┌─ “ ! „ PSYCHO KILLER

tw slasher!mattsun, final girl!reader, noncon, coercion, size kink, cevix fucking, fear play, blood play, cutting/marking, he uses a knife on reader, degradation, spanking, manhandling, forced cheating, murder mentions, mattsun's giant cock wordcount. 5.6k

a/n. another commission from an anonymous amazing person so make sure to say thank youuu to them!!! this time we got matTSUnnnn and omg this was such a blast to write anD AAHHH i hope you enjoy it and that it fuels your slasher fucker urge a little bit, thank you so so much for commissioning me again and hERe she is!!

You never really thought much about mortality, before. But the flashing lights reflected on the brick walls, red blue, red blue, red blue, and the wailing of the sirens, paint a haunting picture. One that even someone positive, bright-eyed and preppy like you feels down to the bone. You have the displeasure of standing with wide eyes, hands stiff and shaky from the evening chill, as the armed men move people out of the way and the person from the alley towards the ambulance; and though you’re across the street— you can tell.

The way onlookers cover their mouths and gasp and try to unsee as the stretcher passes by them doesn’t paint a promising picture. Your spine feels all flimsy the longer you stand, one hand wrapped frozen around your bag of groceries, apartment only a few blocks away. It’s in the way the senior police officer glances around the blocked off street and tells a passer-by to hurry home or to move along, and the yellow tape keeping the alleyway separate as it trembles rapidly and noisily in the wind. You take a deep breath against the sudden chill that travels all the way down your body, and pick your heels up to walk back.

Back down the opposite way and to the blue lit 24h corner store you left mere minutes ago. The melody of the store chime is comforting, and you speed walk all the way down the aisle back to the register. The charming, delicate features of the young man across from you light up when he properly looks up, and he tilts his head much like a curious animal- one brow raising. “Babe? You’re back?”

“I’m waiting out your shift here,” you softly declare, sneaking back behind the counter where you usually dare steal a few kisses, and dragging out a shitty, plastic chair to rest your head to his hip as he blinks down at you in confusion. Eventually though, Haru just nods, his honey brown hair falling a little further over his brows when he leans down to brush his hand over your head.

“Okay. You alright?” You nod, and he doesn’t ask more— and eventually you two fall back into conversation, only stopping every so often to serve the scarce customer. When you two walk back home in the early hours of the morning, the people have gone, but the yellow tape still stings as you pass the quiet street.

The apartment smells of the cheapest of Chinese takeout when you drag yourself back inside late from work. Your boyfriend just barely peeks his head around the corner to come give you a kiss, gentle as he is, and slides back into his spot behind the stove. “Food’s here, and I’m just making some extra eggs for mine, because I gotta leave in half an hour.” The routine ramble is nice, you suppose, finding a smile on your face by the time you make it into the kitchen with him to wrap your arms around his back, and he hums. “Oh, one of your friends swung by, so I let him in a little bit ago- I left him on the couch.”

Haru’s hands are quick to pull you back when you let go, for just a second, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and one to your nose. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. I’m gonna go see who needs me- real quick,” you smile, “and then we eat together?”

“Mhm, perfect.”

The door out of the small kitchen leads into the main room, and you look around as you swing your bag over one of the chairs- but find the space strangely vacant. Though a small pout comes to your lips, you just walk along, passing by the desk with stacks of books and lecture notes, to pull open the door to your bedroom. Your house simply isn’t big enough to lose anyone even if you wanted to. The bedroom lights are off, as you step inside, toes curling instinctively into the carpet; before finally clearing your voice. “Hello?”

At the very moment you turn, the tiny door to the bathroom swings open and a tall shape clad in all black steps out— and you jerk with a loud gasp, only to start laughing when your hands meet his chest and you glance up properly. Matsukawa’s dark eyebrows are furrowed in surprise as he finishes drying off his hands, before he gives you a ‘what gives’ sort of look. “You scared me,” you chuckle, as you lean in to give him a hug. “It’s been a while, how are you? And why’d you swing by?” The way he manages to move his arm over your head without having to change positions to throw the paper towel into the trash isn’t lost on you.

“Can’t a guy come see his favorite ethics tutor on a tuesday?” The familiar deep rumble of his voice fills the room, and you make room to trail back to the couch.

“Well, considering I dropped out,” your voice is a little softer when you take a seat in the squeaky chair, “I’d say that it’s probably a waste of your time. But I guess I’m pretty glad to see you again.”

Mattsun plops down on the couch facing you with a little sigh, before that same self assured smile you’ve always known him to have returns. “Don’t make me feel too special, teach.”

“I’m younger than you! It’s not my fault you took ethics again and needed my help.” The banter is nice, reminds you about the hours and hours spent in the library that always grew too rowdy for a study session. Mattsun’s a good friend. A better one than you are, maybe. His long legs stretch out to the coffee table, before he nods.

“This is a nice place. Cozy.” The compliment makes you feel all warm inside. Despite everything, despite the struggles you and Haru have to deal with, the money, the debt- it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it. Even if that someone is the most well accomplished out of your late friend group. “And the boyfriend seems pretty fucking smitten too.” His dark eyes find your face when you smile wider, lacing his hands together over his knee. “Nothing to add? Come on, I missed you so~ much. I haven’t even seen you properly for the last 4 months. Talk to me. You normally don’t hesitate to run your mouth.” He chuckles when you put on a faux-pout.

“Fine, fine, hang on!” you beam after a second of thinking, and roll your eyes. “Let me make a pot of coffee. You jerk.”

“You love it.”

You aren’t the most observant of people, but you swear… you’re losing more shit than normal. Some of the stuffies that were proudly displayed on the shelves are gone, and you can’t find some of your panties no matter how hard you look. And while the small closet in the bedroom is more mess than order, now you can’t even find most of your old photo albums, and some keepsakes from highschool and uni. But with your boyfriend catching his sleep when you leave for work, and you returning late- no one has time to go looking for clothing that’s grown legs, let alone do a thorough clean. So you brush it aside, and move on without your favorite pair of lacy baby blue panties.

It’s only when your boyfriend’s watching the news on his laptop one day, that it tickles something in the back of your brain. As you stuff another bite of pasta into your face, your hands still on top of the unfolded laundry.

A feminine voice flies over the topics at breakneck speed, as the honey brunet suddenly turns up the volume a little and stops eating. “Yesterday, another casualty in a devastating string of murders was found. Passerby’s found the body walking by an alley in Miyagi prefecture at around 9pm. The victim has now been identified to be Kawada Eiko, the 25 year old nurse that was reported missing a few days ago. Strangulation or suffocation are the two current debated causes of death, authorities say. She might have been the unfortunate victim of a lover’s spat, as she was found with blue panties constricting her airways. More about this at 6.”

“Turn that down,” you quickly breathe, and Haru turns over his shoulder with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. ‘S a bit grim for lunch…” He simply gives you an understanding look, before suddenly turning to knock his knees with yours. “How about you pick something to watch? Here.” His hands reach out to pull you a little closer, and cradle you against his chest. It’s sweet. He always is. And though you nuzzle into his touch, the story doesn’t want to leave your brain. There it is again. That faint flicker of mortality staring you in the face.

The stern face of the police officer- burly, heavy mustache and old- is exactly how you imagine it’d be, made very clear by the dead-like tone and eyes as he gives you an up and down. “This your house?”

“R-rented, yes,” you’re in the pajama-est of clothes from when you pulled open the door, “of me and my boyfriend.” The officer gives a tiny nod to the other two men behind him, and pulls out his badge to present it to you. It’s too early for your brain to function properly, but you still swallow at the sudden severity of the situation. “What’s- the issue, officer?” Your voice sounds even mousier when his eyes narrow in on the scene behind him, and your measly apartment feels even more inferior than usual.

“Sasaki Haru’s been arrested and is currently being questioned for multiple accounts of aggravated assault and first-degree murder. And we have to search the property, young lady.”

You stop breathing.

Murder.

Your head thumps, and you feel a flare of heat bite at your neck, clutching the door handle a little tighter.

Murder, he said. Haru… arrested for murder.

“We’ll have to take you in for questioning as well. Why don’t you walk towards the car and have my colleague escort you—” You focus as hard as you can on the words that are thrown at you, but really, nothing hits. There’s a blanket of static over everything in your vision. You might puke.

“Hey, breathe out. You’re turning blue,” Mattsun’s deep voice washes over you like a wave as you clamp the phone to your chest and try your best to relax a little, a warm, heavy hand softly stroking the area between your shoulders. It’d been a total coincidence that he’d called just as you were done with the hours of terrifying questioning, but as soon as you’d sniffled out that Haru had been arrested, he took time off to come over. Here you are now, hovering between sleep and frightened awareness in the painful, sticky seats of one of the dead waiting halls.

And though you’re glad someone’s here for you, because Haru’s parents haven’t even called yet— you’re also a little too wired up to appreciate the sarcasm and jokey attitude. After another few minutes of nervously fiddling with your phone and staring through the small window at the other doors, Mattsun clears his voice. “So… murder, huh.” His dark eyes are intense as they flutter over your face, eyebrows straightened. “Do you think he did it?”

You find yourself glaring, even though you can’t say why. “No, of course not. He’d never. He’s… he’s so gentle—”

“They’re saying there’s evidence, y’know.” You know that. It makes you want to rip out your hair and sob, because they showed you the proof. The dna, a kitchen knife out of your drawers, traces of the perfume you always, always wear— but you can’t shake the feeling that only if you could talk to Haru, if you could see him, ask… Your intuition tells you he didn’t do it. Couldn’t have. And they’re wrong, they have to be wrong. You would’ve known if you’d been living with a murderer. You would’ve. You just have to wait for an alibi to show it.

“He didn’t do it, Issei,” you softly end up repeating, and Mattsun’s eyes basically roll themselves as he looks away. “I’m telling you, I know him, and he didn’t do it.”

“Maybe- you just don’t know people as well as you think you do, teach,” the brunet places his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth as he leans in as glances over at you. “You’re wonderful, ‘n smart, and kind. But you’re also naïve, baby…” The last word falls deeper, and drags a cold shiver up your spine that only gets more intense when he doesn’t laugh it off, or look away. Luckily though, the door to the waiting room is pushed open that very moment, and a tired looking woman taps her clipboard.

“You can go home for now. Get some rest. And please stay available so that if we need you to return-”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” you start, and wring your sweaty hands together a few times, “what about Haru?”

