#neesu

MDNI +18 only

Contains: dom!reader x sub!katsuki, established relationship, initial power dynamic, brat-taming, jealousy, sexual tension, bondage, degradation, aftercare

Katsuki Bakugou was a brat. And you loved it.

You’d never had to chase him — you just existed, sharp-edged and self-possessed — and that was enough. He hated how much he noticed you. Hated how your voice, calm and precise, cut deeper than shouting ever could.

He called you arrogant. You called him predictable. And he kept coming back.

It started small. A “sit” that he refused, until he didn’t. A “good boy” that made his jaw clench hard enough to crack. You didn’t need to overpower him — you just needed to wait. Because Bakugou respected strength, and your control wasn’t just strength — it was terrifying.

The first time you put him on his knees, he’d cursed under his breath the entire time. The second time, he bit back a moan. The third, he whispered, “Yours,” without thinking.

But he was still Katsuki. Still explosive. Still full of pride.

So when he saw you talking to Todoroki — head tilted, smirking, hand lightly brushing the man’s arm — something snapped.

You felt it before you even turned around: that raw, molten energy rolling off him. Arms crossed. Eyes cold. That look. The one that said he was two seconds from saying something stupid.

You smiled.

“Jealousy?” you asked later, cornering him against the door in your room.

“Fuck off.”

You tsked, fingers grazing his jaw. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not fuckin’—”

You kissed him hard. His body jolted, then melted under your grip.

“Strip.”

His eyes burned into yours.

“I’m not your fucking toy,” he growled — and it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

You pushed him hard toward the bed. He staggered, caught himself, and turned with a snarl.

“You act like you don’t need this,” you said, stalking toward him, “but your cock’s already hard, Katsuki.”

He flinched. Just barely. But you saw it. And he hated that you did.

“Hands behind your back.”

He hesitated.

“Now.”

He obeyed.

You tied his wrists with thick leather cuffs, looping them through the headboard, forcing him to sit up — arms stretched, body tensed, exposed. He looked obscene like that. Wild eyes. Sharp breath. Muscles coiled like springs. You straddled his hips slowly, not giving him friction — just pressure, enough to drive him crazy.

“I saw the way you looked at Todoroki,” he muttered, bitter. “You were flirting.”

“I was being polite.”

“You touched his arm.”

“I touched your cock five minutes ago. Want to compare?”

He growled.

You laughed quietly, tracing your nails down his chest. “You don’t get to act possessive when you belong to me, Katsuki.”

His jaw clenched.

“Say it,” you ordered.

“…I belong to you.”

“Louder.”

“I belong to you, mistress.”

You smiled. “Good boy.”

And then you ruined him.

Your hand wrapped around his cock — tight, merciless, fast. He choked on a moan and bucked his hips, only for the restraints to pull him back. You slapped the inside of his thigh, just to hear him gasp.

“You’re such a loud little bitch when I’m not even giving you what you want,” you hissed. “Look at you. Dripping for me like some desperate, needy whore.”

“M-Mistress—please—”

“Oh? Now you beg?”

You leaned in close. “You looked me in the eye and told me you weren’t my toy. But look at you — tied up, blushing, fucking leaking all over yourself.”

He groaned, humiliated, wrecked. His body twitched with every stroke, every word.

“Did you think being jealous would earn you kindness?” you laughed, tightening your grip. “No, baby. Brats get punished.”

You edged him again. And again. And again. Until he was sobbing your name through clenched teeth, muscles trembling under your hands.

“Don’t you dare come.”

He whimpered.

“Hold it.”

“I—can’t—”

“You will. You’ll hold it like a good little slut, and when I say ‘now,’ you’ll fucking thank me for it.”

His whole body arched.

“Now.”

He shattered. Loud. Violent. Hands pulling at the restraints like they might snap. Cum painting his stomach in thick, shaking pulses. You watched with pride, lips curled into a slow smile.

And then you let him fall.

You unlocked his cuffs and caught him before he collapsed fully, guiding him to lie back against the pillows. He was flushed, silent, trembling — used, adored.

You wiped him down gently, kissed his cheek. Ran your fingers through his hair while his breathing slowed.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He nodded into your neck.

“…You didn’t even kiss me before you started,” he muttered, voice thick.

You kissed his temple softly.

“Because you didn’t deserve it,” you said. “But you do now.”

He smiled — lazy and fucked-out — and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“I’m still your brat,” he said sleepily.

“And you’ll keep earning your place on your knees.”

Contains: vampires, manipulative and flirtatious behavior, jealousy, emotional and sexual tension, power imbalance, obsessive themes.

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 1

The iron gates open slowly, their groan swallowed by the fog curling around the Sakamaki mansion. You step forward without hesitation, boots crunching against gravel, posture relaxed like you own the place. In a way, you always have.

The mansion hasn’t changed—still dark, still suffocating—but the memories hit harder than you expect. Laughter echoing through endless halls. Blood-stained nights disguised as games. Six boys who were never just friends, no matter how much they tried to pretend.

You stop at the front door and don’t bother knocking.

It opens almost immediately.

Reiji stands there, immaculate as always, glasses catching the dim light. His eyes narrow the second they land on you, surprise flickering for only a heartbeat before being buried under composure. “I should have known,” he says coolly. “Only you would return as if nothing happened.”

You smile, slow and confident. “Good to see you too, Reiji.”

You step inside, brushing past him deliberately close. His jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening despite himself. The entrance hall suddenly feels smaller, heavier, like the mansion itself recognizes you. Somewhere upstairs, hurried footsteps echo. Somewhere deeper inside, a low scoff cuts through the silence.

Ayato storms into view, irritation written all over his face—until his eyes land on you. For a brief second, his confidence cracks. “You’ve got some nerve,” he snaps. “You think you can just come back after disappearing for decades?”

You shrug casually. “You survived without me. Barely.”

“Tch—!” His fangs flash as he scowls, but his gaze lingers far too long, burning like he’s trying to memorize every detail again. Like some part of him is relieved you’re real.

Kanato peeks out from behind him, clutching Teddy tighter than before. His smile is thin, unstable. “You came back,” he says softly. “That’s not fair. I was getting used to hating you.”

You crouch slightly to meet his eyes, your voice gentle but deliberate. “You were always bad at that.”

His breath stutters, fingers tightening around the stuffed bear.

From the couch, Shu finally looks up. His lazy expression falters when his eyes meet yours, something dark and unresolved passing through them. “Annoying,” he mutters. After a pause, quieter, “Why’d you come back now?”

Before you answer, soft footsteps echo down the hall, drawing your attention.

A human girl steps into view, holding a tray like it might save her if she drops it. Blond hair frames her face, catching the dim light, and her pink eyes widen the moment they land on you. Her heartbeat is loud—nervous, human, fragile. Yui Komori.

