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ma0m4o · 1 year

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THE PROPHESIED CONQUEROR

“let me taste you,” he murmured, his lips opening against your skin, “and I’ll show you exactly how I’m meant to conquer this world.”

part one dio x reader

word count: 5k

please read the historical notes at the end. I do not consent to my work(s) being published on other platforms (unless you ask nicely.)

content warning(s): oral, rough sex, PIV sex, choking, blood, non-consensual blood drinking, dio/f!reader, reader is a victorian fortune teller, overstimulation. MINORS DNI.

Tonight, your last reading had ran late, and the sun had long since set.

Being about past nightfall was something you had taken great pains to avoid. Fear was abundant in Whitechapel, as woman after woman was found lying dead in the cobblestone streets at dawn. Jack the Ripper, they called him. A deviant that had taken a liking to carving out young girls trying their best to survive. Some of whom you were familiar enough with, enough to where you yourself did your best to be at home by dusk to avoid their fate.

It was of those women that you thought of now when that bell chimed at the door, a tall cloaked figure unfamiliar to you towering in the entryway as you were in the middle of discarding your shawl and jewelry. Like a stand-off, the two of you stood across from each other at ten paces locked in silence. It did no good to show fear; were he in fact the Ripper, you would go down fighting. A lifetime of dragging your brothers out of Ogre Street had taught you enough to hold your own.

You removed the shawl and began unclipping a pair of gaudy earrings dangling from your lobes, ones you had inherited from your grandmother. You would keep the rings, you decided, they could prove useful in a fight.

“We’re closed,” in a brusque tone you barked out the words at the stranger, smoothing your dress. Waving a hand toward the doorway dismissively, you did not spare him a second glance as you turned your back. “Go on, out.”

“Are you? A shame, then. I’ve heard a great deal about your talents. I would hope you’d show them to me.”

The man’s voice was pleasantly deep, persuasive and commanding as the words lilted off his tongue in an affectation not unlike those high society fools you so readily would dupe. Proper, you realized. A man of high standing.

It would do you well to not shut the door on him entirely, he probably had more money in his pocket than you would see in a month’s work. More delicately, though still firm, you focused your attention back to him and offered him a patient, closemouthed smile. “Well, come tomorrow then. We open at noon.”

“Tomorrow would be no good, I’m afraid. I have a rather…sensitive condition that precludes me from being out in the sunlight. Could I perhaps persuade you to make an exception?”

The man raised two hands to the hem of his hood, shining like alabaster in the flickering light of the oil lamps strategically stacked atop the various books and shelves in the shop. Gently pulling back the hood, he revealed himself, and your breath caught in your throat.

You had never seen anything like him. His long blonde hair, tousled by the fabric, framed the sharpness of his cheekbones and steep slope of his nose, the prominent arch of his brow. A look of faint amusement danced in the depths of his strange deep red eyes, shining bright like carnelian against thick black eyelashes; beneath one was the faint scarring one would find on a burn victim. Full lips curved into a catlike smile, his eyes trailed over your figure in a way that made you feel faint as he pulled a heavy coin purse from his breast pocket. Shaking it gently as he dangled the velvet pouch between his thumb and forefinger, the coins rattled within in a rhythmic clang as he raised an eyebrow.

He was handsome, sure. Almost frighteningly so. And you had been right, he carried enough coin to almost make you consider it.

But in the end, that still was not enough to deter you.

“With a killer on the loose? You must be either daft or mad. I apologize deeply for whatever condition ails you, sir, but my safety is worth more than your coin. We’re closed.”

“Are you sure? Madam…Shahrazad, is it?” He cast a bored glance to the calligraphy in the window before turning his gaze to you. “Interesting name choice. Mind if I sit?”

Though he gestured to the sitting chair across you as if seeking permission, he had already begun to pull it back. Taking a seat, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his cheek against his hand, propping himself up by his elbow. “Your pseudonym. It’s Persian, isn’t it?”

“Think so. I read it in a book once. Thought it sounded pretty enough. Mysterious and the like.” It was rarely, if ever, that you broke character for a paying customer; there was something about him that made you want to, and you found the facade slipping away from you like sand between your fingers. You could not hide the embarrassed smile that pulled at your lips, and in a quiet voice you gave him your name.

“I see.” An amused smirk played at his lips and he reclined back. “Fitting name choice for your trade. Shahrazad, the famed queen who invented a thousand and one tales to evade death from her king. Though I must say, I find your true name far more suited to you. Well, little fortune teller. Let’s see your talent.” The man outstretched his palm as he extended his right hand to you, his eyes not once leaving your face as you took the seat across from him.

Looks like he’s not going to take no for an answer. Better get this over with and get home as quickly as possible.

Your acquiescence was little more than a sigh as you sat across him, carefully sizing him up. He watched you in turn, a thin smile of intrigue playing on his lips as his eyes lingered over the swell of your breasts pressed up by your corset; briefly, the lewd thought of those lips on yours, his large hand cupped against your breast played against your mind’s eye and you quickly banished the thought.

Pack it in, woman, you’ve no idea who the man is. Get your payment and be done with it.

Holding his gaze, you dismissed all airs of mystery. “What’s your name?”

He smirked, a gesture that made your throat burn as amusement shone crimson in his stare. “Is it relevant?”

“Why don’t we say it is.”

“Dio Brando.” He tilted his head, examining you with those peculiar eyes as you took his hand into your own; now with intrigue, rather than amusement, his gaze swept over you. “I see you’re less afraid of being murdered.”

“Should I not be?” A note of panic heightened your voice and he laughed, the sound of it like a war drum echoing on the battlefield in the early hours of dawn.

“No, there is no need for such apprehension. I am not the killer you fear. Merely a man seeking his fortune.”

There was something in the way he had said it that was distinctly foreboding, but you brushed it off. Perhaps you were being too critical of the man, though vigilance at this time of night was never something you could indulge too heavily in. You could make out the three distinct, small moles on his left earlobe as he shook his head, leaning back into the sitting chair and training his stare on you with a heat that made you shiver. The mark of fate itself; you knew all too well their significance. Power, the sign of a conquerer. A ruler over the governance of man.

Peering over the lines mapping his palm, you smiled. I could use this.

“I see great power lies in store for you, Dio Brando.” The cheeky tone that had crept into your voice as you said his name made you wince internally; it was almost flirtatious, the way it had rolled off your tongue. “A conquerer destined for greatness.”

Breaking into a triumphant grin, Dio leaned forward. “A conquerer destined for greatness, you say? And what is it that I conquer?”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. Whatever you seek is at your mercy. Wealth, power, influence—all of it is within your grasp. But,” you hovered over a point where two lines met, tapping your finger over it for emphasis. “Something stands in your way.”

As quickly as it came that triumph vanished, annoyance clouding his features like a storm rolling in from the sea. “Something, or someone?”

If he was aware of it he gave no indication, but there was subtle emphasis on the way he had said the word “someone.” Turning your attention back to his palm, you hid a grin. It really is too easy with these types.

“Someone. A man, perhaps?”

Sparing a glance upward to Dio, you noticed the steeling of his gaze. You were right on the mark.

“He’s someone you know.”

Leaning in close, Dio’s face was inches from your own; you could count every lash, every fleck of deep ruby in his irises as he stared at you intently. “And what of his fate? Does he perish?”

“That, I can’t say. Not through palmistry alone. But I can say,” gently you traced a long line coursing through the middle of his palm, a sharp exhale you could not quite place yet still sent your pulse quickening in your veins leaving him as your nail danced over it. “You certainly have a long life ahead of you. I see four lines at your wrist as well. This marks sons.”

You tapped them one by one, his skin ice beneath your fingertip. “You’re cold,” you whispered. “Let me add some wood to the fire, warm your bones. Care for some tea?”

“I’ll have to pass on the tea, but I thank you for the offer.” His eyes followed you as you stood and crossed toward the fireplace, watching each movement with detached interest as you added kindling to the dwindling fire and stoked it with the old iron poker you had placed fireside. That alone was enough to arouse suspicion in you as you glanced sharply over to him, wilting beneath his stare.

What kind of Englishman turns down tea?

Taking your seat, you grasped his hand once more and suppressed a gasp as his closed over yours. “I find myself,” he said idly, “quite cold indeed. Perhaps it’s the winter night.”

He brought your hand to his lips, soft as silk as they brushed against the back of your palm; his gaze lingered over the swell of your breasts against your bodice, peeking just over your chemise. You had dressed a bit more scandalously than needed once men began frequenting the shop, they were always inclined to pay more when you did. Now, it made you feel exposed.

“Whatever the case,” he purred, the words fanning cold against your hand, “I do believe the fire would not warm me as well as your body would quivering beneath mine.”

Your breath died in your lungs, his voice deepening in a way that made your body burn. Clearing your throat, you offered him a coy smile. Money is money. He’s attractive enough. Flirting can’t hurt.

“A bit forward, aren’t we?”

