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The first time it happens, it’s a miracle. The world flips and colour – the glistening ocean lapping at your heels, the bright blue sky, the green of your best friend’s two piece – bursts across your vision, stealing your breath away.
Twenty yards down the shore, similarly moonstruck, your soulmate gapes back at you – at least until the next wave comes, knocking into him and sweeping him right off his feet.
The second time ‘round, it feels more like a hurricane.
In the space of a heartbeat, the life you’ve lovingly built brick by brick is ripped apart, right down to its very foundations.
—
“They’re gonna love you, will you please stop worrying?” he laughs, and you can’t help the warmth that floods your cheeks.
“I know it’s stupid. I know, but–”
Smiling – perfect, beautiful – Tooru pulls you into his arms. Takes a moment to admire your face. “Iwa already thinks you’re too good for me, Makki and Mattsun’ll like you just fine.”
He’s joking about the first part.
You’d been introduced to Tooru’s best and oldest friend only a few months after meeting, and had been pleasantly surprised at how well you’d gotten along with his ex-teammate. There’s no reason for your stomach to be fluttering the way that it is. You’re Tooru’s soulmate, you love him with everything you have. Whether or not they like you as a person, surely they’ll be able to appreciate that much.
You don’t need them to love you or anything so dramatic, you just don’t want them to hate you.
Initially, the plan was for the three of them – Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa – to meet you both at the airport, after over a full day’s worth of travelling, though, you managed to beg a nap and a long, hot shower from your boyfriend first.
Instead, the plan is now to meet them downtown for drinks, followed by dinner at some semi-famous hole in the wall ramen joint that Iwa and Makki, both having found a home in the bustling city, apparently swear by. Low key, casual, easy.
“Have I told you how amazing you look tonight?” Slowly, his gaze dips, surveying the little red number you’ve chosen for the night. A grin that’s not entirely innocent teases at his lips. “I love that dress on you.”
Oh, you’re well aware.
Tooru was the one to buy it for you. Truthfully, you’ve always thought that the drab hue washes you out, yet whenever you wear it you’re rewarded with that slack jawed, smouldering expression that never fails to make your knees just a little weak.
It’s one hell of a confidence booster.
“Huh, I had no idea,” you cheekily reply, stretching up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips with a grin of your own.
Rolling his eyes, he huffs a half hearted “Tease,” when you part, but laces his fingers back through yours all the same. Squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You know, it used to be an old tradition of ours. Ramen, I mean,” he elaborates at your confused expression. “I don’t even remember who started it, but whenever we lost a game, we’d go out for ramen and eat and eat and eat until we were ready to burst.”
He chuckles fondly at the memory, and it seems an odd thing to you.
Then again, Tooru’s always had somewhat of an interesting relationship with defeat, that he’d continue to enjoy a food inextricably linked to that probably shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“What about when you won?”
“Milk bread.” He says it with such solemnity that it takes you a second to realise he’s joking. You giggle, and Tooru’s thumb sweeps along the back of your palm, a pleased twinkle dancing in ash eyes.
Lapsing into conversation over old volleyball habits and traditions, the two of you arrive at the bar in no time at all. Iwa’s settled into a booth up the back, another man, one you recognise from pictures of Tooru’s high school days, making his way over to the table with a bottle of sake and glasses in hand.
“Ahh, the famous soulmate,” he grins, setting them down as the two of you make your way over. “This idiot doesn’t shut up about you. I’m Hanamaki– Makki, though, since we’re friends.” He winks and you can’t help but laugh in response, ignoring the indignant cry from Tooru.
“It’s great to finally meet you guys.”
“Mattsun’s just–”
Over Makki’s shoulder, you spy him. Tall, dark haired and handsome, there’s no mistaking it. He’s busy shoving his keys and wallet into the pocket of his jeans when he looks over. Catches your eye.
And just like that day on the beach in Argentina, colour explodes.
New and vibrant, so bright that it blinds, steals the breath right from your lungs. Hues you never knew existed – reds and pinks and yellows. Browns. Mixing in a vivid symphony that burns across your vision like a meteor.
Your dress and the TV screen playing behind the bar, the colour of Matsukawa’s shirt.
