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filtheopathic · 4 months ago

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ode to a situationship — otoya eita

PART 2 - the sixth time

WC - 4.3k

SYN - The ball is in your court now.

CW - [18+!] afab!reader mentioned to be wearing makeup and heels, alcohol mention, dubcon (bc of alcohol), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv sex, premature ejaculation, orgasm denial sort of - [terms used : babe, baby]

SERIES MASTERLIST — PREV — NEXT

the sixth time:

You and Otoya are a match made in hookup heaven, that much becomes clear rather quickly.

It’s easy, it’s fun. You’re hot and you banter with him. You laugh at his jokes despite calling them lame. And you’re kind of a freak (but Otoya is into that).

Most importantly, you don’t expect much from him besides a few mind-shattering orgasms like every other week or so. And even that expectation isn’t much of an expectation at all, seeing as you’ve never texted him first to hook up. The ball has been in his court this whole time.

Day-drinking with the girls is what changes that.

When Otoya receives a string of text messages from you in the middle of the day, his immediate reaction is something between fear and fascination. But once he sees that they start with ‘I’m 4 mimosas deep at brunch’ and end with ‘I’m so horny’, he lightens up significantly. Without a second thought he sends you his address (something Karasu has told him to not fuckin’ do anymore, since the last scorned woman who showed up seeking retribution through vandalism mistook his car for Otoya’s) and returns his attention to his video game.

You’re outside his complex within the hour, lipgloss rubbed off and legs on display.

On your way in, you realize hazily that this is your first time in his apartment. It’s spacious and well-furnished. Definitely a “man apartment” but everything is stylishly minimal and clean, the layout clearly thought-out. The walls are mostly empty except for a massive tv and a couple framed pieces of art, one of which seems to be some sort of action movie poster. Your eyes fall to a shelf where a cluster of pictures stands beside a small row of books.

All of the pictures are of men in soccer uniforms. Otoya is easy to spot amongst the group, if only because he seems so mellow compared to the imposing energy surrounding him. If their auras are loud and fiery, some even quite dark, then his is quiet and chilled, but still striking in its own way. Your attention gravitates to it immediately, just as it had when you first met. That makes you smile to yourself just a little.

One of the photos features him and a couple other teammates, all with medals hanging around their necks. Their uniforms are littered with grass-green scuffs, sweat glistening on toned skin, and you can see hints of a stadium in the background. It’s obvious that they’ve just won a match, and by the looks on the other men’s faces it was an important one. Otoya’s face is impassive as always, but you recognize the pride there only because you’ve come to know that shine in his eyes.

You knew he was a professional athlete, but the gravity of it all hadn’t really hit you. You made it a point to avoid googling his name and it simply wasn’t in your nature to fawn over the men you messed around with, especially ones with obvious egos.

(“You play soccer?”

“Yeah,” Otoya says coolly, leaning back against your kitchen counter with a post-sex sluggishness.

“Are you, like, good?”

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes shine with a boyish sort of pride. “Yeah. They call me ‘the ninja’.”

You scowl at him, amusement barely concealed beneath. “Sure they do.”)

You settle into his couch while making idle conversation. You tell him of the day’s drunken shenanigans with your girls, and he informs you that he’s leaving the country tomorrow, traveling for a match. It’s all very casual and comfortable, even if you are buzzing with anticipation. You came here to get railed and he’s asking if you want to watch a movie (one he’d heard about from a teammate and thought you’d like) — you suspect he’s toying with you on purpose.

It’s fun for him, you think, to mess with you like this. You’re not the type to blush easy, so instead he settles for frustrating you. It’s irritating, of course, but you can’t deny that the push-and-pull is entertaining. There’s a charm to it that has kept you coming back these last couple months.

Otoya throws his arm over the back of the couch and aims the remote at the tv, but you don’t let him get very far before you’re running your hand up the side of his neck and into his hair. Forward. Suggestive without speaking a word.

His eyes cut over to you. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Ignoring the moniker, you press on, now toying with the jewelry in his earlobe. “Thought my texts were clear.”

“I prefer face-to-face communication.”

You grip under his jaw and gently force him to look at you. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Wow. At least buy me dinner first.”