Interesting.

You turn fully toward her, your tone instantly warmer. “Hey,” you say. “You look like you’re about to drop that.”

She startles. “O-Oh—sorry, I—”

You reach out and steady the tray, your fingers brushing hers on purpose. She freezes, breath hitching. “Careful,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Her face flushes deeply. “Th-thank you… sir.”

Ayato clicks his tongue sharply. “Oi. Quit flirting with her.”

You glance back at him, amused. “I’m just being polite.”

Subaru grips the banister nearby, wood creaking under his strength. “Don’t touch her,” he growls, eyes locked on your hand like he’s imagining snapping it.

You ignore him and lean slightly closer to Yui, lowering your voice. “Yui, right?” you say, tasting her name. “It suits you.”

Kanato’s smile twitches, eyes darkening. “Why are you talking to her like that?” he asks. “You used to talk to us like that.”

The air thickens instantly. Reiji clears his throat, irritation sharp. “That is enough. You are intentionally provoking them.”

You finally step back, lifting your hands in mock innocence, but your smile only widens. “If they’re bothered, that’s not my fault.”

Yui bows quickly and hurries away, blond hair swaying as she disappears down the hall. Every one of them watches her go—then their attention snaps back to you, expressions darker than before.

For a moment, something feels… incomplete.

Then a familiar chuckle drifts down from above.

“Well now… this brings back memories~”

You look up.

Laito is leaning lazily against the railing at the top of the staircase, hat tilted low, emerald eyes gleaming with unmistakable interest. He descends slowly, eyes never leaving you, smile playful but sharp around the edges. “I was wondering when you’d finally show your face again, mein Schatz.”

Ayato scowls immediately. “Don’t start, Laito.”

Laito ignores him, stopping far too close to you. His gaze drags over you openly, unapologetic. “You disappeared without a word,” he says lightly. “That hurt, you know. I hate being abandoned.”

You meet his stare without flinching. “You never liked being left behind.”

A flicker of something dark crosses his eyes before he laughs softly. His attention shifts briefly toward the hallway where Yui vanished. “And now you’re charming the little human already,” he adds. “How cruel.”

The jealousy in the room sharpens instantly—Subaru’s anger, Ayato’s irritation, Kanato’s instability, Shu’s quiet intensity, Reiji’s restrained displeasure. All of it coils tighter around you.

“Should I not?” you reply calmly. “She caught my attention.”

Laito’s smile thins. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re reopening old wounds.”

⸻

Later that night, the mansion feels restless, like it hasn’t slept since you arrived.

Ayato corners you in the hallway, slamming a hand beside your head. “You think this is funny?” he snarls. “Coming back and messing with her—and with us?”

You lean in slightly, voice low and teasing. “You’re the one getting worked up.”

Shu watches from the shadows, eyes heavy with something he never said. Subaru’s anger simmers just beneath the surface. Kanato’s jealousy twists into something dangerous. Reiji observes you like a problem with no solution. And Laito—Laito watches like a predator who just found something he lost.

And Yui—sweet, human Yui—keeps glancing your way when she thinks no one notices.

You didn’t come back to be forgiven.

You came back because none of them ever stopped wanting you—and now that you’re here again, the balance of the mansion is already breaking.

MDNI +18 only

Contains: dom!maleReader x sub!Kageyama, jealousy, creampie, possessive behavior, mild praise/teasing, post-high school AU

( This is long )

The low hum of your motorcycle filled the street as you pulled into the familiar lot outside Karasuno’s gym. Even years after graduating, the place still carried the same energy—the faint thud of balls, the rhythm of sneakers squeaking against the floor, and the chatter of players determined to leave everything on the court.

You killed the engine, swung your leg over the bike, and tugged off your gloves, sliding them into your jacket pocket. A few university students passing by slowed their steps, stealing glances at the sleek machine and the rider who handled it with such ease. You barely noticed. Your eyes were already on the gym doors.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed just like it always had, only now the players were older, stronger, sharper. A practice match was winding down, and the sound of Hinata’s laughter rang above the rest.

“Oi!” he called when he noticed you, bounding over with the same energy he’d had in high school, only taller now, more filled out from years of training. “You came at the perfect time—you should’ve seen my last jump. I’m telling you, one day I’ll get higher than Kageyama for good.”

You chuckled, leaning down slightly so he didn’t have to shout. “Yeah? You’ll have to prove it to me sometime. I’ll be the judge.”

Hinata grinned, chest puffed out in pride, before jogging back to the others.

You watched him go, amusement tugging at your lips, until the weight of a stare pressed against you. Across the court, Kageyama stood with his arms folded, his posture stiff and eyes locked directly on you. His expression might have looked unreadable to anyone else, but you’d known him long enough to catch the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the sharp, unblinking focus that spoke louder than words.

You excused yourself from the others and crossed the gym. The moment you were within arm’s reach, you dipped your voice low. “You’re glaring so hard, you’ll scare your teammates.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” he muttered defensively, though his voice betrayed him. He looked away, arms crossing tighter. “You were smiling too much with Hinata.”

Your lips curved slightly. “So that’s what this is about.” You leaned in closer, letting your hand ghost against his arm. “Are you jealous?”

Kageyama’s face flushed instantly. “No! I’m not—” He stopped, biting down on the words, but his silence said everything.

“Mm.” You chuckled softly, tilting his chin with two fingers so he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “Then maybe you should stand closer next time, instead of sulking across the gym.”

He huffed but didn’t pull away, his ears red, his pride crumbling under your steady gaze. “…I don’t like it,” he admitted finally, barely audible.

“That’s better,” you said, brushing your thumb across his jaw before stepping back. “Now come on. You’re done here anyway.”

The ride back was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Kageyama clung to you firmly from the back of the bike, his grip tighter than usual, and you could practically feel the tension lingering from earlier.

⸻

At your apartment, he stepped inside first, pulling off his helmet with an awkward kind of relief. He set it down carefully on the counter, then turned to you, eyes sharp but restless.

“Why do you always talk to him like that?” he blurted suddenly, the words rushing out before he could stop himself.

You raised a brow, amused by how worked up he still was. “Like what?” you asked, stepping closer until his back brushed against the wall.

“Like—like you’re interested,” he muttered, eyes flicking away.

Your hand landed firmly on his waist, steadying him in place. “I was being friendly. But if you think anyone else matters compared to you, you’re wrong.”

He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven as your closeness ate away at the last of his defenses. “…Then prove it.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

His eyes darted back to yours, determined despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “I do.”

The room seemed to shrink between you as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt. He melted quickly, his stubbornness unraveling under the firm press of your mouth.

One hand tangled in his hair while the other stayed on his waist, holding him steady as his hands fumbled to grip the front of your jacket.

When you pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed deep. “Still worried about Hinata?” you murmured against his lips.