Her sharp eyes soften a little when finding your face. “He’ll have to stay until they’re done with the investigation. It might be another couple hours, or days. He can’t see anyone until then.” Your dejection must show, because she sighs. “Head home, child. Try to sleep some. You’ll be okay.” You barely manage to have enough energy to get out of the chair, letting Mattsun take your hand and rub a few comforting circles into it with his thumb. And then you’re walking home as he holds the umbrella high above your heads, and that cold only worsens. You don’t feel okay.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

“How about my place instead of yours?” Issei’s more reserved when he asks, laying an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side a little. “Doubt you wanna hang out there now that the cops have gone through it all.” It doesn’t matter, really, so you nod- let him walk along the crosswalk and steer you down the familiar streets in silence for a while. It really doesn’t make any sense. Haru’s been at work all evenings that the murders happened, there’s security cameras to prove it. And killing someone in broad daylight, alley or not— it doesn’t line up.

Issei squeezes your hand in his when the silence continues, and you briefly look up at him to give him a little smile that doesn’t feel like it reaches. “Sorry I’m so quiet. I’m just…”

“Lost in thought, I get it.” He hums, before pointing at the long line of buildings. “It’s just along there, we’re almost inside. Then we can talk about it, or you can take a load off, or whatever.” The short chuckle is meant to disperse the tension, you know that, but even the tall brunet seems on edge. You’re still holding his hand, and you find yourself blinking at it in quiet confusion. But the thoughts are louder than logic right now. And if Haru didn’t do it, which you will yourself to believe with all your heart —you have no choice but to— how the hell did stuff out of your house get to the scene of the crime. You never lended anyone that knife, and definitely not the even more private stuff—

Issei leads you through the gates into the courtyard of the apartment, then to the door, into the dim staircase all the while softly humming. And you don’t know why your heart sinks as you climb the stairs with him in tow, because the building smells nice, and the walk to the door is clean and high-class. “Tch, you really are,” his low voice barely reaches, and you raise a brow. “Naïve that is.” The humming goes into a soft laugh when you turn to look at him, and the tall man smiles down at you. But though he’s smiling, the hairs on your neck go to stand on end, shoulders squaring. The vivid, unnatural sort of intensity in his eyes rolls your stomach.

And you go to pull your hand out of his, only for Issei to resist the pull harder. “Shh, calm down. I got you, don’t I? Don’t tell me I scare you.” He does, though. “Come on, princess, we’re friends. And friends are there for friends when they need each other. Now you're poor boyfriend's gone.” Your mouth corners turn down into a half pout, half open in confusion. And you don’t know why, you never felt unsafe with him before— but every fiber in your body is screaming at you to run. You want to. But your body refuses to budge, let alone turn your back on him. Issei’s always been a very tall guy. Tall, but wired with athletic muscles from the years of sports, and strong, and fast— and all of these things never scared you.

But they do now. The shivers that roll down your spine are almost painful as you stare up at him and that happy-go-lucky grin still stays on. The corners of your eyes sting when you try again to pull away, to no avail, and Issei’s long legs pull you towards the door of his fancy apartment anyway.

“Issei, let go.” Your voice breaks, and tears creep up in your eyes and your shaky whimper. “This isn’t funny, let me go.”

“Nah ah, I got something to show you.” His casual sing-song response almost makes you angry. But you can’t be when you’re too busy fighting off a full-body panic and planting your heels into the tiled floor. “I got something to show you,” he repeats, glancing over his shoulder again. “Y’see, because I really like you. You make me feel all- hm- good inside.” His curly hair bounces with each step towards the door, before he repositions his grip to hold around your wrist when your sweaty hand almost manages to slip out. “But then you went and got a boyfriend, and disappeared on me.”

He fiddles with the keys for a second as you use your other hand and try to pry your fingers into his painfully tight hold, and frowns. “And I- stop struggling- I don’t blame you. I mean- it’s not like I can even explain this little earworm I’ve got. About how you and I just fit together. I should know better, right?” He’s rambling so fast, and the door manages to be swung open, and you bite back a sob. You want to scream. You want to scream, call out for help, do something other than get pulled in further and further, but it doesn’t work. Your body refuses. Your head’s blank. “I know I should know better. Yet here we are.”

He pulls with his entire body to get you over the doorstep, and grabs your face between his hands to aim it up to his, squishing your cheeks until your lips are a puckered pout. And his deep voice goes low as he whispers. “You didn’t like my little stunt with the panties?”

It short circuits you. Before you get to think about it, you knee him right in the dick with all your might, and push at his face until he jerks back— turning and sprinting back towards the door. But his reach is longer, and he tackles your feet, sending you straight onto your belly with a loud, unforgiving thump as your head knocks against one of the book cases, and his large hands wrap around your ankles. He pulls you back a few feet across the floor, and though you try to kick at him, he’s quick to get above you and restrain you.

”Help!” you squeak, voice more air than actual sound. “Help me!” Issei grabs you by your neck and kicks the door closed with his long legs, before going to sit on top of your back and squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“Awww, fuck, babe,” he groans for a long breath, before grabbing your head and pushing it down into the cold floor as if in punishment. The loud knock of your skull against the floor is enough to force your thoughts out of you. “That really hurts, fuck.” Then he shifts, one hard knee in the middle of your back. You can barely breathe, and the little bit of air you do get is obstructed by the tears blurring your vision. “Little kitty’s got claws, huh.”

“Issei,” you start to whimper through your hickuppy breaths when his palm slides down your neck and under the edge of your shirt, “please let me go. We’re friends. We’re friends, right? So let me go home, and I won’t tell anyone.I swear, I won’t- wo- please, please, ‘ssei.”

“Tch, don’t go begging on me yet, baby. I’ve hardly even started.” His large hands roam around your skin for a moment, before he rolls you over like you’re a ragdoll, and grabs your face again as he bends down until your noses are touching. Him, overtop of you, his free hand training down the surface of your thigh through your sweatpants.

His dark eyes glitter in the low light, animated and joyful despite the way you’re trying to calm your wheezes. Which doesn’t really help. The harder you try, the less air you manage to use— Mattsun’s heavy palm sliding to your throat to squeeze the tender skin there. “Hey, guess what.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, before he starts picking anxiously at the stretchy band of your pants, sliding two fingers under it. “you turn me on so much it makes me want to fuck you until you’re raw. But you might’ve guessed that already, right?” There’s a low chuckle, while you’re sniveling under him with wet cheeks and a hot face, before he starts tugging your pants down your thighs.

You cross your arms over your face, and Issei laughs a little harder. “Aww, don’t cry. I know what you’re thinking, all the murdering and stuff, the blood, the choking, cutting open— it’s a lot. But luckily for you… all of that isn’t going to happen to you. Look, here-” he mumbles, pulling your arms away from in front of your eyes to force your smaller hand back in his, linking pinkies, “promise. They weren’t you, so I had to get rid of them sooner rather than later.”

By the time he finishes talking, you’re shivering without your pants, on his cold floor and tears all over your face- and for a moment Issei looks like the guy you knew when he pouts down at you. But then he licks his lips, and the relief is gone. “And you get I can’t let you go after this. So it’ll be easier for both of us if you play along.”

Then he gives you a once over like you’re a slab of meat, and hums, whispering under his breath. “I like when they play along.” It makes you cry harder, but barely any noise manages to come out, staring resolutely at the ceiling as soon as his hand lets your chin go to trail his fingertips along your tits. “So fucking pretty, baby.” The lilt of barely veiled excitement in his voice makes you want to sink into the floor, to just stop breathing altogether. You trusted him implicitly, and- though your skin is covered in goosebumps, it barely sets in that Issei was the one who—

You remember the disemboweled girl on the stretcher, the yellow tape. And bile rises in your throat, so you have to put a hand over your mouth not to throw up. Oh god, you’re… You’re cold on the floor, your tits being gently squeezed by Mattsun’s large, rough hands through your shirt as you try to make your mind go anywhere else, to no avail. Suddenly he gets up on his knees to slide his arms under you, and you start struggling against him enough to make him glare down at you. “Don’t be a brat. If you want me to-”

“Let me go, Issei! Let go, let go!” You’re squished to his chest, but you manage to smack him across the face and get a little bit of wiggle room, and he lets out a low rumble of displeasure, before dragging you further into the house and tossing you down onto the bed. It’s even darker here, smelling faintly of spices and men’s shampoo- but that isn’t what frightens you. It’s the heavy duty cuffs dangling from the metal bedposts, and the way Mattsun grabs a fistful of your hair to yank your head back into the bed.

“Don’t move. Unless you want me to get mad.” The painful tug makes you whimper, but you find yourself trying to slide out the other side of the bed as he bends to search through one of the bedside tables. Your legs are going a bit numb, toes tingly as you dare brush your feet along the floor and make a run for it. Of course, you have to round the bed, and he doesn’t have much of a hard time grabbing the back of your shirt. With one stern move, he swings you over his shoulder, large hand palm landing so hard onto the soft skin of your ass it makes you gasp and tear up. The touch pulses and aches as he slaps the same spot again, and now you’re crying- this time from the stinging of your skin as he tosses you down and forces your hand into sharp, cold handcuff.

His slight frown and the stern look he gives you make your body freeze up, but then he leans in. “You’re a dumb little baby, hm? You don’t get it?” His eyes are wide, pupils dark and blown all the way out to take up almost his entire iris. His hand appears from behind his back with something that glimmers in the low light, and is sharp as he pushes it to your cheek. “Not gonna play along?” The knife’s cold edge next to your ear makes you entirely wooden, staring up at him with shallow breaths and your lips trembling. As he peeks out his tongue, the knife digs deeper and breaks skin on your cheekbone.

And it hurts, clenching your teeth hard as tears spill over, it really fucking hurts. Burns, instantly making the skin feel taut and pounding and irritated. You gasp again, grabbing at his arm with a pitiful cry. “No, no, stop. Stop, please. I’ll play along,” you plead, voice hoarse as you clamp your hand around his wrist. The hot, searing feeling on your cheek and the way you feel blood run along your face and ear takes away all other rational thought. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You want it to stop. “Please. Please, ‘Ssei, please.” The knife’s edge tingles as it leaves your wound, but the pain doesn’t go away, and you can’t help but sob. “Mattsun~”

However pathetic you must look, Matsukawa clearly doesn’t care. Because he groans, before leaning in to press his tongue to your wound, and then kissing you. And the coppery taste makes him moan into your mouth, while you try to turn your head away instinctively. His tongue forces open your mouth and melts with yours, sloppily claiming your mouth with a soft hum, heavy, large body coming to cover yours. He’s everywhere, as he grinds his hips into your panty-clad center and licks your mixed spit off his lips when he pulls back, throwing his head back.