“Perhaps, but you don’t particularly strike me as a woman who doesn’t appreciate it.” Cocking an eyebrow, with a confident hand he pointed to the window.

“Draw the curtains. Unless you’d like whatever sorry souls are scurrying around the streets like rats to watch.”

Collecting yourself and ignoring the way your pulse shot itself down between your legs, you shifted in your seat. “You seem to be mistaken,” you said after a moment, hating how breathlessly the words came out. “Those are not services I provide.”

“Ah,” Dio smiled; a wicked grin that prominently displayed a row of perfectly white teeth. Instantly your eyes drew toward the long canines that shone like bared fangs, fear blooming in the pit of your belly as he let go of your hand.

Those teeth. That’s not—those can’t be real, surely a trick of the light?

“Of course. Make no mistake, I don’t expect them to be. Here,” he tossed the drawstring coin pouch onto the table. “For services rendered. One palm reading, nothing more. Consider the business aspect of our interlude concluded.”

“That’s more than I charge.”

“Feel free to keep the change. Now. Shall you draw the curtains, or shall I?”

Though the words that came out were a refusal, you had rose to your feet. “I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t,” acknowledged Dio with a nod, steepling his fingers as he watched you. “You’re right. Would you like me to leave, then?”

There was something playful in the question, almost knowing. Wordlessly, you stood, staring at the door for a long moment as you did your best to not shrink beneath the weight of his gaze.

It was not as if you were pure. Not a virginal bone existed in your body; an ill-fated romance with the neighbor boy in your youth that had ended in heartbreak for you both had saw to that. But there was a certain respectability to be had in such manners, one that required courting and companionship. A standard you had set for yourself that, despite propositions from wealthy and working class men alike, you did not go against. It did no good to mix business with pleasure, lest you earn the reputation of a woman that would freely bed any man with enough coin and charisma.

But where’s that standard got me? Unmarried in my early twenties, running a shop and worrying about food on the table for children that aren’t even mine. I’m allowed to enjoy myself aren’t I? And he’s handsome. Well-spoken. Probably has a lot more money than he’s carrying now. He could be a good man from a good family. And how long’s it been, anyhow? A girl gets lonely. He doesn’t look the chatty type, I doubt he’ll talk, ruin his family name and all that.

You locked the door and drew the curtains back while the scrape of wood against the floor clattered down around you, his hands at your waist as he kissed the soft spot of flesh where your neck and collarbone met.

“I still,” you gasped as his hands moved to the tie of your bodice, leaning into him as his fingers worked deftly against the knot. “haven’t said yes.”

“Haven’t you?” He undid the tie. “I understand that fortune telling is your line of work, but I can predict well enough that you will. Although you haven’t said it out loud, you’ve already said yes. So tell me. Shall I take you, or shall I take my leave?”

The best you could manage was a soft whimper as he loosened the strings of your bodice and cast it aside, his hands at the hem of your skirt while he undid its laces sending fire to your throat.

“Say yes.” Low and husky, he whispered into your ear, the words were like a lullaby luring you into his spell.

“Yes.”

The skirt fell to the floor, leaving you only in your thin chemise and undergarments beneath.

“I’ve watched you,” he stepped away from you then, turning you to face him while he cast aside his cloak. The thick musculature of his arms and chest rippled beneath his shirt as he moved, undoing the buttons at his collar. “Rushing to close up by nightfall, offering solace to those poor souls running out of your shop desperate for answers. Robbing blind those who would otherwise shut you down. It’s admirable, really. But this suits you far better.”

“This? What do you mean, “this”?” Instinctively you covered your breasts with your arms as you glared up at him. “I’m not some common whore to be bought, and if you thought throwing a coin purse to me made one then you can see yourself out.”

“Perhaps you’re not. But,” he pulled you close, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. “Would I be incorrect in assuming that you want me to fuck you like one?”

You blushed at his vulgarity; the way his eyes roved over each curve and dimple of your body. But you didn’t say no. Instead you pressed yourself against him, curling a hand into a fistful of his flaxen hair and bringing his face close to yours.

“As I thought,” he smirked, swiftly pulling you into his kiss.

Swept up in him as he disrobed quickly while not once breaking away, you ran your hands across the smooth expanse of the chiseled musculature of his back as he tossed his shirt aside, that unnatural coolness of his skin sobering for a brief moment.

Something isn’t right.

Taking a step back you bumped into the table, the bits and baubles atop it jangling across its surface as you grasped its edge to steady yourself. Dio watched you silently, knowingly, as he closed the distance between you, grasping your chemise with one hand.

“You’re afraid. Of what, I wonder? I’ve already assured you I’m not the killer you fear. Perhaps it’s the chill of my flesh, the sharpness of my teeth? Have you put it all together yet, or does your perceptive skill lie only in cold readings and your own self-serving benefit?”

“I—what?”

He tore away the chemise, leaving you nearly bare as he leaned around you and swept one arm over the table’s surface, knocking its contents to the floor with a resounding clash. Rolling your undergarments down your thighs, he smirked down at you, casting a glance of appreciation between your legs as he pushed you onto the table before meeting your eyes. “For one who deals in the supernatural, you seem to be woefully ignorant of its creatures.”

Taking hold of your knees, he brought you forward; just barely your lower half hung over the table’s edge and he guided your back to its surface, the cheap velveteen tablecloth draped over it prickling against your bare skin. Then he sank to his knees and dipped low, hovering at the apex of your sex and pushing your legs apart wide enough to fully expose you. In laborious gasps you struggled to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling in shallow jumps as he nuzzled the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

“Let me taste you,” he murmured, his lips opening against your skin, “and I will show you exactly how I’m meant to conquer this world.”

Two pinpricks, searing white-hot as they sank deep into muscle and sinew, sent pain shooting through you and he clamped his hands down quickly on your thighs with unnatural strength, the flesh bruising quickly beneath his fingertips. A scream tore itself from your throat as you thrashed in his grip before the pain receded, those two sharp stabs like needles replaced with the velvet warmth of his tongue lapping at the wound. A gentle suckling feeling tugged at the spot and a deep groan rumbled from his throat.

“Do you see?” Dio whispered softly against your thigh, gently kneading the spots where he had gripped them. He sounded dizzy, drunk almost, and you suppressed a shudder. “Do you understand now?”

Your mind racing, you sat up quickly, hunger dancing in his eyes as he met yours.

There was a novella you had read in your youth, stashed away in the home of a particularly wealthy family your mother had been commissioned to sew several gowns for; serialized in a literary magazine, it was the story of a young woman in Bavaria and a mysterious house guest that had suffered a carriage accident outside the young woman’s schloss. A stunning beauty named Carmilla, she had sought out the young woman and in the form of a great black cat, fed at her breast while she slept. Herself a vampire, Carmilla had drained the daughter of a family friend, and it was with him that the young woman and her father committed Carmilla to the earth. Though you were still too young to understand exactly why it had enthralled you so, it had sent a warmth then-unfamiliar to your core; in a wash room far more grand than any room you had ever set foot in before, you had explored the center of that warmth, a beautifully consuming wave breaking over you all too quickly and leaving you breathing in spluttering gasps on the floor.

With cold clarity you remembered the novella now, Dio’s lips closing over the wound on your thigh in soft kisses fluttering ever nearer to your sex.

“You can’t—no, but they’re not real. You’re mad.”

“Am I?” With a teasing flick he ran his tongue over your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as he moved to your other thigh. “Or would it be more prudent to consider you mad for so readily agreeing to allow a man you don’t know to take you? Your vigilance, though commendable, seems only to be fixed on a single target. I may not be the killer you feared, but you should have feared me all the same.”

He sank his teeth into you once more, mirroring the bite and drinking deep. Then he broke away, dragging three fingers across the wound and leaning back, studying you with wild eyes. When they met yours, his chin and teeth stained red as he licked his fingers clean, that fear that had built within you receded just enough to let a rush of adrenaline surge through you, buzzing around in your head and heart like frantic butterflies escaping a net.

It excited you, you realized in equal horror and anticipation. He excited you.

For too long, you had closed yourself off to the world, to surrendering yourself to your own desires and pleasures only to survive; now, this man had opened you up, that mix of danger and desire he stirred in you the same as the one that novella had awakened.

A soft laugh broke from him, and he resumed his grip on your thighs, his devilish grin near-feral.

“It would appear you’re no longer afraid. Dare I say you want this?”

“I do,” you breathed, and you fell back to the table as his tongue ran over your folds, drawing quickly up to your center as you grew slick beneath him.

There was nothing gentle or forgiving in the way he went down on you, itself an unforgiving assault on your sex. An indecent cry of exultation broke free from your throat as one slender finger entered you, then another, stretching out before drawing together and curling forward within you, working in a beckoning rhythm in tandem to his tongue. Too quickly you felt yourself brought to the brink of your own pleasure, and with an incoherent whimper you took hold of his hair, your hips bucking beneath the barrage.