This time there’s no pleasant, warm tingling feeling, there’s no giddy delight. You already have a soulmate, this has already happened once, it’s not supposed to happen again–
You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Can’t hear the shocked ‘holy fuck’ that falls from his lips over the roaring in your ears.
You feel it, though. The body that stiffens beside yours. The sharp intake of breath that cuts like a guillotine.
It seems a cruel twist of fate that the first time you see your soulmate’s face in colour – true colour, eyes not the grey tint you’ve come to adore but lovely and deep and swimming in pain – he’s looking back at you as if you’ve ripped his still beating heart out of his chest and squeezed the life right out of it.
He blinks, and there’s nothing.
“Tooru–”
Shaking off Iwa’s hand, ignoring the broken syllables of his name as they fall from your lips, he walks out.
You don’t think, lurching to chase after him.
Mattsun–
No. You can’t worry about him right now.
Ducking and weaving your way through the crowded bar, you don’t realise that Matsukawa’s followed you until you burst out into the cool, autumn air and his voice cuts through the night.
“Hey just– just wait a sec, would you?”
His grip is iron as it closes around your wrist, softening – but not loosening – when you finally stop for him. His mouth opens. Close. Wide eyes searching yours.
On the other side of the street, Tooru’s already climbing into a cab.
“I– I can’t, I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “I have to go.”
And he doesn’t fight it when you pull yourself free.
—
The lights are off when you get back to the hotel room. Tooru’s out on the balcony, staring blankly out over the twinkling city lights. He doesn’t so much as blink when you slide the door open to come out to join him. Doesn’t move as you press yourself against his back, arms encircling his waist.
“I didn’t know,” you mumble, “I didn’t realise it wasn’t… everything. You have to know that.”
He tenses beneath you, and you lay your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“I don’t care about any of it. I love you. You’re my soulmate.”
He’s silent for a long time.
“… But it’s not enough, right? I’m not enough. Otherwise–” he breaks off with a humourless laugh and it guts you. “Otherwise you wouldn’t need another soulmate.”
Pulling him closer, you don’t fight the tears that spill from your lashes, dampening the back of his shirt. “I don’t want him, I don’t want anyone but you.”
—
You wake to the sound of voices, the door to the bedroom closed over. Tooru’s side of the bed is still warm, the sheets rumpled. Pausing only long enough to quickly throw on a robe, you open the door to carefully peer out.
The scene that you’re greeted with isn’t the one you’re expecting, although all things considered perhaps it should’ve been. Tooru, still in his pyjamas, arms folded across his chest and scowling, Matsukawa standing opposite, glaring right back, looking every bit as exhausted as you feel.
“She’s my soulmate, too. You can’t bury your head in the sand and pretend it didn’t happen, Oikawa. It’s a shitty fucking situation but it did!” He exhales heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When he continues, his voice is quieter. A touch calmer. “Look, I’m not trying to steal her away from you, I’m asking for some time.”
You can see Tooru mulling over the request, the unhappy set of his jaw. Deep down, you recognise that what Matsukawa’s asking for isn’t unreasonable, and if the situations were reversed, you’d be pleading for the same.
So would Tooru – whether he’d admit it or not.
But things aren’t that simple. They can’t be, not when you’ve already given everything to Tooru, built a life with him, planned your future with him.
You never counted on another soulmate. You’re only ever supposed to have one.
(What kind of person does that make you, to not be satisfied with that?)
Rather than let Tooru speak for you – or maybe because you can’t bear the thought of what he might say in your stead – you decide to use that moment to make yourself known. Both heads snap towards you the second the door creaks open, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.
Neither speaks, though, as you walk to Tooru’s side, slip under the arm he offers.
And god, the weight of your relief at that simple gesture nearly brings you to your knees.
Meeting Matsukawa’s steady gaze, you swallow uncomfortably. “You’re right,” you tell him softly, hating yourself even as you speak the words that damn you both. “This isn’t a situation any of us want to be in. I’m sorry, really I am, but…”
“But you’re with him,” he finishes for you.
Not angry or bitter, no, the inflection of his voice gives little insight into his true feelings on the matter. His expression, on the other hand – you recognise that look, it’s one you’ve seen countless times shining in Tooru’s eyes; a steadfast resolution.