You’re feeling a bit lightheaded, one cheek pounding painfully as you stare at him, and your one arm slowly but surely going numb from the uncomfortable position. But as you’re looking at him, he quickly rids himself of his shirt, and scoots you up the bed a little to drape your legs over his thighs. Even in the half-dark room, you can see them. The scars on his shoulders, his chest, ugly lines that healed over sloppily— proof that someone dug some nails of a key so sharp into him. Fought, and lost. It only makes you take a deep breath that makes a pinched, little noise. And Mattsun grins, rubbing his one hand along the skin.

“They were never close enough to you, y’know? Always something missing.” His one hand goes back to your chest, playing with your pebbled nipples through the fabric, before the knife returns and he drags it across your chest this time, pressing hard enough to cut your shirt and also the thin skin of your breast bone. “Oops, sorry.” The thin line of dots of blood that beads up has him bending to run his tongue along the little wound again, before ripping the rest of your shirt apart and sucking your tits into his mouth too. The warm mouth paired with the painful stinging and aching of your body has your stomach flipping and your mind blank.

Your free hand runs along his head to grab his curls in support, and his moans before biting one of your nipples. Then he pulls back to slap your tits around a bit, and running his thumb over the wound. Seeing the red before he slips it into his mouth is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to block everything out. And Issei chuckles. “Aw, scaring my little baby, am I?” The sound of his zipper and the shuffling of fabric lasts for a few seconds. Your heartbeat is so fucking loud, and the stinging is loud, and his voice is loud, and everything is so fuzzy. You open your eyes again, only to find that same disturbing look in Issei’s eyes as he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, spreading all the precum around.

There’s a lot, you notice, and also that his heavy, flushed cock is big. Really big, too big, making your breathing even more rapid. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt, it’ll hurt, it’ll hurt— your mind blanks when he starts peeling off your panties and manhandles your legs around however he wants, before the thick head of his cock is lined up to your too-dry pussy. There’s some wetness there, but not enough. You tear up more, because of the hurt, the pain, the fear, your lungs aching and everything else- and shiver when Issei talks again.

His voice is low enough to shake your bones. “You’ll have to fit me, okay? Okay?” His sing-song teasing has you nodding your head, and he puts on a cheshire-like grin again. “Because when they didn’t, I had to cut them open to make room-” he points the knife into your lower stomach then, point stinging as soon as it touches and digs into your soft belly, “-and I don’t want to cut up my favorite girl.” His thumb rubs lazy circles into the top of your slit, brushing your clit, before he spits on it.

Then he lines up, and starts pushing into your tight, clenched pussy without giving you a second to prepare, placing both hands next to your head and pushing himself into you while each inch fills you up more and more. It’s such a painfully tight fit your legs shake as he pushes you all the way full, and keeps pushing. “Aw, aw, aw, Issei- hurts, that hurts-”

“Uhuh,” he just nods, and kisses you again, smiling into the kiss and pulling back to watch you tear up. He moves one leg to push against your chest, and starts grinding his cock even deeper, pushing you open too much, and you cry— only to make him pull back and do it again, groaning. “Ah, fuck, princess. Fuck-ing- godly pussy, agh.” His huge dick pounds against your cervix every time he pulls back and bottoms out, bulging your stomach in a way that hurts even despite the pleasure. But his body slamming against your pussy each time does feel good, as much as you hate to admit it. It sends tingles down your spine that makes you forget about the hurt you’re feeling. “Tell me it feels good, hm?”

He leans into kiss you again, before turning your face to the side to rub his finger along the bloody mess on your cheek and make it hurt again. “Tell Mattsun senpai that his cock’s your favorite. And I’ll make you come so hard you go cross-eyed.” The pounding of the sticky, warm blood and the skin that aches, the way he fills you, makes you feel it all the way in your throat, how loud your heartbeat is in your head and how your lungs fill only with shallow half-breaths, has you crying out long and hard, squeezing your fingers into his bicep.

“Mattsun senpai~ cock-ahg- hick- my favorite.” You’re not sure you recognize the way your voice sounds as you say it, getting your mouth full of his tongue again as you choke on it and the way he forces his cock through your cervix. Hurts, hurts, feels so good it aches. You can’t tell up from down when his fingers return between your bodies, and he jackhammers his fat cock through you.

“I know, baby. I know. S’all for you now. All yours.”

Responsibilities (4/?)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader (SMAU)

Masterlist

Nanami takes an interest in your date

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: Hi everyone! We continue with our favorite best friends. With the weekend coming it also means I’ll have more free time to make more chapters, I don’t want this series to be too long so it will probably be less than 10 chapters as I want to do more SMAUS with the other guys. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. 😊

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Taglist

@ermbehindyou @totallygyomeiswife @ash4ree @lov3vivian @namjooningera @sleepykittyenergy @silllly-jokesterr @shigarika @7haze @lizzie3d2y @jaybirdluvr73 @sweetdreams-inumimi @anuncalledbridge @troyesivanfrl @lavenderdaydream97

736 notes View Post

maboiisuga

3 years ago

—12:05 am

Matsukawa Issei x f!reader (ft. Makki)

summary: ( post time skip ) He loved to tease you. Didn’t matter when, where or why. He just wanted to. He loved you of course but he also loved how needy you become after pushing your buttons which was so easy since you were such a crybaby. But he loved that too. It was supposed to be another normal night out with friends but for some reason, he felt particularly meaner tonight.

warnings : pwp, mean dom!Mattsun , mean dom!Makki, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamic, slight degradation, cuckholding, breeding kink, fingering, public setting, car sex, spanking , overstimulation, blowjob, kinda mind break? kind of birthday sex cause it’s like before his bday

words: 5.5k

a/n: so yeah, this came about because it was Mattsun day, so I just had to write it. Supposed to be a Mattsun centric fic where he’s just being a mean dom, but I just had to add Makki to the fray cause idk they’re like a packaged deal asdfghjkl anyways! enjoy lovely people!!! this just proves that my recent obsession are these two

ღ tip me on ᴋᴏ-ꜰɪ ღ

Keep reading

KUNIIII<3

brooooo kuni's so fine omllll

261 notes View Post

maboiisuga

1 year ago

MAIN MASTERLIST

HAIKYUU

TOKYO REVENGERS

ATTACK ON TITAN

JUJUTSU KAISEN

BLUE LOCK

GANGSTA

TRIGUN STAMPEDE

FREE!

.:♡︎

2020 kinktober masterlist

2022 kinktober masterlist

2023 kinktober masterlist

hotd: rogue

knb: when you ask

797 notes View Post

maboiisuga

2 years ago

CAN Y'ALL HELP ME FIND THIS FANFICTION???

its a yandere bakugo x reader, plot is he's basically kidnapped reader and one day when he's out she realizes she misses him and Stockholm syndrome basically kicks in, something happens and then aizawa finds her and is trying to get her out of the house when bakugo comes back and while aizawa is distracted reader hits him with a vase and knocks him out and reader and bakugo run away together.

Idk if the writer deleted it but I cannot find it for the life of me 😭‼️

34 notes View Post

maboiisuga

1 year ago

At Last, The Eagerly Awaited Wait Is Over! I Have Been Working On This Fanfic For The Last Three Days

at last, the eagerly awaited wait is over! i have been working on this fanfic for the last three days after a lengthy break, and to be honest, i am apprehensive about publishing it just because it has been sUCH a long time-

to be completely honest, i (initially) did not think anyone would be interested in a sequel, but after seeing the overwhelming amount of support and requests for a second installment of this fanfic, i have come to the conclusion that it was time for me to sit down and finish writing this fic for all of you!

that being said, the next part should be up within the next day or two, but in the interim, feel free to read the first part again to brush up on the details, or, if you are new to TREAT YOU BETTER, please check out the first part and enjoy some itoshi brother debauchery!

TREAT YOU BETTER PART ONE.

98 notes View Post

maboiisuga

5 months ago

Christmas Bells

Pairing: Dark Katsuki Bakugo x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: It’s your first Christmas with Bakugo and he makes sure it’s memorable.

WARNINGS: Kidnapped reader; Implied Noncon/Abuse; Minor violence.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 Merry Christmas!

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, your name being called less than a moment later.

“One minute!”

Suffocating back the sobs that insist on freeing themselves, your fingers desperately reach to wipe away the warm, sad tears that refuse to stop. You sniff, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe the gross snot that clings to your nose.

Looking in the mirror for a quick check turns out to be a mistake. Deep under eyes circles, runny nose, red puffy eyes - you look awful.

Even more when you compare your ugly crying face with the red and yellow soft cotton Christmas pajamas you’ve been coerced into wearing, the one Bakugo is matching.

Couple pajamas, he had grumbled when giving you the box. Because it’s your first ever Christmas together and he wants it to be memorable. Special.

Special for him yet a nightmare for you.

The last couple days have been hell. Bakugo’s been unbearable to deal with, having taken a week off of the hero duty just so he can spend quality time with you. You fervently wish he hadn’t.

Every moment spent by his side makes you uneasy and anxious, constantly walking on egg-shells as you await for the bomb that Bakugo is to set off.

Truth be told, you don’t want to spend time with him. You simply want nothing to do with him. He has a special way to become abhorrently overwhelming.

Forced to play house with a delusional Pro-Hero isn’t what you want.

You don’t want to wake bunched up in the suffocating embrace of his arms as his thick cock forces itself inside you.

You don’t want to set up the Christmas tree with him, pretending to care every time he asks you where do you want each fucking shiny ornament to be.

You don’t want him to kiss you like you’re his everything - like you’re a happy loving couple that has just assembled their first Christmas tree together.

You don’t want to play the role of a diligent girlfriend that peels off vegetables, sets up the dining table and washes the dishes and yet you do all of these tasks, knowing otherwise you’ll receive nothing but a nasty backhand and a speech on being a ungrateful brat, something that will sour both of your moods for the rest of the day.

You don’t want to-

There’s a harder knock on the door.

“Hey, you died in there or what?”

Tilting your face up, your eyes lock into the ceiling at the same time as you take in a deep breath that does little to calm your nerves. You’re so tired, so fucking exhausted. Can’t even spend five fucking minutes without the asshole hunting you down.

Knowing you have less than 60 seconds till Bakugo gets angry or worried enough to break down the bathroom door, something you’d like to avoid given it’s the only door in the apartment that has a lock, you reluctantly drag your feet to the door.

Bakugo pushes the door forward as soon as you turn the lock open, entering the bathroom as he takes a good look at you, fixing his glare at your red eyes, still moist from your latest crying session.