He frowned, biting his lip before answering. “No… just—” His voice caught, then steadied. “I don’t like sharing your attention.”

“Good,” you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Then don’t make me waste it on anyone else.”

Before he could respond, you kissed him—harder this time, leaving him breathless as he grabbed fistfuls of your shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You guided him backward, lips never leaving his, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch and he collapsed onto it. You followed, caging him in, one hand gripping his thigh firmly.

⸻

The air in the apartment was heavy now, thick with the heat of your kiss still lingering on his lips. Kageyama’s chest rose and fell quickly, he looked up at you from the couch, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Take this off,” you said, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He hesitated only a second before pulling it over his head, dropping it onto the floor. His body was tense, his muscles firm from years of volleyball, but the way he squirmed under your gaze gave him away.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss his collarbone, dragging your lips across the skin until you felt him shiver. “All of this is mine.”

“Yours,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

Your hands moved down, undoing the knot of his shorts and sliding them down along with his briefs.

He hissed when the cool air hit his heated skin, his cock already hard and straining. You wrapped your hand around him immediately, firm and slow, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted with a soft moan.

“You get like this just from me touching you,” you said, your thumb brushing across his tip, spreading the bead of slick there. He choked on a sound, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

“Please—” he gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t—don’t make me wait too long.”

You chuckled darkly, pressing your palm against his chest to keep him pinned down when he tried to arch up. “You’ll take what I give you. You understand?”

His throat bobbed as he nodded quickly. “Yes.”

Satisfied, you slid lower, kissing down his stomach, biting lightly at the sensitive skin of his hip before finally taking him into your mouth. His entire body jerked at the contact, his fingers immediately tangling in your hair.

“Ah—! Wait—” he gasped, his voice cracking into a strangled moan. His grip on your hair tightened as you sank deeper, your tongue pressing against him, your pace slow and deliberate at first.

You could feel the way his thighs trembled under your hands as you held him open, his breath ragged, every sound spilling out of him raw and unrestrained.

“You’re so loud,” you murmured when you pulled back just enough to breathe, stroking him with your hand as your lips brushed his tip. “What if the neighbors hear you?”

“I—I don’t care,” he panted, desperation thick in his voice. “Just—don’t stop, please—”

You smirked before taking him fully again, this time faster, your hand stroking the base while your tongue worked the rest. Kageyama’s moans grew louder, broken pleas tumbling from his mouth as his body arched against the couch, unable to fight the overwhelming pleasure. His hands clutched at you like he was afraid to let go.

It didn’t take long before his breathing hitched, his body going taut as he spilled into your mouth with a sharp cry of your name. You swallowed every drop, keeping him there until he sagged back into the cushions, trembling, his face flushed scarlet.

When you finally pulled away, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, you leaned back over him, kissing him deeply so he could taste himself on your lips.

“You’re mine,” you whispered against his mouth, your hand cupping his cheek gently now. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

His voice was weak, hoarse, but certain. “I know. I don’t want anyone else.”

⸻

Kageyama’s body was still trembling from your mouth, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His lips were red from biting down to muffle himself, though he hadn’t done a very good job—his voice had carried, raw and unfiltered.

You kissed him again, slow but deep, tasting the way his breath stuttered against yours. When you pulled back, your hand slid down, gripping his thigh firmly.

“You’re not done,” you murmured, watching his eyes widen slightly.

He swallowed hard, his body already reacting even though he was still sensitive. “I… I can keep going.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

You spread his legs wider, pulling him down so his hips rested at the edge of the couch. The way he looked up at you—nervous but needy, his hands fisting the cushions—only made you harder.

Your fingers slid lower, teasing him first. You rubbed circles against his rim, slicking your fingers before pressing one inside slowly. He gasped, his back arching as he grabbed at your wrist, not to stop you, but to ground himself.

“Relax,” you whispered, kissing his neck as you pushed deeper. “Breathe.”

His chest heaved as he nodded quickly, forcing himself to loosen up. The sound he made when you added a second finger was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, his thighs trembling against your sides.

“Good,” you praised, scissoring your fingers carefully. “You’re taking it so well.”

“Feels… weird,” he admitted, voice hoarse, but then his head fell back when you brushed that spot inside him that made his whole body jolt. “Ah—! There—”

You smirked, working him open until he was writhing beneath you, sweat beading at his temples. When you finally pulled your fingers out, he let out a desperate sound, already missing the fullness.

“Don’t worry,” you said, undoing your jeans. “You’ll get more.”

His eyes flicked down, then back up, wide with anticipation. His hands gripped the couch tighter as you lined yourself up against him. “Wait,” he breathed, nervousness flashing across his face.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body.

That was all you needed. You pushed in slowly, stretching him inch by inch. His breath hitched, his nails digging into the cushions, but he never told you to stop. You kissed the corner of his mouth, whispering encouragements until you were fully inside, buried deep.

“Fuck—” you groaned, clenching your jaw at how tight he was around you. “You feel incredible.”

Kageyama whimpered, his arms wrapping around your shoulders like he needed to hold onto something solid. “It’s—so much,” he gasped, his voice breaking.

You gave him time, kissing along his neck until his grip loosened and he nodded faintly. Only then did you start moving, shallow thrusts at first, letting him adjust. His moans grew louder with each one, his body finally relaxing enough to meet you halfway.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your pace quickening. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, his voice mixing with your low groans. His legs tightened around your waist, pulling you deeper, his desperation showing in every movement.

“Right there—” he cried out suddenly, his whole body shuddering when you angled your hips to hit that spot inside him. His eyes squeezed shut, his mouth falling open as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him.

“That’s it,” you urged, thrusting harder, your hand sliding down to stroke him in time with your movements. “Come for me again.”

He broke quickly, his release spilling hot across his stomach, his body clenching so tightly around you it dragged you over the edge too. You buried yourself deep as you came, groaning his name into the crook of his neck.

⸻

You stayed there for a while, both of you still catching your breath, his chest rising fast against yours. His skin was warm and damp, his hair sticking to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to care—he only clung tighter, his legs still looped lazily around your waist.

When you shifted to pull out, he let out a quiet sound, almost a whine, burying his face in your neck.

“Don’t move yet,” he murmured, voice hoarse but small.

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Greedy.”

He gave you a weak glare, but it melted quickly into a sheepish look. “…Just stay.”

So you did. And later, when he finally let you move, it wasn’t long before you found yourselves tangled together again—his body eager despite his earlier exhaustion, your patience wearing thin whenever he whispered your name with that needy edge.

By the time everything slowed, Kageyama was sprawled across your chest, his breath steady, his hand clutching the hem of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away in the night. You brushed your fingers through his hair, the silence comfortable now, heavy with contentment.

“You know,” you said quietly, breaking the stillness, “you’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.”