A refusal to back down.
“Okay, fine. You guys are together, I don’t care. I’m not here trying to get in the way of that.” His eyes flicker to Tooru’s, “You’re only in Tokyo for a few more days, right? Give me today, or– fuck, just give me a few hours.”
If he were anyone else, you think, there’s no way Tooru would’ve let him through the door. Then again, if he were anyone else, this situation wouldn’t be what it is.
He matters to Tooru, and so you can’t just shove him aside and pretend he doesn’t exist. Because you can’t shove him aside, you’ll inevitably end up hurting him – over and over and over again. You won’t ever be able to give him what he wants.
To be what he wants.
That’s all you’re supposed to get; one soulmate. One happily ever after.
You sigh, “… I don’t–”
“All I’m asking for is a few hours before you disappear back to Argentina – as friends, that’s it.” He grins; a strained attempt to lighten the tension in the room. “You owe it to yourself, don’t you think?”
“As… friends,” you echo, a small crinkle appearing between your brows.
He nods. “Friends. If you’re sticking with this asshole, we’re gonna be in each other’s lives one way or another, right? Why make it awkward?”
At your side, Tooru remains unnaturally stiff. Silent. Frowning as he stares (would you go so far as to call it a glare?) not at you, but at Matsukawa.
Friend or not, you realise that he wants you to say no to him.
This isn’t his decision to make, though, and so with a deep breath, you nod, forcing yourself to smile.
“Okay, fine. As friends.”
—
“I love you,” you remind Tooru, raising yourself up on your toes to kiss him.
His arms encircle your waist as they often do, a familiar smile teasing at his lips, “I know.”
It’s a shame then, that it doesn’t reach those lovely brown eyes of his.
—
“So you never so much as suspected–?”
“No,” you reply. “It probably should’ve clicked, I guess; all the colours I thought were so dull and boring. Things that back then looked the same shade that shouldn't've, but I thought that was normal. I thought everyone saw the world like that.” You shrug haplessly, “And I was happy, so why would I think I was missing something?”
Perhaps it’s not the kindest thing to admit that out loud to Matsukawa. He had been the one to ask, though.
The two of you are settled on the couch in Hanamaki’s living room – his temporary residence while he’s staying in Tokyo – Tooru off being distracted by Makki and Iwa.
To Matsukawa’s credit, he’s trying. No amount of awkwardly skirting the conversation can distract from the giant elephant in the room, though, and it’s hard on you both.
Because it isn’t difficult being with him.
He’s funny, yes and undeniably handsome – maybe not in the way Tooru is, with his pretty features and big, brown eyes, but attractive all the same. The moment you relaxed and stopped worrying about what to say and how you were supposed to act around your not-soulmate soulmate, everything fell into place. It became easy to talk with him. To laugh and giggle at the stupid jokes.
Like breathing.
“Missing something, huh?” he grins, waggling his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes with a huff.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Yet the grin remains. “Sure, ‘course I do.” Then, changing tracks before you can retort, he asks, “You hungry?”
You can pretend that you haven’t noticed the sky outside’s no longer pink and golden, sunset long since having come and gone. A few hours, that’s it, you’d promised Tooru, I’ll be back before dinner.
Your fingers curl into the hem of your skirt, twisting.
“Actually, I should probably–”
Before you can rise, Matsukawa’s hand falls on your thigh, stopping you. “C’mon, stay. We’ll get takeout – there’s a pretty good dumpling place just down the road.” And, as if he knows full well exactly where your hesitation lies, he adds, “You’re already here, what’s the harm in another hour or two?”
You sigh, “Matsukawa–”
“He gets you for the rest of your lives, you can’t give me one dinner?” he interrupts.
His tone doesn’t betray any bitterness, still, the words hit you like a slap in the face, cold and biting.
He’s not lying.
In a few days' time, you’ll board the flight home to Argentina with Tooru, and you know in your heart of hearts that it’s unlikely he’ll ever bring you back, not now.
… And yet a part of you wants to be here. The part that glows when you’re around him, the part of you that beats and lives and breathes solely for Matsukawa Issei.