“What took you so damn long?” his question resembles an accusation, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart around the bathroom, looking for whatever proof of an imaginary escape plan or so.

“Nothing, was just washing my hands.” you lie, offering a placating smile. Bakugo nods, although distrust is still evident in his face but if there’s one thing you’ve learned is that suspicion is like a second nature to him.

Perhaps you deserve it but now, after almost 7 months after your last failed escape attempt, you’d think you’d been able to earn some trust.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

His hand reaches for yours, hot and firm as he always is, and you follow his lead as he takes you back to the living room. Confusion rattles your mind and you look up at Bakugo as he makes you settle on the couch by his side.

“Hum…” you hesitate, lips parting as the blonde man lays his heavy arm across your shoulders, pulling you closer to him, “...I thought-”

“Huh?” he doesn’t bother looking at you, busy fumbling with the TV’s remote control. He skips movie after movie till he finally settles at one of the Home Alone movies. A Christmas classic, you think.

“I mean, isn’t it past bedtime?” A glance towards the digital watch on the wall reveals it’s five minutes till bedtime. Surprising and shocking at the same time, as never once did he let you - or him - to stay up till this late. “I thought the curfew was nine thirty?”

“Will you shut up and just watch the damn movie?” he snaps. You seal your lips tight after that, face immediately whipped to the front to stare at the cinematic 34-foot TV although you pay little attention to it.

Awkward silence reigns as you watch the movie.

Nostalgia hits you hard as the movie carries on, your mind wandering through old dusty memories. You as a child, watching this exact movie curled in between your parents, laughing your ass off at the on-screen shenanigans. Simpler and happier times.

A dull pain stabs your heart at the thought of your family. How are they coping with the fact that their daughter went missing so many months ago, not even a single clue to her case.

A part of you wonders how Christmas is going to be celebrated back in your home country, if your mom is planning to leave a sock for you in the fireplace, as she always has or if your dad is finally gonna buy that gift you had not to subtly begged for Christmas all those months ago…

Your nails dig deep into the back of your hand, a microscopic attempt to keep the tears from spilling as your eyes begin to burn. You can’t fucking cry - you reprimand yourself - if you cry, Bakugo is gonna be upset. If Bakugo gets upset, then you’ll have to deal with the consequences. And you don’t want that.

“It’s Christmas.” his deep voice breaks out the silence, so random and unexpected you’re not even sure he said anything. He keeps his face straight forward, locked into the screen, even as you’re under the impression that he’s paying as much attention to the movie as you are.

Bakugo sighs, finally looking at you and you don’t like how his red eyes pierce right through you, leaving you helpless and naked under his gaze. Like he can read every single emotion that boils inside you.

“It’s Christmas.” he repeats, voice softening. “First Christmas together, I mean.”

“Yeah.” you stiffly reply.

“Besides, we gotta wait till midnight so you can open your gifts.” he adds, pointing a finger towards the lit up Christmas tree, where some packages wrapped in red paper lay by its base.

A side of you feels curious about them, but another part warns you that nothing good ever comes with Bakugo. When did he ever give you something that is free of restrictions?

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have a gift for you.” you explain.

It’s a silly statement, although evident. You spend all day caged in his heavily-secured apartment with no way of leaving, no matter how much you’ve asked for it, and the few online shopping you’re allowed to do is on Bakugo’s laptop with the blonde man hunched over your shoulder, eagle-eyes following every purchase of yours.

Bakugo shrugs off his broad shoulders, seemingly unbothered.

Lacking the strength to further keep up with the pointless conversation you leave it at that. After a few minutes, the film fails to maintain your interest and soon you start drifting into a calm slumber, eyes drowsily slipping closed and barely aware of when Bakugo re-positions you so that your head lays onto the comfortable muscle of his bicep.

Just a small nap, you sleepily think…

“Hey, wake the hell up.”

There’s an annoying tug at your arm.

“Wake up, it’s time.”

“Hm?”

Opening your eyes proves to be a difficult task with your eyelids awfully heavy. You yawn, sleep coating your features.

Bakugo is no longer sitting by your side, but is bent in front of you, occupying all of your vision field.

“It’s Christmas, already.”

That certainly catches your attention, hands pushing against the couch to leverage you into a standing position.

“Oh.”

The clock marks exactly midnight and you stare at it, empty-minded. For a moment, you believe none of this is real, that you’ve imagined everything.

Any moment now, your family is going to start cheering and hugging you, felicitations and merry christmas’s being thrown around while everyone exchanges their gifts.

Instead, reality hits you like a brick thrown to your face in the form of Bakugo’s squeezing hug, your face being pressed against his toned chest.

“C’mon, let’s open your gifts.” he drags you to the tree, sitting on the wooden floor with his legs crossed as he pulls you into his lap, heavy arms immediately caging you in.

“Start with that one.” Bakugo nudges a box with a rectangular shape to your way.

It’s a bit heavy but as soon as your fingers reach for it, you immediately figure out it’s a book.

As you unwrap the paper from the book, Bakugo squirms and pushes you a bit backwards, so your back meets his brawny chest.

The cover of the book shows him - well, Dynamight portrayed in a comic artstyle.

“Dynamight’s Explosive Adventures”

“It’s a comic book. Part of the new merch.” he slowly says. "Hasn't been released yet, and I warned the jerk editor that it can’t be published until my girl gives it her approval.”

You are surprised to learn how much Bakugo cared about your approval and opinion. A pleasant surprise and warmth rises to your cheeks.

“That’s… really sweet.” you comment as Bakugo gives your neck a small peck.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he brushes it off, “Just make sure to read that quickly.”

“Okay.” you almost sing the word out. You hesitate for a moment. “Thanks.”

The atmosphere feels strangely lighter, happier. It’s silly to feel like this when it’s something so small, so insignificant.

Still, you can’t stop the little smile that tugs the corners of your lips as you open the remaining presents: a shiny golden hand bracelet that Katsuki immediately fastens it down your wrist, a lip oil collection that you vaguely remember being on your wishlist.

All of them are just nice presents and you wonder if you were being a bit too dramatic about it earlier.

Reaching for the last one, Bakugo practically throws the small box into your hands, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder, his breathing obnoxiously heavy in your ears but you don’t dare to complain.

His arms tighten around your waist for a moment and you wonder if he’s nervous about this one.

You receive your answer soon enough, heart dropping to your stomach as soon as you open the velvet black box, revealing an elegant ring inside.

A diamond encrusted ring band, to be exact. A engagement ring.

No.

Oh God, please no.

All of your jovial carefree behavior vanishes into thin air as Bakugo takes the ring out of the box, slipping it onto your annular finger and you wince when he pushes it down with a brutish strength until the overly small ring finally sits at the base of your finger.

“Mrs. Bakugo Katsuki.” you can practically hear a satisfied grin behind those words.

That's all it takes for the dam that's inside your eyes to burst into miserable pitiful tears. From behind you, Bakugo growls - all traces of relaxation now gone - replaced by anger as he violently tugs your arm behind, forcing your body to face him.

“No. No fucking tears.” his tone is harsh, and he takes it upon himself to swipe his big thumbs against your cheeks, cleaning up the endless fountain of water that your eyes have become.

Your hands weakly attempt to push him away, never meeting success in putting distance between your bodies as he immediately clutches your wrists.

“I…Bakugo, I don’t want to-”

His lips capture your wobbling ones into a fervent, boiling kiss. His palm is large enough to cover the back of your head, stopping you from pulling away from the kiss. You’re trapped under his powerful strength, as you always have. You’re so stupid for fooling yourself into something that was never the reality.

He kisses you with all of his ravenous, destructive passion until you’re nothing more than a limp body, until all signs of pathetic rebellion have left your body but not your mind. Your throat dries when his burning lips move to suck little spots on the sensitive skin of your neck, too many sharp teeth involved.

Your whole body itching to squirm away from him but somehow you manage to stay as immobile as a statue. You can only cry your eyes out. You’re weak, you’re pathetic, you’re-

“You asked ‘bout my gift, right?” his voice booms in your ear and you yelp as Bakugo pushes you down to the floor, crawling on top of you like the dangerous predator he is. His calloused hands already reaching for your pajama pants.

“You can fucking give it to me in nine months.”

982 notes View Post

maboiisuga

1 month ago

APARTMENT 345 — EP TWO : WEDDINGS

feat. karasu, otoya, yukimiya || wc: 9.4k synopsis: moving into a new apartment with three men isn't exactly the most easy feat, but you think there's something quite unusual about your new roommates that makes life seem a little more fun. ↳ episode synopsis: when otoya asks you to be his plus-one for a wedding, you find out that there's more than him that meets the eye. so much so, that it somehow wounds you accidentally locked in a bathroom alone together. contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, roommates au, modern au, fluff, slight crack, forced proximity, reader wears a dress and heels, subtle classism, family issues series masterlist ☚ previous next☛

Otoya Eita is a curious case of someone who you suspect isn’t who he seems to be.

Something bugs you about him, something gnawing in a little crevice of your mind. Perhaps it’s that seemingly nonchalant exterior that you think is a little too lax for someone with adult responsibilities like him. Or maybe the way he’s much smarter than you think he was initially. Something of the sort, there’s a lot of peculiarities about him that just don’t seem to add up to what he thinks he’s trying to convey to you.

He says he earns the least out of the four of you—yet he owns a Lexus, multiple expensive colognes, and he’ll show off some new pieces of Chrome Hearts or David Yurman he bought. You figure that one watch of his is at least a third of your salary.

He says he’s not looking for something serious in a relationship—yet you’ve seen him wallow in his misery a few times when some girls wouldn’t call him back. Then he’ll get back up in a matter of two days or less to find someone new to play with.

He says he can't pay the rent this month to you and your other roommates dismay—yet he somehow always pulls through with the money at the last minute to a mysterious degree. Where he gets it from, you think you’re better off not knowing… especially since you’ve eavesdropped on a few of his conversations with someone shady on the phone, asking about a boon of some kind.

Otoya, to you, at least from a few months ago, was the most open roommate out of the other three. Now, you’re not so sure. Unlike Karasu and Yukimiya, who have gotten closer and more amicable as times went on, Otoya seems to have shut himself in with you to your dismay in the past weeks, despite him being the first roommate you were truly comfortable around. He seems to be an enigma to you more than anyone you’ve ever met—you don’t know how to decode him. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you should. Maybe you’re best placed in this pool of ignorance you’ve been trying to get out of to understand your roommate, absorbing it and letting it linger around you.

He has this outer layer to him; a mask of a seemingly chill guy who goes with the flow, someone who lays back and lets life do its work for him. He’ll just simply follow along wherever the wind takes him.

