#Kita fanfic

[bokutoko]

you've never told ᴋɪᴛᴀ your favorite flowers.

and yet here they were, another couple of them in a little vase—your favorite vase—on the kitchen counter, like always. you stared at the blooming buds, as if they were taunting you, your mind struggling to remember if you’d ever even mentioned them to your fiancé.

your thoughts were quickly interrupted upon the familiar crunch, crunch, crunch of the grass beneath the footsteps of a familiar gait. shinsuke walked in through the back, so beautiful and so sweaty after taking his boots off on the porch.

“evenin’, sweetheart,” he greeted with his same gentle smile, coming to give you a quick kiss on the forehead. you hummed with a soft smile as he went straight to the sink to wash his hands.

“you smell,” you teased, earning a little laugh from your love.

“do i?” he asked with a knowing look, “thought i’d smell like peaches and wildflowers.”

apparently, your greeting smile and little joke was not enough to hide the serious brainpower you were using to try and figure out when the hell—

“i sense that brain workin’,” kita commented as he scrubbed and dried his hands, his voice gentle, “what’cha thinkin’ about?”

“when did I ever tell you my favorite flower?” you blurted out before actually thinking, and you inwardly cringed, sounding like some petulant little kid.

real smooth.

kita’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion at her question, looking to the vase in the kitchen. “i mean, i knew ya liked flowers ‘cause we always walk past that one florist in town when we’re out... but your eyes light up just a lil’ bit more when he’s got these in the window.”

your cheeks turn hot, not realizing he noticed things like that. clearing your throat, you awkwardly mumbled, “didn’t know i had a stalker on my hands.”

kita couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, the rich, low laugh still making your heart race and the butterflies in your tummy flutter. “yer the one who said yes to marryin’ me, sweetheart,” he said with a slightly crooked grin, coming over to rest his hands on the curve of your waist, “it ain’t creepin’—i just pay attention.”

a/n: I AM ALIVE!! i am back (i think)!

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[narumi-gens]

I would propose this very instant if you brought back the yakuza kita fic.

this has been floating around in my mind and will somehow find its way into an eventual yakuza!kita follow-up.

ink | yakuza!kita shinsuke x f!reader

note: mini follow-up to traditional values (but can prob be read on its own) warnings: yakuza au, arranged marriage, hint of yandere, mentions of masturbation and orgasm control, reader is a brat lol

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not like, reblog, or comment

"I want a reward."

Kita has only just closed the front door with a mild "tadaima" when you plant yourself firmly in front of the genkan. He hasn't even had time to slip off his shoes.

"Do ya deserve one?" he asks simply, seemingly unperturbed by being so suddenly confronted by you.

"I haven't gotten into any trouble. I've played nice with everyone. I've stayed here in the boring countryside with only my phone and the TV for entertainment. I've been good," you whine with a pout.

You've been in Hyogo for almost two weeks by this point -- at Kita's insistence of course. He said a visit was important to help you acclimate to what your life would look like after you were officially married. However, you have doubts about this "visit" considering you have yet to hear when you'll be returning to Tokyo.

"What kinda reward do ya think you've earned?" His tone and expression are both calm and your hopes begin to rise.

"A night out in Osaka." A quick flash of danger passes in his eyes and your hopes come crashing back down.

"No." With just a single word, you feel like you've had the back of your hand slapped away when trying to reach for something you shouldn't have.

"But Shin-kun, I've done everything you've asked and we're not even married yet! I've been good! It's not fair!" You can't help the way your arms fold across your chest or your pout deepens. You do manage to keep from childishly stomping your foot.

"If ya keep behavin' like this, ya won't be getting any reward." As usual, he doesn't need to raise his voice for you to know that you're toeing a line that it would be in your best interest not to cross. You relent with a huff.

"Fine. Then there's something else I want," you say and he gives you a flat look.

"I already told ya yer not coming until we're married."

You roll your eyes. You've heard that enough by this point in your engagement to know that it's an exercise in futility to even bother pleading asking.

"No. Something else."

He raises an eyebrow and it's all the permission you need to continue. Your posture straightens and your arms unfold to hang down at your sides.

"I want to see your tattoos." Although his expression doesn't change, there's a momentary hint of surprise in his eyes, clearly not having expected such a request.

You wonder if your own expression betrays your eagerness. While you've seen his tattooed forearms from afar when he's rolled up his shirtsleeves, it's only ever been a small taste of what's etched upon his skin and hidden beneath fabric.

Lately, when you've found yourself in bed with your fingers buried in your pussy, your walls clenching around them and your clit swollen the overwhelming and months-long need to come, all you can imagine is what he's chosen for the centerpiece tattoo that dominates his back.

Nothing you envision ever seems to fit the strict and traditional image of the Inarizaki's kumicho. A dragon seems too cliché. A tiger seems too egotistic. A samurai is too aggressive and an oni too vulgar.

So, when the corner of Kita's lip twitches briefly upward, your breath catches with excitement. Wordlessly, he steps closer to where you stand on the edge of the genkan. With the height advantage of the step, you're almost able to directly meet his gaze without looking up.

When he slips off his black jacket and hands it to you, you carefully fold it over your arms. You can tell that something in the gesture pleases him -- whether it's the submissiveness or domesticity, you're not sure. You're not inclined to offer any protest as he begins to unbutton his white dress shirt with nimble fingers.

With every inch of skin that's slowly revealed, you can feel yourself growing wetter, the fabric of your underwear beginning to cling uncomfortably to your slick folds. When the final button comes undone, you clench your thighs together, pitifully acknowledging it's the only taste of satisfaction that you'll see.

As the shirt slides down his arms, he passes it for you to take and you mindlessly hang it over the jacket already on your arm. Your eyes greedily drink in the expansive swaths of color that cover almost every inch of his skin.

Aside from an inch-wide strip of unmarred skin extending from his neck past the waist of his pants, his entire upper body is etched with traditional yakuza imagery of swirling black clouds and blossoming flowers. You don't miss the rice stalks interspersed throughout the designs.

You find yourself entranced by the design of the fox that stretches from over his left shoulder to cover his heart. It mirrors the traditional ukiyo-e style, only it remains uncolored and you instantly know it's meant to portray the divine white kitsune. Your gaze follows its form back up to his shoulder where it disappears from your sight.

When you finally lift your eyes to meet his, the hunger that you see in them is almost enough to make you moan aloud. Your thighs clench together again in a pathetic search for what little relief you can find.

"I want to see the back," you eventually tell him, your voice breathless.

"Do ya deserve a second reward?" His own voice sounds deeper to your ears and you wonder how many nights he's denied himself pleasure between your thighs in service of controlling yours.

The implied threat that he may put his shirt back on and deny you the chance to see the centerpiece of his tattooed body is almost as bad as his denial of your orgasms. Your desperation drives you to your knees and you fold your legs beneath you in a traditional seiza.