You can’t live a life split between two soulmates.
“Don’t pretend you don’t wanna stay,” he continues, watching your expression closely. “And stop with the Matsukawa bullshit.”
You arch a brow. Really, that’s what he’s concerned with right now? “You’d rather I call you Mattsun?”
Matsukawa chuckles, shaking his head.
His hand still resting on your thigh, you hadn’t realised how close he was. Is. You can count every eyelash if the desire struck, your breath mingling with his in the few inches that separate you from him.
You should push him away, you think distantly, but you don’t.
“Nah,” his voice is deep; a soft, commanding rumble that sends heat rushing to your face, your heart trilling like a hummingbird’s. ”I want you to call me Issei.”
Mouth suddenly dry, you manage to stutter out a breathy “O-okay,” much to his amusement.
It softens, though, shifts into an expression more contemplative as the seconds tick by and neither of you move.
“… Stay,” he repeats. Gentler this time.
He’s not just talking about dinner.
“The dumplings are that good, huh?”
Rather than take the weak rejection for what it is, Issei merely shrugs, settling back into the couch – finally putting some much needed space between you, “Company’s better.”
And he’s telling the truth – at least insofar as dinner’s concerned.
An hour later finds you knocking his chopsticks out of the way to steal the last perfect, delicious pork gyoza for yourself, “Snooze ya lose,” you laugh between bites.
“Greedy.”
You grin wider. “For dumplings? Absolutely.”
Tooru would’ve pouted, jokingly accusing you of loving food more than you loved him.
Issei, on the other hand, snorts.
“Yeah, well I can work with greedy,” and then there’s a warm, calloused palm cupping your cheek and he’s kissing you.
For a split second – a heartbeat – you lose yourself in it. The way his mouth moves against yours, the roughness of fingertips grazing your skin, his tongue in your mouth – the taste of him.
Issei kisses you like salvation itself lies between your lips, and for a split second (no more than a heartbeat) you kiss him back.
And then realisation sets in – ice dousing your system, shocking you back to reality. You break away with a gasp, physically shoving him back.
“What the hell are you doing?” you hiss.
There’s a flicker of something dangerously close to hurt in his eyes, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “I would’ve thought that was pretty obvious,” he drawls back.
“I told you I’m with Tooru! This,” you gesture between the two of you, “can’t happen. I told you that!”
The muscle in his jaw clenches. “So what? ‘Cause he’s the one to find you first, he gets to keep you all to himself, and fuck everybody else?”
“You’re making it sound like this is something we chose!” you snap. “I committed to Tooru, we have a life together. I live on another continent for god’s sake! I thought you understood that…”
That’s what you’d both agreed; friends, nothing more. You couldn’t ever be anything more.
The silence between you is heavy. Uncomfortable. Eventually, Mattsun sighs, running a hand through his messy hair.
“That’s how it is, then; he gets you for the rest of your lives and I get left with nothing?”
The comment doesn’t sit well with you – you’re not some prize that either one of them gets to keep. Yet recognising that he's more than justified in being upset over the situation and, more importantly, that calling him out on it serves neither of you, you shove your indignation aside.
“Depends on whether you think having a friendship is nothing.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that, jaw working as he glares a hole into the wall over your shoulder.
Sensing that there’s no salvaging the night, you stand, making the few short steps to the table where you dumped your purse on your way in – far from blind to the eyes that follow your every move.
“I think I should go.”
If anything, Matsukawa looks even less happy with that, but he rises to his feet and nods stiffly all the same. “Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I can find my own way back.”
—
Your boyfriend smells of sake when he returns, winding his arms around you to pull you close, pressing kisses to your cheek. If Tooru notices the salty dampness beneath his lips, he doesn’t pass comment. “Missed you. Thought you were comin’ home for dinner,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a bitter edge the alcohol can’t mask.
“I’m sorry,” the words come robotically.
Hoarse.
And then, without warning, you shatter. Sobbing, heaving for each and every breath as your legs give way beneath you. Only Tooru’s arms, strong and lithe, tightening around your middle keep you from falling.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cry.
Sorry for staying out later than you’d promised.
Sorry for kissing Matsukawa.
Sorry for hurting him.
