purple hyacinth, part three

kageyama tobio was only supposed to deliver the weapons to ushijima’s best customer once every two weeks. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you—law student by day, top dancer and escort at washijo tanji’s club by night. when you ask the impossible of him, kageyama has to choose: his life or yours.

pairing: adlers underboss kageyama tobio x escort fem!reader (with hair), part three of three ; 7.2k, nsfw (18+, mdni)

warnings:depictions of sex work, actual murder, implied sexual abuse; the sex is tame, kageyama’s still and will forever be a simp

thanks to:@anime-nymphand@vanille–kiss for coming up with the ideas for me and helping me look into ways to murder and dick kageyama down like friends should LOL <3 also for betaing, and vani for the amazing banner as always!

written in conjuction with:@mrskenmakozume’ssimp me not collab! i had m for mafia :’)

part one||part two||part three||mafia au masterlist
bosses:black petunia||red peony||white lily
underbosses:pink magnolia||orange rose

Creating a plan is easy. Executing is the hard part.

No matter how well he plans or thinks of all the variables, humans aren’t predictable. Their schedules may be, their mannerisms can be studied and copied, but when presented with the possibility of death, everything can go haywire in a split second.

That’s why Kageyama knows it’s important to bend the outcome to his will.

After years under Ushijima’s liege and working in the Adlers clan, he knows exactly what to do. Remove outside variables, craft a plan that’s solid enough, and make sure the evidence is in your favor. Murder is easy. It’s simple enough for him to wait for a target, grab their neck from behind, and snap it in one swift movement. What happens after is the tricky part: making them disappear, making sure there are no traces of his presence left, making sure the police lose leads quickly and never pick them up again.

It takes him a few days to come up with the plan, and another two days to work on the kinks, but by the end of the week, Washijo Tanji is a dead man walking with only a few months left to live.

Kageyama’s involvement is easy.

All he has to do is continue coming every two weeks like clockwork, which is where he currently is. He sits in Washijo’s office, listening as the man brags about his “perfect” yacht, another girl he brought under his wing to “mentor”, and how you have a renewed spirit ever since he struck some sense into you. Kageyama’s hands tighten in his slacks as Washijo praises your work ethic, and it’s hard to keep his face completely plain when he laments,

“Sorry. I know you have a thing for our Daisy, but she’s out there fucking around on you, huh?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything. He only nods and lets Washijo ramble about going out on his boat again this coming weekend.

Because Kageyama’s first target isn’t Washijo Tanji, but the bodyguard who stands outside the door to keep others out: Saitou Akira.

Akira is as predictable in his routine as anyone else. Every afternoon he gets an iced cafe latte and sandwich from Doutor. Every other day he visits the gym for almost two hours before showering and going back to his apartment. Once a week he visits the movie theater close to his place, and he shops at the local market multiple times a week, friendly with the old woman who runs the business. Every night, he takes the subway to work before acting as Washijo’s lapdog, keeping poor and needy women under lock and key.

There are plenty of people who need extra money, so it’s easy to find some underground fighters to do his dirty work. Kageyama makes sure that Akira doesn’t see his face, but he supervises the hit. One early afternoon movie, one abandoned alleyway by his apartment, one too many punches and kicks, and Saitou Akira lays broken and battered on the cold ground. It’s Kageyama who calls the ambulance from a burner phone, discarding it as soon as he hears the sirens coming from the distance.

When he steps into Ushijima’s office to discuss contraband business later that night, Kageyama clears his throat.

“Washijo is requesting one of our members to act as his bodyguard for the time being, Boss.”

“Where is his bodyguard?” Ushijima asks as he looks up from a file containing pictures of the next shipment. “Saitou Akira, wasn’t it?”

“He is currently in the hospital after being attacked earlier this afternoon.”

The Adlers’ boss studies Kageyama, his dark brown eyes all-knowing as they analyze Kageyama’s calm expression. Kageyama Tobio isn’t an idiot—he knows Ushijima can see right through him. He always has, starting from the night he approached him at the convenient store, to now when he leans back in his chair with a hum.

“Why is he requesting our assistance?”

“He says he trusts us thanks to our long-standing relationship.”

Ushijima goes silent at Kageyama’s lie, finger tapping on the top of the desk as he considers the fake proposal. The room feels suffocating, closing in the longer Ushijima thinks without uttering a word. Kageyama feels sweat drip down the back of his neck, and his hands clench and unclench again, but he keeps his face absolutely stoic until Ushijima nods.

“Take Sokolov. He’ll fit in with Washijo’s clientele anyway.”

Kageyama bows his head and turns toward the door, but Ushijima calls his name and makes him turn around again.

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Ushijima warns evenly, his tone light and unmatching his serious expression. “If you do, you will be saying hello to Hoshiumi.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Kageyama bows his head again, avoiding Ushijima’s piercing stare as he shuffles from the room, his first part of the job complete.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

“We heard about what happened,” Kageyama says as soon as he sits down in front of Washijo’s desk. Today the man is jumpier than usual, his old face looking even angrier and ashen than normal. Kageyama sets the briefcase on contraband on the desk before clearing his throat. “To Akira-san.”

“Those fucks are after me and my money,” Washijo grumbles, just like Kageyama expected. It’s why he paid the assailants handsomely to demand information on Washijo as they beat Akira within an inch of his life, after all.

“Ushijima would like to offer you a replacement for the time being.” The lie quickly gets Washijo’s attention. The man turns with a curious lift to his eyebrow. “Since you’ve been a valuable customer, it’s the least we can do.”

“As you should,” Washijo hums. “I pay you good money after all. Who do you have?”

As soon as Washijo sees the picture of the Adlers member, Kageyama knows he has him. Sokolov is tall, large, and has a meanness in his resting face that could scare off even the worst opponents. Kageyama knows it’s all a front, that Sokolov is actually a touchy-feely drunkard who loves men and women a little too much, but Washijo doesn’t, and that’s all that matters. The man readily agrees to have Sokolov watch over him until Akira is out of the hospital and fully recovered, whenever that may be.

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer than a few weeks,” Washijo says.

Kageyama knows that isn’t true, because he paid a little extra to make sure Akira’s hand was smashed enough that it would need rehab for at least three months.

When he bows and leaves Washijo’s office, he locks eyes with you immediately. You’re on stage, already halfway through your routine, breasts barely covered as you shimmy around the pole. You keep your gaze on him the entire time, a sly smile on your face as your clothes come off one by one the longer the song continues, until you’re finishing your set and disappearing into the backroom. Kageyama knows to follow, the night already paid for, the guards moving aside after so many times visiting.

He’s not even two steps into the room before you’re on him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your lips hastily pressed against his. Kageyama welcomes you, kicking the door closed behind him so no one can see, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you close. He’s the one who purchased an hour of your time, but you’re the one kissing him like it’s not long enough, like if you don’t touch him now, you’ll never be able to again.

“Hey—” He tries when you pull away to breathe, but a quick shake of your head renders him silent.

“I want to forget,” you whisper before leaning forward again to fulfill your wish.

His lips only leave yours to tug his clothes off, yours following with barely a push on his hands. Your body is slightly sticky from your performance earlier but he doesn’t care, not when you sound so good moaning as he kisses and licks the column of your neck. His cock is hard and pulsing against your thigh, and though you’ve slept together a few times already, he’s still lost whenever he’s with you.

Your breathy sounds spur him lower, his tongue and lips wet as they slip down to your chest to take a nipple into his mouth. He knows how you like it now, knows how to make you arch into him and grind against his throbbing length for more friction. That’s exactly what you do when he sucks and circles with his tongue, fingers trailing lower to squeeze at your stomach. You part your legs for his wandering hand, and keen when his fingers brush your folds. You aren’t wet enough to push inside yet, so he offers his fingers to you, wordlessly begging you to open. You listen, hooded eyes on him as you suck his fingers like you would his cock, tongue running along the length and around the knuckles until a string of saliva is left when he pulls them out.

Kageyama is careful when he pushes his fingers inside, first one until you’re wet enough, then two just like you like. He already knows how to fuck you—as if you’ve trained him to always provide, and he’s happy to obey. His fingers scissor and curl until you’re a moaning mess, and when he moves his mouth from your stomach to your clit, you whimper his name. Shit, he loves that, loves how you make his name sound perfect, the end syllable lost to a needy ‘oh’ that’s drawn out as he sucks and licks your nub.

He works you until you’re practically humping his fingers, your fingers threaded in his hair to keep him on your clit. Kageyama knows you’re close by the way you gasp for breath, walls clamping down around his fingers as he fucks you. When he sucks harder, circling with the tip of his tongue before flicking over it, you cum all over him with a few lengthy moans. This is his favorite part: watching you fall apart for him, your lips parted, body warm and shuddering, thighs clenching next to his head as pleasure overwhelms you.

When you finally relax and sink into the plush bed, Kageyama pulls away, trying to catch his own breath. He’s about to blow just from your taste, and it grows worse when you beckon him between your legs. Once his cock glides against your swollen and glistening folds, you both make a quiet sound. He does it again, pitching your legs up so your feet are on the bed and you can match his pace.

“Fuck,” you whisper when he bumps your swollen clit with the head of his cock. “Tobio, please, now, I need you.”

You need him. He’ll never admit it, but those words send his heart soaring. Ushijima doesn’t need him—not really. If he betrayed the boss like Hoshiumi, he’d be six feet under and there would be another underboss within a day. His sister doesn’t need him either; though she calls nearly everyday, Miwa is busy with her salon, the one he helped her purchase. His parents never came back for him, his grandfather left the world a year ago, and the universities he applied to didn’t bother asking him to apply again. The only person Kageyama had was himself, keeping afloat in a world that never welcomed him.

Butyou.

You fish a condom out of the drawer to your right, and once it’s open and rolled on his cock, he pushes in. You make the most beautiful sound—a mix between a choke and a groan, your head tilting back as he bottoms out, pulls out, then does it again. Kageyama knows the positions you like by now, knows how you want to be fucked, but tonight he wants things hisway. He wants to memorize every pinch of your nose, the flush on your cheeks; wants to watch his cock disappear into your hole, slick with your juices thanks to how wet you are; wants to lean down and tilt your head up with a firm hand on your neck, making you meet his messy lips in a kiss full of tongues and moans.

The bed creaks with his movements, your breath hot on his face as you gasp his name. Your walls pulse around him as he moves faster, angling his hips to hit that spot you like, the one that makes you tilt your head back so he can lick and bite at the column of your throat. His fingers grab at your nipples, twisting and pulling with his urgency, goosebumps rising on his flesh when your pussy squeezes him and signals your looming orgasm. He’s the one that finishes first, burying himself into you when his orgasm slams into him faster than a bullet. His hips keep shallowly thrusting until he fully empties himself in the condom, his sweaty forehead pressed against your shoulder as he comes down from his high.

Your needy whine spurs him on, and he bites around your shoulder and neck as his trails his hand down. He helps you with a finger on your clit, rubbing circles until you’re tugging at his hair painfully as you lose yourself a second time. It’s hard to see at this angle, but he can hearyou: your moans right in his ear, your whines of his name, the way you pant and mewl and groan for him.

He stays like that for a moment, savoring the peace and quiet he barely gets anywhere else. Your heartbeat is fast but slowing, lulling him into a sense of security he hasn’t felt in a long time. Only when you shift and jokingly complain about him being heavy does he move, pulling himself from you, tying the condom off, and throwing away the evidence of your tryst. When he turns back back, you’re already slipping your see-through thin robe back on, not bothering to clothe yourself otherwise.

You flit around the room, grabbing the hair dryer Kageyama brought you last time from the drawer of the desk. You place it on top of the desk, next to a crystal statue of a swan that Washijo bought for you on the first boat ride. He spotted the little microphone inside immediately, barely a minute after you told him about Washijo’s “gift.” He’s trying to spy on Alders business—and yourbusiness—but with one flick of a button, your conversation will be drowned out by the ringing of the hair dryer.

You look beautiful as you saunter back over, and Kageyama has to force himself to pay attention when you beckon him over to the edge of the bed to sit next to you.

Now it’s time to discuss why he’s really here.

“We’ve been on the boat twice,” you tell him with a sigh, running a hand down your face as if you don’t want to remember. “Last time, I had to ‘earn my ride’.”

Your meaning doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and hot shame streaks in Kageyama’s stomach thanks to what he’s forcing you to do. Everyone has their role, and yours happens to be making Washijo invite you out on his boat over and over, no matter how you have to make it happen.

“Sorry,” Kageyama grunts, unsure of what else to say. He feels extremely awkward, sitting here in the nude, the high of your meeting fading into a coldness that he’s sure you feel too.

“I’m doing this willingly,” you remind him, just like you’ve reminded him multiple times since you concocted the plan on that stormy night in your apartment. With Washijo inviting you to his yacht again, that means the plan is going smoothly. “He asked me to come again next weekend.”

Kageyama nods. “A place for me to hide?”

“I’m still looking for the perfect spot, but there’s a pantry in the hold that I think you can fit into.”

“Cameras?”

You shake your head. “What happens on the boat, stays on the boat.” The sharp look you give him nearly makes him shudder. “Drugs, booze, and everything otherwise.”

Kageyama exhales, ruffling his sweaty bangs, trying to will away the image of you and Washijo together. It already haunts him when he sleeps—that, and the betrayed look on your face when he couldn’t do anything the night Washijo slapped you. It springs up the minute he closes his eyes, boring a hole into his skull until he wakes up in the middle of the night, head pounding and phone lighting up with a text from Ushijima about something you need to take care of.

“Check the harbor next time. Once our job is done, the police will pull the footage.” For usual Alders’ business, Ushijima asks their hired hand to wipe the evidence with the few clicks of her mouse. Since this isn’t Alders’ business, he has to go old school. “You have to get him—

“—on the boat the day before his contract ends. I know.”