"Please, Shin-kun," you beg as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "I've been good!"

A hint of affection briefly crosses his face and he leans down to give the top of your head a gentle kiss. His hand then grabs your jaw and he firmly guides you back to your feet.

"Yeah, ya have been good, ain't ya?" he hums thoughtfully and something almost nearing amusement tugs at his lips when you nod your head eagerly in his hand in response.

Deciding to placate you, he slowly drags a thumb across your plush bottom lip, letting the tip of it dip into your mouth and brush against your tongue before he drops his hand altogether.

And finally, finally, he turns around so that you can see what he's chosen to have permanently inked across the skin of his broad back.

When you see the artwork, you can't help the grin that grows on your face at your own foolishness. How stupid you are to have ever thought it could be anything else.

Painted in shades of black, green, yellow, blue, and red is the figure of a woman with two uncolored foxes at her feet standing in a lush field of rice that's ready to be harvested.

Of course traditional Kita Shinsuke, head of Kansai's most powerful yakuza group, who comes from a long line of rice farmers, and shuns the city to spend his evenings in the Hyogo countryside, has a tattoo of Inari Ōkami -- the kami of foxes and rice.

[str4ngr]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 [ 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 ]

𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐 | 𝗱𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 |

cw: suggestive, establish relationship, toys, kinda gn! reader but lowkey fem!reader but j ignore that

notes: double penetration is the act inserting multiple penis'/dildos or a mix of both, into an orifice of a partner.

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 was always a very straight forward person. never once did he worry about how to say something to you, not because he didn't care, but because he trusts you, he loves you.

so it was no surprise when he brought this up to you,

"w-what?"

your voice squeaks out, mouth ajar as you stare up at him. He had just got out of the shower, washing the sweat from the beating sun of the fields of, leaving you the unbelievably seductive view of your husband.

"I was asking, tonight, or another if thats better for you, could i use a dildo on you as well?"

it was almost like you didn't hear him, your face still as you stare at him, mug and phone in each hand as you buffer through each hand. you couldn't help the curiously that spilled from you lips, inking your sudden words, blurting out your question,

"like-... like- how??"

kita's face looked twisted, smug, arousal, lust, all intermixing in his hazel eyes, glancing down at your finger as his bare figure stepped toward you, the loose towel shifting on his hips. he couldn't stop himself, his hands running down your arms, eyes glazing over your figure like he was staring at his last meal,

"maybe... maybe at the same time i was having you?"

he sighed just as his words ended, almost like he couldn't keep himself together at the idea, as though his mind was already elsewhere,

"maybe... maybe in the same hole.... stretch your little hole out..."

hands trembling by your side, you stared up at his distracted lips, your breath shuddering in awkward pace as his hands rose goosebumps in their wake.

suddenly, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, burning with a dark lust so common in your seemingly innocent husbands eyes,

"so?"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

kinktober be exhausting me do not expect fics after this shift swear to god :'(. i'm so tired but every time i look at who im writing next i start giggling and kicking my feet so idk what kind of high and fall this is but go off.

༒︎ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫; 2023 ༒︎

directory

[makkir0ll]

between you and your husband, you were the one more…vocal about your love for him. leaving him sweet notes with doodles of the two of you in his lunch, ending all heartfelt messages with x’s, planting a big kiss on his cheek that he pretended to cringe at but in reality he looked forward to it everytime he left the house.

people would always come up to you, telling you that he doesn’t reciprocate his love with words and such and asking you how you dealt with it. truth be told it took a while for you to get used to but soon enough you began to see the signs.

it was the way that every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom he would tuck your feet back into bed. the way he spent a solid twenty minutes cleaning your phone screen, and with furrowed brows as he placed your new screen protector on, making sure there were no bubbles. it was when you opened his wallet that you saw all the notes you wrote him saved in one pocket of his shitty leather wallet that was begging to be put to rest. it's the way when you come home after a long night out with your friends he takes his time undressing you, removing and placing your jewelry carefully on your bedside table and making sure to gently take off your makeup and of course do your skincare routine that he has memeorized. when he goes out and he spots a little something with your favorite character on it he buys it immediately, not bothering to look at the price tag because the way your eyes would light up when he brought home the little gift was worth more than a billion dollars to him.

it was when on your third month anniversary when the two of you were still dating, while the two of you sat down on the booth next to each other at a restaurant he held your hand and squeezed it three times. signifying the words, i love you. he knew he loved you from the start but was scared it was too soon to say it and this was his silent way of telling you so. and you picked up on it quickly when he started to do it more often.

and on your wedding day, as the two of you stand in front of all your loved ones and the officiator he says the most beautiful vows ever, telling you that "if death do us part then i hope to find you in every lifetime" and once he ended with that sentence, he squeezed your hand three times. i. love. you.

you always knew your husband loved you because his actions spoke a thousand words to you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

sigh. TSUKISHIMA FREAKING KEI!!!!!!!!, akaashi keiji (he writes notes back to you), KITA. SHINSUKE., iwaizumi hajime (30) athletic trainer, suna rintarou, USHIJIMA, kageyama tobio (squeezed your hand a lot when you started dating), MIYA OSAMU, sakusa kiyoomi, OH OH OH AONE!!,

[katescorner]

suna "we're just friends" rintaro who's actually in a secret relationship with you, but feels the need to keep it a secret until it gets more serious because he's scared. except the miya twins have caught on, and they have a running bet going for who's going to spill first. atsumu thinks suna would rather keel over than admit to them he's dating someone, but osamu is smugly convinced that his friend's resolve is weaker than yours. so they decide to put it to the test.

it starts off . . . weird. osamu is putting moves on you, and you have no idea what to make of it. he's asking to walk you home and tells you that you should come to watch them practice. he even shoves atsumu out of their usual seat in the cafeteria to invite you to sit next to him. he seems really interested in you, and you don't want to be mean, but you also can't lead him on.

you're too focused on osamu's strange behavior to notice that he only acts this way when suna is around. so you don't see the way your boyfriend clenches and unclenches his fists when he overhears osamu wanting to walk you home after school. you don't hear the huff he lets out or how he slams his locker door a little harder when osamu invites you to watch them play with a well practiced smile. and you certainly don't realize the sheet white paleness that grows on his face when osamu shoves atsumu off the bench to make space for you.

suna doesn't blame you. his friends are idiots and getting on his last nerve. but everything comes to a screeching halt when osamu puts his arm around your shoulder, and suna absolutely loses it.

"we're dating!" it's the closest he gets to yelling without actually, but it's loud.

"damn it!" atsumu shouts, but suna doesn't hear. he practically has tunnel vision, zeroed in on where osamu connects to you.

"we're dating," he repeats through gritted teeth. "so get your grimy slimy spiker little hands—" he stalks over to osamu with surprising speed to knock his hand off of you, "off of my—"

"rintaro," you scold softly, and the twins try not to react when their usually unbothered and finicky middle blocker . . . listens?

