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Let it be known that Hori Kyouko is not an irrational person. Patience is a virtue and she practices it well— having a younger brother and a useless father will do that to a person— but as she watches her boyfriend get fawned over by a giggling group of girls, Kyouko acutely feels her restraint wear thin.
Izumi, the kind-hearted asshole that he is, decided to cut his hair to make himself look more like someone worthy of dating Kyouko after rumours started flying that she was doing charity work by being with him. It was a baseless claim and couldn’t be farther from the truth, but he had his own agenda, so now Kyouko was left with an even bigger problem.
Her boyfriend has always been attractive, with high cheekbones and pale, spotless skin, but now it seemed that others were finally beginning to notice it too, and while Kyouko feels vindicated that Izumi is being appreciated the way he deserves, jealousy stays an ugly, unreasonable thing.
Yuki and Tooru snicker as she glares in Izumi’s direction, ignoring them when they start calling her an ice queen, too focused on the small hand settled comfortably on Izumi’s shoulder. Feeling her stare, Izumi turns to her but doesn’t do much than cringe away from the touch, sending an apologetic look her way.
That’s not enough, her mind supplies, spiteful and vexed. He belongs to her, just as she belongs to him, and she won’t allow that simple fact to be ignored, not by him or anyone else.
Kyouko makes sure to keep her composure throughout the day, leaning into Izumi’s touch and smiling at him softly, letting him think she’s brushed the morning off. It’s cruel, she knows, to play mind games with him, but Izumi has never prompted a sensible reaction from her. His relief is palpable, shown in the way his shoulders drop, tension leaking from his body in waves. He shows her as much when he tugs her away during lunch, crowding her against the wall in a secluded corner, not giving her a chance to breathe as he kisses her.
Izumi’s tongue is demanding and persistent as it tangles with her own, stealing the air from her lungs, and leaving her lips swollen and bruised. He whispers sweet words of devotion into her ear, relentless hands mapping her body with a hunger she rarely witnesses from him, leaving her wet and aching.
She matches him at every turn, tugging at his hair just to hear him groan into her neck, biting kisses down his throat to feel him shudder against her. It appeases her if only slightly, to have him all over her like this— like he was starving for her, for something only she could give him. Those girls will never know the taste of his skin, the blue of his eyes, the feel of his lips. They’ll never know him the way she does, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling him in closer, anger sweeping over her in renewed viciousness just thinking about the way they touched him— looked at him.
“I want you,” Kyouko whispers into his mouth, mind already wandering to the image of him naked and pliant under her. God, she can’t wait to take him home and have her way with him, to hear him moan her name over, and over, and over again. Most nights, she’ll touch herself to the thought of him ravishing her, degrading and using her like she was made for his pleasure, but right now Kyouko wants nothing but to have him at her mercy.
They’d never gone much further than a few heated kisses, tiptoeing a line that he didn’t know how to cross, and she was reluctant to approach. Sex for her, up until this point, has been nothing but a taxing affair. Growing up in an empty house, it had been almost too easy to invite men over— into her home, into herself. Names and faces she couldn’t quite recall swimming behind her eyelids when she was vulnerable and wanting— before her thoughts became consumed with midnight hair and ocean eyes.
Kyouko didn’t want to make Izumi another tally on her list but that doesn’t stop the almost painful yearning from flooding her veins.
“After school,” she whispers. “Do you want—”
“Yes,” Izumi interrupts, the grip around her waist tightening. “Yes.”
Laughing softly at the eager response, Kyouko trails a hand gently through his hair, soft locks spilling through her fingers like water. His pupils are blown wide, eyes glazed over with lust, a ring of blue circling an endless void. She could fall into him for eternity.
“Okay,” she breathes, smiling when he drops his head to her shoulder.
When class ends, Kyouko doesn’t think she can leave fast enough. She doesn’t stick around most days, hurrying home to take care of Souta, but if her friends notice the added urgency with which she pulls Izumi outside, they don’t say anything. Izumi, for his part, smiles in amusement at her hurry, chuckling under his breath as she tugs on his arm, willing him to walk faster.
“Souta’s gonna be home you know,” Izumi recalls, grinning as she huffs when he slows down his pace.
“He’s staying with a friend,” she throws back, purposefully making her steps haphazard so he’ll stumble keeping up with her. Izumi snorts, suddenly pulling back his arm so she loses balance, falling against his chest as he holds her.
“Sounds like you have everything planned out,” he whispers, lips trailing butterfly kisses down her neck. She has half a mind to remind him they’re in public but finds herself shivering at the thought of someone seeing them like this.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kyouko quips, pinching at the skin of his hand. Izumi bites her ear in retaliation.