An unspoken word passes between you as you stare at each other. There’s still about two months left, and he knows how difficult it is for you to let Washijo touch you. To let him think you’re loyal once more after the beating and abuse he gave you. Kageyama’s heart drops when you pull your gaze from his, and he reaches out, running a hand underneath your chin to tilt your head up. Your gasp is soft, almost drowned out by the whirring of the hair dryer. He isn’t sure what to say to make you feel better; he’s not sure there is anything he can say to take your pain away.

So Kageyama leans forward and places his lips on yours, soft, sweet, delicate. And you kiss him back just as tentatively, eyes slipping shut as he tells you everything he wants to say without breathing a word.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

Kageyama isn’t sure if time passes quickly or slowly.

The days go quickly when he runs Ushijima’s errands, oversees Futakuchi and Aone’s work, and goes to the meetings of the clan leaders. They’re good distractions, because whenever he’s back in his apartment, time slows to a crawl, the ticking of the clock in the corner ringing in his skull.

He goes to the club, the restaurant, your private room. He meets Ushijima, Washijo, you. He goes back home and pretends he isn’t dying to off Washijo early. Now that it’s early summer, he’s taking his yacht out more often, rubbing it in his face every time they meet. Daisy is a little tease. Always knows what to say to earn another ride, doesn’t she? Can’t let anyone have her, she’s far too valuable.

Kageyama sits there, eyes focused on the pictures on the back wall. Washijo has one now that’s him standing next to his yacht, a proud smile on his face, the name Highwindnow in new shiny black font on the side. While Washijo rambles about the gun he bought this week, Kageyama imagines how he’ll feel when he finally climbs abroad himself in a few weeks. Excited? Nervous? Righteous? Now that he’s been in the Adlers so long, he’s grown used to violence, used to making someone “disappear” as easily as tricking the idiot sitting across from him. Will it be just another day at the office? Or will he finally be free of the torment of helplessness, knowing that he finally freed you and the other girls from your shackles?

“Isn’t that right, Kageyama?”

He blinks back into focus, glancing at Washijo. The old man looks like he’s expecting some kind of answer, but since Kageyama couldn’t care to listen, he can only stutter, “Sorry?”

“You’re not very bright, are you?” Washijo’s snort is pitying. “I asked if you know the reason I keep so many firearms on me.” Kageyama isn’t even finished shaking his head before Washijo rambles, “It’s because of the power. No one will dare question me with two barrels pointed right at their face, right? Not even you.”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Good, good, I’m glad you agree.” Washijo sets down the rifle and smiles in a way Kageyama wishes he wouldn’t. “Tell Ushijima-san that I’ll be extending our business contract in two months. I expect he’ll show up himself for the re-signing.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good, now get out of my sight.”

Washijo dismisses him as easily as his girls, and Kageyama remains absolutely stoic as he bows his goodbye and exits the office. He gives Sokolov a nod as he passes by, taking a seat in the furthest booth so he can wait for you to appear on stage. As the music and lights pulse around him, Kageyama has to contain a laugh. After nearly a year of dealings, Washijo thinks he has the upperhand. Because of his money, because of his patronage, because of the contract—whatever the reasoning, he thinks of Kageyama as no more than one of his workers, someone under his tutelage that can be easily bossed around.

Only he’s forgetting who the Adlers really are, and Kageyama is more than happy to remind Washijo who he is dealing with.

Kageyama starts counting down by the Fridays he comes to see you.

Two weeks.

Four weeks.

Six weeks.

And then the day is here, a Saturday in July that is sweltering and muggy, perfect for a day away from the crowded city heat. He finishes his jobs easily, getting the blessing from Ushijima to go to the Kanagawa Prefecture to “celebrate” the end of Washijo’s contract on his yacht. Tomorrow, Ushijima will walk into Il Giardino, re-sign Washijo to another year long contract for contraband, and seal your fate. That’s why tonight has to go perfectly.

Kageyama stops at the store, picking up food and drinks that make it look like he’s going to a celebration. He makes sure his face is visible in the CCTV as he walks to the Highwind, climbing on board like he was invited. He ducks down inside, away from the cameras, away from the lies, and hides the fake groceries where Washijo won’t check. Inside the bag sit a pair of black gloves and a pocket knife for later, if everything goes right.

This is the part of the plan that’s the most tentative: Washijo can’t find him before the night is over; you have to be the perfect actress and feed him drinks while you fawn over him; your stories have to be solid when the police come knocking. There are a lot of variables Kageyama can’t control, things he can’t be 100% certain of—but there are things he can predict, such as Washijo’s penchant for wanting to “relax” with copious amounts of drinks and drugs, just like you told him over the last two months.

As soon as he hears Washijo’s voice, the shuffle of feet, and the rock of the boat as they climb abroad, Kageyama slips into the small pantry you mentioned weeks ago to hide. His heart thunders in his chest, louder than the heavy footsteps coming down into the kitchen that definitely don’t belong to you or Sokolov. Washijo talks to someone about club business—someone underpaying here, someone becoming a regular patron there—but it goes over Kageyama’s head. He’s too busy holding the pantry door shut as Washijo’s footsteps and sounds come closer and closer to his hiding spot. He can’t breathe, his lungs tight as Washijo’s voice drifts closer then further away again, only to return even closer than before.

Just when something heavy hits the table top, your voice cuts in like a saving grace. “Washijo-sama! Why are you making your own drink? Let me!”

“Finally,” Washijo grumbles. There’s a clang that Kageyama recognizes as an ice scoop. “I thought you’d never finish changing.”

“Do you like it? I bought it for you.”

It burns Kageyama’s veins to hear your giggle, to imagine what you’re wearing for someone other than him. Is it a new dress? A new swimsuit? He’s never seen you in a bathing suit, but he has seen you in far less. That’s what he thinks about to calm down, imagining the way you smile for him, whisper his name, and run your fingers through his hair as he leans against your shoulder and pretends you’re not both trapped in your choices.

“I’d like it far better off.”

Kageyama grips the pantry door handle so hard it starts shaking, but your flirty gasp and giggle mask the rattle. “Washijo-sama! Not until we get a drink to celebrate.”

One drink becomes two, becomes three. He can hear the roar of the motor as the yacht moves out to the ocean, the vessel rocking with the light waves of the summer breeze. He can smell the food you cook later, hear the sizzle of the meat mingled with the sounds of you mixing drink after drink for Washijo to become belligerent. Later he even overhears Washijo peeing, the owner complaining to himself that Sakusa’s cocaine was taking too long to have an effect before he stomped back upstairs to the deck.

Still Kageyama doesn’t move. He’s had it worse, like the time he spent days on a stakeout for Ushijima when some of his product went missing. With frequent cracks in the door for more oxygen, he sits perched in that pantry, waiting for the signal to come out to complete his mission for the night.

It comes in the form of your overexaggerated laugh.

“Oh, Washijo-sama, this view is to diefor!”

Kageyama is sure it is, because it’s going to be the last thing Washijo Tanji sees.

He’s quiet as he grabs the gloves and knife from the grocery bag, then creeps up the steps to the deck, catching the eye of Sokolov through the circular window in the door. Sokolov nods and moves out of sight, off to grab a bucket full of water to carry out his part of the plan. Kageyama dons the black gloves and remains still until Sokolov passes by again, this time not looking into the stairwell as he goes. He only needs to wait another minute until there’s a knock on the wall—the signal that everything is ready for him.

The door doesn’t even make a sound as Kageyama slips from it, his footsteps lost to the sounds of the waves and the boat rocking. You don’t even acknowledge him as he walks closer, but Kageyama knows you’ve seen him. You pull Washijo closer, murmuring something that Kageyama can’t hear, before you lean forward and kiss the old man.

It’s the perfect distraction. The perfect bait.

Washijo doesn’t even sense it coming when Kageyama grabs the back of his neck and wrestles him down, sticking him face first in the bucket of ocean water.

The old man flails for his life, kicking and jerking, managing to clip Kageyama in the leg with his boots. Even though his shin radiates with pain, the Adlers’ underboss doesn’t move. He holds Washijo’s head down, watching in disinterest as the old man scratches at Kageyama’s covered arms to no avail, as he fights the bubbling water for his quickly fading life. Eventually the jerks become less frequent, the bubbles less violent, and then they go silent all together. Washijo’s body slumps forward and doesn’t move, even when Kageyama lifts his hand and takes a step back. He stays there, unmoving, arms and legs bent awkwardly with his face down in the bucket.

Washijo Tanji is dead.

When Kageyama glances up, both Sokolov and you are staring at him. Sokolov nods and moves forward, grabbing Washijo’s lifeless body and dragging it over to the side of the yacht. Kageyama doesn’t even watch Sokolov throw it overboard; his eyes are on you instead, on the redness around your eyes from stinging tears, on the way your chest heaves for breath, on the way you catch his questioning gaze and give him a stiff nod before springing to action.

You have a job to do.

While you run off to grab your phone to call the coast guard, Kageyama grabs a pocket knife and grabs the life preserving ring that sits on the deck. He quickly saws at the rope keeping it tied aboard, fraying the center to make it look like the rope snapped during rescue. It can’t take too long because Kageyama can hear your frantic voice, begging the coast guard to hurry and come because your boss drunkenly fell overboard and is floating away.

When Kageyama is done, he turns to Sokolov.

“Jump.”

The underling listens immediately, not even shrugging out of his expensive suit before he jumps overboard into the ocean. He splashes in the waves, making it look and sound like he tried to rescue Washijo, though the man’s dead body floats further and further away with the tide. Kageyama yells nonsense to Sokolov as he works: grab him! Don’t let him go! Sokolov, come back, we can’t lose you too! It’s all an act—he knows you’re being recorded, knows that his voice will be heard behind your pleading and your begging.

The rope frays enough that Kageyama tugs it apart with his hands, making it look like someone ripped it. He throws it in the water near Sokolov, and the man dunks it a few times before tossing it closer to Washijo’s floating body. It’s far enough away now that the plan will be believable if you can keep the act up, and based on the way you whimper, fake tears roll down your cheeks as you keep talking to the coast guard, Kageyama knows it’s in the bag.

Eventually Sokolov comes back, and Kageyama slips off the gloves to hand them to him. Sokolov dons them, dipping them into the bucket of water before he throws the used water overboard and sets the bucket aside like it was never used. The pocket knife goes next, and the blade makes the faintest plopping sound as it’s swallowed by the water, drifting down into the darkness of the ocean, the last shred of evidence against him buried in dark blue.

Orange and yellow hues reflect off the waves, making the ocean shimmer in the setting sun. He can’t see Washijo’s body anymore, but he can see you. You, standing in the sunlight, the light around your head looking like a halo. You, in a pretty summer dress that ruffles with the breeze, the one Kageyama almost broke the plan to see. You, who is staring at him with wide eyes full of hope, because after months of working, planning, heartache and strife, your hard-fought freedom is finally a reality.

Kageyama has to swallow down the heat that rises up and grips his heart when he reaches out his hand and you immediately take it.

You were right earlier.

The view reallyis to die for.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

The call comes right when Kageyama expects it to. The interview goes just how Kageyama knew it would.

You are allowed together in the cold and dingy interview room, your hands clasped together on top of your lap as you shakily recount the story for the officers.

“Washijo-sama invited us onto the boat to celebrate our engagement earlier that day. I had gone a few times before and thought it would be like all the other times. Only this time, Washijo-sama slipped and…”

Kageyama has to give it to you. The way you turn and bury your head into his shoulder to muffle your tears has his stomach lurching, even though he knows it’s all rehearsed and fake. While you calm down, Kageyama finishes the story: he slipped over while trying to pee off the side; the rope for the life ring snapped; Sokolov tried to save him after that, but Washijo went under too quickly; the waves carried him further out until he was gone forever.

“The body hasn’t been found,” the detective on the right says once Kageyama finishes the tale. “If it is, we’ll call you. Until then… maybe don’t get on any more boats.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sorry it happened on your engagement day,” the female detective on the left says as she stands. She glances at you pitifully, and that’s when Kageyama knows for certain that the plan was a complete success. “I wish you both luck.”

“You’re too kind,” you recite, watery but thankful.

Kageyama keeps his hand in yours the entire walk back to his car, and he doesn’t let go even as he starts the engine and sets off back to your apartment. As soon as you’re out of the police station parking lot, you squeeze his hand and burst into laughter. It’s a deep-bellied laugh, one that has tears rolling down your cheeks as you gasp for breath, clutching the dashboard in front of you as you duck your head to contain yourself. Your body still racks with tearful laughter, long enough to tell him that these tears are real, raw, and everything you’ve kept inside for the past few years.

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building. When you’ve finally calmed down enough, you squeeze his hand one more time before letting go, muttering at him to follow you. The day is clear, the opposite of when he first followed you inside. The purple hyacinths are gone now too, past their prime for blooming now that the sweltering heat of summer hangs thick over the city. Your apartment is just as sticky, and the silence is drowned out by the whirring of your old air conditioner as you turn it on its highest setting.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Kageyama mutters.

You pause midstride to the kitchen, turning back to him. You’re no longer crying, but your face is blotchy from your episode in the car, and there’s a scrunch in your brows that shows you’re thinking about how to answer.

“Will you?”

Kageyama nods.

“Before you go?” You ask again, a mirthless smile on your face.

“Huh?”

“Our time together is over. The three months are up. I won’t have a job at the club anymore, so you can’t—”

Kageyama takes a step forward. “What are you saying, dummy?”

“I’m not a dummy.”

“Yes, you are.” The air conditioning whirrs in the background; there’s a vibration in his pocket that’s probably from Ushijima telling him to hurry up. He ignores both to step in front of you. “Your job is… not all I wanted you for.”

“Then what?” Your voice is quiet, the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you, even after planning a murder together. “What do you want, Tobio?”

“You,” he grumbles, heat in his cheeks that he tries to hide by looking off to the dirty dishes on your kitchen counter. “Always just you.”

Your touch is light and tentative as you run your fingertips over his cheek, dancing down to his lips before you exhale. “What if you don’t want me anymore? What if you realize it was all…”

When you don’t continue, he cocks an eyebrow. “All…?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up, turning away from him and setting your hands on your hips. “The thrill of the chase, a chance to help a needy woman, a… fuck, I don’t know, an attraction based on a common goal or something.” You turn back with a pinched expression that punches him right in the gut. “Any of those could be true.”