“I—oh,” you cried out, dazzling warmth seizing low in your core. Words failed you, the best you could muster an emphatic “yes” as you crested, your walls tightening around his fingers. His laughter a dizzying hum, he did not relent, the sensation of his tongue altogether raw and enticing at your nerves as he maintained his pace. Before long it ricocheted into something close to pain and you propped yourself up by your elbows, trying in vain to wriggle out of his grip. Tension grew deep in you, wrapping around you like a tightening rubber band and you winced.

“Wait,” you panted, letting free your hold, “I can’t—I already—”

“Shh,” gently he admonished you, landing a teasing slap on your thigh. “I’ve not finished yet. I want you trembling and unable to speak.”

You opened your mouth in protest and were cut off instantly by a lap of his tongue, the two digits in you switching over from a beckoning pressure to an unrelenting thrust. Trapped between pleasure and pain you lay splayed out at his mercy, both served as the ends of a pendulum swinging within you that veered sharply closer and closer toward pleasure. Tension coiled deep as your second orgasm began to rear its head and you fell back, giving in freely though it seemed so close and yet still far. Then abruptly, that rubber band snapped, your legs shaking as you twitched and moaned out his name.

Yet still he did not relent, and by your third you were little more than a whimpering mess. Quickly Dio stood, wiping off his fingers before unbuttoning his pants, the outline of his cock hard and stiff against the fabric. Your eyes moved swiftly to its presence, the size of him as intimidating as his height. A dark smile plagued his lips and he leaned over you, roughly grasping at your breast before rolling and pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“Quite immodest, aren’t you? At this rate you’ll have all of Whitechapel running to your cries. We can’t have that, can we?”

One large hand clamped tight around your neck, pressing down on either side as he undressed with his free hand. His grip still afforded you the ability to breathe, though somewhat restricted, and you smiled up at him in confirmation. Briefly he let you go, long enough to pat your cheek approvingly before resuming his grip on your throat; then quickly he freed his cock from his pants. Long, cut and thick with a slight curve that made you gasp in faint alarm, you squirmed beneath him as its tip teased your clit, guided by his hand.

“You’re a sight to behold. Dripping with blood and your own arousal, shamelessly wanting me to fill you with my cock. No air of demure indignation at your impropriety. I’d almost forgotten how easy it is to fuck a low class harlot the likes of you.”

With one fluid thrust of his hips he brought himself in to the hilt, effortlessly stretching you to him as he stilled, watching your eyes widen. Had you not been reduced to a mewling puddle, you may have even been offended. Yet all his words served to do was excite you further, and you clasped a hand across his wrist.

Then he began to move in you, and you lost all sense of yourself completely.

As relentless as he was with his tongue, so he was in you. The table shook beneath his thrusts and dimly, you feared it would break. Dio, it seemed, shared your concern, leaving you long enough to draw you up by the throat and bring you to the counter before bending you forward and taking hold your hips. Spearing you with little warning, Dio pulled you back against him by your hips, his relentless force rough enough to make your knees weak. Aimlessly you grasped at the countertop for purchase, the sound of flesh against flesh a loud and lewd smack that reverberated in the close quarters of the shop. One hand left your hips and tangled itself into your hair, grabbing a fistful and snapping your head back. Back arched, you were brought upward enough for Dio to resume his hold of your throat, his breath a hiss at your ear.

He pushed your head forward, throwing you back toward the counter as his hand returned to your hip. With both he pushed you from him and turned you around, then lifted you onto the countertop in one effortlessly fluid motion before thrusting back into you, one hand back at your throat and the other wrapping your legs around his waist.

With daunting fervor his lips crashed against yours as he placed his hand on the small of your back, the faint taste of blood and your arousal sweet and metallic on his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, and his pace grew heavy and erratic as he moaned, deepening the kiss. Gradually it became more difficult for you to breathe and you grew dizzy, your thoughts an empty light-headed haze.

With a final, forceful thrust and a sharp moan, he withdrew, heat spilling onto your belly in stuttering ropes of pearlescent white.

The two of you sat still for a moment, drenched in sweat and locked in the kiss, Dio’s hand still at your throat. Dully you became aware of the building ache gathering at your center as Dio let go of your neck and brought his fingers to its source.

“I do hope,” he said quietly, massaging your clit with nimble dexterity as he laughed, “you did not think this would be over so soon.”

“What—?” Adding enough pressure to silence you and send your eyelids fluttering, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Bringing his other hand away from your back, he pressed a chiding finger against your lips. “I was quite clear about you being unable to speak.”

He dipped low to your neck, running his tongue down its length in a way that made you shiver. You braced yourself, fully aware and ready for what was to come. Dragging his fangs across the expanse of flesh, he bit down and you inhaled sharply, waiting for the pain to die off into something unsettlingly enticing as he brought you close. Breaking away, blood poured down in thin rivulets to your collarbone and breast, and with a dark grin Dio dipped low to lick it off.

“You’re a fun little plaything, aren’t you, little fortune teller? I’d rather prolong our time together before yours ends. Wouldn’t you?”

Not entirely sure what he had meant your response was little more than a shallow whimper, the wriggling of your hips against his hand, and he flashed you a triumphant smile.

“Then I suppose,” Dio said lightly, caressing your cheek before hovering above your neck. “We had best make the most of these final hours.”

He thrust in you as he drank, his cold laugh rumbling against your throat.

some historical notes:

most portrayals of female victorian era fortune tellers are based in overt fetishization of roma women, and heavily stereotypes romani culture. this was something that i conscientiously avoided. to be respectful in the portrayal, i took great care to ensure that her role as a fortune teller and appearance exemplified her class and status.

shahrazad is a direct reference to one of the folk tales in the novel one thousand and one nights. the origin of the character is persian, and the novel was popular in both georgian and victorian england. dio would have some knowledge of that, which is why he references it.

fortune telling was so prominent in victorian england that a law was passed to prohibit it in 1824. despite this, they existed everywhere (a canonical reference in phantom blood is wang chan.) in both phantom blood and stardust crusaders dio shows a pronounced interest in fortune tellers/fortune telling, so I wanted to tie into that.

the reader’s outfit specifically is used to demonstrate that she is working class/of low birth. shawls were a common adornment for working class women in the winter months, and canonically this part of phantom blood takes place in winter. her jewelry, which is described as gaudy, is another signifier of her status—the timeframe of phantom blood falls squarely within the aesthetic period of victorian fashion, which called for understated jewelry and makeup. as part of the working class she would have neither, and her jewelry is outdated for the time. her outfit itself was largely inspired by reference photos of brona croft from penny dreadful.

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ma0m4o · 1 year

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HEARTBREAKING: Poor girl has to get out of the soft warm bed even though she is so so so so comfy

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ma0m4o · 1 year

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safe house

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader Wordcount: 3.1k Warnings: semi public sex. rough smut. pain kink. size difference. ghost is a simp. sex on a couch. cum play Summary: “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.” Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Of all the risky shit you've participated in, deciding to sit with Ghost post-mission takes the cake. Things just happen. Out of your control.

You can't not listen to him.

Even your teammates give you nervous glances when Simon barks at you to come see him for a "debrief."

You're screwed, lass.

Eat a dick, Soap.

So here you are, forced to brush shoulders with your hulking lieutenant while the others shower or scrape cold chili out of cans in the tiny safe house kitchen.

Everything is secure.

Ghost smells like fireworks. There’s snow still melting in his boots. He’s managed to remove all his gear aside from his gun on the coffee table, but he’s just as enormous. Burly. Rippling with that animal aggression, he can’t shake off after a mission.

“You should shower,” you suggest sweetly. You’d gotten first dibs, but you’d been unable to scrape off the blood wedged under your fingernails and mud crusted to your hairline like sea barnacles. You feel dirty, as if the job had left you withered and full of dust. There’s the particular flavor of guilt clinging to the underside of your mouth.

“You didn’t listen to a direct order,” Ghost utters in a voice so quiet it could flicker into smoke. He was screaming at you earlier, demanding that you return to him instead of toward the USB drive with the intel. Red Fox. You take one more bloody step, and I’ll suspend your ass.

“It would have been for nothing had we not gotten it,” you protest. Deny. Deny. Double down. Invent excuses, even though the scariest man alive is speaking to you like he may just break your neck.

He shifts on the couch. The sounds of your teammates seem very far away, although they’re only in the next room. Simon is angry, and it’s not the familiar hot-headed fury he favors. No. It’s chilling. He’s holding himself back. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gloveless fingers curl around the edge of the couch. They’re enormous hands. They can wrap entirely around your bicep, the nape of your neck, or the crown of your skull.

He leans back, thighs spread open, stealing space and shoving you toward the end of the couch without even moving a muscle.

“I’m sorry,” you offer rather pathetically. Your voice is audibly weary, utterly subservient. Ghost runs a tight fucking ship, and everything can collapse if you step a hair out of line.

He presses his arm against yours, lowering his head closer to your ear. “I don’t give a fuck.”