"he—you're my—i'm—" he erupts in an aggravated groan and quickly decides to pull you to his side, away from osamu.

suna starts mumbling things under his breath they can't hear. his words are clearly reserved only for you, but the twins watch quietly anyway as you smooth away the worry lines growing on his face from his furrowed eyebrows and press a soft kiss to his cheek that has leaves them dusted in the slightest pink. he's whipped, and suddenly the only thing the miyas could think of was—how the hell did they not notice sooner?

yes i'm a soft lovesick sunarin truther. that man is a simp and i take no arguments

[adorerio]

Whatever you say captain

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haikyuu ! captains and how they plot on fem!reader because who doesn't love a guy that puts in the work

fluffy fluff ~ word count: 1.8k

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Daichi he first met you during 1st year and was instantly hooked. Maybe because it was how you carried yourself or your personality but he knew for sure he would make you his girlfriend. Now just because he met you during 1st year didn't mean he made his move then. Nope, he made it during 3rd year.

Daichi He started small (with the help of Kiyoko and Hachi) first it was compliments.

"your hair looks lovely l/n"

"you gotta tell me how you always make people smile"

"you really are funny l/n"

Daichi then started inviting you to practices because he wanted to show off needed a 3rd opinion on his new move. This was all part of his plan which was to impress you sooo much you would ask for his number. Did it work?

nope

Daichi showing off didn't work neither did his constant compliments so now what was left?

"KIYOKO PLEASE LET ME HAVE HER NUMBERR"

"No, ask for it instead. She likes a guy who has confidence."

and so that's what he was going to do man up and ask for it himself.

Daichi who after class sprinted to your class to catch you and ask for it. When he did make it he saw you talking with your group of friends

"excuse me ladies may I borrow l/n for a moment?"

your friends who started teasing and whispering about how you actually pulled

"shes all yours"

After your friends left it was awkward for just a moment he was trying to put it into words I mean it was supposed to be simple right? But-

"Is there something you need Sawamura?"

"oh right, well l/n I've been trying to court you all year which maybe it was my fault for not being straight forward but is it possible I could get your number? So we can get to know each other and maybe ask you out?"

He scaratched his neck waiting for your response..

"well I'm free right now if you want to come with me to a cafe.."

"that would be lovely then l/n"

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Bokuto he first met you because you were friends with Akaashi. Now he noticed you really didn't have friends to hang out with during break and lunch. So he started inviting you to hang out with him and Akaashi and a trio was created.

Bokuto after a few months of your new found friendship he started getting that feeling. He was always nervouse around you and definitely always wanted to be in your good graces. Of course he didn't realize it was a crush until he saw another 2nd year try to ask for your number. Now he knew he would not let you give your number away to anyone that wasn't him. Even tho he already had it.

Bokuto now his approach to plotting wasn't the best but it was definitely something- scare off any guy until he was your last option. Did he even realize he was being overprotective? No, but it was bound to work at some point. Or that's at least what he was telling himself.

Bokuto It actually took you a while to find out what was happening. After another case of ghosting you started to question it. Was it your appearance? Or the long distance? Of course you would tell your friends about your problem and how you scared away guys.

"Wait so there just ghosting you? They clearly don't know what their missing y/n"

"Yes they just are! I don't even know why it's happening Keiji"

"Its because of me y/n!!"

"Whatever do you mean Ko?"

"Because they aren't worthy of courting you y/n so I tell them to go away"

"Why would you even do that?"

"Because I want to be the person who courts you not someone from Karasuno"

Bokuto got a talking too after his little confession about how that wasn't the way to get your attention but safe to say you did give him that chance and in the future its something you would never end up regretting.

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Oikawa now he definitely thought something was wrong with you. You were never apart of his group of fans and never reacted differently towards him. Games you attended? You would cheer on anyone BUT him. And this, caught his eye. He was gonna make it his mission to get you to go out with him one way or another.

Oikawa since he had never struggled before trying to charm a lady he was more confused then ever how was he supposed to do this? Well the only thing that came to mind was make you feel special. This resulted in you being embarrassed ever single time.

Oikawa every single set he would do during a game? Point you out and give you a wink. During school he would start ignoring his fans and would only talk to his team or you. He always offered to carry your bag or help you with work but you were still warry about his true feelings towards you.

Oikawa hoping he at least he made his intentions clear to you he would now leave small stuff at your desk. Sometimes it was small snacks with a note, or a small tricket that reminded him of you.

Oikawa the way he finally got you to agree on a date was when he gave you a boquet of your favorite flowers. It was special to you because you had only told him once what flower it was and he had still remembered it.

"Here l/nn its your favorite flowers just for you"

"You still rememeber what type of flowers I like?"

"Of course and I'll keep remembering small details about you - like how when your favoring song plays you start forgetting the worlds around you just to pay attention to the lyrics."

Now this had touched your heart, after weeks of chasing you maybe it was time to allow him to ask you out. Because he had clearly put effort into this.

"Fine, just one date trashykawa"

"You wont regret it l/n!"

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Ushijima he didn't even know he was "courting" you until Semi told asked him when he was going to ask you out.

"You know l/n is a sweet girl why haven't you asked her out yet? I'm sure she already likes you."

"What on earth are you talking about? I havent been courting our manager-"

Lets just say it hit him like a brick when he started connecting the dots that it did LOOK like he was indeed courting you.

Ushijima You were the manager of the team and dealing with a group of teenage boys wasn't easy- so he as the captain of the team decided he would be the one to show his gratitude. He would give you chocolates every day after practice or invite you to grab lunch with him alone.

Ushijima after thinking about it for days about how own feelings towards you he decided he was going to invite you on a real date. Because even if he wasnt completely sure about how he felt he wanted to at least give it a try. So, one day after practice as you were cleaning and packing up everything he decided to shoot his shot.

"l/n are you perhaps free this evening?"

"Yeah I don't have any plans. Is there a reason for asking?"

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me on a walk in the park. It would be nice having someone - you around"

"Sure! let me go get my stuff and I'll meet you outside."

"Yes absolutely, its a date then."

As he walked away you stood there dumfounded, he finally had the balls to ask you out huh.

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Kuroo now he was crushing on you HARD. But, he always found it hard to talk to you. Different group of friends, different hobbies, different clubs there was practically no way to start a conversation without it being difficult.

The 3rd years were preparing for the English final when your teacher suggested forming study groups within the class so you could prepare. Now this was his chance.

Kuroo had to work up the courage to ask you to be his study buddy and when he did you were almost surprised that he asked you but you didn't say no. You moved your stuff to your left so he could sit next to you.

You started asking him what was his strong and weak points in English. When he asked the same thing back he wasn't focused on your answers, more like the view Infront of him. The way you talked and the way you explained things was magical.

Kuroo The two of you exchanged phone numbers so it was easier to communicate. You didn't say it was only to text about the final - so he started sending memes he found funny or goofy cat pictures in hopes of it turning into a conversation.

