes could barely focus as she swayed from side-to-side, her speech slurred as she mumbled about needing to get home. Too many drugs in her system from whatever that man kept her on, and withdrawal was going to be a bitch if he didn’t wean her off slowly.

Except he didn’t need to do any of that, because by the time morning came, she was already dead.

Suna had been the first to find her, crumpling up the plastic baggie of drugs in his hand as he sat down next to her still warm body. He had never really cared much about how his line of work affected other people. Indoctrinated before he even turned 18, he’d slowly crawled up the ranks (or manipulated his way up if you asked Washio) until he was the underboss of the Raijin faction. One drug overdose later and control was his—after he’d sent a bullet through the head of his rival Kurosu Norimune, of course.

Since then he’d laid back and let his underlings do most of the heavy lifting, signing off on intimidations, shakedowns, and killings. The top was a place he’d always belonged; he hated breaking a sweat if he could help it—loved doing the work but hated doing the dirty work. Staring at the girl’s cooling body on his best silk bed sheets, for the first time ever, Suna Rintarou felt guilty. Maybe it was the fact that she was young, or maybe it was the fact that, with her messy hair covering over her face like that, she could pass for his younger sister. Either way, he didn’t call for anyone to help for a solid thirty minutes, too lost in staring at her unmoving body.

“Boss,” Washio called as he stepped into the room, stopping short when he saw the dead body on the bed. “Fuck.”

“Yep.”

“Are we burying her in the garden or what?”

Something about Washio’s indifference made Suna grimace as he looked back at the underboss. Burials without funerals were reserved for those who double-crossed them, those who ran with the mob and paid the price. This girl was neither—just a girl stolen into a life she never asked for.

“Call Matsukawa.”

“Matsukawa?” Washio snorted. “You think she has anyone to come to her funeral, Boss?”

At least one person, he thought, then scrunched his nose at the implication. She deserved to have one last person give a shit about her after such a lonely end. Frankly, it wasn’t that he cared about her specifically. Not really. The only thing he cared about was the fact that he had failed—failed to help, failed to save, failed to have his rare moment of goodness come to fruition.

As he personally dialed Matsukawa’s number, Suna knew he’d keep failing unless he did something about it.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

You tap your fingers against the metal ladle as you stir the pot of curry and hum to yourself. It’s late and he is the only one in the restaurant again, his eyes on your back as you work. Today he sits at the bar on purpose because your medical texts are scattered everywhere again. He’s waiting for the moment when you close one of them so he can see your full name, or you accidentally flash which medical school you go to so he can find out your information.

Suna pretends to be staring at a poster on the wall when you turn around and serve him a pork cutlet curry, a curious tilt to your head.

“Enjoy,” is all you say before you leave him to his devices and go back to studying.

A handful of potential conversation starters run through his head (So you’re a med student, huh? You work here for fun? What’s your goddamn name already?) but he doesn’t say any of them, silently eating his curry as he plays around on his phone. It’s strange to sit in silence even if only for a moment; the humming of the refrigerators in the back and the scrape of his utensils are the only sounds in the joint. He’s used to the vibration of his phone, the booming of a club’s speaker, the yells and laughs in his underground parlors. He’s not used to the scribbling of notes as you puff out your cheeks, rubbing your tired eyes.

His eyes flick to your notebook in plain view and he sees you’re organized, with your notes highlighted and color-coded, your handwriting clean and—

“The human body can lose 14% of its blood before it goes into shock.”

His voice cuts through the quiet and you turn your head to him, blinking in surprise. “Huh?”

With his sauce-covered spoon, he points to your notebook. “You wrote 41%.”

“Oh.” You check your notes before you snort, erasing your mistake and fixing it. “Thanks. I don’t think anyone could survive losing almost half their blood.”

You’d be surprised, he almost says but catches himself with a shrug. “Med student?”

“Yep, in my third year.”

That means you should be doing clinicals on top of studying and working part-time. How are you not dead yet?

“What field?”