Laughing, she pushes him off and continues walking, heartwarming at the dopey smile decorating his face. They are breathless and giggling by the time they get to her house, tripping over themselves to get inside. Izumi doesn’t waste any time pinning her to the door, kissing her for all she’s worth. Hands find their way to the back of her knees and suddenly she’s lost connection with the ground. Their bags fall to the floor with a dull thud, drowned out by the ringing in her ears. Izumi holds her up with a bruising grip, nails digging into the skin just above the edge of her stockings.
There is passion in the way he looks at her, reverence in the way he holds her, lust in the way he consumes her. It was painful to be on the receiving end of such unwavering devotion, if only because Kyouko could barely stop herself from abusing that power. If she walked away he would chase her, if she told him to kneel he would drop without a thought. If she so much as asked, he would give her the world. Izumi worshipped the ground she walked on just as she praised every breath that left his lips.
She had to wonder, was love meant to be so utterly terrifying?
Shaking with the thought, Kyouko pushes him toward her bedroom, coming down from his hold just to drag him behind her. He follows without a sound, mindless in his pursuit. She doesn’t waste time undressing once they reach their destination, urgency ridding her of any reservations she may have had. Izumi watches her, transfixed, eyes flitting from the column of her neck to the peaks of her breasts and then down even further. She lets him enjoy the sight of her, something in her aching with need at the abyss of desire in his eyes, gazing at her as if he would be happy to die at this moment.
“Izumi,” she whispers, soft voice contradicting the inferno of lust blazing under her skin. He responds immediately, heeding her call like it’s all he’s capable of, clothes coming off before she has a chance to blink. He lays her down and kisses her like they’ve been apart for centuries, enjoying her slowly, rough hands leaving warmth on her frigid skin. Teeth pull at her nipples and she arches with pleasure, fingers slide themselves between her legs and she keens with reckless abandon.
Every inch of skin under his fingertips comes to life as if she is being reborn with his touch, forever changed because now he lay claim to not only her heart and soul but her body as well.
Take it, she wants to tell him. Take me.
He presses her into the bed when he enters her, slow and careful, like he’s afraid she’ll bend and break under the pressure. She isn’t nearly as fragile as he is treating her but she lets him have his way, if only because she cannot remember the last time someone held her like they loved her.
“You’re impatient,” he whispers against her ear, finally inside but unmoving. It’s sweet torture, a carrot on a stick, but Kyouko isn’t in the mood to chase. She hooks a leg around his waist to flip them over, descending upon him like hellfire and acid rain, settling herself like a queen to her throne. He looks up at her with unbridled wonder, lets her push and pull him as she sees fit, forever subservient to her every want and whim.
“I want you,” she admits for the second time that day, conviction coating her words in sticky layers. “I want all of you.”
Something in his eyes softens, the way snow melts away in spring, and it’s as if he’s seeing her for the first time.
“You have me, Kyouko.”
He reaches up to caress her cheek, so excruciatingly gentle, and she hates that a part of her doesn’t believe him. All of the envy from earlier in the day comes twisting up her throat like a vice, cutting off her air, choking her. She didn’t care about the attention he was receiving, she didn’t, but what was she supposed to do when faced with the reality that there was nothing she could offer him that he couldn’t get from someone else?
Love letters on sticky notes, home-cooked meals, promises for the future, and herself— that was all Kyouko could give him. She had to wonder when it would stop being enough.
“Do I?”
She doesn’t tell him that she’s never had anything, that all she clung to were scattered memories and regrets, that she always gave more than she took and wanted more than she was allowed to have. She doesn’t tell him but he smiles at her like he knows.
“Let me show you.”
And show her he does. He fucks her with a simmering kind of passion, bordering the line between rough and tender, leaving her shaking and gasping and intoxicated. He etches flowers of blue and purple along her neck, down her spine, and across her thighs, as if to prove a point.
You are mine. You are mine and I am yours.
In turn, she bites and claws at him, draws blood and watches it stain her nails, and feels him pulse and throb at the pain because they both had things they couldn’t help but crave.
“I adore you,” he confesses as he spills inside her, breathless but clear, like the ground could disappear from under them and he would not look away from her. “Even when you drive me crazy, I adore you.” They’re fighting. She’s crying while he’s fraying at the edges— maybe they were too much for each other. “Even when you break my heart, I adore you.” She’s yelling. Always, always angry— all he had wanted was to hold her. “Even when I’m terrified, I adore you.” He’s tired. She’s the best thing that has ever happened to him and sometimes that makes him want to run away— he refuses to ruin her. “The only thing I know how to be is in love with you.”