Sorry for causing this whole stupid mess in the first place.
The two of you sink to the floor, Tooru clutching you tight. Frantic touches, hasty words spoken between kisses, he tries – and fails – to bring you back from the brink. Back to him.
It’s white noise, all of it.
Something inside of you is breaking, fracturing into tiny pieces you‘re not sure you’ll ever be able to put back together and mend, and it hurts.
Oh god, it hurts.
—
The two of you fly home the following afternoon.
Tooru makes up some excuse about Coach calling him back last minute for pre-season preparations. He tells you to pack your suitcase with a peck to your cheek – and you do.
What other choice is there?
Matsukawa’s there to see you both off – along with Makki and Iwa – though he barely speaks more than a few words to his old friend. Instead, he stares until you disappear beyond the gate, arms folded across his broad chest, expression inscrutable.
And it feels as if you’re leaving behind some vital piece of yourself.
Jet engines roar and Tokyo becomes nothing more than glittering lights out your window. In the seat beside you, Tooru smiles, lacing your fingers with his.
“I love you,” he reminds you.
—
Months pass.
You… adjust.
It’s not easy – on either of you – but you make it work. Tooru was your entire world before, he’s your entire world now; that’s all there needs to be to it.
And if you notice how he hovers, how lately you seem to spend less time out with your friends and more alone with him, how the sex is different, and sometimes you wake up to find him staring, only for him to smile and sweetly kiss you good morning, you push those thoughts aside.
You’re both trying, and that’s what matters.
Then, late one afternoon, a knock sounds at your door. Assuming that it’s Tooru and he’s left his keys at home (again), you leap to throw it open and welcome him home – not bothering to pause and check the peephole.
Only it isn’t Tooru.
Matsukawa stands on the other side, a backpack hanging off one shoulder, shadowy circles beneath tired eyes. Eyes that snap to the hand you have resting on the doorframe and narrow.
More specifically, to the ring that catches the golden rays of the afternoon sun; glittering and pretty and expensive looking.
Your heart thuds unevenly.
Twisting your arm to shove it behind your back – and out of his sight – you swallow, “Tooru isn’t here,” you tell him.
As if that’s why he’s at your door, having travelled halfway around the world after months of complete radio silence between you; to visit his friend.
(As if you aren’t distinctly aware that he and Tooru barely speak any more.)
Matsukawa ignores it entirely.
“You said yes.”
A statement, not a question.
You know what he’s referring to, of course. While you’d kept fairly quiet regarding your engagement, at least insofar as your social media was concerned, Tooru had practically screamed it from the mountain tops.
Post after post, pictures of the two of you looking loved up and blissfully happy, of the ring. Bringing it up in interviews and post match press spots. You would’ve been more surprised to learn Matsukawa hadn’t heard about it.
Not that that does anything to assuage the guilt currently eating its way through your insides.
“I did.”
His throat bobs, eyes narrowing.
Your mouth opens, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to say to him. Do you try to justify it? Apologise? He can’t be that surprised, you told him that you were with Tooru, committed to him – surely he knew that this was coming.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Matsukawa drops his bag, licks his lips–
“Yeah, well, you’re fucking mine, too.”
– and shoves his way inside. One large hand curls around your neck, the other pulling you flush against his front. Kissing you like his life depends on it.
He’s big enough – strong enough – to lift you up, his arm slipping beneath your ass to anchor you, marching the two of you further inside. And unlike last time, he doesn’t give you the chance to protest or break away. The fists that beat against his chest ignored, every muffled cry lost to his lips and tongue.
It’s desperate and angry, bordering on painful, and when he drops you on your bed – the one you share with Tooru – he’s panting.
He watches you with a razor sharp intensity, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, seemingly waiting for you to make the next move. To run. Slap him. Grab him by the collar and kiss him back, twice as hard.
Like he’s giving you the chance to make this choice with him – a knife to your throat, the two of you dancing on the precipice.
And for the first time since you met him and that precious, devastating bond snapped into place, you feel a distinct twist of fear. Oily and insidious, it creeps like vines across your chest, cruel thorns ripping into flesh, tearing at your vital organs as it constricts. Strangles.