But something eats at you, that gnawing feeling always just lingering about. A gut feeling whispers in your ear that there’s something deeper, more intrinsic about him. You’ve acknowledged the suspicion, but you’re not too sure if you should try and operate on Otoya to properly pluck out his brain. After all, there might just be nothing there and you’ve been paranoid this entire time. Maybe it’s best just to stay out of his business (though, you sometimes find it hard not to, especially when you sometimes find him talking to someone on the phone with pinched brows when you enter the apartment, only for him to hang up the call when he notices you, his default face placing back onto his visage.).

And you’ve been doing a good job at it. Until now, when an opportunity presents itself for you to prod your nose around the hidden secrets of Otoya Eita. All because of an extended wedding invitation from him.

“I need a plus-one from my cousin’s wedding next Saturday,” he had said to you a week prior, scratching the back of his neck lazily. “I’d ask Tabito or Kenyu, but uh. I don’t want my folks to get the wrong impression, ya know?”

You had snorted under your breath, laughing, but said yes without thinking of the consequences at the time. It was only yesterday that it hit you that you’d be meeting Otoya’s family despite only knowing him for a few months whilst nothing absolutely nothing about Otoya’s personal life despite what he gave to you, much less what kind of people his family were.

So you ran to Karasu, who had known him the longest, and in a panic, asked him what sort of people they were. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much help, only giving you a sheepish smile and telling you, “They’re quite the weirdos, ‘s all I’ll say—at least from when I met ‘em. Sorry, sugar.”

When you asked Yukimiya, you ran into the same dead end. The brunette also only gave you a pitiful look. “Just try not to talk to them too much. The less you know, the better.”

Their responses did nothing to calm your nerves. If anything, it amplified the apprehension from twice it was before. You wish you felt it earlier in the week, however, since that at least allowed you more ample time to actually buy a better dress than this dusty rag that you had worn for a friend’s garden party a few years back.

You think this is the longest you’ve stared at yourself in the mirror that you’re becoming an eyesore to yourself. The baby pink dress with puffed short sleeves and layered tulle feels out of date; it’s weird around your waist and just doesn’t seem very elegant for the type of wedding Otoya had described. Too casual, too childish.

A knock comes at your door suddenly.

From the door reveals a dressed-up Otoya Eita before you, uncharacteristically sharp in his crisp grey-black suit and pistachio green tie. His hair is parted neatly, his bangs usually grazing his face now pushed to the side to show the entirety of his features.

A smirk displays itself on your face. “Someone looks rather handsome.”

Otoya hums with satisfaction at your approval, taking a singular finger and dragging it along his jawline. Something called mogging, if you call correctly. “It all comes naturally to me.”

He lets himself in your room, whistling at your messy bedroom littered with disarrayed clothing that you were trying to pluck out and make a nice arrangement with. “A little birdie told me you were having trouble choosing an outfit.”

Your shoulders droop when you spot yourself in your mirror again, your dress looking like it was just plastered on you rather than fitting you.

“I’m assuming my groans of despair were louder than I thought they were,” you sigh despondently, hands attempting to try and fiddle with the layers of the dress so it seems right at least in the mirror.

“I know you said to dress nice, but this is all I have…” you turn to Otoya, who curiously pinches one of your business dresses in his fingers. “I’m sorry, I would’ve totally gone shopping sooner had I known it’d be a big deal.”

Otoya gently places down the dress and turns to you with a barely-visible quirk of his lips. “It’s not bad but I might have something else in mind that might help ease your mind.”

He excuses himself out of the room and returns back not even a moment later with a large white zippered bag hung by a hanger. It’s thick and padded, clearly a bit of weight to it. You’re a little appalled, not expecting Otoya to go out of the way and quite literally get you a dress of his own means. But this also meant that if Otoya was doing more than what he was used to, swaying from his normal route of winging it and actually doing proper preparation for this, it ultimately meant that this was a much bigger event than you anticipated it to be. And you surely had to be ready to size yourself up for such a manner.

Otoya delicately places it on the mountain of clothes on your messy bed, carefully unzipping the bag to reveal a magnificent, floor-length, pear green sequined dress that reflected light so elegantly, it almost created a natural spotlight on itself. Held by thin straps, the chest area was highlighted from all the sequined and carefully-placed cherry blossoms speckling about that brought out a certain uniqueness to the dress. It looked preciously handmade, as you think no machine could delicately craft such petals from fabric and sequins.

It was magnificent and mature, something that clearly contrasted with your current dress. You couldn’t deny that Otoya had great taste when it came to fashion, both for men and women it seems, only second-best next to Yukimiya, though he came damn close to taking over his position on the podium.

You gasp aloud at it, clearly impressed at its meticulousness.

Otoya holds it up by its hanger, showing its full glory to you. “I’m really hoping it’s your size, but d’you like it? You wanna try it on?”

“I—” you falter. The dress was just so elegant that you don’t think someone like you should be adorning it; it was clearly fit for someone more high-class like a socialite or an actress. “Where did you even get this?”

He shrugs, nonchalant as ever. “Bought it on my way home yesterday. Thought you might want to wear it as a backup just in case.”

“I’m really hoping this is a rental,” you worry about, biting at your fingernail. Something seems rather ominous about all those sequins flashing about, like they’re warning you not to touch such preciosity. “How much was this?”

“Mmh, not telling,” Otoya says and slips the dress off its hanger to your panic. “Just know I’ve got it covered.”

You frown.

“Rent’s coming up soon,” you warn, “so if I find out you chucked some money out the window just for a mere dress, you’ve got a storm coming, bud.”

Otoya chuckles fondly. “Relax. I already gave my stuff early, so don’t stress about it anymore and just try it on.”

Ignoring your protests, he forces the dress in your hands and makes his way out, waving his fingers as he leaves you in the desolation of your room.

A pull of his neck releases the tension from it, rhythmic cracks from bones echoing in the hallway your room was located from. Otoya sighs, the weight on his shoulders heaving down on him more than ever today that he hopes will expel from himself once this day is over.

He feels bad, dragging you into this mess. But Otoya thinks that he can’t handle the masses by himself, he needs some sort of stabilizer, someone to help him keep on his feet. Karasu and Yukimiya knew about everything already, so they knew about the trials and tribulations that he faced back then, and clearly didn’t want to go through them again. He couldn’t drag someone from his roster either—he didn’t even know half of their last names.

It wasn’t his fault you just happened to be right there. With your grace and presence, you were the perfect person to have at his side for those hours he’s going to have to face head-on. All he has to do is just pivot his attention to you, knowing that it’ll be his that you’ll be yearning for as well in a room of strangers. It was an equal exchange.

Still. Even though you’ll be at his side, it doesn’t shake off the unease that lingers about.

Otoya settles himself on the couch, feeling tension stiffen his joints again. A warning sign to expect the worst, he assumes. Whatever. It’s just a few hours. He’ll reset and return back to normal in no time. This too shall pass, or whatever bullshit Yukimiya spews.

He cracks his neck again, making Karasu, who sits lazily next to him, cringe.

“Don’t do that near me,” he mutters, averting his attention to the soccer match on the TV. “Freaks me out.”

“It’s just bones, don’t think your two-hundred six are any different from mine,” Otoya insists, going to crack his knuckles to Karasu’s displeasure.

In the corner of the couch, Yukimiya throws some popcorn from a bowl in his mouth, grinning when he sees such a dapper Otoya in front of him. “You look good. For once.”

Otoya mopes, a light offense grazing him. “‘For once?’”

Yukimiya shrugs, still stupidly smiling. “Guess you wanted to look good for (Y/N).”

He frowns.

“This is a wedding. Why wouldn’t I try to look good?” Otoya remarks, clearly unamused. He’s not sure if he’s up for a childish banter right now, not when he’s got too much on his plate.

Karasu snickers at his appearance. Normally it was him and Yukimiya that looked rather tidy in their outerwear, so it came as comical to see the person who donned himself in the first clean thing he blindly plucked from his closet to be adorned in such fashion. “Took some money outta yer trust fund to get that suit o’yers, huh?” he slyly asks, nudging Otoya with his elbow.

Otoya rolls his eyes. “I’ve always had this, dumbass,” he insists with folded arms. “I just don’t like to wear it unless I have to.”

Yukimiya is next to chortle. “Maybe he used the money to buy (Y/N) that dress. Looked pretty expensive to me.”

Otoya thins his lips. Then looks away, the tip of his ears revealed by his slicked hair dusted with red.

Karasu and Yukimiya clearly take notice of his reaction that clearly can’t guise a lie even if Otoya tried to create one, bursting out into laughter when they make eye contact with one another.

“Aw, lookit this loverboy over here!” Karasu hollers and grabs Otoya by the neck, making him wince at Karasu's strength. “Didn’t know ya liked her that much!”

“I don’t…” Otoya grits his teeth, “I just… wanted to get her something nice.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Yukimiya cackles and lightly kicks at Otoya whilst he throws some popcorn his way, speckles of yellow-white fireworking over the living room floor. “Get your non-girlfriend plus-one a real fancy dress out of the blue, yeah? How much did it cost Prince Charming?”

Otoya sighs. “You idiots can’t decipher the fact that this is all for a wedding, can you?” he states with a flat voice. “You both know how my family is… I just don’t want her—”

Heels click softly suddenly, a shy pattering coming from the hallway.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but…” your voice breaks through the playful atmosphere, making all the men pause and look in your direction. “Er, sorry Otoya. Is this how it’s supposed to fit?”

Three spotlights turn to you from the coach from your roommates at once, suddenly drenching you in shyness at such vapid attention. Otoya is stunned at what he sees, breath hitching slightly when you present yourself before them.

He has to give himself a pat on the back because not only does the dress fit you right, it fits you so perfectly that it looks like it was made just for you. You’re going to blend in perfectly, he thinks.

Otoya abruptly stands up from the couch, clearing his throat and sending a soft smile your way—a rare feat considering how stony Otoya’s face could be.

“Fits like a glove on you, babe,” he compliments.

You warmly smile at him, relieved. Karasu and Yukimiya glance at each other, suppressing some teasing smirks, shoulders shaking.

The clock is ticking, and Otoya figures that you and him have to get to the venue soon before traffic starts. You wrap up some last minute adjustments to your outfit before you and him bid Karasu and Yukimiya goodbye with a wave.

“Get us some goodies if they’re offerin’ any!” Karasu shouts.

“Give my warm wishes to the couple!” Yukimiya calls out just as Otoya closes the door.