Of course the way you texted back was short and fast but when he sent you a meme of your favorite video game it was like he had found a cheat code. You started geeking out and explained the story and characters to him. Although he didn't know anything about the game it was certainly working and after talking about it until wee hours into the night you decided to call it off and go to sleep.

"Goodnight Kuroo thanks for listening to me yap lol"

"Of course l/n, I'll always listen to you talk."

You hearted the message and he knew this was only the beginning of a new found frienship and hopefully a relationship.

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Kita he never really thought about dating he was always more focused on his studies and vollyball. You were more like a close friend then anything. Sure he thought you were cute but he believed there was nothing there but pure friendship.

"My parents aren't home I guess I'm gonna have to order food.."

"Y/n you cant cook?"

"Nope, my parents do"

"Well I believe I'm gonna have to teach you then"

"yayyy"

Kita 3 times a week Kita would go over to your house (with your parents permission) and show you the basics + a few recepies. He enjoyed spending time with you outside of school but something had changed inside of him. Maybe the proximity but the way you *preferred hair style while cooking* looked on you was mesmerizing.

Kita Knew your parents travelled alot for work and even days without a lesson he would leave a bento on your desk early in the morning enough for the whole day. Even if it was more work added to his plate he didn't mind doing it because it was for you.

Besides, the best way to get to someone is through the stomach.

I swear I don't have a favorite. Anyways that concludes my first post! I'm open to criticism on my writing!

[bedcchem]

18+ kita x f!reader, rainy day <3

i should be focusing on homework, but all i can think about is kita taking you against the wall of your shared country farm home. it’s raining, and you hurried out to the fields to drag him back into the house.

“oh, shin…!” you softly cry out, your head falling back against the siding of your home. you’ve never really been able to get used to that first stretch of his cock when he eases himself inside, and this time is no different.

with your legs dangling over his biceps as he holds you against the wall, his hips meet yours at a deep, reverential pace. his breath is hot against your ear, letting out the lowest of grunts as he drags his cock in and out.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, “oh, God… ya feel so good—”

the rain pours down on the two of you, hair sticking to your foreheads, soaked clothes clinging to skin, and everything feels so hot on this late summer night.

from the twinkle of the moonlight as you cover your mouth, kita sees the beautiful engagement ring he gave to you many months ago—remembering all over again that he gets to marry you in just a week's time.

"my... my beautiful wife," he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss against the lobe as he feels that all too familiar growing tension in his gut.

your eyes are on him, feeling that familiar coil in your belly as well. "shin," you gasp as you remove your hand to tug on his hair, "i'm close—"

"me too, sweetheart, 'm close," he repeats back, his lips brushing against your own as your thighs begin to shake.

the two of you gasp in each other’s mouths, moaning out each other’s names as you ride out each other’s highs. and feeling that familiar warmth in your belly when he comes inside... well, there's really nothing better, is there?

a/n: snarling at the bars of my enclosure kita shinsuke i want you bad… also the two of you got colds after this,, can’t let y’all live in delusion for too long <3

enjoy my masterlist!

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bedcchem 2025.

[locomoqo]

me and my husband

— gitae kim x gn!reader

details: pure fluff, established relationship, gitae is ur hubby!

A/N: im doing fluff bc im still playing around with how to write gitae's character (also it's what the spin the wheel chose🌝)

Gitae isn't a perfect husband, but he tries his best to be a good one. He’ll only ever try for you. Through all the bloodshed he's faced and caused, you're the one good thing in his life—the only thing that keeps him grounded. At first, your affection threw him off, he'd never experienced anything like it. But he got used to it. He learned from you, and he tries to show it back, no matter how awkward it feels sometimes due to his bluntness.

He believes you deserve the best of everything. That’s why, even after he married you, he does his best to shield you from the darker parts of his world—the violence, the drugs, the chaos—even though you’re aware of the life he leads. You're his haven, his one escape from all the madness.

Gitae stood by the window, the faint glow of his cigarette the only light in the dark room. His jaw was tense, his mind racing with the events of the day—from the trades to the insignificants trying to grab his territory. He exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around him like the shadows he walked in every day.

Then, he heard it, a soft rustling of the sheets behind him.

“Gitae?” your sleepy voice broke the silence, gentle but insistent. “What are you doing up? Come back to bed.”

His hardened expression softened instantly at the sound of your voice. Turning, he saw you curled up under the covers, your hair tousled from sleep. The sight of you made the weight on his shoulders a little lighter.

“Thinking about work again?” you asked when he slid back under the covers and sat beside you, leaning against the headboard.

He only hummed in response, taking another drag from his cigarette before tapping the ash into the tray beside the bed.

“You work too much,” you mumbled, reaching out to lace your fingers with his. Your hand, small and delicate, was a sharp contrast to his rough, calloused one. “You should be resting too.”

It was true. The bags under his eyes seemed to deepen every day, yet somehow, they suited him.

“You worry too much,” he said, leaving the still lit up cigarette in the tray. He glanced down at you, his eyes softer now.

“And you don’t worry enough,” you replied with a small frown, sitting up to look at him properly. “What will it take for you to listen to me?”

He let out a low chuckle, deep and rare, a sound reserved only for you. Leaning down, he kissed the top of your head, your familiar scent calming him more than anything else ever could. You pressed your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I missed you today,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “You’ve been distant.”

He stilled for a moment, his hand pausing on your back. "Don't mean to be," he said quietly, his voice rough.

You looked up at him, studying his face before offering him that soft, reassuring smile you always gave when he let his guard down.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was slow, tender, and filled with warmth, spreading through him like a balm.

“I’ll make it up to ya,” he murmured, deepening the kiss as he cupped your cheek, pulling you closer.

You pulled away after a few minutes, just enough to catch your breath, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’ll forgive you if you go to sleep before you drive yourself crazy,” you teased, leaning over to put out his cigarette completely so he wouldn’t be tempted to pick it up again.

With a soft sigh, he gave in, letting you guide him down into the bed. You curled up next to him, his arm wrapped around you protectively. In that moment, he displayed a rare show of vulnerability—you're the only one who will ever hold his heart in the palm of your hand.

[starshoyo]

SECRETS ★

PAIRING Kita Shinsuke x fem! reader

WARNINGS None

TAGS I love Kita sm, more Kita fics pls, Inarizaki finding out he’s basically married

IN WHICH the Inarizaki volleyball team finds out that their blunt and cold captain has a girlfriend

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒/𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

KITA SHINSUKE WAS a feared man. To outsiders, the Inarizaki men’s volleyball team was full of intimidating people.

Take for example, Miya Atsumu, the setter who had full blown confidence in himself and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Or Ojiro Aran, the powerful third year who was one of the top five aces in the whole nation.

Then there was Suna Rintarou, eyes judging and observing, a smile nowhere to be seen. Of course, you couldn’t forget about Miya Osamu, who much like Suna, never smiled.