The Matsukawa staring back at you; you don’t recognise him.
But surely… surely he wouldn’t go so far as to hurt you, right? He might be upset – angry, even – but if you can talk him down from… whatever this is, everything’ll be fine. He’ll stop if you ask him to, won’t he?
Because Mattsun can’t… he wouldn’t–
You don’t dare finish the thought.
Sucking down a gulp of air, you curl your fingers into the soft sheets beneath you – if only so he won’t see how badly they’re trembling. He’s upset, but he won’t hurt you.
He won’t hurt you.
Repeating it like a silent mantra, you breathe again, and in the calmest voice you can muster, call his name.
“Issei.”
He groans appreciatively, eyes briefly rolling shut as he presses closer. With his body wedged between your thighs, it’s impossible not to notice the growing bulge beneath his jeans. Your stomach flips; is he seriously getting a hard-on from this?
Towering over you, he takes your face in his hands – each palm nearly swallowing your cheeks – and tilts it upwards. “Yeah?”
Your skin prickles, goosebumps rising.
“Issei, you’re scaring me,” you whisper, desperately searching his face for any semblance of understanding. Regret. Remorse. Shame.
Anything.
You come away empty.
“I don’t want this.”
And you wonder whether he can feel your racing pulse beneath his fingertips, the shiver that wracks your body when he strokes the delicate skin.
“We don’t always get what we want.”
You rear back like you’ve been slapped, but he’s already pushing your shoulders down to the mattress, climbing on up after you. “But ‘m gonna show you you fucking need me.”
“Matsu–”
“Issei,” he growls, and attacks your lips once more.
You’re squirming, legs kicking out ineffectually, and the pink cotton of your sundress gives all too easily under his rough, greedy touch.
Your bra follows suit, torn down the middle and cast aside, Matsukawa’s mouth tearing away from your lips to suck and lave at your breasts. His tongue swirls around the soft mounds, licking and mouthing til you gasp and keen and your nipples stiffen into pretty peaks for his teeth to nip none too gently at.
“Issei, please!”
There’s marks there already, bruises and hickeys in mottled shades of red, burgundy and yellow. Possessive, adoring marks left by Tooru’s mouth – marks that he’s now trying his utmost to overwrite.
And while his face is buried in your chest, his hands wander down the span of your waist, holding you down yes, but squeezing and groping, exploring the bared flesh beneath the tattered remains of your dress.
Matsukawa’s impatient. His movements rushed, an urgency edging every touch. Is he worried about Tooru coming home, you wonder, or simply fed up with waiting for what he believes himself entitled to?
Your stomach turns at the thought.
That he’s spent days thinking about this, planning it. Did your refusal ever factor in? Or in this make believe world of his, were you always willing to throw your relationship with Tooru away and cheat without a second thought?
When those rough, calloused fingertips rub along the seat of your panties and he groans against your tits, deep and satisfied, tears spring to your eyes. You don’t bother to try keeping them at bay – if your pleas weren’t enough to sway him to stop, you can’t imagine the sight of you crying will move him any differently.
Yet he does notice them, dark eyes dilating at the sight, his mouth – preoccupied still with your breasts – curling into a smirk despite himself.
He’s enjoying this, you realise sickly.
Spurred on by the tears spilling from your lashes, thick fingers push aside the seat of your panties, swiping at your folds. They come away glistening, and you want nothing more than for the ground beneath you to open up and swallow you whole.
Finally parting from your chest, he sucks the digits into mouth, simmering eyes burning a hole into you, savouring the sweet taste of your cunt. And as if your humiliation – your heartbreak – is not enough already, he takes them from his lips and drags them down your stomach, leaving a lewd trail of saliva and slick in his path. Your hysteria builds when they reach your underwear once more, but Matsukawa hushes you.
“Trust me,” he murmurs lowly, his voice more a growl than anything else, “you want me to do this. Gonna hurt you otherwise.”
Yet he doesn’t look nearly as put out by the prospect as he should be.
“Please, please Issei, I don’t–”
He kisses you again, muffling your protests with his tongue as his fingers, pointer and middle, force their way into your sex.