Kageyama stays quiet, but the phone vibrates one more time. You both ignore it, staring at each other like you’re trying to figure out a complex math equation. You’re not mistaken. Things change, hearts waver, and now that Washijo is dead, the future is murky. But the future is also long, and full of your own choices—something you haven’t had in a long time.

“You know…” The words come out awkwardly squeaky and he has to clear his throat. “I spent a lot of money buying your time.”

His admission makes you snort. “I know that.”

“What I mean is—I just—ugh.” Kageyama ruffles the back of his hair, a scowl on his face. “But now I don’t have to because you have that.”

“Have what?”

“Time.” He looks back at you, hand massaging the back of his neck to ward off the flush and awkwardness spreading through his entire body. “I… well, we. We bought you all the time in the world.”

You look like the cheshire cat, your lips splitting into a grin, a light laugh on your lips that Kageyama is sure is at his expense. He mutters at you to knock it off, but you shake your head, linking your hands together in front of your chest.

“What should I do with my new found time then, Tobio? Travel? Become an influencer? Maybe learn knife throwing?”

“Study. Get your degree since you’re almost done.” He waits for you to nod your confirmation before mumbling, “You can do whatever you want, as long as it’s with me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Your shit-eating grin means you heard him loud and clear, and Kageyama has to contain a groan. He isn’t good at this, not good at vocalizing his feelings or emotions when actions will do just fine. But you look expectant, a happy flush in your cheeks and a smile in your eyes, so he blurts it out anyway.

“Be with me.”

It’s quiet again, and there’s a moment where Kageyama thinks you’ll reject him. His heart is beating out of his chest, his palms sweaty as you take a second to answer, then another, then another. The wait is killing him, silence stretching from seconds to goddamn yearsuntil you finally open your mouth.

“You mean it? You really want me, even though I’m…”

There are a million ways to answer that sentence, and Kageyama can pick a few from the way your brows scrunch and your face crumbles. Broken, hurt, a mess. He’s sure he looked the same on the night Ushijima found him, a boy scared of the future and the pain of living. All he needed was someone to reach out their hand and offer him solace. Kageyama had found it in Ushijima and the Adlers clan.

With a stretched out hand to your direction, Kageyama hopes you find it in him, too.

“If anything, you’re mine.” The confession is clumsy and wooden, sounding foreign to his own ears. “Yes, I do.”

The air conditioner whines in the background; his phone vibrates one more time; you place your hand into his, interlocking your fingers so tightly that he can’t feel them for a second, not that he cares. Because he tugs you close by those same hands, cradling your head as he kisses you breathless, promising to keep his word over and over with slips of tongue and whispers of each other’s names.

Washijo Tanji is forgotten as easily as the garbage, his name sinking to the bottom of the ocean, joining his body in the dark and watery grave.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

His knock on the door is quiet, but Ushijima’s answer is loud.

“Come in.”

The door creaks as he opens it, and Kageyama lets you step into the bosses’ office before following and shutting the door behind him. Ushijima glances up from a few photos on his desk, gesturing at you to take a seat in the leather chair across from his desk. Kageyama stands in front of the door, hands crossed behind his back, the stoic expression of an underboss plastered on his face.

You thank him quietly, fixing your skirt so you can take the offered seat. The ink had barely dried on your license before you called him, begging to meet with the head of the Adlers clan to discuss business. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to Ushijima that you wanted to speak with him, though Kageyama had expected the nonchalant acceptance after breaking the news of Washijo’s death and subsequent contract cancellation months earlier.

Ushijima had barely lifted a brow then, humming before sending Kageyama off with a flick of his fingers. He looks the same now, face plain and unreadable as he leans back in his chair to regard you.

“May I ask why you’ve come?”

“I was hoping to interview for a job opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

Your voice oozes confidence when you answer, “Yes. I would like to protege under your current lawyer, if you would have me.”

Ushijima hums, glancing down at the pictures before him before asking, “Why?”

“I believe my experiences and expertise would fit in well with your type of clientele.”

“My clientele?”

“At the jazz clubs. Kageyama-san told me you own many around Tokyo and I’m sure you could use another professional who has expertise in dealing with powerful men.”

The Adlers’ boss glances at Kageyama for barely a second before he nods, rifling through a few of the photos. Out of a stack of papers, Ushijima pulls out a clipped newspaper article and slides it your way, tapping a line near the top of the first page. Kageyama doesn’t need to see the contents to know it concerns Washijo’s death. The man’s boat can clearly be seen in the black and white photo, even from his vantage point.

You look down at the article for a moment before looking back up, barely regarding the contents of the news report. “Yes, he was my old boss.”

“And my old client.”

“His accidental drowning must have been hard for some.”

Ushijima’s eyebrows lift in humored surprise before his expression drops back to its neutral mask. The article is gone, placed back in the folder to be forgotten, just like Washijo Tanji has been. It’s replaced with another paper that has your picture on it—a simple background check that Kageyama already told you would happen. You don’t seem fazed at all, your demeanor relaxed but professional.

“You’re a recent graduate.”

“Yes.”

“With plenty of recent volunteer experience.”

“I had more… time in recent months. I’ve been using it well.”

The admission makes Kageyama’s lips twitch in a grin.

Ushijima hums again, reading over your file before tapping the page twice. “I’ll offer you a choice. You can work under my current lawyer for a year to gain experience, or you can leave Tokyo and I will help you find work in another city.”

Kageyama knows it’s because you know too much. You’re too keen on the details of the Adlers, being his woman and working with him in the past. Sending you away will keep the Tokyo police out of their business should you choose to work against them, but allow the Adlers to keep an eye on you anyway. But on the other hand, if you choose to stay, you’ll be tying yourself to the mob, breaking your oaths as a lawyer to serve and protect the people of Japan. If you choose the Adlers, those are the only people you’ll end up protecting, perhaps at the cost of innocent lives.

There’s a beat where you don’t say anything, mulling over the two offers you’ve been given.

Then you turn around to face him, a bright smile on your face, and a twinkle in your eye that makes Kageyama’s heart skip a few too many beats. Your voice is strong, firm, resolved to the path you’ve chosen with the time you’ve been given.

“Kageyama-san, do you have a pen I could borrow? I believe there’s a contract I have to sign.”

fourth times the charm

aka the three times you tried, and the one time you finally succeeded; or daichi finally gets dicked down; or the dick works in mysterious ways; or daichi sloppy toppy

pairing: timeskip boyfriend!daichi x fem!reader
word count: 5.3k, nsfw (18+ mdni);includesoral, male maturbation, safe sex, a wingwoman, and a lot of blunders to get there
written for:the realistic sex collab by @spacelabrathor and @titan-fodder
thanks to:@vanille–kiss for the rush banner and @bananabossbitch for the amazing beta read she did <3

Daichi’s apartment is small but cozy, decorated with photos of all his friends from high school and the police academy on the wall. Two are even signed by professional volleyball players, something he showed you the first time you visited. That had been a few weeks ago, a month or so after you started dating. Then, you had settled across from the table in his living room, sharing a beer after a meal. You’d kissed goodbye at the door, innocent and chaste because you still didn’t know where Daichi stood on progressing things physically in your relationship.

You definitely understand now, straddling his lap on his plush couch, the news droning on about something you don’t care about in the background. You only care about how good his tongue feels moving against yours, his calloused fingers warm as they run down your bare back. Daichi makes a small sound when you run your fingers through his hair, and you answer with a mewl in return when you grind down on his lap.

His half-hard cock presses against his jeans, firm against your covered core every time you rock against him. Daichi only gives you a second to breathe before he’s back on you, lips moving against yours so quickly it makes you dizzy. You vaguely hear a dog barking outside in the hallway and children’s squeals, but you’re pulled back into Daichi’s trance when he starts kissing down your chin to your neck, his lips wet as he moves.

“This okay?” He questions into your skin, the rich baritone making you shiver and paw at his shoulders.

“More than,” you breathlessly reply, tilting your head for him to keep moving down when—

A loud bang on Daichi’s front door makes you both jump in surprise. A girl starts wailing in the hallway, and it takes you a second to register that the reason it sounds so loud is because she’s right on the other side of the door. You both pause, unsure of what to do, but then Daichi heaves a sigh and pats your hips.

“It’s probably the neighbor’s daughter.”

You know that as a police officer, Daichi has a duty to check on the injured and in need, so you slide off of his lap. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a bit grumbly as you follow him to the door, peeking outside to take a look yourself. A little girl around the age of seven sits holding her scraped knee, a fluffy white dog jumping at her side and trying to lick away her tears. As soon as she sees Daichi, she cries even harder, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Officer Sawamura! My dog tripped me, and… and!”

“It’s alright.” He soothes her easily, placing a warm hand on her head to calm her down. “I’ll help you with your knee, so there’s no reason to cry, okay?”

As soon as Daichi turns around and flashes you that handsome smile, requesting that you bring the first aid kit from his bathroom, you know you can’t be too annoyed. His kindness was one of the things you liked about him in the first place, and there’s always next time.

One of the first things you learned after becoming Daichi’s girlfriend was how important he holds those close to him. You see it when he calls his friends weekly to check up on them; there’s always a message or two from one of his younger siblings asking for advice or just wanting to chat. It’s endearing how flustered he gets when you jokingly call himDaichi-nii, his cheeks tinting the slightest pink as he mutters to knock it off.

You only wish the phone wouldn’t ring when he’s got you flat on your bed, panties pushed aside so two of his fingers can bury themselves in your cunt.

You had been right there. As soon as he walked you back to his apartment after dinner, your flirty kisses at the door had led to you being pinned against your door, his hands groping at everything they could. You couldn’t open it fast enough, fumbling with your keypad and mistyping the passcode a few times. You’d stumbled to your bedroom, his jacket pushed off his shoulders and dropped to the floor somewhere in the living room.

He had pushed you down in no time, mouthing at the column of your throat as his hand pushed underneath your skirt. Your hips grinded into his touch, and you quietly moaned when he started teasing your slit through your underwear. When Daichi pushed your underwear aside and finally touched you, you whined, tugging at the top of his shirt to pull it off.

You had thought about what he would feel like on you, but the real thing was even better. His weight pressing you down on the bed, his chest warm under your touch, your nails digging into his shoulders when he parted you and grazed your clit. His fingers kept wandering, dipping into your core to gather some wetness before brushing against your clit again.

“A little… a little lower,” you told him breathlessly, and soon as he pressed against your nub perfectly, you whimpered and pulled him down for a messy kiss.

It didn’t take long for you to be wet enough for his fingers, your skirt pushed up by your waist, your hips moving of their own accord. You could feel him pressed up against your thigh, grinding for a bit for friction as two fingers thrusted in and out of you. Between him kissing you repeatedly and the way he worked your pussy, you were a panting mess, teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

And then, the fucking phone.

You both freeze, his fingers stilling inside of you as his phone chimes from somewhere in the living room. It must still be in the jacket he pushed off, and based on the ringtone, you know it to be his youngest sister. It’s a catchy song from some idol band she likes; she set it herself about two weeks ago when he went back to his parents’ house for dinner. It’s like he’s stuck in a trance, letting it ring and ring until it finally goes quiet and you both exhale.

He only gets to move his fingers two more times when the phone rings again.

“Sorry,” he grunts, tearing himself away from you reluctantly. “Just give me a second.”

Your cunt throbs as your orgasm starts to fade, and he grabs a tissue from your desk to clean his hand before wandering outside. It’s hard to calm yourself when your body is practically still vibrating, waiting for him to wander back in the room to finish what he started. You can hear him talking in the other room, a hushed but annoyed tone in his voice. One minute goes by. Two minutes. Three minutes.

Eventually, you accept that he isn’t coming back, and after fixing your skirt and the straps of your dress, you wander out. Daichi is pacing the room, his face pinched up and eyes vacant as someone sobs on the other end. When he sees you, he sighs, a wordless apology forming on his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come get you. Just stay in the park.”

When he hangs up, he stays quiet for a moment before exhaling loudly. “I’m sorry. I have to get going.”

“Is everything okay?”

“My sister’s stupid boyfriend—” He takes a breath to keep his anger in check before he pockets his phone again. “The idiot got mad at her for something and left her at the restaurant. She doesn’t have a way home. I told her to break up with him already but she doesn’t listen.”

“She’s young, give her a break,” you joke, pushing off the doorframe to stalk over. You had made similar stupid decisions in university, so Daichi’s sister gets to have her fair share too. You fix his hair a little for him, pressing a light kiss to his lips with an encouraging smile. “Go. Let me know how it goes. Don’t arrest him or anything.”

“Can’t promise that,” Daichi quips in return, giving you a longer, heavier, and certainly more apologetic kiss. “Next time, I promise.”

Third time’s the charm. That’s what you tell yourself as you fix your makeup and dress in the bathroom mirror, a happy flush in your cheeks from the wine you had earlier. It’s been nearly three months of dating now, but you’ve never been able to go the entire way. From the neighbors, to the phone call, to another time when you were both just way too tired to even think about sex, it’s been one frustration after another.

But tonight is going to be different. The restaurant Daichi takes you to is fancy, and he looks absolutely ravishing in his suit, his hair slicked back, the watch you bought for him twinkling in the low lighting. You look damn good in your dress too, and you’ve seen Daichi’s gaze flit over your curves more than once.

When you walk back out, Daichi has already paid, and he shuttles you into a taxi to take you back home. Hands start wandering; his light compliments of ‘you look so good in that dress’ have a bit more heat than usual.

You giggle at the implication, cheeks hot when you murmur, “You should see me out of it.”

“If you’ll let me,” Daichi offers back. Such a gentleman. Doesn’t he know how much you’ve wanted him over the last few weeks? How wet you already are just from thinking about his hands all over you tonight?