And to think that they could all be controlled by their captain, Kita Shinsuke, said a lot. The man must’ve been terrifying, and he was.

Kita reminded the team much of a mother, who was kind and generous behind the scenes, but wouldn’t waste a breath in correcting any foul behavior. His eyes of warning became enough for them to listen to them, a chill being sent down their spine.

He was much like a robot, they liked to say. He didn’t say much, and was perfect in every way. He seemed almost emotionless, which is why it was such a big surprise when they found out he had a girlfriend.

I mean, it was only natural that the team didn’t know. You went to a whole different school, and Kita never talked about himself enough for them to even question it.

You had known him since childhood, growing up as neighbors and going to the same school up until high school. There, he had decided to go to Inarizaki, while you would go to a different school that had a better women’s volleyball team.

Unfortunately, your team had lost in the first round of nationals. Fortunately, that meant you were now able to turn your full focus onto your boyfriend, watching his matches and cheering for him.

Inarizaki had been grouped outside of the gym after a win against a school. You were roaming the halls, hoping to get a glance of your uniform. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, especially with both of you being too busy with nationals.

Then, you saw his familiar back facing you, the team huddled around him as they probably were going over their match. You quietly walked behind him, not sure if you should interrupt him or not, but Atsumu, who was facing you, noticed you.

He raised a brow, before clearing his throat. “Uh, Kita-san?” He pointed a finger at you. Kita turned around, and as if they weren’t in the middle of a meeting, he walked towards you. With a smile on his face.

The team watched as he conversed with you, too far to hear. “Did… Kita-san just smile?” Suna murmured, face twisted in confusion. “Who… is that?” Atsumu continued, asking the question all of them were thinking. “Aran, don’t ya know? Yer closest to him.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “I mean- I’ve never- He’s never mentioned a girlfriend.”

“Maybe a family member?” Osamu mumbled. The theory would quickly be shut down when you leaned into him, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, before waving and walking away. When Kita turned back towards them, they all whipped their heads in opposite directions.

He walked back, tablet still in his hands. “Sorry.” Kita apologized, before going back to the meeting without addressing the obvious elephant in the room. Thankfully, Atsumu was the type of person who couldn’t read the room.

“Kita-san, ya never told us ya have a girlfriend?” He said loudly in disbelief, as if he’s been betrayed. Kita, still monotonous as ever, stared up at him with blank eyes. “It doesn’t have anything to do volleyball.” He said matter-of-factly, like stating that the grass is green and the sky is blue.

“So she IS yer girlfriend!” Atsumu exclaimed. Kita looked around at the wide, anticipating eyes of his teammates. He was confused why they’re cared so much. Nevertheless, he slowly nodded.

Then chaos erupted.

Aran was the first to complain. “Oh, come on! Kita, we’ve been friends three years, and I never knew?” He whined, arms crossed over his chest. The shorter male flinched, not realizing how that may come off rude. “Kita-san, cold, scary Kita-san… a girlfriend?” Atsumu complained, hands in his hair.

“I mean, it’s not that surprising.” Osamu mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. “She was real pretty.” Suna followed.

Kita crossed his arms over his chest, which was enough to get everybody to shut up. There was silence amongst them for a couple seconds, Kita finally sighed. “We don’t have time to be talking about this. Now focus.” He said.

Though, they didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears were red in embarrassment.

[noorpersona]

Managerial Duties: Inarizaki

The gym hummed with the familiar sounds of practice—sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor, the rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being passed, the sharp whistles from the coaching staff calling out drills. Despite the usual intensity, one corner of the court stood out, where a first-year was repeatedly failing to receive a serve. Every time the ball came hurtling over the net, it ricocheted off his forearms awkwardly or skidded away in an uncontrolled direction. His frustration was palpable, his shoulders tense as he shook his head and muttered under his breath.

You had been watching from the sidelines, arms folded as you observed the way his stance shifted just before contact. His weight was off, and his timing was a fraction too slow—small errors that compounded into one big problem. With a sigh, you stepped forward, motioning for him to pause.

“Try widening your base a little more,” you instructed, tapping your foot against the floor to demonstrate. “If you keep standing so stiff, the ball’s just going to knock you off balance. Loosen up, shift with it, don’t fight it.”

The first-year hesitated before nodding, adjusting his stance as you had suggested. Before he could attempt again, however, a familiar voice cut through the air, dripping with smug amusement.

“She may be the manager,” Atsumu drawled from across the court, his golden eyes glinting with mischief, “but try takin’ advice from an actual player.”

A ripple of laughter followed his words as he sauntered closer, spinning a volleyball between his fingers. His smirk was lazy, self-assured, the kind of expression that made you want to wipe it clean off his face. You slowly turned to face him, leveling him with an unimpressed stare.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a PhD in receiving,” you shot back, voice laced with dry sarcasm. “By all means, Miya, please educate us lesser beings.”

The gym’s atmosphere shifted instantly. A few players who had been in their own drills slowed, turning their heads with interest. The rest of the team wasn’t going to let this pass unnoticed. Osamu, who had been idly refilling his water bottle, perked up from his spot near the bench, already smirking as he anticipated the banter that was about to unfold.

Atsumu’s grin widened, his cockiness unshaken. “Ain’t about havin’ a PhD. It’s about experience. And last I checked, ya ain’t the one out there servin’ in nationals.”

A slow, knowing smile curled on your lips. "You're right, I'm not. But then again, you spend all your time servin’, while I actually learned how to receive."

The reaction was instant. Aran let out a low whistle, Osamu barked out a laugh, and even Suna's smirk twitched slightly. Atsumu tilted his head, clearly amused, but you caught the flicker of something sharper behind his expression—curiosity.

“Oh yeah?” he mused, tapping the volleyball lightly against his palm. “Then how ‘bout ya prove it?”

The words barely left his mouth before the other players reacted. Suna, who had been casually stretching nearby, sat up straighter, his gaze flicking between you and Atsumu like he had just stumbled upon something far more entertaining than practice. The rest of the team quickly caught on, whispers and murmurs spreading like wildfire.

Atsumu ignored them, eyes locked on you. “C’mon, manager. Think ya can handle one?”

The challenge hung between you like a taut wire, the weight of every gaze in the gym settling on your shoulders. Most of them, you knew, were already betting against you in their heads. Atsumu was known for his ruthless, pinpoint-accurate serves, the kind that left even the best liberos struggling.

But that’s exactly what made this fun.

You exhaled slowly, reaching up to unbutton your team jacket before sliding it off in one smooth motion. A hush fell over the court as you folded it over your arm and set it aside. Without a word, you walked to the opposite side of the court, rolling your shoulders as you moved. Along the way, you grabbed a pair of spare knee pads from the equipment pile, sliding them over your track pants. Then, with practiced ease, you crouched into a libero’s ready stance, feet planted, knees bent, weight balanced perfectly.

