#and for him to LEARN HIS GODDAMN LESSON | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iniquitousyearning · 8 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

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rafesangelita · 7 months ago

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rafe + predator/prey with bambi?

warnings: dark!rafe (he’s nice at first), bratty behavior, dom/sub themes, slight arguing, shouting, manhandling, fear play, rafe chases you around tanneyhill, hide and seek, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, slapping, impact play (?), asphyxiation, lots of dirty talk, squirting, size kink, breeding kink, baby trapping threats, degradation

w/c: 2.2k

rafe knew the second you slammed the door shut in his face that you had forgotten your place. all the soft, sappy sex you two had been indulging in had officially altered your brain chemistry into thinking you could lock him out of his room in his own house. “open this door, y/n.” rafe hadn’t raised his voice at you in a long time, and while he didn’t want to, it wasn’t long before he felt his patience running thin as you continued to ignore him and give him the silent treatment. you stood on the other side of the door, a pout gracing your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“i’m trying to sort this out with you, baby, but you’re making that really hard for me right now..” rafe spoke gently, his fists balling up at his sides. “you know.. the last thing i wanna come home to when i’ve had a rough day is an attitude and a temper tantrum.” he attempted to twist the door knob, your heart beating in your ears when it started rattling against the hardwood. “i’ve been so good with you, i think you’ve forgotten just how fast things can change, bambi.” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

of course you didn’t want to be on his bad side, but something about the way his voice dropped a few octaves as if he was giving you a warning made you step closer to the door. “open it or i’ll do it myself.” for a moment there, you almost did as he said, your hand reaching down for the door knob before you heard him whisper something underneath his breath. “fuckin’ brat.” you froze just as your fingers grazed the cold metal. he wasn’t going to like what you did next. taking a step back, you shuddered as you watched the shadow of his feet. “n-no.” you whimpered, your heart beating in your chest.

rafe laughed, his jaw ticking as he felt anger boiling underneath his skin. “what was that? what did you say?” surely he wasn’t hearing right. “i said no, rafe!” you yelled back, running to the corner of his room that was furthest from the door. that did it. rafe said goodbye to any kind of restraint he had left, deciding you were going to learn your lesson about saying that little two-lettered word to him. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rafe let out a breath before backing away. “are you near the door?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. “no—”

before you could say anything else, rafe barged in, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges as your hands shot up to cover your ears. you stared at him doe eyed and terrified, his eyes finding yours as he rolled his shoulders back. “i didn’t want to do that..” he stalked over to you, wrapping a hand around your throat before pressing you against the wall, “why do you have to make me be the bad guy, huh?” you gasped, clasping a palm around his wrist. “please— i’m sorry!” rafe stared you down, his eyes nothing but two black holes as his grip around your throat tightened.

“are you? it seemed like you just wanted to piss me off back there,” he dragged you towards his bed, throwing you down before pinning your elbows to the mattress and slotting himself between your thighs, “that goddamn silent treatment, you know i can’t stand that shit.” his face was centimeters away, his breath fanning your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. “you know what i have to do now, right?” you shook your head, fear bubbling in your chest as you remembered the last time he had to ‘punish’ you. “please! i’ll be good, rafe! ‘don’t want to make you mad anymore..”

closing the distance between you two, rafe kissed you softly, wiping away the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek. “i’m gonna give you a ten second head start to run, and if you decide to hide instead, you better make sure i don’t fuckin’ find you,” he whispered against your lips, “now, get the fuck outta here.” rafe moved aside, your chest rising and falling as you slipped out of the room, your feet skittering across the floor as you started running away from him. you swore your heart was beating a million times per second, the fear of being caught making your blood run cold.

you had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before you looked up and saw rafe making his way out of the room. he was far too fast for you to outrun him, panic setting in as you started scouring through the halls of tanneyhill. coincidentally, all of the rooms were locked. rafe must’ve did that when you first mouthed off to him, having known how this night would end. “please, please, please!” you struggled trying to open the door to each room only to fall short when the knobs didn’t even budge. “come on..” you whined, rounding the corner of the hallway.

“you look so pretty when you’re scared.” you spun around on your heels, a half scream leaving your lips as rafe started jogging down the long hallway. running across the kitchen, and into the living room, rafe’s laughter echoed throughout the house as he chased you around the couch. “you’re gonna fuckin’ get it.” as a last resort attempt to throw him off, you grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and threw it at him so you could run up the stairs. just as he caught it, he tripped over his own feet before you made your way into his study, crawling underneath his desk.

clamping a hand over your mouth, you panted softly through your nose as rafe’s footsteps sounded up the staircase. “so you decided to hide after all, huh?” your heart was slamming against your ribcage as he got closer. “i was really hoping you didn’t do that.” he almost sounded apologetic as he stepped into the room next door. you removed your hand from your mouth, fiddling with the ‘R’ pendant on your necklace. “if i get my hands on you.. god, you might just hate me.” just as it sounded like he walked past the room you were in, your heart dropped to your stomach when the door suddenly opened.

rafe walked around, stopping right in front the desk. “one of my favorite things about you is your perfume. it’s so sweet, it’s almost like you leave a trail behind you everywhere you go..” you didn’t even get to react before he was pulling you out by your feet, your screams echoing in his ears. “you make it so easy, baby, it’s like you wanted to be caught.” he pulled you up by your arms, dragging you out of the study and back to his bedroom. he forced you down on your knees, grabbing ahold of your chin as he fumbled with his belt.

“wanna talk back when i’m being nice to you? fine. i’ll just put your mouth to better use.” he said through gritted teeth. clasping your hands behind your back, you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. “listen to me when i say this, yeah?” he slipped his thumb between your lips, “right now you’re not my pretty little girlfriend, alright? you’re a slut.” your skirt rode up your thighs as you spread your legs, sitting back on your heels while you waited for rafe to stuff your throat full. upon his cock springing out of his pants, you whimpered pathetically at the butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

he stroked himself, a groan leaving his lips as he tapped his hardened cock against your tongue. “open that mouth, baby, you know how i like it.” you licked the tip, wrapping your lips around the throbbing head as he threaded his fingers in your hair. “i work all day, deal with my dad’s shit, fuck— all just to come home to that bratty behavior of yours..” he cursed under his breath as you took him deeper into your mouth. “ungrateful sluts like you deserve to be used like this.” you moaned around his length, your eyes widening when he hit the back of your throat.

“oh, my god,” rafe’s jaw went slack, his head tilting to the side as he watched you take him in and out of those pretty lips of yours. “look at me, give me those eyes.” you pulled away for a moment, gasping for air as you flashed your teary orbs at him. rafe didn’t know the logic behind it, but seeing you cry, so drunk off of his cock, he swore it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “holy, fuck!” he smiled down at you, his hips stuttering as you took him inch by glorious inch. “my greedy little cock whore, ‘doing so good for me.” you batted your eyes innocently, the action making him hiss.

“i wish you were good all the time, now i have to hurt you, bambi.” he pulled you up, lifting you off of the ground before slamming you down on the bed. you gasped at the impact, your boyfriend sliding your bottoms off before giving you a light smack across your cheek. “you’re so wet down here, baby. shit, you’re just glistening.” rafe tore your thighs apart, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off as you ran a foot down his toned stomach. he pinned your thighs to your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees. “you want this?” he ran his cock between your folds.

your eyes fluttered shut, his tip grazing your needy clit. “please give it to me. ‘wanna be good for you again!” you cried, a sob ripping itself from your throat as he thrusted into you without warning. “fuck!” rafe covered your mouth, ripping your top off so he could watch your tits bounce underneath him. the slick sound of your cunt filled the space of rafe’s room, your cheeks heating as you listened to yourself make a mess on his cock. “so fuckin’ tight, you’re pulling me back in,” he groaned, “i might just fill you up, ‘trap you with my baby..” you moaned, unintentionally clenching around him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he pulled your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two were connected. you moaned, your lips parting as you watched him pull out and slowly slide back in. “this cock looks like it’s splitting you wide open,” he brought a hand down and started rubbing hard circles on your clit, “my pretty little thing.” you cried out, your back arching off of the mattress when you felt the familiar tension building in your core. his hand was damn near the size of your head, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust. “gonna.. oh, my god!”

rafe groaned when your orgasm hit you, a piercing scream leaving your lips as a stream of wetness soaked his lower abdomen. you laid there shaking, your nails raking down rafe’s chest as you sucked him in impossibly tighter. taking his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe didn’t slow down the work on your sensitive bundle of nerves, overstimulation setting in when you started taking the pleasure with the pain. “no more!” you gasped, your thighs closing around his waist as you attempted to squirm away from his touch. he slapped you across your cheek, forcing you to keep your eyes open.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. this is what you wanted when you decided to act the way you were acting earlier, huh? shut the fuck up and take this cock.” he shoved your head into the pillows, the entirety of his palm covering your face as he chased his own high, ignoring your screams and cries. rafe watched the tears flow down your cheeks, his fingers becoming wet as he groaned at the sight. “keep crying for me and i’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt— ah fuckkk!” rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your neck before his hips stuttered, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“fuckin’ hell!” he uncovered your face, admiring the pretty curve of your lips while he came, those gorgeous eyes just twinkling up at him while he filled you to the brim with his seed. rafe nestled himself deep inside of you, stilling his movements as you two reveled in the feeling of his cum painting the softness of your walls. looking into his eyes, you could see the exact moment he switched into being your boyfriend again, his gaze softening as he cupped your face, his cock still twitching inside of you. pulling out with a curse, rafe was quick to pull you against his chest.

“you okay, bambi?” he pecked your cheek, rubbing a hand against your side as you blinked, still unable to form thoughts as your body occasionally jolted with the aftershocks of your orgasm. you didn’t answer, instead you snuggled into his skin, your eyes shutting as sleep pulled at your lids. you were going to be so sore tomorrow, your muscles already aching as rafe pulled the comforter over the two of you.

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cremeful · 18 days ago

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dad bf!smoke ( 35 ) x young!reader ( 24 ). icky.. kinda ? anal .. filthy older!man smoke .. thank uuu @tojisteddy for da inspo.. :3

dad bf!smoke is very mean, meaner than the old man that lives at the end of your street. He is rough in all the ways a 35 year old man can be, always fussin about your micro skirts, too small baby tees and how you just run your mouth like you pay the bills.

"m' not gonna tell you again, watch yer' fuckin mouth" his grip on your chin is tight, harsh. you reach your hand up to pry his hand off of you but his grip tightens. the one thing smoke hates is a brat, a girl who acts with no manners or disregard for no one but herself, you know that.

"knock. it. off." his voice low, steady and serious. by this point you should know you’re walking on very thing ice with his patience's; not that he had any to begin with. "you understand me? i'm not gonna say it again." yet the words you said next were anything but saving whatever patience's he had. "you aren't my dad. i can do what i want." it's not what you said, it's how you said it. smirking, like there was a joke being told. that set him off, he snatches you off the couch and pulls you across his lap, yanking down your too little skirt letting out a 'tsk' in between his teeth. "m' not yer' dad, yet i pay for all your shit, feed you, put up with your nasty attitude and you wanna say m' not yer' goddamn dad." he says it under his breath with a scoff followed behind.

"such a disrespectful little girl, i'll tell ya that." he keeps mumbling things that fall deaf upon your ears, your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear at the moment. you try wriggling out of his grasp but its tighter than the grip he had on your chin earlier. you never seen him this mad, this rough with you. it makes you wet. "quit fuckin movin." he grits out, pushing your legs down and placing his over top of yours. your skirt half way down your thighs, yours light pink underwear sits half way off your ass. He yanks them down, spreading your pussy apart "gonna stretch this little cunt until you break." he says it as promise.

you let out a small whimper, biting your lip before responding to him. "yea, i bet you'd like that. breaking a girl half your age, pussy in. you're a pervert." your giggles turn into gasps when you feel him dribble out spit from his mouth to your puckering brown hole, he circles his thumb before pushing past the tight ring, "theree, we go." dragging out his words, followed by a heavy hand onto your bare ass. "why do you still think yer' gonna get the last word?, huh?" He moves his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your soft curls until your scalp aches. "yer' gonna learn your lesson realll good today, no more games which you." his voice is mean, fed up.

he spanks your ass raw. so hard and raw that you feel heat rising from your skin, welts showing minutes later. you're a mess, face soaked from tears, voice raw from apologizing. He meant it when he said you'll learn your lesson, today. He pulls you off his lap, making you kneel in front of him. your breath this uneven, sobs broken, sniffling to try to relax yourself. Before smoke could even address you, you speak out through your sniffles "p-pa-papa, 'm sorry. i dd-didn't mean to-" He cuts you off, hushing you, pulling you into his chest, " i know baby, but you have to listen to daddy when he tells you to do something, mkay?" he says it softly, rubbing your back.

you nod your head, he pulls away taking your head in-between his hands. "just need a good fuckin dats all." he unzips his pants, pulling you up onto his lap, lining himself up to your wet pussy. you push down onto him, gasping at the stretch falling forward on his shoulder by now your panting out moans. you lazily bounce up and down but its not enough for you, he notices. grabbing you by the hips and bouncing you up in down on his cock, he bullies his fat cock up into you.

#cremeful / / 18 + 𓂃 no minors ! !#sinners fics #sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke sinners #smoke x reader #micheal b jordan x reader smut #smoke x reader smut #smoke x black reader #smoke x fem!black!reader smut

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moondustbaby · 1 month ago

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Lesson Plan

bsf!rafe x bsf!reader

*repost*

cw: smut, oral (m rec), inexperienced reader

mdni 18+

summary: You’ve never gone down on anyone before. But if you were ever going to learn… it was always going to be Rafe.

⸻

Your bedroom is quiet except for the low hum of your fan and the occasional shuffle of Rafe’s hand over yours.

He’s sitting at the edge of your bed, legs spread, his fingers making lazy circles against the bare skin of your wrist. You’re kneeling on the rug between his knees hands resting on his thighs, looking up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“I feel stupid,” you murmur, picking at the hem of your oversized t-shirt.

Rafe smirks, eyes heavy and warm. “You’re not stupid, baby.”

You roll your eyes at the pet name, but your face is hot. You’re not used to hearing it like this. Not when you’re kneeling. Not when Rafe’s sitting there, thick and hard beneath the gray fabric of his boxers.

You swallow.

“I just… I’ve never done this before,” you admit, voice soft. “And I don’t wanna be bad at it.”

Rafe’s thumb lifts to trace your cheekbone. “You’re not gonna be bad at it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ll tell you what to do. And because it’s me,” he says with a crooked little smile. “You really think I’d complain about my best friend sucking my dick for the first time ever?”

You hide your face in your hands.

“Okay, okay—shutting up,” he says, laughing. “C’mere.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “I’m already ‘here.’”

“Shut up,” he grins, tucking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. “You ready?”

Your stomach flips. You nod.

He frees himself slowly, thick and already leaking at the tip. You bite your lip. It’s intimidating, a little… but you feel your thighs press together just from looking at him.

“You can touch it,” he says gently, like he’s giving you permission.

You glance up at him, then wrap your hand around the base. His cock twitches.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that.” His voice is raspier now.

You stroke him once, then again. His head tips back for a second. Your chest flutters.

He opens his eyes, looking down at you.

“Lick the tip,” he says, voice low. “Nice and slow.”

You lean in, tongue darting out to swipe across it. Salty. Warm. The tiniest moan escapes Rafe’s throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Do that again.”

You do—drag your tongue in a lazy circle over the head. Then press a little kiss to the slit. He lets out a breath, hips shifting slightly.

“That’s good. Now wrap your lips around it. Just the tip, yeah?”

You follow his instructions, lips parting as you take him into your mouth. Only the first inch. Your hand is still at the base, holding him steady.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “That’s so fuckin’ pretty.”

You bob your head just a little, feeling bolder now.

“Okay?” you ask around him.

“Perfect. Don’t go too deep yet, just… use your tongue while you suck.”

You try. You swirl your tongue under the head, cheeks hollowing slightly as you suck. His thighs tense. His hand finds the back of your head but doesn’t push—just rests there, thumb stroking your hairline.

“You’re a fuckin’ natural,” he breathes. “My smart girl.”

You moan a little at the praise, and he groans.

“You like that?” he teases, eyes dark. “You like being my good girl?”

You nod with him still in your mouth, which makes him hiss. “Jesus. Keep going, baby.”

You go deeper, inching him into your mouth, letting your spit coat him. Your hand twists lightly at the base, mimicking the rhythm of your mouth. His legs are tense now, his abs flexing.

“Just like that. Little more. Yeah—fuck—right there,” he pants.

Your eyes flick up to him. His head is tipped back, mouth parted, chest rising and falling in hard breaths. You feel your panties soak, your thighs clenching.

You pull back, your mouth wet and shiny.

“How do I know if I’m doing it right?” you ask, breathless.

Rafe looks down at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“You’re making me fucking insane,” he says, voice ragged. “If you stop now I’m gonna die.”

You laugh, then lick a stripe from base to tip. He moans outright, hips jerking.

“Use both hands,” he tells you, “twist while you suck. A little spit’s good. Don’t be scared to get messy.”

You do exactly that. One hand at the base, the other twisting where your mouth ends. You let yourself get messy—spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin. You go a little deeper, a little faster, and Rafe’s groans grow louder.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, hand tightening in your hair now. “I’m—fuck—I’m not gonna last.”

You whimper a little and keep going.

“Look at me,” he says, voice strangled.

You glance up, mouth full of him, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” he groans, hips bucking. “I’m gonna come—fuck, you gotta—”

You moan and suck harder.

He comes with a choked sound, one hand gripping your hair, the other clenched at his side. Warmth hits the back of your throat, thick and salty, and you do your best to swallow around it. It’s messy, imperfect—but he groans through it, head falling back.

When you finally pull off, breathless and wide-eyed, he looks down at you like you hung the moon.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “That was your first time?”

You nod, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He laughs, cheeks flushed and eyes still blown.

“You just ruined me, baby,” he says, tugging you up by the wrist. “C’mere.”

You crawl into his lap, and he kisses you, not caring that your lips are still sticky. His hands cradle your face like you’re something sacred.

“Gonna need to return the favor,” he whispers against your mouth. “Ready for lesson two?”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: because who else would teach you how to give head if not your emotionally-attached, secretly-in-love best friend??

this fic is inspired by @rafescherie ‘s bsf!rafe bj fic go check it out here!

♥️ lani

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lmvari · 27 days ago

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⟳ 27. BLUEPRINT

Love terrified Kuni.

It was why it’s easier to pretend he didn’t care than to deal with the mess of actually feeling emotions. Because the truth was, he knew what came after.