The walk into your apartment is normal. He holds your hand, thumb running over your wrist lightly as you lead him up. He even lets you settle your things first—stepping out of your shoes, hanging up your bag and cardigan, slipping out of your pantyhose with a teasing grin. As soon as you turn to him and smile, he pads forward, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you into the bedroom.

His lips press against yours as soon as he closes the door, arms around your waist keeping you flush against him. You’re hot from both the alcohol and the way his mouth moves against yours, tongue dragging along your lower lip until you part for him. The swipes of his tongue around yours make you whimper, and the back of your legs hit the bed without you realizing you’d been walking at all.

Even as you fall to the mattress, Daichi follows. He leans over you, kissing you until you’re breathless and clinging to his dress shirt through the space in his suit jacket. Your tongues twirl together just as quickly as your fingers undo the button of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall into a heap on the floor.

He moves down to your throat, nipping at your shoulders and your collarbone as you fumble with his button up, trying to undo the buttons without looking. Daichi laughs when you fail at one near the middle, taking over for you so you can undo the zipper of your dress and shimmy out of the top.

“Wow,” he breathes, a half-grin on his face when he sees the lingerie you’re specifically wearing for him.

Like you said: perfect.

“Do you like it?”

“Almost don’t want to take you out of it,” he admits with a flush on his cheeks that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Don’t you dare think about it,” you grumble jokingly in return, nodding to his undershirt. “Both of them.”

Daichi chortles. “Yes, ma’am.”

His shirt and undershirt are thrown off in a flash, allowing you time to ogle at his toned upper body as he fishes for his wallet in his back pocket. Your eyes drift down his chest, core fluttering when you see the bulge in his slacks. You’ve been waiting so long to even see his cock that you’re about to burst, impatience shooting through you faster than a bullet.

Only when you look up, you don’t see Daichi’s aroused expression: you see his apologetic and pinched expression.

He holds the condom in his hand, glancing down at the wrapper one more time before asking, “Is there a convenient store nearby?”

“The closest is a ten minute walk.”

“Damn it.”

You sit up, the top of your dress falling with you. “What’s the matter?”

“The condom is expired.”

This cannot be happening. The one thing you didn’t even think about. “Are you sure?”

Daichi passes you the packet so you can see for yourself and—yep. Expired two months ago.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think to check because they last so long, and…” He scratches the back of his neck with a half-wince, half-smile. “I’ve had it since university. It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.”

“It’s… okay.”

“Unless you have one?”

No, because you didn’t expect this.

No, because you figured he would have a few.

No, because you’re a big idiot who should have thought about it beforehand.

Tomorrow you’re going to walk down to that fucking 7/11 and buy every single box of condoms they have.

You slowly shake your head before hurriedly adding, “But we can still do other things, right?”

Daichi nods, saying that he’s sorry again before continuing to strip. You don’t bother with a response, wiggling out of your dress and your lingerie while he steps out of his slacks and boxers. Oh God. All your fantasies never prepared you for actually seeing his half-hard cock twitching near his leg. It’s long and decently girthy, and your pussy clamps down at the thought of it inside you for the first time.

This is so unfair.

You scoot back on the bed, giving him room to climb in next to you. You think he’ll take a spot over you but he doesn’t—Daichi sits down next to you instead, patting the spot between his open legs. You don’t quite understand until you’re in between them, a firm hand maneuvering you to lean forward on your knees with one hand on his shoulder.

His hand moves down your bare stomach, and when he cups your cunt, you finally get it.

The position makes it easy for you to lick your hand and wrap it around his cock. It makes it even easier to lean forward and kiss him, just as his fingers part your folds and swipe along them. You moan into his mouth when he circles around your clit, and you return the favor by dragging your thumb over the head of his length to spread his pre-cum. His groan is beautiful. A rich sound that drills into your brain and makes its home in your memory. You squeeze him just as he presses against your clit, rubbing small circles until you’re flushed with heat.

“Daichi,” you whine against his mouth as you fight to catch your breath, hand dragging up and down his length. It twitches in your hand at the call of his name, and Daichi has to lean back on his other hand to keep from falling back.

“Shit,” he whispers before leaning in to kiss you again, his fingers pushing against your entrance. He starts with one, easing it into your cunt and thrusting a few times to get you used to him. When you’re wet enough, he pushes another inside, thrusting and scissoring until your thighs are trembling at the feeling.

It’s so hard to concentrate when he kisses you so deeply and fucks you with his fingers, pleasure spiking through your nerves. You keep tugging on his cock, squeezing and running your fingers over the head, your pace matching his. He swallows every sound you give him, chest heaving against yours when you lean down to press your bare chests together. It’s an awkward angle but you don’t care, because his heat gives you goosebumps, and his fingers find a spot that has you gasping.

When his fingers pull from you, you nearly groan in disappointment, but it’s short-lived. Daichi finds your clit again, rubbing quick circles that are too fast to keep up with. Heat floods your stomach, your body trembling against his until your pleasure snaps. All you can do is fall into him, shaking and gasping as you ride out your orgasm, hips grinding down into his hand that continues to work you. Daichi only stops when you squeal and try to jerk away from him, too sensitive for him to keep touching you. There’s a satisfied grin on his face when you finally collect yourself enough to pull back and look at him.

“You good?”

“Very,” you agree with a giggle of your own. His cock still sits heavy between you, pressed against your stomach and twitching when you graze it with your body. “Oh, um, do you want me to…?”

“Actually, could you lay down?”

Lay down? You expected him to ask for a hand or your mouth, both of which you have no problem offering. You oblige, laying down with your head on your pillows, your legs spread wide for him. Daichi crawls between them, and for a moment you think he’s about to try and put it in, but then he wraps a hand around his stiff cock and grunts.

Oh.

He looks so sexy stroking himself, hand jerking quickly and expertly. You wrap your legs around his sides, hands running up and down his arms as he fucks his fist. His rich brown eyes are open and on your wet cunt, and you can feel his arm flex underneath your touch as he works. It doesn’t take long until he’s gasping, eyes squeezing shut, a delicious flush on his cheeks and beads of sweat on his temples.

“Can—ugh, can I—?”

“Yes, God yes.”

You’ve barely agreed before he’s spilling all over his hand and your cunt, some of his cum spurting up to your stomach. His mouth is open in a groan, chest heaving as he keeps tugging until his cock falls limp and your lower half is covered in his thick white seed. As disappointed as you were earlier that you couldn’t go all the way, there’s nothing better than the look he gives you when he cracks open an eye and grins.

“Sorry, I know you—”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, you are very sexy.”

Your blunt compliment makes him look away in embarrassment, muttering about needing to clean up in your shower. You giggle, unwinding your legs around his waist so he can grab some tissues to wipe down your stomach.

“Next time.” His promise is sealed with a light kiss to your forehead when you’re all cleaned up. “Promise.”

“When is next time!”

Your tipsy shout catches the attention of the couple in the booth over, but you ignore them to slump forward with your forehead against the table. Your best friend snorts at your overreaction, shaking her head as you look up with an annoyed frown.

“Just book a love motel or something.”

“With my luck, the pipe in the bathroom will break.”

Your phone vibrates on the table next to you, and you glance down to see Daichi sent you a message that he finished his shift. You sigh, slumping forward again. The man of the hour. You had spent the first hour talking about work woes and plans for the coming week, but as soon as your friend asked how Daichi was doing, you broke down and told her everything.

“Is that him?”

Your‘yeah’ is muffled into the table.

“Girl, get it together,” your friend scolds, patting your head a few too many times to be just encouraging. “Make ‘next time’ thistime.”

“But it’s our time together.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she jokes. “We can meet next week.”

You take a deep breath and sit up again, nodding a few times before grabbing your phone to text Daichi back. He only works a few minutes from where you are, so he agrees to come pick you up. After confirming with your friend that it’s really okay, you wait for him outside, rocking on your feet as you think about what to say. The other times had been a bit more spontaneous but this time you’re going to ask for it. Everything you come up with sounds so awkward, and you haven’t decided by the time Daichi’s car pulls up next to you.

“Hey there, handsome,” you greet as you slip into the passenger’s seat. He’s still in his work clothes, his uniform pressed tight against his body. “What brings you here?”

“A pretty girl needs a ride,” he greets back, leaning over to give you a quick kiss. “Ready to go home?”

The perfect lead-in. Okay, you can do this. It won’t be that awkward—

“Actually, um, there’s a place I want to go first. Uh… there.”

You point to a love motel ahead of you before inwardly cringing. Smooth.

“You want to—”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Daichi puts the car in drive and begins to drive somewhere. He passes the motel you pointed to, and your heart drops slightly in your chest. Were you wrong? Was that too awkward? You look ahead of you, playing with your seatbelt nervously until he clears his throat.

“There’s one closer to your house.”

“Oh?”

In your peripheral vision, you see him scratch at the back of his neck. “I was going to ask you to go this weekend since… you know.”

“We keep getting interrupted?”

Your question makes you both laugh, and the awkward tension in the car finally dissipates as he treks back to your neighborhood. There’s a teasing smile on his face now, and you aren’t sure you’ve seen him look so handsome (though when he came on you a week or so ago may take the cake).

“Do you think our neighbors will be loud?” he asks as he pulls onto a familiar street. Motel Shangri-La sits ahead of you, the sign coming closer and closer as he navigates there.

“Watch them be out of condoms.”

“Or maybe the bed will break?”

You laugh as he pulls into the parking lot, and you’re still laughing when you open the door to the room you booked for the hour. Everything about the situation just seems so ridiculous—you both have perfectly good apartments for God’s sake—but Daichi is smiling too as he pulls you into his embrace from behind. His lips on your neck make you shiver, and his hands on your hips guide you over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

“Did you turn your phone off?” you teasingly ask.

“Put it on silent in the elevator.”

“Condoms?”

“Bought them yesterday.”

“And the bed?”

“Why don’t you test it?”

You squeal when Daichi lightly pushes you down, and it bounces a few times but seems sturdy enough. You turn around and give him a coy look, batting your eyes in the most sensual way you can in a weirdly turned position.

“Seems fine to me. Come join?”

“Do you want to shower first?” he asks. Your frustration must show in your expression because Daichi snorts, helping you turn to your back. “Alright, alright, bad question.”

Once he leans down to kiss you, he doesn’t lean back up. His lips only leave yours to tug off his uniform and your clothes, but then he’s back on you again, kissing all over your body until you’re squirming under his touch. Daichi doesn’t even let you move back up on the bed; instead he kneels down on the ground, tugging your pants and underwear off, then throwing them behind him without even looking.

It’s not the first time you’ve been naked in front of him, but with the way he’s staring at you, he makes it feel like it is. Your cheeks flame when he pries your legs apart and settles in between your thighs like he should have been there in the first place. The first swipe of his fingers makes you inhale sharply, and when he puts his tongue on you, it makes you gasp.

He’s a little tentative at first, but as soon as you curl your fingers into his hair and breathily tell him a little higher, a little—oh fuck, ah—, he moves faster. His tongue circles around your clit before he starts sucking on it, the tip flicking over your bud. Your calves clench, hips jerking to get closer to his mouth when he presses a little harder. When his fingers push inside your folds, your head falls back against the sheets with a loud moan mixed with an expletive. You can’t help it—between the pace of his fingers fucking you, his mouth making a mess of your clit, and the firm hand he has on your thigh to keep you parted, your body is in overdrive.

Daichi curls his fingers just right and you whine, tugging at his locks to bring him closer. The sound he makes is muffled into your cunt, and his fingers and mouth work even faster. It’s all too much. The slow build of your orgasm rises like a wave, and you can barely warn him before you’re crying out, body shuddering as you cum. Daichi has to keep your hips pressed down to the bed because of how much you buck into his face, your sounds quieting into heavy pants.

Your body rings with pleasure, cunt still clenching and pulsing when Daichi stands up. But your heart flutters even more wildly when he’s finally naked and bringing over a very non-expired condom from the desk across the room. You sit up and scoot further onto the bed as he opens the foil and rolls it on before he tilts his head at you.

“How do you want it?”

“Can I ride you?”

He tries not to look too pleased as he nods and settles on the bed, fixing himself so he lays with his head against the pillows. You easily crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs and bracing yourself on his shoulders. His cock brushes against your folds a few times when you grab it and line it up with your cunt. Then you slowly sink down on him, finallygetting what you want after so many mishaps to make it happen.

It feels so good to have him sheathed inside you, stretching your walls as you lift up and sink back down. Daichi helps you with a hand on your hip, the other underneath his head as he watches you bounce on his cock. His gaze is transfixed on your tits, bouncing with each slap of your hips, so you lean forward enough so he can take them into his mouth. His tongue wraps around a nipple, sucking and lightly nipping until your walls clench down around his cock. You keep moving, circling your hips against his as he mouths at your skin, switching sides to do the same to your other nipple.

Your thighs burn as you ride him but the feeling is too good to stop. You tear yourself away from his mouth to get a better angle, setting your hands on his chest to have better leverage. Daichi pants each time you slam down on him, nails digging into his skin when he helps you move even faster with a firm hand on your hip. You gyrate and circle as best you can, whimpering when his other hand tugs at your nipples.

You’re about to beg for him to touch you again when he suddenly sits up, knocking you back with a squeal. His cock only falls from you for a second before he pushes back inside, swinging your legs over his shoulders and keeping them there with a strong hold. His pace is slightly rough, cheeks flushed and sweaty as he leans forward enough to watch his cock disappear into your wet cunt. You cry out, scratching at his thick thighs from how good it feels. He hits so deep like this, brushing a part of you that has your toes curling near the back of his head.

“Touch yourself.”

It’s not a command but a breathy plea, like he wants to watch you do it, like he wants to see you lose yourself on his cock. You lick your fingers and oblige, rubbing quick circles on your clit that match the fast slaps of his hips into yours. His hand on your hips keeps you pinned down to the bed, his cock dragging against your walls deliciously as he fucks you. Heat blossoms in your stomach one more time, spreading with each rub of your nub and each brush of Daichi’s dick deep inside you.