“Bring it,” you said simply.

Osamu groaned, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t be stupid. Ya know his serves are hell.”

You didn't talk much, getting into the zone. "I know."

Osamu’s brows lifted. “You know?”

Atsumu’s smirk twitched slightly, something unreadable flickering across his features. “And what exactly do ya know?” But you don't respond.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink—just stared at him, completely unfazed, waiting for him to serve.

You rolled your shoulders, shaking out any stiffness, meeting his gaze. “That your serves are fast. That they’re heavy, deceptive. That if I blink, I’ll miss it. That you’re expecting me to screw this up.” You smirked slightly. “That about sum it up?”

A beat of silence passed before Aran let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his usual smugness fading into something else—interest. He bounced the volleyball once against the floor before catching it, eyes gleaming. “Alright, then. Let’s see what ya got.”

Aran crossed his arms, letting out a slow sigh. "This ain’t a smart move."

Osamu clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Hope ya like bruises."

The court stilled as Atsumu took his place at the baseline, rolling his shoulders before tossing the ball in his usual pre-serve routine. The tension was palpable now, a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

Most of them thought you were about to get wrecked.

"Ten bucks on the manager eatin’ dirt," Ginjima muttered, arms crossed as he glanced at the others.

"Nah, I’ll say she gets a hand on it but doesn’t control it," one of the first-years chimed in.

"I got five on Atsumu embarrassing her," another snickered.

"Idiots," Aran sighed. "At least bet somethin’ interesting."

Suna, however, leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a smirk.

“Put me down for a win,” he said, voice calm.

Osamu looked at him like he was insane. “Ya serious?”

Suna’s smirk widened. “Yeah. I’ve got a good feeling.”

Atsumu, unaware of the exchange, exhaled deeply before tossing the ball high into the air. In the split second before he made contact, everything seemed to slow.

Then—

A sharp, deafening crack as his palm connected with the ball, sending it screaming over the net with vicious speed. It was a perfect serve—fast, cutting, barely losing momentum as it hurtled straight toward you. Gasps rang out as everyone braced for the inevitable.

But you were already moving.

Your feet pushed off the ground with practiced precision, body reacting purely on instinct. Time snapped back into motion as you lunged forward, reading the spin in a split second, dropping into a perfect tumble to absorb the impact. The ball met your forearms with a loud thwack, and for a heartbeat, there was only silence.

Then, impossibly, the ball arced upward—clean, controlled, perfect.

It landed precisely where a setter would need it.

The gym erupted.

“What the hell?” Ginjima gawked, eyes wide.

“No way,” one of the first-years breathed.

Osamu just stood there, mouth slightly open before slowly dragging a hand down his face. "Well, damn. I should’ve bet against ‘Tsumu."

Atsumu, still frozen at the baseline, blinked at you in genuine disbelief. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again, but all that came out was, "How—?"

A pause. His brows furrowed, his brain visibly short-circuiting. "But ya—?"

Silence. A deep inhale, then a third attempt. "There’s no way—"

Nothing coherent followed.

Atsumu looked genuinely betrayed by reality itself, struggling to reconcile what had just happened with everything he knew about volleyball.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. A sharp, satisfied sound, the kind that made the stunned silence in the gym even more ridiculous. "Oh my god, you look like you just saw a ghost," you teased, shaking your head.

You rolled your shoulders, exhaling slowly as you straightened up. "I played libero in middle school, and I still play casual games." A brief pause, then you nodded toward Suna. "We went to the same middle school. Suna knows."

Every head in the gym turned to Suna, who simply smirked, arms still folded. He let the silence stretch for a moment before tilting his head toward the rest of the team.

“So,” he said smoothly, “who owes me what?”

Before anyone could react further, a new voice cut through the noise. "What’s everyone standing around for?"

The entire team turned to see Kita standing in the doorway, his usual composed expression tinged with mild disapproval. The court immediately fell into silence, the players straightening unconsciously as if caught slacking.

"Uh," Ginjima cleared his throat. "Just���observin’ somethin’ important, Kita."

Kita’s sharp gaze swept over the court before landing on Atsumu, who still hadn't moved from the baseline, then flicked toward you, standing composed and unruffled. "Hm." His eyes narrowed slightly before he simply nodded. "Get back to work."

Without another word, the gym broke back into motion, though murmurs still floated around, disbelief lingering in the air.

With that, you dusted off your hands and turned toward the exit. "Alright, I'll be back."

As soon as you stepped past the gym doors and out of their line of sight, the composure you had held so effortlessly cracked. A sharp, searing ache radiated through your forearms, the sting of the brutal impact catching up to you all at once. You sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to cradle your arms like they had just been run over.

"Holy shit," you hissed under your breath, shaking out your wrists in a futile attempt to lessen the throbbing. Atsumu really didn’t hold back. The ball had practically dented your bones.

You glanced down at your skin, already seeing the faint beginnings of bruises forming beneath the surface. Yep, no way you were getting through the next week without feeling this.

Forcing yourself to walk straight despite the radiating pain, you took a sharp turn down the hallway and made a beeline for the nurse’s office.

"Long sleeves for the next week, it is," you muttered to yourself, resigned to your fate as you pushed the door open, fully ready to drown in an ice pack for the next hour.

[struwberrii]

it’s so sweet ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

you run a bakery across the street from onigiri miya, you and the owner, osamu miya, often visit each others stores. that led you to meeting suna rintarou, one of osamus childhood friends. how many warm chocolate chip cookies will it take to melt his icy heart <3

main masterlist

pairing : suna rintarou x f!reader

status : ongoing! ♡

taglist : comment to be added !

warnings/info : modern au, y/n is kind of girly, mentions of substance use and smoking, y/n also bakes and runs a bakery, suna is kind of sarcastic/mean, all characters are post time skip , maybe a love triangle teehee :)

it’s so sweet playlist

bakery playlist

onigiri miya playlist

it’s so sweet pinterest board

chapter 1 : the usual ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

chapter 2 : dreamy desserts 🍰⋆⟡˖ ࣪

chapter 3 : terms and conditions ⋆⭒˚.⋆

[narumi-gens]

Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional? 

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional. 

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside. 

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife. 

But you know that traditional really just means boring. 

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita. 

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child. 

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options. 

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west. 

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person. 

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed. 

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza. 

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull. 

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening. 

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense. 

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them. 

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows. 

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste. 

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes. 

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life. 

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively. 

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it. 

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads. 

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades. 

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts. 

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza. 

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with. 

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers. 

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed. 

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants. 

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff. 

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look. 

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call. 

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible. 

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya. 

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier. 

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body. 

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy. 

“Enough.” 

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt. 

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space. 

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy. 

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common. 

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again. 

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter. 

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter. 

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out. 

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep. 

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess. 

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point. 

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well. 

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show. 

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response. 

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees. 

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten. 