He learned too early that love doesn’t mean staying. It left him shattered and alone.

He'd lived it twice too many times.

It started with his mother.

Sharp, elegant, composed. Always with one hand on her tea and the other on her schedule. She was the type of woman people admired from afar. Untouchable. Unshakable.

But to Kuni, she was simply his mom.

Though distant, she taught him everything he needed to, reminded him to be independent and never show weakness. A kind of tough love that you’d feel cared for.

She wasn’t perfect, but she was his entire world. She made a silent promise to be there. To guide him. To raise him right.

By fourteen, she was gone.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Just a letter and a cold set of instructions.

Kuni later found out her whereabouts through his mother’s friend. Apparently, she left the country. Started over with her life. A life that didn’t include him.

She left him the apartment. A trust fund with enough to cover school, food, a quiet kind of living. She left instructions, contacts, legal arrangements, everything a responsible parent should leave behind.

But she didn’t leave herself.

And that was the part Kuni never forgave. He felt rejected. How could someone who taught him everything just walk away? How could someone who gave life to him disappear like he wasn’t enough to stay for? She made sure he’d live. But she never once asked if he’d be okay.

But no matter how much he tried to harden himself, no matter how often he repeated her lessons in his head—

Don’t feel. Don’t break.

He still loved her.

And the thing is, the more someone taught you not to feel, the more devastating it was when you still did.

Since then, Kuni learned:

Love doesn’t mean permanence. Love is something people say until they decide they’re tired. Since then, he built a wall no one could scale, no one could touch. He never let anyone try.

But Kuni’s defenses were paper-thin.

Just before his senior year, Mona came into his life.

Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, ambitious and brilliant in ways that scared him. He didn’t mean to let her in. He told himself not to.

But she made it so goddamn easy.

She made him feel seen, like he wasn’t just someone people tolerated but someone they actually wanted. For a while, she made him believe he could be enough. To be loved. To be chosen.

But dreams don’t wait for love. And Mona had big ones. She was always chasing something—her career, the stars, a future that didn’t leave much space for someone like him.

There were days she didn’t answer his calls, weeks when she barely looked up from her screen. At first, he understood. People get busy. He could wait.

But then weeks turned into months, and Kuni slowly got tired of waiting for someone who no longer remembered to wait for him.

Still, he clung to her.

Even when the silence between them was louder than any words. Even when she drifted so far he could barely hear her voice anymore. Even when it got to the point where even he pitied himself.

He told himself she was just busy. That she’d come back.

That people could stay.

He was wrong.

Mona sits at the edge of Kuni’s bed, hands folded, back too straight. She’s already dressed, coat draped over her lap. The air between them is thick. Final.

“I got the offer in Berlin,” Mona had said, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t smiling.

Kuni didn’t ask what offer. He already knew.

“You’re leaving,” he said, even though it wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

He stared at the coffee table between them. The untouched tea. The silence.

“When?” he asked.

“Next month. It’s… it’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s my dream.”

Right. Her dream. What is he, then? Just something she happened to like along the way?

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His chest ached, but he didn’t let it show. Just leaned back against the couch and looked at her. Really looked. Memorized the way her brows furrowed when she was nervous, the way her fingers tapped her knee when she was holding something back.

“You’re not coming back,” he said as if it’s a statement.

It took her a moment to respond. She gave a small, hesitant shrug. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. Her voice was composed, but not cold—just honest. “This is something I have to do, Kuni. For myself.”

He nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

He knew. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. He knew from the start who she was. Knew she had dreams bigger than this city, than him. It was his fault for being weak and indulging in something he knew was a risk.

He wanted to come with. Drop out, leave everything behind and live a quiet life with her in another country while she pursues her dream. But he knows she would never agree to that. And staying with her while she’s away would only be a distraction and hold her back from the things that she wanted to accomplish. And he knows he would go crazy worrying about her whereabouts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He gave her a tired, bitter smile. “Don’t be. I already expected this.”

And he did. He just hadn’t realized how much of him she’d take when she left.

Kuni never hated Mona. He couldn’t.

She was doing what she had to do—what Ei had done, too.

They were both selfish, yes. Except Mona had a valid reason. And he thinks maybe that’s why he didn’t react out of anger.

He didn’t cry that night. Didn’t beg. He just sat there, eyes wide and empty, letting her go. Because he knew better than to fight for someone who’d already made up their mind.

The next morning, she was gone. And in her place was silence.

Kuni knew, deep down, that he was fragile.He let someone in, even when every part of him screamed not to. Naive. Stupid. Too soft where it mattered most.

So this time, instead of just walls, he built thorns around himself. Weapons. Barbed words, sharp silence, cold detachment. Anything to keep people at a distance. He started hooking up, messing around, destroying his reputation, losing himself in the temporary comfort of bodies that didn’t ask questions.

Because love, he decided, was just a longer word for loss.

And he was tired of losing.

But then you happened.

And Kuni wanted you.

He didn’t know it then.

The start of fourth-year.

He didn’t realize the girl at the bar, the one that suddenly sat beside him, was about to become the most emotionally confusing part of his life since the people he loved walked out and took parts of him with them.

Back then, you were just a stranger. A friend of a friend’s. A blur in the crowd. Another girl to satisfy his needs. You weren’t supposed to matter. Weren’t supposed to be more than just a one-night stand.

But you did. Somehow.

Somewhere between the stolen glances and clumsy laughter over shared drinks, between the way you didn’t flinch at his sarcasm or walk away when he got harsh and quiet—you started becoming unforgettable.

And Kuni didn’t remember people. Not like that. Not after just one night.

But that was the thing about you.

Even then, when you were both pretending, both half-lost in your own ways, you had this way of slipping under his skin like you belonged there.

He just didn’t know it yet.

“You look depressed.”

He turned to see a face he was sure he’d seen multiple times before.

Who were you again?

Oh, right.

[Surname].

The girl he usually saw with Ajax’s girlfriend in photos and parties. Usually somewhere across the room, half-laughing at something your friends said. He didn’t think you’d ever spoken directly to him before. Maybe in passing. Maybe not at all.

“And you look like someone who should mind their own fucking business,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of whatever was left in his glass.

Kuni wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit. Today was already bad enough. It was their anniversary. And he wanted to mourn it alone. So either you leave him alone or deal with his asshole attitude.

Except you didn’t go away.

Just slid onto the couch next to him like you were old friends, slouching on the backrest.

“Just saying. You’ve been sitting here for like thirty minutes, scowling into your drink like it said something rude.”

He gave you a side glance. Your lips were smirking, but your eyes were something else. Curious. Too perceptive for someone who had probably been drinking all night.

“What do you want?”

“A less boring night,” you said plainly. “You seemed like a good place to start.”

That made him laugh, just barely. People often don’t approach him first like that.

“Why are you here alone?” he asked.

“My friends bailed on me. Had a rough week,” you answered.

He simply looked at you with a side look, mulling over whether he should entertain you or not.

Well, maybe small company is okay. He decided.

The both of you talked. Nothing deep. Just enough to fill the space between glances and refills.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Your sarcasm met his in the middle. Your eyes lingered just a little too long. You leaned in when you laughed, nudged his shoulders when you disagreed. And the longer you stayed like that, the more the air between you shifted.

Warmer. Tighter.

Every brush of your knee against his felt more intentional. Every look a little heavier. You stared at him just a second too long.

Kuni found himself drawn in, caught in the way your gaze lingered. There was something disarming about you. Not in-your-face attractive like most of the girls scattered around the bar, but effortlessly magnetic. Your outfit was modest by comparison, yet the bare line of your shoulders and the way your top hugged your figure left just enough to wonder about.

Teasing, intentional, but not trying too hard.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about what you looked like underneath it.

And yet—

Yeah. Something stirred.

Shit.

He hadn’t come there to take anyone home. That wasn’t the plan that night.

He licked his lips, feeling them dry.

You looked at him again, head slightly tilted, a silent invitation hanging in the air, like you were waiting for him to say something.

Fuck it.

He mirrored your tilt, voice dropping low and lustful. “My place?”

There was no hesitation. Just a nod.

A small, knowing smile.

Kuni thought you were odd.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Just odd enough to make him notice.

Most people who came to bars like that, looking for a warm body and a night of distraction, understood the unspoken rule:

Leave in the morning.

No lingering. No breakfast. No awkward small talk pretending that what happened meant something.

One-night stands came with that silent agreement. Hit and run, no strings. It was safer that way. No messy emotions, no confusion. Either he slipped out first, or the girl did. Always.

He usually brought them back to his place, so he was used to waking up alone. On the rarer occasions when he woke up first, he’d lie in bed longer than necessary, sometimes even missing a morning class, just to avoid making it uncomfortable for the girl to make her quiet exit. It was routine. Predictable.

So when he woke up that morning after the bar, bare mattress on his back, the hangover still settling behind his eyes, he assumed it was the same as always.

You were gone. Of course you were.

He sat up, dragging a hand down his face.

But something felt off.

Kuni woke abruptly from his sleep, sweaty and heaving.

He stared at the wall, in a trance. Head throbbing from the hangover.

Fucking nightmare.

He shook the dreaded feelings away and scanned his surroundings.

The room was quiet, too quiet. But not in the empty kind of way. There was a presence still hanging in the air. The subtle sound of movement outside the room.

And that was when it hit him. He walked out of his room and into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder casually, flipping something in the pan. “Cooking breakfast.”

His eyebrows twitched. He blinked.

“Right,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “‘That’s not necessary.”

“I want to.”

There was no hesitation in your voice. Just calm certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be in a sort-of-stranger’s kitchen making breakfast after a one-night stand.

He leaned against the counter, eyeing you like you’d just sprouted a second head. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Do you always cook breakfast for them?”

That time, you did glance at him, smirking a little. “No.”

“The hell—”

“You looked lonely last night,” you said simply. “And depressed. You looked like shit. Still kinda do, honestly.”

Kuni opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, unfazed.

“Also, your apartment’s a disaster. I had the overwhelming urge to clean it. Cooking seemed like a good start.”

Kuni looks around his place, seeing all of his belonging scattered. Laundry. Trash.

Oh.

He didn’t have a strong desire to clean much ever since he started fooling around. Keeps most of the girls away.

You slid a plate with food onto the counter in front of him with practiced ease. “It’s not that deep. I just thought you could use a small win today.”

He stared at the plate, then at you, silent for a long moment.

You just smiled, turning back to the stove. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t completely, utterly confusing.

He takes in the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. You were standing there, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair messily tied back, completely at home in a place you’d only stepped into for the first time a few hours ago.

And something about that made his chest tighten. Not with warmth, but panic. It was too much. Too close. Too dangerous.

So he looked away. Swallowed hard. He walked back into his room, grabbed his phone, and when he went back out, he didn’t bother hiding the edge in his voice.

“This was a one-time thing,” he said flatly. “Don’t get comfortable.”

You froze, spatula mid-air.

He didn’t look at you.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he added, colder now. “You should head out after you eat.”

A beat passed. Silence stretching like a knife.

Still, he didn’t look.

Because if he did, he might’ve apologized. Might’ve said he didn’t mean it. Might’ve let you stay.

And he couldn’t afford that. So he hardened his voice one last time.

“Lock the door behind you. And leave my shirt.”

Then he walked out of his own apartment.

Ironically, Kuni let it happen a second time.

The one thing he swore he wouldn’t do.

Never repeat a girl. Never fall into the same pair of arms twice. Never give anyone the power to make him crave them more than once. He made that rule for a reason. To keep things clean, forgettable, and detached. It wasn’t even about morality, it was survival. Once was already too much for someone like him, someone who’d learned the hard way what happened when you let someone past the surface.

The plan was simple: drink, fuck, forget. Find a new face, a temporary escape, rinse, repeat. He didn’t even bother to learn the names of most of them.

You were supposed to be just like every other. A face he’d forget by morning.

But you weren’t.

Kuni wondered about you.

Not just in passing, not just in the shallow, fleeting way he did with others.

Unlike the others, he was already acquainted with you. He’d seen you around campus, around his friends, knew your name before he ever touched you. Got to talk to you before he even touched you.

Back then, you didn’t even cross his mind. But that night and the morning after, something shifted.

You were different, not because you tried to be, but because you didn’t. You were sarcastic, annoyingly perceptive, and knew how to keep up with him in the short time he got to talk to you.

And maybe that was the problem.

That was what scared him.

The way you deflected all of his attacks. The way you lingered in his head long after you were gone. And that was dangerous.

So when he opened his door and saw you again, three days later, he was already on edge.

Kuni opened the door halfway, eyes slightly bloodshot, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Didn’t I say it was a one-time thing?”

Cold. Defensive. Because if he let it get soft, even for a second, someone would crawl past the walls again.

You didn’t flinch. “Relax. I just need my ring.”

He took a sip before answering. “What ring?” he says, tone bored.

“The gold one. I left it by your stove.”

He blinked, recalling it, then remembered exactly what you were talking about. It was the ring he saw when he got back to his apartment.

He figured it was yours, obviously, since you’re the only girl that had the audacity to cook in his kitchen. But he didn’t really think you’d go back for it.

“You left it on purpose.” He stares at you.

“You wish. It’s a ring with sentimental value, unlike you. I just forgot about it.”

“If it’s really important, you wouldn’t’ve forgotten it,” he accuses.

“Would you just give it to me?” you glare at him.

He sighs in defeat. He walked back to his messy couch and gestured lazily. “Go get it yourself.”

He hears you mutter a frustrated ‘finally,’ before focusing back to drinking.

You walked past his living room and headed straight for the kitchen. His eyes follow you, watching with half-interest, half-irritation, nursing his drink in silence.

You found it easily, sitting there like it never moved. You stared at it for a second longer than you needed to before sliding it back onto your finger.

Then thunder cracked loud outside.

The rain had come fast and hard, lightning flickering in the windows.

“Shit,” you muttered, glancing out. “You got an umbrella?” you called over your shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Wow. Responsible.” Sarcasm. “I’m out,” he heard you say.

He didn’t respond. But he noticed how your steps slowed. How you lingered by the door, fiddling with your ring, eyes darting toward the storm. You didn’t want to go out in the pouring rain. You didn’t say it, but he could tell.

He let out a sigh and muttered without looking at you, “Stay until it stops. I’m not driving you.”

Simple. Emotionless. But you stayed.

You ended up on his couch while he poured himself another drink. He didn’t offer conversation. Not wanting the night to steer differently.

The silence stretched for minutes, but then, you surprised him again. You walked over and grabbed the bottle. Poured yourself a glass. Sat beside him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow.

You took a sip and shrugged. “What, you don’t share?”

He didn’t reply. Just let you do whatever you wanted.

Just what is it with you and being too comfortable around him.

He tried so hard not to interact, tried hard not to linger his eyes for too long. But he had a few shots already and the liquor is starting to take effect.

He took a subtle glance at you.

Then your eyes unexpectedly met his, and he was caught—just looking.

At the curve of your lips, the slope of your neck, the way your legs crossed under your oversized hoodie.

“You’re staring,” you said, lips twitching into a smirk.

He snapped his gaze away, regretting his actions.

Something was growing on him. Hard.

He shouldn’t’ve let you inside. He should’ve just gave you back the ring himself.

“I thought this was supposed to be a one-time thing,” you added, voice laced with laughter and teasing.

It hit a nerve. He didn’t reply.

You leaned in closer. The air shifted. He clenched his jaw, still silent. Still pretending it didn’t affect him.

Your fingers grazed his knee. And that was it.

He was tipsy. Tense. Tired of pretending.

And just like that, everything he’d tried to bury lit up like fire under his skin.

The rules broke. Again.

You didn’t stay that night. You left quietly early in the morning while he was still asleep. But when he woke up, the apartment was clean. The dishes were washed. The clutter was gone.

A plate of food sat on the counter. Next to it was a folded napkin with a note in what he assumed was your handwriting:

‘Just fucking eat it.’

It made him chuckle.

And that’s what pissed him off most.

That you left no trace of yourself, except for something so human it stuck with him the whole day.

So Kuni let it happen. Again.

If the second time was unexpected, the third was deliberate.

You showed up at his door a week later, around midnight, cheeks pink from the cold. Or maybe from the fact that you were reeking of alcohol. Your hair was messy, jacket half-zipped, and your lips pulled into a crooked line that told him this wasn’t planned.

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Can I come in?”

He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t wanna be home. Fought with Lumi. Needed a distraction.”

And he was the first person you thought to come to?

“You’re drunk.”

“Sober enough to walk here.”

He almost shut the door in your face. But something in your face, tired, but still sharp with defiance, made him pause.

You didn’t wait for him to invite you. You pushed past him like it was your place, like you belonged there.

And when he tried to say something, you kissed him.

Fast. Desperate. Familiar.

He almost lost his balance. But he didn’t push you away. Maybe that was his mistake.

The two of you didn’t fall asleep this time. Both of you just lay there, skin warm, breaths uneven from whatever that just was.

Kuni stared at the ceiling blankly. “I swear, this is the last time,” he mutters.

You turned to him with a questioning gaze.

“I don’t do repeats. You already crossed that line.”

You stared at him, half amused, half insulted. “Right. I forgot, you’re the infamous campus heartbreaker.”

He didn’t respond.

You waited. Then asked, “Why do you do it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

You sat up a little, tugging the blanket higher. “It’’s about commitment, isn’t it? Doesn’t it get tiring? Having to find someone new every time?” you tried to pry more.

He didn’t answer. You studied him for a beat. He looked calm, but you knew better. You didn’t press further.

“Never mind. It means nothing to me. I don’t like commitment, either. So you don’t have to worry about reusing me,” you laugh. “Rather than worrying about your sex life, I should worry about my health. You probably have STDs, or something,” you hug yourself and shiver dramatically.

He rolls his eyes.�� “I always use a condo–”

“Relax, I was joking,” you snort.

This irked him.

“Get out of my apartment.”

And you did. With an annoying giggle at that, too.

Kuni mulled it over long after you were gone.

This meant nothing to you. You said it yourself. Maybe that’s when everything took a turn. Because to him, this never meant anything, not really. But he was scared that he’d start to consider giving it meaning.

You were a risk.

But then again… so was everything else.

The exhausting nights of downing drinks to build the courage to flirt. The meaningless hookups. The silence in his room afterward. The emptiness that clung to him even when the bed wasn’t. He kept running from commitment, kept choosing chaos, but in the end, it still left him tired. Worn and bitter and bored of it all.

And then there was you. Bold. Audacious. The kind of fun Kuni didn’t have for a while.

He didn’t trust himself. Not to stay cold. Not to keep the distance. Because, again, he knew he was fragile despite everything. But when you said it didn’t mean anything to you, something in him relaxed.