His hand finds your hip, and before you realize it, he’s got one arm banded around your chest while keeping you pinned to his front. Hee slides behind you until you’re both horizontal, your legs tangled together, his covered mouth puffing warm air against your jaw. You could be spooning if his embrace wasn’t so carved with aggression.

“You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders,” he growls as he shoves your sweats down your thighs.

“Wha-”

You choke on a gasp as the muscular forearm around your cotton-covered tits squeezes, sealing you into him until you can’t budge an inch. You can hear him fumbling with the button on his pants. There’s blood on his boots. The denim and his sweatshirt irritate your bare skin. You’re damp from your shower, and he’s coated in a thin film of battle. “Simon,” you warn. “They’ll - they’ll come in.”

Unbothered, he continues, and you can feel him, heavy and hot against your lower back. “What did I tell you?” he mutters into your hair. “Before we left...when I had you on your knees?”

Your mind is sprinting on overdrive. The blood rushing under your skin is flaring to an almost unbearable heat. Yesterday morning? You’d snuck into the bathroom with Simon...gotten on the cold tile floor, and sucked him off until he’d nearly punched a hole in the cheap plaster wall. He’d been surprised. It’s not like you hadn’t screwed before, but anytime you ever gave him pleasure when it was only about him, he’d get totally weird.

Like he didn’t deserve it even though he -

Without warning, he breaches you with a thick finger. You bite down on your lower lip, swallowing a grunt. Your sweats are caught around your knees, and his tree trunks for legs spread you open and stretched like you’re latched into an intricate web. He lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt, drawing his finger out to the tip before sinking it back to the knuckle.

“Jesus, Riley,” you moan, and the arm across your breasts lifts just enough so he can cover your mouth with his hand.

“What did I say, love?”

Your brain isn’t working. Your entire focus has narrowed to the overwhelming sensation of him finger-fucking you from behind. It is a rare show on his part. It’s risky, but Simon Riley is a super soldier, and his hyper-fixation is now firmly on the task of ruining you.

He lowers the hand from your lips to allow you to speak.

“Swallow it?” you try, and he pauses before an unsettling, baritone noise reverberates within his massive chest and he withdraws his finger only to bury two inside you.

You jerk, keeping silent but dangerously on the brink of a damn orgasm. You’re drenched, and Ghost’s slow, drawn-out movements squelch with every perfunctory pump of his hand.

You can feel the hard shell of his mask against the crown of your head. “You’re going to be the death of me, kid,” Ghost sighs.

He sounds...exasperated. Perhaps, you had, admittedly, fucked up. You shouldn’t have done it. You should have listened to him. Escape had been narrow and made even more narrow by you wasting precious seconds to grab the intel. Even if Ghost had the countenance of a bull shark, he cared more than most. He was staunchly loyal. He wouldn’t lose people under his watch.

But you aren’t just people.

Fuck buddy? Sure.

More than that?

You weren’t entirely oblivious to how he touched you outside their secret trysts. His gaze lingered, his presence curled around you like an oversized shadow.

What had he said yesterday morning?

“Stay alive,” he husked as his palm enveloped the top of your skull, those sleepy, ink-filled eyes searching yours. His thumb traced your cheek as you rested the side of your face against his thigh. The salt of him coated your throat, the nape of your neck still tingled from his iron grip when he finished in your mouth. “Please.”

Gingerly, you tug an arm free to grasp the hand silencing you. You pull it away, and Ghost, Simon, allows it. Shooting him a desperate, aching glance over your shoulder, you press your lips to his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll stay alive for you.”

You give his words back, hoping it’s enough.

See? I was listening. I was listening as you throat-fucked me.

Pleased, he murmurs your name as he presses closer before you force two of his fingers into your mouth and suck. He goes rigid, and the other set of fingers inside you become still as if he’s trying to assess this startling development and figure out the next strategy. It is only a moment, a few seconds, and then he draws away from your cunt to grasp the underside of your thigh. He eases it up before shifting his hips forward, and there he is: his thick, unforgiving length crudely gliding through your folds. The pleasure comes in bursts. Tiny pricks. Stars. Each time the head of his cock grazes your clit, it sends sparks unfurling in your belly. You shove your ass back into him, demanding and needy.

You started this, you want to say when you know he’d turn it around with: You did when you didn’t fucking listen.

His hand returns to your hip, his thumb rubbing small, tight circles into the flesh. “Desperate, are we?” His voice is rough - all gravel and artillery smoke and so low it sweeps like a tongue against the seam of your pussy. “I thought you were scared the others would see us?”

You release his fingers with a slick pop, and he, once again, wraps his forearm around your chest in order to anchor you to him. You can just imagine the scene the team would walk in on.

Ghost, fully clothed, with his tattooed arm snug around your tits. You’re in a flimsy tank top with your sweats tangled around your knees. His mask-covered face is notched over your shoulder. To anyone, he’d look untouched while you were ruined. Bare thighs glistening with your own arousal. Humiliating.

“Do you care?”

He chuckles, and it vibrates against your back. “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.”

You shiver, involuntarily clenching around nothing. “Right,” you croak as you feel his hips draw back again, the fingers holding your thigh in the air, are digging into your skin. Blunt nails. Dirt. “Because...because then they’d know I’m yours.”

That must do something to him because he sucks in a breath and suddenly, without hesitation, slides into you until his groin is nestled against your ass. You black-out. Your vision swims and blurs until you can’t distinguish between the dark fireplace and the shitty armchairs. His cock is too big. That’s a stone-cold fact. The first time he’d fucked you had been more than a challenge. He’d prepared you with his tongue, fingers, spit and lube you filched from Soap, but it had still been difficult.

He’s breathing steadily as his heart thumps against your back. His hand falls to your stomach, where he can, undoubtedly, feel the head of his cock nudging one of your internal organs. You feel full - crammed to the brim and feverish. Sweat collects at your hairline as you endure the pressure of him inside you. The girth. The weight. Every time Ghost fucks you, it’s a lesson in endurance. He can go for hours, and you take it like his well-trained soldier. The two of you are an HR nightmare.

You squeak when Ghost presses his balaclava-covered mouth to your neck. “Good girl,” he soothes, clucking his tongue. “Good girl...just take it like you are. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Well-endowed fuck.

It’s only painful in a good way. Your body accommodates him, allowing him to squeeze an inch deeper as his hand slides down from your belly to your clit. He presses it gently before drawing circles. He retreats, his cock dragging through your walls until he’s halfway out before he plunges back in. The pace is unhurried. He’s grinding into you as if he’s savoring every part of your pussy. He cups your tits, grasps your throat, and explores the sensitive flesh stretched around his enormous shaft.

You’re never having anal.

Unless he asked really nicely.

“I want to mark you,” he muses through long, deliberate strokes. “If I come in that lovely cunt, you’d keep me in there, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, even though you sound like you’ve been drowned and spit back onto the beach. You’re so sick with him, overwhelmed and a little in love and how did this fucking happen? “Anything you want, Luitenant.”

He delivers a sharper thrust that nearly propels you off the couch, but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. His strength. His presence. He smells like sweat and packed dirt and a forest fire. “You’re bloody obedient when I’ve got my cock in you.”

Obviously.

“I know,” you murmur as you bite your lip again when he strikes something tender. He’s rubbing your clit in time with every snap of his hips, dick pistoning inside you as your lower muscles buckle, your thighs quivering as your pleasure hangs precariously over a steep drop. His legs wedge yours open, keeping your cunt spread as he manipulates your body like one of his precious guns. If I move this, what will this do? Let me make it better.

“I’m so - so fucking easy,” you slur.

“No,” he grits as his pelvis begins to stutter against your ass, his breathing ragged. “No, you’re the most difficult thing I’ve ever had beneath me - ever - ever had to fuckin’ handle.”

God - that has double meanings. You’re his subordinate. You’re his lover. You’re on your knees for him, but it goes both ways. It had been Ghost who had turned the lights off the first time and removed his mask. He’d trusted you enough to shut your eyes and let him lick your pussy until you were in tears.

I wouldn’t look, Riley. That’s something I won’t take unless you give it.

You had felt his face, though. In the pitch blank, you had touched his full lips, the defined lines of his cheekbones. You’d felt his thick, silky hair and the bumps of various scars.

You feel sexy.

You’re trying to butter me up.

The sounds from the kitchen startle you. The men are taunting each other. A pan clatters. The volume turns up, and you suddenly realize that you and Ghost are making quite a bit of noise. The couch is creaking. Your cunt indecently squelches with every spear of his cock. He’s grunting into your hair, the skin at his groin smacking the full flesh of your ass as he bottoms out.

“They’re going to hear us,” you warn. You’re on the cusp of exploding, breaking into fragments.

“They probably already do,” he quips before fucking you harder. Your hand flies up to clutch at his burly forearm, your other hand rises higher to grasp the back of his head. You want his hair, you want to fist it and hurt him just a little. “Easy, love,” he urges. “Relax...relax...you’re getting too tense.”