“Emergency medicine if I can.”

Suna hums and sets down his spoon, pushing his nearly finished plate away from him. When he stands and pats his long jacket’s pocket for his wallet, he notices you staring at him and lifts an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” you smile, but there’s still a gleam in your eyes that tells Suna that’s not exactly true. You walk with him over to the cash register and say the price, but he doesn’t make a move to hand you his cash. You lift an eyebrow the longer he stands there. “You have to pay, you know.”

“Your name first.”

You blink in surprise. “Sorry?”

“Give me your name and I’ll give you my money.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” you laugh, but there’s a color to your cheeks that shows you’re interested enough. Perfect.

“I think it’s a fair trade.”

Your tired eyes bat at him before you tell him your name, and Suna tries not to smirk when he tells you his name in return as he hands over the exact amount for his meal. You don’t know it yet, but you’ve taken the first step into being trapped in his web, the sticky lines wrapping around your feet the moment he steps outside of CoCo Ichibanya and dials Sarukui.

“Find all you can,” he orders before he hangs up the phone, watching you clean from the corner of his eyes as the car pulls away.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

With the right amount of money, it’s easy to find out everything about you. You attend the University of Tokyo; you do your clinicals twice a week at a nearby hospital; you work at CoCo Ichibanya three times a week on Tuesday, Friday, and Sunday. You live in a crappy little apartment by yourself near campus, and thanks to your penchant for leaving your curtains open in your living room, he knows you like to walk around the house in a cute little pajama set with shorts that give him a perfect view of your thighs and the swell of your ass.

He doesn’t know why he keeps coming here, parked far enough away that he can keep an eye on you without you realizing. It’s not like you have any visitors or even go anywhere other than school and work. Yet he comes a few times a week, just to see you sit in your living room, oblivious to the fact that a mafioso is watching you.

And you still have no clue he’s been watching over you when he walks into CoCo Ichibanya during your next Friday shift. Or when he comes the next Friday and on Sunday as well. You always give him a smile, making conversation over his half-eaten plates of curry, your pretty little eyes fluttering at him the longer he stays in your restaurant. He knows you’re starting to fancy him; he can see the way your eyes roam down to his chest when you think he’s not looking, the way your fingers nervously grip your textbook pages as you pretend to focus.

Now he just needs the perfect opportunity.

This Friday, he sits in front of your open textbooks with a lazy smile on his face. You look prettier today, your face more made up than normal, little crystal studs in your ears. He makes a note to buy you actual diamonds before the next time he sees you.

“You surprise me,” you tell him as soon as you set his plate down, a flirty grin on your face as you lean over the counter.

He blinks up at you, trying to keep his face neutral even though every fiber of his being is begging to grab you and take you over the counter. “Why?”

“You definitely don’t belong here and yet you keep coming back,” you muse, gesturing to his suit with your chin. “I didn’t know men of your caliber liked curry that much.”

“Are businessmen not allowed to enjoy cheap curry?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily, looking down at your textbook with a snort. “I figure you’d be more comfortable at a fancy hotel restaurant of some kind.”

“They’re boring,” Suna deadpans as he checks his buzzing phone. A message from Washio about a fight at the underground parlor in Ginza—really? Deal with it, he shoots back before he looks up at you. “Would you like to find out?”

“Hm?”

You look up from your book with a tilt of your head, to which Suna shrugs. “I’ll take you to one.”

“I—no, I couldn’t let you.”

“There’s no letting me do anything. Keep tomorrow open.”

He stands up without even touching his curry, setting a bill down on the counter to pay, leaving you stuttering behind him. Just as he’s about to open the door, you call out to him and make him turn around.

“You can’t just say that and walk out,” you huff, putting your hands on your hips with an annoyed expression. “I don’t even know if you’re serious.”

“I’m serious,” he immediately replies.

“Yeah? Then you should tell me some details so I know—”

“I’ll pick you up here at 4PM tomorrow. Everything will be taken care of so don’t be late. Do you have any other questions?”