Maybe, just maybe, if you could control yourself, he could too.

The next time it happened, it was Kuni who approached you first.

Then it was you. Then him again.

A quiet back-and-forth, a rhythm born from stressful weeks and late nights, each of you seeking the same kind of escape in the other.

It was unspoken, effortless. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. A fling. Whatever label people might throw on it, neither of you bothered to define it.

It was easier that way. Easier to pretend it was simple. And for a while, it was.

Because Kuni was careful. Always.

He set his own rules. His own boundaries. After every night, he made sure to be the one who woke up and left first, even when it was in his own apartment.

Sometimes, you beat him to it. And he took it as a sign that maybe you got it, too. Maybe you were just as good at keeping things distant.

When both of your friend groups found out what’s happening between you two, despite all the teasing and doubts about the nature of your relationship, you both kept denying it.

We’re just friends.

A short sentence that he repeated a hundred times. And you followed.

The two of you never hung out outside of bed. Never spent quality time. Never got to know each other beyond the surface level. Most of the time, when life was going fine for the both of you, weeks would pass in silence. No check-ins. No texts. Just distance until the next bad day came, and one of you reached out, needing relief.

So it continued. Wordless. Measured. A mutual understanding held together by silence and restraint.

For months, you both clung to the comfort of routine, anything to stop whatever complicated feelings were quietly growing in the spaces you refused to look at.

He appreciated you for it. How you never crossed the line he silently drew. You never asked the wrong questions. Never prodded at the past he kept buried. You never tried to peel back the layers he guarded like armor.

You were content with what little he gave. Fragments of deep conversation, fleeting touches, the kind of closeness and banter that never demanded more.

And somehow, that made it easier. Safer. It was comforting to him, in a way. Knowing someone could be there even when he offered next to nothing except his body. Even when the two of you barely qualified as friends.

But over time, something shifted. Because the more times it happened, the more curious he became. He became restless. He found himself wondering:

If you were willing to stay through the bare minimum—no promises, no answers, no depth—

what would happen if he gave you more?

Four months in, things began to change.

It was subtle at first. So subtle that it went past Kuni.

Maybe it was when you started ranting before getting intimate. Stating your reasons for calling him. You’d drop onto his couch with a sigh, words spilling out like a routine. And he just listened. Something he didn’t even realize was way past his boundaries.

“I swear this prof. hates me.”

“I keep getting migraines lately, it fucking sucks.”

“My thesis partner thinks ‘editing’ means changing the font.”

Then there were other things. You started checking if he had eaten, always in the form of an insult.

“Don’t tell me you’re surviving on caffeine and alcohol again.” And he’d roll his eyes, but the next time, you’d still ask. Even urged him to buy food that he can cook.

He started keeping snacks you liked. The ones you always brought when you were hungry, stating, “I want to eat before we do anything.”

He later went on a grocery run and mindlessly stocked up on them. Kept them in a drawer in his kitchen. Along with headache meds. “Emergency stash,” he claimed when you noticed. Didn’t say whose emergency he meant.

Or maybe it was the time when nothing happened.

You showed up, visibly stressed, visibly shaken, and instead of touching him like he initially thought you’d need, you asked if you could just stay.

No ulterior motive. No need to touch.

So you sat beside him. On the floor. In silence. Shoulder to shoulder. And you didn’t even say a word. But somehow, it made all the noise in his head quiet.

That was when it started to really terrify him.

Because in all the flings he had, no one ever reached that far. They got his body. Never his quiet. But you? You found your way into both. Without even realizing.

Suddenly, Kuni wasn’t sure if this was just physical for him anymore.

Because for the first time in a long while, he started to wonder to himself how your day was. If you were sleeping okay. If you went out with your friends today. He started to replay the way you laughed when he humors your playful banter and insults. The way you looked proud when you beat him at a dumb card game one night after leaving the bed in a storm.

And worst of all, he started calling you up more often even when he didn’t really need to. Granted, it always ended in sex, but a part of him simply did it to hold you.

That’s when it changed.

The lines between you didn’t blur with the heated touches or the nights tangled in each other’s arms. No, those were expected. Part of the deal. What truly blurred them were the quiet, gentle moments that had no place in whatever this was.

It was never the passion that confused him. It was the tenderness. The kind that shouldn’t exist between two people who swore they were nothing. Because despite everything he tried to avoid, he started to silently care.

And caring was the one thing he swore he’d never do again. Not after what happened before. Not after everything he’d buried just to survive.

But he found himself forgetting what it felt like to be left behind—ironically, in something destined to end that way.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like survival anymore.

It was something dangerously close to living.

So much so that for a while, Kuni thought about ending it.

Not because he was tired of you. It was the opposite. It was because his feelings were changing, and that was never part of the plan.

He believed that it meant nothing to you. That it was all him making something up in his head. That the quiet care, the shared silences, the way you both stayed longer than necessary were just convenience. It simply stemmed from your personality.

After all, neither of you ever defined what this was. In those rare, intimate moments, where one of you would do something only people who cared would do, there was always a wordless agreement to never speak of it. To pretend it didn’t mean anything. There was always awkwardness hanging in the air.

So he convinced himself that if it continued, you’d leave. That one day, you’d see him for what he was—someone wrecked and weak—and you’d reject him for it.

But then the what-ifs started to creep in.

What if you felt it too? What if the small things mattered to you just as much? What if you weren’t staying because it was easy, but because, like him, you hoped?

And if he pushed you away first, he’d be losing you. Not because you left, but because he didn’t let you stay.

So Kuni continued.

He continued to keep you around.

Continued to dance back and forth between acceptance and denial.

When Kuni woke up before you, he didn’t leave.

He used to always leave before dawn. Always.

But lately, every morning, he stayed longer than necessary. Half-asleep on the edge of your bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, arm lazily draped around your waist. Close. Closer than he ever let himself be while conscious.

Shit.

He wanted to avoid cuddling, as much as possible. But it happened sometimes, blamed it on the cold or on reflexes. He’d usually slip away before you stirred. No trace. No warmth left behind.

But this time, when you shifted in your sleep, back brushing against his chest, he didn’t move.

You were turned away from him. Breathing slow. Completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He let himself look. He took it all in. The calmness of your features, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the slight twitch of your fingers like you were dreaming. The kind of softness he’d convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to want.

He could’ve left. Should’ve, probably. But instead, his eyes fell to your hand, resting loosely on the blanket.

That ring. The stupid ring that started it all. If you hadn’t left it that night, maybe none of this would’ve spiraled into whatever you were now. Maybe he wouldn’t be here wrapped up in warmth he told himself he didn’t need.

But he was.

And without thinking too hard about it, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. Quiet. Careful.

He didn’t point the camera at your face. Just the way your back curled slightly toward him, the way the early morning light traced soft outlines across the sheets, the stillness of it all.

A snapshot. One he’d keep for himself. Just to remember. He observed the photo, thinking that it didn’t give justice to the real thing.

Pretty.

He never said it aloud. Not to you. But maybe someday, you’d see it.

And maybe you’d understand.

Kuni hadn’t been subtle.

Not lately.

And maybe that was the point. He knew he was slipping. Letting things show. Letting you see. The in-between, too heavy.

He started leaving hints on purpose. Not loud gestures that would risk scaring you away, but little things. Quiet gestures. Nothing he expected anything back for.

He just wanted to show you the change. Wanted you to know without him having to say it, and to see if you felt the same too.

He thought about everything—about how easy it would be to pull away again. How easy it would be to just keep things as it was.

But a part of him didn’t want easy anymore.

Kuni didn’t reply to your message, in a hurry.

He didn’t think. He just moved. Grabbed the snacks he knew you liked and stopped for coffee, even though it was already late and the café near his dorm was closing soon.

He didn’t have a plan. He just… didn’t want you to feel alone tonight.

When he spotted you hunched over a table in the library, looking one breath away from falling apart, something sharp tugged in his chest. So he walked over and dropped the coffee and snacks in front of you. Didn’t say anything grand. Just eased into the seat across from you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the table, then up at him.

“What is this?” you asked, wary.

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “You look like you’re two pages away from losing your mind.”

That was it. No ulterior motive. Just… worry. Quiet, uninvited worry.

He saw the way you hesitated before touching the cup. Like you were trying to figure out what he wanted. Like you were weirded about him just showing up.

You stared at the coffee like it might bite. Like it meant more than it did—or maybe exactly what it did.

“Seriously,” you murmured, not meeting his eyes. “Why are you here?”

He leaned back, tried to keep it light. “Dunno.” Then softer, “Just figured you’d need a recharge.”

He watched your fingers curl around the cup. That was enough. He didn’t need a thank you. He just needed to know you were taking care of yourself, even if it was through him.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were dull. He could tell your head hurt.

“You sure you don’t wanna take a break?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“You look like you need one.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury.”

He bit back the urge to argue. You were always so stubborn. Always acted like you had to do everything on your own.

So instead, he offered what little help he could. “It’s late. Continue studying at home.” He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Or at my place. It’s closer.”

And just like that, your expression changed. He saw the way your hands stilled. How you immediately shut down.

Why?

You laughed, cold and hollow. “Right. And I’m sure we’d get so much studying done there.”

He blinked, confused. The edge in your voice was sharper than usual. “What do you mean?”

Oh.

You thought this was about that. Of course.

He felt a heavy feeling he couldn’t describe.

You didn’t answer. Just brushed him off. Told him you still had a lot to do. And maybe he should’ve argued. Explained himself. But what would’ve been the point? You’d already made up your mind. So he let the silence sit. Then stood up quietly.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying not to let the sting show. “Don’t overwork yourself, moron.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Wasn’t what he wanted to do.

But it was too late, and all he could do was walk away.

Kuni didn’t plan to call.

He read your message that you planned to do an all-nighter, and his thumb was already tapping the call icon.

He told himself it was to check on you. To keep you company while you worked. Not because he missed you. Not because the silence of his room felt louder without you in it.

When you answered, the image of you lit up his screen, half-tired, eyes ringed with stress, but still managing that soft ‘Hey’ that landed somewhere uncomfortably near his chest.

“Hey,” he answered. He kept it easy. Familiar.

You asked why, and he gave the first excuse that came to mind:

“You aren’t here and I didn’t have anything else to do.”

A lie, kind of.

There were things he could be doing. He just didn’t feel like doing them knowing you’d be staying up all night.

You asked about studying, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Said he already did. Said he doesn’t pull all-nighters like you losers.

Made you laugh. That was the point.

He didn’t say he’d been thinking about you since earlier. Didn’t say he regretted how that went. How you looked at him like he was just another interruption. Like all he ever wanted was you in pieces, never whole.

So he stayed quiet now. Watched you twirl your pen. Half-listened as you thanked him for the coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Truth, laid bare without thinking. He waited for the blowback, for you to read into it and pull away again. But you didn’t. Not really. You changed the subject like you always do.

You didn’t know that he stayed on the call for your voice. Watching you frown at your notes and bite your lip grounded him more than sleep ever could.

That he was trying, really trying, to just be there without asking for anything.

Even when your eyes started to flutter shut. Even when your voice got quieter and softer until it was barely there.

He teased. Called you an idiot when you couldn’t remember what he last said. Then watched you drift off, your figure slackening in the frame.

He didn’t end the call right away. Didn’t hang up like he should’ve.

He just stared. You looked peaceful. Safe.

And under his breath—too quiet for you to hear, but loud enough to mean something—he whispered,

“Goodnight, pretty.”

Then he hung up.

And stared at the empty screen a while longer.

Kuni knew he was being too careful.

Why you couldn’t see what he was trying to show you. Why you assumed things that weren’t pure.

He wanted to make it more obvious. Not by saying something, but by doing something. Asking you out.

He remembered Ajax once casually mentioning how he gets his girlfriend little gifts when she does well. Sometimes for absolutely no reason. Something small. Something thoughtful.

Kuni had rolled his eyes at the time, but the idea stuck.

So when he saw the charm, delicate glass petals with a little space for initials, he didn’t even hesitate. He bought it without overthinking.

Well, maybe he did. A little.

Because it wasn’t just a gift. It served as a starting point. A declaration.

He stood outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. He heard your laugh before he saw you, that breathless, giddy kind that only came when you were running on adrenaline.

And then there you were.

You looked light.

Freer than you had in days. Weeks.

And the way your eyes found him—like you were surprised by him being there—it settled something restless in his chest.

“Hey, genius,” he said, tone flat, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t waited ten whole minutes rehearsing, nothing to say.

You lit up. You tried to play it off, made a joke about maybe not passing, and he scoffed.

Please.

He knew you passed.

He saw it in the way you carried yourself, like you finally remembered you were brilliant.

You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it.

So he pulled the charm from his pocket. Held it out to you with no ceremony. No big speech. Just a quiet offering.

“I figured you deserved something,” he muttered. “Should’ve gotten a bigger one, since you aced it and all.”

He watched you freeze. Watched the way your fingers curled around it carefully, like it might break. Like it meant more than you were ready to say.

And maybe that was the point.

This wasn’t like the coffee, or the food, or the study calls.

This wasn’t fleeting. It was something you could hold on to. He didn’t need you to give it back, or throw it away, or overthink it.

He just needed you to keep it. To know he was proud of you.

When your voice faltered, he looked away. Shrugged. Stuffed his hands into his pockets like it was nothing. Like his pulse wasn’t racing.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he said, already walking ahead.

Then, over his shoulder, with more ease than he felt: “C’mon. I just finished my own practicals. We need a proper celebration. Nothing big, just us. You in?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Didn’t look back. But a big part of him hoped you’d see it for what it really was.

The hair thing.

He hadn’t meant to do it. It surprised him, as well. Like it was instinct, like your presence was already stitched into the rhythm of his hands. But the moment his fingers grazed your skin, he felt it. Too soft. Too familiar. Something that felt less like impulse and more like yearning.

You looked at him like you felt it too. That made him hope. Made him more confident.

He could feel that you wanted more.

So when you reached your dorm and he opened his mouth—finally, he thought.

Just fucking say it.

That he wanted more than what you had now. That this thing between you wasn’t just about satisfying cravings anymore. That he was starting to look forward to the in-betweens more than the aftermaths.

That he was falling—fast, hard, and quietly—for the only person who might or might not catch him.

But then his breath caught.

His courage flickered.

What if saying it ruined this? What he got the wrong signals?

So he smiled, bitter and tired, and said, “Never mind.”

And you looked at him like you knew. Like you were waiting for something, too. Like you were hoping.

“Kuni…” you trail off. Your brows furrowed and your lips frowned, clear disappointment.

Seeing that almost made him cave. Almost. But instead he flicked your forehead, the safest affection he could manage. Told you to get some rest, and turned away before he changed his mind.

Maybe next time, he thought.

When he walked off, he didn’t feel lighter. He felt everything all at once. Tight in his chest, sharp in his ribs.

Kuni was still a coward.

And he continued being a coward.

For days, he said nothing. Did nothing. Just existed on the edge of every what if.

He kept thinking about that night. Your laugh echoing in his chest, the way your eyes softened when you thought he wasn’t looking, the warmth of your skin when he tucked your hair behind your ear. Stupid. It was so stupid. But it stuck with him like a song he couldn’t turn off.

He should’ve said something. That night. When he hesitated. When he looked at you and wanted—really wanted—for the first time, something more than what you were.

But he hadn’t. Because hope is dangerous, and he wasn’t brave enough.

A part of him started to regret his actions. Started to regret stepping over his own boundaries. Because he realized again that it really was easier to pretend it was nothing.

At some point he hoped you’d do something instead—reach out, push the line, call him out. Anything that would make the leap easier. Something that would let him off the hook.

And still, he couldn't do it.

Because he knew it was his responsibility.

Instead, he buried it under silence. Let the days stretch on with only a few texts, safe and distant. Played it cool like he wasn’t checking his phone every few hours, like he wasn’t searching for your face in the halls more than usual.

It drove his friends insane.

“You’re being a dick,” Ajax told him flat out one afternoon. “You start treating her like she’s special, then keep denying to everyone else that you feel something. Do you know how that looks like to others?”

"There really is nothing to it,” Kuni spat. Denied.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like a guy in love.”

He had no answer to that.

Vague denials, dismissive shrugs to his friends. He clung to them like they were lifelines. But the cracks were starting to show. Even he could feel it.

And Kuni had always been good at many things—sarcasm, pushing people away, hiding behind sharp words and sharper silence.

But love?

It was something he swore to never feel again.

And you? You were becoming too important to risk on a maybe.

So he stayed quiet. A coward still.

But even he knew—

He couldn’t keep hiding much longer.

Kuni was genuinely curious.

He was looking forward to hearing your request after winning the bet.

What would you ask of him? It seemed like something you’d been dying to say. Maybe it was dumb, but he was already prepared to give in to whatever you asked.

But he didn’t expect to get blindsided.

She was back.

He found out just not through whispers, but straight from her—texting him out of nowhere.

Hey. I’m back. Can we talk?

She told him months ago that she wouldn’t return. That she needed to do this for herself. And he accepted it. Quietly. Painfully.

And now?

He stared at his phone too long. Didn’t answer. Thought ignoring it would make it go away. But fate had other plans, because next thing he knew, she was there, in the hallway, walking toward him like time hadn’t passed at all.

Same familiar perfume. Same old eyes that once made him lose himself. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Déjà vu didn’t come gently. It came like a wave, dragging everything he buried right back to the surface.

He agreed to meet her. Maybe for closure. Maybe out of reflex.

The world felt muted.

“You look good,” Mona said softly. “Tired. But good.”

He didn’t return the compliment. Just looked at her, quiet.

“What happened to Berlin?” he asked, his voice low, guarded.

“I finished what I had to do there,” she said, smiling. “They let me come back. I’m gonna graduate here. Take some time to figure things out.”

Kuni nodded. Nothing inside him moved the way it used to. There was no ache. Just… a distant memory.

“Did it go well?” he asked out of courtesy.

“It did! I learned so much and had countless opportunities.” She smiled proudly, remembering the things she did and experienced.

After a pause, “I’m glad it went well. You did good,” he said, to his own surprise. And he meant it. She laughed at the sudden compliment, nudged his arm playfully. He didn’t mind.

And that’s when it happened.

He smiled. Soft. Brief. Real.

But it wasn’t for her. Not anymore. It was for who she had become. For who she fought to be.

Because even as he looked at her, it wasn’t Mona’s face in his mind.

It was yours.

He remembered the way you clenched your pen when you were focused. The way your eyes sparkled when you got fired up talking about something. The way your voice shifted when you were nervous but pretending not to be.

God.

He wanted to see you like this too.

Thriving. Smiling. Accomplished.