But his words have no weight like his greedy hands. They find your hips and pull you smoothly into his lap, and at the same time your mouth — impatient and still tasting of citrus — envelops his. Movie officially forgotten, you begin making out in earnest right there on his living room couch.

Kissing Otoya has become familiar in a way that sheds uncertainty. It’s no longer clumsy like the first time, and not so experimental like the next few times; there’s a comfortable ease settling in now. Still hungry, still undeniably lustful, but easy. A smooth flow, a familiar rhythm.

The heat steadily rises between you, kisses getting wetter, bolder. You bite and pull on his lower lip the way you know he likes, smiling at the groan you get out of him. And with a force he knows you like, he palms the back of your neck and deepens the kiss, his tongue pressing forward to slide against yours.

A hand searches up under your shirt, smoothing over the curve of your lower back. The skin-to-skin contact makes you even more impatient. You know he’s taking his time with you, exploiting your eagerness to bring you to desperation — and it’s working. All the light groans and chaste touches are making you throb. You need him to touch you — really touch you. In a subconscious search for that friction you bare down on his lap and roll your hips back, gasping lightly into his mouth when the hard shape of him presses into you.

“You have to take responsibility for that, you know,” he says, breathless but still smug.

You want to call him an asshole, tell him that he’s the one who should be taking responsibility, but his hands are already gripping your hips, fingers sinking into plush skin and holding you still as he grinds up into you.

Fuck.

You know you say it out loud by the way his eyes light up like a fox on a hunt. His hold on your hips tightens.

“You want it that bad?” His lips are close to your ear now, voice low and teasing. Hands guiding you to grind down on him again, and again. “What was it you said in those texts? You miss my dick and you’re so horny?”

Otoya shifts his grip, palms smoothing over your ass and squeezing hard. You’re so wet you can feel the stickiness of it when he grabs you, the slip of your panties when he guides you over his cock. You’re turning to jelly in his lap and he knows it.

“I wanna hear you say it. Don’t get shy now.”

He’s right, of course, you do want it that bad, you did say all that shit — but you don’t want to say it out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction a second time — not yet, not like this.

You need to get the reins back.

Otoya gives them up easily, making no moves to resist when you untangle yourself and shift your weight. Crawling down to the floor, you hook both hands in the waistband of his sweats as you go and pull lightly in request — “Take these off.” You ignore his question, and he forgets it immediately.

In a smooth, quick motion, he pulls his sweats and boxers down and kicks them off to the side, baring himself to you with a thinly veiled excitement. Spreading his legs wide, he slides his hips down further on the seat of the couch. There’s a cool confidence ever present in his body, bordering on cocky as he settles back into the cushions and looks down at you expectantly. Like he’s waiting for you to put on a show for him. It’s as infuriating as it is arousing, and it’s exactly what you were seeking out by texting him in the first place.

His cock stands long and hard, arching back towards his abdomen, almost mocking in how pretty it is. Smooth and milky in color, not thick but more than satisfying in length. You take him in your hand, squeezing and giving a slow, experimental pump as you shift closer. He smells like men’s body wash and a light, natural musk that clings to his skin. It fills your head, makes you feel drunk all over again.

Heavy-lidded and hazy, you rub your cheek against his dick like a cat with its favorite toy. Up, down, then across to the other cheek with a firm grip on the base, disregarding the way it might sully your makeup. You’re taking your time – returning the favor. Otoya keeps himself steady, and you know by the way his gaze keeps flickering to your lips that he’s fighting the urge to take over and press himself past them.

You smack him gently against the side of your face just to feel the weight. His stomach tenses, his grip on his patience weakening by the second.

“Been thinking about this all day…” you admit, your voice a low drag of arousal, “Could barely focus at brunch. I just kept thinking about how badly I needed to suck your dick.”

You run your lips up the side of him, breath warm on his skin. “It made me so wet to think about. Almost wanted to touch myself right there under the table. If I had gotten any more drunk I might have.”

Otoya curses under his breath. You smile.

His tip is nice and flushed now, glistening with precum that’s been steadily leaking with each pulse and twitch. You wet your lips with it, still teasing, before dipping your tongue in to taste. Otoya breathes in, tense.