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place. 

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea. 

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.” 

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more. 

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you. 

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste. 

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger. 

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you. 

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.” 

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states. 

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much. 

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors. 

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita. 

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards. 

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name. 

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin. 

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles. 

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely. 

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs. 

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively. 

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh. 

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness. 

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. 

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled. 

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun. 

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you. 

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum. 

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him. 

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know. 

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him. 

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like. 

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?” 

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give. 

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees. 

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips. 

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.  

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before. 

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.  

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface. 

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously. 

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze. 

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

[kikiwie]

one more day ₊˚ෆ

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

in which inarizaki boys are still in love with you. only problem is.. you’re their ex. ⋆˚

m. atsumu ⋆. 𐙚

for him, the breakup wasn't easy. his constant need to find something to do with his time. anything to pass the time. it’s what allowed him to not have much time to think about you.

that was until he spotted you in the grocery store. he started to panic and wanted to hide so you wouldn't notice him. yet, he couldn't help but notice how gorgeous you still were.

his heart literally fell to hell when you glanced up at him. he wanted to leave and act as though nothing happened, but you approached him. "hey, it's been a while! how are you?” you gave him your typical smile. he knew he was screwed. back to square one.

m. osamu ⋆. 𐙚

you were having the worst week ever, so earlier that day you called him in tears. which you almost regretted. key word “almost.”

he brought your favorite food to your house. he of course had to prepare it, and he hoped you wouldn't notice.

this isn't exactly where he intended to end up. yet, it was agreed after the split that you would support one another in difficult times.

he kind of missed you too. (he wouldn’t admit it to you though, unless you missed him too.)

you invited him in, and you two watched movies, shed tears, and reminisced about past times. it dawned on you both that the affection remained unchanged.

s. rintaro ⋆. 𐙚

being coworkers and ex’s wasn't exactly the best combination. there would often be awkward situations where you two would need to speak. or when you’d have to work in the front together.

your split wasn't exactly messy, but you two weren't used to transitioning from being in love to being apart.

the pace slowed down during your closing shift together as the closing time approached. you found yourself conversing and making jokes with him.

he volunteered to drive you home that night even though you were planning to walk. he said, “it was too cold,” and you knew he was using that as an excuse. some things never change.

k. shinsuke ⋆. 𐙚

even though your family adored him, you hoped he wouldn't be around when you were home. but you, of course, had no problem when he stopped by to visit your mother.

much to your surprise, he was in the kitchen when you walked downstairs to get water, and you felt embarrassed. how convenient that your mom wasn’t there.

you acknowledged him with a slight nod when he smiled at you. you felt horrible that your mother left him there by himself. you told yourself that was the only reason, of course, as you sat next to him.

conversation flowed as usual, and you felt like this is where you belonged. in this moment together. he felt the same.

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

[makkir0ll]

"hmm, is it green apple?"

you giggle in his arms, shaking your head no and smile as he leans down to press another kiss on your lips.

the past fifteen minutes had been spent trapped under his arms while he kisses your plump, flavourful, lips. it started out when you put on some chapstick and he asks for some. you knew that this was his way of getting a kiss, but when his lips press against yours the flavor is different than your normal vanilla, its fruitier. "what flavor is that?" he asks, pulling you closer to him to plant another kiss on your lips, "berry?"

"no" you say smiling as you await his actions. hoping that he does exactly what you expect him too.

and he falls into your trap. the next fifteen minutes are spent with his lips on yours as he guesses what flavor it could be. strawberry? mango? pineapple?

all no.

at this point all he could taste was his own spit on your lips. completely kissed away all the chapstick that coated your lips. he breaks the last kiss with a whine.

"y/n put some more on, i can't taste it anymore." he loosens his grip on your body as you shift underneath him to find the chapstick in your pocket.

"close your eyes, i dont want you to see the label." you tell him and he obliges, squeezing his eyes shut in a childish manner as you apply the chapstick on your lips.

once you're done you toss the tube away, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down, he's smiling. his lips press against yours yet again but this time it's different. the kiss is deeper, he cups your face and his toungue swipes on your lips and you open your mouth slightly to let the wet muscle enter. it takes your breath away and you start to feel dizzy from his touch and all the sensations happening around you. he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connected the two of you. your eyes are still closed, processing what happened when you hear him say,

"it's berry isnt it?"

you nod your head no, hoping he will kiss you like that again, and he does. but little do you know that he caught a glimpse of the berry graphic on the label when you pulled out the chapstick from your pocket.

HINATA SHOYO. (probably doesn't notice the label though tbh). BOKUTO, hanamaki, oikawa fucking tooru, sugawara (he knew from the start it was berry but goes along with the act to amuse you), akaashi (same as sugawara). NISHINOYA. (same as shoyo, genuinely continues to guess), ATSUMU. KITA FUCKING SHINSUKE (he knew from the first kiss, but realized that this made you happy). KUROO. SUNAAAAA.

[samubytheocean]

just making out with the boys.

Whatever love may be, at this moment he is in your arms. And oh, he is so pretty.

fluff, slightly suggestive if you’re in 5th grade or smth

You’re so in love. Sure, turned on, but before that, you’re so close to him. You want to be touched- a little bit closer, a little bit more directly- oh so desperately, but by only him. Everything else, even your own desires seem secondary. You want to be him. Some primal, instinctive thing you call love- hell whatever you call it- wanting all of your senses to be of him, to be in his skin, yeah. You’re in love with him.

You’re in his bed, the soft fabric smells like him. The prettiest boy in front of you, with his adorable messy hair and shirt all tugged. Revealing random patches of muscle either kissed, caressed or blushing. In the dim light, you only see the black through the feathering of his eyelashes. You can almost name each of it now. You’ve got such a tight grip on his chin, the heat when you move stays. Just like butter under hot knife, to him it feels like your touch will melt the skin, linger forever. No, he knows. He knows your grip will stay on him forever.

The sight almost makes you red. Or laugh. Or horny. Whatever it is, you brush the bruises on his skin, which at this point is yours. Yeah you did that. He is only yours. Honestly you don’t even have to look at the messy lipgloss remains on his cheeks to know that. His whole body is glowing with love for you, legs sprawled out and hands fidgeting on your outer thighs, the touch burning and downright dripping with sweat. But it’s sweet. He’s sweet. He really is. Like lemon meringue tart, or grapefruit ade, or cookie dough. Like apartment keys in a foreign city, like wine kissed rings and like two kids a dog- fuck you know you’re going insane right now. Drunk, stupid, irrational- yeah but you take the leap to name it as something else.

Love. That’s what you feel. As abstract as the concept is, at this moment you know the exact notion of it. In every sense, your heart recognizes it. As scary as saying you know something is, you don’t even care, because you feel him. He is right here, and he is loving on you. There’s no time tense attached to it. Just forever, yeah that stupid word, but yes forever, just you two forever. Verb, noun, adjective, whatever category of grammar love belongs to, fuck that because love is here. And love belongs to you.

