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inseobts · 4 months ago

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Unintentional couple behaviour

you two acts like a loving couple all the time, so what happens when someone points it out?

gn!reader

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace and sabo

(luffy, kidd, katakuri, shanks and mihawk)

words count: around 0.8k - 1.3k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

You do a lot of things for Zoro without thinking.

You wake him up when it’s time to eat. You stop him from training too much. You make sure he doesn’t get lost whenever the crew visits a new island.

It’s normal for you. Someone has to do it.

But one day, the others start teasing you about it.

It happens at lunch. You are eating with the crew when Usopp laughs and nudges your arm.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna get your boyfriend?”

You blink. “What?”

Sanji, cleaning his hands with a towel, nods toward the deck “That moss-brained idiot. You always bring him to meals. It’s like a little routine between you two now. Like a couple…”

“We’re not—” You nearly choke on your drink “We’re not a couple!”

Usopp grins “Then why do you always take so much care of him?”

“Because he’s stupid and forgets to eat!” you say, standing up “I’ll go get him, but not because of whatever weird ideas you guys have.”

You walk away while they laugh behind you.

You find Zoro exactly where you expect, napping against the ship’s railing, his swords next to him.

You roll your eyes and shake his shoulder “Oi, wake up. Lunch is ready.”

Nothing.

You shake him harder “Zoro. If you don’t get up, I’ll eat your food.”

He grumbles and waves his hand, like he’s trying to swat away a fly.

Sighing, you do what you always do. You grab his wrist and pull him up with both hands. He lets you. He always does, like it’s natural.

Zoro blinks at you, still half-asleep “Huh. You again.”

“Yeah, me again,” you say “Come eat before Sanji ‘forgets’ to save you anything.”

You’re still holding his wrist, making sure he doesn’t fall back asleep. That’s when you notice Nami and Robin watching from across the deck, smiling.

“What?” you ask, feeling awkward.

Nami smirks “You two are cute.”

Your face heats up “We’re not—he’s not—we’re not together!”

Robin chuckles “You do take care of him a lot.”

Zoro frowns, confused “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” you mutterl “Come eat.”

You let go of his wrist too fast and walk away, ignoring the warm feeling in your chest.

You think it’s over, but now you notice things.

Zoro always sits next to you at meals, even when there are other seats. You always save food for him without realizing. And during fights, he always protects you first, like it’s a habit.

And, worst of all, people keep pointing it out.

“y/n,” Chopper asks one day, tilting his head “Are you and Zoro dating?”

You almost trip “What?! No!”

“Oh...” He looks confused “But you act like it”

You groan “Not you too”

After that, you can’t stop thinking about it.

The next time you wake Zoro up, your fingers stay on his wrist a second too long. The next time he pulls you behind him in a fight, your heart beats faster.

And then one evening, when you catch him watching you with a thoughtful look, you realize you might be in trouble.

That night, Zoro speaks first.

“Oi”

You look up from your seat on the deck “What?”

He leans against the railing, arms crossed “Does it bother you?”

You frown “Does what bother me?”

“What people are saying” His eyes stay on you “About us.”

You swallow “Why? Does it bother you?”

He doesn’t answer right away “No” his voice is quieter than usual.

Your stomach flips and you look at the ocean “I mean… it’s just dumb teasing, right?”

Zoro doesn’t reply. Instead, he watches you for a long time. Then, finally, he smirks.

“Doesn’t really matter what they say” he says, voice calm but sure “I’d still stick with you either way.”

Your breath catches and suddenly, your heart won’t let you ignore this anymore.

For the next days you try to brush off what the crew said.

You really do, but it’s impossible to ignore when Zoro keeps acting the same way.

Like when you’re on lookout duty together, and he hands you his jacket without a word.

Or when you spar with him, and he pulls his hits just enough so you don’t get hurt.

Or when you fall asleep on the Sunny’s deck, and you wake up covered with a blanket, one you know you didn’t grab.

And every time it happens, you catch the crew watching. Smirking.

It’s driving you insane.

One afternoon, you finally decide to do something about it.

You find Zoro by the training room, lifting weights. His shirt is half undone, sweat glistening on his skin, but you shove that thought aside.

You cross your arms “Hey, Zoro.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, not stopping his reps.

You hesitate “…Why do you treat me differently?”

He finally sets the weight down, wiping his face with a towel “What?”

“You heard me...” You shift uncomfortably “You do things for me that you don’t do for anyone else.”

Zoro leans back against the wall, looking at you like you just asked a stupid question “So?”

“So?” You huff “That means something, doesn’t it?”

He shrugs “I guess.”

You blink “That’s it? You guess?”

Zoro sighs, scratching his head “Look, I don’t really think about it. I just—” He pauses, then shrugs again “I want to.”

Your heart skips a beat “…What?”

“I want to do those things for you,” he says simply “it’s not a big deal”

You stare at him “Not a... Zoro, are you serious?”

He frowns “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not the point!” Your face feels hot “You don’t do this for Nami or Robin or anyone else!”

Zoro looks at you, unimpressed “Yeah. Because it’s you.”

You freeze.

The way he says it, so blunt, so obvious, it makes your stomach flip.

He isn’t flustered. He isn’t overthinking it. He’s just stating a fact.

“…Oh.”

Zoro crosses his arms, watching you carefully “Is that a problem?”

You swallow “No. It’s just…”

It’s everything. It’s him always being there, always looking out for you, always treating you like someone important.

It’s a realization you should have had ages ago.

You let out a breathless laugh “I’m an idiot.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Well, yeah.”

You smack his arm. He smirks.

But when your hand lingers just a little too long, he doesn’t pull away.

And suddenly, you both understand... this isn’t just a habit.

It never was.

Ever since that conversation in the training room, things between you and Zoro have… shifted, but not in a bad way.

He still trains for hours. Still naps in random spots. Still bickers with Sanji.

But now, when you sit beside him, his arm naturally rests along the back of your chair.

Now, when you fight, he doesn’t just watch your back, he makes sure you’re never out of reach.

Now, when you look at him for a second too long, he looks right back.

Like he’s waiting.

Like he’s giving you the choice.

One evening, you find him on the Sunny’s deck, looking out at the ocean.

“…Can’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head, stepping closer “Thinking too much.”

Zoro smirks “Dangerous habit...”

You huff a laugh but don’t argue.

Instead, you stand beside him, silent for a moment before you finally ask...

“Do you regret telling me?”

Zoro frowns “Telling you what?”

“That you… actually treat me differently. That you want to.”

His jaw tightens slightly “No.”

Your heart does something strange “Good.”

You don’t give yourself time to hesitate.

Before doubt can creep in, you grab him and pull him down.

Zoro freezes.

For half a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

Then a quiet growl rumbles from his chest, and his hand cups the back of your neck as he kisses you back.

It’s firm. Solid. Like he’s been holding back for too long and refuses to anymore.

When you finally break apart, Zoro leans his forehead against yours, exhaling through his nose.

“…Finally” he mutters.

You grin “You were waiting for me?”

“Wasn’t gonna rush you” His fingers brush your jaw “You get there when you get there.”

You hum, leaning into him “And now?”

Zoro smirks “Now, you’re stuck with me.”

You kiss him again, just to make sure he knows you wouldn’t want it any other way.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji has always been a flirt. That’s just how he is.

He calls Nami and Robin “my love” and “my dear”. He spins around the kitchen whenever they compliment him. He offers to carry their bags when the crew goes shopping.

But when it comes to you, it’s different.

It starts when the crew is eating dinner together.

“Sanji, can you pass the salt?” you ask.

Instead of handing you the salt shaker, Sanji grabs it, twists off the lid, and sprinkles just the right amount onto your plate.

You blink “Uh. Thanks?”

“Of course, my dear” he says smoothly. Then, as if nothing happened, he turns back to his own plate.

You think nothing of it... until you notice the way the others are watching.

Usopp raises an eyebrow “Did he just season your food for you?”

“Yeah?” You shrug “What's new about it? He's a chef and he’s just being nice.”

Luffy grins “He doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you argue “Sanji treats everyone like this.”

Nami hums “Not exactly like this. If we wanted more salt he would start a lecture about how it would ruin his masterpiece.”

Before you can ask what she means, Sanji stands up to grab dessert. He places a plate in front of you first. It’s your favorite.

The crew stares.

You stare too “Sanji…”

He smiles “What? I made extra for you.”

Usopp coughs “Yeah. Okay. Totally normal.”

Robin chuckles behind her hand.

You shake your head and go back to eating. It’s nothing. Sanji is just being Sanji.

…Right?

But then, you start noticing other things.

When you’re cold, Sanji drapes his jacket over your shoulders without you asking.

When you need something from a high shelf, Sanji wordlessly reaches up and hands it to you.

When you’re about to trip, his hand is always there to steady you.

And every time, every single time, he does it so naturally that you don’t even think about it.

Until one day, Franky whistles and says, “You two sure act like a couple.”

You nearly drop the drink in your hands “What?!”

Sanji, who was stirring a pot at the stove, pauses.

Franky leans against the counter, grinning “You two do all that coupley stuff. He gives you the best food, takes care of you, treats you differently from everyone else—”

“That’s not true,” you say quickly “Sanji’s like this with everyone.”

Franky snorts “Nah. He does flirt with everyone. But this?” He gestures between you and Sanji “This is different.”

You glance at Sanji. He’s staring into the pot, silent.

Your face feels hot now “You guys are reading too much into things.”

“Sure we are...” Franky says, smirking. Then he leaves.

The kitchen is quiet now. You swallow and turn to Sanji.

“…Is it true?”

He looks at you. His usual confident smile is gone. Instead, there’s something softer in his eyes.

“I don’t know” he says “is it?”

Your heartbeat quickens.

Suddenly, every touch, every sweet gesture, it all feels different.

Maybe it wasn’t just a habit.

Maybe it was something else all along.

After all this the teasing has only gotten worse.

Ever since Nami and Usopp pointed out how Sanji treats you, they will not let it go.

“Here comes Sanji’s beloveeeed~” Usopp sings when you walk into the kitchen.

“I should start charging you for all the extra food Sanji makes only for you” Nami smirks.

Even Luffy, who usually doesn’t care about these things, grins at Sanji one afternoon and says “Oi, cook, when are you gonna marry y/n?”

Sanji chokes on his cigarette so hard he has to brace himself on the counter.

You groan and drag a hand down your face.

But what really drives you insane?

Sanji never denies it.

He stutters, blushes, waves his hands, but he never says “That’s not true.”

Because it is true.

And it’s starting to drive you crazy.

You try to ignore it. But then you start noticing things, even the smallest ones.

Sanji never lets you carry anything heavy.

He always pours you tea first, even before Nami and Robin.

He adjusts your chair at dinner like it’s second nature.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

But you do.

And now, every time he gives you that look—the one that’s soft, full of admiration, like you hung the damn sun in the sky—your heart stumbles over itself.

This has to stop.

Or something has to change.

It happens one evening after dinner.

You’re in the kitchen, helping Sanji clean up. He hums as he washes the dishes, sleeves rolled up, golden hair falling over his forehead.

You watch him for a second, then take a deep breath.

“Sanji.”

He glances at you, smiling “Yes, my love?”

You grip the counter “Why do you act like we’re together?”

Sanji freezes.

The faucet keeps running. The kitchen is warm with the smell of spices. But Sanji is frozen.

Slowly, he turns his head toward you “…P-Pardon?”

You cross your arms “You treat me differently. Even the crew notices. You never do this stuff for anyone else.”

Sanji swallows hard “I—”

“You never deny it,” you press “and honestly? I’m tired of waiting for you to finally say something.”

Sanji stares at you like you’ve just flipped his entire world upside down.

His hands shake. His lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

“…Sanji.” Your voice softens “Do you want this to be real?”

A shuddering breath leaves him. He looks at you, eyes wide, vulnerable.

“More than anything...” he whispers.

Your heartbeat stutters.

That’s it. That’s all you need to hear.

You step forward, grab the front of his shirt, and kiss him.

Sanji malfunctions.

His entire body locks up, like his brain has completely short-circuited.

For a solid two seconds, he does not move.

Then a noise escapes him, something between a whimper and a desperate sigh, and his hands come up to cup your face, pulling you closer.

The kiss is warm, overwhelming, but soft, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tight.

When you finally pull away, he’s redder than his own suit.

“…M-Mon amour,” he breathes, voice shaking “You...you actually...”

You smirk “Took us long enough, cook.”

Sanji makes a strangled sound and immediately buries his face in your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you.

Outside, the crew is losing their minds.

“TOLD YOU!” Usopp shouts.

“I WON THE BET!” Nami cheers.

“Oi, Sanji, you alive in there?” Zoro snickers.

Sanji doesn’t answer. He’s too busy melting against you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin.

And honestly?

You think you’ll let him.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

Law is not the kind of person who likes physical contact. He doesn’t let most people touch him. He keeps his distance, always standing at the edge of conversations with his arms crossed. If someone bumps into him, they get a glare.

But for some reason, you are different.

It starts when Bepo hands you a coat one evening.

“Here,” he says, tail flicking “you left this in the lounge.”

You blink at it. It’s black, long, and definitely not yours.

“This isn’t mine” you say, confused.

Bepo tilts his head “Oh. But you always wear the captain’s coat, so I thought it was yours now...”

You freeze.

“Wait. What?”

Shachi walks by and hears the conversation. He grins “Yeah, you totally do. Every time you’re cold, you steal his coat.”

Penguin nods “And Law never complains.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Try to remember.

…Okay, maybe you have borrowed Law’s coat a few times. But that’s just because it’s warm! And because it’s there! And because...

Oh no.

Your stomach twists “I... I do not...”

“Sure you don’t...” Shachi teases “What’s next? Calling him ‘dear’?”

You groan and shove the coat at Bepo before walking away.

But now, you can’t stop thinking about it.

After this, you start noticing other things. Like how Law always lets you into his personal space.

How you can tug his hat down over his eyes without him pushing you away.

How he casually rests his hand on your shoulder when he stands next to you.

One day, you trip over a loose crate. Before you even hit the ground, a familiar blue glow surrounds you... Law’s Room.

In an instant, you’re back on your feet, completely unharmed.

The Heart Pirates snicker.

“Captain didn’t even think” Penguin whispers.

“He never uses Room for anyone else’s clumsiness” Shachi adds.

You glare at them “I heard that.”

They just smirk.

Law doesn’t say anything. He just sighs and keeps walking, like saving you without thinking is the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart does something weird. You ignore it.

Later, you sit on a crate, arms crossed. Law stands next to you, reading a medical book.

You glance at him “Your crew keeps calling me ‘Captain’s partner.’”

He doesn’t look up “So?”

“So, why?”

He flips a page “Probably because you act like one.”

Your brain short-circuits.

You stare “Excuse me?”

Law finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow “You’re always in my quarters, you steal my coat, and you act like you belong next to me. They’re not wrong.”

Your face burns “I... You let me do all that!”

He smirks “I know.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Because suddenly, you realize... he has let you. And he still is.

Ever since Bepo and the others pointed out how Law treats you differently, it’s been impossible to ignore.

The extra care during missions. The way he always stands just a little closer than necessary. The way he lets you touch him, his arm, his shoulder, even his hand, when no one else would dare.

But what really gives him away?

The way his ears burn red every time you get too close.

And yet he never says anything.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was running an experiment to see how long he could keep this up before you lost your mind.

So tonight you’re calling him out.

You find him in his quarters, buried in medical books.

“Hey, Law.” You lean against the desk, arms crossed “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes flick up “What?”

You tilt your head “Do you like me?”

Law chokes.

Not just a little cough... he full-on chokes on air, slamming his book shut as if that’ll somehow save him.

“What—?!” He coughs into his fist “Where the hell did that come from?”

You raise an eyebrow “You tell me.”

Law scowls, shifting uncomfortably “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh? Am I?” You step closer.

He stiffens “What are you...?”

You place your hands on the arms of his chair and lean in, caging him in.

His breath hitches.

Oh. Oh.

He is not prepared for this.

“Law,” you murmur, watching his face closely “you never let anyone touch you, but you let me.”

His jaw clenches “That doesn’t—”

“You always make sure I rest. You check my injuries before anyone else’s.”

“Because you’re reckless—”

“And...” you lean even closer “your ears are red right now.”

Law swallows.

You smirk “So, wanna try again?”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, lips parted, golden eyes darting between yours.

Then, in a last-ditch effort, he growls... “You’re annoying.”

You hum “Maybe.”

And then you kiss him.

Law goes still.

For the first time since you’ve known him, he is completely speechless.

But then a quiet sound escapes him, and his hand suddenly grips your wrist, holding you there.

You almost pull back, unsure, until his other hand slides around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he kisses you back.

It’s hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, something shifts.

The kiss deepens, his grip tightens, and the heat radiating off of him is enough to make you dizzy.

When you finally part, Law exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…You’re gonna be a problem” he mutters, voice rough.

You grin “Yeah?”

His fingers tighten in your hair “Yeah.”

And then, despite everything, he kisses you again.

Because for once in his life he’s done running.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

Ace is naturally affectionate.

He throws an arm around people’s shoulders, laughs loudly, and grins like the world is a joke he’s in on. He’s warm but also because he makes people feel welcome.

So it’s not weird that he touches you a lot.

Right?

It starts when Marco sits down next to you, smirking.

“You and Ace finally together, yoi?”

You look at him confused “what do you mean?”

“A couple… are you two a couple?”

You almost drop your drink “What? No!”

Marco raises an eyebrow “You sure? He always saves you a seat at meals. Always gives you his food if you ask. Always keeps an eye on you during fights.”

You roll your eyes “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just like that.”

“Not with everyone” Marco takes a sip of his drink “Just you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then you don’t know what to say, because now, you’re thinking about it.

The next time Ace sits beside you at dinner, you notice how he slides his plate a little closer to yours, letting you steal his food.

The next time the crew docks at an island, you notice how he instinctively waits for you before walking off together.

The next time you’re about to trip, you don’t even get the chance to fall, Ace grabs your wrist and steadies you like it’s second nature.

And maybe it is second nature.

“Careful, Ace,” one of the division commanders teases “If you keep acting like that, y/n might actually think you’re in love.”

Ace laughs, scratching the back of his head “Yeah, yeah.”

You laugh too. Because it’s just a joke… Right?

One night, you sit together on the deck, watching the ocean.

You fidget for a second before saying “The crew keeps calling us a couple”

Ace hums “Yeah?”

You glance at him “Why do you think that is?”

He leans back, arms behind his head, and grins “Probably because we act like one.”

You choke on your own breath “Excuse me?!”

Ace tilts his head “I mean, we do everything together. You always take my food, and I always let you. You always pull me out of trouble, and I always let you. Feels natural, doesn’t it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because now that you think about it... yeah, it does feel natural.

“…Ace,” you say slowly “Are we...?”

He looks at you, amusement flickering in his eyes “What do you think?”

Your stomach flips.

Because suddenly, you’re not sure where the habit ends and the feelings begin.

After this, Ace keeps flirting with you all the time.

It’s just who he is.

Winks across the deck. Throwing an arm around your shoulders. Calling you hot stuff like it’s your actual name.

You’re used to it.

But after the teasing from Marco and Thatch, after realizing that Ace treats you differently, you start to wonder.

Is he just playing around? Or is there something real underneath?

There’s only one way to find out.

The perfect opportunity comes one afternoon, when Ace flops down next to you on the Moby Dick’s deck, grinning.

“Hey,” he drawls, resting an arm behind his head “Miss me?”

You smirk “I saw you literally two hours ago.”

“That’s two hours too long.” He winks “Bet you were thinking about me the whole time.”

You hum, tilting your head “You really think that, huh?”

Ace chuckles “C’mon, you love me.”

You raise an eyebrow “Prove it.”

He blinks “Huh?”

You shift, leaning closer with a sly smile “You say all this stuff, Ace. You flirt, you tease... but are you actually serious?”

For the first time, he hesitates.

Just for a second, but it’s enough.

“…Of course I am,” he says, but his usual confidence isn’t all there.

You smirk “Then show me.”

Before he can react, you grab his hat, his precious hat, and plop it onto your own head.

Ace short-circuits.

“Oi! That’s...!” He reaches for it instinctively but stops mid-motion, staring at you.

You tilt the brim with a smirk “What? You said you liked me, right?”

Ace swallows “Y-Yeah?”

“Then just take it back.”

You expect him to snatch it back playfully.

What you don’t expect is for Ace to grin, eyes flickering with mischief, and suddenly tackle you onto the deck.

You yelp as he hovers over you, forearms braced on either side of your head.

The crew whoops in the background, but neither of you pay them any attention.

Ace smirks down at you “You think you’re funny, huh?”

You grin “A little.”

Ace shakes his head, chuckling, but then his expression softens.

He reaches up, tilts the hat back just enough to see your face properly.

And then without thinking he leans down and kisses you.

It’s grinning into the kiss kind of playful. It’s warm and teasing but full of something deeper.

And when he pulls back, face way too close, he murmurs “Now you gotta prove it.”

Your heart races.

You don’t back down. Instead, you tug him down by his necklace and kiss him again.

This time, Ace melts.

When you finally break apart, Ace huffs out a breathless laugh.

“Well,” he grins “Guess you do love me.”

You roll your eyes “Shut up.”

But you don’t stop him when he kisses you one more time.

Because, honestly?

He’s right.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo is easy to be around.

He’s kind, smart, and always ready to listen. He laughs at your jokes, never forgets your favorite things, and somehow always knows when you need him.

So it’s no surprise that you spend a lot of time together.

But apparently, the way you act around him is a little… suspicious.

It starts when you’re walking through the Revolutionary Army base with Koala.

“So,” she says casually “when are you and Sabo going to make it official?”

You nearly trip over your own feet “What?!”

Koala grins “Come on, don’t play dumb. You two already act like a couple.”

You scoff “No, we don’t.”

She raises an eyebrow “Oh really? Who’s the first person Sabo looks for when he gets back from a mission?”

“…Me.”

“Who’s the only person he lets borrow his gloves?”

“…Me.”

“And who’s the only one he lets fall asleep on his shoulder without complaining?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because—oh.

Oh.

Koala smirks “See what I mean?”

You shake your head “That doesn’t mean anything. We’re just close.”

She shrugs “If you say so.”

But now, you can’t stop thinking about it. You start noticing things, like how Sabo always finds a reason to sit next to you during meals, or how he reaches out to fix your collar or tuck your hair behind your ear like it’s normal, or how he always makes sure you have a blanket when you fall asleep at your desk, even though no one else gets that treatment.

And the worst part?

Now that you’re paying attention, everyone else is too.

“I swear, it’s like they’re married” one soldier mutters.

“They finish each other’s sentences” another whispers.

“Bet they don’t even realize” someone else chuckles.

You groan and drop your head onto the table.

Sabo, sitting beside you, blinks “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing” you mumble.

He frowns, then wordlessly slides his drink toward you.

You stare at it “…Did you just give me your drink?”

He shrugs “You like it more than I do.”

You glance around. Several soldiers are watching now, smirking.

Slowly, you push the drink back to him.

Sabo looks confused “You don’t want it?”

Your face burns “Nope. I’m fine.”

He tilts his head, then shrugs and takes a sip.

The others snicker.

You sigh.

Later that night, you sit beside him on the rooftop, watching the stars.

“Sabo,” you say carefully “do we… act like a couple?”

He hums “Why?”

“People keep saying we do.”

Sabo leans back on his hands, thinking. Then he smiles “I guess I can see why.”

Your heart skips a beat “You can?”

“Well, we’re always together,” he says easily “I trust you more than anyone. You take care of me, I take care of you. Feels normal.”

You stare at him “That’s… kind of a couple thing, don’t you think?”

Sabo looks at you for a long moment. Then he smirks.

“Well,” he says, voice teasing but gentle “do you want it to be?”

Your breath catches.

And suddenly, the answer seems obvious.

Sabo has always been easy to be around.

You never have to force a conversation. Never have to second-guess his presence.

He’s just there, a steady warmth beside you, the hand that always steadies your back when you walk through the Revolutionary camp, the person you find yourself naturally leaning against when you’re tired.

And the thing is?

He never pulls away.

Even now, sitting beside you near the fire after a long day, his arm rests lightly along the back of your seat. Close enough to feel, but not demanding.

It’s natural.

But tonight, something’s different.

There’s a quiet between you, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unsaid.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your head is resting against his shoulder, and instead of shifting away, Sabo just exhales softly, tilting his head against yours.

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“…I like this” you murmur, barely thinking.

Sabo hums “Me too” A pause. Then... “I always have.”

Your heart stutters.

Slowly, you lift your head, turning just enough to meet his gaze.

His expression is calm, too calm, like he’s waiting for you to understand something he’s known for a long time.

And you do.

Because of course it was always him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Instead, you reach up, gently tracing your fingers along his jaw.

Sabo closes his eyes briefly at the touch before opening them again, watching you with something unreadable, something deep.

Then, without hesitation, he leans in.

The kiss is slow, certain.

It’s not rushed, not desperate because this was never a question.

It was always going to be this.

When you part, Sabo lingers, his forehead resting against yours.

His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together easily.

“…Feels like we should’ve done that a long time ago” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

You smile “Maybe. But I think we got here at the right time.”

Sabo chuckles softly, squeezing your hand “Yeah. I think so too.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like something that was simply meant to be.

9K notes · View notes

angelfishe · 6 months ago

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"𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍"

>> Genshin man x reader

<< characters : diluc, kaeya, ayato, alhaitham, zhongli, neuvillete, wriotsheley, childe, capitano, dottore, pantalone >>

Warnings : MDNI, contain sexual content

⚠️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE ⚠️

DILUC, very flustered unable to form a sentence after the climax, exhausted to the point you have to serve the customer instead. he's unable to form a sentence, sweat is around his body, his clothes are a mess as well him breathing heavily as if he just went thru a marathon, some Patreon would ask what's wrong with him, and you just replied in his place saying his just tired.

KAEYA, smirking with his clothes disheveled as well as his hair as if someone has been pulling on it, jean asked him what's wrong and he said he just had the best lunch of his life with a satisfied smile and in his office paper are scattered and crinkle as if someone has been sitting on his desk. Jean doesn't question it but the knights that were guarding his office stand with a flustered look as if witnessing and hearing somethings.

AYATO, appears as in his normal self, not a single disheveled or messy hair always appears with a smile and a satisfied look, very dignified the stress on his face disappear after you went into the office bringing him tea and snacks when his working his documents, him leaving the office with a very disheveled you going inside the bedroom, and sometimes during a meeting or a party you and him would leave and go for a "walk".

ALHAITHAM, with a straight face focus on his book as if he didn't spend the last few hours ago having fun with you, the only difference is pink blush that is on his ear, plus in this state he's very emotional in this state, smirking a few times when you were limping next to him, him supporting your entire body. And would order your favorite drink after it. Kaveh would stay with cyno or tighnari if the noise gets too loud.

ZHONGLI, very demure, very mindful. Pink blush appears on his face as well giving you a smile and the eyes full of love. He very much appears as his proper self but more loving. His coat on your shoulder and you guys holding each other's hands together swinging around. His clothes are still in their proper state but his hair is not very messy as if he just let it lose. During his rut you and him would leave going to a mountain to enjoy each other's company.

NEUVILLETE, pretty much blushing the entire time he knows this is an improper way as a judge of Fontaine but he can't hold it in, during trials he looks disheveled and breathing heavily as if he's fantasizing over something, he would send you some looks during trial as if he wants to continue on what's going between you. Once a month he would take a week off of work and the reason for it is by far still a mystery.

WRIOSTHELEY, smirking and winking at you, his shirt button has gone down a few levels revealing his abs with sweat sticking on it, his pants are by far crinkle as if it is on the floor for so long, would whisper on your ear leaving you very much flustered and covering your face with your hands, I'm pretty much sure the entire fortress of meriopede knows you guys business together in his office.

CHILDE, pretty much his happy go looking self with you, smirking, whispering in your ear and sending you the look. Pretty disheveled as if he just won a big battle. Would be very cocky and bragging around, his division would leave his office alone in his request for alone time with you. As well some important documents would have some stains of its weird substance on it.

CAPITANO, appears as if nothing happens to everyone in the fatui in his normal self but very much in a good mood the entire time, his coat is with you sleeping in his tent exhausted after what happened. He will continue on his duties as if normal and nothing happens but plus words of appreciation towards his underlings.

DOTTORE, giggling and smirking the entire time like a school girl, his hair is pulled back by his sweat. Would give you words of admiration and affection towards you and praising you for your accomplishments and would be a little nicer than his usual Impatient self. In this state his much nicer with his experiments and his much older segments are pretty much jealous and wanting to spend time with you.

PANTALONE, sips wine in his very much expensive bath robe while your laying on his bed exhausted, going thru paper works after finishing the equivalent of the meme "he's just nutting inside of me and now he's doing paperwork" would spoil you rotten after it, would go shopping with you and buy you many luxurious gifts, dresses and some expensive lingerie plus new accessories for the next time you guys have a meeting.

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heeluvv · 3 months ago

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HEATWAVE.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ ot7 x 8th member reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ (more porn than plot) overstimulation, oral (f & m), cumplay/creampie, double penetration, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, soft dom enha, etc. (wc 12.401k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the air hangs heavy.

not just hot—but thick, suffocating, like breathing through syrup. it clings to your skin, coats your lungs, turns each exhale into something shallow and slow. outside, the city glows white with heat. the windows are shut, but the sun still bleeds through the curtains, stretching long and golden across the floor of the dorm like it’s trying to burn its way in.

inside, it’s unbearable.

the a/c had sputtered out three nights ago with a pitiful mechanical cough and never came back to life. the repair guys were booked out for a week, maybe more, and the seven boys you live with have tried everything—ice packs, wet towels, rigging fans to face every direction, but nothing works for long. the heat always creeps back in, curling into the corners of every room, wrapping itself around your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake off.

you're sprawled across the living room floor now, limbs heavy, skin sticky with sweat, wearing the thinnest clothes you own. a tank top—paper-thin, already damp—and a pair of boyshorts that cling between your thighs. your body feels too much—every inch oversensitive, too warm, flushed from the inside out. breathing is difficult. moving is worse. so you lie there, staring at the ceiling fan that spins uselessly above you, blades barely shifting the air.

around you, the boys are in various states of sweaty disarray.

jake’s shirtless, lying on his back with a pillow shoved under his neck and one arm slung over his eyes. heeseung’s face-down on the couch, tank top rucked up to expose the toned strip of skin above his waistband, a bottle of lukewarm water dangling from his fingertips. ni-ki is sprawled near your feet, wearing nothing but gray sweats that sit low on his hips, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck.