“Stay still,” you tell him, “Be good.”

Arousal clouds your mind after that, and you feel his hand gently push your hair out of your face as you finally suck the tip of him into your mouth. You rest there for a moment, sucking and massaging the underside of it with your tongue until you feel his body tense even further, then you let yourself drop down.

The cockiness melts away with Otoya’s head falling back between his shoulders.

The satisfaction of it is indescribable. Not just the power trip that comes with hearing him moan into the open air of his living room, but the feel of him. Maybe it’s the bit of alcohol still swirling in your system, or your own oral fixation, but the fit of him inside your mouth makes your head swim. His skin is warm, practically radiating, and firm pressed against the flat of your tongue. Thick enough to form your lips around nicely and long enough to make you strain.

You take him as far down as you can without gagging and suck all the way back up. The act pulls a pleased little mmm from your chest, like having him in your mouth is quenching some animal thirst.

Your gaze finds Otoya’s again, lashes fluttering as you take him deeper this time. He’s watching you greedily, eyes a shocking green in the bright light of daytime, even with his hair in his face and his lids heavy.

Your mouth is getting wetter now, drool gathering around his cock and leaving it shining when you pull back up. Down, up, down — a steady, rhythmic bob of your head that’s quickly getting sloppier and louder. Down again, with your throat as open as you can manage to try and take him to the base, hand coming up to cup his balls as though you may just stuff them into your mouth once you swallow the rest of him — and you gag loudly right before you make it. It’s a lewd, wet sound that leaves you looking pleased when you pull off. Otoya breathes out a curse.

“So good,” he murmurs as he gathers your hair in his hands, holding it away from your face, “You’re so fucking good.”

You’re the cocky one now, the feeling curling around your body and guiding you to… well, put on a show. But it’s not to entertain so much as it’s a compulsion. You just feel so sexy. The sensation pumps through your veins, hot and euphoric, and you continue to feed it with his reactions. You’re good at this; even without the explicit praise you could tell by the squeeze in his voice. The way he hisses through his teeth and his thigh flexes under your palm.

You know how you must look — on your knees, still fully dressed besides the kitten heels you left by his door. Your eyes sparkling with the tears that have sprung up from your gag reflex. Your cheeks hollowed, lips forming a tight wet ring around his cock, leaving the last hint of your lip gloss on his skin. If your mouth wasn’t full you might just tell him to pull out his phone and take a picture so you can admire the sight too – the way he so clearly is, with your hair in his hands and his gaze fixated on your face.

Down again, with a loose jaw and hungry determination, and when you feel him hit the back of your throat you push.

“Holy shit—”

You pull off with a dramatic intake of breath, replacing your throat with a hand and pumping his length. Pursing your lips, you push out more of the saliva that’s been flooding your mouth and watch it fall onto the head of his cock, dripping and disappearing into the mess. It wets your palm, singing out loud schlick-schlick-schlick sounds with your movements.

Otoya can’t help himself now, so it seems, as he reaches out and swipes his thumb over the shine on your lips. It slips in after a moment and you suck, missing the feeling, your hand still twisting up and down his cock.

“Pretty little mouth…” his thumb presses down, running along your tongue as you drop your jaw open and stick it out for him, spit dripping from the tip. Nasty, messy. “Fuck, come here—“

He’s kissing you before you’ve even climbed back up, leaning forward and over where you’re still resting on your knees. It’s deep and wet. Hungry. He guides you with one hand on your throat and the other on the back of your head, making you pliant as he licks and sucks and tastes himself on your tongue. So sloppy and shamelessly horny that your attention is drawn back to the sticky throb between your legs.

In a sudden rush of hands, you end up standing with your bottoms peeled from your skin and thrown off to the side. He kisses over your stomach, your hips. There’s a hunger there that you’re too impatient to feed, instead pushing him back lightly so you can straddle his lap.

You’re kissing again, getting lost in the rhythm of his mouth on yours. Otoya is a good kisser — so good that if you were anybody else and here for any other reason you’d be suspicious of him. Instead you just moan when he sucks on your tongue, and lift your chin for him when he begins to wander down to bite bruises into your neck.