He’s right. Your orgasm has fluttered away because now you’re fully aware that your teammates have probably created a racket to drown out their Lieutenant, their stiff, cold enigma of a Lieutenant, railing their comrade into the couch.

“Focus, kid,” he orders bluntly as if he was chastising you on a mission. He ducks his head and nuzzles your cheek to coax you back into his fold. “They won’t come in,” he drawls in a low, piercing rumble. “They won’t say a goddamn word because they know I’d murder every one of them if they tried ripping me away from this cunt.”

Holy. Fuck.

Everything has climbed up your throat. Your head is on backward. The pressure of his cock, his fingers on your clit, and his massive body wrapped around your own is causing the air to crackle.

“Simon,” you gasp as he readjusts his grip and forces you forward. He shifts his hips so he’s thrusting down, and it’s impossible to know when he’ll be done. He rides your ass until his pace falters and his cock twitches and throbs before he abruptly settles, douses out the fire, and continues at a more even, lazy rhythm.

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he encourages softly. It’s dipped in a tenderness that surprises you. His voice remains deep and gruff, but there’s a gentleness behind it. You’ve never seen his face, and the intimacy with which he handles you is nothing you have ever experienced. It is too much.

Ghost gives you his history in patches. There are brief moments where finishes and rolls off you, and you both just stare at the ceiling, fingers brushing in the dark. “There’s this pub by the Irwell that I think you’d fancy,” he remarks. “Jesus knows if it’s still around, but I reckon you’d like it.”

It’s not just sex. This is not just sex at all.

Stay alive.

Please.

You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders.

Simon is coaxing you into your climax. He’s buried so deep that you can feel the tip of him nudge against your womb. You feel swollen and raw, and his muscles twitch against you. You’re throbbing like an open wound as he maneuvers your ragdoll body on his cock. It should be overwhelming, but his fearsome rough voice is full of yearning when he motivates you to find your pleasure.

The tang of your climax builds until there’s nowhere else for it to go. It roars forward, jolting through your limbs as it forces you to curl into a fetal position, but Simon is right there. He holds you in place, his mask grazing your cheek. “C’mon, love,” he says. “That’s it. Good girl.”

As his palm clamps over your mouth, you erupt, and you bathe his cock in your climax. Hot and flooded as the punch of a tropical storm. “Bite me,” Ghost demands, instinctively thrusting into your soaked, fluttering heat. “Do what you need, love. Take it out on me.”

He groans when your teeth nip his palm. You bite harder, and he nearly chokes.

You don’t understand how this has gone from him enraged to riding you to a full gallop to allowing you to use him for your own pleasure. As he fucks you through it, jamming into the searing, wet clutch of your spasming sex, he hits his end. His hands on you tighten as he makes a deep, grating noise from his chest, filling you up. It’s warm and somewhat soothing. Shuddering, Ghost has to brace his arm on the couch to keep himself from collapsing on top of you.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters as he buries his face into your neck. “Jesus.”

He slips out, and there is only emptiness. You’re aching and sore, and he pets at your cunt, pressing his come deeper so it doesn’t drip. You shift onto your side to face him, his hand still nestled against your pussy, his eyes black and heavy-lidded as they regard you with subtle affection.

“Keep me in there,” he reminds you.

Hesitantly, you snag the edge of his black ski mask and slowly lift it. He stops breathing, his heart beginning to thump wildly as his gaze widens. However, he doesn’t stop you, and it’s a test you predicted.

“Red,” he warns. Your call sign. The bite of his authority rippling between you.

You hitch the mask just a centimeter above his top lip. You sit up awkwardly, your sweats still knotted around your knees, your lower half gone to jello. You grasp his stubbled jaw and kiss him tenderly. He stiffens, making a startled noise in the back of his throat before he decidedly returns it, licking into the cavern of your mouth as he forces you onto your back and wedges himself between your legs. The pointed edge of his skull mask digs into the top of your cheek, but you’re past caring. You can feel his cock filling against the crease of your thigh.

Again? You can’t go again. You’d surely split in half.

“Don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind. “I just want this.”

Just this. The couch, the safe house, and their teammates only a room away.

He breathes against your mouth, the sliver of his secret skin scratching your own. You nudge your thumb along a scar and kiss him harder.

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ma0m4o · 1 year

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🥜🗑🗯 ˙♡̷̷۫۫ ˖𓏲 ִֶָ 𓄼𓈒๋ me and denji !!

2K notes · View notes

ma0m4o · 1 year

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word count: 7.2K

paring: Bokuto x fReader

warning(s): panty stealing, male masturbation - in several locations (shower, bedroom, laundry room), scent kink (wasn't my intention but it's in there), hint of obsessive behaviour oral. Bokuto is a perv in this, so be warned.

authors note: well, it has finally arrived - this darn fic I have been spending way too long on; to put it into perspective I started this in July. But anyway, what started as self-indulgent fluff morphed into something completely different and I am pretty happy with it! Hope you all enjoy this new side to our favourite volleyball playing himbo~ 🔮

Life always had a way of making itself just a little difficult, no matter what you did; even if the answer led to the best possible solution and outcome for you; you had to make sacrifices so you could succeed in a world that was always trying to see you fail. This was one such occasion.

You just moved to a new neighborhood, one that was far away from family and friends for your career. In order to move ahead, to gain the comfortable life you always wanted for yourself, you had to move away from all that you knew. It wasn’t easy, the decision taking you weeks to accept. At least you had your move, the unpacking and organizing of your new apartment, and your work to keep you busy; to keep your mind occupied on things that didn't revolve around how alone you felt.

But that could only last for so long, a temporary solution for an abiding problem; you knew it wouldn’t last. And after all the boxes were unpacked, all your furniture was properly arranged - and rearranged, and you finally found your stride at work; you couldn’t distract your mind any longer. That getting up and ready for work became a task that grew harder and harder to do every day. After a few months of adjustments, you just couldn’t bear the loneliness you felt whenever you came home; to emptiness and silence.

It wasn’t something you were used to and you knew you would never become. It never happened before in your life, never was a constant, even if your family was away you could always hop onto chats and spend your nights laughing with your friends.

And now? Well, you were halfway across the world. When you got up, your friends were fast asleep, and when they finally sent you a message you were on your way to bed. There was no real way to quell the ache that you felt in your heart in the traditional ways you knew how; you knew you needed a different solution.

And there was really only one solution you could think of.

You got yourself a dog.

A little lapdog with a goofy, but sweet, personality from the shelter nearby. A scruffy thing who couldn’t contain the hopeful wag of his tail as you walked by his kennel; one that couldn’t help but jump on the chain link barrier that separated you both, and then onto your legs when you went to greet him. One that filled your face with almost desperate kisses when you finally bent down to say hello; to give him a chance at a new home.

And it seemed you both were made for each other. Out of all the ones you saw that day, this one looked almost as lonely as you. But now? Well, the loneliness that etched across your sweet dog’s face no longer showed, just as the heaviness that clouded and weighed your heart down started to fade away.

No longer would you come home to emptiness, instead you had a ball of fluff and fur to greet you with enthusiasm as they wagged their tail and jumped on you in excitement to see you once more. And no longer would your little friend ever have to worry about sleeping all alone on a cold cement floor, with only a thin bed to keep him from getting a chill, wondering when someone would take him home and give him a warm bed to sleep on.

A match made in heaven, you joked as you snuggled up together each night on the couch to watch your favorite TV program after enjoying a nice dinner. Though your little furry friend always broke up your cuddle session, and your show, in the middle as they whined to go to the bathroom.

You would always oblige, and soon it became a part of your schedule. You began to enjoy the fresh air and routine it gave; to where 5-minute walks would turn into 10 and then into 15. Now your evenings consisted of 30-minute walks with your best friend by your side, trotting along as you mapped out all sorts of new paths to take, new sights to see, and new parts of the city to explore.

You finally, after a few months of exploring with your enthusiastic little friend, found a route that fit both of your needs. Lots of beautiful scenery for you to enjoy with limited hills and roads to cross so your aging dog didn’t lose steam too quickly.

Every night you did this little song and dance, to the point where if you ran even a few minutes behind your little friend would start giving you attitude. You also surmised that the time you did go on your walks was perfect as you never really ran into anyone, or their own dogs, or had to worry about anything else in the world that would break your stride. For all you knew, it was just you and your dog - no one or anything else mattered.

Well, turns out there was one other person in your world, though he had yet to make it be known.

Besides, Bokuto had not meant for this to be a daily occurrence.

He noticed you a few times whenever he got home after practice, your walking figure catching his eye whenever he moved about in his apartment. He never really gave it, or you, much thought.

That was until he injured his leg and had to be on bed rest for two whole weeks. Not being able to move, not being able to practice and play volleyball - the one thing he loved most - was nearly unbearable. But that doom and gloom would be alleviated, just slightly, whenever you would walk by.