“i think i’m dying,” sunoo groans, somewhere behind you.

“no,” jay replies flatly from the kitchen, “you’re just dramatic.”

“i’m melting,” sunoo insists.

“we all are,” sunghoon mutters, tossing a crumpled t-shirt across the room. it hits the floor with a quiet thump, joining the growing pile of abandoned clothes no one has the energy to clean.

jungwon walks in shirtless, a towel around his neck, chest shining with sweat. he carries a bowl of ice cubes, already halfway melted. the sight of his skin—golden and flushed, muscles defined in the summer glow—shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t, but it does.

he pauses beside you, crouching low.

“ice?” he asks.

you nod, lips parted, already leaning into the cool promise of relief.

jungwon picks up a cube, wet and slick between his fingers. you brace yourself for the contact, and when it comes—trailing slow down the back of your neck, across the dip between your shoulder blades—you actually moan. softly, involuntarily. just a little noise. but it feels that good.

you don’t realize your eyes had fallen shut until you open them again—and catch them staring.

jake, now peeking out from under his arm. sunghoon, lips slightly parted. ni-ki, gaze stuck to where the cube trails down your spine. jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look away. he just lets the ice melt against your skin, eyes trained on the shiver that rolls through you in response.

“feels good, huh?” he says softly, voice low, almost amused.

you swallow hard.

“mhm,” you manage.

heeseung sits up slowly, squinting at you through the haze of heat. “you should sit in front of the fan. you look like you’re about to pass out.”

but when you try to move, your body protests. your skin sticks to the floor, to your clothes, to the heat in the air. you groan and collapse again, pressing your cheek to the cool hardwood.

“don’t wanna,” you murmur. “too hot.”

“then stay there,” ni-ki says from beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. “you look good like that.”

your eyes flick toward him. his tone is teasing, casual, but his gaze lingers—on your thighs, your tank top, the way the fabric sticks to your chest. you’re not imagining it. you’re sure you’re not.

you shift slightly, pressing your thighs together. not from discomfort—from something else. something that’s been creeping in alongside the heat.

because it’s not just the weather that’s making your skin feel too tight.

it’s them.

it’s the way they’ve been looking at you these past few days. the way they move around you—closer than before, slower. the way their fingers brush against your arms when they pass by. the way jake murmured “you’re so warm” last night when you accidentally leaned on him during a movie. the way jungwon didn’t move away when you pressed your bare thigh against his under the blanket.

it’s building.

you can feel it.

the heat. the want. the silence that's not really silence at all.

and no one’s saying it—not yet—but it’s there. in every drop of sweat. in every sideways glance. in every breathless pause when your shirt clings a little too tight, when your moan is just a little too soft, when you catch one of them watching you with something more behind their eyes.

you’re all stuck in the same heat. the same space. the same slow-burn pressure that’s starting to boil.

and it’s only a matter of time before something gives.

jay walks into the living room, collapsing beside you with a dramatic huff, his skin glistening under the low golden hue of the lamps. sweat trickles down his temple, catching at the edge of his jaw before dripping to his collarbone. he groans, tossing an arm over his eyes.

“i feel like i’m being cooked alive...” he mutters, his voice slightly breathless, laced with exhaustion and heat.

the room echoes with soft laughter, a ripple of amusement that quickly fades into something heavier—quieter. you rise from the couch without a word, skin sticking slightly to the cushions as you stand. your fingers weave through your damp hair, lifting it away from your neck, twisting it up into a loose, messy bun. your thin tank top clings to your curves, nearly transparent with how soaked it is, nipples pressing unapologetically through the fabric. your shorts have ridden high up your thighs, exposing even more of your flushed skin, but you don’t bother adjusting them.

you can feel the weight of their stares before you even glance up—curious, lingering, hungry. the laughter dies out completely now, swallowed by thick silence and shared tension.

you move toward the kitchen, grabbing a napkin with trembling fingers, and dab at the sweat lining your forehead. when you return, you sink down beside niki, who’s sprawled out across the floor, back pressed against the base of the couch, legs stretched wide and bare.

he looks at you, his lips parting slightly as his eyes scan your face. then, without asking, he reaches out.

“let me help you...” he murmurs, taking the napkin from your hand.

his touch is gentle, slow, almost too intimate. he dabs at your forehead first, then drags the cloth down the curve of your cheek, along your jawline. you hold your breath when he moves lower, wiping away the beads of sweat gathered at your neck, his knuckles grazing your collarbones. his fingers dip lower still, lingering at the top of your chest—just above the valley between your breasts.

you feel everyone watching, feel the air thicken with every soft swipe. and still, you don’t stop him.

niki’s hand stills at the top of your chest, the napkin long forgotten against your thigh. his fingers rest there like he’s holding back, like the tiniest nudge from you would send him spiraling—and truthfully, it would. he’s not even looking at what he’s doing anymore. he’s looking at you, eyes searching your expression for a flicker of permission, a whisper of need. and he finds it—of course he does. you can feel it all over your skin, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way your eyes don’t move away from his, not even for a second. your entire body feels like it’s buzzing, trembling under his touch that still manages to be so gentle, so teasingly patient. it’s maddening. like he’s trying to learn you inch by inch, like every bead of sweat he wipes away is a part of some secret map only he’s allowed to read.

the room behind you feels quieter now, heavier. no one speaks, no one laughs—not like before. the shift is palpable, undeniable, like someone flipped the switch from playful to dangerous without warning. the air is thick, sticky with heat and something heavier than humidity. you don’t even have to look to know the others are watching—watching everything. you can feel it in the way your skin prickles, in the way your body suddenly feels exposed despite your clothes still technically being on.

you feel his fingers trace along the delicate line of your collarbone, slow and featherlight, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. his touch lingers at the strap of your tank top, toying with it absentmindedly, though there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes stay locked on yours. they’re intense—burning, almost—and they don’t waver, not even for a second. the air between you crackles with something electric, something unspoken yet painfully understood. your breath comes out shallow, your lips slightly parted, and you know he sees it. he feels it, too.

the tension in the room grows thicker with every passing second, every shared breath. it coils in your stomach, tight and low, pushing against the walls of your sanity until it blurs the line between fantasy and reality. somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you acknowledge what’s happening—that this pull you’ve been feeling, this dark, magnetic need clawing at your chest… it’s not one-sided. the constant battle you’ve fought with yourself, trying to separate friendship from desire, comfort from craving—it’s unraveling right in front of you. and the truth hits you hard: you were never the only one who felt it.

niki doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. the way your body reacts to him—how your breath catches when his fingers graze your skin, how your thighs subconsciously squeeze together, how your eyes grow heavier with lust every time he leans in—tells him everything he needs to know. and when he does move closer, when his breath warms your cheek and his lips press teasing, featherlight kisses there, you don’t pull away. you tilt your head slightly, allowing him more access, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.

his lips trail down the curve of your jaw, lower and lower, until he reaches the damp skin of your neck. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold back—his mouth finds purchase just above your collarbone, where he nips gently at first, then sucks harder, tongue flicking over the skin he’s claiming. the sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you can’t help the breathy whine that escapes your lips, high and helpless.

then—another presence.

you feel it before you see it. a new warmth pressing against your back, a body close and commanding. strong hands reach around you, fingers urgent as they tug your damp tank top down in one smooth, deliberate motion. the fabric sticks to your skin, clinging with heat and sweat, but it finally gives—and suddenly, you’re bare. your breasts spill out, nipples hard and flushed, fully exposed to the open air… and to their eyes.

the response is immediate.

groans sound out around you—low, guttural, strained. a few soft curses, a sharp inhale. it’s too much and still not enough. you feel like you’re on display, and somehow, that makes the ache between your legs even worse.

“looks like you’ve been wanting this…” jay’s voice comes from right beside your ear, deep and low, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through your body. his breath is hot on your skin, his words curling around your spine like smoke. but you can’t form a reply, not when niki’s mouth is back on your neck, sucking harder now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. he’s not teasing anymore. he’s marking. claiming.

you whimper—soft, breathless—your head falling back slightly against jay’s shoulder. and then his hands are on you, curving around your waist and up to your chest, palms broad and warm as they cup your breasts fully, fingers splaying out like he wants to memorize their weight. he groans under his breath, fingertips rolling your nipples between them, slow and careful, like he’s trying to feel how sensitive they’ve gotten just for him.

your hips buck involuntarily, body trembling under their touch, under their eyes, under the growing tension that’s so thick it feels like it could swallow you whole.

and still, you want more.

your pleading eyes scan over each of them, one by one, heart hammering against your ribcage as the room feels heavier with anticipation. they’ve all moved now—no longer scattered or distant, but gathered directly in front of you. another couch sits across the room, and all of them are seated there, watching you with eyes clouded by lust and hunger.

jake sits at the center, and his gaze is the most desperate of all—dark, intense, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something but can’t form the words. your eyes trail lower, catching the way his shorts are tented obscenely, his bulge straining hard and obvious, pulsing with every breath you take.

beside him, heeseung’s jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed slightly, focused completely on you. his hand is already between his legs, gripping his cock through his sweats, and you notice the way he slowly strokes himself, almost unconsciously, as if he's hypnotized by the small whimper that escaped your lips just moments ago. he doesn’t even seem aware of what he’s doing—like the sound alone was enough to send a rush straight through him.

sunoo is next, and he looks like he’s barely hanging on. his lips are parted, chest rising and falling in rapid waves, each of your soft sounds pulling a helpless whine or breathy moan from him. his thighs are pressed together, tense, like he’s trying so hard not to touch himself, but you can tell it’s getting harder with every second.

sunghoon sits beside him, posture stiff and serious, but the thick bulge in his jeans betrays him completely. he hasn’t said a word, hasn’t made a sound, but the way his eyes devour you says everything. it’s like he’s trying to keep control—to be the composed one—but your bare body is testing the very limits of his restraint.

you notice one of them is missing, a small flicker of confusion settling in for just a moment—until you feel it.

a pair of lips suddenly press against your inner thigh, soft and warm, and your breath catches in your throat. jungwon. of course it’s him. you gasp as his hands slide up your thighs, strong and steady, gently but firmly spreading them apart to make space for himself. his presence is calm but commanding, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

niki shifts beside you, only slightly, adjusting to give jungwon more room. his head turns, eyes locked on you as his lips press right back against your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper again. you feel him smirk against your skin.

"you look so beautiful..." jungwon breathes, the words almost to himself, like he’s not even aware he said them aloud. his eyes stay locked on yours for a beat longer before his hands slide up, cupping your cheeks so gently it almost makes you dizzy. and then he kisses you.

his lips are soft, slow at first, like he’s savoring the taste of you. but the heat flaring across your skin only intensifies—the room already hot, stifling, the broken a/c leaving a heavy, sticky warmth clinging to every surface. your skin is damp, flushed, and burning—not from embarrassment, but from the oppressive summer heat mixing with the feverish touch of each boy around you.

jay’s hands move with purpose now, rougher, needier. he’s behind you, arms wrapped around your body as his palms knead at your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they’re stiff and aching. his breath fans against the back of your neck, his chest pressed to your spine, and each squeeze sends another pulse of heat straight through your core.

you’re surrounded, consumed by them, the heat of the room and their hands melting together into something unbearable—something addictive. every touch is fire, every kiss gasoline, and you're burning for them all.

before you can even think, even breathe, everything shifts in a flash of movement and heat. one second, you're standing on trembling legs, and the next—your world is flipping upside down.

strong arms wrap around your waist, and you're effortlessly lifted off the floor. the room spins for a dizzy second before your back hits the couch with a soft thud, the cushions dipping beneath your weight, catching you like a trap. the warmth of the fabric kisses your bare skin, but you don’t even get a moment to settle before your clothes are being stripped away—ripped, torn, tugged down in one swift, desperate motion.

your boyshorts give first, threads snapping as fingers yank at the waistband with no care for gentleness. your panties follow, the delicate lace shredded away like paper, the soft sound of tearing fabric drowned out by the pounding of your heart in your ears. a gasp escapes your lips—sharp and unfiltered—as the cool air of the room rushes against your now exposed skin.

you’re bare. completely, utterly bare. open in front of all of them. your thighs are spread, your pussy glistening under the low light, wetness clinging to the insides of your legs—dripping, aching, ready.

your eyes lift instinctively, already searching for someone—anyone—to ground you in the chaos. and that’s when you see him.

heeseung.

he’s not on the couch anymore. not lazily jerking himself off like he was moments ago. he’s right there now—kneeling between your legs, already settled into place like he was meant to be there, like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted. his eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocks the breath out of you. it’s dark. wild. hungry.

"already so wet, baby?" he says, voice low and dripping with amusement, but there’s something reverent behind it. like he’s in awe of the state you're in—of the way your slick shines in the heat-heavy room, glistening like something sacred. like he can’t believe this is real.

his fingers come next. they trail down slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before finally pressing against your folds. the contact is light, almost maddeningly so, but it still sends a jolt through your entire body. he spreads you open with his fingers, gently at first, slick coating his fingertips as he traces your pussy, spreading the arousal that’s already leaking out of you.

you whimper when he presses closer, his touch deliberate now, spreading your lips apart to expose your soaked entrance. the air hits you harder here, your core pulsing with heat and need, and you watch as heeseung stares—stares—like he’s looking at the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

and then, without warning, he dives in.

his mouth crashes onto your pussy with no hesitation, tongue dragging through your folds like he’s starving for it. a choked moan rips out of your throat as your back arches, every muscle in your body clenching from the sudden, overwhelming sensation. his tongue is hot, wet, relentless—moving with long, deep strokes that make your legs shake around his head.

he grips your thighs tighter, spreading them wider, anchoring you to the couch as he buries his face between your legs. the heat of his mouth is unbearable, and with the room already sweltering, already boiling, you feel like you’re melting beneath him—sweat slicking your skin, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath.

heeseung moans into your pussy like he means it. like the taste of you is something divine. his tongue curls just right, licking into your entrance before dragging up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth with obscene slurping sounds that echo in your ears and bounce off the walls. you can barely hold still—your hips twitching, instinctively grinding up into his face—but he holds you in place, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

he feasts on you like a man possessed, groaning lowly against your pussy with each flick of his tongue, each swallow of your slick. the vibrations of his voice send jolts through your core, and it only makes you wetter, the pressure building with every second that passes. he’s so into it—so deep, so focused, so completely drunk off your taste that it’s like nothing else exists.

his lips move to your clit again, tongue flattening against it and dragging back and forth in slow, torturous strokes. his nose presses into your mound, breath hot and ragged, and you can hear the way he’s panting against you—moaning against you—like just being here, just tasting you, is enough to make him cum untouched.

you glance down, and the sight alone nearly makes you fall apart—his face buried in your pussy, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, hips grinding subtly against the couch as if he’s desperately trying to relieve the pressure in his pants. he’s getting off on it. every moan you let out, every twitch of your body, every droplet of slick he licks up—he’s devouring it like a man in heat.

you throw your head back, a loud, broken sob tearing out of your chest as his tongue circles your clit again, faster this time. the pleasure is unbearable. too much. not enough. your thighs tremble violently, muscles tensing and relaxing all at once, your hands flying down to grip his hair—fingers tangling in the strands, pulling without meaning to, holding him there.

heeseung groans in response, like your reaction only fuels him, like it drives him even deeper into his obsession. he shakes his head slightly, the motion sending his tongue in unpredictable directions, and you cry out again, thighs squeezing around him.

“fuck, heeseung—” you gasp, voice cracked, strained, barely even there.

but he doesn’t stop.

he just keeps licking.

before you can let out another moan—another broken, needy sound—your mouth is suddenly full. your lips stretch wide, a heavy weight pressing onto your tongue before sliding deeper, and your eyes flutter open in shock, the gasp you meant to release now muffled completely.

a low, breathy moan fills the room—but it’s not yours. it’s his.

“fuck…”

you know that voice. the soft, desperate whimper that slips out again, paired with a shaky exhale that makes your throat tighten instinctively. it’s jake. you don’t even need to look to be sure—it’s in the way he sounds completely undone already, his voice dipped in honey and lust, trembling as he slowly begins to thrust into your mouth.

his cock drags across your tongue, thick and hard, the weight of it heavy as it sinks deeper with each roll of his hips. he moves slowly at first, testing, savoring, his pace unsteady like he’s holding back from completely losing control. your lips wrap around him automatically, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and the noise that slips from him is pure heaven.

“oh fuck, y/n…”

his voice cracks as he tilts his head back, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. you glance up at him through heavy lashes, just in time to see the way his brows draw together, his expression one of blissful torment as he watches himself disappear past your lips.

his hands are on you in the next second—reaching down, greedy and firm, squeezing your breasts in both palms. his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling them roughly before pressing in harder, and the contrast between his soft moans and rough touch makes your body jolt with need. he groans again as his hips rock forward, pushing deeper, your throat tightening around the head of his cock.

you gag slightly, tears instantly welling in your eyes, but you don’t stop. your mouth stretches, your jaw aches, and your tongue presses flat beneath him as he begins to fuck into your throat with shallow thrusts. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as he fucks into you more desperately, the wet sound of it obscene and addictive.

“shit, you feel so fucking good—so warm, so tight…” he rasps, voice nearly broken as he watches his cock vanish between your lips again and again. “fuck, you were made for this.”

you can’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full of him, but your body gives every answer it needs to. your throat constricts, your tongue curves, and your lips press snug around the base every time he sinks in deep. you moan around him, and the way his body shudders in response makes your core clench hard.

as if he can feel that too, heeseung doubles down between your thighs.

his tongue plunges inside you again, thick and slick and sinful, dragging against your walls in deep, swirling strokes. he groans into your pussy, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine as your hips jerk in response. your walls flutter around him, sucking him in with every movement, squeezing around his tongue so tightly it makes him whine into your cunt.

“fuck, you taste so fucking good…” heeseung pants, his voice muffled against your dripping pussy, and the way he says it—raw, reverent, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter—makes you feel like you’re going to explode.

your body is trembling now, caught between two different kinds of pleasure—your mouth stretched and used by jake’s throbbing cock, your cunt dripping and devoured by heeseung’s skilled tongue. their moans mix with yours, lost in the thick, humid air, the heat of the room making everything feel stickier, hotter, needier.

sunoo is the first to lose control.

his breaths come out shallow, chest visibly rising and falling as he stands frozen for a moment, eyes locked on you like he’s in a trance. there’s a look on his face—wide-eyed, mouth parted, almost like he’s staring at something holy. he can’t look away. he doesn’t even try. the sounds, the sight, the heat of the room all pull at him like a magnet, dragging him under until his self-restraint shatters completely.

his hands move to his waistband, quick and impatient. fingers fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans, so rushed that he nearly stumbles as he kicks them down his legs. his underwear follows in a frantic tug, fabric caught around one knee for a second before he shakes it off entirely. and then he’s bare—exposed and trembling, his cock already flushed and leaking, twitching against his stomach.

precum glistens at the tip, thick and shiny, dribbling down the shaft until it pools faintly at the base. he doesn’t hesitate. one hand wraps around himself immediately, fingers curling tight as he gives his cock a slow, needy stroke. the slickness makes it easy—his hand gliding with little resistance, wrist twisting just slightly at the top in a rhythm that’s far too practiced.

but his eyes. his eyes never leave you.

you’re sprawled out, thighs shaking from the way heeseung is eating you out like a man starved. your fingers tangle in his hair, your hips rolling helplessly against his face, and the filthy sounds he makes—wet and relentless—only echo louder in the hot, stifling air. every time his tongue dips into you, your legs twitch, and sunoo swears he can feel the aftershocks through his own body.

his hand moves faster, slick noises joining the chorus of moans and groans already filling the room. he strokes himself steadily, breath hitching with every wet slurp he hears, every moan that falls from your stuffed mouth. he watches your throat flex as you try to take more of jake’s cock, eyes glassy as you struggle to breathe around the thickness of him.

and jake—he's a mess above you.

his hands are buried in your hair, knuckles white from how tightly he grips. his hips jerk forward in short, shallow thrusts, barely able to hold back as your lips wrap around him. your mouth stretches wide, tongue flattened underneath his shaft, your eyes fluttering as tears gather at the corners. and when you gag softly around him, the tight clench of your throat makes him snap.

his whole body trembles. a loud, broken moan tears from his chest as his hips stutter forward, cock throbbing against your tongue. you feel the first hot spurt of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another—each pulse of his cock sending more of him spilling down your throat. he’s panting through it, voice high and breathless, like he can’t believe how good it feels to cum inside you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my god, y/n…” jake chokes out, head thrown back as his entire body locks up, abs tightening, thighs shaking where they frame your face. his cock stays in your mouth as he rides it out, groaning shamelessly as more cum pours from his slit. thick, salty, warm. you swallow what you can, the rest slipping past your lips and dribbling down your chin in slow, messy rivulets.

and that’s all it takes for sunoo.

his mouth falls open, a soft, broken sound leaving him as his body jerks forward. his hand keeps moving, faster now, desperate, chasing the edge he’s been teetering on for the last several minutes. his eyes stay fixed on the way your spit-slick lips still suck around jake’s softening cock, the way your pussy clenches around heeseung’s tongue, dripping and pulsing like it’s begging for more.

then he cums—hard.

his back arches as a strained, almost whiny moan spills from his lips. “fuck—fuck, i’m cumming—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as thick ropes of white shoot from the tip of his cock. it hits his stomach first, warm and wet, then drips down his hand as he strokes himself through it, chasing every last wave of pleasure until his thighs are trembling. his breath stutters in his chest, sweat beading at his temples, and he keeps going even after he’s spent—milking himself for every drop as his head lolls back, completely wrecked.

cum paints his hand, his skin, his chest. sticky and hot, pooling just below his navel as he stands there, cock twitching in his grasp, body slowly coming down from the high.

but even then, even while he pants and shakes and tries to steady himself—he doesn’t stop watching you.

the coil in your stomach tightens fast—too fast. it winds itself tighter with every flick of heeseung’s tongue, every filthy moan that vibrates against your soaked pussy. your thighs are trembling now, uncontrollably, muscles twitching with each wave of pressure that builds low in your core. your breathing is uneven, mouth hanging open, panting like you’ve just run miles, but all that fills your lungs is the thick, heavy heat of the room and the scent of sweat and sex.

your hands shoot down instinctively, fingers weaving into heeseung’s hair. your grip is desperate, nails digging into his scalp as you hold him in place, as if pulling him closer could somehow save you from falling apart. but it only encourages him—drives him deeper.

jake’s cock slips from your lips with a wet, sticky sound, strands of saliva stretching between your swollen mouth and his flushed tip. your jaw aches, your throat sore from how deeply he fucked into it, but the only sound that escapes you now is a hoarse, broken moan. it cracks in the back of your throat, raw and breathless, but it makes heeseung groan into your cunt like it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t pause. he takes your reaction as fuel, tongue moving faster, more frantic now as he chases your orgasm like he needs it to breathe. his mouth finds your clit again, tongue flicking up against it with practiced precision—over and over, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure straight through your body.

and then he seals his lips around it.

he sucks.

hard.

“shit—!” your cry rips through the air like lightning, loud and unrestrained, and your entire body jolts forward, hips bucking off the couch as the orgasm slams into you. it’s not gentle. it’s not slow. it hits—a tidal wave crashing down all at once, flooding your veins with molten heat.

your body shakes, spasms, back arching off the cushions as your climax tears through you. your legs clamp around heeseung’s head, not even consciously, but he doesn’t pull away. he groans into your pussy like he wants it—wants your thighs trembling against his ears, wants to be trapped between them while you fall apart on his tongue.

the coil inside you fully snaps, unravels, breaks into a thousand shattered pieces that ripple through your blood, through your chest, your spine, your fingertips. your vision blurs, your body going rigid before collapsing into trembling pieces as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you.

your moans dissolve into quiet whimpers, breath stolen, skin flushed and damp, and yet heeseung still doesn’t let up. his tongue slows, gentler now, soothing your oversensitive clit with soft, languid strokes as your body twitches beneath him, still caught in the aftershocks.

you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything except fall back into the cushions, legs sprawled and chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum inside your ribs.

heeseung finally lifts his head, his face shining with your slick—lips swollen, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with satisfaction. he smirks at you, cocky and proud, his expression dripping with confidence as he slowly leans back on his heels. he takes his time dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring the last taste of you like it’s something divine.

his hands slide off your thighs with a final, reverent squeeze, leaving behind heat and a tingling ache that lingers as he shifts away.

but you barely have a moment to recover—barely even draw in a full breath—before another shadow takes his place.

sunghoon.

he steps forward, quiet and composed, but there’s a different kind of hunger in his eyes. something deeper. darker. his hand is wrapped firmly around his cock, long fingers stroking slowly as he positions himself in front of you. his tip is flushed, leaking, and when it touches your soaked pussy, your body jolts at the sudden contact.

he doesn’t push in yet.

he teases—rubbing the head in slow, deliberate circles over your swollen folds, smearing your slick around with an agonizing lack of urgency. the contrast between his calm exterior and what he’s doing to you is maddening. you twitch, hips jerking just slightly, needing more, but he just smirks down at you, amused by how wrecked you already look.

then, without a word, his hands come down to your waist. strong. commanding.

and in one smooth motion—he flips you over.

your gasp is sharp as your body is turned and positioned like it’s nothing. your knees dig into the plush cushions of the couch, your palms bracing in front of you, back instinctively arching to balance yourself. your ass is in the air now, completely exposed, dripping and still twitching from your last orgasm.

but the shift isn’t just for sunghoon.

beneath you, there's movement—another presence.

jay.

he slips between the couch cushions, positioning himself directly underneath you. his hands slide up your sides, slow and sensual, until they’re gripping your back and pulling you down. his face is beneath yours now, his mouth just inches away, and without a second thought—he kisses you.

it’s not soft.

his lips crash against yours in a messy, consuming kiss, tongues meeting immediately, teeth clashing. there’s heat behind it—hunger, desperation. you moan into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays firm on your lower back, grounding you in place.

sunghoon’s hands grip your waist like he owns it—like it’s his to mold and shape and use however he pleases. his touch is firm, possessive, thumbs pressing into your hips as he guides your body back toward him. behind you, his cock presses into your entrance, thick and pulsing, already slick from teasing you moments ago. you can feel every ridge, every vein, twitching with anticipation as he begins to push forward again, slower now, savoring every inch.

underneath you, jay keeps you anchored. his hands glide over your back, up your spine, as he stares up at your flushed face. his gaze is heavy, intense—like he’s trying to memorize you. memorize every expression, every sound. and then, his cock nudges at your entrance too, slick with precum and already hard, ready. he doesn’t hesitate. he lines himself up alongside sunghoon, and together, they push in.

the stretch is unbearable.

your body seizes, walls fluttering violently as they try to take both of them at once. it feels impossible at first—like your pussy wasn’t meant to hold this much. like your body should be breaking. but then your breath catches, and the heat from the room and the overwhelming fullness melt into each other, creating a sensation that borders on euphoric.

your nails dig into the couch cushions. your eyes screw shut, jaw slack as a strangled cry tears from your throat. jay shushes you softly, his lips brushing over your collarbone, placing light kisses across your skin to soothe you even as he presses deeper inside. sunghoon grits his teeth above you, low groans spilling from his lips as your walls stretch tightly around them both.

“fuck—” sunghoon hisses, his voice thick with arousal. “you’re so fucking tight… can feel him inside you too.”

jay can barely breathe beneath you. “she’s squeezing us both so hard… shit, baby…”

you feel everything.

the press of their cocks rubbing together inside you, the stretch of your walls trying to accommodate the impossible girth of both of them, the way your pussy grips every inch like it’s the only thing it knows how to do. they move slowly, rocking their hips in shallow thrusts, trying to ease you into it, but the stimulation is too much. your head falls forward, resting against jay’s chest, and your entire body trembles.

each thrust feels deeper than the last, their rhythm syncing perfectly—sunghoon pushing in as jay pulls back, only to slide back in together. your pussy is so wet, the obscene sounds of it echo with every movement, the slick, slapping rhythm blending with their groans and your breathless cries.

sunghoon’s grip tightens as he starts to move faster, his thrusts harder now, greedier, making your ass jiggle from the force. every time his hips slam into yours, it sends a ripple of pleasure through your entire body. jay meets the force from below, hips rolling upward, cock dragging against your inner walls as he fills the deepest parts of you.

your vision starts to blur. the pleasure is sharp, molten, setting your nerves on fire. you can feel the way their cocks rub together inside you, the pressure almost painful, but it feels so good—so complete, so consuming.

jay’s arms wrap around your waist, hugging you tight as he fucks up into you, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re taking us so well… so perfect, baby…”

you sob out a broken moan in response, your walls spasming around them as another wave of heat rushes through your bloodstream. the couch creaks beneath you from the force of it all, the room thick with sex, with sweat, with bodies moving in sync under the weight of your shared need.

sunghoon leans over you, chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your neck as he starts pounding into you. no longer holding back. his hands grip your ass, spreading you wider to push deeper, to fit more. jay groans beneath you, fucking up into the space that sunghoon leaves behind with perfect timing, the stretch never easing, the fullness never fading.

their rhythm is brutal. your body bounces between them, trapped in the middle of their overwhelming hunger, your pussy stuffed full, stretched wide, used completely. and you love it. you feel owned, claimed, completely at their mercy—and there’s nothing else you’d rather be.

your moans dissolve into whimpers. your pussy clenches hard around them, sucking them in deeper, so much so that they both groan at the same time, voices rough and strained.