And he wanted to be there beside you when you did. To be someone who stood still beside you while the world changed.

That’s when the guilt hit. That’s when the confusion clawed its way back in.

Mona being here—she complicated things. She was a symbol of everything he let go of. And now she was back. It’s the last thing he needed right now.

“I’m happy for you,” he said coldly, slowly walking away. “Really. But I’ve got to go.” He waved her goodbye, turning his back on her.

“Wait, Kuni…” she called out.

He stopped.

“Um.. There’s more,” she said. “Please hear me out.”

He turned, facing her again.

“My parents. They’re trying to arrange a marriage with someone in Germany. Says it was for a partnership. Pay back for accepting me in Berlin.” she said. “That’s… also partly why I came back here.”

She continued, “I told them I’d go along with it after graduating here for a year but… I don’t want to. I don’t love him.”

He stared at her, silent.

“I want to try again. With us,” she said, stepping forward. “Maybe if I show them I’m in love with someone else, they’ll back off. If we can rekindle what we had…”

His heart dropped.

“No,” he said, voice cold. Sharper than before. “You want to pick up where we left off like it was nothing?” he said quietly. Kuni really couldn’t blame her for leaving. Couldn’t get angry. But asking this of him?

“I—” Mona looked taken aback.

“You left. You said Berlin was your dream, and I respected that. I let you go without begging you to stay.”

A pause. The wind rattled through the open halls.

“You don’t get to come back now that I’ve found reasons to move forward. You don’t get to do this to me.”

Her expression faltered. “But—”

“Goodbye,” he said. Then he left. No second glance.

He didn’t touch his phone that afternoon. Forgot to.

Not with everything in his head.

Kuni noticed your silence immediately.

You always replied. Sometimes late, sometimes short, but you always said something. But now, days have passed. No “lol.” No reactions. No dry sarcasm.

Just… nothing.

He told himself maybe you were busy. Research, projects, a nap that turned into three days of recovery.

But when the silence stretched longer, a dull throb of worry settled in his chest.

Had he messed up?

Was it the late reply?

The bet?

He hated how his first instinct was to spiral. And he hated how the thought that maybe you’re done with him made his throat tighten.

Still, he swallowed his pride and looked for you. In your usual hallway. Outside the library where you liked to sit. Even tried knocking on your dorm and waited for you to come out.

But you didn’t.

So he kept texting you. Even asked Ajax to ask your best friend if she’d seen you.

None of the things he did resulted in a response from you.

He knew something felt off.

And it didn’t help that Mona was everywhere now.

She waited for him after class. Sat beside him during lunch like they were still something. Talked to him like nothing had changed.

Maybe to her, nothing had. But everything had changed for him.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want her here. Didn’t want the past making itself comfortable beside him when all he could think about was you.

But when he tried to distance himself, when he gave her cold shoulders, short answers, quiet indifference, she just smiled and brushed it off.

“I’m an irregular student. You’re the only friend I have right now,” she said once. “It’s not like I’m trying to get back together. I just… feel safe around you.”

And he had nothing to say to that. So he let her stay. Even when it felt wrong. Even when it made him look like someone he wasn’t anymore.

Because what could he have done? Mona leeched on him.

What he didn’t realize was that you saw it. Everyone did.

Saw her sitting beside him. Saw her waiting for him.

It looked exactly like what he swore he didn’t want anymore.

He was blind.

Kuni didn’t expect your reason.

Didn’t expect you to disappear because of him.

For days now, Kuni’s been turning that silence over in his mind, retracing every interaction, every message he sent that went unanswered. But then he noticed, how you were replying to others since they started mentioning you again. How you posted that one tweet.

You weren’t offline. Just off with him.

That’s when it hit him.

Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe you were pulling away because he stepped too close to a line you never agreed on crossing.

He hadn’t even asked to sleep with you again lately. Neither of you had.

No excuses this time. No impulse to hide behind.

Just him, choosing not to make a move. Because lately, every time he looked at you, he didn’t want something casual. He wanted to stay. Stay even when it wasn’t convenient. And he thought you were somewhat on the same page.

And maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t ask for that. You never said you wanted more.

Maybe he got the wrong impression.

So he stopped messaging. Not to punish you. Not to give up. But because he thought maybe he’s the reason you’re backing away. Maybe you're trying to breathe and he kept hovering too close.

He didn’t want to make it worse. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He noticed how fast you distanced yourself the moment things felt real. Something he thought he’d be doing. Though it ached him, because he was hoping otherwise, he thought maybe you’d call him up again when you needed relief. That things would go back to how it used to.

How it should be.

That rainy Sunday night confirmed it.

He didn’t expect to see you. He didn’t expect to feel the ache surge back up like it never left when he spotted your figure across the store. Hoodie. Hair damp from drizzle. Your eyes darting away like he was a stranger and brushing past him.

An unforgiving storm poured down, as reflecting his heavy feelings.

You didn’t dare run through the storm, staying outside the convenience store, stuck. Thinking about it, it was similar to when you went to retrieve your ring and ended up staying at his place because it was raining.

Except this time was different.

He watched you. Watched your silence from inside. He waited for you to go back. To talk to him. He waited for the words. But you didn’t make a move, just hugging yourself from the cold, waiting out the storm.

Feeling discarded again, he confronted you. Not wanting to face the same hurt he experienced in the past once more.

He came off strong at first, but he wasn’t angry when he asked. Just tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of acting like he didn’t care, when he did.

And the way you answered—empty, vague, careful—it only confirmed what he feared: you were never going to tell him the truth unless he forced it out of you.

But he didn’t expect what you said next.

“I want to claim my bet.”

Then his heart sank the second you said you wanted to stop.

No more late nights. No more whatever-this-is. No more excuses to see each other. Essentially, it was the only thing that held your relationship together.

He was wrong. It was never anything deeper.

Not to you, evidently.

He thought about saying something. Thought about asking why now, why like this, in the middle of a storm that sounded like the world was falling apart around you.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to reach for your hand and tell you that he wasn’t ready to let go.

That it wasn’t a fling anymore. Not for him. But he didn’t. He just accepted the hurt once more. Because it was what he’s used to. His first instinct.

“Alright.”

Because, again, what else was there to say to someone who already made up their mind?

So he pulled his hood up. Took one last glance at you—quiet, expressionless, unreadable. And walked out into the storm. Not because he didn’t care, but because staying felt more humiliating than being soaked to the bone.

Each drop felt like punishment.

Every step away from you a reminder:

You were never his to begin with.

And still, as the rain drenched him and blurred the streetlights ahead, all he could think about was the sound of your voice, flat and final—

“Let’s just leave each other alone.”

And maybe, in the end, that’s what he’ll do. Not because he wants to. But because you asked him to. Even when it felt like a punch in the gut when someone he cared for left him again. Even if it means walking away with the one thing he never admitted out loud:

You were more than just something to satisfy his needs. You were the risk he wished he took earlier. Something real that he wished he had established earlier.

Maybe your view of him would’ve changed. Maybe you would have opened up to him. Maybe it could’ve been easier than easy.

If he only had the courage back then.

Kuni regretted that stormy night.

The silence that followed. The words he didn’t say. The look on your face. He told himself it was better this way, easier for you both. But every day since, the hollow ache in his chest reminded him otherwise.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

He couldn’t. Because what would he even say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? That the space between you felt like it was swallowing him whole?

So instead, he waited. By the gates, where he knew it was around this time if the day when you left the campus that day.

He didn’t tell you he’d be there. He couldn’t handle being ignored again, or worse, watching you walk away with that same look in your eyes.

He knew you’d refuse to talk to him.

He waited.

Hours passed. His legs ached. But he kept looking. For your silhouette. Your steps. The familiar weight of your presence in a crowd.

And then—

He thought he saw you.

Or maybe just the shape of you. He blinked, unsure, stomach tightening with something bitter and hopeful all at once.

But Mona appeared.

Her voice broke through his thoughts, casual and teasing. She said something about him being distracted again. He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes in that direction, heart pounding.

He didn’t even realize Mona had reached for his arm until he felt her hand. He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean in, either. Not really. Just stood there, letting her talk, letting the moment slip.

And then—he saw you.

Clear this time.

Your eyes met his across the campus distance, and the world went still for a breath. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, but it was evident that you didn’t want to talk to him.

His chest ached. He wanted to move. To say something. Anything.

He noticed Lumi beside you, giving him a cold glare. He sighs, giving up, and turns to Mona, “Let’s go.”

As he walked away, he kept thinking about that split second. The look on your face. He didn’t know if you’d ever talk to him again. But he hoped that you’d seen it.

That you’d seen him waiting.

That you’d understand he hadn’t stopped.

Not really.

Not ever.

Kuni considered entertaining Mona’s offer.

She made it easy. Familiar smiles, old jokes, the kind of comfort that used to mean something. Maybe if he let himself fall back into that rhythm, he could use it as a distraction. Maybe he could pretend her presence filled the space you left behind.

Maybe he could trick himself into believing he still had it in him to feel that kind of fondness for her again.

Though, it seemed unlikely. Because even as Mona laughed beside him, even as her hand lingered on his arm like it used to, his mind kept drifting.

His mind kept drifting to you.

He knew it was pathetic.

Going back to the past that caused him pain. Maybe it’s because the pain he felt with you hurt more.

Unlike Mona, you didn’t climb over his walls, didn’t tear them down. You never pushed, never crossed the lines he set.

He let you in on his own terms. He wanted you. A conscious decision. One he made willingly, recklessly, because it felt right at the time.

And now, he regrets it.

But because in doing so, he cost you.

But at this point, he just wanted the ache to stop. Wanted the nights to pass without your name sitting on the edge of every thought. Wanted to stop remembering the exact way you looked when you said goodbye.

So he let Mona talk. Let Mona hang around, fooling both of them in the idea that she had him again.

And his friends didn’t take it well.

Lies. All fucking lies.

Truthfully, he agreed with his friends. But he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe it was mostly his pride talking.

They didn’t know the whole story to judge and reprimand him.

He knew that was one of his many faults too.

Kuni tried to reach out to you again.

He wanted a final attempt. Even knowing you probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Still, he found himself driving, on impulse, on hope, to your street late at night, at a time he was sure you’d be home.

He parked nearby, lights off, waiting in silence.

But your dorm windows were still dark. No signs of life. He knew you weren’t asleep this early, so he waited.

Ten minutes. Twenty. An hour.

And then he saw it. Headlights cutting through the street. A car pulled up to the curb right in front of your building. A car he recognized immediately.

Kaz’s.

The tinted windows were light enough to make out the face in the driver’s seat.

Tall. Relaxed. Familiar.

And then his breath caught.

You were in the passenger seat. With Kaz. At night. Alone.

What the hell were you doing with him?

A pit opened in his stomach, heavy and bitter. He watched as you smiled at Kaz. Soft, warm. A smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. A smile he could recognize anywhere even through tinted windows.

You opened the door, stepped out. Kaz stayed in the car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

Kuni’s hands clenched the steering wheel. Jealousy and betrayal burned through him, sharp and ugly. He didn’t have the right to be angry. But that didn’t stop him from seething.

Is that why Kaz was so angry at him? He thought it was weird how he seemed personally affected by what he’d done. And you. How could you replace him so fast? Flash someone a smile so soft, so easy, just like that?

He considered stepping out the car, knocking on your door, and confronting you. But he knew better than that.

Kuni banged his head on the steering wheel, feeling his head throb from the pain of all these thoughts.

Was he really just nothing to you?

For the first time in a while, Kuni genuinely considered crying.

As pathetic as it sounded.

Not out of anger. Not even heartbreak. Just… exhaustion. The kind that creeps in after weeks of pained emotions.

He started seeing it everywhere. His friends’ tweets, their replies, their subtle jabs that weren’t so subtle at all. Mentions of you. Mentions of Kaz.

He ignored the provocations, pretended they didn’t get under his skin. But it all chipped away at him.

And the one time—the only time—he finally gathered the nerve to text you again, he found out he was blocked. Everywhere. Every account.

You were done.

His anger toward Kaz? It fizzled into something colder. Not hatred. Not even bitterness.

Resignation.

Because he saw the photo he posted.

You looked happy. At peace.

And if someone else could give you that, what right did he have to hate them for it? To ruin it for you? To demand something?

So he never confronted Kaz. Didn’t call him out. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t do anything.

Instead, he focused on Mona, as much as he didn’t want to. She was persistent. That night, she texted him out of nowhere.

‘Let’s get ice cream’

He didn’t even think about it much before replying.

He needed a distraction. Anything to quiet the thoughts screaming in his head.

Kuni didn’t bother opening any of his phone that night.

Despite his circumstances, Kuni knew he could trust Ajax.

He was the constant in his life. His childhood friend.

The only one who knew everything. What Kuni had been through. What shaped him. Why he shut people out. Why he was so goddamn difficult and confusing.

When things got too heavy, too loud in his own head, Ajax was the one person he could run to, whether he wanted to or not.

So he told him everything. How it started between the two of you. How somewhere along the way, it stopped being casual for him. How terrified he was to lose you, to lose someone again, that it paralyzed him.

Made him act weak. Act like a coward.

And Ajax… understood. Almost as if he knew it all along.

Of course he did.

Even with that annoying, too-loud personality that always got on Kuni’s nerves, Ajax had never been the type to judge a person for baring their soul.

He listened. Really listened. Because that’s the kind of person Ajax was.

Ajax simply expressed his disappointment in how Kuni handled it. How he made it worse by letting Mona back in his orbit.

"You set so many boundaries between everyone, even [Name], and yet didn't bother with Mona? That's stupid, dude."

What Ajax revealed to him after made things more complicated. More confusing.

Ajax told him that it was a misunderstanding on both sides. That he should talk to you properly. He didn’t elaborate further, even when Kuni insisted and even threatened him.

“Sorry, it’s not my story to tell.”

He said before leaving Kuni confused.

Kuni didn’t know what the hell possessed him to say yes to Ajax’s invitation to Ven’s birthday party.

He knew you’d be there. He knew Kaz probably would be too. He knew damn well you’d want to stay as far away from him as possible. And worst of all? The party was being held at the same bar where he first met you.

Just the thought of that night—, ow everything started, threatened to pull him under.

But still… he went.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was some desperate, silent hope that you’d talk to him. That what Ajax said was true. That it was all a misunderstanding. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to drink and see you again. One last time.

And he did see you again.

…Wrapped around Kaz like it was second nature, that is.

Close. Too close.

He told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he was past this. He respected your happiness and that the ache just needed more time to fade.

But watching it unfold right in front of him, you and Kaz, set something off in him. Bitterness. A fire he thought he’d already drowned.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the week-long frustration burning at the back of his throat. But when he saw Kaz leaning in to kiss you, something in Kuni snapped.

He didn’t mean to grab you on the dance floor. Didn’t mean for it to spiral the way it did. But he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand seeing your lips on someone else.

So when your eyes met his—startled, angry, confused—he acted on impulse.

His body moved before his mind could stop it. Tomorrow, he might drown in the regret. Maybe this was the moment he finally destroyed whatever was left of you both.

But god, did you taste good.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE yeah, i got frustrated with kuni too lol. there was a point where i got confused with what i was writing but honestly? that reflects kuni’s turmoil lmfao. sorry it took too long i’ve been busy and part of me was avoiding proofreading this chapter bcoz it’s so fucking longgg. anw, thoughts? i’m scaredddd. also feel free to correct any typos, plot holes, whtv u see fit bcoz honestly the cho is so long i couldve missed a lot of things

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smau #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smau #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin texts #smau #wanderer #scaramouche

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studioeisa · 4 months ago

Text

a lesson in begging 🚇 soonyoung x reader x jihoon.

jihoon learns the art of saying 'please', courtesy of his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend.

★ word count: 3.7k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. smut with 🤏 pinch of plot; jihoon-centric after the intro. established relationship (soonyoung x reader), mentions of female anatomy, pet names (s: ‘baby’, ‘goddess’, ‘good boy’). exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, so much begging, both soonyoung and jihoon are kind of pathetic [lovingly] in this one. ★ footnotes: once again, when your biases release a song single album, you write the goddamn smut (2). shoutout to urbano latino & reggaeton music for getting me through this, and to @gyubakeries, @gotta-winwin & @diamonddaze01 for the hand-holding.

Soonyoung likes to think he’s a pretty generous guy.

He’s never selfish about what he has. He shares when he can to anyone who asks. You, in particular, never have time to want anything; your darling boyfriend is attune to anything your heart might ever desire.

And if that just so happens to be his best friend Jihoon? Well, like we’ve established: Soonyoung is always going to give.

You hadn’t really been discreet about it. You’d been guilty, maybe, but you were a language that Soonyoung was fluent in. He saw the way you’d watch Jihoon while the latter worked out, saw the way your face would light up when you’d hear the other man was coming over for one reason or another.

A normal boyfriend would have been alarmed, might have thrown a fit. But Soonyoung was never normal to begin with.

And— he never admitted this to you, did he?— he’d rather it be Jihoon than anyone else, anyway.

You’re mortified when Soonyoung first brings it up. You’re ready to apologize for thinking Jihoon is sex on legs, but then Soonyoung makes his proposition.

“I promised I’d give you everything, baby.” His voice is sweet and earnest. There’s no hint of maliciousness in it; he’s not using this as leverage. “Let me get you this, too.”

That’s another thing about Soonyoung: It’s always been so hard to say ‘no’ to him.

Jihoon is convinced this is some form of elaborate prank.

The words that just came out of Soonyoung’s mouth have yet to register to him. After ‘not a threesome’ a couple of sentences ago, Jihoon just kind of blanked out.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed you share with Soonyoung. You look pretty, Jihoon thinks, but then he corrects himself. You’re always pretty.

Crap. That’s what got him in this situation, isn’t it?

Jihoon takes a steadying breath when he realizes that you and Soonyoung are waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” says Jihoon, keeping his voice as even as possible, “but what the actual fuck?”

Soonyoung snickers. You look a little less amused. You elbow your boyfriend, a look of mild horror crossing your expression.

“You didn’t warn him before inviting him over?” you seethe.

Soonyoung rubs the side you’d hit. “I thought we could all talk about it together,” he shoots back. “You know, like a proper discussion.”

“A discussion,” Jihoon echoes. He’s not sure if it’s you or him that’s going to throttle Soonyoung first.

Jihoon’s mental list of how he intends to physically harm Soonyoung comes to a temporary pause. You’re looking at Jihoon, now, with an expression that’s almost apologetic. It makes something seize up in the man’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you say. “I just thought…”

You trail off, and it’s the cruelest cliffhanger Jihoon has ever witnessed. “Thought what?” he prompts, shoving his hands in his pockets. That way, you wouldn’t have to see how he’s started shaking.

