Ran Haitani X Fem!reader, Hanma Shuji X Fem!reader

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin. 

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him—

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this. 

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, unprotected sex, cowgirl, rough sex, petnames (princess, whore, slut, daddy's girl), choking, power play between sae and reader, degradation, sae is an ass towards reader

✯ chapter 1

Sae didn’t believe in love. 

Growing up in a harsh part of Tokyo where he had to fend for himself and his little brother, Rin, gave him an understanding that the world was a cruel place. Yet even crueller were the promises of a happy ending he read in crumpled up paperbacks the old bookstore down his apartment would throw out after it started to yellow. 

It was always the love stories that rarely got sold. 

Boy meets girl, they fall in love, they fight, they reunite and they live—

“Happily ever after,” Oliver’s voice slammed him out of his reverie. Those heterochromatic eyes prodded him when his silence got too loud. 

“Sae, were you even listening to what I just said?” 

The younger man slid his apathetic teal eyes to his comrade and friend. He gave a noncommittal shrug.

Aiku sighed. His frustration was threatening to boil over. It would be a month till the U20’s biggest match against Blue Lock and their starfighter was a million miles away. 

“I said: We can try the underhanded tactic to bring either Isagi or Rin down and then go for the throat. The money will be ours and we can make enough bank to last us for a year. Neither of us have to fight again. That will be our happily ever after.”

Sae was tired of listening to miracles. He stood up abruptly and nodded. 

“Whatever. I’m heading home now.” 

Aiku didn’t stop him from leaving, and neither did their other comrades.

Shouldering his heavy parka onto his sore shoulders, Sae stalked out of the U20 facility and to his car. The interior stank of takeout, sweat and the tinny rust of blood. He gunned the engine, but it faltered. Cursing under his breath, he tried again. And again. 

But, the stupid engine refused to start.

Contemplating if he should just push the damn car back to his apartment, he almost missed a soft voice clearing her throat.

“Do you need help, sir?” 

Sae was about to retort that he had it under control and she should mind her own business, when he caught sight of you. 

Dressed in a simple, beige A-line piece that showed off your legs and arms, a chain dangling from your neck and a pair of sunglasses perched on your head, you were the picture of quiet elegance. The fancy clothing couldn’t contain the humble appearance of your smile when you motioned to his car. 

“I have a pair of jumpstart cables. You could borrow them.” He still hadn’t responded to you. “If you want,” you added hastily, not wanting to seem pushy. 

Sae blinked. His silence stretched on without an intermission. 

You faltered and let your embarrassment swallow you whole. In hindsight, Sae found it adorable how you flushed and stuttered like you wished your entire existence would melt away just from his unresponsiveness. 

“Sure. That would be great.” After a beat of hesitation, he added a word which seemed foreign coming from his rough and rude tongue. “Thanks.” 

This should be the part of the story where boy meets girl. 

Sae jump started his car with your help, and as a treat for your kindness, he invited you to a late night izakaya selling his favourite kombu ramen. You were a stranger passing by, someone from the upper end side of Tokyo who noticed him struggling and decided to help.

You told him you knew what it was like to struggle and not be aided. Sae wondered what you could’ve possibly meant when he caught sight of the signet ring on your right hand. A mark of an elite.

He straightened, unintentionally freezing over. You didn’t know him; didn’t know that he was one of the men your world employed as free entertainment for nights when they craved a hit of violence. The both of you were as different as day and night.

“So, what do you do for a living?” you had asked him. 

Sae decided to tell you a lie. “I’m a blue collar worker. Delivering stuff.”

“Oh.” You took a look at the finished bowls and beers, the order sheet at the edge of the table. As if understanding what you were planning to do, Sae snatched the bill right in front of your extended hand. He couldn’t resist the small smirk decorating his face when you started to huff and pout.

“My treat,” he murmured, removing his battered wallet from inside his pant’s pocket. “And then we’re even.”

Except, he never did want to draw a tie or cut them off with you. 

Sae studied your car number plate, memorising it and used some of his connections to dig up more information about you. 

He didn’t have to look far. 