“fuck—gonna cum,” jay gasps, his voice low and shaking. “she’s gonna make me fucking cum—”

“fuck,” sunghoon growls, fucking harder, sweat dripping from his temple. “shit—feels so fucking good—”

your body quakes between them, your second orgasm already creeping up on you, fast and hard. your toes curl into the cushions, arms trembling as you grip onto whatever you can, heart thundering in your chest as you drown in the feeling of being completely, utterly full.

your body convulses where you sit, trembling as jay and sunghoon finally slide out of you. the emptiness is instant and jarring, like you’ve just lost something you weren’t ready to let go of. you twitch where you’re sprawled, thighs sticky with slick and cum, the evidence of everything they gave you now dripping slowly from your swollen pussy. the room is thick with heat and sex, a haze of sweat and heavy breathing filling the space. your body is twitching, too used and too sensitive to move, but the ache between your legs doesn’t ease—it burns. it pulses. it begs for more. your limbs are jelly, your thoughts barely stringing together into anything coherent, and yet the hunger inside you refuses to die down. it builds in your chest, in your core, that desperate desire still flaring to life again like they haven’t already ruined you—like you’re still starving for everything they want to give you.

sunghoon watches the mess between your legs with dark, hooded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple as he drags his fingers down your slit, gathering the thick mix of his and jay’s cum. you whimper, back arching instinctively as the mess is pushed back inside you, two fingers pressing into your raw, stretched pussy without warning. the sensation sends another jolt through your body—sharp and overwhelming, yet somehow, you welcome it. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and you still want more. your breath shudders out of you, your head lolling to the side, too weak to lift it. your mouth is parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the second your legs start to tremble again from overstimulation, he finally pulls away.

and then… there’s him.

you barely register jungwon stepping in until you feel the warmth of him in front of you. he kneels slowly, patiently, his expression soft but unreadable as his hands come to rest on your thighs. he’s calm in contrast to the wreckage around him, composed even as his eyes drink in your ruined state. he leans in, placing the softest kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another to your hip, your stomach, your ribs—each one purposeful, almost reverent. he doesn’t rush. every kiss feels like a quiet apology for the ache still rolling through your body. and maybe it is. or maybe it’s just his way of showing that he’s going to ruin you next—but on his terms. his lips brush against your skin like they’re worshiping it, like you’re something precious, fragile, and holy. you look down at him, eyes glossy and half-lidded, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper that melts into your ears like warm honey.

“gonna make you feel so good, princess. do you want that?”

you nod before you can even form words, your mouth too dry and your throat too wrecked from moaning. your body leans into him like it recognizes him—like you need him now. your eyes catch his, and it’s like everything else blurs away. the chaos, the overstimulation, the ache—they all fall into the background the second jungwon cups your face and helps you settle into his lap. his movements are slow, tender, like he’s handling you with care, and it makes your chest ache. he slides onto the couch and brings you with him, letting your legs straddle his thighs as he holds you steady. his cock rests against your ass, heavy and leaking, already painfully hard. he wraps one hand around the base, guiding it beneath you, while the other stays planted at the small of your back, anchoring you against him.

he teases you with the tip first, sliding it through your folds, collecting the slick and cum still dripping from earlier. your cunt is flushed, red and glistening, still twitching with every little brush of contact. you can barely handle the teasing, your fingers curling against his shoulders as your hips jerk forward in response to the pressure. he doesn’t push in—not yet. just rubs the head of his cock against your entrance again and again until you’re practically shaking, whining for more with broken breaths.

“just do it, wonnie,” you whisper, voice raw and needy, every nerve screaming for him.

he huffs a breath, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips, though there’s still a softness behind it—an admiration in the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants in the world. “so fucking desperate, aren’t you?” he murmurs, the words dragging along your skin like velvet.

and then finally, finally, he lets you sink down.

the head of his cock pushes inside first, thick and slow and unforgiving. your pussy stretches around him, still puffy and sore, but eager to take him in. the stretch is deep and immediate. you gasp, clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body trembles from the sheer fullness of it. jungwon groans beneath you, fingers digging into your waist as your heat envelops him, inch by inch, your walls clenching down like you never want to let go. the slide is slow, both of you shaking with the intensity of it, and it feels like your body is molding to fit just him.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking, his head falling back as he bottoms out. “you’re still so fucking tight…”

his hips stay still for a moment, buried deep, letting you adjust. the tip of his cock is pressing against the deepest part of you, and you can feel every throb, every pulse as he twitches inside of you. your walls flutter, wrapping around him like a vice, squeezing him in, and your body is burning again—so overstimulated you’re not sure where the pain ends and the pleasure begins. but you don’t care. you want it. you want him. you want everything, all of it, every drop they have left to give you.

and from the way jungwon’s holding you so tightly, from the way his breath stutters against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your skin—you know he’s going to give you everything.

“you’re so fucking good for us, princess…”

his voice drips against your ear like honey laced with poison—warm, slow, addicting. jungwon’s breath is hot against your skin as he holds you flush against him, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your soaked, overstimulated pussy. his words curl in your chest, crawl down your spine, and settle deep in your core like a flame catching on gasoline.

his hips jerk up into yours again, sharp and deliberate, and you gasp—your head falling back, your throat dry from moaning, yet still begging to make more sound for him. the slide of his cock inside you is enough to make your toes curl, your walls pulsing tightly around him as your body struggles to keep up with the relentless pleasure. your muscles twitch, still sore, still shaking from the last orgasm that tore through you, but none of it matters—not when jungwon holds you like this, fucks into you like it’s the only thing that will keep him breathing.you can feel the slick mess between your thighs—his cock gliding easily from how soaked you are, from the cum already inside you, from your body’s desperate need to take everything he's giving and more. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and it’s perfect.

jungwon’s eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense and impossibly focused. there’s no smirk now, no teasing glint—just raw hunger. reverence. like you’re the only thing in existence.

his brows twitch when he feels your cunt clench again, and a choked sound escapes his throat. “fuck…” he breathes, almost like he’s in pain. “you feel so good—so tight, baby. you’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

you shake your head weakly, the motion barely there, too overwhelmed to form words. your hands are clutching his shoulders, nails dragging across the damp heat of his skin, desperate for something to ground yourself with. but there’s nothing. the couch beneath you is shaking with every thrust. the air is too hot, too thick. you’re floating somewhere between ecstasy and exhaustion, and still—your hips roll into his, still—you beg for more.

his cock drags along your inner walls so deeply you swear you can feel it in your stomach. every movement hits something devastating, something that leaves you gasping and arching into his chest. your nipples brush against his skin, the friction sending tiny sparks up your spine, your whole body lit up like a live wire.

he grunts again, his pace beginning to pick up, each thrust more urgent now, more needy. he’s chasing something—so are you.

“fuck, look what you do to us…” he growls into your neck, voice cracked, his rhythm faltering slightly as your pussy flutters around him again. his hands travel down, grabbing your ass hard, squeezing handfuls of flesh as his hips snap upward, forcing you to take him deeper. “you know what you’ve been doing to us, walking around like that… acting so fucking innocent…”

you whimper as he pulls back just enough to slam back in, the impact making your tits bounce with the force. his hands don’t stay still—one lands sharply against your ass with a smack that echoes across the room. you cry out, your body jolting from the sting, and he moans at the way your cunt clenches immediately afterward.

“dressed like a fucking tease,” he growls, voice right in your ear now, low and dangerous. “those tiny shorts… that shirt with your tits practically falling out… you knew what you were doing.”

his other hand slides up to your throat—not choking, just holding. his thumb presses gently beneath your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his. and when your teary eyes meet his again, everything else blurs.

“you’ve been begging for this, haven’t you?” he whispers. “all this time… just waiting for one of us to snap.”

you can’t even speak. you just nod, broken and desperate, your whole body quivering in his hands.

“say it,” he demands softly, voice so calm it makes you shiver. “tell me you wanted this.”

“i—i wanted it,” you manage to gasp out, your voice wrecked. “fuck, i wanted all of you—so bad, i—”

you can’t even finish the sentence before he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, sharp enough to knock the breath right out of your lungs. his eyes flutter closed for a second, like he’s overwhelmed by the way your pussy clenches around him, like he’s feeling everything you just confessed.

and then he breaks.

his hips lose rhythm, turning erratic, frantic, his hands gripping you tighter as he fucks into you like he can’t hold back anymore. your bodies are slamming together now, the wet sounds of your cunt swallowing him over and over filling the space between your moans. your thighs shake where they straddle his, completely worn out but still clinging to him like you need to be filled, need to be owned, need to be his.

and he gives it to you.

all of it.

with each deep, brutal thrust, jungwon tears you further apart—stretching you, overwhelming you, dragging another orgasm from your body before you even know it’s coming. it slams into you with no warning, your vision going white as your pussy clamps down around him, tight and pulsing and wet. you scream his name, sobbing against his shoulder, and he holds you through it—fucking you through it—never stopping, never slowing down.

“fuck, you’re cumming again?” he groans, eyes wide with disbelief, like the way you tighten around him is going to split him in half. “shit—your pussy’s milking me—”

you can’t respond. your mouth is open, but all that comes out is a shattered moan, your body arching into him as he continues to fuck into the mess between your legs. your cum, his precum, the leftover slick from the others—it’s all mixed together, coating his cock as he thrusts in and out of you like he owns you.

and he does.

in this moment, he absolutely does.

you don’t even know how you’re still conscious.

every nerve in your body is fried, every muscle trembling with the weight of your own pleasure, and yet jungwon doesn’t stop. he holds you against him like you’re his only salvation, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. his thrusts are punishing now, deep and ragged, his moans growing louder with every roll of his hips.

your hands are fists on his shoulders, nails raking down his damp skin as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling the endless string of cries that tumble from your lips. your entire body bounces in his lap, tits shaking from the rhythm, your breath catching in your throat each time the thick head of his cock hits that one spot deep inside that makes you see stars.

he’s whispering to you again, voice shaking, incoherent between his panting and groans. “you take it so well… fuck—so fucking well. this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” his fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to fuck into you harder, rougher, deeper. “say it, baby. say it’s mine.”

“it’s yours,” you sob, so hoarse you barely recognize your own voice. “fuck, wonnie—it’s all yours, just don’t stop…”

he lets out a shaky breath, something unsteady and desperate, and his forehead presses against yours as his thrusts grow erratic. “gonna cum,” he whispers. “you’re gonna make me fucking cum inside you—”

you clench around him at the words, body reacting before your mind can even process it. the idea of him cumming inside you, filling you up after everything they’ve already given—it sets your blood on fire. you want it. you need it.

“please,” you gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “cum in me… fill me up…”

and that’s all it takes.

his moan is guttural, deep and raw as his cock throbs inside you. the first pulse hits hard, warmth blooming deep in your belly as he spills into you, thick and hot. he doesn’t stop thrusting, even as he cums—his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper. you feel every wave of it, every twitch, every drop, and your head spins with the intensity of it all.

jungwon holds you tight through it, forehead resting against your temple, his breath ragged and his body shivering beneath yours. you’re both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, chests heaving as you come down from the high together. the room is still spinning, your body still pulsing with overstimulation, but neither of you move.

he stays inside you.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t let you go. he just holds you, one hand stroking your spine, the other cradling the back of your neck. his lips press soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your cheek, your temple—as if grounding you. as if grounding himself.

“you did so good, baby,” he whispers against your skin, voice barely audible, like it’s meant for you alone. “so fucking good…”

you let out a weak whimper, body limp against his, your head foggy and eyes heavy. but before you can melt into him completely, you hear a sound from across the room.

a soft inhale. a shaky breath.

a quiet, needy moan.

you barely manage to lift your head, and that’s when you see them.

sunoo and niki.

both of them standing near the couch, still untouched, their eyes dark and glazed over with pure, unfiltered want. they’ve been watching—waiting—and now, with your body trembling in jungwon’s lap, flushed and soaked and filled to the brim, they know it’s their turn.

niki is the first to move.

his strides are slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours like you’re prey and he’s already tasted the blood. his shirt is gone, sweat glistening on his chest, his pants slung low on his hips with his cock already painfully hard, jutting forward as he walks. he reaches down lazily to stroke himself, precum smearing across his thumb as he approaches. there’s a quiet, unspoken hunger in his expression, one that sends a fresh pulse of arousal straight through your overstimulated core.

beside him, sunoo moves more delicately—graceful, almost shy in the way he carries himself, but the flush on his cheeks and the way he bites his lip betray just how badly he wants this. his hands tremble slightly as he pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. his eyes flick between your cum-filled pussy and your dazed, tear-streaked face, and he swallows hard like he’s trying not to lose control too soon.

jungwon shifts beneath you slowly, carefully easing you off his lap, and you gasp when his cock slips from your swollen cunt, a messy mix of cum immediately dripping out. your legs shake as he helps you lie back across the couch, hands gentle even as his eyes still burn with residual lust.

niki kneels between your thighs without a word, his large hands pressing your knees apart as he leans in, watching your pussy with a greedy kind of fascination. his breath hitches when he sees the way you’re leaking, still twitching from your last orgasm, and he groans low in his throat.

“fuck…” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the mess. “you’re still dripping…”

you try to respond, try to say something, but the only thing that escapes is a weak whimper—high and airy and broken. niki leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking his cock lazily as he brushes his lips against your cheek.

“don’t worry,” he whispers, his voice dark and full of promise. “i’ll take it slow at first…”

sunoo moves closer now, climbing onto the couch beside you, his fingers brushing lightly over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs—as if he can’t believe he’s finally allowed to touch. his lips are soft against your neck, placing tiny kisses there while niki lines himself up between your legs.

“just relax, angel…” sunoo whispers, voice shaking. “we’ll take care of you…”

niki’s cock fills you like it was made to—thick, long, so hot it burns, yet all you can do is moan as he stretches your already swollen cunt with every slow, devastating thrust. his hips roll into you with practiced control, but the look on his face betrays the restraint he’s fighting to keep. his jaw is tight, eyes hazy with need, and sweat shines on his collarbones where the low light catches.

you’re dripping around him. soaked. your walls still clench hard with every inch he gives you, and he feels it—fuck, he feels all of it. the mess, the tightness, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still rippling through you like echoes, and it drives him insane. his hands stay on your thighs, spreading you wide so he can watch everything—your hole stretched wide around his cock, fluttering and wet and glistening, your stomach tensing every time he drags across that one perfect spot inside you.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts, voice rough, hips stuttering for just a second before he steadies himself again. “you’re so messy down here… so wet, fuck…”

your head tilts back, throat exposed, your lips parted in a breathless moan as his cock rocks into you again, deeper, and you swear you feel it in your spine. your body shakes, your hands clawing at the cushions, your mind completely gone—floating in the overwhelming warmth of being touched, used, adored.

sunoo’s hands glide over your ribs, and you barely register the way his fingers move until he’s softly tugging one of your nipples between his fingers, his lips still pressed to your cheek. then your jaw. then your mouth. his breath is light and shaky when he kisses you this time—not soft like before, but needy, filled with the kind of urgency that makes your thighs press together even with niki still inside you.

you whimper into sunoo’s mouth as niki thrusts again, the angle hitting something sharp and sweet, your whole body tensing up. sunoo swallows the sound, kissing you harder, his tongue slow and curious as it slides against yours. and when he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are blown wide, his breathing unsteady.

“baby…” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “can i…?”

you know what he wants. the way his cock twitches against your hip says more than words. he’s hard—so hard—painfully so. he’s been holding back for so long, being patient, gentle, soft, but now you see it in the way he bites his lip and avoids your gaze. he needs you.

you blink up at him, dazed and fucked-out, and still, your voice breaks through in a breathy whisper. “come here, baby… let me take care of you.”

sunoo’s mouth falls open slightly, like he hadn’t expected that, and he nods quickly, cheeks flushed deeper. he shuffles around, adjusting his position until he’s kneeling above your chest, his cock resting just above your lips. and fuck, he looks so good like this—his thighs trembling slightly, the tip of his cock red and dripping with precum, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch.

niki groans low in your ear as your mouth opens to take sunoo in. he watches it happen—sees your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip before your lips wrap around him. sunoo’s whole body shudders at the contact, his hands flying to your hair, though he doesn’t pull. he just holds. anchors. watches you with wide, dazed eyes as you slowly suck him down, inch by inch.

his cock is warm, flushed, and he tastes sweet on your tongue—faint salt and need, the kind of flavor you want to drown in. you moan around him, your throat relaxing as you take him deeper, and the sound makes him whimper above you, hips twitching forward slightly. “oh—fuck…” he gasps, voice breathless, eyes fluttering closed. “so good—your mouth feels so good…”

you swirl your tongue around the head, suck a little harder, and the shaky little sound that slips from him nearly makes your core clench again. you feel his thighs shaking beside your head, his fingers tightening in your hair as he tries not to thrust. he’s holding himself back for you, just like they all do—just like he always has.

niki’s pace falters for a moment when you moan again, the vibration traveling down sunoo’s cock, and then he growls, deep and guttural, burying himself deep inside you before pulling out in one smooth drag. “fuck, watching you take him like that…” he mutters, voice strained, “you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

he starts moving again, harder now, hips snapping against yours, and the sound of wet skin slapping fills the air, your cunt making the filthiest squelching noises as it struggles to take the full length of him over and over. your body bounces beneath sunoo’s weight, your throat stuffed full of his cock while your pussy gets ruined by niki’s thick, pounding thrusts.

sunoo’s breath is coming in broken gasps now, his eyes locked on your mouth. you take him deep, deeper than before, until your nose is pressed to his stomach, your lips stretched wide around him, and your throat tightens just enough to make his knees buckle.

“shit—gonna cum—i’m gonna—y/n, fuck—” he cries out, voice cracking.

you moan again, the vibration enough to push him over the edge.

sunoo cums hard, hips jerking forward as he spills down your throat. you feel the heat of it coat your tongue, thick and hot, his breath stuttering in your ears as he gasps your name over and over. you swallow every drop, your throat working around him, and he nearly sobs from the sensation, one hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something fragile, even as your mouth is still stretched around him.

niki’s thrusts don’t stop.

you’re still moaning around sunoo’s cock, even as he softens between your lips, even as he trembles above you, breathless and flushed and completely wrecked. he pulls back slowly, carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead before collapsing beside you, arms wrapping around your waist from the side like he can’t bear to be far.

niki’s breathing is wild now. his pace has turned frantic, thrusts slamming into you with desperate urgency as your pussy clenches hard, soaked and stretched and dripping with a mess of everything they’ve given you. your legs shake violently, every nerve ending firing all at once as he pounds into you one final time.

“fuck—gonna cum—fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps, voice raw, eyes wild.

he pulls out just in time, thick streams of cum painting your inner thighs, your stomach, the top of your mound. he moans as he jerks himself through the last spurts, chest heaving, hands twitching from the effort of holding back.

and then—it’s over.

your body collapses into the couch, completely limp, chest rising and falling rapidly, your mind a haze of pleasure and nothing else. you’re soaked, wrecked, flushed from head to toe, and so full—inside, out, all over. the air is humid and sticky, the scent of sex clinging to everything, but all you can feel is the warm weight of their bodies settling around you.

niki slumps beside you, chest to chest, his hand immediately sliding into yours. sunoo nuzzles into your other side, his lips still brushing soft, gentle kisses across your shoulder, your jaw, your collarbone.

you don’t move.

you can’t.

and they don’t make you.

they just hold you—quiet, steady, safe.

your body feels like it’s floating.

not in the way that’s light or airy, but in the way that nothing seems fully connected anymore. every inch of your skin is humming with aftershocks, tingling with the ghost of their touch, their lips, their words. you can’t tell where the ache ends and the warmth begins—all you know is that your limbs are heavy, your muscles limp, and your chest rises and falls in uneven, exhausted breaths.

but you’re not alone.

you’re so far from alone.

sunoo is the first to move, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest sweep of his fingers. he’s lying beside you, curled into your side like he’s guarding you from the air itself, and when you manage to blink your eyes open, his soft smile is the first thing you see. his eyes shimmer with warmth—pure and golden and so full of love that it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

“hi, angel…” he whispers, so softly it makes your throat ache. “you still with us?”

you nod weakly, unable to speak, but that’s enough for him. he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip. you shiver from the tenderness of it, your body far too raw and sensitive to handle even the softest affection, and he notices immediately.

“you’re shaking,” he says gently, concern flickering behind his voice.

“too much,” you whisper, barely audible.

niki’s already sitting up, propped on one elbow beside your legs, his hand running down your calf with a touch so soft it’s almost nothing. “hey,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “you did so good for us, baby. so good. you okay?”

you nod again, but the tremble in your chin betrays you, and suddenly jungwon is there too. you don’t even notice when he moves in—he’s just there, on his knees in front of you, already reaching for a warm towel, already soaking another with a bottle of water from the side table. he looks so calm. so focused. his brows are drawn slightly, lips pressed together, but the way his hands move across your skin is steady. certain. safe.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath.

you feel the warm cloth as it presses between your legs, and you flinch instinctively. the tenderness there is still too much—your pussy swollen, soaked, and sore from being stretched and filled and used again and again. jungwon immediately pauses, eyes flicking to yours.

“too much?” he asks quietly.

you breathe out a little sigh. “just… slow, please.”

“always,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your knee. “always slow with you.”

he works carefully, wiping the mess from your inner thighs with gentle, steady strokes. the warmth of the cloth is soothing, the heat easing some of the soreness even as your body continues to twitch beneath his touch. you feel his hands shake just a little as he presses a clean towel against your entrance, holding it there for a few moments to absorb the rest of the cum still leaking out of you. he doesn't say anything while he works—he just keeps going, eyes flicking up to check on you every few seconds, like he’s making sure you're still here.

sunoo continues stroking your hair, humming softly under his breath as you lie still, your body slowly starting to feel like yours again. niki shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. his chest is warm against your back, his breath slow and steady.

“you’re not allowed to move,” he murmurs playfully, though his tone is all affection. “we’re doing everything now.”

“you already did everything,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again.

niki laughs softly against your skin. “and we’re not done.”

jungwon finishes cleaning you, using a new cloth to wipe gently over your stomach, the backs of your thighs, your chest where streaks of cum and sweat still stick to your skin. his touch never lingers too long in one spot. he treats your body like something precious, something holy.

once you’re clean, he pulls a soft blanket over your legs, tucking it around your hips before adjusting the cushions behind your back. sunoo helps you sit up, holding your arms steady, brushing a kiss to your shoulder as he wraps another smaller blanket around your upper body like a shawl.

and then, jay appears from the kitchen.

you didn’t even realize he had left. his shirt is still off, a few droplets of water clinging to his collarbones, but in his hands are two water bottles and a small bowl of fruit. he doesn’t say anything as he kneels beside you—he just opens a bottle and brings the rim to your lips.

you drink slowly, shakily, the cool water tasting like salvation as it glides down your raw throat. jay wipes the corner of your mouth with a thumb, then kisses your forehead without a word. his gaze lingers on your face, the tiniest furrow between his brows as he studies your expression.

“hurting anywhere?” he finally asks.

you shake your head, leaning into sunoo’s arms. “just… sore.”

he smiles, the lines in his face softening. “you’ll rest. we’ve got you.”

jake joins moments later, crouching down to set extra water bottles on the table, then leans in and brushes a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “you were unreal. we’re so proud of you.”

you smile sleepily, warmth blooming in your chest at the weight of their words. your limbs are still heavy, and your mind is still floating, but there’s something grounding about being wrapped in their voices, their praise, their hands.

jungwon finally settles beside you again, towel gone, his body warm as he pulls your legs across his lap. his fingers massage your calves, working slowly through the tension, and you moan quietly from the relief it brings.

sunghoon is last to return—his hair wet now, a clean hoodie draped over his shoulders. he kneels in front of the couch, between your legs, and takes your foot in his hand, pressing a kiss to your ankle before resting his forehead there for a long moment.

no one speaks.

the silence is soft. sacred. every breath is slow. every hand is gentle.

they take turns feeding you fruit—one piece at a time, between kisses and strokes of your hair. mango slices, sweet and sticky. cold grapes. strawberries dipped in sugar. you chew slowly, letting them take care of everything, your body curling further into their arms with every bite.

sunoo wraps his arms around you from behind again, his cheek resting against your shoulder as he whispers praise against your skin.

“you did so well.”

“you were so perfect.”

“we love you so much.”

niki’s hands never stop moving—petting your thighs, massaging your hips, his lips pressing occasional kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your knuckles. jungwon hums as he plays with your toes, brushing his thumb in small circles around your ankle, his gaze still protective and focused.

and eventually… you close your eyes.

not because you’re tired—though you are—but because you feel safe.

warm.

held.

completely adored.

their hands stay on you the whole time. rubbing, holding, kissing. keeping you here. keeping you theirs.

and in that soft, slow silence, you realize something—

you’ve never felt more loved.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped y'all liked it !

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carnalcrows · 5 months ago

Text

BABYSITTER - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x male reader

synopsis: When a broke college student takes a babysitting gig, he signs up for snack time and bedtime stories—but ends up with bloodstains, cryptic employers, and an unsettling crush on the kid’s disturbingly hot dad.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, blackmailing, blood, anal, breeding, creampie, missionary, mating press, dubcon, mentions of kidnapping, too much plot

word count: 5.2k (good lord)

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon when you found yourself perched in the corner of the campus café, a half-empty cup of cold coffee sweating onto the table beside your laptop. Bills, tuition, and the general weight of adulthood had a way of pressing down on your shoulders, leaving you in a constant state of mild panic. You scrolled through job listings with the desperation of someone clinging to a lifeboat.

Barista? You had already been rejected twice due to your “lack of experience.”

Retail? They wanted you available on weekends, which wasn’t feasible with your study schedule.

Dog walker? Allergic to fur.

The list grew more depressing as the minutes ticked by, until one particular post caught your attention:

"Babysitter needed. Flexible hours. Payment upon services rendered. Serious applicants only."

There was no company name, no attached image of a smiling family, not even a hint about the age of the child you’d be babysitting. The simplicity of it screamed sketchy, but the promise of payment dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick.

“Desperate times,” you muttered, clicking on the post.

The application form was equally bare-bones, asking only for your name, availability, and a short paragraph about why you wanted the job. You quickly typed something generic about being responsible and good with kids, then hit send without much hope.

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

"You’re hired. Start tomorrow at 3 PM. Address: [Redacted]."

You stared at the screen, bewildered. No interview? No background check? Either this was the world’s most desperate parent, or you were walking into a scam. A friend texted you moments later, asking if you’d found a job yet, and you decided to leave out the details when you replied,

"Yep, starting tomorrow."

The afternoon sun was scorching as you made your way up the steps of the quaint suburban house. The place had a sort of storybook charm—a neat lawn, pastel shutters, and a small porch swing swaying lazily in the breeze. If it weren’t for the suspiciously vague job listing you’d answered, you might have thought you were walking into a feel-good rom-com instead of a potentially shady situation.

You knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by. You shifted awkwardly, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting hidden cameras. But just as you were about to knock again, the door flew open with surprising force, revealing a little girl standing barely taller than the doorknob.

“Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice so cheerful it nearly gave you whiplash. “Are you the babysitter?”

“Uh… yeah,” you replied, startled by the sheer intensity of her enthusiasm. “That’s me.”

“I’m Su-an,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Come in! I was just having a meeting with my council!”

Before you could even ask what she meant, she grabbed your hand and tugged you inside. The house was warm and cozy, if a little cluttered, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings taped haphazardly on the walls.

---

“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Su-an announced, holding up a ragged teddy bear with one ear chewed off. “He’s the president of my council.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding solemnly. “And what does the council do?”

“Important stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was letting you in on a state secret. “Like deciding who gets cookies after dinner. Also, they voted to make you the assistant.”

You blinked. “I don’t remember running for office.”

“Well, you didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “But Mr. Snuggles said you looked like you’d be good at it.”

Before you could protest, she shoved the bear into your hands and pointed to a tiny table covered in a chaotic mix of crayons, plastic teacups, and a single half-eaten cookie.

“Sit,” she ordered. “The council meeting is starting!”

---

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirlwind of nonsensical games and increasingly bizarre “council decisions.” At one point, you were ordered to wear a paper crown (which barely fit) and were dubbed the “Official Snack Prince.” Your royal duties included distributing Goldfish crackers and ensuring everyone—stuffed animals included—got an equal share.

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Su-an said, eyeing you critically as you handed Sir Fluffington his crackers. “Better than my last babysitter.”

“Oh?” you asked, curious. “What happened to them?”

“They couldn’t handle the council,” she said gravely.

---

After the meeting adjourned, Su-an decided it was time to “train” you in the art of hide-and-seek. You played along, even though she kept hiding in the same spot: under the dining table, her giggles giving her away every single time.

“Found you again!” you said, crouching down to peer under the table.

She gasped, genuinely shocked. “How are you so good at this?!”

“It’s a gift,” you deadpanned, earning another round of giggles.

---

When hide-and-seek got old, she declared it was “dance party time.” She dragged you to the living room, where she plugged in her favorite playlist on an ancient speaker. The first song was a pop hit you vaguely recognized, and before you could even protest, she was already twirling around like a whirlwind.

“Come on!” she yelled over the music.

“I don’t dance,” you started, but she shot you a look so devastatingly adorable that you had no choice but to join in.

What followed was ten minutes of the most ridiculous dancing of your life. Su-an moved like she was powered by pure chaos, flailing her arms and jumping around, while you attempted something resembling the robot. She laughed so hard she tripped over her own feet, and you had to catch her before she face-planted into the couch.

---

As the day wore on, you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of boundless energy that made you wonder if kids ran on caffeine instead of juice boxes.

By the time bedtime rolled around, you were exhausted. Getting her into pajamas was an ordeal—she insisted she couldn’t sleep without her “lucky socks,” which turned out to be mismatched and buried at the bottom of her toy chest. When you finally tucked her in, she stared up at you with wide, sleepy eyes.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

---

As you made your way back downstairs, you felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Babysitting wasn’t what you’d imagined yourself doing, but something about Su-an’s infectious energy and genuine joy made it worth it.

You tidied up the living room, stepping over plastic dinosaurs and rogue crayons, and couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. If every day was going to be like this, maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

And so, your days with Su-an became a routine. Every afternoon, she greeted you at the door like an excited puppy, launching into a new scheme or game. One day, she decided you were a dragon and she was a brave knight. The next, you were her art teacher, helping her draw increasingly absurd animals like “dog-o-sauruses” and “cat-icorns.”

One particularly memorable day, she tried to teach you how to braid her hair. It did not go well.