It’s a practiced sort of maneuver, you think, to get down towards your chest — one he’s performed so many times that it’s become muscle memory. But you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s carefully pulling your top down under your breasts and finally fitting them into his palms. He squeezes and pushes them together, then greets your hardened nipple with his tongue before enveloping it in his mouth. Your back arches into the heat.

As if just remembering what you came here for, you sit down fully on his lap. You’ve been hovering over him, distracted by his mouth after putting your knees to the cushions, but now you let your weight settle down — and trap his cock right beneath your pussy.

Immediately, you want to feel some friction. To soothe that desperate ache that’s swelled between your legs. With an assured roll of your hips, you drag your pussy up along the underside of his cock. It slips deliciously against him, wet skin on firm wet skin, and Otoya releases your nipple with a moan, face twisting at the sensation.

Something sadistic dances on your lips.

“You’re gonna take responsibility for that,” you pull his attention up with a firm grip on his jaw, your faces so close you can feel him pant, “right?”

You grind back and forth, agonizingly slow, so warm but not warm enough – so wet but he knows it could be wetter. A breath pushes out from his chest, something between a laugh and a pained huff. “Whatever you want, babe.”

His tip catches on your entrance and his breath catches with it, but you change the angle and continue your smooth glide along his length.

You smirk. “Tell me you want it.”

Where you may have reservations about begging to be fucked, Otoya has none. He’d bark and do tricks if it meant you’d put his dick inside you faster.

“I want it.”

“How bad?”

Green eyes flutter closed at the next roll of your hips, satisfaction clear on his features despite the position he’s in – perhaps because of the position he’s in.

“Really bad.”

The pleasure is already building, desperate and swollen as you drag your clit against him.

“I’m gonna use you to cum.” You brace a hand on his knee and hook the other around the back of his neck, giving him a delicious view and pulling his head down to appreciate it. Like this, you also have better leverage to really move your hips the way you need. Getting nothing but sweet, mind-numbing friction on your clit that you chase greedily.

And like a perfect, willing toy he lets you. Watches the head of his cock appear and disappear from between your legs, all wrapped up in your slick heat without being fully satisfying. His chest is flushed and heaving, little mms and ahs pushing from it with each breath.

“Gonna use you to cum just like this,” you repeat, voice going tight with pleasure, “and then you’re going to fuck me.”

Otoya has nothing to say to that, no protest or saucy response. He just cups his hands under the fat of your breasts and enjoys the view of you unraveling.

And unravel you do — quickly. You’ve been sexually frustrated all day and it shows as your body quivers, movements becoming sloppy. His cock is throbbing, so hard it’s pushing up against you with resistance and giving your swollen clit just enough pressure to send you careening towards the edge. You gasp out a little oh and his eyes dart up to your face.

“Yeah? Already?”

Otoya’s hands are back on your hips, forcing you to keep grinding like earlier but now with no clothing to separate you — now with your bare cunt on him, slippery and hot and so, so sensitive. It’s agonizing. You can feel your body chasing and running away from the sensation in equal parts, but he holds you tightly down on him even as your nails begin to dig into his skin.

“Do it,” he tells you, leaning back into the cushions so he can watch. “Come on, baby. I’m— ah, dying to fuck you. I’ll say please, if that’s what you want.”

You don’t have the chance to take him up on the offer.

In a flash-bang of pleasure, you throw your head back and cum. Loudly, selfishly. Waves of heat overtake your senses and pour right out of you as your pussy floods itself over his cock. It coats him in fresh arousal, adding even more slip. Otoya keeps you moving, hands pushing and pulling as you ride out your orgasm to oversensitivity, but the added lubrication gives you both what you’ve been dying for — his cock finally slipping into your still-spasming cunt.

A synchronized groan fills the living room.

There’s only a split second of pause before Otoya is wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down, then burying himself up inside you to the hilt. And your cunt doesn’t resist in the slightest, so wet and ready from your orgasm that it’s practically welcoming him home. Another pause — your entrance stretched around the base of him, your insides squeezing his hard length — and then he begins to move.