His sedan looks sleek as ever in the parking lot and you think this is the first time that Otoya actually looks the part to own such a luxury vehicle. He seems to be the gentleman tonight, seeing as how he opened up your car door for you to let you in, a hand holding yours to help keep you steady from the imbalance your heels might offer.

“Am I getting the princess treatment tonight?” you ask playfully as Otoya settles himself into his car.

“When do you not?” inquires Otoya as he slings back one of his arms on the back of your headrest, veering his head to help him reverse despite having a back camera with sensors. You roll your eyes jovially at his antics, supposing that his flirting tactics just come a little too naturally to him even when he wasn’t trying to do so.

The car ride is not too long, the venue being a lot closer than you thought initially. And clearly, a lot more grand, the pictures you saw from Google not doing it justice as you drive by it to its back parking lot.

It’s a large garden conservatory, filled with lush flora all over both inside and out and glittering the place with natural color and textures. A large window dome ceiling looks overhead the space, all the windows letting the setting sunlight in in a manner so majestic that you think it was haloed by the hand of the Sun itself. Two large ponds sit before the entrance on the grass, koi fish swimming about the many lilypads and lotus flowers that bloom before you.

Weariness grows within you when you stare at the building. You want to ask Otoya if you’re sure this is the right venue when he moves forward in the line of many cars to get a parking ticket, seeing as how you’ve never seen such a lavish venue before, but when you pass by a banister that reads a familiar last name of the groom, your words falter.

Welcome to the Wedding of Otoya Teruo & Hirai Hiromi, the banister states.

Up comes the gnawing feeling of suspicion again, like Otoya is hiding something, especially when you see his eyes narrow at the banister. Something is off. His mask is slipping, you think.

You know you should stay cautious and try to mind your business about him, but you’re just his friend and roommate after all and you’re not as close to him as Karasu or Yukimiya. But you feel pressured by an unknown force to try and squeeze something out of him that can help you gain a sense of the true Otoya.

Your fingers itch to lift the mask off of him, to truly see him for who he is and not just the nonchalant, flirty roommate.

“This wedding is pretty extravagant,” you admit after Otoya gains his temporary permit from the parking attendant. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Otoya drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the car, blowing some spare hair out of his way. “Yeah. There is.”

Your eyes go to glance at him, body unmoving. “Well…” you start, fiddling with your fingers when he doesn’t elaborate, “are you gonna say something?”

“You might not like it,” he says honestly, his own gaze focused on trying to find a space, his car moving at a snail’s pace. “You seem stressed enough as it is.”

He’s observant, a trait you’ve picked up from him over the course of the months. Almost a little too much so… were your anxieties that obvious that they leaked out without your knowledge?

Your lips pull a frown. “I can handle it. I’d rather know too much than not know enough. I’m meeting your family, after all.”

The mention of the word “family” irks him a bit, a slight tick from his jaw. A sigh drifts out from him, like he was expecting this from someone who’s mindset was so head-on for most things. “You should be careful about what you wish for.”

“Otoya,” you declare a little more sternly. He purses his lips at your calling of his name, akin to a mother scolding a child.

“Fine then, you asked for it,” he mutters, swerving his car suddenly into a blank space and jutting his gear stick into park. He leans his elbow on the center console and somehow forces you to look at him without touching or commanding you. You stay still where you are, but you focus on the droning look of Otoya’s green hues that bore into you, warning you almost.

“My family owns a subsidiary business of a large investment management company,” he begins with a tone so robotic, it sounds almost generated. It doesn’t sound a bit like him.

You were planning to uncover the true essence of Otoya Eita and why he’s been rather shut-in recently from you, but you never expected him to reveal everything about himself all at once because he spits out everything to you in the matter of seconds, leaving barely any for you to stay curious since he seems to ask every question you have in mind immediately.

“Specifically, we handle index funds. Yes we’re wealthy. Yes, I’m a trust fund baby. I just try to earn money my own way since I don’t want to rely on my parents that often. No, I can’t just give you money flat-out. No, do not ask me if you can dabble in them through me—Karasu already tried. I’ve got barely any knowledge in business and I want it to stay that way.

I have two sisters. Both of them are following my parents’ footsteps, which makes me a black sheep in the family. Stay away from them if you can, same with my parents. I don’t keep in contact with my family a lot for that reason and I only came here because Teruo is the only relative that I’m close with and that gets me.”

An apt pause goes by in the car.

“Ah…” you mumble, eyes wide as you nod slowly.

You thin your lips, not sure if you should say something at the moment, an exponential flurry of questions constantly rising to thoughts that you think you should hold yourself back from asking in the meantime as clearly this was just too much information to digest at once.

Otoya snaps you out of your thoughts with an actual snap of his fingers. You blink.

“This is important, so listen carefully,” he states, atypically serious. There’s almost this pleading look on his face if you look deeper into it. “All you need to do is keep your pretty little head down and let me do the talking, yeah? Don’t try to pretend to be someone you’re not if someone asks you who are—rich snobs can sniff out a phony in seconds. Just don’t give them too much information. Any questions?”

This is very unlike the usual Otoya you saw, and you think this is finally the real version of him that he’s finally allowing you to see; this more vulnerable, more historical side to him that you would’ve never guessed the current Otoya you knew (or thought you knew) well came from.

“Uh… who else should I avoid other than your sisters and parents?” you ask.

“Quite literally almost everyone on my side of the family, ‘cept for Teruo and my great aunt Hisako. She’s weird, but chill. Everyone else?” Otoya rolls his eyes. “Chances are if they look like me, then just stay away.”

You affirm with another nod. “What are your sisters’ names? Just so I can be wary.”

“My oldest sister goes by Eimi, my baby sister goes by Eiko,” Otoya describes. “Avoid nee-san the most—she can see through people easily. Eiko’s got a baby-face, but don’t be fooled. She’s a spoiled brat and a bitch if you tick her off.”

You wince at the insults he throws at his sisters, but you have no room to judge. Otoya grew up with them, you did not.

“Er, how about your parents?” you inquire.

“You don’t have to worry about them,” his shoulders sag a bit, “‘cause they’ll probably avoid me if anything.”

Otoya suddenly turns to you and you can see this foreign tiredness to his eyes; it’s not the normal lethargicness you see him being casted upon, but rather from exhaustion.

That’s what happens, you suppose, when you come from such a family of prestige—you can’t even imagine the amount of expectations he probably had to live up to prior to being your roommate. You’ve never seen him in this way before, seeing him almost defenseless before you.

Eyes closing, he breathes slowly, trying to regain his natural lull again as best as possible. Otoya cracks them open again, a familiar glaze over lime green.

“Just stay close to me,” he mutters almost beseechingly. “Okay? For both our sakes.”

Otoya was right. Money really makes people much too vain for your liking.

Despite looking the part of the family, Otoya himself had an aura that made him stand out in all the wrong ways, drawing side-eyes and whispers from people that knew about him and his reputation as you and him walked about the conservatory, trying to find the groom. You’re a part of it too, his notoriety stretching to you. Every time you try to sneak a glance at one of those dirty looks you think is being thrown your way, just when your vision clears up, they go back to talking in nonsensical manners amongst themselves and laughing much too sweetly.

An older middle-aged woman in a yukata suddenly begins to approach you and Otoya, a faux smile on her face that he doesn’t return. Her face is placidly smooth, eerily so, but the botox can’t always hide the essence of bitter time, and you think that smile is just as fake as her lips.

“Eita, what a pleasure to see you here,” she greets. “Teruo will be happy to see you.”

“Auntie Kazuko,” Otoya replies simply. “It’s good to see you.”

Her smile doesn’t falter and she draws her beady eyes to you, lighting up in mischief. “Hello there. I’ve never seen you before.”

You can feel Otoya stiffen before you, but you squeeze his arm in reassurance that you can temporarily handle yourself.

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N),” you greet with as much false compassion as you can muster, giving her a slight bow of respect. “I’m his plus-one for tonight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“(L/N)...” Kazuko draws on her tongue, tasting your last name delicately. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a family. What do you all dabble in?”

“She’s not one of us, Auntie, she’s just a friend of mine,” Otoya cuts in before Kazuko can make a judgement. His tone is so much sharper than normal, serpentlike, almost equivalent to his aunt’s.

Kazuko’s smile stretches wider, eyes widening and you swear her pupils constrict themselves like a cat venturing for its prey. You swallow.

“Ah,” she murmurs, lilting her head to examine you fully. “My apologies. I just thought with your looks and your dress that perhaps I just wasn’t akin to your name. Seems I’ve been mistaken.”

Your dress suddenly feels constricting on your body, too tight. “Oh, I just—” you start, shuffling.

“Oscar de la Renta’s Summer 2023 collection, yes?” she asks you. A shiver runs down your spine when his aunt refuses to move her formidable gaze away from you, almost testing you.

You go rigid. No wonder why you felt so intimidated by the dress; a piece crafted by a distinguished fashion house was given to you by Otoya. And while you’ve dabbled in the world of high fashion before, you’ve never been in a status that allowed you to just casually wear $2,000 pieces like they were nothing.

Words fall heavy on your tongue, trying to compose yourself so as to not seem small in front of her. “I don’t really—”

Otoya beats you to it first, swooping down to save you before you accidentally embarrass yourself.

“His Pre-Fall 2025 collection, actually,” he says, face still blank.

Your throat feels dry. Kazuko had a trap set up ready for you and if it weren’t for Otoya’s quick reflexes, you probably would’ve ended up dead meat not even fifteen minutes into this wedding.

Kazuko’s smile falters a bit. Her gaze hardens at you but pivots to Otoya. “I’m sure she has a voice of her own, Eita.”

“Where’s Teruo?” he inquires boredly. “Just wanna give him some support before the big show.”

Kazuko huffs, but silently points to the right corridor of the hallway, her eyes cold and sharp and daggering when they burn into the back of your back as Otoya leads you away from her.

“I’m assuming she’s one of yours…?” you ask softly, noticing how Otoya’s own gaze softens and body loosens when she’s out of view.

“She’s his mom,” Otoya admits as you trail down a hallway of doors as you approach the large door at the end of the hallway. “It’s crazy considering they act nothing alike. Or look alike. I can’t tell if it’s because of all the botox or if just being a bitch ages you quicker.”

A stifled giggle muffles itself under your hand, a small bit of humor distracting you from the tension in the room.

True to his word, you meet the rather outlandish and loud Teruo, whose naturally extroverted nature is a breath of fresh air in comparison to everyone else. He shakes your hand warmly, telling you thank you for being here with Otoya, who many thought wouldn’t even show up, with a date nonetheless. You can understand why he and Otoya get along so well—they’re quite the oddities in the family.