“Why are there so many strands?!” you groaned, your fingers tangled in her hair.

“It’s easy!” she said, giggling. “You just go over, under, over, under!”

“You sound like a cryptic math teacher,” you muttered, earning another round of giggles.

---

The days passed in a blur of laughter and chaos, and soon, you found yourself looking forward to your afternoons with Su-an. She made you forget about your stress, your bills, and your endless to-do list.

Still, a question lingered in the back of your mind: where was her dad during all of this? But for now, you were content to let the mystery be. After all, it was hard to worry about much when you had a six-year-old demanding you be her “Royal Snack Advisor.”

It was one of those rare evenings when the air felt just right—not too cold, not too warm, with a soft breeze that carried the faint smell of grass and distant barbecues. Su-an had begged to go to the park after dinner, and you’d caved, eager to get some fresh air and give her a chance to burn off her endless energy.

“Push me higher!” Su-an squealed as she swung back and forth, her legs pumping excitedly. You stood behind her, laughing as you gave the swing a gentle push.

“Higher, huh? What are you trying to do, touch the clouds?”

“Maybe!” she shouted, giggling as the swing reached its peak.

The park wasn’t crowded—just a few other families and joggers scattered around. It was peaceful, the kind of evening where you could almost forget the strange tension that sometimes hung around the house, the questions you tried not to ask about her father’s late-night comings and goings.

But the peace didn’t last.

As you helped Su-an off the swing and she dragged you toward the monkey bars, a commotion near the edge of the park caught your attention. At first, you thought it was just a group of people arguing—a not-uncommon sight in the city. But then you saw him.

Your heart stopped.

There, in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, was a man—the man. His tall frame was unmistakable, even in the shadows. He stood over a small group of disheveled, huddled figures, who you quickly realized were homeless people. A plastic bag lay torn at his feet, loaves of bread spilled across the ground.

He wasn’t just standing there. He was stepping on the bread.

Your breath caught as you watched him stomp down with deliberate, almost mechanical force, grinding the food into the dirt. The homeless group stared in silence, some in shock, others looking away as if too defeated to protest.

“Isn’t that Daddy?”

The innocent question cut through the haze of disbelief like a knife. You snapped your head down to look at Su-an, her wide eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, you crouched down and gently placed your hands over her eyes. “Let’s go, Su-an. We’re leaving.”

“Why can’t I look? What’s wrong?” she whined, squirming in your grasp.

“Because it’s not safe,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you picked her up and started walking away, her protests muffled against your shoulder.

Your mind raced as you carried her toward the car. What had you just witnessed? That couldn’t have been him—could it? But the silhouette, the way he carried himself—it was all too familiar.

You buckled Su-an into her car seat, doing your best to distract her with promises of ice cream and cartoons when you got home. But even as she babbled happily about her favorite flavors, your hands trembled on the steering wheel.

By the time you got back to the house and put Su-an to bed, your heart was still pounding. You paced the living room, replaying the scene over and over in your head. The way he’d crushed the bread underfoot—there had been no hesitation, no anger, just cold, calculated precision.

Who does that?

And more importantly, why?

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between your classes, assignments, and Su-an’s boundless energy, exhaustion had taken its toll.

It was the sound of the front door slamming that jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked into the darkness, the faint glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows across the room. Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate, and nothing like the hurried, near-silent ones you were used to from the man of the house.

You sat up, your heart beginning to race. Something wasn’t right.

When he appeared in the doorway, your stomach twisted into a knot. His usually pristine white shirt was drenched in blood, the vivid crimson staining the fabric and dripping in thick, uneven streaks. His face was ashen, his dark eyes wild and unfocused, like a man teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, instinctively backing away as the metallic tang of blood reached your nose.

“It’s not my blood,” he said curtly, his voice gravelly and sharp.

As if that was supposed to make you feel better.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

He staggered toward the kitchen, his movements unsteady but purposeful. Against every ounce of self-preservation screaming at you to stay put, you got up and followed him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your tone softer this time.

He didn’t respond, instead gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unapproachable than usual.

“Sit down,” you said, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

He turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you thought he’d ignore you, but then he surprised you by obeying. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step cost him.

You grabbed a damp cloth from the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you wrung it out. You weren’t sure why you were doing this—why you weren’t running out the door or calling the police. Maybe it was the way he looked, like a man who had seen too much, or maybe it was the faint vulnerability hiding behind his hard exterior.

“This... isn’t normal,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you began wiping the blood from his face. The cloth came away dark and sticky, and your stomach churned.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with things you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warning edge.

You paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unreadable—a mix of exhaustion, anger, and something else that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m here,” you said, almost defiantly, as you moved to clean his hands. “So I’m already concerned.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.

The silence between you grew even heavier, the only sound now being the soft movement of the cloth against his skin. Your hands were shaking slightly as you worked, wiping the blood from his face, his hands, but his eyes never left you. They were intense—piercing, almost as though he were searching for something in your expression.

You couldn’t look away for long. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second, your heartbeat picking up, each thud echoing loudly in your ears. It was like being drawn into a web you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

When you finally stepped back, giving him space, you thought you’d be able to breathe again. But then, his hand shot out, quick as lightning, wrapping around your wrist. The touch was firm, deliberate, sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through your veins. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His fingers were cold against your skin, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice was low, gravelly, and for a moment, you wondered if he was testing you—seeing if you’d reveal the truth, or maybe if you’d run.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was hammering, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to his proximity. The heat between you both felt suffocating. His touch was grounding, yet it stirred something dangerous inside you. “Because someone has to,” you replied, your voice steady, though you could feel the words slipping off your tongue more as a defense than truth.

His gaze deepened, darkening in a way that sent a chill down your spine. The air between you was thick, electric, as if there were an unspoken promise between you both—a promise you knew you were too afraid to fully acknowledge. Then, before you could even react, he pulled you in close. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision, desperate and overwhelming, like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long and was finally breaking free. His kiss was messy—almost violent—as if he needed to consume you, to claim you in a way that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your body tremble.

You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop, told him that this was wrong. Your mind screamed at you to break free, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead, matching the fervor of his kiss. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, his grip tightening. Your breath was ragged between kisses, and your pulse pounded in your ears as the world outside of the two of you seemed to vanish.

When he pulled away, just far enough to catch his breath, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the lingering heat of his touch, the undeniable thrum of desire that still buzzed beneath your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something in them—something dark, dangerous, but...hungry.

His lips curved into a smirk, and it sent a jolt of unease running down your spine, mingled with something else, something deeper.

“You’re in over your head, kid,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your back.

The words should’ve been a warning. They should’ve sent you running. But instead, they only lingered in the air between you, wrapping themselves around you like a noose. You should’ve known then, but you didn’t want to listen.

And for the first time, you realized: you were already tangled up in his web, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to escape.

The obsession grew in subtle ways. You’d arrive to find unexpected gifts waiting for you on the kitchen counter: a sleek leather wallet, a watch so expensive you didn’t dare wear it, a bottle of cologne that smelled like a storm breaking over the ocean.

When you tried to protest—“This is too much” or “I can’t accept this”—his expression would shift. His jaw would tighten, his eyes darkening with something that made your chest tighten.

“Take it,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. And you’d always comply, your words catching in your throat as he gave you a look that said refusing wasn’t an option.

Your feelings about him became a tangled mess of contradictions. Every instinct screamed that something about him was wrong. The blood, the cryptic way he spoke, the chilling bread incident in the park—they all painted a picture of a man you should stay far away from.

But then there were the moments that left you reeling. A lingering glance, a brush of his hand against yours, the way he could soften—just slightly—when he saw you with Su-an.

The first time he kissed you, you felt like your world had been turned inside out. It was sudden, overwhelming, and left you breathless. His lips were rough but urgent, like he was staking a claim rather than asking permission. And when it happened again—and again—you didn’t push him away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, craving the heat of his touch despite every rational thought telling you to run.

But his obsession wasn’t content to simmer beneath the surface. It began to consume him, bleeding into the delicate balance of your day-to-day life.

He started showing up during your babysitting hours, a presence that was impossible to ignore. At first, he’d just watch from the doorway as you played with Su-an, his dark eyes following your every move with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

Then, his involvement escalated. He’d dismiss you early—always with some excuse about needing to talk to you. But the moment Su-an was out of earshot, his demeanor would shift. He’d pull you into his room, his hands firm but not rough as he guided you inside.

“You’re spending so much time with her,” he’d say, his voice low and rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t forget who’s paying you.”

His lips would crash against yours before you could respond, his kisses urgent and messy, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else but with him.

The final straw came on a night like any other—or so you thought. Su-an had already gone to bed, and you were tidying up the living room when your gaze drifted toward the slightly ajar door of the man’s study. It was a room he rarely used in your presence, a space he kept locked most of the time.

You hadn’t intended to snoop. But the door was open, and your curiosity, already inflamed by the strange events surrounding him, got the better of you.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and faintly bitter cologne. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the mahogany desk and the shelves lined with books and files. One particular folder caught your attention—it was open, papers spilling out as if hastily shoved aside.

Your heart sank as you picked up the first page. It was your class schedule, neatly printed and highlighted. Beneath it were receipts from your favorite coffee shop, notes about your usual order scribbled in the margins.

And then there were the photos.

They weren’t candid shots taken on the street or at the park. They were intimate, the kind of photos someone would take if they were watching closely—too closely. You recognized the outfits, the moments. One was of you laughing as you pushed Su-an on the swings. Another showed you sitting on a park bench, earbuds in, entirely unaware of the camera.

The air in the room felt too thick, like it was choking you. Your fingers trembled as you shoved the papers back into the folder, heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell is this?”

The words left your mouth before you even realized he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something intense.

The folder in your hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents seared into your memory. Photos of you, notes about your life, details no one should know unless they’d been watching you for far too long. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, standing so calmly in the doorway as if this was all perfectly normal.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his movements slow, deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in with the man you were starting to realize you knew far less about than you’d thought.

“I warned you,” he said, his voice low, almost soothing. “I told you not to go looking where you shouldn’t.”

“This—this is insane,” you stammered, backing up until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. “Why do you have these? Why are you—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he interrupted, his tone softening as he drew closer. His gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in place. “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re... important to me.”

“Protecting me?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “This is stalking. This is obsessive. This—this isn’t normal!”

He stopped just a breath away from you, his height and presence overwhelming. His eyes, dark and piercing, searched yours for something, though you couldn’t tell what. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me–and to my daughter? You’ve become... everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your body tensed, torn between the instinct to pull away and the undeniable pull of his closeness.

“Stop,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength it should have had. “This isn’t—this can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. His other hand moved to your waist, firm but not forceful, as he leaned closer.

“You keep saying it’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips. “But you don’t push me away.”

His lips brushed against yours, testing, as though giving you one last chance to stop him. But when you didn’t move, when your breath hitched and your hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, he took it as permission.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate and searching, as though he was memorizing every inch of your mouth. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

You gasped against him, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt. The heat of him, the sheer intensity of his presence, was dizzying. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you couldn’t suppress the small sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.

His movements grew more desperate, more consuming. He pressed you back against the desk, his body caging you in as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent sparks of sensation racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your head tilted to give him better access.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost guttural. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing even as your body betrayed you, leaning into him. His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact.

“This... this isn’t okay,” you managed, though the words came out weak, shaky.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, filled with something you didn’t dare name. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

The words hung between you, heavy and charged, as he leaned in again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left no room for argument. And though your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, your body betrayed you, pulling him closer instead.

His hand slowly trailed to the hem of your sweatpants, lightly tugging on the strap, you flinched when his cold hand suddenly went under your boxers.

“We shouldn’t be doing this– Su-an might-” you were interrupted with his other hand covering your mouth.

“Hush now, this room is soundproof,” he merely stated before harshly pulling your pants and boxers down with one tug. He then picked you up and placed you on the desk, pushing aside all the files and paper, which now seemed so insignificant.

“You’re hard. Are you still telling me you don’t want this?” He questions, his warm breath fanning your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, not knowing what to say, or what to do.

Before you could form words, he wraps his hand around your aching cock which was standing erect, partly due to the cool air, and partly due to what was happening.

His movements were minimal, slowly moving his hand along your shaft, while his other hand fetched a packet of lube from his back pocket. Where he managed to get that, you couldn’t tell.

He ripped the packet with his teeth, and spread the substance all over his fingers, before swiftly flipping you over, so that your ass was facing him.

Before you could utter a word of process, he had slipped a lubed finger in you. A wanton moan left your mouth at the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck–don’t stop, please,” the man only smirked at this, slowly sliding in another finger, and then another. Three of his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, and oh, it felt heavenly. His other hand held you up just a bit, to keep you from falling off the study desk.

Your hands gripped onto the desk, frantically trying to keep yourself upright, but to no avail. You kept slumping off, the pleasure being too overwhelming.

“Stay still for me pet, that’s it–good boy,” the praise went straight to your dick, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Soon, the man determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his fingers. You whined at the sudden emptiness, wanting to feel full once more.

He stared at your twitching hole, clenching around nothing. The sight did nothing but turn him on even more.

He removed his belt and cast it aside, while tugging down his pants and boxers with a sense of urgency. He easily flipped you over with his strong arms, now getting a clear view of your already fucked-out face.

He merely grinned, and before you could respond, he slid into your awaiting hole. You gasped at the intrusion, the head of his cock bullying its way into your hole. He groaned feeling the way you clenched around his length.

Without waiting for you to adjust, he fucked into you like an animal in heat, holding your legs in such a way that your knees where at your shoulders.

The new angle made his length hit your prostate with every thrust, making your head fall back on the table, a loud moan leaving your lips.

The man was savouring every single reaction, every little noise you made. “Such a sweet little thing,” he cooed. “Can’t even keep a straight head while getting fucked, hm?”

The only thing that left your mouth was a string of garbled noises. Your brain had quite literally turned to mush with how well he was fucking you.

Soon, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, but the man didn’t stop. Instead, he fucked into you harder, a bulge forming in your stomach with every thrust.

He lightly pressed on the bulge, which made you squeal– the overstimulation doing too much to your head.

He kept rutting into you until he felt his climax. When it came, his thrusts slowly started to stutter. Without warning he emptied his load in you, painting your gummy walls white.

He kept you on the desk, without pulling out as you whimpered, feeling so, so full.

With your mind in such a disarrayed state, you didn’t notice him slip a small ring onto your finger.

“Now you can’t leave me–or Su-an, ever. Poor thing needs a mother after all.”

4K notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 6 months ago

Text

you belong with me — nanami kento.

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, car sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my love, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, best friend! nanami kento, best friend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the final fic for 2024!!! wah, there's a lot to say. first and foremost, this fic would not be possible if it wasn't for the lovely person who commissioned it from me awhile back. please give them a lot of love and a lot of thanks.

they were my first ever commission here and still it flutters my heart with joy to have worked them. they were so good to me and continues to do so, with how they want to share this fic with you too.

also, i want to thank you all for sticking with me this 2024. it was a long road and a really painful time. i wrote to escape these painful times and i got through 2024 with you guys, just enjoying stories in my head. so thank you!!! there were a lot and there are still a lot i haven't published here.

i hope we continue to be together in 2025 too. i'll continue to write for both of us, to have solace in hard times. i bow to you in all ways that i can. thank you for being good to me!!! i love you all. this is kayu signing off for 2024. please have a lovely and wonderful new year and i'll see you on january 2025 <33333

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

EVEN AS A CHILD, YOU THOUGHT THAT HE BELONGED TO YOU. It was a childish little thing, you knew that much. But the moment you met Nanami Kento at the park when you were five years old, you just knew he was going to be your best friend.

And no one else could claim that from you. It wasn’t something you decided after a long debate in your head. If anything, it was instinctive, instant, like the way a flower turns toward the sun. What surprised you even more was that he didn’t seem to mind it.

That day, Nanami Kento was sitting on the swings, looking unusually serious for a kid. His little legs dangled, barely brushing the ground, and he rocked back and forth so slightly it was as if he wasn’t even moving. It was odd.

Most kids treated the swings like they were flying machines, pumping their legs wildly, laughing as they soared. But not Kento. He just sat there, his small hands gripping the chains, his gaze fixed on the ground as though it held all the answers to the universe.

It wasn’t sadness—not exactly. He didn’t look miserable or lonely. No, it was more like he was... satisfied. Content in his little bubble of silence, where the noise of the playground seemed to slide right past him.

You, however, were not content with his quiet. What could a kid possibly have to think about so deeply? Why wasn’t he running around, chasing someone, or shouting nonsense with the other kids? How could he stomach sitting there alone for so long?

The questions buzzed in your head, but more than that, you felt a pull. You wanted to know him. You wanted him to talk to you, to share whatever thoughts were hiding behind those serious brown eyes. And if he wouldn’t come to you, well, that was fine. You’d go to him.

You had the kind of confidence that only comes from being five years old and utterly fearless. The kind of confidence that didn’t know rejection or hesitation, only the certainty that the world would say "yes" if you asked it nicely enough.

So, you marched right up to him, your pigtails bouncing with each determined step. You put on your brightest smile, the kind of smile that has always gotten adults to bend down and coo. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”

"Hi!" you announced, planting yourself firmly in front of him like he had no choice but to acknowledge you. You told him your name, grinning at him.

He blinked, startled out of his deep, secured thoughts to the sight of you. It took a while, but he lifted his caramel gaze to meet yours. For a moment, he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. No one has ever approached him before, well not as brazenly as this. Then, finally, he answered you back.

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

“Huh? It’s pretty!” you retorted, your hands flying to your hips, a slight pout settling on your lips. “My mom thought hard about it, you know!”

“So did mine.” Kento shot back, a flicker of mischief lighting his normally serious face. Then, in a tone that was just a little too smug, he added, “It’s a good name too.”

For a second, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the slyness in his tone. Then, to your own surprise, you burst out laughing. It wasn’t just the words that got to you—it was the way he said them, so calm and deliberate, like he was throwing you a challenge wrapped in politeness.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you decided, grinning widely.

Kento raised an eyebrow at that, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Well, you are.” you said firmly, as though your opinion was final. “So, Kento, what do you wanna do? We could swing, or climb the jungle gym, or—oh! We could build a sandcastle!”

He blinked, caught off guard by your rapid-fire suggestions. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t used to making decisions for playtime.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand without a second thought. “Then we’re doing the sandcastle! Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

He let you pull him along, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. “What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice so soft you almost missed the challenge in it.

“You will!” you said confidently, already imagining the crooked towers you’d build together. “Because I said so.”

Nanami Kento didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, the sound so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. But you were paying attention, because something about this boy made you want to see every little detail he kept hidden in that quiet bubble of his.

From that moment, Kento Nanami became yours.

He knew that just as much as you did, even then.

And he was certain you were just as much his from then.

It wasn’t long into your days of playdates before you started staking your claim. You didn’t mean to—well, maybe you did. That really didn’t matter. What mattered was that you and Kento were having fun. Like the time some other kids approached while you and Kento were hard at work in the sandbox, trying to make your castle less crooked.

"Hey, kid!" one of them called, pointing at the little shovel in Kento’s hands. "Can I borrow that?"

"No way." you said firmly before Kento could even open his mouth. You shot the kid a look that clearly said back off. "We’re using it."

"But—"

"Nope. Sorry. It’s ours to play with." you cut them off, turning back to your castle as if the conversation was over. "Right, Kento?"

Kento hesitated for a second, glancing between you and the other kid, before quietly nodding. "Right."

The other kids' faces were filled with harsh looks at what you said. But you didn’t care. All they could do was huff and puff until they were blue in the face. You would never budge, not even if they wanted you too.

You were a tough girl. And you always got what you wanted. And you wanted your new friend and his attention only on you. So you didn't care what you did. You’ll keep your friend, no matter what they want.

Soon enough, they gave in and went to wander off. You can only smile. You didn’t feel the slightest bit bad. If anything, you had wished that they had left much sooner.

You turned to Kento with a satisfied smile. "Good. They’d just mess it up anyway. It’s better if we play together, only us!"

Kento tilted his head, watching you with that quiet curiosity he always seemed to have. You seemed to be content about playing just by yourself, by his side. Not many kids seem to be content about wanting to do that at all.

"Why don’t you let other kids play with us?" he asked.

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. "Because you’re my friend. I found you first. That means you’re mine."

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, that tiny, barely-there smile returned.

"Okay." he said simply, like he didn’t mind one bit.

══════════════════

YEARS DRAGGED ON IN A FLASH FOR BOTH OF YOU. From that day forward, Nanami Kento was your shadow. Or maybe you were his—it often depended on who was asking and whose ego needed inflating at the moment.

But that was just how it was between the two of you. And you were content about how that goes. You knew he was just the same. Not because you went around declaring it (okay, maybe you did once or twice), but because your actions left no room for doubt.

The two of you were inseparable, and everyone knew it. In a way, both your parents were both glad and concerned about it. Glad that you both were in each other’s lives, nurturing and caring for each other. That means you both weren’t lonely, and you both were happily playing with each other day in and out of school.

But concerned that you weren’t letting each other find any other people in your lives and explore other friendships. But that hardly mattered to the two of you. Both of you didn’t budge. You didn’t need anyone else. If anything, you only need each other. You were both content with that.

If there was a school project, Nanami Kento was your partner. No debates, no negotiation. You made sure of it every single time. It got to the point where teachers didn’t even bother asking anymore. By third grade, the class roster might as well have been printed with your name and his own written in bold under "Partners" for every project.

“Do you guys ever work with anyone else?” a classmate once dared to ask.

“Why would we?” you replied, looking genuinely puzzled. “He’s the best at making the physical parts.I don’t need anyone else.”

Kento, standing beside you, simply shrugged. “She’s good at explaining the messy, hard parts.” he said, so matter-of-factly it left no room for argument.

At lunch, it was no different. You always saved him a spot, waving him over like a VIP guest being ushered past the velvet rope. And no one dared sit with the two of you. Not after The Incident.

There was one time where a new kid made the mistake of sliding into the seat next to Nanami Kento before he got there. You didn’t even hesitate to act as quickly as you could.

“Excuse me, new kid.” you said, your voice sugary sweet, but your eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What?” the kid asked, glancing up at you.

“That’s his seat.” You pointed toward Kento, who was still in the lunch line, entirely oblivious to the showdown brewing at the table.

“Seats are for everyone in the school.” the kid said, with all the defiance of someone who didn’t know better yet. “I can sit wherever I want.”

And that’s when you did it. You reached out and swatted their hand as they tried to open their milk carton. You glared at him, almost as cold as the North Pole. He gulped at your glare. You were terrifying for a middle schooler.

“Go. Somewhere. Else.” you said, every word punctuated with a glare that could have sent a grown man packing. “That’s HIS seat!”

The new kid was terrified and immediately scurried off, muttering something about "territorial weirdos." — that was another thing for the school to whisper about in their past time. But you didn’t care.

By the time that he got out of the boy’s toilets, Nanami Kento got to the table, his spot was as clear as always, and you were already peeling the wrapper off the sandwich your mom made for him like nothing had happened.

“Thanks.” he said, sitting down without even asking why the kid from earlier was now eating on the other side of the cafeteria. He saw that of course. But he didn’t dare ask. “Thank your mom for me, about the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.” you replied, sliding his sandwich over to him. You smiled as he opened his own lunch bag and started to pull out chocolate pudding in a tupperware. “Ohhhh, your mom thought of dessert!”

“Hm, I asked her.” Kento retorts back to you, smiling softly at your excitement. “Since you like chocolate pudding.”

“Thank your mama for me, okay?”

“Hm, I will.”

But of course, your protectiveness didn’t stop at lunch seats. If anything, you were protective of him to the point that it was already insane. If anyone so much as thought about teasing him, you were on them like a hawk. It didn’t matter if it was a stupid nickname or a poorly aimed joke. Nanami Kento wasn’t going to deal with any of it, not on your watch.

“Hey, Kento, why are you so quiet all the time?” one boy snickered during recess, his tone dripping with mockery.

Before Kento could even respond, you were already there, hands on your hips and glaring like you were ready to call down the wrath of the heavens. You glared at the kid as though he was meeting to face a thousand suns.

“Maybe he’s quiet because he doesn’t waste time saying dumb things like you do.” you snapped, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow for maximum effect. “Stop being a weird waste of space and leave him alone, you freak!”

The boy tried to stammer something in response, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You didn’t care for what they said. Only for what Kento says. You rolled your eyes at the kid, as though he bored you and looked away. Soon enough, you turned back to Kento, your expression softening immediately.

“Come on, Kento.” you said, grabbing his hand. “We’re going to the swings.”

Kento didn’t say much about that. But later, when that same boy made a malicious face at you from across the playground and had made a plan to chase you with a bottle of water to throw, Nanami Kento was the first to sense a threat against you.

He sighed heavily and without even looking up from his picture book muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “She’s faster than you, you know? She would wet your hair and make fun of you for it. So, I wouldn’t try it.”

The boy stayed far away after that.

And you could only giggle at what he said.

Nanami Kento knew you all too well.

But just as much as you were ready to fight Nanami Kento’s battles, he was ready to fight yours. And while you often took on challenges with the energy of a charging bull, Kento’s approach was quieter, deadlier—like a knife slipping between ribs before anyone even noticed it was there. He was just that type of kid, you think.

You first realized just how far Kento was willing to go for you one day when a group of older girls decided to target your ponytails. It wasn’t a big deal to you at first; you were used to the occasional teasing. But this time, something about their tone, or maybe the way they crowded around, everything about it had made your stomach twist.

“Why do you always look like you just rolled out of bed?” one of them sneered, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Her friends burst into laughter, as if she’d just delivered the punchline of the century. You bristled, the words forming on your tongue to snap back. But before you could speak, Kento appeared, slipping between you and the girls like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his tone calm, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

It was such a simple question, but somehow it silenced the entire group. The girl blinked at him, thrown off by his directness. Kento yawned, as though he was already bored with her. She had never expected anything from him. Kento was quiet and reserved.

He was also popular and quite a handsome young boy that people had a crush on. Even when he didn’t talk or pay any mind to any of them. You glared at this girl, as though she was the worst of them all. She’s always been trying to take Kento from you.

“Uh, excuse me?” she said, attempting to regain her composure.

“You heard me.” Kento’s gaze was steady, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was an edge to his voice that made it clear he wasn’t messing around. “Why do you care what she looks like? Or are you just bored?”

The giggling stopped.

“Well, I—” The girl floundered, her cheeks turning pink.

“She looks fine to me.” Kento interrupted smoothly, tilting his head slightly as if he were assessing them. “Better than you, anyway. I mean, those pants with that shirt? What are you thinking? Does your mom even love you if she allows you to wear something like that?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop at what he had said. You look at him, blinkingly. Before finding yourself bellowing at laughter at how blunt he had worked everything. The girls gasped, their mouths falling open in perfect synchronization. One of them muttered something about “rude boys” and then, just like that, they were gone, retreating with their tails between their legs.

You stood there, stunned, as Kento turned back to you like nothing had happened. You finally straightened yourself from your laughing form. You wiped your eyes as you turned back at him. You grinned at his words.

“Better than her?” you repeated later as the two of you walked back to class. You were trying not to laugh, but the corners of your mouth kept twitching upward.

“It’s true. You already know that.” he said simply, not bothering to look up from the book he’d already opened, as if the whole thing hadn’t even fazed him.

“Aw, you think I’m cute, don’t you?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Don’t push it.” he replied dryly, but the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

══════════════════

BUT OF COURSE, THIS ONLY INTENSIFIED ONCE YOU BOTH GREW OLDER. Entering this new environment, in high school — one could say nothing had ever changed. If anything, it has only grown more concrete that you and Nanami Kento, no one can separate the two of you even if they tried.

If one were to describe how you both were, it would be like being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Inseparable. And even when people questioned it, you turned them down just as easily. Little by little, people barely questioned it anymore.

You had long since reached the point where your friendship was so solid that it seemed like a fact of life. If anyone tried to ask about it, the answer was already clear: You two were a package deal. And while you liked it that way, not everyone seemed to get the memo.

It didn’t take long for the attention to roll in once high school started. You were used to it by now. After all, you and Kento had always been a pair of conspicuously close friends, so naturally, people were curious.

But this was a different kind of curiosity, the kind that came with stares and whispers behind your backs. Everyone seemed to have suddenly developed a keen interest in your best friend, and you couldn’t decide if it was because of his brooding good looks or that deep, mysterious aura he carried, but maybe, probably both.

It started with the girls, as it usually did. They would hover around Kento in class, a little too eager to engage in conversations about anything—his favorite books, his thoughts on the weather, even the random things he’d written in the margins of his notes. It didn’t matter what they brought up; they were just looking for an excuse to get a reaction out of him.

They wanted to be the one to crack the mystery that was Nanami Kento. And of course, they expected him to open up, to smile, to laugh, to do something that would confirm they were special enough to make him forget his usual quiet, studious demeanor.

But Kento, being the stoic, no-nonsense guy he was, would respond with quiet politeness, barely even registering their presence. He would tilt his head slightly when they asked questions, look at them through the edge of his glasses, and give just enough of an answer to keep things from getting awkward.

The girls would often stare at him a little longer than necessary, hoping for a second of warmth or acknowledgment. But no matter how many times they tried, all they got was that polite, impersonal smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just that he didn’t care about them, not in the way they wanted.

To Nanami Kento, it was all just noise. So, he’d just keep his focus on what mattered, which was probably the latest algebra problem or his ongoing internal monologue about the best way to prepare his next snack.

Even as an emo guy with that black hoodie, messy blond hair, brooding eyes that screamed ‘don’t talk to me, but if you do, be prepared for my sarcasm’—people still flocked to him. It was almost unfair, you thought. He had this combination of boy-next-door charm and detached, almost tragic mystique that girls couldn’t resist.

He was a pretty boy, you knew that much. You’d known him long enough to appreciate the way his eyes glinted in the sunlight, how his messy hair always looked effortlessly perfect, how he somehow made a monotone voice sound like the most hypnotic thing in the room.

And it wasn’t just the girls, either. The guys were starting to notice, too. Sure, they didn’t hover the same way, but they’d get a little too chatty when Kento was around, laughing a little too hard at his dry jokes, trying just a bit too hard to be friendly.