His pace is immediately brutal, hips meeting yours in hard, precise smacks, teeth gritting in your ear as he holds you against him. “If you’re gonna use me, you gotta use me completely right?”

The couch creaks with the weight, both arms tight around your waist to keep you steady while his hips snap up into you. Your pussy drools down over his length as it pumps in and out, making it shine in the weakening daylight, giving him all the lube he needs to give you exactly what you came here for — to be fucked.

Spurred on by the overwhelming pleasure of finally, finally being filled, you begin to bounce on his lap to meet his thrusts. It feels so good, everything you’ve been wanting, his cock spearing you open and reaching up inside you, dragging against your walls and sending euphoria licking up your spine. He fills you up perfectly, something you’ve become accustomed to. Just enough to make your toes curl but not too much to make it hurt. The perfect size to squeeze around and cum on.

And you’re going to — oh god, you’re going to any second now. You’ve given yourself over to the chase at this point, lost to the pump of his cock inside you, shameless in your pursuit of your next orgasm — uncaring of the way he’s suddenly gone still beneath you, his hands death-gripping your waist and his eyes flying open in panic.

“Oh fuck— wait, fuck—“

He pulls you up off of him, hurriedly slipping out of you and reaching around your thigh to squeeze— but he’s too late. Hot cum splatters up onto your ass and lower back. It shoots from his dick in hard spurts, his fist wringing the rest of it out as he makes a whiny sound of defeat. His hips buck a few times, rubbing his tip against the fat of your ass like he can’t help it while the last of his load dribbles out and smears onto your skin.

Otoya slumps into the couch beneath you, eyes closed and panting. You blink, the initial shock settling, and then you can’t help but snicker. If he’s embarrassed about cumming too fast he doesn’t show it, still the picture of self-assuredness with his cock going soft against your ass. It’s better than tripping over an excuse or needing to be reassured. Plus he’s cute like this, you think, all flushed and boneless.

Feeling your gaze, he peeks up at you with one eye and you card your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Wordlessly, he pulls you down for a kiss soft enough to be mistaken for an apology.

“You wanna go again?” he asks quietly into your mouth, hands already beginning to wander.

You nip at his lower lip. “I don’t wanna break you.”

“I’m resilient.”

“I don’t wanna tire you out before your flight tomorrow.”

His tone goes faux-serious. “My training has prepared me for this.”

You giggle, and it chimes pretty in his ears. Something stirs to life in his stomach that he can’t quite put a name to. Like, if you made that same sound and pushed your tits up against him a bit more he’d very quickly get hard again. Or something like that.

“It’s ok, I still had fun,” you assure him, understanding the unsaid and appreciating the concern for your pleasure. Your cunt is still throbbing dully, deprived of it’s second orgasm but—

“I really have to go.”

The explanation stops there. No ‘I have work in the morning’ or ‘I have an appointment’ or even a lame-ass excuse like ‘I think I left the stove on.’ It’s a wide open statement that, for some shadowy reason, makes Otoya shift uneasily.

But if Otoya is good at anything, it’s shrugging off unpleasant feelings. The uneasiness is quickly replaced with an admiration for your exposed skin as you begin to make moves to leave. When you turn around and gesture to the mess of cum glistening on your backside he makes a comment about it being something to remember him by, but ultimately passes you the boxers he’d been wearing to clean it up. (“They’re just going in the laundry anyway.”)

With the cab called and your heels shimmied back onto your feet, you straighten up in his entryway and let him peck you on the lips one last time.

“Make it up to me next time,” you say with a flirtatious lilt, creating distance between you as you back out the door and turn to leave.

Otoya watches your hips switch as you make your way down the hall and you throw him a look over your shoulder, gaze lingering for a moment before the door shuts behind you.

Next time.

A pleasant feeling washes over him; relief, maybe, mixed with something else — something heavier.

NOTE - ty for getting this far!! just wanted to pop in and say i appreciate you for reading <3 and if you rb and leave me comments then we may just have to get married. ok bye ily

#ty to my 5 friends who are interested in this update hehehe. genuinely this is for u <3 #filthopedia #tw alcohol #otoya eita x reader #otoya x reader #bllk x reader

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