He groaned, burying his face deeper against you. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“But it’s true.” You kissed the top of his head, chuckling when he swatted at your side half-heartedly. “Don’t worry—I’ll keep all my smiles for you.”

There was a pause, then a muffled, almost embarrassed reply: “…Good.”

You tightened your arms around him, feeling him finally relax completely. Outside, the city was quiet, the faint glow of streetlights slipping in through the window. Inside, the only thing that mattered was the steady warmth of him pressed against you.

Contains: dom!maleReader x sub!Tartaglia, jealousy, possessive behavior, heated rivalry, intense physical tension (non-explicit), enemies-to-lovers au

The halls of the stronghold glimmered with frost, torches hissing faintly in the draft. Tartaglia leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes locked on the far side of the chamber.

You were there, as always. Commanding attention without trying, speaking easily with another officer. The man laughed, head tipping back as his hand brushed your arm. You didn’t move away — in fact, you leaned in, lips quirking into a sly smile as if you were in on some private joke.

The sound grated on Childe’s ears. He looked away, jaw tight, but his eyes betrayed him, dragging back to the scene again and again until the other officer finally left.

Only then did you turn, as though you had felt the weight of his stare the entire time. Your smirk was instant, deliberate, as you crossed the hall with unhurried steps.

“Something bothering you, Childe?” your voice purred, low enough to be for him alone.

His lips curled into a humorless smile. “Not at all. Just wondering if you’re capable of keeping your hands to yourself.”

You chuckled, tilting your head. “Funny. He touched me, not the other way around. Unless…” You leaned slightly closer, eyes glittering. “Unless you’re saying you wanted to be the one doing it.”

The tips of his ears burned. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Mm. Denial,” you mused, circling him like a predator that had caught the scent of weakness. “You wear it well. Almost convincing, if not for the way you’re glaring holes through anyone who looks at me.”

He pushed off the wall, straightening to his full height. His smile was sharp, sarcastic. “Maybe I just hate your face. Ever think of that?”

You stepped closer until your chest nearly brushed his, your voice dropping. “Then stop staring at it like you’re starving.”

His breath hitched, barely audible, but you caught it. You always did.

⸻

The storm screamed outside the ruined outpost where you’d made camp. A fire snapped in the center, throwing shadows against the cracked stone walls.

Childe sat hunched forward, one hand braced on his knee, the other gripping the hilt of his blade. He was silent, too silent, his eyes fixed on the flames as though they’d done him personal wrong.

You lounged across from him, one leg crossed over the other, chin resting on your hand. The firelight carved gold into your features, highlighting the smug curve of your mouth.

“You’ve been sulking since we left the stronghold,” you remarked. “I can guess why.”

His eyes cut to you, sharp and defensive. “You think too highly of yourself. I don’t care who you flirt with.”

“Oh?” you asked, your voice a purr. “Because you looked ready to tear that officer’s throat out earlier.”

He barked a short laugh, all sharp edges. “Please. If I wanted him gone, I wouldn’t have wasted time glaring. I’d have buried him in the snow.”

You grinned, pushing off your seat. Slowly, deliberately, you walked around the fire, boots crunching against loose stones, until you stood in front of him. “Then why didn’t you?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked away instead, jaw clenching.

You crouched, resting one hand on his knee, leaning close enough that his breath stirred against your cheek. “Because the problem wasn’t him.”

He flinched, muscles taut beneath your touch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you whispered, fingers trailing lightly up his thigh. “Don’t say what you’re already thinking? Don’t notice how your pulse jumps when I touch you?”

He grabbed your wrist, eyes blazing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re trembling,” you countered, your grin widening.

“From rage,” he snapped, though the crack in his voice betrayed him.

“From wanting,” you corrected softly.

His grip faltered. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his sarcasm failing him for once. He turned his face away, but you tilted his chin back with two fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Say it,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lip. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

⸻

The fire crackled, the storm howled, but all Tartaglia could hear was the pounding of his own heart. His fists clenched, his pride screamed for him to shove you away, to spit another sarcastic remark, to prove he wasn’t caught in your game.

Instead, he surged forward, crashing his mouth against yours.

The kiss was rough, heated, full of teeth and fury. His hand fisted in your coat, dragging you closer, as if daring you to laugh at him. You did — a low, dark chuckle against his lips — and then you kissed him back harder, your grip sliding to the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place.

His breath came ragged, his lips swollen as you claimed every ounce of fight he tried to muster. He broke away only long enough to rasp, “I hate you.”

You caught his jaw, tilting his head back into another kiss before he could say more. “You taste like lies,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but the words trembled, his voice betraying the hunger in his chest.

You pressed your forehead to his, your thumb stroking along the line of his jaw. “Make me.”

The words hung heavy between you, daring, taunting.

Childe’s breath stuttered. His fists clenched tighter into your coat, pulling you against him as if to prove he still had control. But the way his lips trembled, the heat radiating off him, betrayed the truth. He didn’t want you to stop — he wanted you closer.

So you obliged.

You pushed him back until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall, your body caging his in. He hissed at the impact, but the sound melted into a gasp when your mouth caught his again, deeper this time, slower — a deliberate claiming.

His sarcasm faltered. The proud mask he wore cracked under the weight of your touch, his body arching just slightly toward yours despite himself.

“Still hate me?” you murmured against his lips, your hand sliding up to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing the heat blooming there.

“Yes,” he breathed, but the word shook, soft and unconvincing.

You smiled, pressing your forehead to his, your voice low and velvet. “Then kiss me like you mean it.”

And he did. This time without the veneer of anger, without the shield of sarcasm. The kiss that followed was raw, desperate — a silent confession of everything he refused to put into words. His hands clutched at you like he was drowning, as if letting go would mean surrendering more than just the fight.

When you finally pulled back, his lips were red, his breath uneven, his blue eyes burning with something he couldn’t disguise anymore.

You held him there, steadying him with your hand at his throat — not choking, just reminding him who had cornered who.

“Good boy,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the storm outside.

Contains: Dom!Reader x Sub!Character, light verbal teasing, mild obsession, psychological tension, heavy flirting, emotional dependency

Part 2

It happens like clockwork. Grades go up, the hallway fills with whispers, and—right on cue—you spot him. Standing there. Shoulders stiff, fists clenched, staring at the board like sheer willpower might magically bump his score up.

His name sits in bold under yours.

Second place. Again.

You stroll over, slow and deliberate. Your mere presence makes him tense like his whole body registers you before his brain catches up.

“Damn,” you hum, stopping just beside him. “By point five. That’s... rough.”

He doesn’t even look at you, jaw visibly tight. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” Your voice dips into mock innocence. “Celebrating my victory? Not my fault you can’t catch up.”

His hands curl tighter at his sides. “It’s one mistake. I’m not losing next time.”