Soonyoung finishes what you started. “We thought you wanted this.”

As if to explain what this was, Soonyoung reaches over from behind you and places his hand on your thigh. Jihoon’s eyes flick to the movement, but he looks away just as quickly.

Soonyoung gives your thigh a light, reassuring squeeze. His eyes never leave Jihoon’s face. There’s a bit of a challenge, a hint of something serious. Like Soonyoung is daring Jihoon to deny his wants, deny this, deny you.

You— looking criminally lovely, watching Jihoon with caution and concern. There’s an undercurrent of distress in your expression, mixing with the annoyance at Soonyoung’s lack of tact.

Jihoon swallows around the lump in his throat. He says something. It’s barely above a whisper.

“Pardon?” you call out.

To hell with it, Jihoon thinks. To hell with it all.

He tries again, pitching his voice a little louder. “I do,” he says, wavering a bit on the words, “want this.”

Want you, he had meant to say, but he chickened out at the last moment. It doesn’t matter. You and Soonyoung hear it anyway, and both your expressions shift into something more pleasant. Soonyoung looks smug. You, reassured.

The room suddenly feels a lot warmer. There’s still considerable distance between Jihoon and the two of you. It’s the only thing keeping him sane, really.

“That’s good.” The sheer relief in your tone could drive Jihoon crazy. You go on, “I would have hated to misread.”

Misread which part, Jihoon wonders. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long on the hems of your shorts and skirts? The way all his sharp edges would soften when it came to you?

Jihoon wants you, has wanted you for months. He had convinced himself that he was The World’s Worst Best Friend Ever, even. But Soonyoung is now looking at Jihoon like the latter is the opposite of that. The World’s Best Best Friend Ever— for agreeing to please you.

This arrangement would undoubtedly have consequences, even if it were a one-time thing. Jihoon can’t bring himself to care, though. He’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He closes the distance, reveling in the tension that crackles with each step. You tilt your head back ever so slightly in a bid to never break eye contact with Jihoon.

“You didn’t misread,” Jihoon says quietly. “I— you’re pretty.”

He had hoped to soften the blow with I think, but why deny himself of the plain and simple truth? You’re so soft as you look up at Jihoon, the gratitude written all over your face. The tender moment is short-lived, though, because Soonyoung inevitably butts in.

“Just pretty?” Your boyfriend sounds offended on your behalf. “Is that all you’ve got, Jihoon?”

“Soonyoung,” you chide, but the older man barrels on.

“Pretty isn’t enough,” Soonyoung insists. His hand slides up your thigh, tugging your dress up a little higher. This time, Jihoon lets himself watch, lets himself appreciate your skin as it’s revealed to him. “Do better, Jihoon.”

“What might you suggest?” Jihoon asks, unable to look away from the hint of red lace underneath your dress.

Soonyoung hums lowly. He leans forward, his teeth catching at your earlobe as he keeps your back pressed firmly against his chest.

“Ethereal,” Soonyoung whispers reverently. “Gorgeous.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Jihoon’s mind that Soonyoung adored you, practically worshipped the ground you worked on. This made the whole situation even more surreal, but Jihoon can’t look away— at how your eyes flutter close, how your breath hitches ever so slightly.

You’re so damn responsive. Jihoon’s heart thunders in his chest. He can’t imagine how this will end, and it hasn’t even begun.

“Baby,” you say, and Soonyoung quits his teasing.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and fixes his gaze on Jihoon. “If you want something,” Soonyoung drawls, “you’re going to have to beg for it.”

For the first time that night, Jihoon’s facade of calculated calmness crumples. Beg for it? Jihoon wasn’t about to beg Soonyoung for a thing. Soonyoung was the one calling in for a favor, technically. As badly as Jihoon wants you, he can’t imagine himself ever being on his knees for Soonyoung. For anything.

Soonyoung notices Jihoon’s agitation. The blonde’s face breaks out into a shit-eating grin, the kind that promises trouble for days.

“Like this,” Soonyoung chirps, and then he pulls the rug underneath Jihoon’s feet.

Soonyoung shifts on the bed, moving around until he’s at your side instead of cradling you from behind. He presses his knees into the mattress and he wrings his hands together, his face tilted towards yours.

“Please,” Soonyoung tells you sweetly. “Please, please, baby?”

Jihoon’s brain short-circuits. He barely has time to think holy shit before Soonyoung ups his act, showering you with compliments about how perfect you are, about how badly he needs— needs, not wants— you.

You smile a bit before putting Soonyoung out of his misery. It’s not the first time Jihoon has seen the two of you make out, but it’s the first time that you open your eyes mid-kiss to glance at Jihoon, as if checking to see if he’s still watching.

Soonyoung isn’t dealing the cards tonight. You are.

Noted, Jihoon thinks, as he watches you lick into Soonyoung’s mouth. Your boyfriend lets out a sound between a guttural moan and a happy hum. He pulls away a moment later, his grin dopey and his gaze unfocused.

“Good boys get rewarded,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon matter-of-factly.

Jihoon winces. God, he’d rather die than be called a ‘good boy’ by Kwon Soonyoung, of all people. Jihoon is mentally weighing the pros and cons of this whole situation when Soonyoung shuffles backward, leaning against the headboard. Now, it’s just you and Jihoon at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t know what he should do. Sit? Kiss you senseless? Soonyoung answers for him—

“Beg, Jihoon.” Soonyoung’s tone brooks no argument. “Tell my girlfriend what you want from her.”

You look expectant. Jihoon hadn’t noticed that earlier. So much of you was unassuming, from your perceived shyness to your sundress hiding the red lingerie that was undoubtedly hugging all your curves right. The thought of it makes the front of Jihoon’s jeans feel a lot tighter.

He clears his throat. He got this far; he might as well. And nobody outside this room would have to know, right?

“Please,” Jihoon mumbles.

He expects Soonyoung to speak up, so he’s a bit thrown when you’re the one who goes for the jab. “What was that?” you ask, and it would be innocent if it weren’t for the hint of a smirk on your lips.

Jihoon inwardly prays for the ground to swallow him whole. When that doesn’t happen, he instead grits out his next words.

“Please,” he says through his teeth. “May I kiss you?”

It’s a piss poor attempt, but you’re nothing if not benevolent. Your fingers close around the front of Jihoon’s shirt and you tug him downward.

He nearly stumbles when he feels your mouth against him. Jihoon isn’t sure if he can touch, whether he can even manage, so he ends up grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath you as you give him what he asked for.

You kiss him so sweetly. It’s a dangerous thing, one that Jihoon fears he could grow addicted to if he wasn’t careful. Your tongue traces Jihoon’s bottom lip as if testing the waters, and he fights the urge to grab you by the waist and show you exactly how that makes him feel.

The kiss breaks with the two of you gasping for air. Jihoon doesn’t know when he leaned further into your personal space, but he can feel your heaving chest against his own and it’s maddening.

Jihoon had been so lost in the moment he’d forgotten Soonyoung was there, even. The latter pipes up, acutely aware that the kiss hadn’t been enough. That you’d pulled away too soon, leaving Jihoon in absolute shambles.

“If you want more,” Soonyoung says, “you’re going to have to beg harder, Jihoon.”

This is either the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to Jihoon. He’ll decide later, he thinks to himself, as his hands finally find purchase at your hips.

Miraculously, Jihoon finds his voice. “Let me taste you.” Every moment in this room is chipping away at his pride, if the way he whines out the next word is any indication.

“Please,” Jihoon says desperately, despairingly.

It was the very first thing Jihoon remembered learning as a child. Say please, he had been taught. It’s the polite thing to do. It shows you have good manners.

There’s nothing polite about the way Jihoon finds himself in between your thighs. There’s nothing good-mannered about the moans he tears out of you, about the way your fingers tug at his hair in a way that’s almost painful.

You’re on your back, your head in Soonyoung’s lap as Jihoon works on you like a man starved. Your dress is pushed up your chest; Soonyoung could take the opportunity to play with your breasts. Instead, he keeps your hair out of your face and lovingly gazes at you as you thrash underneath Jihoon’s assault.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Soonyoung coos.

Your response— something between yes and fuck you— breaks off into a keening whine when Jihoon doubles his efforts. He diligently laps up the slick of your sopping cunt before introducing his fingers; the two digits slide in with little to no resistance, and he rewards you by sucking on your clit.

“Jihoon,” you cry out, your back arching off the bed. “Oh my God, Ji— hng— where did you—?”

“Learn all that?” Soonyoung interjects. You’re too preoccupied to care about your boyfriend interrupting, too focused on Jihoon who has started crooking his fingers. “You know what they say, baby. It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.”

Jihoon isn’t about to try and contest Soonyoung, not when you’re writhing so beautifully underneath his mouth. It’s borderline painful, the way Jihoon is grasping your hip like his life depends on it.

An obscene slurp and the tease of another finger is all it takes to have you falling over the edge. Jihoon slows his ministrations, enjoying the feel of you tightening around his fingers.

He pulls away as you come back down to earth. The entire lower half of his face glistens with your slick. Jihoon is obnoxious enough to dart his tongue around his mouth and smack his lips, as if trying to taste as much of you as possible.

Soonyoung cackles. He’s enjoying this far more than he probably should. You can tell, though; there’s a tent in your boyfriend’s sweatpants, his clothed hardness pressing against your cheek.

You nuzzle closer to it, a wordless whine escaping you. Soonyoung gets the message.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, guiding you further up the mattress. As he helps you out of your dress, Jihoon situates himself a bit better at the foot of the bed.

He’s in desperate need of friction himself. Absent-mindedly, he palms himself over his jeans, watching as Soonyoung guides you to get on all fours.

Soonyoung’s clothes join yours on the floor. It isn’t the first time that Jihoon has seen Soonyoung’s cock— a story for another time— but there’s still a moment where the younger man is jolted. Having experienced, now, just how tight you are, Jihoon can’t even fathom how Soonyoung can fit inside you.

If either of you notice Jihoon’s attempts to relieve himself, you’re both graceful enough to not comment on it. Soonyoung focuses on bracing himself behind you, one hand resting at your waist while the other gives his cock a couple of leisurely pumps.

You’re already primed to be fucked, but Soonyoung is taking his time. No, Jihoon realizes.

Soonyoung is putting on a show.

There’s a lazy smirk on Soonyoung’s face when he locks eyes with Jihoon. For a moment, Jihoon is tempted to stop touching himself, but it’s like he physically can’t stop himself. Meanwhile, Soonyoung is busying himself with rubbing the length of his cock against the curve of your ass— giving you time to recover from your orgasm while also making Jihoon suffer.

“Wanna fuck my girlfriend, Jihoon?” Soonyoung taunts. “Want her greedy cunt around your cock, hm?”

You let out a low hiss of warning as Jihoon bites back a moan. Soonyoung reels in his bravado, sliding his hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair.

“Sorry, baby,” he says soothingly. “Didn’t mean to talk about you like that.”

Soonyoung pushes your hair over your shoulder so he has better access to your back. He places a couple of kisses across your shoulder blades before glancing back up at Jihoon, the earlier mischievousness considerably dialed down now.

“You know what you have to do,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon. “She’s in charge. Ask.”

The remnants of Jihoon’s shredded pride hold him back. To ask for a kiss, to ask to eat you out— what the hell, sure. To ask if he can fuck you into next week?

Jihoon squeezes himself through his pants, his gaze fixated on the way you’re looking up at him with dazed anticipation. He almost salivates at the thought of your soft, warm walls trying to accommodate him.

Alas, his blasted pride. Jihoon opens his mouth then promptly clamps it close, unable to bring himself for this.

Soonyoung lets out a low ‘tch’ of disapproval. “Suit yourself,” he huffs.

Like a switch that had been flipped, Soonyoung now focuses all his attention on you. “Goddess,” your boyfriend says against your skin, his tone so loving that Jihoon feels like he’s intruding. “Can I make you feel good? Make you finish a second time tonight?”

You give a jerky nod, canting your hips backward until Soonyoung is lined up with you. “Yes, baby,” you whimper, keeping your eyes on Jihoon despite the fact you’re seeking out Soonyoung. “Want you inside me right now.”

“I know, I know,” Soonyoung groans like your words have brought him pain, like it physically hurts him to hear you plead for anything. “I’ll give, baby. I’ll give.”

Soonyoung slides home, benefiting from the slickness of your first orgasm. The two of you let out twin moans. It takes everything in Jihoon not to come on the spot.

Jihoon never thought he’d been into this. He’s frozen, incapable of moving or looking away, as Soonyoung plows into you with practiced thrusts. Your fingers twist into the sheets below you and you struggle to keep your head up, your eyes open.

Your gaze is half-lidded as you watch Jihoon’s slack-jawed expression. It has you fluttering around Soonyoung, who squeezes the flesh of your ass in retaliation.

“Shit.” Your boyfriend picks up his relentless pace, his free hand carefully pressing between your shoulder blades. You sink a little further into the mattress and Soonyoung takes advantage of it, driving himself deeper into you.

“You like having an audience, baby?” Soonyoung breathes.

Somehow, you manage to nod. Jihoon’s fingers close a little tighter around the outline of his jeans and, slowly, tentatively, he goes back to rubbing himself through the rough material. It’s equal parts painful and pleasurable but he figures it’s what he deserves for getting off to his best friend’s girlfriend.

“Tell me what he looks like,” Soonyoung urges, his hands tangling into your hair again. He clutches at your roots and pulls your head back enough so that you have a better view of Jihoon. “Describe it for me, please.”

Soonyoung is always so polite and tender when it comes to you. Jihoon gets you, now; he really does. That doesn’t help the way his dick twitches when he sees the blissed out look on your face, like being stuffed with Soonyoung’s cock had somehow fucked all the thoughts out of your head.

Jihoon must not be looking any better than you, because there’s a ghost of a smile on your face as you fulfill your boyfriend’s request. “He looks desperate,” you mewl, your fingers flexing around the crumpled sheets underneath you. “Looks like he needs something, baby.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “And what does he need?”

“Dunno.” You roll your hips to meet one of Soonyoung’s thrusts, drawing a heated cuss from the man. “He isn’t asking.”

A muscle in Jihoon’s jaw ticks. Oh, this was a different kind of torture. He has half the mind to pull his pants down and shove his dick in your mouth to shut—

“Be nice, baby,” Soonyoung warns, “or else I won’t let you finish.”

It’s an empty threat. Even Jihoon knows that much. You have Soonyoung wrapped around your little finger, and your boyfriend will go to the ends of the world to please you.

Still, you play along. You attempt to apologize, but the word breaks off when Soonyoung slides his fingers over to your clit. His thrusts are uncoordinated with the circles he draws over the sensitive nub, but you don’t seem to mind.

Your eyes are watery from the onslaught of sensations, your legs are shaky, and your lips are parted in a perpetual gasp. Jihoon thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

A sound finally escapes him. It’s a quiet thing— barely a moan— but Soonyoung catches it anyway.

“You’re already on your knees,” Soonyoung tells you quietly, conspiratorially. “How about you show Jihoon how we ask in this relationship, hm?”

It’s so quick, so sudden. Jihoon barely has time to catch on and prepare himself before you’re surging forward, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. You replace his hand with your lips, mouthing his hardness over his jeans.

You’re just as sloppy as Soonyoung. There’s no method to the way you clamp your lips over Jihoon’s clothed cock. It’s all drool, a hint of teeth. A crude imitation of what it’d be like if you actually took him in your mouth.

And Jihoon— he’s surprised he’s still breathing, actually. His hands find purchase at your shoulders, torn between pushing you off and keeping you in place. He settles for the latter, his eyes blown wide as he watches you give him this perverse blowjob.

“Fuck,” Jihoon rasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—”

You look up at him then. It’s not your eyes that does him over. Not your sweat-slicked forehead or your flushed cheeks. No, it’s the way you pull away ever so briefly, your entire body rocking as Soonyoung continues to pummel into you.

Your breath is warm over Jihoon’s crotch as you whine a single word.

“Please?”

He doesn’t even know what you’re asking for. Regardless, he busts his load with a pained grunt. It’s uncomfortable to come undone in his boxers, with his pants still on, but he can’t help himself.

Soonyoung follows not long after, emptying his load into you. He hisses as he finishes, his own climax bringing you to your second high.

You slump forward, your mouth instinctively latching back onto Jihoon’s waning hardness. He’s so sensitive, but he makes no effort to pull you away from his front. Soonyoung doesn’t seem keen on moving yet either, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your hips.

“See?” Soonyoung says, his voice wrecked but his grin as annoyingly smug as ever. “Good boy, Jihoon.”

#soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #svthub #woozi smut #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #jihoon smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt

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fromdove · 2 months ago

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KISS LESSONS ! d.grayson x reader

"There’s a version of me that only exists when I’m with you. And I think . . . I think he’s who I was always meant to be.”

— sleepover with mr (teen) richard grayson !! gn!bsf reader (but written with a fem reader in mind), dick trying (& failing) to be nonchalant, truth or dare & he dares you to kiss him (for educational purposes...)

∿　　 . `💭` ㆍ

You were both halfway through a bag of popcorn when Dick challenged you to call the pizza place and do your best Batman impression.

“I am vengeance,” you rasped into the phone, making your voice deep and gravelly. “I’d like… a large pepperoni. Extra cheese. No mushrooms. I hate mushrooms.”

The guy on the other end of the line paused, clearly confused. “Okay?”

You lost it, collapsing into Dick’s side, gasping for air.

“My god,” he wheezed, “Bruce would revoke your honorary Robin privileges for that.”

“I think I nailed it,” you said, grinning up at him. “Tell me I didn’t.”

He shot you a crooked smile. “You totally didn’t.”

You nudged him with your foot. “Alright, Mr. Wayne Jr., truth or dare?”

Dick flipped onto his stomach, grinning like a cat who’d just stolen the cream. “Dare.”

You let the silence drag on for a moment, savoring the anticipation. “…I dare you to show me your Batman voice.”

His grin falters. “I can’t. I’ve sworn a sacred oath.”

“Lame.”

“Alright, fine—” He cleared his throat and, without missing a beat, dropped his voice low and growly, furrowing his brow dramatically. “‘Justice is blind!’”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, yeah, whatever that means.”

Dick smirked. “Fake fan. He’s literally said that before.” He tossed your challenge back at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Coward.”

You snorted and threw a Cheeto at him. “Oh, yeah? Fine then, dare.”

His grin returned, wicked and sharp. “Great.”

For a moment, he twirled a thread from your bedsheet around his finger, and you noticed how his movements were oddly deliberate, almost too calm. There was something a little too suspicious about the way he was watching you. Then, his tone softened, becoming almost casual. “I dare you to kiss me.”