She finishes with his words in her heart, his hands on her skin, and it is blinding in its intensity. White-hot and burning, Kyouko comes with a cry of Izumi’s name, and he swallows it eagerly, stealing air directly from her lungs. She will never tire of having his lips on her own.
“Do you believe me now?” He asks her later, naked bodies impossibly close but drawing closer still— as if she has a choice. The traces of his love lingers on every inch of her skin, saturating deep into her bones. She couldn't deny him even if she wanted to.
Kyouko realizes her mistake when it’s already too late. She isn’t one to get caught up in the moment, too level-headed to not consider the consequences of her actions, but she’s starting to think she gives herself too much credit.
If she had known she was going to stumble down the stairs the next day to the watchful eyes of her family, she would’ve reconsidered letting Izumi stay the night. As it stands, she gets to witness the slow realization make its way across their faces with building mortification. She hadn’t exactly made it difficult for them, not with the tangled hair and bleary eyes and countless bruises— not with the way Izumi wouldn’t let her get five steps away from him.
Her boyfriend was clingy after sex, a fact she was enjoying immensely up until a second ago. Now, she kind of wants to kick him away and make a run for the hills.
“Good morning,” Kyousuke greets, bringing a coffee mug up to his lips to no doubt hide the stupid grin settling there. Honestly, she’s glad he isn’t saying anything more, but then Souta asks: “Kyouko? Were you in a fight?” And really, she cannot deal with this.
She goes back upstairs, ignoring Souta’s confused questioning, dragging Izumi with her, and tries to keep her composure for both their sakes because she swears she can see smoke coming out of his ears.
Groaning, she falls into his arms and lets him slow her heartbeat down to something resembling normal.
“I’m going to die,” she declares unceremoniously, voice a little too blank considering the statement. Izumi chuckles, a stilted little sound. He brings her arms up around his waist and wraps his own around her neck, securing her against him. She breathes him in, the smell of rain and daisies, and it melts the tension off her shoulders.
“Your dad winked at me,” he reveals, sounding just as miserable as she feels. She shouldn’t laugh but she does, moving past embarrassment and landing on hysterical.
She untangles herself and pushes him to get dressed, figuring it would be easier to go to school than deal with whatever it is her family has to say. She takes a moment to survey the damage as he strips off his shirt, eyes tracing the lines of his tattoo and itching to touch, never mind the fact that they had been all over each other as soon as they woke up. She counts the fresh bruises from the old ones and feels longing resurface all over again. God, he made her insatiable.
Kyouko doesn’t make any attempts to hide her staring, watching him with diligence that may be out of place for the circumstances, but the smirk on Izumi’s face is entirely too satisfied for her to stop. Confidence suits him well and she has no qualms about appreciating what’s hers.
Neither of them mentions it when he opts to keep the top buttons of his uniform shirt undone, or when she forgoes her tights in favour of knee-length socks. The bruises in the shape of her lips sit on display along the expanse of his neck and collarbone, the same way the indents in the shape of his hands stand as a stark contrast against the pale skin of her thighs. Despite the mortification of the morning, Kyouko is self-aware enough to realize that she wants the stares of her classmates and friends, wants them to glance her way and know immediately who she belongs to.
She never took herself for an exhibitionist but Izumi seemed hell-bent on uncovering her every filthy desire. By the look on his face, he knew it too and was enjoying himself tremendously.
They rush out the door, makeshift apologies and promises to come over for dinner falling from Izumi’s lips in a wave, but her mom stops her right before she leaves, gentle smile never wavering.
“You’re still taking your birth control?” She asks softly, running a hand through Kyouko’s hair. Suddenly, she feels like a little girl again, crying alone in her room with a fever she didn’t know how to make go away and wishing her mom would hold her.
She nods, swallowing around the boulder in her throat. Her mom looks at her for a moment longer, something like regret in her eyes, but lets Kyouko go with a kiss on her forehead.
The walk to school is uneventful after the mess of the morning. Izumi is still clinging, holding her hand and trailing after her like a lost puppy, and it’s too cute for her to do anything but smile indulgently.
Their classmates, as expected, are wide-eyed and stricken as soon as the two of them make it in the door. Kyouko hears them whisper, sees colour bloom across their cheeks, and well, maybe euphoric wasn’t the right word but she thinks that’s what she feels right now.
Yuki starts cackling at the first sight of them, bending over and clutching her stomach, slapping at Tooru as if to check if he was seeing the same thing. He is predictably shocked into silence, gaping like he wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to say, and then settling on a deep, exhausted groan.
“Hori, what the fuck.”
Yeah, she guesses she deserves that.