Bokuto wasn’t sure why, maybe it was the consistency? The reassurance then whenever your recognizable figure crossed through his window meant that he got through another day. Maybe it was because it gave him something to do, he did find himself casually watching other dog walkers that passed by throughout the afternoon and evening. Or maybe it was because it was specifically you. Bokuto couldn’t put his finger on why, but something drew him to you.

“Probably because she’s new around here.” That was his reasoning. Made sense to him, a new person in the neighborhood would cause some added curiosity.

But he knew that wasn’t the case. It’s not like he knew anyone in his neighborhood, let alone his apartment building.

Bokuto truly had not meant for all this to escalate out of proportion; to peer out his apartment window every day until you showed up. And now here he was, weeks after being healed, rushing to get his shoes off and throw his stuff to the side so he could watch you pass by. It was pathetic really, to be so enthralled by someone who walked across the street every day, but his heart kept pulling him closer to the window.

His friends had teased him about it, one day after practice as he rushed to get home with them by his side so they could drop their stuff off at his place before going out for the night. Watching him as he got all flustered at a person across the street.

“Dude, it’s kinda creepy, ya know!” Atsumu laughed, arms laying across the taller man's shoulder as he leaned on him - peering out the window to see you obviously unaware of their stares “Watching this girl obsessively.”

“That’s textbook stalker behavior~” Kuroo would join, also laying his weight on him, poking his flushed cheeks in a teasing manner.

“N-no it’s not! I am just making sure she passes my block safely! It’s dangerous to walk at night, you know!” Bokuto would shoot back.

“Ya’live in the safest neighborhood in the whole city!”

“Yeah, and besides whatta gonna do from all the way up here?”

Bokuto just shrugged them off, mumbling more to himself some sort of excuse for his behavior - some sort of made-up plan he had in place should the need to rescue you arised. But he knew, as much as they did, that there was no plan - or excuse - he just liked knowing you walked by him every day; that you were in his life for a brief moment.

At the time, he didn’t think much of it; at how alone he really was. Thinking that when he caught your eye briefly and grew a little bashful was out of embarrassment and not because it made his heart flutter. But it happened once again when they were hanging out, a little get-together before leaving on tour, how Bokuto would keep looking out his window with worry in his eye before they would soften into a form of sweet longing, that same woman walking by.

“Just go down and ask her out!” Hinata's bright voice would encourage him.

“Not like she’ll turn you down!’ Atsumu would add with a wink

The teasing would continue, even after you passed, of how much of a love-struck chicken he was for not talking to you. About how he was a little creepy for just staring at you and your dog as you walked by without a care in the world.

“I know,” Bokuto would sigh, longingly, in agreement “I’m just waiting for the right moment is all.”

Then, months later, after the winter tour had ended and the world was in the warmer, but rainier, spring weather, Bokuto would finally get that opportunity. When you accidentally dropped your pair of gloves that were stored in your pocket; an accident you didn't notice as you were too busy getting, and opening, the doggy bag that also resided in your cute little coat. Quickly, without truly thinking, he ran out to grab them. Waiting until after you had turned the corner off his street to make his way to where they lay, his bare feet becoming frozen on the concrete as he trotted over. He didn’t want them to be stolen or swept away with the wind to be forever lost. Gloves were expensive after all! And besides, given the cute design they had, he could tell you would miss them. A small sense of victory filled his being, as he now had the perfect chance to talk to you.

But that chance never really did come.

You came by the next day, earlier than normal, making Bokuto curse as he contemplated running out of his apartment in nothing but a towel; figuring against it as it would not be the best first impression or look good on his character or reputation, and he knows Iwaizumi would kill him if he got sick doing something so idiotic.

So, he figured he would get the chance to meet you tomorrow. That he would make sure to be ready early just in case you decided to pull a stunt like that again. But as he eagerly waited by his window, gloves in hand, the next evening you never did appear; you figure never walking down his street. He waited until late that night, just in case, but you never showed. Not the next day, or the day after that.

Soon days turned into weeks and then into months, and you had never once appeared in his window, walking on that sidewalk across the street. The gloves, tan in colour and with bright pink pom poms, lay untouched as they would greet him by his door every day, waiting for you as much as him.

Bokuto wondered where you, and your little furry companion, had disappeared to. He hoped it was somewhere good. Couldn’t help but have his mind wander to where you were and to all of the things you were getting up to, and couldn’t help but dream that it involved him as well.

Maybe you were in the countryside, enjoying the vastness and peace they gave as their winds swooped over the wheat fields and across your cheeks. Or perhaps in the mountains, enjoying their trails as you hiked up and down them, your dog in tow trying to keep up with a tree branch in their mouth. Or maybe you were in some onsen, inhaling the steam with a happy sigh as you soaked in the hot, soothing, waters.

Bokuto always had to stop his brain from continuing when he thought of you at hot springs; ignoring the strain of his cock as he thought about how soft and warm your skin would be - how he wished to be bathing right next to you, to feel every curve of your body.

He had to stop, he didn’t want to defile you like that; not without even knowing your name.

Bokuto just wanted you back. Even if it was only for the mere moments, the few seconds he got when you strolled on by with your happily trotting dog; strolled on briefly through his life with that pretty smile.

You hadn’t meant for your trip back home to last as long as it did. What started as a simple voyage home early for the Easter holiday extended considerably to having you stay. With your family’s urgent needs overtaking any reason you may have had to leave. You were lucky the job you had was flexible, able to accommodate you in your time of need, and that you had your dog with you; unable to bring yourself to think of what might have happened if you left him in a kennel all those months.

Now you were just lucky everything ended well and that you could finally get back to your cozy apartment and the routine you had made for yourself and your sweet dog; the one you neglected for a long time, and were sorely wanting to get back to.

You sighed in delight when the fresh air you longed to return to, that only this city could provide, hit your face as you made you trek out on your usual route once more; the sereneness you felt was like seeing an old good friend after years apart, as your feet began their first steps on the pavement while you enjoyed the late October breeze.

It was a long and grueling practice and Bokuto truly couldn’t think of a better way to end his day than crawling into bed and forgetting it ever existed. Kicking his door open with a groan, practically throwing his bag by his coat closet with a loud thud, and placing his keys in the bowl on the little table he kept nearby. He eyed the gloves too small for him briefly, eyes and body filled with a sense of sadness as he regaled at how he let his opportunity go.

Kicking himself internally he sighed, hands rubbing his face as he groaned once more, this time in frustration, as he walked further into his home.

“Why didn’t I just go out there? Not like I was naked…” he grumbled as he began shrugging off his coat, slowly making his way to his bedroom and walking by that cursed window.

His eye caught movement, one that made his head turn slightly out of impulse. But never fully, he knew it was of someone walking by, so he ignored it at first. Assuming it was someone just doing a late job, running an errand, or stopping by to get their mail. Whatever the case was, he didn’t want to think further of it - to have those thoughts lead to you.

But something inside him told him to take another glance; compelling him to go to the window like he once had many times before and to take a proper look, his heart aching at him to try just one more time.

And there was you. Appeared at long last when all hope seemed lost, leaving him dumbstruck as he stared out at your form with his jaw slack and his eyes wide.

It didn’t take long for him to break out of his surprised stupor, rushing out of his apartment as he fumbled with his coat, falling with little grace as he tripped over his duffle bag but with no care about the poor downstairs apartment that had to endure the loud thud or his now aching knee or whether he had grabbed his keys to prevent him of being locked out. All that mattered at that moment was you, and the tan gloves that you had lost and which would grant him the opportunity to finally talk to you.

Bokuto called out to you, his voice he was sure louder than expected as you jumped in scared surprise, as he dashed across the street to where you stood in a stupor. He was out of breath, he knew, and he also knew that while he stood there panting to try and regain it was not helping his case.

This was truly the last thing you were expecting, normally your brief counters with people were a polite smile as you passed each other, briefly sharing the sidewalk. And it was so far and few in between that you never really thought much about it or the people you passed; them always being a blur in your memory.

But this? Well, you would be sure never to forget this moment. Not only was your heart racing, the loudness of the man’s shout before you startled you to the point you were sure you would keel over with a heart attack at any moment. But that he was incredibly tall and imposing and…..handsome.

You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at the sight of him, both out of bashfulness over how close he was and how his golden eyes bore into your own, and in embarrassment at how little your fight or flight response acted; just allowing you to stand there frozen with a dumb gaped look on your face.

“I- I’m really sorry for scaring you!” Bokuto apologizes, moving his open palms up to showcase he meant to harm “You just um - uh you dropped your gloves a while ago and I-I uh grabbed them, which I guess sounds bad, but I just didn’t want them stolen or anything, and I- I have been meaning to give them back to you so um…..”

Bokuto gently, but with little grace as he fumbled for a moment, pulled your gloves out of his pocket, holding them out for you to take “Yeah… here. Sorry, it took so long to give them back…”

You found his eagerness, and nervous fumbling adorable, as you timidly laughed; gingerly reaching out to take your old gloves from his grasp.