Your family were well-known as some of Blue Lock’s biggest sponsors, a direct rival of the U20 faction. Born from a history of blood and violence, your grandfather had been the first pioneer of a fight club that eventually changed the trajectory of his and many other poor men’s lives. As the money poured in, so did the promise of more extortion and exploitation.

Sae reasoned that he should’ve hated you. After all, you were partly the reason why he had to fight for a living.

But, he was intrigued by you. Your gentleness, your humble disposition. 

You were a rare jewel he had to unearth. 

One day, out of the serendipitous blue, life seemed to listen to his wishes and granted him a rare glimpse into your world.

As one of the rising Platinum fighters who everyone could bet on, Sae was invited to a networking gala hosted by none other than Ego Jinpachi himself. A raging egoist of a man who held his fighter’s lives in his palms like a deranged puppeteer, Sae found himself sitting opposite Rin and his bloodthirsty mentor.

Such a sight would not be unsettling.

As two opposite ends of the fighting arena’s spectrum, Sae and Rin drew lots of attention from potential investors.

The story of two brothers, once tightly knitted and now estranged only to eventually meet in the ring as opponents one day, was a huge investment factor. Filthy rich men with more money than God flocked to both Aiku and Ego to have a hand in orchestrating one of the biggest, historical fights in all of Tokyo’s history.

And tonight, Sae had to face each of them, wondering who would be the one to bolster up his gear or bet on whether he would emerge victorious against his brother. On the opposite side of the table, Rin was detached and uninterested. 

Both brothers barely said a word to each other all night; didn’t even glance at the other from across the table.

This apparently caused quite a stir with the investors who were taken by their stone cold treatment of one another. 

It’s a tragedy, isn’t it? To face one’s own blood in a ring and fight to spill it? 

Sae felt his brow twitch, and the room was starting to cave in. He needed to leave for some air or he would lunge across the table and sock these lofty motherfuckers right in their faces. 

The garden was a work of art designed by Ego’s careful hands. After stumbling out of the mansion’s door, he tried to hide himself behind a hedge, staring up at the starless sky as his heart continued pounding in his chest. Sae fully expected to be alone, and not to find a familiar face outside just a few feet from him, nor for you to still recognise him despite the slicked back hair and fancy suit.

“Sae,” you smiled, red lips parted to reveal a row of perfect teeth. You put out your cigarette into a Roman pillar column, leaving a halo of ash and a burnt skid on the otherwise pristine concrete. Sae thought it was rather rebellious of you to do that. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Tipping your head to the side, you studied him. His flushed cheeks, tight lips. 

“I thought you said you were a blue collar worker?” 

He decided to come clean, spitting out the truth in equal parts aggression and apathy. 

“I’m an underground fighter.”

The auburn-haired man fully expected you to crinkle your expression in disgust. Not nodding in understanding. 

“I figured. Most blue collar workers don’t have bruised knuckles.” 

Unconsciously, he tightened his fists, feeling the callouses and the split skin stretching across his knuckles. “If you knew who I was, then why didn’t you say something?” 

Why didn’t you leave? 

Rich girls like you had no use for men like him. He was a stain under your shoe, a man with a God complex high off a violent occupation with no God in sight. But, you only smiled at his question. 

“You didn’t fawn over me even when you noticed my ring. I like that.” 

Somehow, you had gotten close enough for him to smell the vanilla from your hair. Sae tipped his head back, turning his gaze to the side; the action pressing him deeper against the brambly hedge walls. “Whatever you think will happen tonight will not happen.” 

He pretended like his heart didn’t skip a beat when you reached for his hand, so much rougher compared to your soft ones. You circled your thumb over the bruise on his palm, increasing the pressure till he felt the wound throb. 

“Stop that.” But, he didn’t pull his hand away. 

You grinned. “What do you think will happen tonight, Sae?” 

His handsome, arrogant face broke out into a sneer. “Just because you order men like me around every single damn day doesn’t mean I have to give into your whims, princess.” He wrenched his hand from yours, trying to ignore how much your touch singed his skin. “And don’t ever touch me again.” 

Brushing off your crestfallen expression, he strode back into the mansion, feeling more breathless than when he abandoned the suffocating room full of investors and back-talk about his skills. Rin had left a few minutes after he had, and with his little brother out of the room, he could finally relax. 

Except, you chose this moment to enter the same room. 