Suna doesn’t give you more than ten seconds to think about it, and as soon as your head moves left and right with a hesitant shake, he leaves the restaurant behind, a grin on his lips.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

He has to give you props on your punctuality. He's been sitting in front of CoCo Ichibanya for 20 minutes, waiting to see when you would show up. Right after 3:55, Suna sees you walk around the corner, nervously clutching your shoulder bag as you look around. You pause when you see his car sitting outside the doors but you don’t approach; he watches you take a deep breath and shoot a quick text on your phone before moving closer.

As soon as you reach the front door, he steps out of the vehicle, giving you a light smile. It’s not just the blush on your made-up face that gives your cheeks a red tint—even the tips of your ears go hot when he extends a hand out to you. He made sure to wear his best Armani suit, hair parted and pushed back behind his ear, wristwatch gleaming in the afternoon sun. You look absolutely smitten with him, eyes wide as you slip your hand into his and let him tug you into the car.

“You have a driver?” You ask incredulously as you settle in your seat, much too far away for his liking. Now that he has you in the back of his car, the reservation is the furthest thing from his mind. “Where are we going?”

“I booked a hotel in Roppongi,” he tells you, watching as you bring your phone out of your bag and shoot another text. Probably to a friend to keep them updated on where you’re going. Smart. “It’s owned by a friend.”

Sakusa is the furthest thing from his friend, but Suna supposes a little white lie never hurt anyone.

“Roppongi?” You repeat, looking down at the little sundress you wear, fingers playing with the sheer cardigan you wear over it. “I don’t think I’m dressed well enough for that.”

“I told you everything would be taken care of,” he reminds you. “I don’t go back on my word.”

As soon as you reach the hotel, Suna helps you out of the car. You’re not even two steps into the building when two of the workers grab your arms and usher you toward the elevators.

“Suna-san…?!” You call back for him in alarm but he waves you off, letting his attendants work their magic. He paid big money for their services after all.

An hour later, you’re escorted into the empty hotel restaurant by the same workers, who then bow and close the door behind you. You stand there awkwardly, eyes flitting around the room, fiddling your fingers as you try to keep still. Suna stands from the table in the back, eyes roaming over your figure as he approaches to escort you. He’d picked the perfect silver dress, knee-length and sleeveless, the fabric hugging your curves and twinkling like the moonlight as you move. The diamond earrings he bought immediately after he left your workplace hang from your ears like icicles, and your dark-painted lips part with your stifled breath when he reaches you.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments easily.

“This is… a lot,” you admit, biting your lip before remembering you have lipstick on. “Where’s everyone else?”

“I booked the entire restaurant.”

Your eyes go wide when they snap up to his. “You did what?” When he shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, you shake your head. “This is too much.”

“I think it’s not enough,” he smirks before offering out his hand. Your hand is warm as it slips between his, and he tugs you over to the table by the window, overlooking downtown Tokyo. The sun is beginning to set, casting an orange and pink glow over the table as a waiter brings a bottle of red wine.

After the first glass, you start to loosen up, your laughs and smiles coming as easily as they do in CoCo Ichibanya. You slip into easy conversation, made easier by your second and third glass of wine.

“I want to help people,” you gush when he asks you why you picked emergency medicine. “You can’t save everyone. I know that, but…” You pause, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before continuing. “If I can save one person, that’s enough for me. Do you understand?”

Suna stares at you over his wine glass. Ask him the same question a few years ago when he’d first joined the Raijin clan and he would have laughed in your face. His answer is different now, spurred on by the path of darkness he has chosen to follow.

The image of the dead girl on his bed flashes before his eyes as he answers, “I do. I’m the same.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a businessman.”

“What kind?”

“Pachinko. Some clubs here and there.”

“Ah,” you respond with a nod but Suna can tell you don’t seem thoroughly convinced, not that it really matters to him. “A businessman who understands helping people? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Suna snorts into his wine glass before he downs the rest of his drink, dabbing his lips with his napkin. “You haven’t,” he says simply, eyes like lasers as they focus on you. “But I’ll gladly show you anything you ask for.”