“Thank you…” You mumbled, your voice unable to break higher than that “But I suppose it wasn’t your fault. I’ve been gone for a while, family stuff ya know? But um, again, thanks. It’s really sweet of you to wait so long to give them back.”

You had a hard time meeting his gaze, embarrassed even more over the fact that you not only lost your gloves, but that you forgot all about it and that the poor man before you had kept them for months, waiting to get rid of them and back to you, and that said man was staring so intently at you - you had never been looked at in such a way and you didn’t know what to do.

“Of course, it’s only the neighborly thing to do, right?” Bokuto smiled, making your knees buckle more, “I’m Bokuto Koutaro, I live in this building here! And who is this?”

“I am so sorry!” You squeaked, trying to gently pry your dog off his legs “His name is Rufus, he’s so terrible about jumping on people, he just wants pets, I’m so so sorry!”

“Hey, don’t we all?” He laughed, crouching down to give your dog the attention he so cutely asked for. “Aren’t you a cutie! So, Rufus, are you new around here? New to the neighborhood maybe? Cause I have seen lots of cute dogs but never seen you before!”

“Kinda,” You giggled, laughing at how your dog had thrown himself on his back for belly rubs and the cute way this stranger - well not technically stranger anymore - was indirectly asking you questions “We moved here almost a year ago, but only really started walking this route for a few weeks before, well, we had to leave for a bit.”

“Yes…. I see, that’s very interesting Rufus, thank you.” Bokuto nodded, sticking his chin out further to get some of the kisses your dog was trying to give “Now tell me, what’s your pretty owner’s name, hm?”

“O-oh uh um!” You fumbled, caught off guard by the compliment, but still managed to provide him the response he was looking for; giving forth a shy smile to his more bright one.

“Well, that’s a pretty name, isn’t it Rufus?”

“T-thank you, um we-we um should get going, the sun is starting to set and stuff… don’t want to take up more of your time.” You mumbled, tugging your dog gently, and successfully, away to slowly start walking your route once more.

“H-hey, wait!” Bokuto called out, taking a few steps to close the small gap that was made between the two of you “Would… would you like to grab a coffee or something sometime?”

His request caught you off guard, your gaping mouth that you had to shut quickly (and loudly) proof of that, but not in a bad way as you nervously cleared your throat

“Y-yeah, that sounds really nice,” You smiled excitedly, almost giddy as rummaged in your pocket for a moment to pull out your phone “Give me your number and I’ll let you know when I’m next available.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, his eagerness once again making you giggle and his bright smile making your knees buckle, as he grabbed hold of your phone, waiting not a second to input his number along with a cute nickname before handing it back.

“Text me soon, okay?”

“O-okay!” You agreed, your smile almost mirroring his own as you gave him a final wave goodbye, tugging your dog gently off his legs one last time to resume your walk.

You both felt weightless as you walked back to your respective homes. You were unable to weaken the dumb, broad, smile that was glued on your face as giggled to yourself over your encounter with that handsome man, as you kept glancing down at the gloves he so kindly returned to you - whispering your thanks as you held them to your heart.

Bokuto’s legs felt like jelly as he sauntered back over to his building, fumbling with the intercom to try and gain access to the complex; his own dreamy and dumb expression never leaving his face as he almost incoherently asks to be let back in. Stumbling his way back up to his floor and through the threshold of his home, he thought of you and your cute smile; how he wants to see it again and soon. Excitedly he broke out of the trance you left him in to furiously type his text to you; the same one you receive as soon as you walked through the door

‘Please tell me I can meet you tomorrow!’

How interesting it was, how time could move so slowly and so quickly at the same time. How hours seem to fade into days, which fade into one another, and then all of a sudden a month will have passed and you never even realized it - like a blink of an eye.

It’s a combination of things, for time to move like this. For if it was just passing by quickly it would mean either life was so dull that things just blended together and time would then be wasted; or it could be the opposite, that all sorts of fun and excitement were happening at once that you could barely keep up. But if it is both, those days seem to drag on but weeks seem to end swiftly, then it’s a mixture of the two.

And really, that was the perfect explanation for it all.

During the day as you worked the hours seemed to drag on, but in the evenings whenever you had to walk your dog, or on the weekends, it was like time was doing everything it could to make the day anew again; to subjugate you to the long and drawn out hours of boredom work provided.

But whenever you weren’t at work, you found yourself crossing paths with your handsome new friend Bokuto. That was probably why time seemed to pass on by, it always seemed to move fast whenever someone was having fun. And you couldn’t lie that you were having the most fun you had in months while you were around that exuberant man, His positivity and brightness were contagious, and no matter how run down you felt, no matter how bad the day was, once you saw his smile it was like nothing bad happened at all.

Ever since you took the leap and replied to his enthusiastic text with one of your own stating a time to go out with you the next night to help you walk your dog, it has been a whirlwind of that bright fun.

Going to cafes to get coffee, trying out new restaurants that popped out of nowhere, trying out the hiking trails that you never knew existed, and exploring hidden corners of the city you had yet to explore. All while he held your hand tightly and dazzled you with his beaming smile every time you went out with him.

On top of it all, every weekday, after you finished work, Bokuto would try his best to meet where it all began. To wait out in front of his apartment building in hopes to catch you, to then continue on walking with you for the remainder of your trip home; taking hold of your dog’s lead as he happily tucked your arm underneath his instead - his excuse was always “gotta make sure you make it home safe” smiling down at you if you ever tried to complain.

Before you knew it a month had passed. A month filled with good morning texts, evening walks in the cool autumn air, and weekends filled with little dates. Your days consumed with the attentions and affections of a man you never thought you would meet, let alone be romanced by so energetically. It was all so sudden, almost overwhelming, but so welcomed all the same.

Though, with all the affection and time spent together, you couldn’t definitely say what you were; if you were his girlfriend or not. You couldn’t say there was nothing between you both, not with the small nervous gestures he gave you, like all those lingering kisses he would press to your forehead whenever he dropped you off. Never actually pressing his lips to yours, as if he was afraid of overstepping a boundary.

Due to this, you couldn’t claim to be official, that he was your boyfriend, that you were going steady. Which made butterflies form in your tummy when you asked him for a large favor; not sure if he would be okay with it all. After all, you hadn’t even kissed yet.

A work event was approaching, and it was mandatory that you go to it. Which meant you had to leave for an entire weekend. Normally, weekend trips were fine, as you could bring your furry companion with you. But you couldn’t bring your dog with you, the hotel your work arranged for you to stay at wouldn’t allow it. And you didn’t want to spend hundreds of dollars to send your dog to a service, or allow a stranger into your home to take care of them; who knows what they might look at or steal.

You decided to bite the bullet when the week of the event came up; figuring that the worst-case scenario was Bokuto would say no - but given how close you had gotten over the past month you had high hopes.

Besides, he was the perfect option. You would feel comfortable with him in your home, he had been over a few times before, and your dog adored him. And, he lived close by too, so if something were to happen or if he didn’t feel comfortable staying at your place for a few days it wouldn’t be the end of the world; he and your pet would just a few blocks.

You asked him, on a particularly warm Tuesday night for October, and he said yes without hesitation. You didn’t know why he agreed, perhaps it was in the bashful manner you asked, or maybe he could sense the quiet desperation in your tone. But, overall, it didn’t matter to you, just as long as your home and precious pet were safe.

But just as your life had started to slowly be consumed by him in all those little ways he had woven himself into your daily routine; Bokuto’s was completely taken away by you.

He couldn’t help it. Bokuto found himself thinking about you all the time, at almost every moment of the day. While grocery shopping he thought of what you might buy, and what dishes you might make yourself. At practice when he was supposed to be listening to his coach, or paying attention to the plays happening before him, all he could think about was having you sit on the bleachers cheering him on. Even late at night after you had sent your last text of the day, wishing him goodnight, he was thinking about you, almost obsessed by you, though he figured it was inevitable given how borderline obsessive he was before he even knew you; when he would just watch your figure pass by his window every day.

That was probably why he said yes to your request; not wanting to say no to your cute face or to possibly jeopardize his future chances of being with you. Besides, he loved your dog, and the chance to be in the place you called home, for longer than a moment to drop you off, was far too tempting.

“My goodness, again, thank you so much for doing this!” You gushed once more as you rushed to get the last of your things together, pushing Bokuto further into your home.

“No problem at all! Happy I could do this for you” He beamed, still holding onto the bag you had practically thrown at him when you opened the door to greet him.

“I know, I know…” You took a breath, finally taking the proper moment to actually acknowledge him “But still… figured I would let you know how appreciative I am; so, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He responded in kind, his smile was so gentle that it made your heart skip a beat.