A lazy grin tugs at your lips. “You’ve been saying that since... what? The second exam?” You tilt your head just enough that your shoulder brushes his. “And yet... here we are.”

Finally, he turns to glare at you. His face is flushed, biting back a retort. But the second your gaze catches his, something falters in him. His mouth opens—nothing comes out.

“Aw...” You pout, trailing a finger casually along the edge of his sleeve. “You always look so cute when you lose.”

“Shut up!” His voice spikes—loud, cracked, desperate. “I don’t care what you think.”

“Mmm...” You lean in, letting your lips ghost just close enough to his ear to make him twitch. “Liar.”

His breath hitches, his whole body locking up like you’ve completely short-circuited him.

And it doesn’t stop there. It never does.

Library? You slide into the chair next to him, smirking before he can even pretend not to notice you. Lab partner? Guess who the teacher picks. Cafeteria? Somehow, you always find the empty seat directly across from him.

It’s like the universe itself is conspiring—and he’s suffering.

Every time he thinks he’s finally got room to breathe, you show up. A hand grazing too close, a knee bumping into his under the desk, fingers dragging along the edge of his notebook like it’s yours.

And every time? He falls apart in record time.

“Struggling again?” you ask one afternoon, casually dropping into the seat beside him. You prop your chin in your palm like you’ve got nowhere else to be.

He scoffs, snapping his textbook shut. “Not with anything you can help with.”

“Ouch.” You pout, half-grinning. “You wound me. Here I was thinking you missed me.”

“I didn’t—!” His head jerks up, panicked, face going from annoyed to straight-up panicked. “Shut up... I didn’t mean—”

You hum, tapping lazily on the cover of his notebook. “Sure, sure. Keep lying to yourself, baby.”

His ears are burning. His eyes dart everywhere but at you. But his knee? Still pressed against yours under the table. He hasn’t moved it. Not even an inch.

⸻

This time, you don’t even wait for the next exam to roll around. You’ve had enough fun watching him fluster from a distance.

As soon as the bell rings, you’re there. Cutting him off before he can leave, palm pressed flat against the door just beside his head.

He freezes. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours—wide-eyed, trapped... and blushing so hard you swear his ears might catch fire.

“Running off already?” you tease, voice lowering, syrup-smooth. “Didn’t even congratulate me this time.”

“G-Get out of my way...” His voice trembles. Pathetic. Nothing like the bratty attitude he pretends to hold in front of everyone else.

You click your tongue, fingers curling under his chin to tilt his face toward yours. “Mmm... no. Not yet. I like seeing you squirm.”

His breath catches. His hands twitch like he can’t decide whether to push you away or hold on.

“Why...” he rasps, voice cracking halfway, “why are you... like this?”

Your lips ghost over his cheek—not quite a kiss, but close enough to send a full-body shiver through him. “Because,” you murmur, “you make it so easy.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “...I hate you...”

“No, you don’t.” You grin, thumb brushing just under his lip, dragging slow enough to watch his breath stutter. “You just hate how much you like this.”

His knees wobble. His breath shudders. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t fight. Doesn’t even try.

And the best part? You know he won’t.

⸻

The next day, it’s the library again. Same corner. Same table. Same tense shoulders hunched over his notebook, scribbling like his life depends on it. Like writing fast enough might erase the sting of that point-five gap still haunting him.

Sliding into the seat beside him feels natural now. No warning. No asking. Just yours.

His pen falters. “...Don’t,” he mutters, voice strained. “Not today.”

“Not what?” You tilt your head, leaning in close enough that your hair brushes his shoulder. “Not reminding you you’re in second place?” You flash him that slow, playful grin. “Come on... tradition’s tradition.”

His jaw clenches. “Why are you always like this?”

“Mmm... because you’re cute when you’re mad?” Your voice dips—still teasing, but softer this time. Playful, but not cruel. “And because you make it ridiculously easy.”

He grips the pen so tight his knuckles turn white. “I swear—” His voice wavers. His breath stutters like something inside is fracturing. “You... You drive me insane...”

The pen drops. His notebook slides as he shoves it away like it suddenly offends him.

“Fine.” His fists tremble in his lap. His voice lowers, raw. “Yeah... yeah, you drive me insane. You distract me. You make me forget what I’m even doing. And I hate it...” His shoulders shake as he exhales, every word dragged from his throat. “I hate how much you get in my head...”

For a second, your teasing fades into something gentler. A smile—not mocking, not smug—but warm. Real.

“...You could’ve just said you liked me, you know.” Your knee nudges his under the table. Light. Almost affectionate. “Would’ve saved you a lot of suffering.”

His whole body jolts. “I don’t—!” His voice cracks, choking on the words. His hands fly up, burying his face.

“Oh, come on...” You chuckle, fingers gently tugging at his wrists to peel his hands away just enough to see that mess of red cheeks and trembling lips. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite.” You grin. “...Unless you ask nicely.”

“Stop teasing me...” he groans, voice muffled behind his palms.

“Aww, where’s that fire from earlier?” You tap his wrist, playful. “Look... I’ll be nice for once.” Your voice softens, genuine. “You’re smart. You wouldn’t be this close to catching me if you weren’t.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowers his hands. His eyes peek out, red-faced but a little less angry now. “...Stop being nice. It’s... confusing.”

You laugh, leaning back, stretching lazily. “Can’t help it. You’re fun to mess with... but also kinda fun to be around.” You wink, lighthearted. “Don’t read too much into it.”

He mutters something under his breath that you definitely catch—“too late.”

⸻

It’s been exactly one day. Twenty-four hours since that conversation in the library. You haven’t spoken since. Not a glance. Not a teasing comment. Not even passing him in the hallway.

And it’s driving him insane.

You watch from the corner of the cafeteria, pretending not to notice how his eyes keep drifting—over his shoulder, toward the door, scanning, searching. His foot taps under the table like a broken metronome. His friends are talking, but he’s not listening. Not really.

When you finally step inside, it’s instant. His head jerks up, like his body notices before his brain does. His hands grip the edge of his tray so tight his knuckles go white. His eyes—wild, desperate—lock on to you like you’re gravity itself.

You don’t go to him. Not yet. You make a show of chatting with someone near the entrance, laughing at a joke you probably didn’t even hear. His fists clench. His teeth grind. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until one of his friends nudges him.

“Dude... what are you—”

“Shut up,” he snaps—too fast, too defensive. His eyes don’t leave you for a second.

When you finally, finally start walking toward him, he straightens like a wire pulled tight. The tension radiates off him. His fork scrapes against the tray. His throat bobs when he swallows, like he’s trying to act normal, failing spectacularly.

You drop into the seat beside him without asking. “Miss me?”

His head whips to the side. “N-No. Wh—Why would I—?”

“Mmm...” You tilt your head, fingers tapping his tray like you own the space between you. “Then why were you looking at me like I hung the stars?”