You flush under his intense gaze, fingers nervously playing with your empty glass of wine as you stutter out, “You’ve already done enough.”

“Would you like another?” He asks with a gesture of his chin to your glass.

“No.” Your voice is breathless as you shake your head. “I should get going. I still have to work tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll take you back.”

His arm wraps around your waist and brings you close to his side, and Suna barely contains his smirk as you keen but don’t push him away. His driver is already waiting for him, opening the door so you can slip into the back seat. He lets you rattle off your address even though he knows it by heart, and the entire way, his fingers drag up and down your spine. Suna doesn’t miss the way you take a shuddered breath whenever he creeps closer to the small of your back or the way your legs shift when he grazes your hip.

When the car pulls up to your building, he follows behind you, walking you to your front door like a gentleman would. Before you open the door, you turn to him with your keys in your hands, your pretty eyes fluttering underneath your lashes.

“Thank you, Suna-san. I had a wonderful night.”

“It doesn’t have to end yet,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you. Your breath hitches as your back hits your front door, your lips parting as he adds, “Let me in.”

“No.”

Your quiet but immediate refusal raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I—” you grow flustered, pushing back into your door even more. “I don’t—um, it’s the first date so…”

Your growing embarrassment, so different from your usual headstrong attitude, would be cute if it weren’t for the annoyance bubbling underneath his skin.

“No one’s ever told me no before.”

“Then I’ll be the first,” you tease, setting a hand on his chest to make room between your bodies.

He places his hand on your wrist and grips it tightly, his lips sliding into a smirk when he declares, “Let me show you what you’re missing.”

You squeak against his lips when he presses his to yours, one of his hands cradling the side of your face, and there’s a sound of jingling as you drop your keys in shock. He keeps the other on your wrist, forcing it down by your side so he can press his body against yours. A gasp lets him worm his tongue into your mouth and explore your hot cavern, and his stomach flips the second your tongue meets his, even hesitantly. Suna pulls your face closer, lips more insistent as he kisses you breathless, until your free hand is digging into the front of his suit jacket.

“Wait—” you breathe as soon as he pulls back to start kissing down your neck, and a sharp nip to the crook of your shoulder makes you whine.

“Can’t,” he answers simply, letting go of your wrist so he can run his hands all over your body. He had imagined what you might feel like under him, but the real thing is even better; your body is so soft and pliant as he squeezes your sides, your breasts, your thighs under your dress.

“Suna… san, ah,” you gasp when his leg slips between your thighs and forces your legs apart. “Wait, wait,” you try again, but Suna notices that your fingers tighten in his jacket lapels, that your covered cunt grinds into his thick thigh when he presses closer. He sucks marks into the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder—marks that make you his.

His fingers tug up the skirt of your dress until your panties are exposed, and you whine in embarrassment, trying to shift your hips to pull it back down. He tuts against your skin, leaving the mess he made of your neck and shoulder to bend down in front of you. Before you can push him away, Suna grabs your hips and pulls them off the door. Your gasp turns into a moan when he runs his tongue the length of your covered cunt, and his groan vibrates through your skin when he feels how wet you already are.

Quick fingers pull aside the fabric of your panties so he can lick up your folds, and you keen, hips jerking toward his face. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug when he plunges his tongue into your cunt, tasting your juices for the first time. It makes him press deeper, tongue flicking all over your walls as he greedily laps you up.

“Oh my God,” you whine when he runs his tongue over your clit. Suna wishes he could see your face twisted in pleasure for him as he brings your nub into his mouth, but the skirt of your dress blocks his view. The little gasps and moans that fall from your mouth will have to do for now.

He forces your thighs even further apart before grabbing the flesh of your ass, pulling your hips flush against his mouth. Flattening his tongue, he runs it up and down your cunt, making your breath hitch every time he touches your clit. He buries his face into your pussy, nose bumping against your swollen clit as he swallows the juices gushing out of you. When he takes your clit into his mouth again, flicking his tongue over the nub again and again, you cry out and tug at his scalp.