His gaze travels from your cunt to your face multiple times, a grin on his lips whenever you happen to meet his eye. You bite your lip, lifting your hips slightly and squeezing your walls around his cock. It makes him grunt, fingers digging into your sides as his pace becomes choppy. Daichi’s voice is hoarse and breathy when he exhales his warning.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.”

You’re immediately trained on his expression: the scrunch of his eyebrows, his sweat on his forehead, the way his lips open slightly wider when he slams into you for the last time. He’s so handsome gasping for breath, body shaking once, goosebumps rising to his skin. You can feel his cock twitching inside you as he fully empties himself into the condom, your hips squirming to get more of the feeling. When he cracks open his eyes to look at you, a soft smile on his face, you think you might be falling in love with him right then and there.

“Did you…?”

“Not yet.”

“Go ahead.”

Daichi leans down to kiss you, squeezing at your tits and rolling your nipples as you continue to touch yourself. It’s a bit awkward now that his weight is on you, but that doesn’t stop you. You keep him close, fingers buried in his hair as you bring yourself to a second orgasm. It’s his turn to watch you—you can feel his heated gaze on the side of your face when you cum again, squeezing and pulsing around his softened cock. He helps you along with wet kisses to your jaw, tugs to your nipples, and shallow thrusts that let him feel all of you.

Eventually your needy sounds grow to soft breaths that match Daichi’s slow exhales. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp when he lays his head down on your sweaty chest. There’s a moment when you just lay together, the room so quiet you think you can hear the beating of his heart (or maybe it’s your own.)

“The bed didn’t break,” he murmurs into your chest, pressing one last kiss there before sitting up. You almost frown when he pulls his cock from you but you manage to contain it at the last moment. “That’s a plus.”

“We’ll have to try your bed next time,” you quip, wiggling your body at him.

Daichi laughs, tying off the condom and throwing it away before offering you a hand. “Come on, let’s shower.”

“Are you going to wash my back?”

“Not if you don’t hurry up.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to a stand. You wrap your arms around his waist, smiling up at him with a wicked grin. “You’re so nice to me, Daichi-nii.”

“Alright, let go,” he grumbles in annoyance, easily peeling your arms from around him. “You’re washing your own back.”

“No, wait, hey! I was just kidding! Daichi, wait for me!”

purple hyacinth | part two

kageyama tobio was only supposed to deliver the weapons to ushijima’s best customer once every two weeks. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you—law student by day, top dancer and escort at washijo tanji’s club by night. when you ask the impossible of him, kageyama has to choose: his life or yours.

pairing: adlers underboss kageyama tobio x escort fem!reader (with hair), part two of three ; 6.6k, nsfw (18+, mdni)

warnings:depictions of sex work, plans of violence and murder, implied sexual abuse, physical abuse (a slap), big asshole character; oral (f!receiving), creampie, kageyama’s a simp

thanks to:@anime-nymphand@vanille–kiss for coming up with the ideas for me and helping me look into ways to murder and dick kageyama down like friends should LOL <3 also for betaing, and vani for the amazing banner as always!

written in conjuction with:@mrskenmakozume’ssimp me not collab! i had m for mafia :’)

part one||part two||part three||mafia au masterlist
bosses:black petunia||red peony||white lily
underbosses:pink magnolia||orange rose

Two weeks is a long time when you’re riddled with anxiety, and Kageyama finds that out by the third day without seeing you. The days drag by, slower than the dead bodies he has to haul out to the ocean and tie down so they won’t be found. The Adlers are all about rules: follow them and Ushijima will reward you; break them and try to steal merchandise, and Ushijima won’t bat an eye over your “disappearance.”

Kageyama learned that as soon as he came into the clan at age nineteen, fresh off of failure to get into university again. Failure. The one thing his mother used to call him before she left him in the care of his grandfather and never returned. The one thing he dreaded becoming because his father was exactly the same. A failure of a man who couldn’t keep his family together, his debts in control, and his dick in his pants. Kageyama swore not to become like him, not to ruin his remaining family. Promised to get into a good university and make something of himself. Only he failed miserably, and his grandfather’s forlorn sigh plunged a knife into his heart and carved until there was nothing left.

He got blazingly drunk that night, stumbling all the way home as he yelled at no one. He stopped at a red light, nearly tipping over as he waited, steadying himself on the glass window of a 7/11. When Kageyama turned to look, all he saw was his face: the spitting image of his father, another failure in the Kageyama family line. Failure, failure, failure.

The first punch to the window did nothing but make his hand ache. The second was the same, but the third, fourth, and fifth slowly splintered his reflection, the cracks growing deeper and deeper as he wailed on the window. He didn’t hear the gasps from passersby; he didn’t hear the worker shout that she was going to call the police. All he heard were his own shouts of anguish and the dull thud of his bloody fist meeting the window over and over and over.

“Hey.”

Kageyama stopped punching to turn the voice, ready to throw a hook to whatever officer came to take him away. He had already fucked up his future, so what was another mistake?

“Fight me,” he slurred, wiping a bloody hand over his eyes to clear them from his tears. “I’m not gonna go to the station without a fight.”

“I’m not here to arrest you.”

Standing in front of him wasn’t a police officer at all. It was a tall man, face serious, crisp suit on his toned body. His olive-colored hair was pushed to the side, and his gloved hand held out an off-white business card.

That was the first time he met Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He had started out small, working as a server at one of the clubs. But after he beat up some rowdy customers three-to-one, Ushijima gave him more responsibility. Errand runs, contraband dropoffs, the extermination of some people who refused to follow the agreements and rules. Kageyama did them all without complaint because Ushijima gave him something special: the chance to be the opposite of everything his father was.

Eventually an eagle tattoo sat between his shoulder blades, and he was the first person Ushijima called after Hoshiumi had been disposed of.

“I’m counting on you,” Ushijima said simply before turning back around in his chair. Kageyama bowed and didn’t move for two minutes, too embarrassed to show his boss the hot tears that streamed down his face at the acknowledgement and opportunity.

But all that loyalty means shit to him as soon as he walks into Il Giardino and sees Washijo yelling at you from outside the boss’s window.

When he tries to enter, Saitou Akira puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head. “No one’s allowed inside.”

“It’s our appointment time,” Kageyama tries to argue, but the guard isn’t amused.

“You can wait.”

He’s forced to stand outside, listening to you yell back over money. Even through the thick, closed door and lowered blinds, Kageyama can hear your argument clearly.

“You can’t just raise my prices without raising my cut, too,” you argue, exasperation clear in your tone. “I know you’re my boss, but—”

“I’m not your boss,” Washijo snaps, every thread of patience gone. “You think this is a charity case? No, I ownyou. Just because you’re the best whore in this place doesn’t mean shit. One wrong move and you’ll be turned over to the police for prostitution.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” you counter. “Because then they’ll be looking into you, too—”

Your words are cut off with a sharp slap, and Akira has to restrain him from going inside again. Kageyama tries to fight into the room when he hears the slap again and a light whimper from you, but it’s no use. He has to listen to you cry out as Washijo strikes you over and over, red hot fury burning in his veins. He clenches his fists so tightly that his nails break skin, his teeth clenched so hard he thinks they might crack.

“Remember your fucking place,” Washijo spits. “Or do I have to remind you where you started, Daisy?”

The room is dead silent, and Kageyama can hear his heart pounding in his ears so loudly it sounds like drums. Even the DJ’s soundcheck is drowned out as he waits for your answer, body trembling with the anger he hasn’t felt since the night he meant Ushijima.

Your reply is quiet and broken. “Yes, sir.”

“You look like shit. Get the fuck out of here, and come back tomorrow ready to work. Your earnings for the rest of the week are mine.”

You don’t answer.

The door flings open and you nearly stumble out, eyes locking with his once you push past the guard. Your cheeks are swollen and red, blood dripping from your nose from where Washijo struck you. Your eyes immediately move to the floor, and you scurry past him without saying anything, holding your thin and sheer robe closer to your body. Kageyama wants to chase after you, wants to yell your real name and tell you none of what Washijo said is true, but the owner steps out into his doorway with an annoyed expression.

“These girls always give me trouble. They should be happy with what they’re getting. Isn’t that right, Kageyama?”

The underboss doesn’t look at Washijo as he nods once and only once. Kageyama knows that if he opens his mouth now, he’ll ruin the business relationship Ushijima built and meet the same fate as Hoshiumi, so he keeps quiet. Throughout the whole meeting, he only speaks when necessary, which is not very often. Washijo likes to hear himself talk, likes to ramble on about his mighty guns teaching his “girls” a lesson they’ll never forget.

“Training,” Washijo laughs, polishing the barrel of his latest purchase with an embroidered handkerchief. “It’s what all women need anyway.”

Kageyama can hear Washijo’s disgusting laugh ringing in his mind the entire car ride back to the hideout. You were long gone by the time Kageyama finished, running from the building before he got the chance to see you. It feels strange to be heading back so early, and something seizes Kageyama’s lungs and won’t let go. It feels like they’re in a vice grip, making it hard for him to breathe as he leans forward toward his driver.

“The Cygnus,” he manages to rasp out. He needs to talk to Ushijima immediately.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the car ride there, or stumbling into the jazz bar. He doesn’t hear the singer warmup either, or Semi playing the piano, his ears drowned out by the crashing of waves in his brain. Ushijima sits in his usual booth, nursing his usual whiskey sour, and the twitch in his eyebrow means he wasn’t expecting Kageyama so early.

“Boss,” he greets with a bow.

“Did you meet with Washijo?”

“Yes.” Kageyama’s mouth is dry no matter how many times he swallows, his arms awkwardly tight down by his sides. “But I would like you to reconsider his contract.”

“Hm?” Ushijima looks up from his glass, his face still as stoic as ever. “He still has about three months left. Does he want to end early?”

“No.”

“Then what is the issue?”

How can Kageyama explain? Washijo’s an abuser, an asshole, a damn stain on the Earth, but Kageyama’s come across worse people in his line of work. People who kill for fun, who laugh at the needy, who think life is a game and take what they want without asking. It’s par the course of mafia business, but—

But.

“I don’t think the arrangement is beneficial anymore.”

Ushijima considers Kageyama’s answer for a split second before questioning, “For whom?”

For her, Kageyama almost answers but bites it back at the last second. Ushijima stares at him like he can read him like a book, and maybe he can. The Adlers’ boss read him that first night after all, taking a chance on a boy punching a window until he bled, when no one else understood what he was going through.

When the silence stretches too long, Ushijima nods and lowers his drink. “There’s three months left in his contract and it will not be broken. You know about the rules.” Then he taps the rim of the glass a few times before adding, “However, afterwards, I will reconsider once more.”

Kageyama bows low and stays there, just like he did when he accepted the position of underboss. Only this time it’s not because he’s crying—it’s because he knows he’ll be dead if he spits out what’s really on his mind.

“Go to my club in Harajuku for tonight,” Ushijima orders. “Keep an eye out on the bouncer. I’ve heard he’s letting in rival members.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Kageyama turns from The Cygnus, repeating the order from Ushijima over and over, glad for a small ember of distraction he can fan to release the fire burning in his veins.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

The next time he goes to see Washijo, the meeting ends early. The owner is in a fairly good mood, buying his firearm without barely any inspection. Kageyama doesn’t question it, because Washijo tells him anyway, not even pausing to let the underboss have a word.

“The best boat my money could buy,” he hums as he sorts through paperwork on his desk, fishing out a picture and sliding it Kageyama’s way. “What I deserve for all my hard work.”

You mean theirhard work, he wants to retort but keeps silent. Instead he studies the picture of the boat on the desk before him. It’s not the biggest he’s seen, especially not after helping Aone and Futakuchi load cruise ships and cargo containers, but it’s a decent size for a yacht. It’s big enough for a few people, a deck on the back leading to a domed inside, the entire thing painted black on the bottom and white on top.

“Name’sHighwind. It’s in Kanagawa Prefecture, perfect for weekend trips out of this hellhole. Ready to set sail on the ocean right now, in top condition.”

“Wonderful, sir,” Kageyama answers politely.

“Tell Ushijima he can join me for a trip one day. I got all the women and booze he could want right here.”

“I will alert him,” he says, but doesn’t mean it. He’s pretty sure Ushijima’s jazz club girlfriend would tear the motor out of the boat before Ushijima could even step foot on it.

“Alright, get out of here.” Washijo flicks his hand toward the door, and Kageyama ignores the old man’s mutter of, I hope that doesn’t mean you’d come, too as he slips from the room.

As he walks toward the doorway leading to the stairs, Kageyama pauses. He hasn’t seen you since the night you were slapped, glaring at him with watery eyes that told him not to come, so he hasn’t booked you tonight. Do you still not want him to come? Or are you hoping he’ll book you one more time anyway? He waits for a bit to see the first performer, and when it’s not you, he slips up the stairs and back to the car waiting for him to finish.

“Go back,” Kageyama tells the driver, shaking his head when the man tries to argue. “I’ll walk. Go back.”

The driver knows better than to question him, so Kageyama is left standing in the parking lot of Il Giardino, staring up at the nearly full moon in the spring sky. The clouds look like they’re threatening rain, thick and grey as they slowly roll in and block out the moonlight. The night is warm enough to loiter outside in his jacket, and he’s been waiting nearly an hour when the door to the restaurant opens.

He doesn’t expect you to be the one to walk out, but you do, clutching onto your bag in regular clothes. You pause mid-step when you see him standing there, eyes silently boring into his, before you turn and keep walking. Kageyama hesitates. He isn’t sure if he’s meant to follow you or if that was your way of dismissing him completely, but just before you’re out of sight, he trails you.

You walk down the main street for a while, crossing two different overpasses before disappearing into a side alley. Kageyama is quick to follow, walking a safe distance behind you as you pull up to an old apartment building that’s surely seen better days. The paint is chipped and fading, and there are newspapers and tape on the windows that are cracked in a few apartments. A thick and charged wind blows and signals the looming rainstorm, and you dig into your bag for your keys as you step into the crumbling archway leading into the complex.