His jaw works like he’s chewing through the words he wants to say but can’t. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—shut up.”

“Aw...” You pout, leaning closer. “Were you waiting for me? Poor thing...” Your knee bumps his under the table, stays there. His leg twitches, but he doesn’t move it.

“Y-You...” His voice trembles, fingers white-knuckling the fork. “You ignored me. All day. You—you knew what you were doing...”

“Of course I did.” You grin, letting your fingers trail lazily toward his hand, not touching—just close enough to make his skin buzz. “Had to see how long you could last without me.”

His breath shudders. “...Not long,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “Not... not long at all.”

And god, the way he looks at you now—like you’re oxygen, like you’re water in the middle of a desert. Like you ruin him just by existing.

His fingers twitch, fists clenching like he’s fighting something internal. His mouth opens—closes—then finally, like something snaps:

“Then... then don’t look at anyone else.” The words fall out shaky, desperate, raw. “If you’re gonna mess with me... then just—just do it. Only me. Just look at me.”

For a second, the whole world holds still.

You blink. Slowly, a grin curls at your lips—part surprise, part something darker. “Oh?” Your tone drops, playful but edged. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

He flinches, face burning, but doesn’t back down. His eyes are glossy, biting, wild. “...I hate it,” he breathes out, voice barely holding steady. “How bad I... how bad I need it.”

Your hand brushes against his under the table—subtle, deliberate. “You’re dangerously close to confessing something, sweetheart.”

“Shut up...” He squeezes his eyes shut, but his knee presses harder against yours like he needs the contact to breathe. “Just... shut up and don’t look at anyone else...”

Contains: dom!vampireMaleReader x sub!sakamakiBrothers, dark romance, psychological manipulation, biting and blood-play, jealousy

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 2

Finally!! I took so long to finish it😭 (sorry guys)

Tags (as requested): @ghostlyworld

As you move through the vaulted corridors, the floorboards don’t groan under your weight; they purr, recognizing the rhythmic, predatory strike of a master’s step.

You can feel the others through the thick masonry, their auras spiking like jagged glass.

In the west wing, a violent crash echoes—Subaru has likely pulverized another marble bust, his destructive way of screaming that he hates how easily your scent still fits in these halls.

Downstairs, the frantic clinking of porcelain suggests Reiji is over-polishing tea sets to maintain a fading sense of control.

You catch the metallic scent of Kanato’s manic giggling as he whispers to Teddy about how "exquisite" your corpse would be, while Laito’s presence is a physical, voyeuristic heat following you from the shadows.

Even the human, Yui, is a mere fluttering pulse in the periphery—a fragile bird realizing the hawk has returned to the nest, and he isn't looking for seeds.

⸻

The air in the music room is the thickest, heavy with the scent of rosin, old velvet and ancient grievances.

You push the double doors open, the gold leaf flaking under your touch like dead skin. Shu is exactly where he belongs: draped across the chaise lounge like a discarded silk shroud, the blue light of his MP3 player flickering against the pale column of his throat—the only sign his heart is still bothered to beat.

"The acoustics in here were always better when you weren't pretending to be a corpse, Shu," you drawl, your voice a low, resonant velvet.

You stroll to the grand piano, your boots clicking with a deliberate rhythm that mocks his forced stillness. You trail a single finger over the lid, leaving a sharp, clean line in the thick dust. "And here I thought you were the one who valued 'proper' maintenance. Or did you let the help go as soon as I wasn't here to keep you upright?"

Shu doesn’t move, but his breathing hitches—a minute, jagged break in his rhythm that tastes like victory.

"You’re noisy," he mutters, his voice raspy from a century of curated apathy. "The dead don't talk. Why can’t you follow their example? It would be the first time you've ever been considerate."

"Because the dead are boring, and I’ve had quite enough of boring," you reply, rounding the piano to stand over him. Your shadow stretches long and domineering across his prone form.

You look down at the violin case in the corner, shrouded in cobwebs. "You haven’t touched it since the night I left, have you? Such a dramatic silent treatment for an audience that wasn't even here to watch. Tell me, did you enjoy the martyrdom, or did it just get lonely playing for the dust?"

Shu finally opens one eye. It’s a piercing, crystalline blue, stripped of the lethargy he uses to ward off his brothers. He sits up with a fluid, predatory grace, the atmosphere in the room dropping until your breath mists in the air between you.

The lazy mask is gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened resentment.

"You left because you were bored," Shu says, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a rare, low growl. "You played with us until the strings snapped, and then you walked out. Now you're back, flirting with that human girl downstairs just to see us twitch. Is that it? Are we just your favorite toy box?"

You step into his personal space, close enough to feel the cold radiation of his skin and the faint scent of cedarwood that clings to him.

You reach out, your hand moving with agonizing slowness, and flick the earbud from his ear. The tinny, frantic sound of a Wagnerian crescendo spills into the silence.

"I came back because the world out there is full of sheep, Shu," you murmur, leaning in until your chest brushes his blazer. "And I missed the way you look when you're trying not to break. No one else bleeds with such... dignity. I wanted to see if I could still make you compose a masterpiece out of your misery."

His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with a strength that would shatter a lesser vampire’s bones. His skin is ice, but his grip is a desperate, grounding iron.

"Don't," he warns, his eyes darkening to a shade of midnight, his fangs lengthening. "I'm not Ayato. I won't bark for your crumbs, and I won't let you play master in my room just because you're feeling nostalgic for the way we used to beg for your gaze."

You don't pull away. Instead, you use your free hand to tilt his chin up, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, pressing just hard enough to feel the sharp edge of a fang.

Then, you lean down, your lips hovering just a hair’s breadth from the sensitive junction of his neck and shoulder.

"You say that," you whisper, your voice a seductive, manipulative hum, "and yet your heart is thundering against your ribs like a caged bird."

You graze the heated skin of his throat with your teeth—not a bite, but a deliberate, scraping pressure that promises violence and pleasure in equal measure.

Shu’s breath hitches into a choked sound, half-growl and half-gasp. His grip on your wrist doesn't loosen; if anything, he pulls you closer, dragging you down until you’re looming over him on the lounge.

"You think you can just walk back in and pick up the conductor’s baton?" he hisses, his eyes narrowed and searching yours for a hint of the cruelty he remembers. "You haven't changed. You're still a parasite that feeds on the chaos you create."

"And you're still the one who provides the most delicious vintage," you counter, sliding your hand from his chin to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his messy blonde hair.

You pull his head back slightly, forcing him to expose the length of his throat.

"You didn't stop playing the violin because it was 'too much effort,' Shu. You stopped because every note you played sounded like my name, and you couldn't stand the harmony. You've been waiting for me to come back and finish the song, haven't you?"