Everyone knew he wasn’t the type to just buddy up with anyone, and that mystery only made him more desirable. So when they’d get too close, you’d notice the slight twitch of Kento’s eyebrow, the way he’d lean just a little bit further away to make it clear that he was not interested in their company.

But the one thing you didn’t doubt was this: Kento was really polite. He never outright rejected anyone, and that politeness was a plus. Sure, it drove you a little crazy when they’d swarm him like bees to honey.

But you had to admit that his politeness was a rare commodity in a world where most people had no issue turning someone down rudely or making them feel uncomfortable. Kento didn’t do that. He’d simply nod back at people and get back to whatever it was he was doing, never making a fuss about the attention.

Well, it was better than over half the school, that’s for sure. You’d seen the way people treated each other, cold and snide, brushing off others without so much as a second thought. Kento was a rare gem in that regard. He was a gentleman, even in the face of all the attention he was getting, and that made it all the more frustrating.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want people to admire him; you just didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking they could replace you. You and Kento had this bond, a strong one, one that didn’t need words to be understood. But here was the thing—everyone else didn’t get it. And that was where the fun (and by fun, you mean sneaky sabotage) began.

After all, who else could say they knew all his little quirks? Who else had shared so many quiet lunches under that same oak tree, or been the one to force him to eat a full meal instead of staring at his book? You were his best friend, and that meant you had a certain, special claim on him, no matter how many girls wanted to make themselves part of his world.

But, like the selfless best friend you were, you’d keep that fact under wraps. No one needed to know you had a stake in him—especially when you were also the one helping him avoid the chaos of all his newfound admirers. Let them keep fighting over who could be the one to crack Kento's cold exterior; you'd be the one to keep it safe.

But that wasn’t enough. No, they wanted more. They wanted to peel back the layers, crack open that cool exterior, and find whatever hidden treasure lay beneath. And that was where you came in. That’s where you always have to come in. He was your best friend, after all.

It wasn’t that you hated the attention Kento was getting, but it was yours, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to think they could just stroll up and waltz into the little bubble you and Kento had created. And you know he agreed. He doesn’t really need anyone else, he’s said that to you numerous times.

So naturally, you and Kento found creative ways to sabotage any admirer who dared to get too close. It wasn’t malicious, exactly. Well, not to you or Kento. it was more like you were just “protecting” him, and, on occasion, he did the same for you.

It started with the simple things. You'd hover near him during lunch, casually tossing your snacks at him in a way that made it obvious you didn’t want him interacting too much with anyone else. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse between the two of you. Both of you pretended you weren’t doing it, but everyone knew exactly what you were up to.

For example, when this girl from the other class named Yuki asked to sit with Kento one day during lunch time, you quickly swooped in, plopping down next to him like you were the most important thing in his world. You grinned at him and he hummed.

“Hey, Kentooooo!” you said, dropping your lunch tray in front of him. “Did you get those history notes I gave you this morning?”

Yuki opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, you continued to talk to him with a brighter grin. You nonchalantly handed your strawberry milk carton to him and he started to open it for you with the same amount of cool.

“I was thinking of making brownies this weekend. You like chocolate, right? The ones that we used to buy at the mart? It hasn’t changed, right?” You sent her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I know it's probably too sweet, but it’s his favorite.”

Kento nodded back at you as he placed your strawberry milk carton on the side. You thanked him happily as you started to drink with happy sounds. Kento simply looked at Yuki with the politest expression he could muster and muttered back at her.

“Sorry, I’ve got a study group with her after school. Maybe next time.”

Yuki didn’t even bother trying to argue, just nodding stiffly before retreating. You shot Kento a quick grin, but before you could say anything, he just sighed and went back to his book.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” he muttered under his breath. “Could have handled that myself.”

“But I have to. You know that.” you said with a grin, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “You’re my best friend, not hers.”

One day at lunch, as you and Kento sat under the shade of the old oak tree, munching on your usual snacks, a girl named Mia from your history class walked by. She glanced at Kento, then at you, then back at Kento, before finally stopping a few feet away.

"Hey, Kento!" she called, her voice way too sweet for your liking. “Mind if I join you guys?”

You didn’t even have to look up from your crackers. “Sure, but he doesn’t bite.” you said, not even looking at Mia. “I mean, I don’t think so...”

Kento, who had been engrossed in a textbook the size of a brick, glanced up at you before looking back at Mia. "I can sit alone, you know." he said, a little too casually, not even bothering to hide the fact that he didn’t care much for the attention.

Mia, undeterred, tried again. “Are you sure? I heard you like this band, too. Maybe we could—”

But before she could finish her sentence, you leaned forward, dropping a half-eaten cracker dramatically into your lap as if to make your point clear.

"If you want to talk about music, you’re gonna have to take it up with me right now, okay?" you declared, giving her your best “this is my turf” look. "Kento here’s more into his book right now, not whatever band you think you have in common with him."

Kento blinked slowly, clearly trying to figure out why he was being pulled into this, but didn't argue. He just glanced at you and nodded, an expression you knew meant, I’m not getting involved in this one.

Mia looked between you and Kento, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, fine.” she muttered before turning around and walking off, her face flushed red.

"Good job, hero," Kento muttered under his breath, voice dry.

You smirked at him. "You’re welcome, sunshine."

Of course, it wasn’t like you were the only one who was possessive. Nanami Kento hated that you were constantly getting hit on. It drove him absolutely insane. Apparently, teenage boys had this ridiculous notion that your consistent rejections made you more appealing. The more you turned them down, the more determined they became, like you were some kind of prize to be won.

Nanami Kento of course, naturally, found this logic baffling—and irritating. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to handle yourself; he absolutely did. He hated everyone else, maybe most of all the men around him and of course — you.

But watching those guys swarm around you, trying to impress you with their lame jokes or over-the-top compliments, made his jaw tighten and his grip on his pen just a little too firm. Oh, he hated men even more like that. And, well, Kento was never one to sit back and let something annoy him for too long. Not when it comes to you.

But of course, there are things that come as unexpected too.

Maybe it was because Nanami Kento was too perceptive.

Maybe he was just good at dissecting situations happening.

He doesn’t know how this happened, or how this came to pass.

But today would change his life for good, that was certain.

A week after one particularly bold senior cornered you after class to “ask for your number” Kento decided to return the favor—not with dramatics, of course, but with his usual understated, calm assertiveness.

You were sitting in the library, animatedly telling Kento about your latest sketch. It was a concept you were certain would win the upcoming art contest. He was actually paying attention, nodding slightly as you explained your technique, when suddenly, a guy from the senior class decided to interrupt.

“Hey, you’re the girl who draws, right?” the senior asked, leaning against the edge of the table with a grin that screamed overconfident.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”

“Well,” he continued, practically oozing smugness, “I was thinking, maybe you’d want to collaborate on some sketches sometime. You know, we could—”

Before he could finish whatever weak line he’d rehearsed, Kento smoothly slid into the seat beside you, his broad shoulders cutting off your view of the guy. He didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he turned to you, his voice calm but laced with just enough edge to make his point.

“I’m pretty sure sketching is a solitary activity.” Kento said matter-of-factly. “You know, for concentration… unless, of course, you want a distraction?”

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Kento’s sudden presence. “Uh, no, I—”

Kento didn’t let him finish. “You know….” he continued, still not looking at the guy. “It’s actually better if you’re alone when you’re working. Less… interruptions.”

He then picked up your sketchbook, flipping through it with the kind of casual indifference that somehow made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Your jaw dropped at what he’s done.He’s silly like this sometimes, you think to yourself.

“Kento!” you half-laughed, half-scolded, reaching for your sketchbook. “That’s my sketchbook!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” he replied nonchalantly, not even pretending to give it back. His attention wasn’t on your sketches anymore, though. His eyes were fixed on the poor senior, who was now fidgeting uncomfortably under Kento’s unnervingly calm stare.

“Do you mind?” Kento said coolly. “She’s busy.”

The guy stammered something unintelligible, his confidence evaporating faster than a spilled soda in the sun. “Uh… yeah, maybe another time, I guess.” he mumbled before slinking off, clearly realizing he was no match for Nanami Kento’s level of subtle intimidation.

Once the guy was gone, you turned back to Kento, crossing your arms with a mix of exasperation and amusement. You giggled to yourself for a moment. He sighed, looking at how amused you were. It was always like this with you, getting giddy when he does things like this.

“Nice one, Kento.” you said, smirking. “You do know I could have handled that, right?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, setting your sketchbook back down and leaning back in his chair like nothing had happened. You take it back from him, giving him a small thanks. He couldn’t stop looking at you. But when you looked up again, he'd already looked away.

“Sure.” he said, his lips curling into that faint, almost-smile of his. “But it looked like you were busy… talking to him.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “What was that even about? You’re not my bodyguard, you know.”

“I wasn’t being a bodyguard.” he replied, his tone annoyingly calm. “I was just... pointing out how distracting he was being.”

“Right, right.” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “And that had nothing to do with you hating that he interrupted us?”

Kento didn’t answer right away, but the way his eyes flickered with quiet amusement gave him away. He never likes admitting it out loud, but he feels glad. He feels glad when he makes sure you both are alone. You were all he needed after all.

“Maybe.” he finally admitted, his voice as casual as ever. “Or maybe I just wanted to look at your sketchbook.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you talk too much.” he countered, eyes shining softly against your own.

You giggled back at him, your lips smiling beautifully at him. Beautifully more than ever before. “But you like it that way, don’t you?”

Huh, what was that? He thought to himself.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Was that his heart beating like that just now?

For a moment, he stops and looks at you. You were unaware about what happened just now. Instead, you were back on your sketching, humming to some song you were obsessed with right now. Kento swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how he was looking at you. He cleared his throat.

“We should get going.” he said finally, his voice a little quieter than usual. “The library closes soon.”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you always did. But as you walked, Kento couldn’t help sneaking a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. He’d always thought of himself as someone who was good at keeping his emotions in check, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Is this what it feels like? Kento wondered as he watched you walk off in front of him.

He stops. He takes in the sight of you. You were laughing, hopping on the tiles one by one. The sun glows behind you like a beacon leading him to the direction of life. You nearly fell, making him jump forward. But you held your balance.

And then you laughed. Laughed so beautifully that he doesn’t know what to do. He could feel every fiber of him turning warm, warmer and redder than ever before. His heart beating out of rhythm again.

Ah, shit. Kento once more thinks to himself. I’m screwed.

══════════════════

HE DOESN’T THINK TO SAY ANYTHING. How could he, when he’s scared about the outcome? But as the time flew by as fast as it could, he knew he can’t keep being a coward about it. He had to say something. He should do it soon.

It was going to come out anyway. College was looming on both your shoulders. And with that, a lot of uncertainty came. If he says something, at the very least there would be something certain, concrete as your friendship.

The two of you sat cross-legged on the floor of Kento’s family home, a single bottle of sake between you. Neither of you had much experience with alcohol, but the thrill of being eighteen and toeing the line of rebellion was too tempting to resist.

Kento poured carefully into the mismatched cups you'd found in his cupboard, his movements precise, even in the low light.

"Cheers, cheers!" you yell with that bright eyed grin, raising your cup to him.

"To...?" he asked, his brow arching slightly, always wanting things to have a purpose.

"To us!" you said simply, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He hesitated, his breath catching in his chest, before clicking his cup against yours. "To us."

The first sip was sharp, burning its way down, but it wasn’t long before the alcohol began to work its magic with swift effectivity. You laughed more freely, leaning closer to him, and your words came faster, your thoughts unfiltered.

"You know, Kentooooo." you said, poking his shoulder with a pout. "You’re, like, ridiculously handsome, right?"

Kento froze mid-sip, his ears instantly turning as pink as your sweater. "W–what?"

"I mean it! You’re so... ugh…." you groaned, tossing your head back dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his voice soft, betraying the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Like you’re trying not to smile, but your eyes are giving you away." you teased, your grin widening as you poked his cheek this time.

Nanami Kento could feel his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. Every word you spoke chipped away at his usual composure, and he could feel himself unraveling under the weight of your drunken admiration. In just this moment, you wholly outwit him. You make him come undone. Only you can have that effect on him. Only you.

"You’re unbelievable, you know that?" he muttered, trying to look away, but you caught his chin, turning his face back to yours.

"Admit it already, won’t you?" you said, your voice lower now, but no less playful. "You like me. Maybe even a little too much."

Kento stared at you, the world blurring slightly around the edges, whether from the alcohol or the way you were looking at him, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to do it like this. He didn’t want to put up his hopes that you would be sober enough to know the truth. Or for you to have sober truths pouring out of your sharp grinning lips.

"I think…" he began, his voice steady but his heart anything but.

“You think?”

"I’m falling for you. More and more. Every second."

You blinked at what had just shifted in the air, your teasing expression softening as you processed his words. Then, to his surprise, you smiled—not mischievously this time, but gently, sweetly. Full with a merry drink, you smiled.

"Good." you whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the faint sweetness of the sake on your breath. "You said really good words.”

Kento barely had time to breathe before you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving his face on fire and his heart completely, utterly yours. Kento froze, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek like a brand. His breath hitched as your words sank into the alcohol-drenched air between you.

“I think I’m already there.”

He stared at you, his usually composed mind now an unsteady swirl of emotions—exhilaration, disbelief, and a flicker of hesitation. Your gaze was soft, dreamy, and undeniably sincere, but the alcohol in your system clouded everything. He said it out loud. But are you sure? How could you be, with how merry the drink is in your belly?

"You don’t mean that." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it too loud would shatter the fragile moment.

"I do. I do." you said, your expression serious despite the light flush of intoxication on your cheeks. You reached for his hand, holding it with a gentle firmness that made his heart stumble in its rhythm.

Kento's fingers curled instinctively around yours before he could stop himself, but his grip was careful, steady. "You're drunk. I just…you can’t say that drunk." he pointed out, his voice more tender than reprimanding.

You frowned, tilting your head like you were trying to understand him through the haze. "So? That doesn’t mean it’s not true."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. He wanted so desperately to believe you, to let his heart leap completely into your words, but his rational side, his ever-present voice of reason. It held him back.

"It matters. It matters to me." he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "If you mean it, I need to hear it when you’re sober. When you’re sure."

"But I am sure, Kento." you insisted, leaning closer, your warmth almost overwhelming him. Your free hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and he felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

Kento shook his head, his smile faint but aching with restraint. "Not like this." he murmured. "You’ll wake up tomorrow and—"

"And what? Pretend this didn’t happen?" you interrupted, your brows knitting together. "Do you think I’d forget how much I lo—"

His hand shifted, gently pressing a single finger to your lips to quiet you, though it was more for his sake than yours. He wasn’t sure he could take it, hearing those words from you while your judgment was fogged.

"Stop. Please." he said, his voice barely steady. "Don’t say it now. Not tonight."

Your eyes searched hisfrustration flickering in their depths before softening. You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he looked at you like he was holding back an ocean of feelings.

"You're such a romantic, aren’t you?" you murmured, a teasing lilt to your voice as a lazy smile spread across your face.

He gave a quiet chuckle, his fingers brushing against your cheek now without realizing it. "Maybe." he admitted, his tone gentler than ever. "But I want this—want us—to start right. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me again."

You let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as your eyelids grew heavy. You always liked this, taking in his warmth. You don’t think there was any other place you belonged in but his arms.

If you were being honest, you were afraid. He was right. Your words could mean something, and maybe it wouldn’t be as clear as his own. You were drunk. You were really drunk. And feels hazy in your head. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to your Kento. Not like this.

"Fine." you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "But you’d better be ready for me to say it a hundred times tomorrow. Maybe a thousand."

Kento chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest, as he rested his chin lightly on top of your head. "I’ll be ready." he promised, even as his own heart thudded wildly at the thought. “I’m always waiting for you. Always.”

And as you drifted off, still clutching his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, Kento silently vowed to himself: when the time came, he’d tell you how deeply, how completely he felt for you too. He just needed to be sure you knew what it meant.

The morning after that night, you woke up on Kento's couch, the faint remnants of sake lingering in the air. Your head throbbed lightly, and your memories were fuzzy around the edges. Kento, ever thoughtful, had left a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside you.

"Rough night?" he asked from the kitchen, his voice steady but carefully neutral as he busied himself making coffee.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "What did I even say last night? I barely remember anything."

He hesitated, his hand tightening briefly on the handle of the coffee pot. He looked over at you, your half-asleep face free of the weight of your drunken confessions. For a moment, he considered saying something, but the words got caught in his throat.

"Nothing too embarrassing," he said instead, forcing a faint smile.

You laughed, your cheeks reddening slightly. "Good. I’d hate to think I made a fool of myself in front of you."

Kento gave a small nod, but his heart felt heavy. You didn’t remember, and he couldn’t bring himself to remind you. Not like this. So, he lets himself break apart. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t let you have guilt. Because if he did, how is that loving you?

So Nanami Kento buried those words, locking them away where they couldn’t touch the fragile balance between you. He told himself it was better this way. But he hopes, maybe one day — just one day. You’ll see him too. Sober with your love for him.

══════════════════

THINGS DID CHANGE A BIT WHEN YOU WENT TO COLLEGE. Of course, you both got into the same university. But there’s a rough difference between not only being in different departments, but also being in different campuses. It was a rough travel back and forth. But Nanami Kento was determined to go and visit you.

You often feel a little bad when you look back on those days. Engineering classes were no joke. Too many long hours, grueling projects, and the constant pressure to keep up left you drained most of the time.

You barely had the energy to go out, even when you wanted to. But Kento never minded. He understood in the quiet, steady way that only he could, and instead of waiting for you to have time, he made sure to visit you instead.

It didn’t matter where for him. Whether it was the bustling campus lunch hall, where the two of you would share a plate of something warm while you tried to finish an assignment, or your dorm room, which was always a little messy with textbooks and half-drunk cups of coffee.

What mattered to him wasn’t the place or even what you were doing. What mattered was just being with you.

And that thought? It never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Even now, after everything, it feels just as special as it did back then. You still held dearest to him after all this time. Ever since you were kids, you were his everything. And you were sure, more than ever now, that he was yours too. In all sense of the word.

It’s been a year and a half since that time, since you confessed to Kento. Well, technically, drunk you confessed to him. It was late, and you’d had just enough to drink to make your heart bolder than your brain. You didn’t want to say a word. And you think that Kento was just as much waiting for you to say something.

You were ready to die of embarrassment when you remembered that you had said that. But then you remembered, with just as much horror and embarrassment — he’d confessed too. With that same calm sincerity, he told you he’d felt the same way for a while.

Looking back, it was a little messy, maybe even a lot embarrassing. But it was also sweet, earnest, and so perfect for you two. And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing. You had said something that clarified things for you.

After all, that drunken confession was the start of something that would make all the challenges of those days worth it, every late-night study session, every coffee-fueled conversation, every stolen moment in between. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You were falling for Kento more and more every day, and it was starting to feel like a problem. A big problem. How were you supposed to act normal around him when everything he did—from the way he fixed his tie to the way he said your name—made your heart do backflips?

It wasn’t fair, really. How was it possible that the same person who once laughed so hard he choked on a piece of rice during lunch was also the one making you reconsider your entire perception of love? He was your best friend, and now you couldn’t even look at him without overthinking every little thing.

And to make matters worse, he was visiting you today.

You had approximately 15 minutes to get your life together before Kento arrived, which was nowhere near enough time to deal with the tornado that was your dorm room or the emotional hurricane swirling inside you.

“Okay, okay, calm your tits.” you muttered to yourself, grabbing stray socks off the floor. “Just play it cool. It’s just Kento. You know him best. Real well. He’s been here a million times. No big deal. Totally normal.”

You shoved a pile of notebooks into your desk drawer, praying it wouldn’t jam, and quickly rearranged the pillows on your bed. By the time you heard the knock at your door, your dorm was passable, well barely. And you were mostly sure you didn’t look like a total disaster.

When you opened the door, there he was, Nanami Kento in all of his huge handsome stature, standing there with his usual calm demeanor, holding a bag of snacks. You yelped quietly as you looked at him. Your roommates must have let him inside.

“Thought you might need these.” he said, giving you one of those small, knowing smiles that made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked at him. “Nanami Kento, are you a psychic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, but you texted me at 2 AM complaining about running out of your favorite chips, so I figured this might help. You still have some paperwork to do, right? And you won’t eat unless I come by to remind you. So, I got it.”

“Oh.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous croak. “Right. Thanks. You’re, uh…you’re a hero.”

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Did a tornado hit your room? It was clean last time I came by.”

“What? No!” You crossed your arms defensively. “I cleaned! Mostly.”

Kento gave you a skeptical look before setting the bag of snacks on your desk. “If this is what ‘clean’ looks like to you, remind me never to see it messy.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Careful. That’s my best throw pillow. If you damage it, I’ll charge you emotional damages.”

“Noted, little miss engineer.” he replied, setting the pillow down with exaggerated care. “What’s the rate for emotional damages these days?”

“Depends. How many snacks did you bring?”

“Enough to keep you from suing me.” He tells you with a grin. “Still have some in my car, just in case you wanted more.”

The two of you laughed, and for a moment, it felt like old times. A little bit easy, comfortable, effortless. But then, as Kento sat down on the edge of your bed, something in your chest tightened. How had this annoying, perfect, infuriatingly kind man become someone you couldn’t stop thinking about? Someone you don’t think you could live without?

He looked up at you, tilting his head slightly. “What’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face?”

“What? No!” You blinked rapidly, your cheeks heating. “I was just—uh—zoning out. Engineering stuff. Very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right, right.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m definitely not the one who helped you with that last project.”

“Details, details, Nanami Kento. Don’t get bogged down in the details.”

He chuckled, and the sound was so warm and familiar that you almost forgot why you were freaking out in the first place. Almost. Kento takes a moment. He then looks at you as though examining you with careful abandon. Kento wanted to take in the sight of you, after not seeing you for a while.

“You’re weird today, do you know that?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine. Super fine.” You waved a hand dismissively. “Just tired, you know? Engineering. It’s a grind.”

Kento studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced a laugh. “Who, me? No way. I’m like…a professional liar. Best in the business.”

“Uh-huh.” He hums back in retort.

He didn’t press further, but the way he looked at you. Everything about his caramel gaze was gentle, understanding, like he already knew what you weren’t saying. Everything about it, everything about him made your heart squeeze.

You sighed internally. How were you supposed to handle this? You couldn’t just blurt out, “Hey, Kento, I think I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me absolutely insane!”

But as he opened the bag of snacks and handed you your favorite, you couldn’t help but think maybe, just maybe, he already knew that you knew. And that maybe he knew that you felt deeply about him. You sighed. Maybe you’re just imagining it.

As the minutes ticked by, Kento made himself right at home in your dorm, sitting cross-legged on your bed and munching on the snacks he’d brought. Meanwhile, you had plopped into your desk chair, scrolling on your phone under the pretense of “taking a break.”

But in reality, you were desperately trying to distract yourself from the way he looked way too good just casually existing in your space. How could he look that good even as a law major? How can he have time to make your heart feel like this?

As you flicked through your social media feed, you stumbled upon a post that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a picture—Kento, smiling (smiling!) with a group of classmates, apparently from earlier that day. Some of them were girls. Really pretty girls. Those really pretty preppy law girls!

Your first thought was When does Kento even smile like that? He never smiles like that around me!

Your second thought was Who’s the one leaning so close to him? Is she, like, whispering in his ear or something?

You shot a quick, subtle glance at him. He was still on your bed, completely unaware of the emotional spiral you were going through. He crunched on a chip like it was the most normal day in the world.

“Did you have fun today?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kento raised an eyebrow. “Uh…what?”

“Today. You were with…people from your department.” you said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

His brow furrowed toward you slightly. “I mean, yeah, I had a class project meeting. It was fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” you said, voice a little too high-pitched. Fuck, you were too obvious. You looked back at your phone, scrolling furiously to hide your face. “Just…wondering. Looked fun.”

“Wait.” Kento’s tone shifted. Suddenly you felt his gaze on you. “How do you know about that?”

Your heart dropped. “Uh, I saw it. Online. A picture. No big deal!”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. “Are you…jealous?”

“What?!” Your head whipped up so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Me? Jealous? Of what? Why would I be jealous?”

Kento’s lips quivered into a rare, brat–like smirk, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “No reason at all.” he said smoothly. “Just seems like you’re a little…interested in what I’m doing when I’m not here.”

“Interested? Pfft, no. I was just—just checking to make sure you’re not hanging out with the wrong crowd.” you stammered, flailing for a decent excuse. “You know, bad influences. Peer pressure. That sort of thing.”

“Right, I see.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m the type to fall victim to peer pressure.”

“Well, I don’t know that part of your life right now!” you snapped, feeling your face heat up. “Maybe one of those girls was trying to…to make you join a pyramid scheme or something!”

Kento leaned back on your bed, folding his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” you shot back, spinning your chair around so you didn’t have to look at him.

There was a rustle of movement, and then suddenly, he was right behind you, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. You could feel your ears redden at the feeling of him. You squeaked, loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re really bad at lying, too. How come you haven’t evolved at lying? It’s been years and somehow, you’re still bad at it.” he said softly, his voice just teasing enough to make your heart race.

You spun around to face him, glaring. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was a little jealous. Are you happy now?”

Kento blinked, clearly surprised by your sudden outburst. But then, to your absolute horror, he started laughing—actual, full-on laughing. He hadn’t expected for you to just come out and say it like that. You were a prideful little flower, you always have been.

“You’re laughing at me?!” you cried, swatting at his arm.

“I’m not laughing at you, you know.” he said, still chuckling. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

“Well, I did!” You crossed your arms, trying to look annoyed even as your face burned. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Kento’s laughter softened into a small, fond smile, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared. He didn’t know how much he missed you until now. Somehow, the world seemed like it was in proper orbit when he’s with you like this.

“Nothing, nothing.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Because you don’t need to be jealous. If I wanted to spend my time with anyone else, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting as he straightened up and walked back to the bed like he hadn’t just casually wrecked you with one sentence. You looked away, crossing your arms as though to shield yourself from him. But he could still see the redness of your ears.

“Well….” you muttered under your breath, plopping dramatically onto your desk. “Now I’m jealous of myself.”

Kento paused mid-bite of a chip and turned to you with an amused look. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, sitting up straight like you hadn’t just been caught having an existential crisis.

But of course, Kento being Kento, he wasn’t about to let it slide. “No, no, go ahead.” he said, his smirk returning as he leaned back against the headboard. “Explain how you’re jealous of yourself. This, I have to hear.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Forget I said anything. It’s dumb.”

“I doubt that at all.” he replied, his tone annoyingly smug. “But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, only to find him watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that made your heart flip all over again. You wanted to throw a pillow at him or maybe yourself—just to get rid of the growing warmth in your chest.

Instead, you grabbed the bag of chips from the desk and walked over to him, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Eat some of the snacks and stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wasn’t psychoanalyzing you.” he said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But you’re making it very tempting.”

“Unbelievable, Kento.” you muttered, plopping down onto the bed beside him. “This is why I can’t stand you sometimes, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “So much so that you admitted to being jealous of people spending time with me. Makes perfect sense.”

You huffed, grabbing a handful of chips just to give your hands something to do. “Okay, fine, you got me. I was a little jealous. Big deal. You’re my best friend. It’s normal to feel weird about you hanging out with other people, right?”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes studying you closely.

“Yes!” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Because we’re close. And I don’t like sharing, okay? You’ve known that since we met!”

“Hmm, hmm.” he said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer. “So what you’re saying is, you want me all to yourself?”

You choked on your chip, coughing violently as Kento sat back, looking far too pleased with himself. “You—ugh! Don’t say things like that!”

“Why not? I’m just repeating what you said to me.” he replied innocently.

“That is not what I said!”

“Sounded like it to me.”

You glared at him, your face burning. “You’re the worst.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’m your worst.”

And just like that, you were done for. Completely, utterly done for. You threw a pillow at him once again. Because what else could you do to him like that? He wasn’t wrong. Sure enough, he caught it effortlessly, laughing rather softly as he set it down beside him.

“Stop overthinking about it.” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “I’m here because I want to be. No one else matters, okay?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” he said simply, reaching into the chip bag again like he hadn’t just made your heart implode for the second time that evening.

And you sat there, staring at him like an idiot, thinking that maybe, just maybe, falling for him wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

══════════════════

IT WAS ONE OF THE RARE OPPORTUNITIES WHERE YOU HAD A DAY OFF. So of course, you took the time to call Kento and ask him to hang out with you. And as usual, all he had said was that short, sure yes and nothing more.

He’d pick you up in thirty minutes, like usual. And of course, Nanami Kento was never late. If anything, he was always ten minutes early. He couldn’t have you waiting, after all.

The bar was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You and Kento had decided to spend your day off together, and while the original plan had been something low-key like a café or a bookstore, somehow you’d ended up here, nursing a drink and trying to act normal around him.

He’d never been here before, but he saw it from across the road and if the cafe or bookstore was closed — an afternoon at a bar wasn’t going to be a bad idea for college kids wanting to have some adventure beyond the campus walls.

Normal. Just normal. Yeah, act like you do. Well, whatever normal looks like to you now.

You could only mentally sigh as your peripheral was only stuck on him more than usual.

As if that was possible when you were utterly, hopelessly in love with the man sitting across from you.

Kento, of course, looked effortlessly composed, like he always did—leaning back in his seat, one hand resting on the table, the other holding his drink. He wasn’t a flashy guy, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made it impossible not to stare. And you were staring. Again.

“You’re staring at me again.” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly taking a sip of your drink to cover up your flustered state.

“You’ve been doing it all evening.” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, no.” you muttered, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I was just…zoning out. Thinking about…stuff.”

“Stuff. You sure….about stuff as an excuse?” he repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yes, stuff.” you said firmly, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He chuckled softly, and you were both annoyed and utterly charmed by the sound. Why did he have to be so effortlessly perfect? It wasn’t fair. You hated how good he is at being everything you love. As you tried to regain your composure, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hey there, sweetie–pie.” a man said, sliding up to your table with a confident grin. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…”

Before you could say anything else, the man pulled up a chair and sat down, clearly not waiting for permission. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. You felt disgusted by the way he looked at you. He wasn’t your type at all. And moreover, he’s creepy as hell.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.” he said smoothly. “You’ve got a great smile.”