Then you finally turn and stare at him, voice tired as you ask, “Are you coming?”

In the ugly yellow light of the entrance way, he can see the bags under your eyes, the fatigue clear on your face. Kageyama nods once, and you disappear into the stairwell, leading so he can follow. As he steps into the light, a flash of color catches his eye. Amongst all the decay and neglect sits a small bed of purple hyacinth, swaying in the hard breeze but standing tall and firm.

Your apartment is on the fourth floor, and Kageyama mumbles a greeting as he slips inside. There isn’t much to your place—a small TV on a stand against the wall, an older couch covered up by a newer cover, a clean kitchen with a partition attached to the wall that’s stocked with junk food. Books are everywhere, along with notes, notebooks, and pens and pencils. You set your bag on top of one of the open law books, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“Why are you following me?”

You’re mad at him. Kageyama tries to think about whyyou might be upset with him, what he could have done to receive such a snappy tone, but he can’t come up with anything.

“You left work early,” is his lame response.

“You didn’t come for me.”

At the crestfallen look on your face, he finally understands. You wanted him to come back for you. You wanted him to book you again, to show you that he cared, to show you it was more than a simple transaction: his money for your body.

But he didn’t.

“I… didn’t think you wanted to see me,” he mutters, rocking on his feet as he thinks of what else he can say. “Because… you know.”

“You’re the only thing keeping me going,” you admit with a sad smile, dropping your hand from your hip. “If it weren’t for you, I think I would…”

The silence stretches far too long. Your gaze tears from his to look around the room, bouncing to your open law books and school mess. There are no picture frames on your walls, no proof of friends or family, no awards or trophies or accolades proving your worth. Kageyama realizes with a jolt to his heart that you’re just like he was—stuck in a constant loop of bullshit that’s nearly impossible to escape from.

“Would?”

“I want to kill him.” The impassioned way you say it makes Kageyama regard you again. “He took—takes everything from me, Tobio-kun. Everything. You heard him, didn’t you? I belongto him and he takes what’s his.” The truth weighs heavy on his chest, squeezing his lungs until all he can do is exhale sharply. You’re not just talking about money; you’re talking about you. There’s a catch in your voice when you finish, “He won’t let me leave. No matter what I do… He’ll neverlet me leave.”

The silence is deafening as he stares at you. You try to catch your breath, inhaling and exhaling a few times to calm yourself down. There are no tears lining your eyes, no flush in your cheeks. You’re completely serious, ready to make good on your plea to end the man causing your suffering. Kageyama knows the feeling of being trapped with no way out—well enough, in fact, that he takes a step forward and brings a hand to your upper arm.

“I don’t think that,” he says quietly.

“Think what?” You answer back just as softly, arms still crossed even though the tension in your shoulders has dissipated slightly. “That I’m just Washijo’s prized whore?” Your laugh is mirthless. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did, the other girls—”

“That you’re property.”

His hushed response stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes are wet for the first time all night—and Kageyama expects the first time in a long while—and you say his name as barely a whisper.

“You’re your own person. You’re always free to make your own choices.” He sounds like Ushijima, down to the gritty tone he repeats the words in. The boss had said those same words to him when he called and asked for a chance, and now he’s offering them to you just the same.

“Am I?” You question, grabbing onto his jacket and tugging hard on the sleeve. “You say I have a choice, but do I, really?”

Kageyama nods stiffly, trying to keep his eyes off the way you lick your lips and part them. He shouldn’t be thinking about how good you’d feel against him, about how he wants to feel you beneath him, those same lips parted in a moan of his name. Shouldn’t be thinking about those lips on his cock, milking him to completion like you did weeks ago. Shouldn’t think about your hand on his body, only it’s impossible with how you trail up his sleeve, fingers running over his sharp chin.

“That means you have a choice, too,” you say as your fingers spread lightning through his nerves as they stroke the side of his neck. “Either you can take me to the bedroom and fuck me like we both want, or you can walk out of this apartment and never see me again.”

Your bluntness causes his throat to go dry, made doubly worse when you run your fingers through his hair and tug at the locks. He can’t stop staring at your mouth, parted and glistening, like you’re ready for him to swoop in and claim you.

So he does.

It’s a much-too-excited knock of your lips that makes you squeak, but it gels into a forceful kiss when you step closer and throw your arms around his neck. He barely manages to grab you when you jump up, and he lumbers over to the table to set you down on the side. His lips haven’t left yours, moving incessantly until you part your lips for him to slip his tongue inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, slotting him between your thighs as you push your tongue against his, twirling and licking until he’s the one grunting instead of you.

He breaks to breathe, then kisses you again and again, until you’re whimpering and tugging at his jacket to get it off. He peels it off of his body without breaking the kiss, throwing it off to the side to be forgotten. Your shirt is next, followed by his sweater and undershirt, until all that’s left between your chests is a flimsy bra that he could probably rip with his fingers if he really wanted to.

The crackle of thunder outside the window makes you jump, and heavy rain begins to pound against the glass. But your breathing is even louder, sharp inhales and exhales as he squeezes at your tits, thumbs circling your nipples as he makes a sloppy and wet trail down your neck. You moan when he sucks a spot on your neck, but your thighs squeeze his waist as a warning.

“No visible marks,” you pant as you run your nails down his back. “Or he’ll kill me first.”

Kageyama grunts his answer, fingers fumbling with the clasp on your bra. When he can’t get it after a few tries, he considers actuallyripping it so he can finally get his mouth on your tits. You snort, quick hands getting it off in one go, and the scrappy piece of fabric joins the rest of the growing pile.

You moan when he licks around your nipple, sucking around it as a tease before taking one in his mouth. He pulls on the other, twisting and rubbing until they’re both hard and you’re arching into him. Your foot travels down his side, shifting to his inner thigh, and when you press against his cock, he groans.

“Missed your cock,” you say as he continues to suck on your breasts, fingers pushing at your pants until you’re lifting to help him pull them down. “I kept—ah, kept imagining what it would feel like inside me.”

Kageyama groans, kneeling down in between your legs to get a good look at your barely covered pussy. He can see how damp the front of your panties have become, and when his fingers press against your folds, you whine. He pushes your thighs open to get closer, pulling the fabric down to your knees so he can get a look at you fully naked for the first time. You’re beautiful, chest heaving and wet with his saliva, thighs trembling as his heavy breaths hit your wet folds.

“Fuck,” he whispers before he parts you, diving in to get his first taste.

You moan when he worms his tongue inside, flicking up and down to get closer. He holds onto your ass, bringing you to the edge of the partition so he can taste all of you. He flicks over your clit and you keen, hands in his hair pushing him so deep that he almost forgets how to breathe. He doesn’t really care, not when you taste so good and whine his name every time his quick tongue flicks over your clit.

It’s easy to slip a finger inside of you, even easier to press in to the hilt. His pace is rough and needy, tongue rolling your clit before he sucks on it. You swear, curling into him as your legs start to tremble. Another finger and you’re practically begging for him, heels striking the wall when he sucks hard again. The squelching of your pussy is nearly drowned out by the thunder, but there’s no masking your heavy breaths and your constant whimpers.

“I’m gonna—oh fuck, like that, like that.”

Your begging spurs him on, and his cock throbs, hot and heavy against his thigh as you moan his name. Your walls squeeze his scissoring fingers as your orgasm crests, and your fingers tug on his hair so harshly his scalp burns. He doesn’t dare stop, milking your pussy for everything you can give him as you shake and whine underneath his mouth. Kageyama keeps going until you’re trying to squirm away from him, sweaty thighs trying to push him out.

“My bag,” you gasp as you try to catch your breath. “Front zipper pocket, and hurry.”

He doesn’t dare say no. His cock pulses so hard it nearly hurts, ready to burst when he checks behind him and sees you starting to bend over the partition. Shit. Kageyama digs in your purse as fast as he can, practically tearing out the condom you have stashed inside. It’s on in a second, the wrapper thrown off to the side so he can grip your hips and maneuver you further down. Your elbows are on the table and you scratch at the surface as he rubs the head of his cock on your slick folds before pushing inside.

It’s even better than he imagined. You’re so tight, sucking him in easily with how wet you are, all the way to the hilt. You whimper and grab at him, reaching a hand back to cover his and tightening his grip on your waist. If you want it hard, he’ll give it to you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his long length before he pulls out and slams back in, nearly knocking you forward. You keen, digging into the countertop as he slaps his hips into yours.

You moan with every drag of his cock as he fucks you, fingers digging into your hips to make you match his thrusts. It’s weeks of pent up aggression, wanting nothing more than to be buried into your throbbing heat like he is now. Kageyama supposes he should savor it—memorize every whine, every wet sound, every gasping plea for more—but he’s too lost in the feeling of finally having you. He stares at his cock disappearing into your cunt over and over, your walls molded around him like he belongs there.

“Please,” you whimper, your moans echoing thanks to your buried face in your arm.

“Yeah?” He breathlessly asks back, a hand on your back forcing you to arch even more so he can hit deeper.

Your answer is a garbled moan, your walls squeezing him tight enough to pull a grunt from his lips. His nails run all down your back, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough where he can see the remnants of his presence, to remind himself that he’s finally got you where he wants you. The thought is enough to spike heat in his veins and threaten him to cum already.

“No, no,” you whine when he slows down, craning your head to look at him. Your eyelashes flutter with his deep but slow strokes, a small smirk coming to your face when you see how flushed and breathless he is. “Tobio.”

You’re doing this on purpose. Whimpering his name without an honorific so he’ll fall apart and give you the upper hand. And the worst part is, it’s working. Even his slow strokes can’t stop his rising orgasm so he throws caution to the wind, slamming into you again while he gropes at your tits. Your surprised yelp turns into a long moan when he hits just right, your body trembling as he pulls and twists your nipples.

“Shit,” he whispers hoarsely before letting go. His thrusts are choppy as he chases his orgasm, his fingers clinging so tightly to your breasts that you gasp. There are goosebumps on his arms as he shudders closer to you, sweat dripping from his brow to your back when he leans forward and pulls out.

You’re panting too, turning on shaky legs to regard him with lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. His flaccid cock twitches at the look, so he quickly ties off the condom before he makes a mess. When he turns to throw it out, you gasp, eyes widening at the eagle tattoo that spans his shoulder blades. Its black wings curve toward his shoulders, its mouth forever open in an angry caw. Kageyama eyes you warily as he throws away the condom, waiting for you to ask him what it is or say something about it.

But you don’t.

Instead you beckon him forward with a sly smirk and two fingers.

“I said take me to the bedroom, didn’t I?”

He wastes no time in listening. Kageyama is back on you again, lips dragging across yours over and over to savor your taste. You grab onto his shoulders to drag him toward your bedroom, tongue pressed up against his, so sloppy that his lips are covered in saliva by the time you pull back.

With a heavy push, he falls back to the bed, bouncing a few times as you climb over him. You look so pretty straddling his waist, the light around your head making you look like an angel as you lean over him. Your hips grind into his hardening cock, hands leveraging themselves on his shoulders so you can work him back to hardness. There’s a smirk on your face as you do, fingers digging into his skin as you rock back and forth.

“Tobio,” you whisper.

There’s a twinkle in your eye that tells him you know how much it’s affecting him. Especially when you shift and the head of his cock bumps your folds, disappearing inside for a second. You’re so wet, and it takes everything in him not to beg for you to take his full length.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, rocking back and forth so only the head of his cock disappears into your heat. “Fuck, like this. Can we?”

This is dangerous and Kageyama knows it. Between your job and the possibility of an accident, he should get another condom and fuck you that way. But you press a little further, teasing him with the head of his cock pressing in and out, in and out, over and over. He’s about to go insane, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside you again, but even with his hands on your hips, you evade him.

“Tobio.”

“Please.”

The word is quiet, needy, caught in the back of his throat as a mix between a groan and a request. It takes you both by surprise, your eyes widening as you stare down at him. He’s completely hard again, and just a little lower… His face grows even more flushed than it already is when you spread your folds and sink down all the way, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your hips stilling as you breathe.

There’s a moment where you savor the feeling, then you’re lifting your hips and slamming down, holding onto him as you ride him. Kageyama is sure he’s never seen something so beautiful, your tits bouncing, your hands flexing, your cunt warm and perfect for him. Every moan, whimper, and squeeze of your walls drills into his brain, ringing until he can’t think anymore. All he knows is the heat and wetness of your cunt, and the way you bounce on him like his cock is all you need.

His hands grip your waist to help you move, legs lifting to hit even deeper. You ride him so well, head tilted back with a moan as your fingers trail down to your clit. You keen and work quickly, matching his thrusts with your bounces and your gasps for breath.

When Kageyama grips your ass, you groan, fingers rubbing and circling your swollen nub until you’re leaning forward with a hoarse call of his name. Your pussy squeezes him so tightly that he grunts, working you through your orgasm as his own rises.

You open your eyes, cheeks sweaty and flushed, and when you whisper his name, he’s lost. He grabs onto you, fucking up into you as hard as he can. When his orgasm hits, he forces your hips down so he can fill your cunt with his seed, so he can make his mark on you in the only way he knows how. You gasp at the feeling, but he barely hears it, lost in the feeling of you taking him so well.

He opens his eyes and your satisfied smile is the first thing he sees.

“Again,” you beg. “Please.”

Kageyama can think of nothing else he wants more.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

The first thing he hears is the pounding of rain against the bedroom window. The second is water running in the room across the hall from your bedroom. Kageyama is groggy when he wakes up, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he sits and tries to re-orient himself. It’s still dark outside, which means he only dozed off for a few hours. You had collapsed on his chest, the warmth lulling him into a restful sleep he hadn’t had for a while.

When he pads out to the living room with his underwear in his hands, you’re still in the bathroom. Kageyama nudges the door open with his foot, watching you scrub your face clean of the product you’re using. You’re still naked, water dripping down your body as you finish up, towel off, then turn to him.

“Do you want to shower, too?” You ask calmly, wrapping the towel around your neck before batting your clean eyelashes at him. “Before you go back to see Ushijima-san.”