Shu’s composure fractures completely. The "Lazy Master" mask slips, revealing a raw, starving need that has simmered for decades.

He pulls your hand toward his mouth, his lips brushing your skin—not in a kiss, but a threat, his breath hot against your pulse.

"If you stay," he hisses against your wrist, his fangs grazing your skin as his blue eyes lock onto yours with terrifying focus, "I’ll make sure you regret finding your way back. I’ll turn this mansion into a cage you’ll never want to leave, and I’ll be the one holding the key this time. I'll break your legs before I let you walk out that door again."

"Promises, promises," you smirk, leaning down to graze the sensitive skin behind his ear with your teeth, relishing the way his entire body freezes under your touch. "Let’s see if you have the energy to keep them, or if you’ll just fall asleep on me again the moment things get interesting. But for now..."

You pull back just enough to look at him, your thumb tracing his lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the sharp, gleaming points of his fangs. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you hated the silence I left behind."

Shu’s eyes cloud over with a mix of loathing and undeniable heat. He doesn't answer with words.

Instead, he lunges upward, his mouth finding yours in a collision that is less of a kiss and more of a battle for territory—violent, desperate, and tasting of a century’s worth of unspoken obsession.

Shu’s mouth is a cold, desperate fire against yours, his teeth grazing your lip with a lethal lack of restraint. It’s the kiss of a man who has been starving and trying to pretend he didn't have an appetite.

His hands, usually so limp and useless, are now claws, one tangled in your hair to keep you from pulling away and the other anchored at the small of your back, crushing your chest against his.

You let out a low, muffled hum of amusement against his lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of total submission. You bite back, hard enough to draw a bead of copper-sweet blood, and the metallic tang on your tongue only heightens the electricity crackling between you.

"Still so aggressive when you're backed into a corner," you murmur against his skin, pulling back just an inch, your breaths mingling in the frigid air. "I missed this version of you. The one that actually has a pulse."

Shu’s eyes are wide, the pupils blown so large the blue is just a thin, jagged ring of ice.

He’s panting, his chest heaving against yours, his dignity stripped away by the sheer force of his own reaction. "I hate you," he rasps, the words vibrating with a raw, jagged honesty. "I hate every breath you take in this house. I hate that I can still smell you in the curtains and the floorboards. I hate that you’re the only thing that isn't... boring."

"I know," you whisper, your fingers tracing the frantic thrum of his carotid artery. "It must be exhausting, loving someone you want to kill. But we both know you’d never let the light leave these eyes, Shu. Then who would be left to look at you like this?"

You lean down again, your teeth scraping the sensitive cord of his neck, lingering just above the vein. You can feel him trembling—a fine, violent shudder that speaks of a century of restraint finally snapping.

"Do it," you challenge, your voice a dark, velvet lure. "Claim your territory, or get back on your lounge and go back to sleep like the good little corpse you pretend to be."

⸻

His fangs are just a millimetre from your skin when the heavy oak doors of the music room are thrown open with a sharp, echoing thud.

"I believe," a cold, clinical voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel, "that we have a guest who has quite forgotten their manners. And a brother who has forgotten his place."

You don't startle; you simply turn your head to see Reiji standing in the doorway. He’s the picture of aristocrat perfection, his gloved hands clasped behind his back, but the way his glasses catch the light hides a gaze that is pure, unadulterated venom.

Behind him, you catch the silhouettes of the others—Ayato looking like he’s ready to commit fratricide, and Laito leaning against the doorframe with a smile that doesn't reach his burning emerald eyes.

"The human has prepared dinner," Reiji continues, his voice tight enough to snap. "Though I suppose you’ve already begun your own... feast."

Shu doesn't move immediately. He lingers for a second longer, his forehead resting against yours, his grip on your hair tightening in a final, silent act of defiance before he slowly, sluggishly detaches himself.

He falls back onto the lounge, the mask of the Lazy Master sliding back into place with practiced ease, though his lips are still stained a faint, incriminating red.

"Dinner," Shu mutters, closing his eyes as if the very concept is a chore. "How tedious."

You stand up, smoothing your coat. You look at Reiji, then at the brothers gathered in the hall, your smirk growing wider as you realize they’ve all been standing there, listening to the symphony of Shu’s undoing.

"Well then," you say, your voice echoing with a teasing, dangerous edge. "We wouldn't want the human's hard work to go to waste. Shall we see if the rest of you have grown as much of an appetite as the eldest?"

After decades of self-imposed exile driven by sheer boredom, you return to the Sakamaki mansion. Not as a guest, but as the architect of the brothers' original ruin.

You are a vampire of ancient lineage whose presence once dictated the very air they breathed. Your return is a calculated intrusion designed to see how the "toys" you abandoned have fared in the dust of your absence.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Contains: vampires, manipulative and flirtatious behavior, jealousy, emotional and sexual tension, power imbalance, obsessive themes.

Where old feelings bleed masterlist

Part 3

Pd. After much thinking, i will not add any smut to this story. I will keep it the way it is rn

Pd 2. Next chapter will be general with all the boys. But you can vote for the following one!

Tags (as requested): @iglb12 @ghostlyworld

Dinner dissolves rather than ends.

No one finishes their plate. The food grows cold while the tension around the table thickens into something almost tangible.

You sit there like you belong.

Like you never left.

Ayato notices it first—your relaxed posture, the faint smirk tugging at your mouth as if the entire evening is amusing to you.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue sharply. “Quit staring like that.”

You glance up lazily. “Like what?”

“Like you’re enjoying this.”

Your smile widens.

“Maybe I am.”

Across the table Kanato giggles, dragging the tip of his fork across the plate in slow circles. The metal screeches softly against porcelain.

“Teddy thinks it’s funny,” he hums. “Everyone looks so upset.”

Yui flinches beside him.

Shu says nothing, but his eyes drift toward you again before half-closing.

He looks bored.

You know better.

And at the head of the table—

Reiji hasn’t touched his food.

His posture remains perfectly straight, hands folded beside his untouched utensils, crimson eyes quietly moving from brother to brother as if cataloguing the damage spreading through the room.

Finally they settle on you.

You hold the gaze easily.

He adjusts his glasses.

“Dinner,” he says coolly, “is meant to be eaten. Not used as a stage for petty displays of hostility.”

Ayato scoffs immediately.

“Then tell him to stop grinning like that.”

You lean back in your chair.

“You’re very fixated on my face tonight.”

“Shut up.”

Subaru’s chair scrapes violently across the floor as he stands.

“I’m done with this crap.”

His fork snaps in his hand with a sharp metallic crack before he throws the pieces aside and storms out of the room. The door slams hard enough to shake the chandelier.

Kanato laughs.

Yui shrinks further into her seat.

Reiji exhales slowly through his nose.

Then he stands.

“Excuse me.”

No explanation.

He simply leaves.