And oh god, oh god, it’s not that the thickness isn’t anything you haven’t taken before, only that you’re not prepared, and it stings as your cunt stretches around the sudden intrusion.
It’s graceless, the way that he curls the digits, fucking them into you.
Graceless, but effective. With every squelching prod, the walls of your pussy relax a little more, a whisper of pleasure taking the place of pain. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to pretend that it’s Tooru touching you, kissing you. Fighting him off when he’s so much bigger and stronger than you might be an exercise in futility, but maybe you can get through this if you imagine it’s him. If you pretend that this is an act of love and not a violation of your body and trust.
It’s Tooru who’s doing this.
Tooru who loves you, who wouldn’t so much as dream of hurting you.
It’s Tooru.
It’s Tooru.
… It’s all wrong, though. Your body knows it. Tooru isn’t rough, but coaxing. He likes to use his mouth as well, talented tongue teasing at your clit while his fingers seek out your g-spot to bring you to a shaking, shuddering orgasm. Usually, the first of many.
He talks, too, whispering absolute filth into your ear, laughing when you whine and beg – he loves it when you beg for him.
Tooru likes to take his sweet time.
Matsukawa, on the other hand, waits only long enough for your body to stop outwardly resisting him before he breaks from you with a heavy exhale. “Fuck.”
You keep your eyes shut as he sheds his clothes – first his jacket and then the shirt beneath. The clinking of his belt buckle brings a fresh wave of sickening fear, and he rolls off of you only long enough to kick his jeans off and into some corner of your bedroom along with the rest of his clothes.
His nose nudges at your neck as he climbs back over you, broad hands pushing your thighs apart to settle in between.
And still you don’t look.
Can’t bear to.
“I forgive you,” he mutters, hot breath tickling uncomfortably at your skin.
He says it like an oath, absolution for the wrongs that pale in comparison to the act he’s about to commit, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip, drawing blood. “I love you, even when you’re being stubborn and fucking difficult.” You hear him shifting above you, a quiet, shuddering grunt as the blunt head of his cock slides along the outside of your wet pussy. “But I’m not gonna let you keep running away.” The tip brushes against your clit, and your hips jerk in response, drawing a sharp hiss from the dark haired man. “You’re mine, too,” he growls. “…Look at me.”
Childishly, you ignore the request. Why should you humour him when he’s about to violate you in your own bed.
“Look at me,” he repeats, his voice deepening.
When it becomes clear that you have no intention of complying, he makes an exasperated noise, like you’re the one acting out.
“I love you.” With neither gentleness nor care, the mushroom shaped head of his cock spears into your wet cunt – and your eyes fly open regardless, a strangled scream ripping its way free from your lungs.
No amount of prep would make this any easier to take. His cock is thick, throbbing as it splits you in two. It’s only the hand he has braced on your hip that keeps you from scrambling back, forcing you to take it as Matsukawa feeds it in, inch by inch.
And it’s only the tip.
Tooru’s by no means small, and yet Matsukawa puts his dick to shame. The sheer girth of it has your eyes watering, heart rate picking up. Even his balls, hanging beneath the thick, veined monstrosity that is his cock, lie heavy and full. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to take all of him, not unless he plans on rearranging your insides!
He has the nerve to grin and chuckle, “Told you you’d need the prep.”
There’s no disassociating this time. No fantasy you can conjure up to pretend this is anything other than what it is. His cock rocks inside of you, twitching and eager, and through the breath-taking haze of pain and discomfort, a thread of pleasant heat coils inside of you.
Traitorous.
Wanting.
Once upon a time, you imagined how this might go.
If things were different, and you’d met him before Tooru. You’d lain back on this very bed, your fingers dipping between your thighs as you’d shamelessly imagined how he’d take you the first time. How he’d start off gentle, not wanting to scare you with his size, taking it slow to ease you onto his cock, praising you ‘til you were a sweaty, panting mess beneath him.
And then, when he was sure you were adjusted and ready to take more, when you were almost mad with want, he’d hold you down, grin that wicked, irresistible grin of his, and fuck you like there’d be no tomorrow.
Maybe this is retribution, you think, another pained noise slipping out as you stretch impossibly around him. For wanting. For being greedy.
Why wasn’t Tooru enough?