“Um, thanks?” you said awkwardly, glancing at Kento.

Kento’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. He sat up a little straighter, his jaw tightening just slightly. Kento’s eyes were glaring hard enough that you could find those eyes were blades cutting you whole.

“So, what’s your name?” the guy asked, ignoring Kento entirely.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Kento beat you to it.

“She’s not interested in you.” he said flatly, his voice calm but with an edge that made the guy pause.

The man glanced at Kento, raising an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Person she’s with.” Kento replied smoothly, though his tone made it clear that he wasn’t just a friend. “Who also happens to know she’s too polite to tell you to leave, so I’ll do it for her. What else are you waiting for? Leave.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Kento…jealous?

The man hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to push back, but something about Kento’s steady gaze seemed to make him think twice. With a shrug, he stood up. He wasn’t going to get anything out of you. Lest he wants to get bitten by a tiger waiting to eat him. Well, at least he’s smart about that.

“Alright, alright. No need to get territorial.” He winked at you before walking away.

You shuddered at his wink.

Have men always been weird?

You shake it off quickly, drinking your pint.

You turned to Kento, your cheeks burning. “Territorial? Really?”

Kento shrugged, taking a sip of his drink like nothing had happened. “He was bothering you. I handled it.”

“I could’ve handled it myself, you know.” you said, crossing your arms.

“I’m sure you could’ve.” he replied, setting his glass down. “But I didn’t feel like watching you pretend to be polite to someone who clearly couldn’t take a hint.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “But at least you don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

You huffed, turning back to your drink. But as you took a sip, you couldn’t help but notice the way Kento’s gaze lingered on you, softer now, like he was trying to gauge your reaction. You drink your pint once again in some somber silence.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes.” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced at him, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Why?”

Kento held your gaze for a long moment before replying. “Because I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have what’s mine.”

Your brain short-circuited. “W-what?”

He didn’t elaborate, just leaned back in his chair with that same calm composure, as if he hadn’t just wrecked your entire evening with one casual sentence. You stared at him, utterly flustered and more in love than ever, wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive the rest of the night without completely losing your mind.

For the rest of the night, Kento didn’t let you out of his sight. He was subtle about it at first—the way he leaned in whenever someone walked by, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. But as the minutes passed, it became glaringly obvious: Kento was on high alert, and every glance from a stranger only made his protective aura grow stronger.

When a group of guys walked by your table and one dared to look at you a second too long, Kento’s hand dropped from the chair to your shoulder, the weight of it warm and grounding. He didn’t even glance at the guy, his focus entirely on you, but the message was clear: Don’t even try it. Back off.

You tried to act normal, but it was impossible. Sitting beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you were acutely aware of every little thing about him—the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, the way his voice dropped into a lower register whenever he spoke to you.

“You’re quiet again.” he said, his voice low as he leaned a fraction closer.

“I’m fine, Kento. Really.” you mumbled, staring into your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Liar.” he murmured, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve been squirming all night.”

“I have not!” you protested, but the way your voice cracked didn’t help your case.

Kento just smirked, and that was the last straw. You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Not alone, you’re not.” he said immediately, rising from his seat with an ease that made you want to throw something.

“What, are you my bodyguard now?” you snapped, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his possessive tone.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” he said simply, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Before you could argue, he took your hand—firm, unrelenting—and led you toward the exit.

“Kento, the bathroom’s that way.” you pointed out, trying to tug your hand free.

“We’re leaving.” he said without looking back.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I’m done watching people think they can look at you like you’re up for grabs.” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your protests died in your throat. Nanami Kento rarely raised his voice or lost his composure, but there was something in his tone now. It was something raw and unmistakable. And every bit of it just left you speechless.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. When he pulled into a quiet, empty lot, he turned off the engine and finally looked at you. His gaze was dark, intense, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kento, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You.” he said, his tone low and rough. “You’re what’s going on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching other people look at you like they have a chance?”

Your breath hitched. “I… I didn’t think you—”

“Didn’t think I’d care?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Didn’t think I’d notice? God, you drive me insane, you know that?”

“Kento…”

“You’re mine.” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve always been mine. You always have been since we were kids. I just didn’t want to scare you off by saying it out loud again.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I— I….I know.” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I thought you wouldn’t say it again and I just…maybe with time passing… I thought I was the only one now.”

His lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile. “You’re not. Never. Not when I’ve marked you since we met at that playground when we were kids.”

Before you could process his words, Kento leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was animalistic, it was wanton. It was full of possessiveness, claiming, as if he were branding the truth into you.

You matched his intensity, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, and any hesitation you’d felt earlier melted away, replaced by a burning need that had been building for far too long.

He broke away just long enough to murmur against your lips, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute.

“You belong with me.”

You looked at him with your doe like eyes. “I belong with you.”

“Good.” he growled, pulling you into his lap without hesitation. His hands gripped your waist firmly, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “Because I’m done holding back.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE THIS HUNGRY FOR YOU. But with the way he’s going at it. Kento has been hungry for you for a very long time. Kento’s lips linger, soft and insistent, as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The warmth of his breath trails higher, leaving behind a delicate ache where his mouth was. His hands rest firmly on your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling.” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone, teasing but laced with tenderness. He looks up, his gaze heavy with desire, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he speaks. “Do I make you nervous?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, betraying your composure. “Not nervous... just—” Your words cut off as he presses another kiss, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone low and deliberate, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. His hands slide upward, thumbs drawing small circles that make your heart race.

“Kento.” you breathe his name like a plea, your voice catching as he moves closer, the space between you charged with electricity.

The dim glow of the streetlamp filters through the windshield, casting golden lines across his sharp features. The intimacy of the confined space amplifies every touch, every sound between the two of you in these leather seats. The soft rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of his breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh.

“I love when you say my name like that, you know?” he says, voice dark and velvety. His mouth moves with purpose now, leaving faint marks of love on your skin, each one deliberate, each one staking his claim. “I love hearing it like that. Wanton f’r me.”

You gasp, your head falling back against the car seat, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. He groans at the sensation, the sound sending heat coursing through you. How has he ever been this good at getting under your skin?

“I want to hear more from you.” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a mix of command and yearning. His lips hover for a moment, teasing you with their proximity. “But only if you’re ready.”

Kento’s lips trail higher, each kiss softer yet more possessive, leaving warmth that lingers long after his mouth moves on. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as his hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles.

“Don’t hold back your noises from me, okay?” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that sends a shiver racing through you. He looks up, his golden-brown eyes locking with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I want to hear you clearly.”

The command in his tone makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, but the sound escapes anyway, a soft, breathy whimper that only seems to spur him on. Kento’s touch made you feel as though a thousand flames were burning all at once.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and he chuckles darkly when your hips shift involuntarily toward him.

“Kento.” you gasp, your voice trembling with both restraint and longing.

“Hm?” he hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “I told you—no holding back.”

His hands glide upward, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth continues its slow, maddening journey lower and lower. You could feel your lips mutter a weak groan against him.

The dim light of the streetlamp catches the sheen of his messy blond hair, illuminating the faint smile on his lips as he drinks in every reaction you give him. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, the world outside the car fading entirely.

“Kento, please.” you whisper, your voice raw with need, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He pauses, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath ghosting over you. He takes in the sight of you, almost as though a hunter to a prey. Nanami Kento is your hunter, he always has been. And he’s been keeping this inside him for way too long. This desire, for you. Only you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.” he murmurs, his tone dark and full of promise, before pressing another kiss, softer this time, but no less consuming.

Kento’s words hang in the air, thick with authority and desire, as his lips return to your skin with renewed purpose. He’s slow, methodical, as if every kiss, every graze of his teeth is a language only he can speak—and you’re utterly fluent in his meaning.

“Such sweet sounds from you, hm?” he murmurs against your thigh, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you. “Don’t hold them back from me. Let me hear what I do to you.”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and the way his lips curl into a grin tells you he’s satisfied—but not done. His hands are firm but gentle as they slide further up your inner thighs, fingers brushing dangerously close to where you want him most.

His touch sets your skin alight, the heat pooling low in your stomach as your chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm. You could feel his long fingers making their journey to that space, their cool touch melting you whole in a pleasurable moan.

“Kento.” you whisper, barely able to find your voice, your hands trembling as they clutch at the seat beneath you.

He glances up, his caramel eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlight streaming through the windshield, giving him an almost otherworldly allure. His gaze is dark, hungry, but there’s a softness there too. There was that endless reverence in the way he looks at you, as though you’re something precious.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, his voice laced with feigned innocence, though the smirk pulling at his lips betrays him. Your heart drummed at your new nickname from him. It was real. You were lovers. Doing what lovers do. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers threading into the lower depths of sandy blond undercut for stability as much as desperation. Slowly, it trailed down on his neck, your touch sleuthing through him. Temptingly, almost like a wanting vixen.

“I need you… closer.” you admit, voice breaking, the vulnerability of the words making heat rise to your cheeks.

Kento hums in approval, the sound low and pleased at your words. He leans closer and his fingers echo deeper and deeper into you. Your head throws back hard against the leather’s pristine touch. He playfully moves inside. One moment in a circle. One moment a thrust. Over and over again, rinse and repeat, force and pleasure. And all you could do was surrender.

“Good girl of mine, my love.” he murmurs, his praise sending a wave of warmth coursing through you.

That had surely made you even more wet inside. His lips press higher against your jaw, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He continues on and on. You don’t know where he learned it. How he got so good at knowing how to take you to paradise. BUt you could hardly care. You were focused on how deep his fingers were in you.

“You’re so beautiful like this, my love.” he continues, his voice velvet against the charged air. His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling them apart just enough for him to settle more firmly between them. “Completely undone for me.”

A sound escapes you, part moan, part plea, and his response is immediate. There was a broken groan deep in his chest as he nuzzled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your whole body tremble and shake as he rushed more and more, in and out, with his masterful fingers.

“That’s it. Go on, my love.” he breathes, his voice dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just let go for me, honey. No one else is here. Just us. Just me and the way you fall apart under my touch.”

The world outside the car feels impossibly distant now. The soft flicker of the streetlamp, the faint hum of passing cars. It’s all drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat and the way Kento’s lips, and his fingers worship every part of you they touch, in and out.

“Kento, Kento.” you gasp again, your voice a desperate whisper.

His name on your lips seems to be his motivation, pushing more and more as his fingers tighten inside of you as he shifts closer, his movements becoming more deliberate, more consuming. You could only feel your tears rush in pleasurable waterfalls on your cheek.

“Say it again, my love.” he demands softly, his lips grazing the edge of your hip. “Say my name like that again.”

And when you do, your voice trembling and raw, and broken — he lets out a sound that’s pure need, his control slipping as he loses himself in you entirely. His fingers dug deeper and deeper until they couldn’t anymore. Your slick brushing through his fingers as he repeats it over and over again.

Kento’s name spills from your lips again, breathless and aching, and he growls softly against your skin. There was a sound that sent a ripple of heat straight to your core. You cry out loudly as you come undone on his touch, so hard that you see stars.

“You’re trembling so much, my love.” he murmurs, his voice molten and rich. “Is it because of me, hm?”

His fingers slowly exit through your crevices, slick and full of you. He looks satisfied with the mess he made of you. It doesn’t matter if you pool your pleasure on his leather seats. The sight was satisfying to look at. Because you’re his. And this was proof.

Your answer is a shaky exhale, your head falling back against the seat as your hazy gaze saw him slowly eat at the slick of your pleasure. You had just come undone from his touch and now you could feel yourself wanting more. You were wanton for more. Only he could make you feel this way.

“Words in full, my love.” he coaxes, his tone teasing but firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Kento.” you admit, voice breaking as you finally surrender to his command. “It’s you—only you.It’s always been you.”

And with that, he kisses you as he finds himself wanting more of you, as much as you wanted more of him. You gave him everything, and he gave you everything. You wanted to be whole, consumed by the existence of the other.

The air thickens with desire as his touch shifts from lingering to deliberate, the rhythm between you growing more urgent. You brace yourself, your body trembling in anticipation, and then, with a careful, controlled movement, he enters you.

A sharp inhale catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. You gasp, every inch of him stretching you, pushing you to the edge of something deeper, something more consuming. Your body trembles in the wholeness of him.

He began to move at a slow pace and then soon enough, with that eager speed. Your legs crossed against his back, and your arms crossed against his shoulders. You could only hold on for dear life as he pushes in and out of you in a pace that took your breath away.

Every inch of him stretches you, each motion slow yet intentional, designed to leave you breathless, wanting more. Kento’s gaze never leaves yours, intense and searching, as though he’s reading the unspoken desires written in the way your body responds. The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse quicken, your limbs aching with the need to surrender to him entirely.

Everything felt so good.

He made you feel good.

Only he could do it like this.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, almost reverent, as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

There’s a softness in his caramel eyes, a tenderness beneath the storm of desire that mirrors the vulnerability you feel. His breath is heavy, and yet there’s a careful concern in his touch, as if he's trying to read you, to make sure you're ready for what comes next.

You nod, but words fail you, the overwhelming sensations clouding your ability to speak. Every inch of your being is attuned to him now, to the heat of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, yet all that fills your senses is him. The scent of him, the taste of his skin, the press of his chest against yours. Your slick blending against his own. It was all consuming. How you both fit together. How you were made for each other.

"More, Kento." you whisper, the word barely audible but laced with desperation. It’s not just a plea. No, you were saying it as it is. “Faster.”

You needed him. Every bit of him, every part of him. You wanted it all. The craving in your voice is clear, raw, and unfiltered. The desire that had been simmering between you both is now an undeniable force, impossible to resist.

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and something in his gaze shifts, darkens. Without breaking eye contact, he presses forward again, moving with an intensity that speaks of his own growing hunger. His movements are deliberate and calculated, even with the speed he was going at.

It was as if he was savoring every inch, every moment with you. Each stroke is measured, calculated, and yet there's an undercurrent of urgency, as though he's trying to pull you deeper into him, deeper into this shared space where only the two of you exist.

His gaze is intense, a silent communication passing between you both. It's not just about the way he moves or the way he touches you. Everything about it felt like magic. It's how he reads every subtle shift in your body, every small intake of breath, every whisper of need.

He’s attuned to you in a way that goes beyond words, understanding the unspoken pleas you can't voice. It’s like he knows you better than you do yourself. It’s like he’s memorized every part of you. He just knew how to love you whole, completely.

You cried out as he hit that pleasure spot, in and out. The car windows were fogging up with the hot breath echoing out of your lips over and over again. You were certain that just as much, people had noticed the car shaking and rearing with activity at the stop. It was too obvious to see.

The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse race, that quickens the rhythm of your heart. You feel it in the way your body responds, how the pressure inside you grows with every shift, every stroke, until it feels like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you. You both were lost in this rhythm of connection, of craving, of surrender. This was all that there was, this universe of you, together.

Your body aches with the need to give in completely, to let him take you fully, to become lost in the feeling of him, of the shared moment. He looked at you and leaned forward, letting his lips take yours. His tongue pushes through against your own in a delicious melee of pleasure. You hummed against his lips as his thrusts got deeper, faster. More desperate.

When he parts from you to gather air in his lungs, he slows for a bit and pulls out, earning a whine. But then in a steady shock, he pushes back in, his hands straying to your back, pulling you closer to him. It was as though he wanted you to melt and blend with his flesh. To become one. He thrusts deeper and deeper, harsher than before. You cry out against his ear.

"Let go, my love." he murmurs, his voice a low, breathy whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve got you."

There’s an assurance in his words, a promise that you can surrender, that he’ll be there to catch you, to guide you through whatever comes next. And with those words, everything inside you snaps. The tension, the anticipation, the desire.

Everything unravels in a wave of release, a deep, consuming surrender. You cry out so loud that you think that you were gasping for air for the first time. Nanami Kento hit on your body with a harsh desire last time and felt his own hot pleasure flow through you with a loud roar.

Your body trembles beneath his touch as you lose yourself in him, the rhythm of his movements pulling you deeper into the moment, into the raw intensity of it all. Your grip on him tightens involuntarily, fingers digging into the hardness of his skin, anchoring yourself to the sensation of him.

Each breath comes quicker, more erratic, as you struggle to keep up with the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your eyes flutter closed, and a few tears escape, blurring your vision. But the tears are not from pain. They are from the overwhelming satisfaction, the complete surrender of everything you’d been holding back.

For a moment, you can’t see anything, your body entirely consumed by the sensations coursing through you. It’s like you’ve been plunged into a haze, where nothing exists but the pulse of his touch, the heat of his body against yours. You feel your senses heighten, every movement, every sound reverberating inside you, making your heart race.

And then, slowly, your sight begins to return. Everything is foggy, distorted at first, the edges of the world softened by the force of your pleasure. But as the fog clears, everything sharpens, every detail comes into focus.

And in that moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into something infinite. The universe itself is laid bare before you, and standing at the center of it all, consumed by the same overwhelming force, is him. Everything felt like enlightenment. Life started here.

Kento’s eyes are locked onto yours, dark and intense, holding you captive with every glance, every word unspoken. His face, usually so composed, is now etched with a mixture of hunger and satisfaction, his own breath coming in ragged pulls. You are drawn to him, to the way he fills every corner of your mind, your heart, your body.

"You're... breathtaking, my love." he murmurs, his voice rough, barely audible as he moves against you, his hands cradling your face gently. "So beautiful, at this moment."

The words make your heart ache, the vulnerability in his tone striking you deeply. Your gaze never wavers from his, even as the pleasure inside you begins to coil again, threatening to pull you under once more. It’s not just his touch, not just the way he moves inside you. It’s the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only one who matters in the world.

"You’re mine. You always will be." you whisper, your voice trembling with the truth of it. The words come from somewhere deep, primal, raw. You don’t even know where they’ve come from, only that they’re true.

“Am I really?” He snickers, pecking at your jaw with small peppering kisses with exhaustion.

You nodded shyly, smiling at him. "I need you... like this. Always."

Kento smiles at your confession. His grip tightens around you, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft kiss, almost reverent. For a moment, it was like he’d fallen in love with you again for the very first time again.

"And you have me, my love." he responds, his voice low and full of promise. "All of me. Always."

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cj-theyoungling · 7 months ago

Text

Simon Riley x Reader

cw : Being drunk. This is pure fluff soooo.

synopsis : Simon goes to a pub after a mission and ends up getting a bit more drunk than he bargained for. After asking for you incoherently Gaz finally gets you on the phone.

author's note : This was inspired by this work I read while I was on the train and I had to put my two cents in. Simon might be OOC in this but it's my story so I get to decide how he acts drunk.

The sound of your ringtone fills your bedroom and wakes you up with a start. You fumble around the empty sheets looking for your phone, you squint at the brightness of the screen and answer once you see Simons contact photo.

"Hey! I think Ghost is asking for you. He's a little bit wasted right now." I man in a baseball cap says to you. You watch as he hands the phone over to Simon.

Simon's face fills the screen, once he catches sight of you the fabric of his balaclava folds in a way you know means he's smiling. "Hi baby." You coo at the screen. His eyes light up as he brings the screen closer to his face. You can tell he's drunk when he leans against Price as he replies.

"Hi doll. I miss you." He slurs his words together, between that and the usual muffling of his mask you can barely make out what he's saying.

"I miss you too Simon." This elicits what you can only assume is a frown from him.

"You don't call me that." He grumbles, you giggle in response and the sound of Price chuckling comes through the phone.

"Damn! You're whipped LT!" A Scottish accent shouts, also clearly drunk.

"Where are you love? I'm gonna come get you." You start putting on your sweatshirt and shoes, you laugh as you hear Simon ask Price the name of the they're at. You hang up, much to Simon's dismay, and drive to go get him.

You enter the mostly empty pub and quickly catch sight of the table full of burly men who all seem to be arguing over something.

"Well is she your wife Ghost? You have their last name saved as Riley." The one who answered the call says, now having shed his cap from earlier.

"Why didn't you tell us about her." Another man says, his hair is sticking up in a mohawk.

Price chuckles at their antics, having caught sight of you walking towards them. "Nice to see you again." He greets, giving you a quick side hug.

"Again?!" The mohawked one says incredulously. You chuckle and introduce yourself to the two men. Simon, suddenly alert once you start speaking stands and wraps his arms around you tightly.

"I missed you doll." He mumbles into your neck, ignoring the laughs from Gaz and Soap.

"I missed you more baby. Now let's get you home, you're wasted." You chuckle as you lead him away from the table. You wave at the men and get Simon into the car.

Once you get into the drivers seat Simon grabs your hand and holds it tightly. You smile as you begin to drive home. Making sure to take a few pictures when Simon falls asleep in the passenger seat.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod fanfiction #drunk!simon #cod mwii

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kateschi · 7 months ago

Text

what goes unsaid

synopsis: you started to notice small things todoroki does, but you’re not sure what they mean just yet.

pairing: timeskip!todoroki shoto x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i listened to you guys

the buzz of the office fades into background noise as you shuffle through the latest batch of mission reports.

your shoulders ache from a particularly rough day in the field, and the stiffness in your neck only serves to remind you of the long hours stretching ahead.

you rub your temples, trying to stave off the impending headache.

“rough day?”

the voice pulls you from your thoughts, low and calm with a subtle edge of concern. shoto todoroki stands in the doorway to your shared agency’s common room, his presence as composed as ever.

his hero uniform is slightly scuffed, evidence of his own busy day. still, his mismatched eyes fix on you, quiet but observant.

“yeah, you could say that,” you reply with a weak smile, closing the folder in front of you. “I’ll be fine, though. just a few reports to finish up.”

without another word, todoroki crosses the room. he places a paper cup on the desk beside you, the warm aroma of your favorite coffee wafting up immediately. you blink, glancing between him and the cup.

“thought you could use this,” he says simply, his tone casual but laced with that understated sincerity that’s so distinctly him.

your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “thanks, todoroki. you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady as he turns to leave.

it’s not the first time he’s done something like this—little gestures that seem small on the surface but hold a surprising amount of thoughtfulness.

you’ve chalked it up to his polite nature, the way he’s always been one to notice when someone needs a hand.

but lately, those gestures seem to happen more often, and each time they do, you can’t help but wonder if there’s more behind them.

a few days later, the intensity of the work begins to weigh on you again. a gruelling mission left you feeling physically and emotionally drained, and your muscles protest every movement you make.

you collapse on the couch in the break room, still in your hero gear, too tired to even think about a shower.

todoroki walks in, fresh from the shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. he eyes you for a moment before disappearing into the adjacent kitchenette.

you don’t think much of it until he returns a few minutes later, setting a small ice pack on the table beside you.

“for your shoulder,” he says, nodding toward where you’d been absentmindedly massaging your arm.

you blink, caught off guard by the quiet care in the gesture. “oh, thanks. you didn’t—”

“you overextend that side sometimes,” he interrupts, his voice calm. “you should be careful.”

your mouth opens, but no words come out. instead, you nod, pressing the ice pack against your shoulder as he sits in the chair across from you. the silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable.

you can feel the weight of his gaze occasionally flicking over to you, but it’s not heavy or demanding—more like a quiet understanding, the kind that doesn’t require explanation.

there’s a certain ease between you two, even when neither of you says much.

it’s in the way todoroki always seems to anticipate what you need, how he quietly adjusts the environment around you without ever making a show of it. and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it feels…right.

the moments continue to add up, each one more subtle than the last.

after a long patrol, you find a bottle of water placed carefully on your desk with a note—drink up, you’ve been dehydrated all day.

it’s an obvious thing, but the gesture still feels personal, like he noticed something you hadn’t even considered.

the next day, you’re struggling to get through a particularly difficult set of paperwork when your phone buzzes on the table. you glance at the screen to see a message from him: how’s the report going?

you smirk at the simplicity of it. he knew exactly what you were doing.

when you reply that you’re about to hit a wall, todoroki doesn’t respond immediately.

but later, when you make your way into the break room for a quick break, there’s a sandwich on the counter—your favorite kind, carefully wrapped in a napkin.

no note this time, just the quiet understanding that he had noticed, even from across the building.

it’s when you’re sitting on the rooftop of the agency a few weeks later that the weight of it all really hits you. the city sprawls out before you, the lights twinkling against the night sky.

you’re lost in your thoughts when the sound of footsteps pulls you back.

todoroki appears at your side, a familiar calmness in his expression. he doesn’t say anything right away, just leans against the railing beside you.

the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. you’ve shared enough of these moments that you don’t feel the need to say anything.

“figured you’d be up here,” he says eventually, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

you glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “needed a breather. what about you?”

“same,” he admits. “it’s been a long day.”

there’s something in his voice, a small shift, and for the first time, you realize just how much of an emotional weight he carries.

you’ve always known him to be calm, calculated, and collected, but there’s something more underneath, a pressure he doesn’t always show.

when he looks at you now, there’s something in his eyes—something softer, more open than usual.

“thanks for the coffee earlier,” you say, breaking the silence. “and…everything else. you don’t have to do all that, you know.”

he turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. there’s a flicker of something in his expression, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. “I know,” he says simply. “but I want to.”

his words hang in the air, quieter and more vulnerable than usual, and for the first time, you see the full weight of what he’s been doing all along.

these small gestures, these little acts of kindness, have been his way of showing something he’s never been able to put into words.

weeks pass, and despite everything happening around you—missions, deadlines, late-night training—there’s a steady rhythm to the way shoto treats you.

he’s never one to speak loudly about his emotions, but the small things he does start to stand out in a way that feels undeniable.

there are days when you catch him looking at you from across the room, his expression slightly more intense than usual.

he doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his eyes linger a little longer than they should, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

he’s quiet around you, often lost in his thoughts, but when he speaks, it’s always with a softness that’s impossible to ignore.

it’s as if every word he says carries the weight of more than just friendship—though, he’ll never admit it outright.

it’s late one evening when the two of you find yourselves standing side by side in the agency’s common room.

the glow of the lights is soft, the building nearly empty after the day’s work. you’re both exhausted, but neither of you is quite ready to head home.

shoto hands you a fresh towel as you come out of the shower, his movements slow and deliberate. you notice how carefully he looks after even the smallest details:

making sure the towel’s warm and that the temperature in the room is just right.

you take it from him with a soft smile. “you’ve been really nice to me lately.”

shoto pauses, his eyes flicking to yours. there’s an emotion there you can’t quite place, something quiet and unspoken.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his voice steady. “I want to.”

the words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you charged with something that hasn’t been said aloud but feels clear all the same.

you’ve always known shoto in pieces—quiet, introspective, deeply caring in his own way—but this is different. this is more.

when you step closer, your heart thumping louder than it should, he doesn’t pull away.

instead, he looks down at you, his mismatched eyes soft with something that’s not quite a confession but feels like one all the same.

“I’ve always wanted to be there for you,” he adds quietly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I just…couldn’t figure out how.”

the quiet honesty of it leaves you breathless, and for a moment, you let the words come freely.

“you’re doing it, shoto,” you say. “you’ve been doing it.”

before either of you can say another word, the space between you seems to shrink of its own accord.

his gaze lingers on yours, and there’s a long moment of quiet before you close the small gap, your breath mingling with his.

his hand lifts, brushing against your cheek, and it’s the gentlest touch, but it sends a warmth through you that settles deep in your chest. without a word, he leans in.

and when his lips meet yours, it’s not forceful, nor is it rushed—it’s as natural as everything else that’s happened between you.

when you pull back, there’s a soft smile on his lips, a look of quiet satisfaction as he rests his forehead against yours.

“guess this makes it official,” you chuckle.

he hums, “yeah.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x you #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x you #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x you #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x you

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realcube · 2 months ago

Text

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!

hot w/ hq duos! (pt 2)

ft.. ushijima + tendou // kuroo + kenma // kageyama + sugawara // bokuto + atsumu + sakusa // matsukawa + hanamaki

tws & tags.. nsfw minors dni. threeways (mmf). fourway (mmmf). specific warnings before each.

note.. click here for part one.

★ USHIJIMA + TENDOU

tw & tags.. vaginal, praise, begging, size kink, implied sex worker ! reader

it may have taken a decade, but the oppertunity finally arises wherein ushijima is able to visit tendou in paris. that's not to say they haven't seen in each other in ten years, but due to ushijima's commitments and contracts with the schweiden adlers, he is very bound to japan even during his time-off, which is why tendou most often flies home for them to meet.

however, ushijima eventually managed to arrange a trip to france. tendou showed him around the city, and most importantly, the chocolaterie he opened. he worked for an employer for seven years before he opened up a shop of his own; his pride and joy, and it was currently performing very well, business-wise. ushijima was more than impressed by his old friend.

while planning the journey, ushijima was going to book a hotel but tendou urged him not to waste his money, stating that his penthouse has a spare room for wakatoshi to sleep in. he embraced tendou's kind offer, and hence, at the end of their first day in paris together, ushijima joined tendou as they travelled back to his apartment.

what he wasn't expecting though, was a random woman roaming around the penthouse when they arrived. tendou didn't seem jarred or disturbed by your presense, so ushijima assumed your weren't an intruder. but equally, you weren't cleaning or cooking, so you couldn't be hired help. did tendou have a girlfriend he failed to mention?

when he turned to his friend to question your occupany in his apartment, tendou explained that he gets quite lonely while in paris — far away from his family and most of his friends — so he pays someone to keep him company. and you do your job very well, keeping him warm inside and out.

ushijima is still quite confused by his friend's explanation, so tendou suggests a demonstration.

though, tendou knows yourtimid and don't like visitors or guests — and hence his nickname for you: 'moody kitty' — so it takes some convincing, but you eventually agree.

your bent over the crytsal top coffee table, with your face and tits smushed against its cool surface while ushijima and tendou, stood next to each other, take turns ploughing into from behind. your skirt has been ripped off, so your bare ass and glistening pussy are on full display to both of them.

currently tendou is balls-deep inside you, sloppily rutting into your cunt over and over, while his familiar, slender fingers rub your folds and tormet your sensitive clit. your melodious moans ring throughout the room and highly overpower his low grunts that emit from his gut with each sporadic thrust. "mph, what a pretty, pretty kitty." he muses. "you've got nothing to be shy about. wakatoshi thinks your sexy too, right?"