You blinked. Slowly.

“Excuse me?”

He met your gaze and shrugged like it was no big deal. “What? We’re playing the game.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you serious?”

His voice stayed nonchalant, but you caught the faintest hint of red creeping into his ears. “Unless you’re scared.”

You snorted, trying to mask the butterflies that suddenly took flight in your stomach. “Of you? Please.”

Then his tone shifts — a little softer, a little less teasing. “You’ve kissed people before, right?”

You glance at him. “Yeah.”

He nods, like that confirms something. “I haven’t.”

“Not properly,” he adds, casually. “There was a mission once, but it was more like… spy stuff. Doesn’t count.

You stared at him. “Wait . . . you’ve never actually kissed someone?”

He shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “What? You said you’ve kissed people. I barely have. I figure I should… y’know… learn from the best.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t just the dorky kid in a cape. He was... Dick Grayson, the guy who made your heart do odd flips just by being himself.

You shifted, sitting in front of him with your legs crossed, your arms resting casually on your knees. “You want me to teach you how to kiss?”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

You smirked. “Don’t take that tone with me, Boy Wonder. You’re the one who asked me to kiss you. But fine, I accept.”

His eyes lit up—bright, eager, giddy, and a little nervous. He was a goddamn mess, a cute one, but still a mess. A mess you were willing to deal with.

You moved closer, just enough that your knees brushed against his. “Lesson one,” you murmured, voice low. “Stop overthinking.”

“That’s—” He swallowed. “Very difficult.”

“You’ll manage.”

You kissed him.

It was sweet. Hesitant. His lips were soft, unsure, like he’d never quite known how to navigate this. But he leaned in like you were something he’d been searching for and didn’t realize he could catch until now.

When you pulled back, he just stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless. “I—” He blinked a couple of times. “Okay. That was. Huh.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I think I blacked out for a second,” he muttered, voice dazed.

You snorted. “So much for the Boy Wonder.”

“I’m regaining composure!” he insisted, sitting up straighter and giving you a dramatic wave of his hand. “Give me five seconds and a glass of water.”

You kissed him again. Just to shut him up.

And this time, he kissed you back. Steady. Warm. Clumsy in the most endearing way.

You pulled back just enough to breathe. “Okay,” he said, blinking slowly like he was still trying to come back to his senses. “I’m either really good at this, or you’re really nice.”

You smiled. “Maybe both.”

He grinned back at you—goofy, warm, and flushed.

You leaned back, almost teasing. “So?”

His gaze softened, and he scratched the back of his neck, clearly caught between trying to sound casual and letting the nervous excitement slip through. “So… I’m gonna need more practice rounds.”

You giggled. “Greedy.”

“Thorough,” he corrected, as if that made all the difference. “You wouldn’t want your best friend running around Gotham being a bad kisser, right?”

“Oh, the horror.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning in just a little closer. “Think of the city.”

you smile.

He just melts.

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 6 months ago

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Drunk N Nasty PT. II 🥂🩷✨ (Bakusquad x Black!F!Reader NYE 18+ One Shot)

✨Pairing: Poly!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader

✨Synopsis: In which you and Mina didn’t learn your lesson the first time about pushing your boyfriends’ buttons, so you decide to once again do something you’re not supposed to at a boring NYE party when their attention is adverted somewhere else instead of on their pretty girlfriends. But they’re on the exact same type of time you and Mina are, so why not celebrate the new year in a way only they know how AND teach you a lesson about being good girls too?

✨Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Aged-Up!Bakusquad (Late 20s-Early 30s); Black-Coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Drunk Sex; Dubcon; Groping; Thigh Grinding; Dry Humping; Spit Play; Edge Play; Girl on Girl; Mutual Oral; Bondage/Tape Play; Shock/Electro Play; Daddy Kink; some DDLG; Spanking; Choking; Hair-Pulling; Facefucking; Spitroast; Degradation/Praise; Multiple Creampies/Throatpies; Facials; Some Aftercare

✨Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

✨Writer’s Note: Happy New Year & (almost) 2025, sweeties!!!! Sooooo I remember how much fun I had writing "Drunk N Nasty" so I decided to do one for NYE. I hope y'all enjoy it! Idk if I did as good of a job, but I still hope it's enough to scratch the deviant itch that y'all have like me lol. This one is still very NASTY tho -Jazz 💋💋💋

Read PT. I HERE!

************

“Baby?” Bakugou asks in that raspy, gruff voice that never fails to send tingles up your spine. “Yeah, babe?” “If you don’t want me to lift up that dress and embarrass you in front of all these people, I suggest you take your hand off my knee.”

The blonde, looking so scrumptious in his burgundy suit and undercut, is serious about his threat and you know it. He truly doesn’t give a fuck.

His lewd threat sends shockwaves throughout your body and makes the most forbidden part of you, the part of your body you should NOT be focused on at the moment, throb. Slowly, you slide your hand off of your boyfriend’s knee despite wanting so desperately to run it up his muscular thigh and grip his—

“That too, Pinkie,” Bakugou growls, not even looking up from his menu for the party. “Hands off. Now.” Your perfect, pretty, pink pro hero girlfriend, who currently looks delicious in her backless mint green gown, begrudgingly takes her hand off Sero’s thigh. He, too, looks delicious in his suit just like the rest of your boyfriends sitting at your assigned table.

“So bossy,” she pouts, her glossy lips puckered. Sero shrugs, grinning wolfishly at Bakugou. “I dunno…I kinda liked it. A lot, actually.” The platinum blonde glares at him over his reading glasses which only makes you hornier. Bakugou looks so goddamn good in glasses. “You’re a perv just like her,” he grunts. “Usually, I don’t give a fuck who sees us, but I’ll be damned if All Might looks over here and sees a hand on my cock.”

He gives you a side-eye that makes you flush hot despite the gorgeous strapless red gown you’re wearing as part of tonight’s festivities. “So lewd,” you tut. “And you complain about us.”

Suddenly, you smell familiar Gucci cologne and your stomach flips. “He’s not the one gropin’ you though, is he, naughty girl?” Denki asks, his lips suddenly at your ear. “Mmm-hmm. I saw that aaaall the way at the punch bowl.” The honey-haired blonde, along with Kirishima’s sexy, redheaded ass, sit on your left while Bakugou occupies your right.

Sero sits across from you with Mina who is about to drop her head into her shrimp salad. “Spiked, I hope,” she mutters. “This party is soooo boring!”

You silently concur. As a fellow pro hero, you were invited to attend the Heroes’ Annual Christmas Party along with your partners to celebrate all heroes and the holiday season. Though you feel extremely glamorous in your dress with the thigh slit and your gold Jimmy Choo heels with your face beat for days and your skin smelling intoxicatingly sweet, this party is anything short of “glamorous”.

Despite all the famous pros and important folks being here, and the ballroom being swaddled in gorgeous Christmas trees, centerpieces, and expensive o'devours, you have never been so fucking bored in your life. Hence why you’ve been teasing your boyfriends for the past hour since you’ve been here.

“What the hell did you expect, mamì?” Sero asks, nudging Mina with his elbow. “It’s a NYE party where very important people, like us, are in attendance, including city officials.” He pops a shrimp into his mouth and you zero in on his lip piercing. And the rings adorning his fingers that you’d love to feel wrapped around your neck right now.

Curse your boyfriends for being pierced up, tatted up, and hella sexy! Why the fuck would they choose tonight of all nights to look so damn good? Why couldn’t you go to the club, get drunk, sloppily make out on the dance floor, and then go back to the crib to “celebrate in private”?

Or stay home and spend NYE fucking until the sun came up?

Or fuck in general?

You wrinkle your brows at your advanced horniness. You can’t remember the last time you were this aroused and in need of your boyfriends’ attention. Perhaps it’s because the busy holiday season has brought too much work and not enough play that now you and Mina both are feening for some dick that your men aren’t free to give at the moment.

The rush of the holidays and working overtime for more money to buy gifts and still pay rent has affected all of you to the point where you and Mina are teeming with arousal and desperation, and your boyfriends are overcome with exhaustion. Too exhausted to dom their pretty babies and give them the attention they so desperately need.

“But no alcohol though?” Denki scoffs, his tiny hoop earrings glistening in the soft glow of the lights above. His honey-blonde hair, streaked with one single black strand in the shape of a lightning bolt, is styled back in a man bun for the special occasion tonight. “C’mon, they’ve gotta be kiddin’ with that one! Do the party planners know a single pro hero?”

“You don’t have to drink to have fun, Denks,” Kiri criticizes, mouth full of steak. He looks absolutely mouthwatering in his tailored suit, his long red locks cascading down his broad shoulders. “You’ve just got a problem.” You tut, rolling your eyes at the redhead. "Says the one who can chug five beers in one sitting,” you giggle. “And then pass out.”

Mina, Denki, and Sero laugh at your little quip while Kiri gets a playful fire in his crimson eyes. “Don’t try me, baby. I’ll show you your man can do six.” Unlike Bakugou, he doesn’t ignore the flirty energy that is emanating from your smile or eyes rimmed in mascara. You reach across the table to take his big hand in his, an electric shock coursing through you at his touch.

He must feel it too because his body visibly tenses and his pierced tongue juts out to lick his lips. “Fuck, you look good,” he sighs. “Both of you do.” He turns to Mina and her hooded, inkwell eyes, the sexual tension becoming more obvious with the unwavering look she gives you and Kiri.

“Mmm, agreed,” Denki sighs, swallowing so hard that his Adam’s Apple bobs. “It’s taking everything in me to not pull you both out of here and tear these dresses off of you.”

Boldly, Mina takes her glass of punch and slowly drinks from it, making it a point to play with the straw with her tongue. “What’s stoppin’ you?” she purrs. Your cunt throbs impatiently under your dress, needing so desperately to feel her tongue in other places. You want to be between all of them, feeling each ridge of their muscles and caressing their warm skin.

“Stop flirting,” Bakugou grunts, his eyes flaring at the pink-haired pro. “You can do that at home.” He puts his menu down and turns to you, making your blood run hot with the seething intensity and lust in them. “And when we’re there, you know you two are gonna get it, right?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hoping that he promises. And you hope that you all can go home ASAP to make up for the weeks of constant missions, patrols, and paperwork that kept your Daddies away from you and Mina. You girls can only get so much satisfaction out of each other and while sex with Mina is always great, you miss Bakugou’s hand gripping your throat while he’s fucking you into the bed or Kiri’s touch as he litters your body in kisses where he left bruises.

Sero obviously sees the molten lust in your eyes and smirks. “Seems like that’s the plan,” he chuckles. “You know how these two operate, Kats. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The look he gives you and Mina is enough to make you explode.

“Can’t we just go home now?” you tiredly suggest, pouting. “No offense to All Might and the others here, but this party is damn near putting me to sleep!” Kiri chuckles, aiming those damn crimson eyes your way. “Or maybe you’re just desperate to get home so we can put your fine ass to bed. Is that it, little lady?”

You suddenly feel his hand ghosting over your knee and do your best to hide your gasp. Every slight touch is like kryptonite to you. Bakugou is gripping his glass so tight that you’re afraid he’ll break the thing. “I said cut it out!” he growls at the redhead. “I can see your boner from here!”

Kiri blushes as red as his hair and places a tablecloth on his lap to cover himself. You wither at the loss of contact and sexual chemistry, needing so much to feel both.

“This is probably the only time I’ve ever sided with Bakugou,” Denki huffs. “As much as I love the sexy game-playing, ladies, I really don’t wanna be walkin’ around with a stiff one if you catch my drift.”

Kiri sighs, staring down at his lap. “Same here. With my quirk, it’s much worse.” Now your mind has drifted to think about their boners. Could you dare to take a peek under the table and see for yourself? Are you bold enough to reach over, grab their hard cocks, and stroke them through their pants until—

“Well, can’t we hit a club around here and then come back before the midnight toast?” Mina suggests, snapping you out of your nasty, depraved thoughts. “I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve! We’re supposed to turn up!”

“After the party,” Bakugou firmly says, rubbing his undercut in obvious frustration. “It’s a charity event and we’re doin’ charity. Now both of you brats pipe the fuck down before I really give you somethin’ to complain about.” Anyone else would be damn near pissing themselves at the hot-blooded look Bakugou is giving, but you and Mina know better. He is just as worked up as you are.

You both turn to each other, sharing a playful smile with one another. Kiri, Denki, and Sero watch on, all equally turned on by the bratty energy emanating from you and Mina…especially Mina. That girl isn’t afraid of anything and won’t stop until she’s a writhing mess after too many orgasms and spankings. “Like what, Kats?” she quips. “Are we gettin’ you hot and bothered too?”

Feeling your girlfriend rub off on you, you take a hand and slyly squeeze Bakugou’s thigh, making his knee hit the bottom of the table. He turns to you, cheeks flushed and bottom lip pierced with snake bites caught between his teeth. “You little fuckin’—“

“Ohhh, look at this!” a sudden voice interrupts. You jump in surprise and turn to the balding city official standing by the snake table nearest to you. “It’s my favorite hero couple all here together! You must come and meet the other officials! They’re big fans of Dynamight and Red Riot, apparently, so I said I’d bring you guys over.”

Kiri, for one, is happy for the distraction before Bakugou possibly tackled you to the ground, ripped off your dress, and fucked you dumb in front of all of these poor people. “Sure! That’s what we’re here for!”

Bakugou stiffly gets up and walks over to the city official, obviously hard, while Denki and Sero trail behind him. You and Mina share a look, neither one of you wanting to socialize and pretend to be interested in anything other than sex with your boyfriends. “We’ll stay back and finish eating,” she tells Mina with a smile. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll keep your seats warm.”

Kiri fixes you both with a “you’d better behave” look before he walks off to be the buffer for his boyfriends. You sigh, placing your nails, glossy, red, and almond-shaped, under your chin. Mina does the same, running a hand through her pink curls. “Are you as bored and as horny as I am?” she deadpans.

“Hell yes,” you reply with a scoff, “but as much as I wanna leave, I don’t wanna ditch the guys or make them angry.” You already know that this is what Mina is going to allude to, just like the last time you two didn’t get enough attention. “Oh, who cares about that?” she scoffs, waving a hand at the idea of your boyfriends being pissed at your decisions. “They’re bored and horny too, but just don’t wanna give us what we want. I don’t appreciate being denied.” She gives you a devious smirk that will only lead to trouble.

As much as you enjoy the idea of teasing your dudes for the night, you also know that ditching them just to entrap them wouldn’t be the best idea on NYE. “Well, we only have an hour until midnight,” you say, checking your phone. “We can just get some dessert, gossip with Uraruka and the girls, and—“

“Oh, you two are still her!” Kiri says, pleasantly surprised. You turn to see him back now, holding a new glass of punch in his hand. “I was sure you ditched us.” You grin up at him, hope blooming in your chest. “Never, baby. How was the meet n’ greet?”

The usual chipper and bright redhead rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Fuckin’ annoying and my social battery has just about reached its limit. How about we leave in say…” He pauses, checking his Rolex. “Twenty minutes?”

Mina groans in happiness, dramatic as usual. “Oh, yes!” you reply, grinning happily. You could kiss your Red Riot because you’re so damn happy to finally be rid of this party and get dicked down before midnight…and after. Kiri laughs at you and Mina’s cute antics as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell the guys in the group chat and—“

“Oh, Kirishima!” Fat Gum hollers from across the room, waving a pudgy hand. “Come over here! These girls wanna meet you!” He points at the girls in question—three very pretty, modelesque, and expensive-looking ladies who look very interested in meeting your man.

Kiri looks wearily at you and Mina before sighing, apologizing with his eyes. “Twenty,” he mouths to you and Mina, but you both know that this won’t be twenty minutes at all. When he leaves, you huff in frustration and turn to Mina who suddenly produces a tiny vodka bottle out of her purse. “Good thing I bought this,” she giggles with a mischievous wink. “Don’t tell the guys, okay?”

You smirk at her, passing your cranberry juice over to her for some of that liquid confidence. “Only if you pour me a shot.” Your girlfriend is happy to oblige and discreetly pours you a glass under the table, spiking your drink. When you take a sip, you feel your bones melt and your face flush from the strong vodka mixed with the sweet, tangy cranberry juice.

After thirty or so minutes of drinking, you and Mina are good and tipsy. You can tell from the way she keeps giggling at nothing and your erogenous zones are more sensitive than usual. Your nipples feel puckered, tight, and flushed while your pussy throbs insistently for attention. You desperately turn to search for your boyfriends and find them still chatting with the three girls.

Only this time, there are more than three. More women have seemed to gravitate over to your Dynamight, Red Riot, Chargebolt, and Cellophane, gushing over their hair and their quirks. One of them blushes as she asks Sero for an autograph on her napkin, placing a hand on his arm in gratitude when he takes out a pen.

You also know that you’re tipsy when you begin to feel quickly irritated at seeing another hand that isn’t yours or Mina’s on your man’s arm. Your jealousy and illogical anger only intensify when you see a blonde with long legs standing between Denki and Kiri for a photo.

The blonde’s hands are placed dangerously low on your boyfriends’ backs…any lower and she’d be cupping their asses. “Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?” Mina whispers, irritation in her voice. You slowly nod, barely even looking at her. You’re too focused on the bitches all over your men. “Yeah, and I don’t like it.”

Another fan, a ginger with a curvaceous body and a beautiful gold gown, is chatting Bakugou up, her hand placed on his shoulder as she laughs. Why is she touching him like that? Why is he allowing that? You know that your boyfriends are quite popular among the female population, but shit, don’t they know that these four sexy men are off-limits?

Flushing with envy that would make anyone green in the face, you begin to search for something. A distraction. A diversion. Something to catch your boyfriends’ attention. You find it in the emerald eyes that are currently staring you down from across the room at another table. The eyes belong to a handsome lizard hybrid with scaly skin, claws, a tail, and a tongue that you’ve heard can do wonders.

Next to him sits another pro adorned in piercings with spiked, black locks and eyes the color of molten silver. He waggles his ringed fingers at you though his eyes are pinned on Mina. There is no doubt in your mind that the two haven’t been watching you and your girlfriend all night despite you clearly having dates. Then you get a very bad, very stupid idea. “I’ve got an idea,” you mischievously giggle. “Follow my lead.”

You rise from your seat and Mina follows, the both of you slowly strutting across the room over to the two pros. They drink you in with every step, their lips curling up into pleased smiles at the sight of you and the pink-haired pro. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. The alcohol has made you too reckless…but it also feels kinda good, like being on a rollercoaster and waiting at the top just before the drop.