“Fuck, fuck,” you whimper before you fall apart around his tongue, thighs shaking with your intense orgasm. His tongue runs over your swollen folds as you leak out, your fingers tight enough in his hair to hurt. The slight pain feels so good and he parts your folds again, ignoring your squeals of being too sensitive so he can swallow everything that gushes out of you.

Only when you clamp your thighs down around him and whine that it’s too much does he pull back. His lips and chin shine with your cum, his dark eyes watching your chest heave for breath. Your cheeks are flushed bright red, lips parted with your heavy breaths, and Suna thinks this is much better than any of his fantasies. His cock strains against his pants uncomfortably and he rises to his feet, pressing himself between your legs again. Fuck, he needs to be inside you right now.

“What are you doing?!” a voice shrieks, and Suna whips around, eyes murderous as he stares down the middle-aged woman standing in the doorway.

Her hand clings to a little girl’s hand, and the girl squeaks and hides behind her mother’s legs when she catches Suna’s eye. You gasp, hands pushing against his chest to make him step away from you.

“My neighbor,” you whine softly when he doesn’t budge. Only when he sees embarrassed tears start to line your eyes does he step back, fixing the skirt of your dress for you.

The woman scurries by them and Suna hears the word disgusting along with some choice insults as she unlocks her door and disappears inside. He has to contain his eye roll, leaning back into you, but you push him away with a firm hand, shaking your head.

“You should go.”

“Do you want me to?” He asks, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

There’s a slight hesitation before you nod. He steps away from you but the taste of your pussy still lingers on his lips and nearly makes him groan. Dark eyes bore into yours, and your lips part and close as you think about what to say.

“Go inside,” he commands you, voice gravelly with the want still rushing through his body. If you don’t get inside right now, he thinks he might press you against the door again and really make you his. “I’ll see you soon.”

You fumble to grab the keys you dropped, unlocking the door and checking back on him once you push it open.

“Good night.” Your voice is barely a whisper as you regard him one last time then disappear inside. He can hear the door lock and a soft thumping sound like you’ve fallen against the wood, and it makes his lips flatten into a line.

Once he sits inside the car, he stares through the open partition, trying to will his erection away to no avail. It throbs in his pants at the mere thought of you, and no matter what Suna thinks about, the way you moaned for him rings in his ears one more time. It’s been a long time since he’s been this affected by someone—by anyone, really—and he slowly rolls up the partition without thinking about it.

He loosens his tie, letting the red fabric hang around his shoulders as he slowly unbuttons his dress shirt one by one. He tugs it out of his slacks only enough to give himself space to trace his fingers around his nipples as he takes a breath.

Thinking about the way your thighs felt under his fingers, his free hand runs over his covered length before squeezing. How he longs to make a mess of your flesh with his fingers, his teeth—hell, his knife if he needs to. The urge to make marks to prove that every inch of your skin isn’t for viewing overwhelms him; it’s only for him to touch, to mark up, to ruin.

His cock throbs one more time and he unbuttons his slacks and tugs them down so he can grab his half-hard cock. He hisses as he imagines it’s your warm hand that’s squeezing and tugging him instead of his own hand. His thumb brushes over the precum leaking from his tip, firm hand stroking his length as he thinks of you bent over for him. Maybe in his bed, maybe in his gambling parlor, maybe in this very car as the driver listens to your pleasured moans as you bounce on his dick. It doesn’t matter where because it’s all the same to him. He has to have you, needs to feel your cunt clenching around him as you tremble, your little voice moaning Rin, Rin, oh fuck, please as you cum. That one taste wasn’t enough.