He belongs to you.

And oh, he is so, so pretty.

AKAASHI, YAMAGUCHI, HINATA, BOKUTO, LEV, KITA, HIRUGAMI

YUUJI, YUTAAAAAA, CHOSO (dude yea choso), MEGUMI

ARMIN, and oh my, LEVI

[amphitriteswife]

Real man

For @tinyy-tea-cup

Warnings: Smut, gitae lowkey insulting my goat james

Pairing: Gitae kim x reader

Note: happy Birthday TeaTea😈🫶 sorry if its bad🥲

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Gitea sighed, his hand touched the smooth material of the newspaper that was placed on his face. He hadn’t been in Korea since a long time. What can he say? There are lots of things in life. Some just take priority….or some certain things are simply in the way. In this case it was Jonggun. The news that he was now imprisoned created many openings. Ofcourse he isn’t here without a reason, there are nany things that he needs to do whether its because he wants to or because someone else told him to. ‘Sir, we’re about to land soon.’ Gitae took a drag from his pipe. Letting the smoke travel around his mouth before slightly parting his lips, the smoke escaping his lips with a sigh. ‘Sir. We don’t condone smoking on the plane.’ Gitae grabbed the newspaper covering his face. This plane that was prepared for him was from James Lee…he knows he smokes right? Did he not inform his employees well? No. No he wouldn’t. James knows better than that. So..it’s probably just you huh? A light hearted chuckle found its escape through his lips. Aren’t you just a daring stewardess? Pulling off the newspaper off his face, Gitae’s eyes drifted towards you. A flicker of recognition invaded his eyes before his face twisted, a bark of laughter erupting out of his mouth. You crossed your arms at the man, not amused by his laughter. ‘So this is what we’re doing now? A stewardess? For DG? Come on now princess..’ Gitae’s voice was laced with amusement and mockery, he usually had a thing for saying things about you being close to . The two of you were partners when you worked under Charles.

James lee and you had always been very close. He relied on you and you on him…however life just got in the way. You defeated the king along side him and Gitea. Gitae left for Mexico again, James became DG and you too left the old life behind, being a stewardess. It wasn’t originally planned for you to be a stewardess who worked for James. But because James knew he had a lot of enemies, and them ofcourse also knowing you because of him, he wanted to keep you close. A lot of others saw it as more than it was. But who seemed to care about that? That was James and You. Now he’s DG. ‘So you’re into pretty boys huh? You like that soft look on him?’ ‘Me and James are just friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.’ ‘Is that so?’ Gitae laughed at your words. Despite the amusement in his voice. His eyes were always half lidded and heavy. His eyes were dark, very dark, there was usually nothing to see in them except for the occasional sadistic pleausure. Gita raised an eyebrow, his lips wrapping around the pipe in his hands. His eyes scanning you, observing. Something he had done back then too. His weight shifted, his face coming closer to yours, leaning into you. He was a tall man after all. Even when he was sitting. ‘Don’t you want a real man?’ Gitae said in a rather lower tone, the smoke getting blown into Your face. The question made you almost choke on your spit, as well as your hand flapping the some away from your face. Gitae watched you cough because of the smoke and choking of the sudden question. His eyes still blank. He’s expressionless, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel anything. ‘Come on. I know you desire a real man. Someone like me, don’t you?’

Gitae put the hilt of the pipe to your mouth. His other hand gently feeling the long skirt you were wearing. A rather sly smile krept on his face, his eyes watching your lips wrap around the pipe and the smoke leaving your lips. A deep chuckle rumbling from out his chest. His finger clasped around your skirt, pulling it down. His eyes not leaving the sight. His lips gently grazing to your ears. ‘Did you tell him that you were with me first?’ The question made you groan. How more clear could you be? You and James never did anything romantically not sexually…yet all your words seem to go on deaf ears when it came to Gitae. Besides you had dated Gitae for only a few months when he was here four years ago. ‘Ofcourse not. It’s was insignificant’ Gitae hummed. That was not good. Not at all. You could feel his hand’s move up to your blouse. ‘Not significant?…perhaps i need to remind you. Don’t I?’ His voice was less playful now but rather stern. You made him irritated. Not smart. His lips moved from your ears to your cheek and then to your neck. His breath on your neck his lips placing kisses on you, the wet kisses feeling like suction cups. ‘Take it off me.’ Gitae’s tone was commanding. He knew you knew better to oppose him. So just do what he tells you to and it’ll all be just fine. Gitea leaned back in his seat, watching you unbuckle his belt, pulling down his pants together with his boxers. His member casted a shadow onto your face, he was huge. To put it mildly. Very gritty too. Gitae chuckled. His lips curling into a smirk. He was bigger than before. You were sure of it. Gitae’s glanced downwards towards you. ‘Come and sit.’ Without much protest you obeyed his command, straddling his hips. Gitae smirked, the tip of his cock pressing against you. He likes seeing you like this…just like back then. his thick cock pressing demandingly at your entrance. A soft grunt escaped his lips when he felt you sit on him. A shaky but relieved sigh could be heard next to your eat. ‘Good girl….now move for me.’ Gitae watched you with a satisfied expression when you began to move on his cock. He knew it was rather a lot to take but you can do it. He knows you can.

A soft moan escaped his lips, his cock rubbing against your walls. His eyes shifting from your face to his own cock, watching the way you took him, it made him even hornier than he already was. ‘There we go…’ a soft grunt escaped his lips, eyes fluttering and his breath becoming heavier. Gitae’s hand’s snuck to your hips, making you bounce on him even more. A deep rumbling chuckle erupted from his chest when he saw you hold back your sounds. ‘Not working princess. Try again.’ Gitae suddenly thrusted forward his hands holding you in place and his cock reaching deeper inside of you and making you grunt in surprise. The veins on his dick rubbing deliciously against your inner walls, the wet sounds of what was happening echoed across the room. ‘Good girl. Keep making those sounds for me..’ Gitae cooed at you. It was infuriating to say the least but you also knew that during these moments Gitae loved having dominance. His hand trailing from his hip to your neck, gently squeezing it before he slammed you into the seat next to him. The backrest suddenly moving backwards which caused you to be in a laying position. Your eyes flickered from random objects in the plane, your vision upside down before Gitae’s face invaded your vision again. ‘Why the sour face darling?’ You could hear Gitae’s voice being rather strained and husky as if he was holding back some sounds himself, he continued to thrust into you with a slow and steady pace. A soft, low and shaky moan escaped his lips. Gitae closed his eyes, his chest rising up and down from his heavy panting. Your eyes flickering with familiarity. He was close. Very close. ‘Hey not-’ before you could finish your sentence, Gitae came with a loud groan. A few ropes of cum coating your inside before he pulled out. ‘Inside.’ ‘Sorry princess. Couldn’t help it.’