Kageyama goes rigid as a board, gaze drilling into your light smile. How do you know that?

“I’ve heard that name before. From Washijo,” you muse, walking forward to move past him toward your bedroom. Kageyama follows you like a lost puppy, unsure of what else to do. You dig into your dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and cotton shorts before you turn and speak again. “The leader of the Adlers, right? He sent you a message.”

The ease in which you discuss the Adlers is disorienting. It’s like you’re talking about what you need from the store instead of mafia business, oh-so-casual as you slip on your pajamas. He hurries to put on his underwear, refusing to have this conversation while standing naked in your bedroom.

You look at him so expectantly now that you’re dressed, but all Kageyama can do is give a stiff nod and a croaked, “Yeah.”

“Then… you work for him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tobio,” you breathe, so dainty, so soft, so beautiful. You take a step forward, grabbing onto his hand and bringing it between both of your own, fingers clutching his like a lifeline. It’s a stark contrast to your next request. “Kill him for me.”

“What?” It falls from Kageyama’s mouth as quickly as a bullet. “Ushijima?”

“No,Washijo.” You cling harder to his hand even though Kageyama tries to pull it away. “Isn’t that what the mafia does? Kill people who go against them? Make them disappear?”

Sure, he’s done that plenty of times under Ushijima’s orders, but…

“If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I can’t.” Kageyama answers, firm and immovable. “I can’t go against the Boss. Besides you…” He sighs, looking out toward the living room, even if he can’t see it. “Aren’t you going to become a lawyer? You can’t have that stain on your record, idiot, you—”

“I’m not an idiot,” you hiss, dropping his hand and pointing a finger in his chest. “You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this. How many times I’ve seen women hit and assaulted, only for the lawto turn their backs on them for trying to make ends meet. No one will do anything about Washijo because he has too much power and money. Trust me, I’ve tried. All he has to do is wave his money around and the evidence is destroyed.”

Kageyama stares at you in confusion, eyebrows creasing together as you force your finger into his chest again to push him away from you. “Then… what’s the point of becoming a lawyer if you hate it so much?”

“The point is to help people like me who are stuck with no way out.” You sigh, dragging a hand down your face before taking a deep breath. “I’ll endure all the bullshit if it means another woman doesn’t have to go through what I have.”

You turn away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. Kageyama wants nothing more than to wrap you up from behind and bring you into his embrace, whispering that it’ll be okay. He, of all people, knows what a lie those words are. He murmurs your name but you don’t turn around; you’re too focused on the rain pelting the window from the storm outside.

“Sometimes the law isn’t enough. For people like me, it’ll neverbe enough.” Your voice is quiet and defeated, something he’s never once heard for you. You finally turn to him, expression grim as you plead, “That’s why I need your help.”

As much as it pains him to say it, Kageyama repeats, “I can’t.”

“So you’ll choose to let me suffer?”

“I’m choosing my life. Ushijima will kill me if I go against his word. Don’t ask me to choose between Ushijima and you, because…” He pauses, swallowing down his reservations so he can bluntly say, “Because it won’t be you.”

“…I know,” you admit quietly, so quiet and resigned that it breaks his heart. “I know. That’s not what I want.”

You exhale, turning away from him again, and it feels as though you’ve closed yourself off from him for good. He won’t let it end like this. Ushijima be damned, there has to be something he can do for you to get you out of this hell. Even though Kageyama couldn’t achieve his own goals, he doesn’t want that to happen to you, too.

“Three months.”

His words make you silently look back.

“Three months,” Kageyama repeats. “That’s how long Washijo has left in his contract. After three months, Ushijima says he’ll reconsider.”

There’s a pinched look on your face that looks like you’re considering something, calculating the best way to use the remaining time. Carefully, like you’re weighing every word that comes out of your mouth, you ask, “That means after three months, I can…?”

“If you’re sure.”

You swallow, taking a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “You know,” you murmur, quieter than the thunder that shakes the window in front of you. “I want him dead, but… more than that, I want him ruined. I want him to suffer. I want to watch the light fade from his eyes, like he did to me. Do you understand?”

Kageyama takes his time to consider what you’re asking. It’s more than asking about his comprehension—you’re quietly asking for his help, for his expertise, for a way to make sure Washijo gets everything that’s coming to him, even if it means going against everything you’re studying for. Can he do this for you? Bring you into the dark and dirty work of the mafia, even as you study to become someone who may take him down?

“Tobio, answer me,” you insist when he takes too long to answer.

“If you want him to suffer,” Kageyama answers slowly, “Then we’ll need a plan.”

You both stare at each other for a long, dragging moment. Lightning outside the window flashes and illuminates the torn look on your face, your tired eyes, your heaving chest. You hug closer to yourself as if you can feel the chill from the rain from outside, even though your apartment is overly warm. The breath you let out is loud, and you blink a few times before you turn around to him fully, arms crossed over your chest.

“We have to make it perfect.”

Kageyama nods once to seal the deal.

If this is all he can promise you, then he’s more than willing to do it.

purple hyacinth, part one

kageyama tobio was only supposed to deliver the weapons to ushijima’s best customer once every two weeks. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you—law student by day, top dancer and escort at washijo tanji’s club by night. when you ask the impossible of him, kageyama has to choose: his life or yours.

pairing: adlers underboss kageyama tobio x escort fem!reader (with hair), part one of three ; 4.8k, nsfw (18+, mdni)

warnings:depictions of sex work, mentions of violence and murder, mention of racism/slavery by an asshole character; oral (m!receiving), fingering, snowballing

thanks to:@anime-nymphand@vanille–kiss for coming up with the ideas for me and helping me look into ways to murder and dick kageyama down like friends should LOL <3 also for betaing, and vani for the amazing banner as always!

written in conjuction with:@mrskenmakozume’ssimp me not collab! i had m for mafia :’)

part one||part two||part three||mafia au masterlist
bosses:black petunia||red peony||white lily
underbosses:pink magnolia||orange rose

From the outside, Il Giardino looks like a regular establishment. The brick building is multi-leveled, but the place is on the first floor, filled with tables that look like they belong in an upscale Italian restaurant. The servers wear black vests and white aprons tied around their waists, serving couples on first dates that won’t go anywhere, or couples celebrating anniversaries that will probably break up later anyway.

It’s only when you ask for “the best seat in the house” that you’re taken behind the curtain leading to the kitchens. A server will take you to some stairs in the cellar, lead you down the cold and slightly dungy stairwell, and open the door to the real reason people come here: to book the escorts who dance around the poles on stage, shooting flirty smiles to old politicians and rich assholes who pay handsomely for an hour or two.

Kageyama Tobio doesn’t even have to ask anymore.

The servers at Il Giardino know who he is and why he’s there. The briefcase he brings twice a month under the guise of being a “businessman” is filled with weapons from new shipments they received the day prior. As soon as he makes it into the basement showroom, he’s ushered into Washijo Tanji’s office, and the briefcase is exchanged for cold hard cash that goes straight into his inner pockets.

“This week’s even more special,” Washijo hums as he inspects the antique pistol he purchased from the stash. “Flintlock Muff. Do you know what year it’s from, Kageyama?”

“1804 according to the records, sir,” Kageyama answers robotically. He learned very early in his tenure as Adlers’ underboss that uninformed answers wouldn’t cut it for Washijo. The John demands an audience, a conversation for his musings, unlike so many of the other big shots around Tokyo. Hoshiumi had played that part well.

At least until he was buried six feet under by the Black Jackals’ boss, with Ushijima’s blessing, of course.

“Right you are, boy,” Washijo agrees as he shines a spot of dirty iron. “The kind of weaponry that meant power back then, meant to put the slaves in their place.” He hums in gleeful thought before looking Kageyama straight in the eye. “A perfect addition to my collection.”

Kageyama’s worked with a lot of assholes in his time as Adlers’ underboss, but Washijo Tanji might just take the cake.

He gives a stiff nod and sees himself out of the old man’s office, promising to come back in two weeks like he always does. Some weeks he’ll leave right away, glad to be out of the basement establishment and back in the real world where everything isn’t covered in a neon red glow. Other weeks, he’ll linger in a back booth, staying for exactly an hour before sliding out to go back to the base. Kageyama tells Ushijima it’s because Washijo sometimes goes on tangents about the guns and won’t shut up, but that’s not the real reason.

The real reason strides out on stage not even a minute after he sits down.

You always look so pretty, no matter the hairstyle you start with. Today it’s a high ponytail that’s tied with a shiny silver band and matches the short sequin dress you have on. Kageyama knows by the end of the night, you’ll only be in panties, the rest of your clothing discarded behind you as you twirl around on the pole. Then, after your set is over, you’ll walk off stage with your head held high and one last flirtatious smile and wink to the crowd.

It’s crazy to think you’d notice someone sitting far away who only comes in once and a while, but Kageyama lets himself imagine you do. Lets himself imagine that it’s him who books you, that it’s him you walk in to see, to touch, to moan for. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money—no, he has plenty of that ever since becoming underboss of the Adlers—but he doesn’t have the time. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t have the guts to go through with it and ruin the facade of admiring from afar.

Only you do that forhim.

Tonight your eyes land right on him, and he sucks in a breath when you smile at him, as beautiful as ever. Your gaze is heavy as you keep it on him, even as you peel piece by piece off of your flimsy little outfit until you’re only left in a skimpy little thong. Your breasts jiggle as you move, hands tracing over your body as you dance to the music. It makes his breathing more labored, making him shift in his seat and forcing any fantasies about you away.

There are bills on the stage in front of you, men catcalling you from the booths near the front, but you don’t pay them any mind. Whenever your focus isn’t on climbing and twirling around the pole, it’s on him, that flirty little smile directed right at him without any reservations. When your set is over, you send a flirtatious little wink to the crowd—to him—and disappear backstage.

He knows you won’t come back out tonight, not with the way one of the middle-aged men in the front booth waves over a server, but Kageyama wishes you would. Wishes you would do more than send him smiles or winks because then it would mean you want him as a person and not a potential client. He knows how these things operate—you’re working. Playing the game to save up for something, whether it’s family, or a kid, or just trying to survive in a world that makes it nearly impossible.

He waits another ten minutes staring at the back door, silently wondering if you’ll emerge and prove him wrong, but you don’t.

So he leaves, already counting down the days until he’s back in that basement club so he can see you again.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

The next meeting with Washijo is easy. He’s pleased with the product, placing the gun on an empty holster on the wall before shooing Kageyama out for “other business.” He’s about to leave the place for the night when there’s a soft call of, “Wait!”

Kageyama turns and sees you coming right for him.

He’s not ready for this. A kill? Easy. Sneak up behind them and wrap an arm around their neck, and the victim is none the wiser. A deal? Even easier. Read the room, read the vibe, and you’ll have them wrapped under your finger in a moment. A girl? Terrifying. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to act as you come up to him with your sparkling smile and stop right in front of him.

“I was hoping I would see you today,” you tell him as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

It’s down today, flowing behind you in pretty waves, your gold-painted eyes shining in the lights. The name tag on your chest reads “Daisy”—your stage name, he already knows—and the blouse is tight around your tits, skirt even tighter around your thighs. You’re a hostess today, not a dancer, a deviation from the norm.

It takes everything in Kageyama not to stare.

“I’m… not sure why,” he answers awkwardly.

“A mysterious handsome stranger I only ever see once every two weeks? I love a good mystery.” You grin, and Kageyama wishes you wouldn’t because he feels like he’s drowning in the ocean without a life jacket. “I’ve asked around but no one knows who you are.”

“Er… you’re asking about me?”

“I’m interested,” you giggle. “Is that wrong?”

Not wrong, but dangerous. The way his cheeks are coloring, the way his heart thumps in his chest, the way he’s itching to reach into his jacket and book you right then and there. It’s all so dangerous.

“I don’t know why you would be when you have plenty of suitors.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them suitors,” you grumble as you cross your arms over your chest. “Clients would be more apt, wouldn’t it?”

Kageyama takes a look around the area. There’s no dancer on stage yet, but a woman comes out of the backroom and he knows it won’t be long now. No one is looking this way; Washijo sits at the bar talking with another older man in a crisp suit, but his eyes flick over for just a moment before returning. It’s just you two in your own little fucked up world of unspoken truths and discreet business.

“Then you probably don’t need another.”

“I don’t need another, but I wantanother.” Your smile is genuine even with your proposition. “What’s your name?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” he answers immediately, voice barely audible over the music that now pounds out of the speakers. “Your name?”

“Daisy.”

It isn’t your voice but Washijo’s. The owner stands next to you, a pressed smile on his face, arms tight behind his back. Kageyama notices the light in your eyes go out almost immediately, your smile slipping just a little bit as the old man lifts a hand to your chin and grabs tightly.

“You should be serving drinks now. That’s your job tonight.”

“Yes, Washijo-sama,” you respond robotically, like you’ve done this song and dance thousands of times before and know exactly what he wants to hear. “I was only welcoming your esteemed guest.”

“Daisy’s my best girl,” Washijo says as he slaps your cheek a few times none-too-gently. “Always makes me a pretty penny, doesn’t she?” He laughs like he’s not talking about you selling your body to make him money. It makes Kageyama’s eyes narrow as he flicks between Washijo’s smile and your souring and tightening expression. “If you want to book her, you’ll have to—”

“I’ll do it now.” Kageyama’s response is immediate, and he knows he pissed Washijo off by the way the man glares, but he doesn’t care. He’s got more pull in this city as the Adlers’ underboss than some old John with a hard-on for weapons anyway. He stares at you and your raised eyebrows when he says, “One hour, two weeks from today. Right after our meeting is finished.”

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to suppress your grin so Washijo doesn’t see it. “Two weeks from now, Kageyama-sama.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me.”

He bows his head before he can change his mind, before he can see how pissed he made Washijo, before he can get pulled into your cute little smile even more.