Your moans and groans replay in his mind, and he can practically feel your thighs tremble under his hands again as he strokes himself. He tugs on his balls a little harder, fingers swiping over his cockhead. It’s quick; it’s needy; it’s too fast because he’s about to burst with how hard you made him, how desperate he is to pound into you and make you scream his name. With a throaty groan, he releases into his fist. His eyes stay clamped shut as he releases into his hand, pretending it’s your warm cunt taking his cum instead.

There’s a moment of pause, then he cleans himself up and fixes his slacks, as if he’d never touched himself in the first place.

A buzzing sounds from his pocket and he checks the screen to see he’s missed five calls from Washio since walking up to your building.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

He’s too busy to visit that Sunday, but when he walks into CoCo Ichibanya the next Tuesday, he isn’t greeted by your usual smile. You worry your lip when you see him, giving him a polite bow that makes his eyebrows raise. Before he can sit down, you come around the counter until you’re standing in front of him with a determined look on your face.

“I want to give your dress and earrings back.”

The steel in your face tells him you’ve been thinking about this, maybe even practicing, so he only blinks at you, sliding his arms behind his back.

“Those are for you,” he answers evenly, even though annoyance pricks at his skin and makes his lazy eyes narrow. “I don’t want them back.”

“But I don’t want them either,” you counter, taking a deep breath before blurting out, “I don’t want you to come here for a little bit.”

What?

His surprise must show on his face because your cheeks redden and your once-strong voice grows a bit quieter. “It’s moving too fast.”

“What is?”

“Whatever this is.” You gesture between the two of you with a huff and Suna can see your fingers tremble when you set them on your hips. “It’s too overwhelming for me. I’m not used to all of it and… and I need time. I want to take it slow.”

“Slow.”

“Yes,” you breathe softly. “Slow.”

You’re telling him no again. It sets his jaw, makes his hands clench by his sides. Slow. What the hell does that even mean? Wining and dining you? Taking you out on a date? Getting to know you? He’s done all of those things and yet you want to go slower. He tries not to show his answer with his even reply.

“Fine. But know this.” He takes a step closer to you, running his fingers under your chin and forcing you to look at him. There’s still traces of the marks he made on your skin and it makes his jaw set even further. Your eyes widen, lips parting in a small gasp that lights his body aflame. “I don’t give up things that are mine easily.”

“Yours?” You demand, but your tone is breathless, your throat bobbing when you swallow thickly.

Suna’s fingers move down your front, dragging down your throat to your shoulder where he can see the marks he made just a few days ago. He moves down your chest before flitting down to the apron tied around your waist. Your cheeks flush, your breathing picking up as he moves, but your eyes stay on him the entire time. He digs into the apron, pulling out your little notebook you use to take orders before he hands it to you. You blink at him in confusion until he rattles off his address and phone number, and his lips tug up into a smirk when he sees how fast you try to write what he’s saying.

“Text before you come. I’ll give you until the end of the week.”

“Wait, what?”

“If you’re hellbent on returning the dress and earrings, bring them to me personally before the end of the week.”

“Suna-san,” you scold, stuffing the notebook back into your apron with a frown. “Inviting me to your house isn’t taking it slow.”

“Giving you nearly a week is taking it slow,” he counters before he turns on his heel. “I’ll be waiting,” he finishes, leaving the shop without another word.

He stares at the partition as he’s taken back to his penthouse, ignoring the pathetic panging in his chest. Suna is used to women who throw themselves at him; women who see his suits and jewelry and suddenly become very interested in getting to know him; women who know who he is and what he can do, who beg him by the end of the night to call but he never does.

He certainly isn’t used to women who tell him no, who want to take it slow when he’s offering them anything they want at their fingertips. You’re stubborn and headstrong, different from the usual women he surrounds himself with, and maybe that’s why he’s so hung up on you. Maybe that’s the reason you pop in and out of his head all night to the point he has a few glasses of whiskey to make himself stop thinking.