"yes." he replies bluntly. ushijima stands aside and strokes his cock, mesmerised by the way your perky ass bounces and your entire perfect body quivers around tendou's dick. meanwhile, tendou doesn't seem to care about the fact he's got your brain fried from his tip repeatedly bumping your cervix. he just continued to rut into you, despite how your twitching figure and squelching pussy indicate that you can't take much more.

"ngh, fuck, sa— hah, satori! too much.." you whine against the table, the beads of saliva forming at corner of your mouth, sticking to the table, "m' so close!"

usually that would be a trigger for tendou to fuck you even harder, but in this instance, it reminds him that he has a guest present and signals that it is time for you to switch handler. "mmh, sorry about this, sugar.. you know i love to see your pretty pussy cum but.." without warning, he jerks himself out and motions for ushijima to take his place. "wakatoshi's turn now, princess. ya ready?"

you gasp at the unexpected action; your entire body suddering at how the cold air floods your previously conjested pussy. the burning sensation in your abdomen momentarily dies down, but it's short-lived, as the gape is soon filled by ushijima bullying his fat cock into your soaked cunt.

thankfully, tendou's actions and foreplay has made you sufficiently wet and lubricated, otherwise there would be no way in hell he'd be able to fit that monster dick inside your tight hole. even you laid there, shocked that it was fully inside you, as you could feel the way it protrudes from your tummy and pushes against your walls.

"mmph, too big! too full.. i can't!" you mewl, clawing at the smooth glass surface of the table to cope with the deliciously agonising stretch of your cunt. while ushijima and tendou simply pass entertained smirks to each other at your sweet cries.

"yes, you can, kitty. don't be shy." tendou purrs while stroking your plump ass, almost patronisingly. "be a good girl for wakatoshi like you are with me. show him how well-bahaved you are. c'mon, he doesn't bite."

ushijima does far worse than bite. you most definitely weren't ready for the way he fucked you. it was like you were being repeatedly impladed, yet somehow it was the best thing you've ever experienced. he had your eyes rolling back in your head and your tongue shamelessly hanging out from your mouth.

meanwhile, an entirely amused tendou slithers under the glass coffee table and lays on his back. that way, when he looks up, he can fuck his fist to the sight of your obscene facial expressions as you get your guts rearranged by his friend.

a smirk flickers over his lips, "not so shy anymore, are we, princess?"

you can't even pretend to grant his question with a sarcastic response as your mind can't even begin to form a coherent thought, from the way ushijima's bulbous tip tortures your g-spot. his dick raking against your spongy walls over and over until they are woefully sore from having to swallow him again and again.

since you were already high from sex with tendou, less than a minute with ushijima's dick inside your pussy already had you begging for a sweet release, "p-please! it's too much.." you cry, steaming up the glass under you with your hot breath, " 'm, ahh!— gunna cum!"

tendou's face burns as his hand furiously tugs at his cock, your gorgeous face and tits serving as perfect jerk material — not to mention your pornographic moans and drenched noises from your poor cunt. "nuh-uh, (y/n). can't cum til you ask wakatoshi for permission." he coos, meeting your lust-clouded gaze from beneath the glass — he can tell how badly you need to finish but unfortunately he loves teasing you even more. "c'mon. be good n' ask. use your words, kitty."

stringing together an intelligble sentence felt like an impossible task, but as you squeezed your eyes shut, and tensed your cunt around wakatoshi's lethal dick — relentless slamming into your pussy, you somehow manage to choke out, "mmmph, please, ushi— hah, fuck!" you spluttered, barely completing two words before an overwhelming surge of bliss overcame you again, throwing you off. but you found it in you to persevere, "can i cum? please can i finish?" you hastily breath out your inquiry as if it were all one word. your chest pressing against the glass with each deep breath you heave while stifling your impending orgasm.

ushijima continues his rythmic pace, his dick throbbing with in the confines of your homey walls as he feels his own climax fast-approaching. ".. yeah." he grunts.

but now it is your turn to shock him. as soon as merely utters the golden word, your cunt immediately clamps down on him, as you let your fiery high blissfully roll over you and totally embody the lust brimming in your abdomen.

and due to this, you even elicit a quiet groan from ushijima as he succumbs to his own climax and fires his hearty load into your hole. it's the best he's every had; he lets his vision glaze over as he's transported elsewhere. somewhere hot and soft. as he revels in the way your convulsing cunt desperately milks him dry, as though it were trying to savour every last drop of his precious seed.

even once you're both done, and you start coming down from your high, he remains buried in your snug cunt. he can't bring himself to pull out.

while ushijima stands there panting, tendou takes a break from pleasuring himself to crawl out from under the table to stand at the opposite end of the coffee table, where your face is. "how's that? good, isn't she?" tendou chuckles at his typically stoic friend appearing to visibly fucked-out.

wakatoshi nods breathlessly.

tendou hums in agreement as he slips his fingers under your chin to prop it up, as he uses his other hand to manoeuvre his cock into your glistening lips. he gazes down at you, and smiles warmly as you obidiently accept his length into your mouth, "she's perfect."

★ KUROO + KENMA

tw & tags.. power dynamics, inappropriate workplace relations, cockwarming, meanie! kenma, degredation, slight analplay, praise, handjobs, good cop/bad cop

kuroo and kenma have important work to do. recently, bouncing ball corp and it's affiliates have signed a contact to run a major event with the japanese volleyball association, led by yours truly. hence, there was less than a week less until the event and still mass amounts of work needing done.

there were heaps of paper work in kenma's office that required filing, while kuroo had thousands of emails to respond to and marketing to clear as head of the jva promotional division. together they decided that they needed to tackle this backlog head-on and pull an all-nighter together at kenma's office in tokyo. there they could have peace and quiet to simply focus on all the duties that required their attention.

they begun work at around 9AM and kept going until 5PM. then they took a one hour dinner break before resuming the grind. however, they ran out of steam again at around midnight, despite the multiple coffees and energy drinks they had gone through.

something stronger was nessecary to keep them focussed. and thankfully kenma had just the thing.

his cute secretary usually clocked out at 5PM but kenma was weary of the fact him and kuroo were going to stay late today, so he scheduled you a night shift instead.

kuroo was skeptical at how a secretary would be able to help with their workload, but he kept his inquires to himself while kenma summoned you to the office.

you arrived around ten minutes afer he texted you, and when kuroo laid eyes on you, it was like he had been instantly awoken, but mostly below the belt. the way your white blouse clung to your alluring figure, and your skirt was inappropriately tight and he could leer over every curve of your perky ass.

"ten minutes? what the hell.." kenma chides, but with a lot less force than usual — he's too tired to spank you like he usually does.

"sorry! i fell asleep at my desk again.." you clasp your hands together and apologise profusely, "i am really sorry. i put a special ringtone for your texts too that's really loud but i still slept through it.."

"again.. do i need a shock collar or something?" he stresses, fidgeting with the pen in his hand as he slouches against his desk. "or how about a vibrator? and i can keep the controller for it."

you blush at the idea, and kuroo is also thoroughly scandalised upon hearing the way kenma talks to his assistant. surely that violates lots of workplace harassment laws, he thinks to himself. however, his view will change once he starts to understand the special nature of the relationship you have with your boss.

"kenma, be nice." he comments. but kenma just rolls his eyes.

"this is kuroo, the head of the promotional divison at the jva." he introduces you to kuroo, then does the reverse, "and this is my secretary, (y/n)." his head snaps back round to glare daggers at you, "be polite, (y/n). don't embarrass me."

you nod nervously under his piercing amber scrutiny and rush over to shake kuroo's hand. "hi, nice to meet you, sir." you splutter.

kuroo smiles up at you warmly, "nice to meet you too." he's got a strong grip but you don't let go until he does first. then, you glance back at kenma for his approval, but all you see is him motioning for you to come closer to him.

which you do, wordlessly. once you are within arms-length, he yanks you forwards and pulls your skirt up, revealing your supple ass and your black thong. "you call that underwear? that's dental floss, slut.."

he spreads your cheeks and runs his slender fingers over your cute asshole, entranced by the way it subtly quivers at his cold touch. "kenma.. stop.." you whine, and kuroo watches in dismay as this happens.

little does he know, you are completed accustomed to and accepting of kenma's perverted antics. you're just a lil' shy when it comes to ass stuff. but even then, you have a safe word with kenma and it certainly isn't 'stop'. kuroo is too horrified (and turned-on) to utter a single word. he's petrified.

kenma lets go of your ass and for moment kuroo believes he has come to his senses, until kenma commands in a low voice, "strip." then kuroo's jaw virtually falls to the floor. and he's even more shocked when you actually do it.

they both watch intently as you sensually pull your skirt down then follow it up by tugging your panties off to reveal your entire ass and pussy. you also unbutton your blouse, then undo your bra and let your tits fall out. your nipples visibly pebbled and erect due to the cold air. and finally, you slip your heels off and shuffle awkwardly in place, awaiting further instruction.

midway through your little show, kenma begins to pull his trousers down to free hardened length. when he holds it in his hand, he doesn't even need to say a word, he just gazes up at you with that risque glint in his eye and you are already trained on what to do next.

usually he'll suck your clit a bit first or play with your nipples to dampen you enough to take his cock, but he hasn't this time, hence you especially struggle to sink down on him. but being the helpful man he is, he pushes you down by the shoulders until your sat nicely on his lap and he is balls-deep inside you.

"nngh, kenma, hurts.." you stutter, your nails digging into the thick material of his shirt. your growing increasing wet by the second, your juices even dripping down his shaft, but that hardly takes away from the strain on your walls.

"of course it does.." he mutters, picking up his pen in one hand and resting the other on the small of your back. "just stay put, okay?"

at some point during that suspicious encounter, kuroo was able to put the pieces together and realised that your relationship might not be entirely professional, like he had initially thought. which was a relief; he worried he was going to have to file an urgent report to HR about his childhood best friend.

"kuroo.." kenma spoke softly, "come over."

kuroo was unsure at first, but perhaps it was due the growing tent in his pants, or maybe his lust-clouded judgement, but he gave minimal resistance before he stood up from his chair, and dragged it over to kenma's side of the desk.

he then took a seat again, but right beside you and kenma. your face was hooked over kenma's shoulder, nuzzling into his bleached hair, while kuroo admired your naked figure, tenderly tracing your exposed spine with the pads of his fingers.

despite this attention, you paid no mind to kuroo whatsoever, causing a gasp to be ripped from your throat when kenma smacks your plump ass. "(y/n), what did i say about being polite?"

you pout at his harsh words then turn to kuroo with glossy eyes, who can only dote over your adorable expression. he cups your cheek in his hands and coos, "aw, don't be so mean to the pretty girl, kenma." he directs his first comment at his friend, then the latter at you, "you're tired, sweet thing, aren't you?"

you nod at his understanding, then nuzzle into his neck instead. he chuckles at this, "yeah? we're all sleepy, huh." you quickly realise he's more buff than kenma, from the way his muscles flex against your skin as he rubs your back. also, he smells like a man; an expensive man. you don't know what cologne he's wearing but it's intoxicating and so romantic.

kuroo starts to undo his fly and pull his cock out from the parition in the fabric of his trousers, but kenma — cold stare not averting from the paperwork in front of him — is quick to warn, "careful. she's a messy slut." he accenuates his point by shifitng his spare hand from the small of your back to under your ass, where he lift you slightly to reveal the creamy ring of essence you've left at his base.

kuroo, opting to save his trousers from being soiled, pulls them down to his knees. "not a slut," kuroo correct gently, as he works on freeing his dick from his briefs, "just excited."

you nod, gaze dropping to watch kuroo rub his long, exposed shaft. his other hand toys with your nipple, playfully but firm enough that it forces your body to face him. he huffs a chuckle at the way you gawk at his impressive length, "think you can help me out too, beautiful?"

"mhm." your hand wanders over his beefy thigh before you fingers cautiously wrap around his cock. his fierce eyes are fixed to you with a glaring precion, soaking up your every move. from the way your bare tits sway as you lean forward, or how you swallow a lump in your throat formed due to kenma cock still nestled up within your walls.

once you have him fully in your grip, you begin to pump his cock gently — stroking it, more than anything. and kuroo lets out a satisfied sigh at the stimulation. however, kenma must have misinterpreted it as a sigh of frustration, as he urges you, "(y/n), go faster. why're you being so lazy today?"

kuroo shakes his head, relaxing back into his chair, and holding your face into his neck by cradling your head. "it's fine, kenma. she's doing perfect." he reassures, pressing a benign peck on your temple, smiling into your skin, "you're too harsh."

kenma rolls his eyes, not averting his feline eyes from the work afore him even once, "she's not your secretary; i know she can do better." kenma argues, in his signature monotone, on accentuated by his tired voice, "maybe you're just too nice to whores."

"awh, don't listen to kenma, sweetheart. you're not a whore." he musues, admiring the way your pretty hands tug at his dick, and how your gorgeous naked body looks sprawled out across him and kenma. he could just eat you up; starting with those cute tits. "maybe you should come back to the jva headquarters with me. i have a lot of things i could use your help with."

"stop that." kenma spits.

kuroo titters at his half-assed attempt to poach his friend's secretary, then leans forward so he can reach his laptop. the rest of the night goes on like this, with kenma's cock planted inside your pussy, and kuroo occasionally grunting under his breath while you stroke him at a very mild rate. it's awfully intimate, and although you anticipate the encounter will escelate once kuroo and kenma finish their work, unfortunately you all fall asleep before that happens. and the janitor has a nasty surprise when he walks in on you all in that position.

★ KAGEYAMA + SUGAWARA

tws & tags.. oral (m receiving) , tit jobs, rough sex, handjob, sex worker! reader, degredation, praise and general messiness

the schweiden adlers scheduled a practise match against another team in their base location, and even though kageyama didn't anyone to watch, sugawara heard about the match through the grapevine and decided to attend — since he was in the area and had the day off work — in order to surprise and show support for an old friend.

suga appears in the stands with only around thirty other people watching, since it was only a practise match. around halfway through the game, kageyama noticed his familiar face in the small crowd, and they briefly flashed each other smiles of acknowledgement.

after the match, suga approached kageyama and they caught up a little bit. talking about what they've been doing since graduation and how things have been going in their personal lives. their conversation was cut short though as kageyama was being urged to shower and change out of his jersey by his coach, and suga happily offered to walk with him to the changing room.

as they walked through the hallways of the sports centre, they continued their idle chatter. suga brought up, "being a professional volleyball must be stressful, huh?"

"eh. not really." kageyama shrugged.

"huh?! seriously?! i mean, i work at an elementary school and i'm stressed out, like, all the time. i've already started finding grey hairs!" suga explains frantically, "so, i have no idea how you cope as a volleyball player. when there's so much pressure for you to perform well at matches, in front of millions of people."

kageyama is a bit perplexed by the 'grey hairs' comment, but he glosses over that and instead replies, "i guess it is a lot of pressure sometimes. but i deal with it pretty well."

"how?" suga asks desperately, anticipating kageyama to introduce him to some sort of intricate zen technique, or a life-changing diet regime. and naturally he was extremely disappointed when tobio responds with,

"there's a janitor at home base who gives blowjobs for ¥4000."

suga simply stares with his mouth hung agape, astounded. taking bjs off some old crusty janitor was not the solution he was seeking at all. however, kageyama must've interpreted his stunned silence as curiosity, as he added, "c'mon, i'll show you." as he makes a b-line down some random hallway, which was clearly not the direction they were meant to go in for the changing rooms, and suga has no choice but to follow him as he can't navigate through this building on his own.

albeit, he makes his intentions very clear as he marches after kageyama, "i'm not going to pay some random guy for a service like that. and you shouldn't be doing that either, it's messed u—" as he drones on, kageyama halts outside a random door and knocks on it, and suga is left truly speechless when the door creaks open and stood there is you in your tight-fitting janitors outfit.

suddenly, suga was reaching into his wallet to see if he had ¥4000 on him.

after an awkward interaction (followed by a smooth monetary transaction), your kneeled down in the janitor's cupboard with suga and kageyama stood in front of you. your bare chest was exposed but you kept your pants on, unlike the two of them who were eager to jam their dicks down your pretty throat.

kageyama was as rough as usual, making full use of your hair in order to maneuver you around to his will, forcing you to deepthroat his cock when he felt like it. "just like that, fuck. keep fuckin' going." he'd heave angrily, brows furrowed together in hedonistic fury.

he loved seeing the imprint of his dick in your neck, or against your puffy cheeks. and the way your eyes would screw shut whenever you got a taste of his bitter precum that would seep onto your tongue as you sucked. "better not stop.."

sugawara was far more adept at feigning kindness. he wouldn't grip your hair the way kageyama would, no, whenevr he wanted your attention, he'd gently cup your chin and guide it so you were gazing up at him. but it was all an act really, because he was far more perverted than kageyama every was. like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

whenever you were pleasing tobio, suga would lean over and fondle your tits while you'd pump his cock. he'd tug and pinch at your hardened nipples and smirk devilishly whenever he'd get any reaction from you. and he was up for far more than bjs, he'd bend his knees slightly so his dick slid perfectly between your tits, and when you'd press your girls together, he audibly groaned at the soft sensation.

through heavy lidded eyes you met the doting hazel stare of suga, who smiles down at you, "you're so pretty.." he muses, leaning over to cup your cheek in his hand, gently grazing your burning skin with his thumb. "such soft tits. you're a dream, dear." the kindness was foreign to you, thus you smiled up at him, while he continued to drag his dick between your tits, bumping your chin occassionally.

kageyama was quick to notice that your mouth was currently unoccupied, and hence seized the oppertunity to snap your head round towards him by your hair, causing you to yelp. "go on," he urged, guiding his cock back to your closed mouth and tapping his leaky tip against your lips, "get to work. swallow it, slut." he growled, a mocking smirk playing on his features.

tobio wasn't usually so forceful with you. he was abrasive, sure, but never rude. there was something different about him today, but admittedly, you kinda enjoyed it. the sinister glint in his ocean eyes caused a canal of heat to stir in your core, and pool in your panties, as you gazed up at him and obidently accepted his length back into your adoring mouth. all while sugawara was still thrusting his dick between your plush tits.

you pushed them together even further, causing a stifled whimper to be pulled from suga. "uhh— that's perfect, angel. thank you — acht, so much." he heaves, unable to suppress a delighted grin at your adorable little face, all stuffed with kageyama's cock, and your gorgeous tits which engulf him so well. "you're too good at that.."

kageyama's cock is shoved virgously down your throat, and he basically uses your mouth as his very own fleshlight. piloting your movements with his fist balled up in your hair, as his hips rock against your sloppy mouth. "heh, you look like a fuckin' whore like this." he blabbers through gritted teeth, "shit- might be cause you are one." and you can tell by the way his grin disappated and his eyes grow watery that he's getting close to his high.

but suga beats him at the chase, as his dick twitches against your chest and before you are given any time to prepare, he unloads his seed between your tits. and being the kind woman you are, you use your hands to push them together to keep his cock wrapped up tight as he climaxes, even if that means your entire chin, neck and tits are all coated in a layer of his semen.

he's got quite a hefty load, and he only pulls away once you are thoroughly painted. his eyes were screwed shut while he came, but once he is able to pry one open and look at the sticky mess he has made of you, he can't help but snicker to himself. "acht, sorry, angel. i've made an awful mess of you, haven't i?" he hums, talking to you in a disturbingly clement tone, "don't worry, it'll be easy to clean. we are in a janitor's cupboard, there should be something that could wi—"

"don't. she looks hot like this." kageyama states bluntly. during sugawara's orgasm, kageyama mercifully reduced his pace and allowed you to slowly bob back and forth on his length and lick his shaft. but not to make it easier for you or anything, of course not; it just happened naturally as kageyama was more entertained by watching sugawara cover you with his hot cum. it was so filthy.

"hah, look like even more of a whore now. covered in cum." kageyama huffed out a chuckle and began to increase the rate at which he was thrusting his cock into your mouth, with such intensity it was such to leave your lips bruised. "bet you like that, don't you? don't you?"

"mmph!" was all you were able to respond as kageyama frantically slammed you against his cock over and over, right until his thick cum unexpectedly shot down your throat. warm and suffocating, threatening to stick to the walls of your throat if you don't swallow it all — so you do, tentatively.

meanwhile, kageyama and suga's eyes did not part from you, not once. "yeah, drink it all up." kageyama groans, stumbling in place from his euphoric high, "savour it and don't miss any. not a drop."

you choke it all down like he orders, then open your mouth to show the proof. kageyama exhales in satisfaction, while sugawara pats your head, "wow, what a good girl, eh?"

you nod, pleased with your work, and believing that the session was coming to a close, you are about to stand upright from your knelt position on the floor, until suga uses his hand on your head to push you back down. "not so fast, angel. you're not done quite yet." he sings, reaching for his wallet which he sat on one of your shelves, "there's another ¥8000 in it for you if you want to go again."

you press your lips together and furrow your brows contemplatively. it's a tricky decision, and suga can detect your hesitancy, and thus he attempts to further persuade you, "c'mon, i think you'd look so pretty covered with some more of our cum, eh?"

★ MATSUKAWA + HANAMAKI

tws & tags.. analplay, vaginal, fingering, shower sex and just general pervertedness.

what you did not realise was that becoming matsukawa's girlfriend and moving in with him and hanamaki meant you were signing up be a live-in sex doll for both of them. and they were so so mean to you.

despite still living together, you didn't quite grasp how close they were prior to moving in together. they were certainly a dynamic duo. it's like you couldn't even have sex with just matsukawa anymore, it always had to be a threeway. which you didn't mind at first because double penetration is always fun, but it often gets to a point where you are so overstimulated, you can no longer tell if the cock stuffed balls-deep into your mouth is your boyfriend's, or someone else's. and the copious amount of cum dribbling out of your ass might've been his too.

and they weren't just meanies in bed either. matsukawa had a fasination with your tits and would pinch your nipples or tug at them while you were trying to cook dinner — or when you were trying to do anything in peace, really. hanamaki was more of an ass man, but when it came to you, he was just an all-round provoker. whenever you wore a skirt he'd always try to pinch your clit or tease your pussy in any way he could. it drove you crazy but you also loved it.

and it was impossible to escape them either, since there was usually always at least one of them in the house. and they were both constantly on. you can't even watch a movie together in peace; when you are at the most climactic part, and you assume they are both super absorbed into the film, they'll both start trying to finger your holes out of nowhere.

hell, you can't shower alone any more, they need to insert themselves in there too. even if they just had a shower that same morning.

so, here you all are together, squeezed into the one shower cubicle because they can't seem to seperate themselves from you for twenty minutes. you're all nude and pressed up against each; mattsun is standing in front of you, facing you and rubbing shampoo into your hair, while hanamaki is stood behind you, his erect cock sliding betwen your plump thighs.

you smile into your boyfriend's buff chest, as he caresses shampoo into your scalp, while you work on exfoliating your arms. he chuckles at the sensation and tilts your head up so he can press a long, sensual kiss upon your lips, which you happily return.

as your lips intimately weave together, you feel one of soap hands attach itself your tit and begin fondling it. you can't help but giggle at how typical that is, but you keep kissing and allow him to continue, as he still uses his other hand to massage your scalp. "got such cute tits, baby." he groans against your lips.

"you say that all the time.." you whine, and he only laughs.

"'cos it's true." he briefly pinches your nipple, causing you to mewl, "they're perfect. you're perfect, (y/n). got the best body i've every seen." his kisses trail from the corner of your lips to your jaw, to your neck, until your head is tossed back and you're moaning as he sucks deep hickeys into your skin. now his grip on your head is just being used to keep you close.

"barf." hanamaki grunts to himself while rolling his eyes. he was originally lathering shower gel on your back, be he seems to have descended to massaging your ass cheeks.

you cry even louder as matsukawa's fingers travel from your tits to between your thighs. he toys around with your labia and aggressively rubs your clit a little to warm you up, but due to all the lubrication from the shower, he doesn't need to wait long before he is able to slip his two digits right up your pleading enterance. "nghh— issei, don't stop, please!"

"i won't, baby. this desperate cunt need me that bad, huh?" his mouth frees itself from your neck, leaving marks that will surely blossom into pigmented hickeys by the morning, and he begins to kiss you again. but this time much more feverishly, shoving his tongue into your mouth and grinding your bodies against each other as he rapidly fingers you.

your legs even part slightly to grant him more access, and he takes this as a sign to speed up. lethally thrusting into your pussy and curling his digits against your spongy, sensitive walls until your basically sobbing for mercy into the kiss. "ahh— fuck, issei. 'ts too good! faster, faster please, issei! i need you.."

"course you need me, baby." his honeyed words are hot against your earlobe, "who else is going to fuck this greedy pussy everyday, huh? tell me." naturally, one of your legs ended up hooked around his hips; not only to increase the closeness but also so he could reach your g-spot with ease. however, hanamaki interpretted that as an oppertunity for himself. you paid no mind at all when you heard him getting on his knees behind you, no, you were far too involved with the wet make-out session with your boyfriend and the way he expert finger slid feverishly in and out of your cunt.

but you had no choice but to notice his actions when you felt hanamaki's tongue worm into your tight ass. instinctually you jerked away from the kiss to gasp and writhe at the strange sensation, but matsukawa held you very still in his strong arms.

"awh, baby, what's wrong?"

it didn't take a genius to figure out what his friend was doing to you, and he couldn't help but be entertained by it. the way your little face screwed up at the intrusion yet he could tell your eyes glinted with excitement at the foreign sensation. your even bit down harshly on your bottom lip as though you were trying to prevent your tongue rolling out and giving away how much you truly liked it. so fucked out you couldn't even respond to his simple question.

"look at that face. aren't you just the cutest thing?" he swiped one of his soapy hands across your nose, leaving a trail of foam in it's wake. not that you cared, you were too overcome by the feeling of hanamaki's tongue gliding in and out of your ass, and his soft lips working expertly against your puckered hole. "feel good, baby? want more?"

you hesitated, looking up at your boyfriend with a slight grimace, and he contiued, "no point in lyin'. i can see it all over your face. you like it, dont you? you don't need to be ashamed, pretty girl. we're here to take care of you, okay?" he got increasingly closer to your face as he spoke, and at the end of his question, he locked his lips with yours. and kissed back, despite the shrieks caged at the base of your throat from how good hanamaki's mouth was making you feel. in tandem with your boyfriend's fingers still sloppily thrusting into your messy cunt.

when hanamaki eventually pulled out, you were only spared a momentarily rest, as the power of matsukawa's fingers was growing by the second. perhaps you had been given relief from the tongue inserted into your hole, but the force of matsukawa's fingering was ready to lead you to your climax at any moment. and you were moaning desperately and frantically against his lips in preparation. "issei, please, please! 'm so close, fuck me faster. please, issei."

meanwhile, hanamaki had grown painfully bored. it wasn't fair that his friend got all of you attention — and why? just because the two of you were dating? rubbish.

he thought maybe while in the shower he should focus on cleaning himself. he searched for a bar of soap, then a luffa. during which, he saw one of those luffa's attached to stick hanging from the shower caddy. the stick part was likely to aid in the luffa reaching one's back, but it gave him a bright idea.

he reached over and grabbed it. and just as your insides were ready to spill all over your boyfriend's fingers stuffed into your pussy, hanamaki jams the handle right up your tight asshole. as much of the length as he could manage in one push.

"takahiro!" you squeal, your voice echoing off the walls of the shower as you finally come undone over your boyfriend's fingers. your own fluids ejecting from your pussy mixing in with the lukewarm water already dripping all down your legs.

"takahiro?" matsukawa defensively jerks his fingers straight out of your pussy upon hearing you call his friend's name instead of his own. "who has been fucking your cunt this whole time?" he argues, completely oblivious to what is going on behind the scenes.

"you like that, (y/n)?" hanamaki muses cockily, toying with the stick a tiny bit. observing how moving it only slightly would elicit such large reactions from you. "want my dick in there too? huh?"

"what?" matsukawa snips.

★ BOKUTO + ATSUMU + SAKUSA

tws & tags.. oral (m + f receiving), anal, breeding kink, impact play, rough sex, degredation, praise, squirting. won't make sense unless you read part one.

sakusa subconsciously twitches at the delicious sight of you completely bare, bent over in front of bokuto, and your glossy lips wrapped firmly around the base of atsumu's cock.

invited into the ordeal, regularly he'd turn his nose up at something like and scornfully report the indecency to the coach, but there was just something so alluring about you in this state. that's how his legs moved on their own to carry him towards your body, specifically situating himself beside bokuto and promptly kneeling down.

as he does so, his eyes are lasered to your gorgeous, gently shivering body, all bare and exposed for them. his gaze is especially stuck to your pretty, glistening cunt, currently stuffed with bokuto's beefy cock and drooling around it.

bokuto and atsumu are both in a state of shock. they're still out of breath as they were coming down from their imminent, unfulfilled orgasms, due to sakusa's rude interuption. but they can't find it in themselves to be mad or frustrated. in fact, they briefly share a look of relief with each other, due to sakusa opting to join their little tryst instead of rebuking them for it.

however, evidently some shuffling needs to be done in order to accommodate for sakusa's desires. he's on his knees beside bokuto, clearly wanting to get a taste of your pretty pussy (thankfully before it was soiled with bokuto's cum.) so bokuto, very kindly, pulls out with a lewd squelching noise, to allow kiyoomi to shuffle over between your legs so his head aligns with your cunt.

"you okay if kiyoomi joins in, baby?" atsumu asks mockingly while stroking your hair, snickering when your reply is entirely muffled by his cock stuffed in your mouth.

"she doesn't mind, do ya?" bokuto asks rhetorically, grabbing a joyous fistful of your ass as he does so. "this pussy's wet enough for all of us, huh?"

"yeah, you're a brave girl, you can handle three guys, right?" atsumu looks down at you with a condescending smirk, as he strokes your head with his thumb, "we'll be gentle with this delicate body, promise."

"you know we take good care of ya." bokuto smiles, holding his cock which has been smeared with your fluids. not that he minds, only makes it easier for him to relocate and slip it straight into your tight ass, along with the subtle forewarning, "incoming." before he jams it right into you.

atsumu laughs as he watches you eyes screw shut and your mouth twitches around his dick. "that hurt, baby?" he teases, not expecting a response. he can read it all by the mere expression on your face. it was the most sultry agony, the congestive sensation created a infectious pleasure that pervaded your entire nude body. every inch of your exposed flesh pricked in delight at how bokuto's fat length felt in your snug ass.