He tells you and Otoya to go get settled soon in the venue with a shining smile, clearly excited to meet his shining bride. A lovesick man is always a treat to witness you think.

Skittering eyes are on you when you and Otoya settle down in your chairs and he can sense that your unease has amplified. It’s not like the same eyes that scan you aren’t observing his every move as well. Oddly, your out-of-place disposition that just seems to draw more attention than him than he would’ve liked brought him this solace—knowing that he wasn’t alone in not quite fitting in with the rest of the crowd. It was cruel to perhaps place you in a co-dependent position with him for the time being, but he figured he had to be just a bit selfish to keep his sanity.

You lift your gaze a bit and suddenly make accidental eye contact with a man in front whose head is turned ever so slightly to examine you, only breaking it when you notice him. There’s a few other eyes on you and Otoya, some even going to whisper behind their hands to share gossip.

You swallow dryly again, hands feeling clammy until a warmth slithers its way to one of them, squeezing it lightly.

You turn to Otoya, who idly gazes at you from the side and gives you a comforting nod.

“You’re fine. We’re fine,” he mutters softly. “Just ignore them. They won’t remember you tomorrow, anyways.”

The Otoya you’re familiar with somehow creeped back into this persona Otoya has been guising under, that coolness he’s notorious for bringing you comfort in knowing that this feeling won’t last for long. Relief in knowing that part of him isn’t entirely buried for the time being warms your nerves.

The lights dim.

You breathe steadily. Otoya squeezes your hand again and you return it, a silent agreement that you and him just have to stick it out for a few more hours together.

Despite the evident class and structure of the reception’s venue, the reception itself is rather rowdy. It’s too close and personal with the families, so you and Otoya have stowed away somewhere isolated and quiet, where you watch him play rhythm games on his phone intently.

“You suck,” you state as he misses a note.

“You swa—”

Otoya pauses mid sentence, closing his mouth.

You stare at him intently with a plastic grin, eyes wide and unblinking as he tries his best not to look at you and focuses his gaze on his phone. The douchebag jar was nearing its halfway point, if you could recall correctly.

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

“I’m good… thanks,” he mumbles.

“Good choice,” you cheerily state to his dismay as he begins another level.

The low hum of the game echoes through the part of the corridor where you and him settle yourselves in, the quietness lulling you both from the apprehension earlier. You can hear the cheers from the reception, but you and Otoya are better off just absorbing it rather than partaking in it. It’s not like they wanted you there anyway.

He’s much more relaxed now, ever since you and him moved away from all the commotion of his family that you witnessed in full light were just as everything Otoya had said they were. Judgemental, proud, and conceited.

“Hey,” you begin softly, resting your head on his shoulder and watch his thumbs prance about. “How come you didn’t tell me any of this before…?”

Otoya hums questionably, feeling the warmth of you radiating onto him. “What? My family?”

You nod. The fervent taps of his phone and echoes from the party are the only things that ring out into the silence for a bit, but Otoya eventually breaks after choosing his words carefully.

“Unless I’m forced to, I don’t like telling people about them,” he says, monotone and unfeeling. “For reasons you obviously saw. Also ‘cause I hate associating myself with them.”

That’s understandable, you think to yourself. You don’t think that you would be able to live with yourself if fate forced you to be a part of such a snobbish collective of rich folk without trying to break it off and make a name for yourself.

“It’s why I refused to go into the financial business field in college and chose music instead,” he continues to your astonishment. Not necessarily a man of many words in regards to himself, Otoya was always more of a secretive person to you, especially in consideration of recent weeks, so to hear him unsheathe truths of himself without you prying came as a small surprise.

But this is good, you think, to let him be vulnerable around you. To take that mask off.

“Your parents weren’t mad?” you ask.

He snorts loudly, shaking his head. “Oh no, they were pissed. Threatened to cut me off and everything.”

You perk up. “But you said you’re trust fund baby?”

“I am still,” he confirms with a nod. “Because I told them if they did, I’d reveal to the press all the scandals they covered up. And there’s more than enough to hand out to properly damage their reputation.” Otoya shrugs loosely. “My uncle on my mom’s side especially has quite the stack. Really likes that one gentlemen's club down on Twenty-Eighth.”

Your eyes widen at his quiet ferocity. Only a few hours prior, you would’ve never thought that Otoya you saw on a day-to-day basis would dabble in such matters, only doing his own business as he liked. But seeing this new side of him stirs sparks of interest within you, seeing as how there’s this undertone of determination and ambition he nurtured himself, very much unlike the lethargic, easy-going roommate you saw.

Otoya, without averting his eyes away from his phone, senses your shock and cracks a grin.

“Surprised?” he inquiries, a subtle slyness in his voice.

You’re nothing but. You let out a brief laugh in astonishment.

“A little bit,” you murmur. “Sorry, I just kind of always took you as—”

“—a slob? A sloth? A laggard?” Otoya lists down. “You can say it, I’ve heard it all before. They’re pretty much true anyway.”

“I was going to say ‘laid back’,” you mutter, shoving him a bit to his amusement. “‘Care-free’ even, you dunce.”

He cringes at the familiarity of the nickname. “Gross. You’ve been hanging out with Tabito too much.”

You’re about to hurl an insult back at him but Otoya stands up abruptly when two feminine voices suddenly trail through the hallway. His face remains still, but there’s a seriousness to his eyes that narrow when they grow closer.

“I feel as though Teruo went over his budget,” a familiar voice drawls steadily, two pairs of heels clicking in synchronicity. “All for a commoner girl?”

“Well, Teruo-nii has always been like that,” the other, younger in intonation, replies in what seems to be an attempt at comfort, but comes off as standoffish. Otoya’s brows knit in concern at the second voice, clearly accustomed to it. “Always loud and grand. Explosive, some may say.”

“I hope your brother won’t be doing that with that girl he came along with,” Auntie Kazuko’s voice chides. “Then again, I doubt he’ll ever get married anyway. He doesn’t seem like the type to do so.”

The younger voice laughs in amusement. “It might be better for us anyway. We don’t need more drama from someone who’s stirred up quite a storm already.”

Your eyes soften in pity at the implication of Otoya, who just stares at the two approaching shadowy figures in the hallway. You want to refute their statement, but your words falter when Otoya suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you further from them, your heels rapidly clicking against the floor.

“Hey!” you exclaim with a slight yelp in pain from his grip. “Where are we—”

“Just away from them,” he grimaces. “I don’t feel like talking to nee-san today.”

His older sister. Eimi, if you could recall, the one who was able to see through people. You’ve never heard of her until today, let alone know what she looks like, but you can already tell from Otoya’s urgency to get away from her that she’s not a force to be reckoned with.

Otoya leads you down one of the corridors leading to the entrance but hisses out a swear when he sees a cherub-faced woman talking politely with an elder, a head of long snowy white hair with that strike of green mimicking his own. He turns back, only to see the shadowy figures from earlier approach you both closer and closer as the seconds pass.

He groans out loud. He hates things like this—problems that require too much worrying. It was such a waste of time dabbling on things that were out of his control, such as this scenario before him, and Otoya thought he had gotten away from the hazards of it when he left the family but he supposes that he’s doomed to face such troubles whenever they’re in radius.

His eyes scan his surroundings for a way out, not finding any that won’t lead him to cross paths with people until he spots a certain door.

“Sorry babe,” he mutters lowly to you and pulls you to the men’s bathroom to your horror. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

You gawk at him when you see the male symbol on the door.

“Dude!” you shout in protest, but to no avail does it work in changing Otoya’s mind seeing as how he slams the door shut and locks it, pressing himself up against the door as a barricade.

To your relief, it was a single stall bathroom with no one in it to bother you both, one gold-plated toilet sitting next to the door and a marble sink across from it. Otoya swallows thickly, pressing his ear up against the wall to properly hear outside. He can hear the semi-condescending voices of his sisters murmur through, his name being bounced around once or twice to his displeasure.

A small velvet stool sits right in front of the door and you let yourself take a break from the stress of your heels, watching closely as Otoya observes the outside within the inner safety of the bathroom with his ear.

“I think we’re all good,” he asserts when turning back to you.

You don’t enjoy seeing him like this—it felt uncharacteristic of him to be so restless around people he was supposed to have fun with. It’s clear that he didn’t want to come from the very beginning.

“Hey,” you start, “I get that Teruo is your cousin and everything, but we can go home if you really want to.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised him I’d stay for at least the majority of the reception. Just until the toasts. Said I didn’t have to interact with anyone, but he wants me here. I owe him that much.”

“Well that isn’t worth being uncomfortable for nearly five hours, I’m sorry,” you remark tiredly. “You don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I think it’s just best if we leave.”

Otoya turns to you, a slight furrow in his brow. “He’s the only person in this family that I refuse to let down. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, but I’m doing this for him.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead, a little vexed at this foreign stubbornness considering Otoya would usually go along with most things.

“You haven’t let yourself breathe even once the entire time we’ve been here,” you point out with concern. “I’m sure he’d understand.

Otoya takes your words in for a moment to consider, but ultimately shakes his head again. “It’s just a few more hours. Let’s just tough it out.”

Frustrated, you get up and dust yourself off, moving towards the door. You’ve had enough for one night; you’re tired, your esteem has been kicked down from all the shady comments sent your way, and all you want to do is just take off this dress and makeup and sleep. Meddling around in rich folks’ business was not your ideal Saturday night.

“You can stay if you want,” you huff, grasping the handle and whipping your head around to face him. “But I’m gonna grab an Uber. I’ll see you back home. I’ve done my part.”

Otoya shrugs loosely, unfazed as he takes your spot on the stool. “Go right ahead, princess.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

You throw him another judgemental look, one that he doesn’t do much with except for give you a questioning raise of his brows as you tug on the doorknob to swing yourself out of the reception’s venue.

Oddly, however… it refuses to budge.

You pause. Then jerk it again. Nothing happens. The door stays where it is.

“What…” you mutter, pulling on the doorknob again, fiddling with the lock multiple times to get the right latch. With every turn of the lock, however, you run into the same problem. “You can’t be serious? It’s stuck?”

“No way bro can’t even open a door right,” Otoya snorts and stands up. His hand goes to grip the doorknob and give it a pull from his own means, but even he can’t seem to get it to open.

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck,” you insist as he repeats your own methods, all reaching no avail.

Otoya constantly pulls on the doorknob, each yank being harsher than the previous. “It literally just opened a minute ago—hold on…”

“Don’t pull too hard,” you warn when he begins adding more of his strength. “You might—!”