૮Ꮚ MIYA ATSUMU

he’s missed you while playing overseas, so eager to empty his load into you—to finally relieve the heaviness in his balls after missing you so much.

he eats you out so passionately, bathing your clit in kitten licks before sliding his tongue along your folds.

loves the way his head spins when he fingers you, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss as he angles his digits against your sweet spot.

fucks you against the bathroom wall to start his day, you just looked so cute doing your morning routine he couldn’t help but make this part of his.

he’s got no shame fucking you infront of the hotel window, he wants the world to know he’s the lucky one that fucks you to sleep every night.

૮Ꮚ MIYA OSAMU

the intimate moments after sex, allowing his fingers to smooth over your muscles lovingly to soothe any aches as you lie against his chest.

loves bouncing you on his cock after a long day, allowing you to relieve the ache in his balls as his muscles finally relax.

osamu eating you out on the kitchen counter after asking you to help take his mind off of work.

he fucks you in the onigiri miya bathroom just before closing, hoping he doesn’t get any late customers that could hear both your fucked out moans.

you know he wants nothing more on his lazy days off than to spend them wrapped in you.

૮Ꮚ SUNA RINTARŌ

suna fingering you as you sit in his lap, his eyes rolling when he feels your walls tighten around the slender digits.

he finds it so hard to leave you in the morning—he’d much rather spend his mornings lazily making out with you as his fingers run along your cunt.

suna letting you ride him after practice, his mind hazy as you fuck yourself on his cock.

he likes you like this, watching you from above as you suck and lick at his cock before he pulls you in for another messy kiss.

you look even prettier from above.

૮Ꮚ BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

has to make sure you’re open and wet for him, not wanting to hurt you when he finally sinks his fat cock into you.

he eats you out feverishly like he’s no intention of ever leaving his spot between your thighs, his movements messy as he gets drunk on your taste.

fitting in a quickie with you before he leaves for practice, his thighs trembling as he empties his balls into your tight walls.

he’s so sensitive to your mouth, groaning deeply as your tongue smooths over the sensitive head, cleaning up his heavy load.

he loves nothing more than emptying his balls into you after a long day of missing you at practice.

૮Ꮚ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

fingers you roughly after you’ve been teasing him all day, deliberately flirting with the team in front of him to rile him up.

gets lost in your body, obsessed with the feeling of your smooth skin under his rough palms.

iwaizumi eats out your pussy until he feels better.

he fucks you in the front seat of his car when he’s on break at work, how could he resist you when you’re wearing that pretty little sundress you know he loves.

fuck he’ll never get sick of pounding into you.

૮Ꮚ SAKUSA KIYOOMI

he’s learning what you like, watching your reactions closely as he learns everything about your body.

using a vibrator on you when you’ve been teasing him, he knows how desperate you are for his cock but he can tease too.

tells you he loves you through intimate touches after sex, hoping you feel it as his fingers smooth over your skin.

bounces you on his cock when he has trouble sleeping, his mind wide awake after you accidentally brush up against him—his cock straining against his underwear.

he gets so worked up worshipping your body, wrapping his hand around his cock to ease the ache until he fucks you.

KIRISHIMA

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄┊eijirou kirishima.

𝐃𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐓┊ejirou kirishima

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓┊ejirou kirishima

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ┊ejirou kirishima

"𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍?"┊ejirou kirishima

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂.┊ejirou kirishima

𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐘┊ejirou kirishima

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄┊ejirou kirishima

BAKUGOU

"𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍?"┊bakugou katsuki

𝐒𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒┊bakugou katsuki

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒┊bakugou katsuki

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐑┊bakugou katsuki

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒┊bakugou katsuki

TODOROKI

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔┊todoroki shoto

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆┊todoroki shoto

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊┊todoroki shoto

Chapter 3 - Yellow Eyes

Chapter 4 - A Yellow Drink

Chapter 5 - A Yellow Shirt

Chapter 6 - A Yellow Fruit

Chapter 7 - A Yellow Gift Bag

Chapter 8 - A Yellow Umbrella

Chapter 9 - A Yellow Scrunchie

Chapter 10 - Yellow Paper

Chapter 11 - A Yellow Aura

Chapter 12 - A Yellow Bow