Laito watches the door close before turning toward you with a bright, fox-like smile.

“Well,” he murmurs, swirling the wine in his glass, “that was quicker than I expected.”

You rise from your chair.

Ayato immediately slams his palm on the table.

“Oi—don’t go after him.”

You glance back over your shoulder.

“I’m not going after him.”

Laito chuckles.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

You leave anyway.

⸻

The library door closes with a muted click behind you, and the silence that settles over the room feels heavier than the tension left in the dining hall.

The air smells faintly of wax, old parchment, and something colder—discipline, perhaps, the kind that Reiji cultivates like a carefully pruned garden.

Tall shelves loom on either side of the room, rows of ancient books staring down like silent witnesses. The only light comes from the tall candles along the walls and the pair burning on Reiji’s desk, their flames wavering slightly when you walk closer.

Reiji stands behind the desk with his back to you.

He’s removing his gloves.

The motion is slow and methodical, each finger sliding free with deliberate precision, as though the simple act requires concentration. His shoulders are perfectly straight, his posture immaculate even now.

You lean casually against the door for a moment, watching him.

“You left dinner early,” you say, your voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

“I noticed.”

Reiji doesn’t turn around yet.

The second glove slips free from his hand, and he lays both neatly on the desk as if placing them too roughly might disturb the order he works so hard to maintain.

“I wondered how long it would take,” he continues calmly.

You begin walking toward him.

“How long what would take?”

“For you to follow.”

You smile slightly.

“You sound disappointed.”

Reiji turns then.

His crimson gaze lands on you instantly, sharp behind the gleam of his glasses. For a moment he simply studies you in silence, the faint candlelight catching the edges of his expression and sharpening every line of control etched there.

“You returned after decades,” he says evenly, “and within a single evening you have managed to provoke every member of this household.”

You reach the other side of the desk and rest your hands casually against the polished wood.

“They seemed eager enough.”

“That is precisely the issue.”

Your eyes drift briefly across the desk, noting the carefully organized papers, the open book he’d clearly been reading before dinner, the absolute lack of disorder anywhere within reach.

“You’ve been busy,” you remark.

“Maintaining order.”

“Without me?”

Reiji’s gaze sharpens slightly.

“Yes.”

You tilt your head.

“Was it boring?”

A brief pause follows, subtle but unmistakable.

“Boredom,” he replies coolly, “is irrelevant.”

“Of course it is.”

You push away from the desk slightly, circling around one corner of it with slow, deliberate steps. The candlelight shifts across your face as you move, and Reiji’s eyes track every inch of the motion with quiet attention.

“You always did hate unpredictability,” you continue lightly. “I imagine the house must have felt very quiet without someone ruining your schedules.”

Reiji watches you approach.

“And yet you have returned,” he says.

“Does that bother you?”

You’re close now.

Close enough to see the faint tension gathering along his jaw.

Close enough to hear the subtle change in his breathing.

For a moment neither of you move.

Then suddenly—

The desk edge presses sharply into your lower back as Reiji shoves you against it.

Papers slide across the surface with a soft rustling sound as his hand grips your coat and pushes you back onto the polished wood. The movement is swift and controlled, leaving you half-sitting against the desk before you’ve fully registered it.

Reiji steps forward immediately.

One knee moves between your legs, anchoring you there while his hands plant firmly on either side of your shoulders.

He leans over you, glasses catching the candlelight as he looks down.

“You behave as though nothing has changed,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head back against the desk, meeting his gaze without the slightest hint of alarm.

“Has it?”

His eyes narrow.

“You left.”

“And now I’m back.”

“That does not answer the question.”

Your mouth curves faintly.

“It answers enough.”

Reiji studies your face like he’s searching for something buried beneath the confidence you wear so easily. The silence stretches, filled only by the quiet flicker of candle flames and the faint rustle of paper still shifting beneath your weight.

Then your hands move.

They slide up along the front of his coat slowly, fingers brushing the fabric as if testing the texture before settling lightly at his waist.

Reiji stiffens immediately.

“Remove them.”

“You’re the one on top of me,” you reply calmly.

“That is irrelevant.”

Your fingers curl slightly against his sides, holding him there.

“Then move.”

He doesn’t.

The tension between you tightens another degree.

Your thumbs press gently against his waist, feeling the rigid control in the way his muscles hold still beneath the layers of clothing.

“You’re tense,” you murmur.

Reiji’s hand shoots forward, catching one of your wrists and pinning it against the desk above your head.

The motion is precise.

Fast.

Your other hand remains where it is, resting lightly at his side.

Instead of resisting, your fingers slide a little lower, brushing the line of his hip before drifting along the side of his thigh.

Reiji’s breath stills for a fraction of a second.

Then he grabs your other wrist as well, pinning both of them above your head against the wood.

His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose from the movement, and he pushes them back up with a quick motion before looking down at you again.

“You are deliberately provoking me.”

Your voice remains calm.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

Your shoulders shift slightly against the desk, the subtle movement bringing your body closer against his where he stands between your legs.

The contact is light.

But impossible to ignore.

Reiji’s jaw tightens.

“You interfere with the balance of this house,” he says, his voice lower now.

“You always did enjoy fixing my messes.”

“That is not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

The question lingers between you.

Reiji leans closer, his face drawing nearer until the space between you narrows to little more than shared breath and candlelight.

“You are creating chaos,” he murmurs.

Your lips twitch slightly.

“And yet you came after me.”

“I came to prevent further disruption.”

“Is that what you call this?”

You shift slightly again, the movement subtle but enough to brush your body against his once more. The contact pulls a faint crease across his brow before he stills again, forcing his composure back into place.

“You remain insufferably arrogant,” he mutters.

“And you remain very easy to read.”

Reiji stares at you for a long moment.

Then slowly—very slowly—his grip on your wrists loosens, though he doesn’t release them entirely.

“Stay,” he says quietly.

The word is measured.

Deliberate.

“But understand something.”

Your eyes remain fixed on his.

“If you continue manipulating my brothers,” Reiji continues, his voice dropping into a softer, colder register, “I will intervene.”

A faint smile spreads across your face.

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a promise.”

Your gaze drifts briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to keep a very close watch on me.”

Reiji straightens slightly, releasing your wrists at last, though he remains standing between your legs for another moment longer than necessary.

“I fully intend to.”

You slide off the desk slowly, straightening your coat as you stand.

For a brief moment you’re close again—close enough that your shoulder brushes his as you step past him toward the door.

Then you pause.

“Reiji.”

He glances toward you.

Your smile is faint, but unmistakably amused.

“You missed the chaos.”

Reiji’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Do not mistake tolerance for nostalgia.”

You chuckle softly and open the door.

Behind you, the candles in the library continue to burn steadily, their light flickering across the rigid stillness Reiji resumes the moment you leave the room.