"shit, she's tight.." bokuto gritted, barely leaving you with any time to adjust before he automatically began rolling his hips against your ass, "don't think you'll ever pull me out of her.." he panted with a ghost of a smile.

the pace began to pick up, in every hole. atsumu held your face in place as he always did, while he fucked into it. while bokuto marvelled in the newly discovered sensation, groaning uncontrollably while slowly thrusting into your pristine asshole — very sedate and savouring every inch of you.

the new addition, sakusa, was planted between your legs. his big hand captured your thigh to hold it in place and ensure your legs were sufficiently parted. his thumb dug into your supple skin while his other hand worked at your folds, spreading them wide so he could admire your splayed pussy for a moment. then, he buried the flat of his tongue deep against your labia, and pressed his lips against your cunt — exploring your pussy thoroughly with just his mouth, investigating every dip and lapping at each part.

he was quick to locate your sensitive nub and paid it all sorts of attention: from vibrating his tongue against it to sucking on it to kissing it tenderly. all of which caused you to whine as atsumu continued to shove his cock down your throat.

"fuck— ki— mmph, kiyoomi, what're you doing t'her?" he grunted, tossing his head back from the way your mouth reverberated around his dick. "the bitch won't shut the fuck up— mgh, that slutty mouth."

sakusa didn't answer. though you did feel him smile against your juicy cunt. this confirmation was enough to persuade him to venture further. his furious make-out session with your damp pussy was halted when he abruptly chose to dive inside your hole, swiftly shoving his tongue past your entrance and worming around in your homey walls. all while his lips still moved against your puffy folds.

since he had been teetering on the edge of an orgasm right before sakusa had entered the changing room, it wasn't long before atsumu's pumping into your mouth became sporadic, and he began to lose stamina, due to his impending climax clouding his mind and draining his energy. "ah, shit, baby. you've got me so close; so god damn close. finish me off quick and i won't make a mess all in this pretty hair, mkay?" he joked (or at least, you hoped he was joking.)

"y-yeah, me too.." and bokuto was the same, although since your clenched little asshole was basically suckling on his cock, his pace had steadily been far more relaxed, holding onto your plush ass cheeks while he leisurely dragged his cock from and into your hole, exhibiting a prolonged groan each time. "shit.. look, your ass won't let go of my cock. hah, guess i gotta cum inside. you don't mind, do ya, (y/n)?"

"nah, she's used to being our cumdump." atsumu huffed a chuckle.

"damn right she is." bokuto panted with a harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clamp down on his cock which pried a stifled whimper from him. "shit." he cursed under this breath.

the bubbling pool of hot liquid within in your stomach was also growing exponentially every passing second. you were just so full; stuffed to the brim with appendages jammed into each of your pleading, desperate holes. there was no breathing room left. bokuto's monster cock was forced so far up your ass that you were left straining to try fit him all inside, a lewd stretch of your hole each time he'd push into you. along with atsumu's length, which required you to deep-throat whenever he carelessly shoved it as deep as he could physically manage.

at the cherry on top was sakusa's expert tongue rummaging around your spongy insides as though he searching for something. and he was, and you had hell to pay when he found it; your g-spot. his merciless tongue abused that shit to an unholy degree. you were only spared a break in ten second intervals when he'd yank his tongue out of your cunt so he could kiss and lap at your wet pussy, devouring your folds and licking up your juices, but that relief was fleeting, before he would dive right back into your hole and resume his torture on that gummy, sensitive spot inside you.

you weren't sure what his agenda was. why he was so adament on making you feel extraplanar levels of ecstasy, and how he possibly got off on that, but you weren't left with much time to contemplate before you were furiously orgasming aginst his face, squirting your fluids onto the floor and into his mouth while your entire body convulsed.

bokuto and atsumu quickly followed suit. "shit, (y/n), let go— your too fuckin tight— hah—" the way your ass cleched around his cock was enough to tip him over the edge. vision filled with stars, bokuto unloaded spurts of his hot seed into your asshole, filling it all up to the brim, enough cum to peek out your puckered enterance after he pulled out. "oh, fuck.. that grip.. was insane."

meanwhile atsumu experiences a similar flurry during his finish as ropes of his sticky cum are shot down your throat. his head tips back and he grinds your face down on his dick as he finished, until the tip of your nose was brushing his base, "ah, just like that, sexy. drink it all up.. keep suckin' til i'm dry, baby. i'll tell you when to stop." he blubbered all sorts of nonsense when he was high.

by the time he removed his cock from your mouth, you were too paralysed from pleasure to even move and inch, still bent over with cum sliding down your throat, and filling up your asshole too. not to mention sakusa's lips which were still locked to your pussy, but thankfully his tongue had given your g-spot a break.

bokuto motion for atsumu to come round the back, so he lurched over. bokuto spread your cheeks and planted a big hand on the small of your back to keep you bent over, as he displayed his conquest to his friend — the sight of his cum peeking out of your puckered asshole. "so damn cute." bokuto expressed triumphantly. then he tilts his head and comments, "reminds me of a cream filled donut."

"hah, fatass."

while they were engaging in their mindless patter, sakusa had finally stopped working on your pussy and stood up straight, aiding you in doing the same. when you are upright, he snakes an arm around your lower back and pulls you close against him, gazing down at you with a hungry glint in his eyes you've never seen from him before. "while they are flaccid," his hot breath tickles your lips, while the firm tent in his pants grinds against your thigh, "do i get you all to myself?"

#sakusa smut #atsumu smut #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #haikyuu smut #kageyama smut #kenma smut #matsukawa smut #sugawara smut #ushijima smut #tendou smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #kuroo x reader #ushijima x reader

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writerpeach · 20 days ago

Text

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false.

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.”

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face."

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked."

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high.

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?"

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me."

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause.

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot.

And this might be your biggest mistake yet.

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual.

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath.

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare."

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage.

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless.

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?”

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing.

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close?

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time.

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.”

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on.

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to.

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face.

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin.

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse.

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better.

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second.

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits.

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist.

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to.

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue.

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?"

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips.

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand.

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this.

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.”

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach.

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit.

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation.

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop.

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!"

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch.

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently.

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are."

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point.

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out.

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else.

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off.

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist.

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work."

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her.

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat.

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it.

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever.

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would.

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth.

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss.

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all.

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy."

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here."

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further.

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.”

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around."

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass."

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.”

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass."

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again."

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine.

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of.

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident.

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question."

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?"

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable.

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative.

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that.

"Guess who?"

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet.

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own."

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned.

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does.

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder.

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.”

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward.

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way.

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another.

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get.

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you."

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?"

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in.

"Give me your belt.”

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing.

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks.

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.”

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip.

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.”

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you.

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh.

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up."

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy.

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin.

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop.

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it.

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it.

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.”

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves.

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough.

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.”

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite.

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest.

"What do you think?"

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word.

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you.

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher.

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs.

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better.

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more.

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already.

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you."

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion.

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way.

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg."

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force.

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get."

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough.

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves.

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point.

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?"

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe.

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle.

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer.

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would.

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl.

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open.

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed.

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left.

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…”

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover.

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…”

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again.

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight.

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.”

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point.

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart.

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need.

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched."

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy."

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?"

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried."

#yuna smut #itzy smut #girl group smut #reader insert #kpop smut #male reader #reader x idol

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leechqnsgirl · 2 months ago

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🎧✩°｡⋆⸜ riding bf!niki for the first time

notes: first time writing a smut like this, feedback is appreciated :))

18+ | niki x fem!reader | wc : 613 | asks are open

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"fuck." niki groans out, his hands gripping onto your hips. "need these off." he grunted, hands already working on taking off your shorts. lifting your hips up a bit to help slide them off.

now you were left completely bare, except niki's t-shirt that, despite hiding your figure, made you look so much hotter.

snaking your hands down to the belt of his jeans, you working on sliding his own pants down as niki took off his tank top.

just as he was about to flip the two of you around, being so you were on your back and him on top of you, you held a hand to his chest.

"just lay back, baby." you encouraged, your hands playing with the hair at the back of his neck. you knew he was sensitive there.

sliding down slowly onto his length, you couldn't help but let out a shaky moan. shutting your eyes until you were all the way down.

taking a peak over at your boyfriends face, you can tell he was just starting to lose it. this new position was playing with his head too much. you taking the initiative this time, you're the one giving him the lazy eyed stare while his are tight shut with his head thrown back.

you haven't even moved properly yet and he feels so far gone.

finally you start moving your hips, rising up and down at an even pace. slowly increasing your speed.

and fuck, was looking at you a huge mistake.

he felt his cock twitch, you looked too perfect. your baby hairs sticking to your face, neck glistening with sweat and your hips never letting up. why the hell haven't you ever ridden him before?

he pulled himself up, leaning on his elbows as he dragged your face down to his. he had to kiss you. he had to quiet himself down. the noises he was letting out were pathetic. he was whining and whimpering over the feeling of you riding him.

you let go of the kiss, looking him in the eyes now as you grabbed one of his hands and led to in between the both of you.

catching the hint, he rubbed your clit so perfectly. it wasn't long since that when you moaned out, "fuck, niki, baby...im close." he nodded his head, "me too, i-i cant hold out. you feel so fucking good." he groaned, grabbing a handful of your ass with his empty hand.

he had come first, hugging your body tightly against his as he hid his face in your neck. "fuck, y/n, s-stop." he muttered, the overstimulation hitting him quickly. "h-hold on, I'm right there, baby. just o-one second." you whined out, hips moving faster as you chased your orgasm.

moaning out his name, you'd came, legs shaking a bit as you pulled away from his tight embrace.

"fucking hell, babe. you're crazy." he laughed, falling back onto the bed as he caught his breath. "mm, you were so cute baby. i never heard you make those noises before." you teased as you leaned forward, laying your head on his chest, still cockwarming him.

he puffed out a breathe of air, not replying out of embarassment. "im definitely riding you again. I loved hearing you all whiny for me."

he sat up abruptly. "okay, how about we take a shower now. hm? after that we can decide if you'll... ride me again."

he slid your shirt off, carrying you to the bathroom bridal style.

placing a kiss to your shoulder, he muttered out a quiet I love you. one that you might've missed if not for the calm and quietness of the night.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki #niki x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #niki smut #nishimura riki #riki nishimura x reader #riki x reader #riki smut #x reader

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buckysleftbicep · 21 days ago

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what's left behind 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, soft smut, unprotected sex, lots of vulnerability, angst, arguments

summary: after finding out bucky’s leaving on another mission without telling you, everything falls apart. the argument is brutal, but that night, he comes back to hold you. just once more. maybe for the last time.

word count: 3.6k

author's note: hi loves, i hope you enjoy this fic, thank you for stopping by! i love ya and stay safe out there!

requests are open!

The training room pulsed with familiar noise, the heavy thud of gloves against bags, low music crackling from the corner speaker, the distant echo of Alexei's grunts as Yelena dodged and countered with practiced ease. You were seated near the mats, crouched low to tighten your bootlaces, half-listening as Ava adjusted the wraps on her wrists beside you.

Then came John. He wandered over with a towel slung around his neck and a water bottle in hand.

“Man,” he said with a half-laugh, “Barnes really got the short end of the stick this time, huh?”

You didn’t look up. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged, grinning like it was just another joke. “Val’s sending him to Prague for that off-the-books recon shit. Solo op, no backup. Tonight, I think. Hope he’s got his will written.”

The blood drained from your face.

“What did you say?”

John blinked, caught off guard. “What? I figured you—”

Yelena’s head snapped toward him mid-spar. “John,” she barked, sharp as a blade. Her gloves dropped to the mat with a thud as she stalked over, face thunderous. “sometimes you should shut up"

But the damage was done. You were already rising, the laces on your boots forgotten, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs and throat.

“What mission?” you asked, voice brittle.

Yelena slowed as she approached, expression softening the second she really looked at you. “Shit,” she muttered, shoulders slumping. “He didn’t tell you.”

Your stomach turned. Ice spread through your limbs like a warning.

“No,” you whispered.

The room began to distort—muffled punches, shifting feet, the faint ring of metal-on-metal—all of it warped around the sudden roar in your head. You looked at Yelena, waiting for her to laugh it off, say she got the timing wrong, that it wasn’t a big deal.

She didn’t.

“It’s just recon,” she offered weakly. “Val briefed him this morning. Probably nothing.”

“And all of you knew?” you asked softly.

No one said it out loud, but the looks on their faces answered for them. Yelena's hesitation, Ava's downcast eyes, John's wince—it was written in the silence, heavy and unspoken.

“Then why didn’t he tell me?” The words were low, almost strangled. No one answered.

John had the decency to look like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt crawling over his features. "Maybe he just... didn’t want you to worry," he offered quietly, voice far too late and far too unsure.

You had heard that sentence one too many times. The last few instances Val had pulled him for something like this, he came back a mess, bloodied and bruised.

Once, he was rushed straight to the med wing in the middle of the night, unconscious, soaked in blood that wasn’t all his. And even then, he hadn’t been alone. John had been there, Ava too as his backup

But this time? This time he was going alone.

Alexei, still leaning against the ropes, huffed and shook his head. "Barnes is idiot," he muttered.

Ava moved like she might say something, lips parting slightly, then thought better of it. Yelena didn’t look away, she just watched you with something that looked too much like sympathy.

You stood there in the stunned quiet, heart crawling its way up your throat.

You inhaled sharply, blinked hard, and turned for the door.

“Where are you going?” Yelena asked, her voice soft now.

“I need to find him.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

The doors slid shut behind you as you stepped into the corridor, every footfall too fast, too loud. The air outside the training room was cold, sterile, and it did nothing to cool the heat rising in your chest, that bitter, crawling ache you only ever felt when he shut you out.

He didn't even bother telling you.

Not even a word. Not at breakfast. Not when he kissed your forehead half-asleep last night. Not when he curled around you, hand resting warm on your hip like he always did when he didn’t want to talk about what was coming.

He was going to leave. Again. No note. No warning. You’d have woken up alone, found his side of the bed cold and empty, and the duffel gone.

Without telling you.

He came back around six that evening.

The door creaked open with that soft, careful click, the one he always used when he thought you might be sleeping. Like if he was quiet enough, you wouldn’t notice the weight he was carrying. Like he could still pretend this wasn’t about to break you.

You were already sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced against your thighs, hands clenched so tight your knuckles were bone-white. You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he stepped inside.

The quiet thud of his boots. He smelled like sweat and cold air and hotel soap, still damp from the showers downstairs, hair curling faintly at the ends. The black tactical shirt clung to his frame, soaked down the spine. He moved like nothing was wrong.

He set his gloves on the dresser. Dropped his bag near the closet. Reached for the strap of his holster.

“When were you going to tell me?”

His hands stopped moving. He turned slowly, eyes cautious, like he already knew.

“It’s just recon,” he said, voice steady in that way he used when he knew you were about to snap. “In and out.”

You rose to your feet. “Don’t do that,” you said, voice shaking. “Don’t stand there and lie to my face like it’s not another off-the-books op with no support. Don’t act like Val doesn’t send you to bleed for her."

He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. “I wasn’t lying.”

“You weren’t telling the truth either,” you said. “You weren’t going to tell me anything. You were going to disappear. Again.”

He stepped back, defensive. “I was going to tell you—”

“When?” you cut in, voice cracking. “When I woke up to an empty bed and your fucking dog tags gone?”

His mouth opened. Closed. He ran a hand through his hair like he could smooth out the mess he made with silence. “I didn’t want you to panic.”

“Bullshit,” you hissed. “You didn’t want to see me panic. You didn’t want to watch me fall apart because you would rather carry everything alone and pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

His tone sharpened. “You think this doesn’t kill me too? You think I want to leave you? That I don’t lie awake every time I get called and wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you?”

“Then why do you keep letting them take you?” you cried. “Why do you keep letting her use you like you’re expendable?”

Bucky’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding. “Because she doesn’t ask. She corners me. Hands me a file and reminds me what happens if I say no.”

“That’s not an excuse,” you snapped, eyes glassy as tears threatened to spill.

“No,” he bit out, “it’s not. But it’s the truth. You think I get to walk away? Say, ‘Sorry, Val, not this time’? She doesn’t care. She reminds me what I was built for. What I’m good at.”

“You’re good at surviving,” you shot back, breath catching. “And all you’ve done lately is survive. Bleed for people who don’t care if you make it home and you let it happen.”

He turned away, pacing like the walls were shrinking around him. “If I don’t go, someone else does. Someone who won’t make it back.”

“So that’s it?” you said, voice rising. “You martyr yourself over and over again and I’m just supposed to sit here and watch?”

“I’m not a fucking martyr!” he exploded, voice cracking. “I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe when I’m not out there. I come back in pieces and pretend I’m fine because I don’t want to see that look in your eyes.”

“You don’t want to see me scared?” you asked, furious tears spilling freely now. “Then stop giving me reasons to be fucking terrified.”

He stopped. Breathing hard. Looking at you like it hurt just to meet your eyes.

“You think I don’t want to stay?” he whispered. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I think you’re punishing yourself,” you said, voice trembling. “Because somewhere deep down, you still think you deserve it.”

He didn’t deny it.

You took a step back, chest heaving. “You let Val own you,” you whispered. “You let her decide how much of you I get to keep. And every time you go, I get a little less.”

His voice was thin. “I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“I see you Bucky,” you said. “And I love you anyway. But you don’t let me hold any of it. You don’t trust me with the parts of you that hurt.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

So you kept going. “I’m not asking you to quit. I’m asking you to stop walking out that door like you’re already halfway gone.”

And that’s when he said it.

“Maybe you should stop waiting for me like I’m gonna die.”

Your lips parted. Your breath stopped. A sob caught somewhere in your chest and refused to move.

He froze.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t throw anything. You just stood there, broken open in the center of the room, tears pouring freely down your face.

Your voice trembled when it came. “I wait for you because I love you. Not because I want to lose you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t reach for you. Didn’t even move.

You wiped at your face with a shaking hand and stepped back.

“I hope the mission’s worth it.”

And then you turned and walked out, footsteps too loud in the hallway, tears burning every step of the way—while behind you, the man you loved just stood there.

And let you go.

You sat curled in the corner of your bedroom, back pressed to the wall like it might hold you together, knees drawn tight to your chest.

The shirt on your skin was his—the one he had left draped over the chair last night. It smelled like him. Damp in places, creased from your grip, warm where your body clung to it. You hadn’t changed. Couldn’t. Peeling it off felt like severing the last piece of him you had left.

The silence wasn’t quiet. It was hollow. Heavy. The kind that followed after something had cracked wide open and left nothing in its place.

You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there—long enough for the ache to settle into your spine, for your breathing to level out into something quiet but not calm.

The clock ticked on, cruel in its indifference. You imagined him already gone, the duffel slung over his shoulder, the bed behind him cold, the door clicking shut like none of it ever mattered and you waiting for him, heart thundering in your chest as you awaited for an update from someone, anyone.

Then came the knock.

Three soft taps. Hesitant. Uneven. Like he didn’t know if he was still allowed to be on the other side of your door.

You didn’t move. Not yet. The second knock came after a pause. Then nothing.

Eventually, you stood up, not because you were ready, but because you couldn’t not know. You opened the door.

He was still in the same gear, shirt clinging to his chest, sleeves, pants creased and dust-streaked. The holster was gone, but his boots were still on. His hair was damp from a rushed shower, curling faintly at the ends. Those cerulean eyes were red-rimmed, glassy, he looked wrecked.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he, not at first.

Then his voice broke the quiet. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Your voice came out flat. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

He nodded once, jaw flexing hard. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides. “I’ve been out here for twenty minutes,” he said, hoarse. “Trying to figure out what the hell I could say that’d make you open the door. That might make this less fucking ugly.”

You didn’t respond. Your heart ached, but your mouth wouldn’t move.

“I-I don’t know how to leave you,” he said quietly, “and still get on that plane.”

You looked at him then—really looked. He wasn’t wearing armour anymore. Not the kind that mattered. Not the kind that could keep this out. He was unraveling, standing there like he didn’t know where to put the hurt.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he said, voice shaking now, almost breathless. “But please, baby, Just tonight. Let me stay. Let me hold you. Before I go."

And you stood there, heart cracked open, staring at the man who had broken it and realising, in the hollow quiet between you, that he was bleeding too.

He didn’t press. Just stood there for a breath longer, eyes on yours, like he was waiting for you to slam the door or let it fall open wider. And when you didn’t move, when you didn’t speak or breathe or push him away, he stepped inside, quiet and slow, like he was afraid any sound might shatter what was left.

He looked around the room like it hurt to be in it, like every corner still held a trace of his voice, his laughter, the way his hands used to hold you without hesitation.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t make excuses. He just came to you. And when he reached you, he didn’t plead. He simply gathered you into his arms.

You didn’t resist, no, you couldn’t. Not when his warmth surrounded you like that—desperate, unsteady. Like he was terrified this might be the last time.

His hands trembled where they touched your back. His breath hitched when your face pressed into his shoulder. And for a long moment, neither of you said a word. You just stood there, wrapped up in each other like it was the only way to stay upright.

Then his voice cracked the silence, low and barely there. “Please. Just one more night. Let me love you one more time before I go.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt. He pulled back only enough to look at you, eyes red, jaw tight with restraint, like this whole thing was holding together by a thread.

And when you didn’t answer, when your eyes only shined up at him, raw and full, he kissed you. It wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was like he was trying to remember every part of you by heart, like he was memorising the taste of you.

His hands moved slowly, down your back, over your ribs, under your shirt. The cotton lifted over your head with careful fingers. He undressed you the way someone handles something precious they’re afraid to lose—gently, every motion saying I’m sorry.

His lips trailed along your collarbone, your jaw, the corners of your eyes. When he laid you back against the mattress, his mouth moved lower, kissing your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.

And when he pressed his lips to your skin, you whispered his name like it was a prayer, like it was the only word left in you.

He took his time. He touched you like he wanted to worship every inch. And when he finally moved above you, when he pushed into you slow and deep, it wasn’t to claim, it was to remember.

He buried his face in your neck, his hand tangled with yours beside your head. The stretch of him made your breath stutter, but you didn’t care. You wanted to feel it. All of it. Wanted the ache, the weight, the heat. So you could remember exactly how it felt to be his. His pace was slow, measured, meant to carve into you like a promise.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking with the effort not to fall apart.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the words.

“Me too,” he said—and the quiet agony in it wrecked you.

You clung to him tighter, wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your legs around his waist. And still it wasn’t close enough.

You cried before you came, not from pain, not even from pleasure, but from the weight of it all. From the terrifying, beautiful knowledge that this might be the last time. That you were loving each other like you were running out of time because maybe, this time, this mission, you were.

And when you shattered around him, he was right there, whispering your name, holding your face like it was something holy. He followed soon after, breaking apart with a ragged groan into your mouth, like he couldn’t bear to let go of you even for that.

And when it was over, when the world quieted again, he didn’t move. He just stayed wrapped around you, one hand cradling your cheek, the other resting low on your back, his heartbeat thudding hard against your chest.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Because in that moment, your bodies said everything your hearts couldn’t. And maybe that was enough.

You lay sprawled across his chest, skin still slick with sweat and salt, your cheek rising and falling with every unsteady breath he took. His arms were wrapped around you like a lifeline, like he couldn’t bear the thought of not holding you if this was it.

His voice broke the silence, quiet, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“I told Val this is the last one for a while."

Your fingers twitched against his ribs, but you didn’t speak.

“I want peace," he whispered. “And I want… you.”

That was what did it. Not the words, but the way he said them. Like a man who finally realised what he could lose.

“Will she let you?” you asked, barely above a breath.

He exhaled, a rough sound that cracked in the middle. “Doesn’t matter. Even if she doesn’t, I’m done, at least for now. I won’t let her take this from me too.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t trust yourself to. You just let him press a kiss to your wrist, to the fragile skin where your pulse raced like it knew time was running out.

“I’ll come home (y/n), I swear to you."

But even as he said it, you both knew the truth—promises made before war rarely survived it.

Sleep came slow and fitful. When you finally drifted off, you curled yourself around him like you could anchor him there, like your body could keep him from slipping through the cracks.

But the morning came anyway.

And with it came the emptiness.

You woke to a bed that was too quiet, too cold. The warmth of him was fading fast, almost like he had left just minutes before. The pillow beside you was indented where his head had been. Your fingers reached for it before you could stop yourself.

No sound. No footsteps. No gear being packed in the hallway. He was gone.

For a second, your throat closed. Then you saw it. Right there on the nightstand.

A folded note with your name written on it in his sharp, slanted scrawl.

And beside it were his dog tags.

Not around his neck. Not taken for luck.

Left behind. Your heart seized.

You picked them up with shaking hands. They were still warm—and somehow, that broke you even more. Like he hadn’t wanted to take that piece of himself with him. Like he knew he might not come back, and couldn’t bear to let you be without it.

You opened the note.

I love you. I need you to believe that. If something happens, it was never because I didn’t try to get back to you. You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. Wait for me. — James

You didn’t cry right away. You just sat there, staring at the words. Holding the tags to your chest like a lifeline. Like maybe if you clutched them hard enough, he’d come back through the door.

But the door stayed closed.

Now, all you had was a note, a promise, and the weight of him still lingering in the sheets.

So when he returned two weeks later, quiet and bruised, with a half-healed cut beneath his eye and his duffel slung over one shoulder, you didn’t breathe at first.

His eyes found you immediately, and for a long moment, the hallway went still.

You didn’t run to him. Not at first.

Because you didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust your own legs. Didn’t trust that this was real and not just another dream you had to wake from, sweating and empty, with his dog tags clutched in your hand and his note folded beneath your pillow.

But he stopped walking. Dropped the duffel.

Held out his arms. And that’s when you moved.

You collided with him all at once, fists against his chest, then fingers in his jacket, then your face pressed to his neck. His arms came around you instantly, crushing you to him like he needed proof you were still here.

Still his. Still waiting.

“I told you I’d come home,” he whispered, voice raw, rough with exhaustion.

You didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, trembling, forehead pressed to his jaw, tears threatening again.

“I know Bucky" you said. "I believe you."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic.

It was everything he hadn’t said.

Everything he’d nearly lost. And everything he came back for.

a/n: i think i have a penchant for writing angst, i enjoy it and i hope you enjoy my work!

requests are open!

1K notes · View notes

kekewrites · 1 month ago

Text

Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut

***

Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.

He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.

The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.

But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”

But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.

He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.

But it was fine.

You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.

Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.

"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.

It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.

“Are you guys dating?”

You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.

“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”

Because that was the truth, right?

Right?

***

He heard you say it all the time.

“We’re just friends.”

You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.

But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.

Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.

He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.

And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.

It’s just... you never pulled away.

You made it feel like he belonged there.

And then there were the little things.

The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.

You never questioned it.

Except that one time.

"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."

He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.

But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.

"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."

You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.

But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.

And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.

He should’ve. God, he wanted to.

But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.

Because you were wrong.

You were so wrong.

You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.

And you never saw it.

You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.

And he stayed.

He always stayed.

That part? You never really understood.

But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.

***

It happened one weekend night.

Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.

Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.

You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.

“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”

You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”

He giggled. Actually giggled.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”

You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”

He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”

“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”

But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.

You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.

“W-Wait—!”

You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.

“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”

But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

You froze.

“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”

Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

So you said nothing.

And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.

Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.

But then, reality hit.

This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.

Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.

Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.

The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.

You sighed.

“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.

He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?

That part just wanted to roll its eyes.

Still, you didn’t move.

Because even if you didn’t believe him…

His arms around you still felt kind of nice.

***

You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.

It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”

He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”

“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.

He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”

“You do?”

You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”

There it was.

The trigger.

He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”

You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”

He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”

You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.

“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”

You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”

You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”

“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”

You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”

“Huh?”

“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."

You choked on your drink, “What?!”

He blinked. “What?”

You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?

You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”

He didn’t respond right away.

He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.

You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.

***

After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.

He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.

But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.

Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.

No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.

Then there were the little shifts.

He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.

And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”

But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.

And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.

“Didn’t like his face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”

He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”

And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.

“Who’s that?”

“No one.”

“Hmm. No one has a name?”

You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”

But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.

***

You didn’t say anything about it to him.

Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.

Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.

Someone different.

So you said yes to a date.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.

You even left the house without telling him.

Which was rare.

Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.

You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.

No messages. No call. Just… silence.

At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.

He didn’t show.

No explanation.

No reason.

Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.

By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.

Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.

And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.

He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.

“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”

You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”

He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.

“…Did you go somewhere?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”

He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”

He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.

“You okay?”

You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”

And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.

So, he let it go.

He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”

You nodded.

Because what else could you do?

You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.

***

Of course, he knew.

He always knew.

He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.

It didn’t take much.

One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)

And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.

No.

It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.

You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.

He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.

He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.

Because you were his.

Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.

So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.

He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.

The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.

The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’ve been texting her.”

The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”

The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”

That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”

Then the smile dropped.

“But let’s get one thing straight.”

The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”

He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.

“You’re not gonna show up.”

The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”

“You’re insane—!”

He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”

He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.

“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”

The guy stared at him, chest heaving.

He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”

The guy didn’t show up.

And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.

You didn’t say a word about it.

But he knew.

He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.

But it just made him feel worse.

Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.

You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.

Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.

You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.

And if someone else took that away from him?

He didn’t know who he’d be.

***

It started small.

You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.

At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.

But then there were moments.

Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.

And then that night—everything shifted.

He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.

“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”

He sat up. Slowly.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.

You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”

And then he kissed you.

Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.

Just like that.

No warning. No permission.

His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.

You froze.

For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…

You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.

You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”

He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.

You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.

“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”

You stared at him.

He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”

You took a step back. “That was pretend.”

“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”

Your chest tightened.

You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.

“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.

And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.

He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.

"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”

Everything, you wanted to say.

But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”

A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.

“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”

Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.

And then, suddenly he stepped forward.

You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.

His body was close. Too close.

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.

He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You didn't answer.

Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.

You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.

"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."

You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."

His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.

“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

And for the first time, he didn’t try to mask it.

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