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

No matter how many times he’s been here, Kageyama has never been in the back before. Washijo’s office sits next to the bar—chosen on purpose to keep an eye on his “merchandise”, he’s sure—so it feels strange to follow an attendant past the stage and through the steel door. The hallway looks like it could belong to a casino, a carpeted hallway housing large wooden doors that lead to private rooms labeled after flowers. Lotus, Bluebell, Tulip. Finally the attendant stops in front of a door labeled “Hyacinth”, knocks once, and bows on his way out.

“Come in,” comes your dainty voice from inside.

His heart races faster than a rabbit as he turns the handle and opens the door.

You’re dressed in a beautiful black babydoll onesie that sits tight around your breasts and hips. Overtop is a translucent pink robe, fuzzy on the ends and cascading down to the floor. It’s tied around the waist, making you look like a present made for him to unwrap. You look at him through the mirror of the vanity, turning to him with an alluring smile that makes him swallow.

“Kageyama-sama,” you murmur as you stand and show him all of you. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He isn’t sure what to say or do. He’s never done this before; agreeing to come see you was a spur of the moment decision that’s been on the forefront of his mind the last two weeks. As enticing as you look, Kageyama isn’t here for what the other men are. While the thought has crossed his mind—more times than could be considered healthy, if he’s honest—he doesn’t want to be just another client you see once every two weeks then say goodbye to.

So when you start to walk over to him, he puts his hand up and makes you falter.

“I…” He clears his throat. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”

“Hm?” The hum sounds more confused than anything. “Then—”

“I only want to talk.”

“…Talk.” You’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “You paid for an hour to… talk to me?”

Kageyama nods stiffly, cheeks warming when you laugh. You cover your mouth to quiet yourself, apologizing for your outburst before tilting your head.

“Okay, Kageyama-sama. What would you like to talk about?”

You both sit on the bed, and Kageyama lets you do most of the talking. You’re guarded, he can tell, but he’s the exact same. It’s like the conversation is stilted, both of you dancing around anything of substance.

How’s work? Fine. The usual. What’s your favorite food? Pork cutlet. How do you spend your time? Relaxing.

Only when he asks, “What do you do during the day?” do you slip up.

“Study.”

You look immediately regretful, even more so when he asks, “What do you study?”

You take a deep breath, looking contemplative for a moment before sighing, “Law. I’m in law school.”

Well, that certainly isn’t good for him.

“How do you balance your studies and working here?”

“You have so many questions,” you murmur, leaning into him so your fingers can trail up his left thigh. It makes him swallow, chest tight when you finish: “If you want to get to know me, why don’t we do it on a more personallevel?”

You’re so close to his cock that he has to shift his thigh away to keep his composure. You follow, manicured fingers running over his inner thigh, and you’re about to trail up when he grabs onto your wrist.

“I don’t want—” He swallows. “Okay well, I do. I want you, very badly, but I don’t want—” Fuck, this is frustrating. “I’ll come back in two weeks,” he blurts out instead. “Bring your study materials.”

“What?”

“Bring your books,” he repeats slowly. “I’ll buy your time so you can study.”

“Are you insane?” is the first question you ask, eyes wide as you drink in his stoic expression. “My fee is the highest in this establishment and you’re willing to pay that so I can study?”

“Money isn’t an issue for me,” he insists, sharp eyes on your slowly changing expression—morphing from confusion into something more annoyed, something more bitter. He’s seen it plenty of times at Suna’s clubs with the overly flirtatious women here, and something clicks in his brain immediately. “But it is for you, isn’t it?”

You ignore his question, eyes flitting over to the front door as if you’re expecting a knock any time now.

“Isn’t it?” He presses, hand on your wrist tightening and forcing your attention back on him.

“Who doesn’t have money problems?” You laugh, but it’s hollow and slightly forced. “I’m not the only one, Kageyama-san.”

That sounds so much better than that fake -sama bullshit from earlier.

The knock you were waiting for comes not a moment later, and you answer daintily, practiced composure as you stand up, eyes still locked on his. He follows you, fixing his coat as you set a hand on the door knob. You pause before turning it, taking a few breaths before you question,

“Two weeks?”

He nods twice and you open the door, smile on your face forced as you hand him over to the attendant waiting outside.

“Until then, Kageyama-sama.”

ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ

As soon as the gun is out of his hands and in Washijo’s collection, there’s a clap on his shoulder. Washijo’s bodyguard Saitou Akira stands next to him, his usually soft face firm as he stares down at him. Kageyama doesn’t even grace the two men with a response or an acknowledgement on his face. His expression is stoic as ever as he sits back and waits for Washijo to speak.

“You’ve taken a liking to our Daisy, I’ve noticed,” the old man drawls as he runs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw.

Kageyama can’t refute that. Every two weeks, he’s booked you and your time for an hour, letting you catch up on school work. But you always leave at least fifteen minutes (though lately it’s been nearly a half an hour) to talk to him about this and that. Kageyama has never mentioned the Adlers name, has never mentioned that his day job includes tracking down men who owe Ushijima money and beating them into submission, but he’s given you a rare glimpse into his life that he isn’t sure is a good idea.

You aptly listened to his old stories of high school sports, of being the model for his sister’s cosmetology license, of his “hat” phase when Miwa really fucked up his locks (that he’s never really forgiven her for.) In exchange, you’ve told him stories about yourself: about your hobbies, your past, your drive to create a better Japan, one that treats its people—all of its people—equally. Kageyama thinks that sounds like a pipe dream but he lets you speak anyway, because you don’t look any prettier than when you’re gushing.

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s one of the best in the business,” Washijo hums, and Kageyama pretends that business doesn’t include what you’re normally booked for. “So you’ll understand if her prices have to be increased, don’t you?”

He doesn’t, and he’s about to say he doesn’t when he hears Ushijima’s voice in his mind loud and clear: Keep our contractors happy.

Four more months. That’s how long is left in the contract, how long he has to think of a way to make Ushijima cut ties with this asshole.

“Of course,” Kageyama stoically responds, keeping his face neutral even when Washijo’s smirk could rival a sharp knife.

“Good, good, I’m glad we could do business. Tell Ushijima hello for me.”

It’s a jab, he knows. He’s only the underboss—the man sent to do his boss’s bidding. If he ever steps out of line, he’ll be gone and forgotten as easily as Hoshiumi. Kageyama doesn’t give Washijo the satisfaction of an answer. He brushes Akira’s hand off his shoulder, stands, and pays the additional fee directly to the John himself.

Then he lets the attendant take him back to the Hyacinth room without even glancing back.

You’re already there, dressed in your pretty lingerie, hair high up in a styled and curled ponytail. Your bookbag is hidden underneath the black robe you’ve started to wear under the guise of “being his favorite thing to see you in.” As soon as the door is locked, you take your normal positions: you hunched over the vanity as you pour through cases, him flicking through his phone until you say you’re finished.

“Kageyama-san,” you whisper not even 25 minutes later, and when he looks up, you’re already putting your notes and books away.

“Done?”

“Mhm.”

Usually you pull your chair over and he’ll sit on the bed so you can chat, but today you stand, untie your robe, and begin to walk over. He looks at you funny, narrowed eyes on the way you saunter over, your breasts pressed up against the lacy black bra, the matching panties highcut and showing off your legs.

“Wha—”

Your giggle cuts him off as you swing your leg, settling yourself in his lap.

“I don’t want to talk today,” you murmur as you play with the ends of his hair, and Kageyama feels like he can’t breathe, lungs as tight as his pants. “You’re paying a pretty penny for me, so why don’t you have me?”

“Even more now,” he replies, forcing himself not to touch you. Not just a client, he wants to say, want me as a man. But all he can do is stare as your confused expression twists.

“What are you talking about?”

“I had to pay an extra fee,” Kageyama says, face scrunching up to match yours. “Since you’re his favorite.”

There’s a long pause where he can see the anger in your expression, in the way your lips twist like you ate a lemon, in the way your eyebrows crease like you’re studying your law books. Then it’s gone, replaced with a light smile as you drag your fingers from his temple to his jaw, tilting his head up.

“Right,” you whisper as you lean closer, a hair’s width away from his lips. Hovering, not touching, your breath warm on his lips. His chest is tight with the need for breath when you add, “So why don’t we put your money to good use, Tobio-kun?”

Fuck.

The second you press your lips to his, he eagerly responds, a firm hand on your back pushing you against his chest. Your lips move against each other’s quickly, months of pent up want flowing in drags and tugs of lips. The little sound you let out when he pries your mouth open with his tongue rings in his mind, and he clings to you even tighter, keeping you pressed against his lap and chest. You match rolls of your tongue with rolls of your hips, your fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt so you can push your hands inside and cling to his shoulders.

Manicured nails dig into his flesh when he bucks his hips up and you feel his hardening cock against you. You break the kiss to heave for breath, sloppy kisses trailing down the side of his neck to lick and suck at his skin, hastily tugging at his undershirt to get it out of his slacks.

“You—” He tries to say, but it’s cut off with a grunt when you grind down on him, your little whimper vibrating against his neck. “You can… slow down.”

“I can’t, actually.” He can feel you grin against his flesh, a light giggle on your lips. “You don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting you.”

Is this for real or for work? He should stop and ask, but then your fingers find his belt and he forgets all about it. Your fingers brush over the bulge in his pants as you unbutton his pants and drag the zipper down. Kageyama groans when you cup his cock through his underwear, teeth sharp on his exposed shoulder a juxtaposition to the soft way you squeeze and run your fingers over his bulge until he’s hard.

He immediately misses your warmth when you pull away from him. You settle between his legs, and he helps you drag down his pants and underwear to his ankles, hard cock springing free and bobbing against his stomach.

“It’s as pretty as you,” you compliment slyly, a grin on your lips. Kageyama nearly jerks into your touch when you grasp his cock in your hands, your thumb dragging over the tip and smearing his precum into his flesh. “I want you to say my name, Tobio-kun.”

“Daisy.”

“No,” you whisper as you lean up, your tongue following the circular pattern your thumb was just drawing. He exhales, shifting his legs even wider so you have more room. “My real name.”

You murmur it like a song, and he repeats it, the syllables sounding perfect in his rich baritone.

“Good boy,” you compliment before taking him into your mouth.

Your mouth is so warm, sucking him in as you twirl your tongue around his tip. Kageyama doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he keeps them curled up in the bedsheets and tugs when you suck hard, eyes staring up at him hard enough to make him shiver. It’s not that he’s inexperienced, but you make him feel like putty under your touch, his thighs jerking when you dig your nails into his flesh and take all of him.

The room is filled with his harsh breaths and your sucking sounds as you work him, head bobbing up and down quickly. When you hollow your cheeks, it makes him grunt and lean back on one hand, the other coming to grip your ponytail. You moan when he tugs, rewarding him with another harsh suck that makes him jerk into your mouth. Your fingers ghost over his balls, squeezing and fondling while you suck, and Kageyama feels like a teenager again—ready to blow any second if you keep sucking like that.

Kageyama gets lost in the pleasure, lost in the way you pump his cock when you need to breathe then immediately go back down on him like you can’t get enough. He can’t either, your mouth intoxicating and making him wonder if your pussy is just as good, if it’s just as tight and warm. The thought of being inside you spikes heat in his stomach, his balls tightening and spine tingling as his orgasm looms. He warns you with a low moan of your name, but you only suck harder, tongue running over the slit of his head until cum spurts out and fills your mouth completely.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding your head down until you tap his thigh a few times, then he immediately untangles his fingers from your ponytail with a quiet sorry.

“You can spit it out.”

But you don’t.

You climb into his lap again, slotting your mouth against his and feeding him his own cum. It’s strange and Kageyama is pretty sure he hates the way he tastes, but it mixes with your scent and your taste, and he kisses you back anyway, tangling your tongues together with urgency. You both swallow, shallow breaths panting against each other’s mouths, your nails raking down his undershirt-covered stomach with a whine.

“Touch me, Tobio-kun,” you whisper as you grind against his limp cock, flush high on your cheekbones signaling how much you want him.

He complies immediately, fixing your hips so you’re straddling him, high enough where he can lift your bra and start flicking over your nipples. You moan, fingers curling in his hair and tugging when he starts to suck, when his fingers start to wander over the wet crotch of your panties. Holy shit, you’re soaked, all from just sucking his dick. He’s able to push one finger into you no problem, and after a few strokes, he adds another. It makes you groan, grinding down onto his hand as he keeps sucking on your nipples, tongue dancing all over your skin as he switches between both.

You cry out lightly when his thumb finds your clit, and your pussy spasms around his fingers. His cock jumps at the tightness, already ready to be buried deep inside of you to drag along your walls, but he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers. You look too good on top of him, sound so good whimpering his name, that he wants to make you cum over and over and remind you who is giving you the pleasure. Not some broke loser, not some nasty John. Him.

Your cunt is so loud, pussy squelching as he scissors his fingers, lips and tongue dragging all over your chest. He can’t mark you—not with your job and the clients he’s sure will be seen when he’s gone—but he can pretend he’s the only one you have, leaving a trail of his saliva all over you as if saying that no one else can touch you. When you shudder and tug at his hair, he knows you’re close and he speeds up, curling just right. His breaths are hot against your chest, cock half-hard and twitching, begging to be in your cunt and—

There’s a sharp knock on the door, and a loud swear on your lips.

“No, don’t, don’t stop, please,” you whine above him, clinging to his hair as you hump against his hand. “So close, so close—”

“Come on,” he urges against your neck, fingers working even faster. You’re right there, squeezing him so tightly that he feels like he’sthe one about to cum, but—

Another knock on the door, an annoyed huff of your stage name, and you’re climbing off his lap with frustrated tears in your eyes and a scratch in your throat.

“Coming.”

You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him fumble to get dressed again and hide the bulge in his pants, before you swallow.

“Two weeks,” you whisper. Kageyama hates it. It’s broken, needy, and he’s about to pay for another three hours of your time so he can satisfy you and never have to hear it again.

But the third knock on the door seals his doom.

“Two weeks,” he repeats before exiting the room, fire burning in his veins long after he leaves Il Giardinobehind.