“Well, it’s nice to see some familiar faces here,” you say, making your voice as flirtatious as possible. The lizard hybrid smiles up at you, drinking a glass of punch. “H/N and Pinkie,” he greets in his raspy voice, on the same exact time as you. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your boyfriends.”

“Lizard and Slipknot,” Mina giggles, nodding at the grey-eyed pro. “What are pros #12 and #15 doing here at a party like this? I figured you two would be out hunting for some pretty girls to celebrate NYE with.”

Lizard and Slipknot are known for their monthly (if not weekly) girlfriends and hookups, having been trending on social media many times for being snapped coming out of hotels. “You make us sound so predatory, Pinkie,” Slipknot scoffs, pressing a hand to his heart. “I’m a little hurt…unless those pretty girls happen to be you and your girl.”

He gives you each a flirty, almost lecherous smile that Lizard wipes off with a punch in the arm. “Dude, don’t push it. Don’t you know who they’re with?”

You look across the room at your boyfriends who are still annoyingly occupied. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about them,” Mina replies. “They’re busy.” Slipknot quirks a brow in interest. “And left you two alone?” he huffs. “Lucky for us, I guess.”

He and Lizard share a secretive smile with each other that you’re too drunk to question. “That being said, you guys wanna have a drink with us?” you suggest. “And maybe…talk?” It’s the most you can come up with. The vodka has started to make your head throb and your mind sluggish. But the duo are more than happy to agree to your suggestion of shots and chatting.

Somehow that “talk” leads to you, Mina, and the two hot guys who aren’t either one of your boyfriends leaving the party early to go to a club two blocks down. If your boyfriends notice then you don’t realize it.

The cold air is thick with anticipation and excitement for the new year as the men lead you and Mina down the street, stumbling around and loudly laughing from the alcohol. As soon as you’re in the popular, crowded, and sweltering nightclub, more alcohol starts to flow, shot after shot coming thanks to Lizard and Slipknot’s wallets.

It’s only a matter of time until all of the flavored vodka shots—birthday cake, caramel, and sour green apple—start to collide and work their effect on you. The world comes softer and fuzzier as your vision starts to blur, but the music blasting from the speakers overhead sounds sharper. You can feel the bass pumping and throbbing in your head as you stand on the dance floor with Mina.

Speaking of which, your girlfriend has never looked prettier. She danced to the music in her gown, hiking up the skirt over her toned thighs as she winds her perfect ass. She turns to you, eyes aglow and slightly hooded from the vodka. “Now this is a party!” she laughs. You giggle with her, agreeing. The loud music, crowded dance floor, flashing strobe lights, and endless alcohol are exactly what you need.

You slip your phone out of your clutch and hold it up to get you and Mina in view. “Let’s take a photo!” you shout at Lizard and Slipknot who have been surrounding you two like vultures since you came to the club.

Slipknot tosses up a middle finger and makes a show of leaning in towards Mina’s shoulder while Lizard hugs in close on your left, one hand on the small of your back. He lets it linger there even as you snap the photo, the white flash capturing your big smile and the drunk look in your eyes.

Quickly, you post the photo on your private IG, smirking to yourself. Maybe that will make your boys pay some attention to their pretty girls and make them remember what the fuck they have.

Mina’s eyes grow soft in the glow of the colorful lights as she gazes at you. Nobody but you despite the two hot pros you came here with. “Come here. Dance with me, Y/N.”

In one hand, she holds a cup of drank while she takes your hand with a free one. Interlacing your fingers, she invites herself into your space and presses her back flush against your front. Her ass presses against your crotch, grinding back into you as the music glows to a chopped and screwed R&B classic that would definitely get the whole floor pregnant.

Lizard has long since taken his hand off of your back, but he still lingers behind you, watching you and Mina dance with a predatory look in his reptilian eyes. You can’t pay close attention to him because Mina is tossing a sultry look at you from over her shoulder, swishing the alcohol in her cup around. “Want a taste?” she whispers, her tone soft and low.

It makes your pussy throb something awful. All self-control and the ability to make good decisions gone, you nod and allow her to carefully tilt the cup into your mouth, giggling apologies when some of it spills onto your bosom. You’re surprised to find that it’s fizzy champagne that makes you feel bubbly the moment it goes down your throat.

“Lemme get that up for you, darling,” Mina purrs before turning around to slowly lick each droplet of champagne off of your chest. Her glossy lips stick to your skin, leaving stains of Fenty Gloss on your throat and chest. You softly moan at the contact, so drunk off of her and the alcohol that you can barely comprehend that you’re doing this in public.

And with an audience. Lizard groans at the sight. “Fuck, you two are too hot,” he groans. Mina giggles, giving you a mischievous wink. “We know.”

Slipknot corners her front, the lights flashing against his glassy, drunk eyes and sloppy smile. “What I wouldn’t give to take you both home with me.” His hands graze Mina’s waist, trying his luck, but the pink-haired pro steps out of the way to press closer to you. “Uh-uh, Slip, watch it. Our boys could be lurking in any dark corner right now!”

Your stomach drops and reality barely breaks through the comfortable, glittery wall that the alcohol built for you tonight. Any one of your boyfriends could be in this club, couldn’t they? They could’ve arrived at any point and are watching this.

Suddenly, you have the urge to call either one of your men. They must have that urge too because when your phone buzzes, it’s Bakugou calling, his fine ass popping up on your caller ID. You begin to nervously sweat, unsure of whether you should answer or not.

Lizard bumps into you by accident, inching a little closer to you to stand behind you. You notice that he has gotten closer. Extremely close. He’s so close that if you were to lean back, you’d be right against him. You turn to face him, your throat clogged. “That your man?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You should say yes. You should stop this recklessness and answer your boyfriend like a good girlfriend should. But the alcohol and the urge to be a brat win. “No,” you reply, ignoring Bakugou’s call, but you keep the phone in your hand.

Lizard smiles, pleased. “Good. You’re here with me right now.” He inches closer to you and begins to sway to the music that has picked up to a song you’ve heard a thousand times on TikTok. “So what’s up for the night after this?” he whispers.

Under the lights, you see the seductive look in his slits of eyes. You can’t find the words to speak. You don’t want to say yes because hello?! You’re dating people! Four very hot, very famous people who will most definitely kill you tonight.

The urge to call one of your boyfriends and apologize for your behavior returns, sobering you up. Luckily, your phone buzzes again and it’s Kiri. You give Lizard an apologetic smile and put up a finger for a minute. As you strut off of the floor, Mina calls you, mindlessly dancing by herself while Slipknot watches her. “Y/N, get off the phone!” she hollers above the music. “This is our song!”

“Hang on!” you reply, raising your voice enough to be heard. You stand against a nearby wall away from the writhing bodies on the floor and press a hand to your other ear to hear your boyfriend better. “Yeah?” you shout into the phone.

”You two are in big fuckin’ trouble,” Kiri growls. Your stomach flips at the irked, seething tone of his voice that dips into a low rasp that usually occurs when Kiri is very pissed off. “Where the fuck are you?”

You smirk to yourself, glad to have riled him up. “Oh, you’re startin’ this by arguing with me?” you scoff. “Now I’m glad we left.” Kiri scoffs to himself, obviously done with your ass and your brattiness. “You’re lucky it’s me callin’ you and not Bakugou. He just about blew a hole in the wall at the party.”

You stifle a laugh, picturing your hot-headed blonde shooting a hole into one of the ballroom walls after finding you and Mina gone. You picture all of them losing their shit, sweating over the whereabouts of their girlfriends, and then growing angered at the photo on your IG.

“Good! Maybe then you’ll start listening and attending to your girls instead of entertaining your big fans.” You can’t keep the venom from leaking out of your voice. Kiri pauses, assessing the damage and the sound of your voice. “Y/N, you been drinkin’?” he asks, slight worry in his tone. “I can hear it all in your voice.”

He should be worried. Leaving his poor, horny girlfriend to search for excitement on her own is not the kind of treatment you deserve. “Yes,” you pointedly answer. “And I plan on going back to doin’ just that with my pretty girlfriend. We’ll explain everything when we get back.”

Kiri makes a sound between a laugh and a sigh, making your smile slip from your face. “Oh, you can explain everything to me now, baby girl,” he says. “‘Cause I’m right here.”

Confused, you begin to look around the room, squinting into the flashing blue and purple lights that illuminate strangers’ faces, clothes, and bodies. Finally, your eyes land on a pair of big dress shoes standing inches away from the club entrance. Your eyes trail up their thick, muscular legs and broad, tall build to their red locks and handsome face frozen in a steely expression.

Shit.

Kiri stands there with his arms crossed over his beefy chest, his lips pursed in a thin line…which means he isn’t happy. Fear and anxiety sober you, plunging you back into reality like Superman crashing headfirst into Earth as your six-foot-something boyfriend begins to walk toward you. People ogle in shock at him, snapping photos of Red Riot in the club for NYE. But Kiri keeps his eyes locked on you, the hot red of his irises stirring something inside of you. You already know what is in store for you tonight…or do you?

Finally, he stops in front of you, inches away from you. You drop your phone from your ear, stunned. You can’t speak. Words evade you. The corner of Kiri’s mouth turns up into a knowing smirk. “What’s the matter, mama?” he asks, condescending and smug. “Ya look like you just see a ghost.”

“Y-You’re here,” you squeak.

“And you’re in very deep shit,” he replies without missing a beat. “You and that other brat. Where is she, anyway?” Before you can even utter a breath, Mina is dancing up to you with her curls sweated out and her cheeks flushed from dancing. “Y/N!” she laughs, waving her phone at you. ”Slipknot just gave me his number! I can’t wait to see the looks on the boys’ faces when I—“

Her smile instantly fades when she sees Kiri standing there glaring at her. The situation only goes from worse to worser when suddenly, your phones are snatched from your hands as if out of thin air….but not thin air. From two translucent shots of tape that can stick to anything it wants because of how strong the user is.

“Busted!” Sero cackles, snatching your phones away and pocketing them in his suit. He, too, looks very irritated, but also more excited for tonight’s plans than Kiri does. “Now let’s get you two sluts home where you belong.”

You can see flashes of cell phones snapping pics and videos of your private situation, making embarrassment flood inside of you. Mina stands next to you, her head bowed and her lips wobbling nervously. “Boys,” you begin. Like a flash of light, Kiri and Sero’s expressions grow darker and firmer, their eyes flashing with a hot wildfire. “Who?” they question.

You swallow hard and look around, noticing the eyes and the whispers. You know that people can barely hear over you the music, but God, if this isn’t humiliating! “Daddies,” you whimper, gripping your clutch so hard that your nails dig into it. “We’re sorry.”

But your boys aren’t swayed. In the blink of an eye, Kiri is hiking you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Save it for the bedroom, mamas,” he sighs. “Now let’s go before Bakugou gets in here.”

Sero does the same to Mina, making her squeal once and then twice when his hand slaps her hard on the ass. “Wait!” she shouts. “Where’s Lizard and Slipknot?” You look around for the two pros too, now realizing that they are nowhere to be found.

“Nowhere you need to worry your pretty head about,” Sero replies, walking in stride with Kiri through the club. “Only thing you need to worry ‘bout is us.” But as you pick your head up from Kiri’s shoulder, you see them: Lizard and Slipknot tied up in Sero’s tape in the corner of the club, sitting back to back.

You have no time to feel anything but humiliated as Kiri and Sero carry you and Mina through the throng of clubgoers who stare like you’re some exotic animals being hauled off to the zoo. You suppose that this is what you deserve. Pissing your boyfriends just for good sex? Only the brattiest bitch alive does that!

Finally, outside in the bitter winter cold, Kiri and Sero lower you and Mina onto your feet and hand you the fur coats that you left at the party. Bakugou’s sleek, black Range Rover sits in front of you along with your two other boyfriends in the front seat. The passenger window rolls down and your heart jumps at the sight of your other two partners.

“Got ‘em!” Denki joyfully hollers, smirking wickedly at you. Bakugou twists his head to glower at you and Mina, his look dripping with promises of endless torture. “Get your asses in the car now,” he demands, his tone not up for discussion.

With your heads hung low, you and Mina crawl into the backseat of the Range Rover only for Kiri and Sero to crawl in behind you and force you both onto their laps just as the door closes and locks. You are trapped. Denki turns the volume to the music up just as Bakugou hits the gas, and the car zooms down the street away from the club.

You have to grip the car door and Kiri’s thigh to keep from falling forward due to the speed. It feels like Bakugou is going about ninety, especially without a seatbelt. Kiri tuts as he squeezes you in his lap, your ass sitting perfectly on his cock. “You two just won’t learn. What are we gonna do with you?”

The bass to the music pumps through your ears and shakes the windows just as Kiri snakes a hand down between your legs, hiking up the skirts of your gown. He begins to palm at your thighs, his calloused fingers snaking across your skin. You do your very best to keep your thighs closed, not wanting him to expose your secret.

You turn to look at Mina who is sitting in Sero’s lap, biting her bottom lip as he presses sloppy kisses to her neck and plays with her tits outside of her dress. “You wanna explain yourselves?” he asks, sneaking a glance at you.

Before you can open your mouth, Bakugou hits the gas harder and the car accelerates down the highway, now going about one hundred. You would lurch forward and probably end up in the front seats if Kiri didn’t tighten his hold around your arm.

“Bakugou!” you shriek. “Please slow down!” The platinum blonde’s crimson eyes shift to yours in the rearview mirror, silencing you with the level of irritation in them. “Don’t tell me what the fuck to do in my car,” he growls.

Kiri’s knee has begun to slide between your thighs, unfortunately rubbing against your pussy. The speed of Bakugou’s driving and the slight bumpiness of the street help to stimulate you against your boyfriend’s knee, no doubt staining it in your juices. Denki tosses an arm over the passenger’s seat to look back at you and gasps, a wicked smirk curling onto his lips. “Ohhh, I know why she wants you to slow down,” he giggles. “Just look down.”

Kiri and Sero look down at you where, sure enough, a slight peek between the slit of your dress gives you away. “Jesus Christ,” Kiri hisses, ogling at your bare cunt rubbing against his knee. “No wonder your ass looked different from the back!”

He turns to Mina who is now sitting with her legs forced open by Denki, her bare, pink pussy, freshly shaved and pierced with a tiny hoop, is on display. “No panties, babies?” Sero mockingly gasps. “Shiiiit, you two were askin’ to get fucked tonight by anyone, weren’t you?” He snakes a hand down to toy with Mina’s pussy, earning a soft moan in response.

Kiri does the same, two of his digits slowly sliding along your slit and up to circle your clit. Your body tenses at the slight yet torturously pleasurable touch, all of your senses coming to life once you finally, finally, get your man’s hands on you. “N-No,” you whimper. “Never.”

Mina whines in agreement as Sero begins rubbing her clit, playing with the cute little clit piercing she has. Denki watches like the pervert he is, damn near having a nosebleed.

“Then why the fuck were you in the club with those two extras like you were plannin’ on fuckin’ em, huh?” Bakugou snarls, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. “You tryna get a rise out of us? Because you’ve got it.”

Kiri has begun to kiss your neck while he toys with your clit, so words evade you. It’s up to Mina to save your asses. Sero nibbles on her earlobe, continuing to play with her exposed cunt on his knee. “Open that mouth up, slut,” he growls. “Answer the question.”

Then one finger sinks inside, making her choke on a moan. “W-We just wanted to have some fun!” she whines. “W-We—oh, fuck!—we weren’t gonna fuck those guys, ‘Suki, we promise! We love you!”

“So much,” you add, pathetically moaning as Kiri bounces his knee up against your cunt as Bakugou stops at the red light. “Well, you can show us how much when we get home,” the redhead hums, smiling almost wickedly at you and Mina. “You can prove it to us like we know you can.”

He uses his other hand to pry your thighs apart, keeping one leg firmly spread away from your cunt as his fingers play away like one would with piano keys. You moan, your voice drowned out by the music and have the urge to grind your hips in Kiri’s lap. Your pussy is throbbing and gushing around nothing, desperate for more.

But a sharp smack on the thigh stops you. “Ah-ah, puta,” Sero hisses at you, still fingering Mina. “No grinding. You just sit tight and don’t you dare try to touch that pussy either. This is what you fuckin’ get for your choices.” You whimper pathetically, doing your very best to keep your body still despite the rippling pleasure inside of you.

“And if you two whores even think 'bout cumming now, you won't get to later,” Bakugou growls, glaring at you and Mina in the mirror. “Trust me: I’m not playing.”

You know he isn’t and that scares you…scares you because there is no telling what kind of torture he and the boys have in store for you until they finally make you cum. That could be all night or not at all.

As soon as you get home to your beautiful and expensive penthouse, luckily not getting pulled over because of Bakugou’s reckless speeding and swerving, Sero and Kiri are carrying you and Mina across the threshold of your bedroom like brides. Once you’re there, the duo toss you and Mina onto the bed in your gowns, making you squeal as you soar through the air before landing on the soft, king-sized mattress underneath you.

And there you and your girlfriend are, trapped in your own bedroom because of the four big, tall, and sexy pros that stand before you, surrounding you like predators. Their gazes are hot and lustful yet intimidating, promising you a night of endless punishment and possibly orgasms until you cry and beg them to stop.

“Now don’t you two look adorable,” Denki coos and then taps his finger against his chin. “But somethin’ is missin’…” Bakugou snorts, crudely cupping his crotch where his cock has begun to harden and chub against his slacks. “It’s those damn dresses. Sluts don’t wear clothes, especially expensive ones.”

The look in their eyes is damn near evil as they pounce on you and Mina, yanking down the zippers to your dresses and nearly breaking them just to get your dresses off as quickly as possible. You gasp as Bakugou yanks the gorgeous red number off of your body, leaving you in just your heels, the same as Mina. “Leave the heels on,” Sero hums, staring hungrily at your and Mina’s slender feet. “I like ‘em on.”

“Mmm, me too,” Kiri hums, kneeling before Mina’s pretty feet in her strappy Louis Vuitton heels.

A hiss whistles through the pink-haired pro’s teeth as Kiri begins kissing over her stomach and down her thighs, his big hands grasping her ass to hike her legs up. He tosses them over his broad shoulders as his pink lips cascade over her inner thighs, earning soft moans in response. He lifts his gaze to her, locking eyes. “You like my kisses here, Mina, baby?” he murmurs.

Mina slowly nods, lips parted and panting, just as Denki kneels by her head on the bed. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” she whimpers. The honey-blonde is now shirtless and just in his briefs, his hard cock chubbing against his Calvin Kleins. He produces a bottle of champagne from behind his back, grinning down at Mina. “You’ll like this too.”