“R-right! Um… I wrote a list of what Rufus needs. His feeding schedule, walk schedule, all that kind of stuff. It’s on the kitchen table, so take a look.” Your voice went faint, though Bokuto could still hear you, as you walked away from him into your bedroom “It, it also has the passwords to my streaming services, should you want to use them.” You let out a small huff, as you dragged your suitcase from your bedroom “You are also free to have whatever you like from the kitchen! Nothing is off-limits, so go nuts. And um… you know if you wanted to bring your girlfriend over to hang out that’s cool with me too!”

You took your bag from Bokuto’s hold, taking a moment to peer inside to double-check you had all you needed in there. As well as looking at your suitcase to take a second to recall all you put in; trying to see if you had forgotten anything; doing your best to try and play it cool over what you just said.

“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Bokuto mumbled, doing his best to look at you but not stare. a hand fiddling with one of his hoodie’s drawstrings “The girlfriend thing I mean… don’t have one so… yeah.”

His nervous chuckle made you follow suit making you pause your tireless item shuffling to glance up at him; your smile was small before growing wider alongside his and you shared a brief moment - on that you both couldn’t really put a name to, but knew it was a good one all the same.

“Alright, I think I’m good to go!” You bit your lip, taking hold of your suitcase; extending the handle for easier use.

“Safe travels, okay? Text me when you get there!” Bokuto asked, opening the door for you to avoid any further struggles

“Don’t worry, I will!” You leaned up, placing a quick peck on his lips before walking through your threshold “Thanks, again! I’ll see you in a few days!”

Bokuto watched you leave, down the hall, and into the elevator with a dumbstruck look on his face; if you weren’t in such a hurry you might have laughed at that. But as soon as you were out of sight that shocked look turned into one of dumbstruck love as a goofy smile crossed his face as he closed your door with a goofy-sounding chuckle.

‘Our first kiss’ was all he could think about as he wandered over to your couch, plopping down on it as he absent-mindedly pet your dog as he relived the way your lips felt over and over again. Hoping that when you came back, he would be graced with another one.

The first night went without a hitch. Due to your late afternoon departure, all Bokuto had to do was put Rufus out for the last time, and then enjoy the night in. Ordering food and choosing a movie to play in the background as he absent-mindedly scrolled his phone - sending a good night text your way once you confirmed you made it to your hotel safely. And given that Iwazumi was so hard on him, and his team members, in training earlier that day, he didn’t think twice about hitting the hay once he got back from that final walk with your furry friend.

However, the next morning would prove to be his downfall.

Though it wasn’t like it was his fault really. It was just, sleeping in your bed, being surrounded by the smell of you - the whisper of floral from the shampoo that you use lingered on your pillows, the faint smell of your laundry detergent that comforted him as he snuggled deeper in your blanket, and the scent of your faded sweat the clung the deeper he sunk into your sheets - all of it was so uniquely, perfectly, utterly you that his body acted without thinking.

And maybe it was because he was laying in your bed, surrounded by the same sheets that clung to your body in ways he could only imagine, could only dream about. That such an innocent act was something far more intimate than he, and more than likely yourself, thought it could be. It was something that got to him more than it should.

No matter how much he tossed and turned, tried to think of anything else, his body betrayed him. And as the sun’s rays hit his eyes, signaling a new day, his stiffened cock stood proud, barely contained by the fabric of his boxers, just as it did when he first crawled into your bed.

“A cold shower would do the trick,” Bokuto whispered to himself as he dragged his body into an upright position, keeping an eye on your dog to make sure he was still asleep. “Always works before a game….”

And it did. Well… whenever he was about to play a game, or away on tour and needed to get rid of his morning wood before meeting his teammates. This was proving to be a different case all entirely. And he was only a man.

A weak, weak, man too easily trumped by temptation.

He would apologize, and beg to whatever god that was above, for your forgiveness and understanding but he couldn’t help but stroke his cock to the thought of you. How your skin would look all lathered in bubbles from the body wash he was currently inhaling; never once thinking the smell of hibiscus would make his eyes roll to the back of his skull. Imagining how he would bend you over, pressing you against the cheap tile wall, and fuck you so hard that your neighbors could hear the sound of your moans over the water; how pretty your pussy would look after he came so deep inside, how his cum would slowly seep out and down your pretty legs before being washed away down the drain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Bokuto hissed, as his hipped jerked into his hand, his release overtaking him making a mess of his hand, chest, and your shower wall; silently, and shamefully watching it go down your drain - disappointed over the reality of it all.

The rest of the day went decently enough. Bokuto avoided your room and everything in it, even your bathroom for most of the day in fear of having to take another hour-long shower. Instead, he occupied his time by taking your dog out on a nearby, local, hiking trail; one that traversed close to and alongside a river. Your dog loved it, and Bokuto made sure to keep a mental note to take you out here soon before the weather got too cold and the river would freeze over.

He also spent his time, the majority of his evening, catching up on the latest TV drama Hinata was begging him to watch; keeping the younger man updated on which episode he was on, and taking small breaks to feed your dog or to take him on his needed walks for bathroom relief.

But Bokuto knew he couldn’t avoid it forever; that when night fell, he would crack once more. He knew he should have slept on the couch, to deal with the aches in his joints, the soreness in his muscles, and whatever back pain he would inevitably have by huddling and sleeping in such a still position on your too-small couch. But the allure of sleeping in your sheets - to be surrounded by the same comfort you allowed yourself to enjoy every night - was too enticing.

It was a sleepless night, once again.

Though this time it was not spent like the night before, where he was tossing and turning to try and settle down to get a proper night's rest. Bokuto knew that it would be pointless to try. Instead, fueled by the faded smell of your shampoo that lingered on your pillowcase, he took hold of your fluffiest pillow, and slotted it between his legs; against his weeping and aching cock. No longer able to help, or ignore the heat that coursed through his veins.

His whimpers, though muffled, echoed within your empty bedroom as the sound of your headboard softly hitting the wall behind accompanied the sinful symphony as his body crushed your favourite pillow; hips desperately trying to keep that wonderful friction it gave to get him over the edge. Bokuto thought about how you would look folded into a mating press as he pinned you in place with nothing but his weight; how sweet you would look with tears in your eyes as you babbled on about how much you loved his cock.

“Yeah, just like that…. fuck, you’re such a good girl….nngh!.... You like taking my cock, huh? You like how my fat cock stretches you out? Come on… come on say it, please?”

It went on all night long, and when the morning sun finally hit his tired eyes did Bokuto finally feel spent; finally felt like he got all his pent-up frustrations out of him. Though his body screamed at him to not move, to lay down and rest, he had to ignore it. Had to take your soiled bedding - pillows, sheets, and blankets - off your bed so they could be washed. If he had more energy he would wince in shame over how much cum he managed to spill out onto it all; but right now he couldn’t give a damn. It was more than worth it to him.

Bokuto blessed the gods above that you had a washer and dryer within your cute apartment; how thankful he was not to have to take them all the way down flights of stairs and possibly run into one of your neighbors. He quickly went to put a load on, knowing he had to take care of a few last things around the house, for your little dog, and place some new sheets on your bed to dissuade any suspicion before you got home.

And oh what a blessing your little laundry room was.

There, sat atop your dirty laundry within the hamper you kept so neatly tucked away, sat a pair of pretty pink lace panties. He knew you had worn them, knew that they were meant to be washed, knew you had not left them there to tease him but instead discarded them like anyone would with used clothing, and he knew he should have just walked away from them. But they were so pretty, Bokuto couldn’t help but grab them for a closer look.

Couldn’t help but enjoy the way the soft fabric felt against his calloused fingertips. Couldn’t help but bring them up to his face, couldn’t help the way his mouth watered from the musky smell that greeted him, and certainly couldn’t help what he was about to do.

He knew it was wrong; he only has a few hours before you came home for Christ's sake. But this whole weekend was a perfect example of how little control he had when it came to you. That despite how wrong it all was, how he was violating your privacy and taking advantage of this situation, he couldn’t quell his lust as he took another deep inhale of your scent that stayed on that flimsy piece of fabric; his loose athletic shorts slipping past his hips as his angry-red cock sprung free once again.

“Gotta be quick…. gotta be quick - fuck!” He kept muttering to himself as he furiously pumped his hand up and down the length of his cock; doing his best to finish quickly and move on to what he was supposed to be doing.

He thought of you on top of the washer; sitting like the good girl you were as he knelt before you and ate you out like his last meal - your moans and mewls shaking in rhythm to the vibrations of the machine below you. The whole image being brought to him in a clearer focus in his mind due to the constant inhale of your fragrance.

Bokuto came with an unexpected groan, finishing much faster than he anticipated; not realizing just how effective those pretty panties of yours were. He collapsed against your wall with a deep and satisfied sigh; doing his best to calm his heart and breathing down. He could hear his phone go off from the other room, the specific chime meant it was you - clearly texting him that you were almost home. Bokuto sighed one last time, knowing he was not in an even bigger hurry to clean things up; starting with the panties he had balled in his fist.

Maybe… maybe you won’t notice if they are gone….

or perhaps maybe you will

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