Already, you’re stuffed too full. There’s no room left but he keeps going. All you can think about is the pain between your legs, the heat of him, radiating with each pulse of his dick, your cervix crying out as his cock bullies its way forward despite the barrier.
Finally, he bottoms out, his head falling back with a deep, throaty curse.
You can’t think. Can’t move.
Can barely breathe.
Pain, pain, pain–
and pleasure, curled up in one.
And Matsukawa opens his eyes to find yours. There’s no words, only a maddening lust that bleeds over his features. In one fell swoop, he’s looming over you again, a muscular arm sweeping under your back to lift you from the bed, crushing you to his front. He draws his hips back, ignoring the way you wince and whimper at the sting, and with that same awful grin, slams them forward once more, stuffing himself balls deep to the sound of your choked cries.
He fucks you on his cock like a ragdoll.
Uncaring about the tears that spill down your cheeks (or perhaps urged on by them), Matsukawa presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your neck, your jaw, moaning your name in between vicious, pistoning thrusts. With one hand braced against the mattress, his pace is relentless.
A bead of sweat runs from his temple down to his chin, dripping onto your skin before rolling to the sheets beneath you. Your own hair is matted to your damp forehead, your body running hot, burning under the heat of him. He’s everywhere. It’s all you can do to grasp at the broad planes of his back, fingernails sinking in, scratching him while he takes his pleasure with little care for your own.
“Is-sei” you gasp – a plea.
One he ignores.
Another guttural groan, and he shifts – flipping you over, lifting your hips, “C’mon, up on your knees for me, ah, good girl.”
Your top half falls back to the mattress, Matsukawa squeezing your waist. He gives you only a moment, no more than a second, to brace yourself before he resumes that brutal pace. And when his cock slides into your aching pussy, instead of a wail, this time you moan, wanton and whorish, a zing of pleasure surging from your core.
A slap rings through the room, the flesh of your ass stinging even as his palm rubs soothingly at the abused flesh.
“That good, huh, baby?” he laughs. “Knew you’d come around.”
The punch of his cock robs you of any indignation. Every noise dragged from your lips sings with reluctant pleasure, a chorus to accompany the lewd slaps of flesh, Matsukawa’s grunts, both of your panting breaths.
And the tears spill quicker, wetting the pillow you’ve dragged beneath your face. Clutching at it like a lifeline.
You hate him.
Hate him, even as your hips rise and roll back into his, a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body.
Matsukawa lowers his chest to your back, sinks his teeth into your shoulder. Another mark, another claim, your spine arches and Issei’s grip tightens. No longer does he pull out completely, choosing instead short, rabbiting thrusts that burn and ache and have the warm, velvety walls of your pussy fluttering and clenching around him.
“Fuck,” he curses again, picking up the pace. “Fuck.”
Like wildfire, it consumes you. His lips dragging along your back, the heat of his body sliding against yours. Most of all, that awful, addictive feeling of fullness, his cock pumping your guts. The rippling shockwaves that have your toes curling, your body crying out for more, more, more.
You hate it, you hate him and you hate yourself more than either of those things, but none of that matters when Issei roars your name, fingers sinking into the fat of your hips as hot, viscous cum spurts from his cock into the warmth of your pussy.
And you unravel completely.
—
The cherry red tip of his cigarette glows in the dying light of the afternoon as he takes a long, slow drag.
Issei holds you to him, a muscular arm draped over your shoulder, keeping you nestled into his side. In all honesty, though, you haven’t made much of an effort to slip away.
Where would you go? You can’t leave. You can’t pretend that it didn’t happen – not when your body is littered with undeniable proof that it did.
You can’t outrun him.
Or Tooru, once he finds out.
His cum hasn’t yet dried from your thighs, your cheeks shining with tears that spill silently, and Issei hums contentedly, exhaling a breath of smoke. Idle fingers trace lazily at your arm, he takes another drag.
Distantly, you recognise the sound of your front door opening, your name being called and the soft tread of footsteps approaching.
Your eyes squeeze shut, but Issei has no such compulsion as your soulmate stops dead in his tracks at the open doorway.
Exhales again, smoke billowing from curling lips.
“Captain.”