Pop! The cork of the champagne bottle pops off and Denki successfully catches the champagne fizz into his mouth before leaning down to transfer into into Mina’s mouth. You watch the two messily makeout as Kiri begins to dive into her pussy, gently nibbling on her pink pussy lips before his tongue drags across her clit.

Your watching is interrupted when you suddenly feel Sero’s mouth on your pussy, the cold metal of his piercing melting against your hot pussy lips. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’ you,” he teasingly murmurs against your mound. “You just looked too good, mamì.”

You moan and writhe against the bed as your boyfriend lashes your pussy with his tongue, caressing your clit and your lips, sucking on each one before dragging his nose up to lightly brush against the needy button of your clit.

Beside you, Mina is caught in the rapture of pleasure as Kiri dribbles champagne onto her pussy and greedily sucks it up. Sero catches on and takes the bottle from him, pouring the fizzy alcohol onto your soft, wet cunt. You jump at the cold sensations of the liquid hitting your hot, sensitive skin, wetting you up.

“Goddamn,” Sero sighs, his eyes hooded and dazed as he stares at your cunt dripping in champagne. “I swear this pussy was made for me.” He goes back to greedily sucking and lapping at the alcohol as he drinks in your pussy, making you nearly arch off of the bed.

Bakugou hovers over you now, his vermillion eyes drilling holes into yours. He is semi-naked, the same as Denki, each muscle rippling with veins and power. Your eyes indulge in his tattoos–one on his right pec, one on the left side of his neck, and the others trailing across each toned arm in sleeves.

He smirks down at you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from the tent in his Armani briefs. “Ya like whatcha see, baby?” he murmurs. You nod, answering with a sweet moan as well when Sero swirls his tongue over your entrance, messily eating your pussy. “S’good,” he moans into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me.” Bakugou places a hand on your throat, forcing you to pay attention to him. “Tilt your head back for me.”

You do as you’re told and he snatches the champagne bottle from Sero before taking a swig from it. He then places the bottle aside on the nightstand and leans down to press his lips to yours. The cold liquid pours out of his mouth and into yours, forcing you to swallow all that he gives you before his tongue caresses yours, swirling and dancing in the middle of a very messy, very sloppy kiss.

When you suddenly feel Sero’s finger prying your asscheeks apart and the familiar, bulbous tip of a butt plug, you hurriedly pull away from Bakugou. The metal tip is cold against your asshole and though isn’t inside of you, your body reacts as if it is. “A-Ah!” you gasp. “Wait, don’t—“

“‘Wait, don’t’ nothing,” Bakugou growls, gripping your throat and briefly restricting your airwaves. “Whores like you don’t get a choice in this. Are you dumb?” He squints down at you like this is the first time he is realizing it.

Denki laughs, pinching Mina’s nipples while Kiri is still lapping, sucking, and slurping away, her heels pressed against his back muscles. “Obviously if she thought she was gonna get away with tonight.” Denki glances at Bakugou, mirth in his eyes. “They complained all night about the party, fellas. I think we should give ‘em somethin’ to really complain about.”

The excited and greedy glow in your boyfriends’ eyes is the stuff of nightmares as you share a withered look with Mina.

You can only wonder what the four pros have in store for you and your girlfriend for the rest of the night until the dawn of 2025 hits the skyline.

Will they bend you over and take turns filling you up with their cum until you’re begging them through tears to let you cum? Will they not fuck you at all and instead spend time between your thighs, eating your pussy until it’s falling off the bone and overly sensitive? Will they spank your ass until it’s coated in their handprints and force you to deepthroat them until you choke?

None of these thoughts even come close to what they do to punish you and celebrate the coming of the new year. You come to know what true pain and suffering are when you and Mina are forced onto your hands and knees with your wrists and ankles tied in the sticky tape that Sero’s quirk produced for the occasion. “Now don’t move too much, mamìs,” he chuckled as he wrapped your ankles up. “This won’t come off even if ya squirm. Don’t want you hurtin’ yourselves before we have any fun.”

But that isn’t even the worst of it. All four of your boyfriends make it a point to strip buck naked in front of you and Mina’s excited eyes, each article of clothing falling to the floor making arousal stir inside of you. Your wide pupils glide over each vein in a hand or forearm; each muscle jumping under a thick thigh or a bicep; each patch of hair on their chests or on their toned lower bellies that are in need of some licking.

Your eyes lower down, down, down to their bulges, each one different in size or shape but still the very things that you breathe for at this moment. Kiri notices your pitiful expression and coos at you, his hair tickling your face as he leans down to peck your lips.

“Is my baby feenin’ for somethin’?” he asks, his tone saccharine and almost mocking. You nod, leaning your cheek into his hand as he presses it against your face. “Well, that’s too bad,” he chuckles. “You’re gonna have to wait a little longer to get what you want, baby girl.”

Somehow, Denki finds it funny to give both of your pretty, plump asses spanks that are sparked with electricity, causing painful sparks to pop against your skin with each fall of his merciless hand.

Spank! Spank! Spank!

He cackles like a madman while Bakugou and Kiri kneel behind you and Mina, both of them fucking your pussies with their tongues while rimming you with matching butt plugs, all slick with cherry-flavored warming lube.

You feel tears cling to your lashes at the mixture of pain and pleasure, your hands writhing in the binds that Sero created for you, your ass shamelessly tossing back to fuck Bakugou’s face. “F-Fuck, ‘Suki, please!” you cry out, desperate to be released from the hold he has on you.

“S-Shit, Kiri!” Mina whines beside you, only growing louder when Denki yanks her up by her hair. “Please, please go faster! Please–”

Her pleas are silenced when Denki pulls his briefs down with one hand and shoves his throbbing cock, flushed with arousal, into her unprepared mouth. He hisses at the contact, strands of his hair falling into his face. “Goddamn, Mina,” he groans. “You talk too fuckin’ much. Had to give your pretty mouth somethin’ else to do.”

Sero hums in agreement, his own cock now throbbing and pulsing in front of your eyes. The sight of it makes you wetter, much to Bakugou’s enjoyment. “Want me to fuck your throat too, babes?” Sero asks, tilting your head up with two fingers under your chin. You silently nod, your mind too blank to reply with coherent words.

With a moan, Sero slides his cock into your mouth just as Bakugou’s tongue rolls around your clit while your asshole clenches around the buttplug. All of your holes are played with as you sit on all fours between Sero’s body, hardened by years of training and hero work, and Bakugou’s wicked, pierced lips and tongue. “Fuck, mama, yes,” Sero hisses, his fingers digging into your hair, wrapping your braids around his fist. “Wanted to do this to you all night.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Kiri moans into Mina’s pussy, pulling away with a wet, smacking sound. “Me too. I would’ve done it at the party though that wouldn’t have been too manly.”

His cute little response probes some giggles out of you and Mina, causing Sero and Denki to shudder at the vibrations that travel up the bases of their shafts. “Even your laughs are hot!” Denki groans, in full goon territory for his girls. “How the fuck are you both this fuckin’ sexy?”

He and Sero each pull their cocks out of their mouths and hold them together, side by side, slick with your and Mina’s saliva and their balls heavy with unreleased cum. “Go on,” Denki sniggers. “Give us a kiss.”

You and Mina each lean over to press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your boys’ cocks, moaning like you’re straight out of a porno…but that comes naturally since Bakugou and Kiri won’t let up behind you, tonguefucking your pussies until the both of your moans reach a crescendo.

Mina pulls away from the sloppy makeout session and Denki’s cock to cry out in desperation, her pink curls bouncing around her face. “O-Oh, my God!” she whimpers. “I-I think I’m gonna–”

“No, the fuck you’re not,” Bakugou growls, tearing himself away from your pussy to glare at the pink-haired girl. “You’re gonna wait ‘cause you didn’t get permission yet.” He swats you across the ass, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your core. “That goes for you too, slut. What, you think I can’t feel that pussy tightenin’ up?”

You whimper pathetically as Sero taps his cockhead against your soft, wet lips, applying his own kind of stickier lipgloss to them, moaning at the feeling on his sensitive head. “I-I can’t—h-ha—help it, ‘Suki,” you stammer. “I-I….oh! I need to–”

Abruptly, you stop when you feel Bakugou’s cock slap against your wet pussy, making your jaw drop at the immense pleasure that the slight little thwack gives you.

“Nah,” Bakugou huffs as Sero moans, still sliding his cock against Denki’s and your lips for some relief. “What you’re gonna do is cum all over my dick when I tell you to. You know why?”

He circles a hand around your throat, squeezing harder than he did before, as his lips ghost over your ear. “Because you’re mine,” he whispers. As soon as the last word is uttered, he is sliding that gorgeous cock inside of your soft, wet, velvety pussy, stretching you out in just the way you’ve been craving.

From beside you, Mina lets out a high-pitched moan that is almost worthy of a Grammy when Kiri slides inside of her. You turn to watch him grasp her hips with his big hands, digging them so deep into her ass that he is surely leaving bruises, as his own hips begin to rock against her.

His cock plunges in and out of her cunt, his balls swinging between his muscular thighs, just as Denki inserts his cock back into her mouth. Mina looks so small between them, each of your boyfriends towering over her as they fuck each of her holes with a plug still plunged snuggly between her asscheeks.

And then it’s your turn. Sero finally slides his cock into your mouth just as Bakugou begins to fuck you from behind, slamming his hips into your ass that bounces with each mind-blowing thrust. “Fuck, baby,” he grunts, using one hand to massage one of your drooping, gorgeous tits while the other toys with your ass, spanking it as much as he sees fit. “You fit me so perfectly. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Kiri laughs, the sound like an aphrodisiac to your ears. “This one is too.” He nods down at Mina who is bouncing against his thick cock like a remote-controlled bunny, split between the buff redhead and Denki as he ruts into her mouth, cackling when her body thrashes at the feeling of his electric fingers tweaking her nipples and sending shockwaves throughout her body. “Think you good girls can cum for us soon?” Kiri pants, his handsome face flushed as red as his hair.

You frantically nod while Mina whines in response, each of you unable to speak ‘the English’ right now. “Bakugou, quit hoggin’ her,” Sero angrily grunts, his hand laced in your scalp. “You’re not the only one who’s fuckin’ her. The hotheaded blonde looks at the black-haired pro like he just insulted him. “You’re lucky I’m even lettin’ you fuck her, dickhead,” he growls. “Just try to keep up.”

Unfortunately for you, Sero can and he does. He and Bakugou fuck you between them like your body is going out of style, using your pussy and your mouth as much as they want and need. It doesn’t take long for Bakugou’s cock to stroke your insides and massage your G-spot so fucking well that you reach your first peak of the night. Bakugou feels you squeeze around his dick and grips your throat, massaging Sero’s cock down your throat in the process.

“Give it to me, babe,” he demands, using his other hand to twist the plug inside of your asshole. “Cum for me. Show these extras how good of a girl you can be.”

“You too, cutie pie,” Kiri coos, petting Mina’s ass the way she likes as he continues to rail her from behind. “Cum on that dick and be my good lil’ slut, hm? Don’t disappoint us now.”

Mina whines around Denki’s cock, spit dripping from her lips and all over the bedspread. You can’t help but stare at her as you feel pleasure ripple through you the more Bakugou fucks your cunt, making you see dozens of stars with your eyes wide open.

When your orgasm hits, it hits you hard like a freight train or a villain’s punch. Your eyes close and you see the entire galaxy, planets and all, as the first wave of total bliss hits you and submerges you in pleasure. Your pussy grips Bakugou tighter than a vice as you gush all over his cock, stroking and milking him of all that he is worth. Your voice is loud enough to worry the neighbors as you moan and cry around Sero’s cock, the sounds of your release as muffled as they can be during such an intense orgasm.

Mina cums in unison with you, the both of you coming undone on your boyfriends’ cocks just as the clock hits midnight. As your sweet moans echo throughout the bedroom, filling the walls with the echoes of your pleasure, the sounds of distant cheering from the penthouses next door and fireworks popping somewhere in the distance explode from all around you. In your delirious mind, you think that these people are cheering because you were finally allowed to cum.

“A-Ah, fuck!” Denki gasps, gripping Mina’s hair as Kiri grips her ass, pressing himself flush against her. “She just latched onto me tighter!” Sero breathlessly laughs, pressing his cock deeper down your throat as your lips tighten around the base, his balls flush against your chin. “So did this one. I bet they needed that.”

“And I fuckin’ need it too.” Bakugou grips you tighter as he begins to slam his cock into you again and again, turning your cunt into silly putty around his throbbing length. Your mouth falls open at the sensations, the pleasure almost agonizing. Your pussy is so sensitive from the orgasm that it quivers and clenches around Bakugou who fucks you like he’s trying to fill you with his kids.

“Not done,” he grunts, groping your tits and tweaking the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Gotta fill you up first. Teach you a fuckin’ lesson about fuckin’ with me.”

Kiri begins to fuck Mina at the same breakneck pace, his big body mounting her tinier frame as he pistons his cock into her again and again. “Oh, fuck, this is gonna make me cum!” he warns, making Mina bounce on him like she’s on hydraulics. “You gonna take it, Mina, hm? Like a good lil’ slut?”

“Yes!” Mina gasps, her moans and sobs of pleasure broken because of the speed Kiri is fucking her. “Yes, Daddy, I promise!” Denki quiets her down by slipping his cock back into her mouth, making sure he is nice and snug in her throat before thrusting in her face. “Don’t leave me out,” he groans. “I’m about to bust too.”

“M-Me too.” Sero slips his big dick in your mouth, collecting saliva from your bottom lip before swishing it around the inside of your mouth with his cock. “‘Bout to fill this pretty neck up,” he pants, fucking your face like he would a toy. “You’re gonna be feelin’ all of this shit for days, mamìs.”

You know that, and you couldn’t be more prepared to feel the rawness in your throat and the soreness in your muscles after this. You let your boyfriends use your body, see-sawing you between their cocks as they use and abuse your holes like they were made for them and them alone. Their rough fucking causes the bedsprings to bounce and creak below your bodies, no doubt signaling the neighbors below that you are, indeed, fucking.

When your boyfriends’ moans begin to grow louder and more intense, you know that they are right at their peak. And so are you. Because your wrists are still tied, Bakugou has to reach down to rub your clit with his calloused fingers, quick and precise. “Cum with me,” he demands, his voice all in your ear. “Cum with me right fuckin’ now. Gimme another one, baby.”

With a muffled whine, your second orgasm roils through you just as Bakugou’s body tenses and he stills. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he fills you up with his cum, flooding your insides with a week’s worth of nut. Sero cums too, spilling curses in Spanish as he slams into your throat with one final thrust. His spunk coats your tongue and spills down your throat, forcing you to take every ounce of it down your throat to your tummy.

Beside you, Kiri and Denki’s moans are loud, unabashed, and extremely verbal as they get closer to their end. Chants of “M’gonna cum, m’gonna cum” and “Take it, baby” escape them as they finally fill Mina to the brim with their streams of spunk.

The pretty, pink pro takes it all as she shudders between them and thrashes against Kiri’s hips, her own orgasm taking control. Her eyes roll to the back of her head at the intensity of the orgasm, her long, doll-like lashes fanning across her cheeks as she closes her eyes at the bliss.

“Oh, my God,” she sighs, her tone breathless and soft. “That was amazing.”

“And you’re not done yet.” Bakugou slows his fast, rough thrusts down to a slow, gentler yet deeper pace, stroking your sensitive pussy walls. You feel like running from him at this point. “We’re not finished here yet, little girl,” he whispers, his voice low and raspier than usual. It makes your cunt throb around his pulsing cock, making the pleasure almost agonizing. “We’ve still got plenty of tonight to punish you little whores.”

“And celebrate 2025,” Kiri chuckles, stroking Mina’s ass before giving it a firm, open-palmed smack. “I can’t think of a better way to ring in the new year than makin’ these cuties cum over and over again.”

Bakugou presses his hand against your cheek, making you turn to look at him over your shoulder. With his hips still rolling sweetly against your ass, plunging his cock into the wet depths of your pussy over and over again, his hooded vermillion eyes lock with yours, daring you to not look away.

“You can handle that, can’t you, sweetness?” he asks, cheeks flushed and muscles clenched from the force it takes him to not cum. “You can go all night and take what we give you without question, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sero hums in agreement, sliding his cock out to wetly tap against your tongue. “After all, you and Pinkie still got some apologizing to do for earlier.”

He reaches over to give Mina a smack on her ass, making her moan against Denki’s balls that he’s got in her mouth. You stare up into Sero and Bakugou’s eyes, melting under their hot gazes. “Yes, Daddies,” you answer for both you and Mina. “We promise.”

Mina tears her lips away from Denki’s balls as he strokes his cock in her face, ogling at the way her ass looks squished against Kiri’s toned lower abdomen. “Just please fuck us!” she whines, tears glittering across her thick, black lashes. “We promise we’ll be good girls for you, Daddies! Just don’t tease us!”

The four pros smirk at each other, each one planning their own bullshit for their pretty little brats. Anything to force their babies to understand the error of their ways and take responsibility for their actions. Anything to make very sure that you understand that if you even look at another guy, you won’t be able to walk for days afterward.

Fortunately for you and Mina, your private NYE celebration lasts for several hours where your boyfriends and Daddies put you in every position possible to fuck more of their cum into your holes.

After Bakugou’s cock, you get Sero’s and then Denki’s and then Kiri’s, each of them spreading you out and dicking you down the way they see fit. And then each one of them fills you up with their spunk or coats you in it, decorating your ass, tits, and face in their cream the same way they do their kisses and bruises.

Finally, after what feels like all night, you and Mina lay on the bed, naked, exhausted, and covered in cum. You heavily pant next to each other, exhaustion taking over. Your makeup is destroyed, running mascara coating your cheeks, and your hair is a sexed-out mess. Both of your tinier frames twitch from your orgasms, your pussies leaking with spunk and your assholes clenched around the butt plugs still nestled in your asses.

Your boyfriends kneel over you with their sweat-soaked muscles and flaccid cocks, watching their girlfriends tap out for the rest of the night. Supremely satisfied but absolutely winded and sore. Bakugou reaches down to grab both your and Mina’s chins in his rough hands, his crimson eyes intense and stern.

“So,” he rasps, “you two lil' bimbos gonna fuck around and act up like that again?”

You and Mina share a soft-eyed, dazed, and cum-drunk look before you look back up into your man’s eyes. “No, Daddy,” you answer in unison. “We promise.”

Until next New Year’s, at least.

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #bnha smut #my fic shit #poly smut #bakusquad x black!reader #poly bakusquad #bakusquad x reader #mina x black!reader #kirishima x black!reader #bakugou x black!reader #sero x black!reader #denki x black!reader

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ode2rin · 1 year ago

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1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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