Something clicks, and Otoya figures it’s the latch. He gives it one last harsh tug, only for the actual knob of it to snap off suddenly to your horror, a gasp pulling from your throat.

He steps back a little, examining the chunk of metal in his palm. He gives you a blank look.

“So… we may be stuck,” he says all too obviously, making you smack your forehead.

“Well duh!” you groan out loud and examine the broken lock that seems completely hopeless to try and solve a way to maneuver it.

Otoya is quick to pull out his phone. “Lemme call Teruo and see if—shit, my phone’s dead.”

He shows you the empty battery icon flickering on his screen, your dread expanding.

“I didn’t think rhythm games took up that much battery…” he falters, tucking it back into his pocket. “Try yours.”

Thankfully, you have your phone still at 40% battery when you pull it out, the number keypad at the ready, only for you to whine miserably when you see the No Service text on the corner of your screen. Of course you somehow land in the only place in the venue that is just slightly out of service.

“First rule of thumb whenever you enter a place,” Otoya holds a finger up, one that you have an urge to snap from the irritation that boils within you. “Always ask for their wifi password.”

That’s not how it works… you hiss at him in your mind, trying to avoid escalating this situation. You stare at him darkly, his lax personality not doing much to help your unease in this moment and wonder how many hours it’ll take for you to go insane and strangle him.

Two, you think. One, if he tested his luck.

Surprisingly, after three and a half hours have passed, Otoya still has a beating heart. He’s been the patient one out of you two, watching you as you pace back and forth to try and conjure a plan to get out while he was just riding on the wave of hoping someone would come by soon to try and use this bathroom.

You’ve tried going on his shoulders to try and receive a signal, pushing the vent to see if you could spy-movie—only for it to be much too small for a human body to fit, and yelling for help whenever someone passed by, only for your shouts to be drowned out from the music.

The music has died down, but your voice is gone from all the shouting. You’ve given up at this point, just hoping that a custodian will somehow break their way through after hours.

“Has no one attempted to look for you yet?” you question wearily when you slump down next to him on the stool.

Otoya gives another one of those loose shrugs of his again as he bunches up his suit jacket, plopping it on his lap. “Bold of you to assume that family gives a damn about me.”

The way he says it seems too casual, like he was used to this. Like this was normal for him. It’s unsettling to you, knowing that such a large and prestigious family would think of one of their own so scathingly that his existence barely mattered.

He sees you giving him a pouted look and sighs. “You don’t have to pity me. I chose to leave that life while knowing the consequences.”

“But even so… it doesn’t bother you?” you question with sympathy laced in your voice. “When they talk about you like that?”

“Hah,” Otoya gives a smileless laugh, rolling his eyes. “I promise you, I could not have given less of a shit about what they think of me. They can say whatever they want; I got what I wanted at the end of the day while they’re stuck slaving away at an office.”

You give him a stony look, silently reminding him that you and his other two roommates worked corporate.

“My fault,” Otoya excuses with guilty haste.

The rigidity in your face softens once more, your mind trailing back to all of those side-eyes that everyone had thrown in Otoya’s direction from before.

The Otoya you saw today just seemed so different from the one you were used to at home, so much so that you still can’t decipher him out and if anything, the Otoya that you had witnessed today just even caused more confusion to you. The usual Otoya, the one you suspect is just a mask, is this composed and carefree guy that dawdled around the apartment as he pleased, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. This Otoya however, was much more uptight, much more weary of his surroundings—you almost think that he’s mimicking his family in some manner.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so closed-off with you recently. Family can bring out the best and worst in people, so the days leading up to this event were the reason why he’s been so strayed from you lately.

“You know,” you start quietly, earning Otoya’s attention. “I wish you didn’t feel the urge to have to hide something like this from me. Unless I made it seem like you had to…?”

Otoya examines you in full, scanning how bleak your face is, how sincere it was.

He remembers the first day you came into the loft—you, sitting there on the couch with your fidgety self squirming about. Originally, Otoya had not really thought that hard about you during the first few weeks you and him were living together, seeing you as no more than just a girl he wasn’t allowed to cross boundaries with to ensure nothing unnecessary would blossom. Even Yukimiya and Karasu had told him not to try anything funny, though he insists he wasn’t going to anyway.

But times change, as they always have. A crack was made in the wall he put between you and him from a specific day he saw you bring home a certain vinyl, one that he already owned from his own collection. That was his first break with you, your shared love of music—the start of everything. Of you and him. A unique relationship with a girl he’d never had before.

He thought it’d just be nothing more than that, casual chats over new albums and artists and whatnot. Until the small hangouts started to arise, where it’d just be the two of you venturing around places like record stores or flea markets. It was nice, being able to hang out with a girl without any other intentions. Perhaps that’s why Otoya allowed himself to get closer to you—you were a safe option. Someone he was able to breathe around just like Karasu and Yukimiya.

Someone he saw as an escape from the roots of himself.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he says. “I just never brought it up because I thought I didn’t have to at first,” He shuffles his feet about, almost ashamed.

He never even realized he was closing himself in from you when he received the wedding invitation all those weeks ago, a reminder to not forget where he came from, who he was supposed to be. That no matter how many times he attempts to bury it, that lost potential he never wanted to live up to was still a remnant of him.

“I figured that if I possibly did, you’d view me differently,” he admits, “you’d view me as someone I’m not.”

He had a point; money does a plethora of things—one of them being the way people see each other. Whether one person saw the other as a walking piggy bank, or someone they could depend on financially, or someone they should envy, money was always attached to some sort of ugly feeling that you figured Otoya didn’t want you associating with him. Not from someone he had such a unique connection with.

“I didn’t want that,” he confesses and raises his head to face you in full. You can feel your heart skip a beat when he goes to directly stare into your eyes with those lime green eyes of his that hold nothing but genuinity. “Especially not from you, (Y/N).”

The way he says your name is delicate, like it’s fragile. The lack of endearment and nickname reveals the earnesty of his nature.

It comes to you suddenly, that epiphany you had been searching for.

You had spent all this time wondering about who the true Otoya Eita was that you didn’t even realize you had been face-to-face with him this entire time. That, in reality, the seemingly-fake Otoya was the one you saw plastered on his face when it came to his family matters, people that brought the worst of himself to light. He kept it professional, keeping them at arm’s length as to not let anymore of those feelings only they could conjure to light. He was just trying to bury that part of him on your behalf to keep letting authenticity bounce between you and him.

But Otoya is a good man. A tad bit annoying, yes, you won’t deny you’ve seen some vices of his unfiltered self, sure, but at the end of the day, despite having that immense access to wealth, he still somehow lived humbly. It was ironic seeing as how he detached himself from his riches to become a happier person, but he’s clearly put in the work, seeing as how he seems to be content where he is. Everyone around him seems to be, as well.

You give him a gentle smile.

“I don’t think I would’ve viewed you in a different light even if I tried to,” you murmur. “You’re too much of a good person. I think everyone can see that, Otoya.”

His eyes widen a bit from your tender response before softening. Your response is tender, an honesty he’s not familiar with, but embraces nonetheless. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

One of his legs shuffles around with yours, linking them together in a loose manner. Otoya turns to you.

“You can call me Eita, by the way,” he proclaims quietly. “I don’t mind.”

The clicking of metal suddenly startles you awake, your body jolting so harshly, Otoya’s suit jacket falling to the ground from your body. Your head jerks up from Otoya’s shoulder, accidentally waking him up, whose own lied on top of yours for the small catnap you and him took, a groan rumbling out of him.

“Awhuzz happening…?” he asks blearily, eyes half-closed.

It takes a bit for your vision to adjust, but the inner mechanics of the broken doorknob are suddenly moving on their own, a muffled voice outside muttering about. You tap on his arm rapidly, pointing your finger towards it. “Look, look!”

Otoya’s drowsiness still stirs within him, but you go up and rap on the door, indicating to the person outside that someone was still here.

“Hello?!” you call out, hearing an exclaim from outside. “Hello! Sorry, but there’s two people trapped in here! Can you let us out please?!”

You watch eagerly as whoever is outside fiddles with the broken lock, the latch suddenly clicking and the door swinging open to your relief.

A custodian with his supplies appears before you, your unknowing knight in shining trousers. He widens his eyes at the both of you. “What on earth are you kids doin’ here? We’ve been closed for three hours already.”

I’m so sorry, the lock broke and we both got trapped inside since around eight or so,” you confess as you hand the custodian the broken knob. You check the time on your phone, the time reading 01:34 AM. “Oh gosh, we were stuck in there for that long?”

The custodian eyes you both suspiciously, raising a bushy brow. “And exactly why did you both move into the same bathroom when clearly…?” he eyes you up and down, moving his gaze to the male symbol on the door.

It was your turn for your eyes to widen, a heat rising on your cheeks.

“N-no sir, it wasn’t anything like that…” you stutter, shaking your head. “We just—will you shut up!” you snap at Otoya, who quietly snickers behind you to your disbelief.

The custodian sighs, dismissing it and just wanting his job to be over with.

“Y’all better get movin’,” he warns, checking behind his shoulder. “Security doesn’t take too kindly to who they think may be trespassers.”

When you both finally walk outside for the first time in hours from the bathroom and pass by the reception venue, it’s dark and completely devoid of all the decorations you saw earlier, eerily desolate. Otoya’s car is the only one that remains in the parking lot, with the exception of the night crew, and you couldn’t feel more relieved to be sitting on something other than a velvet stool for once. Who knew cold leather seats could feel so pleasant?

“It would’ve been easier if you just went along with what he was implying,” Otoya points out as he travels down the road, a smirk toying on his lips. “Would’ve been funnier, too.”

Your jaw grits, a familiar reaction whenever he says or does anything preposterous to you. He’s lucky he’s driving and not still stuck in the bathroom with you, because if he wasn’t, you most definitely would’ve strangled him by now.

“Twenty bucks in the douchebag jar when we get home, Eita,” you hiss.

He stifles a chuckle, a warmth within him blooming when he hears his name falling from your lips. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

☚ previous next☛

a/n: this chapter sucked the absolute life out of me good god im glad it's over... a little bit of a serious one, but dw i'm pinning that clown nose on otoya again soon! also, this was the dress that otoya had reader wear; it's an actual piece from the oscar de la renta's collection otoya stated.

yukki's chapter is next, one that i'm quite excited for! i think that's where all the drama is going to start to happen so i hope you'll stay tuned (spoiler: they dance together aaa)

thank you sincerely if you made it this far, i hope you enjoyed reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support your writers; they're always appreciated and never unnoticed <3