Immediately, everyone stood up. 

“L/N-san. Welcome.” 

You weren’t the teasing, sweet girl in the garden anymore. Instead, you wore a look of fabricated disinterest, roaming your eyes over every single man. Lingering your searing gaze on his own wide ones before turning to Ego. 

“My father sent me here as a representative. Now, which star player do you recommend I speak to first?” 

Everyone started to clamour, calling for your attention like dogs scraping at their master’s legs for the last bone. 

Eventually, Aiku was the one who cleared his throat loud enough to get the entire room’s attention. Through the hazy tobacco smoke, he cut a handsome figure in his suit, languidly rising to his feet and gesturing at Sae.

“L/N-san, Itoshi Sae is one of U20's undefeatable players. A 6-streak win and low possibility of injuries. A prodigy. You should speak to him first, miss.” 

Sae felt like you were analysing him through his suit. 

After a beat of tension, you nodded. “Fine. Send him up to my private room.” 

You turned and left. Sae stood up, hesitantly casting his gaze to a triumphant Aiku. 

“Are you sure she is the richest one out of these assholes?” he murmured under his breath. 

Oliver chuckled.

“The richest. With her backing, we’re practically golden. Now, go and woo her. You’ll do great.” 

Straightening his tie, Aiku sent him off with a wink. Unlike the atmosphere at the garden, this time, Sae was aware he had to be on his best behaviour—which was a challenge considering he had already rudely brushed off a potential investor. 

Fuck, he swore internally. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Why had he been so brash with you?

There was no use in crying over lost chances. He had to man up and knock on the door to your office—face you when he had already insulted you right in the face.

Sae braced his hand on the red oak, breathing in deeply. Here goes nothing. He knocked three times. 

“Come in.” 

You were sitting on a sofa, legs crossed and expression neutral. Not once did you give him a look like you were hurt from his rejection in the garden. Instead, you stood up, gaze cold and faraway. 

“So. You’re the prodigy, hmm?” 

Sae kept his eyes lowered, not touching yours. “Yes.” 

You patted the sofa seat next to you, gesturing for him to come over. “Sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

Gingerly, he sat down on the other end of the sofa, putting enough distance between the two of you not to make things any more awkward than it already was. 

The silence dragged on. Sae stared at the fireplace—the flickering embers throwing lengthening shadows around the room. He counted the cadence of your breath; discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his expensive slacks.

You broke the silence first with an airy giggle. 

“I had no idea I was speaking to such a talented young man.” 

He looked up and caught the barest hint of a smirk on your pretty lips. Swallowing his dry throat, Sae croaked, “And I had no idea you were… influential.” 

You chuckled, placing your hands on your demurely on your lap. “It’s not me. It’s my father. I’m just his representative. You see, he’s currently bed bound from an injury and doesn’t have any sons so it’s up to me to oversee his work.” 

Sae responded to your words with a heartfelt nod, wishing he could turn back the time and slap his old self from pissing off a very powerful investor (and a very beautiful woman). 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

Glancing at him up and down, you chuckled. “I guess we’re at an impasse here. And to think I nearly committed indecency by proposing you come back to my place.” 

The memory of your hand in his sparked like a flame in his mind, burning his skin. 

“Yes. To think we could’ve done something like that.” 

Your eyes lowered to his hands. His pretty teal gaze flickered to your exposed throat. 

“It would be horrible.” Your foot brushed his knee. Sae tightened his hands into fists. 

Despite the warning bells going off in his head, he relapsed back into his impulsivity, letting it taint his next move with his debilitating habit of never saying no to danger.  

“Disgusting,” he retorted, smoothly playing your game. 

You gasped, low and quick, when he stretched his hand out to graze your bare shin. He almost smiled at your eagerness. 

Pretty rich Daddy’s girl with not a shred of self-preservation in her…

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you mumbled, uncrossing your legs and inching closer to him. 

“We shouldn’t,” he confirmed, gruff and sure, but his body was betraying him; moving to meet you in the middle of this wide sofa. 

There was something mesmerising about your eyes and face. It entranced him, kept him hooked on the curve of your profile and those alluring lips. 

Your breath brushed his cheek, warm and inviting. “It would cause a scandal.” 

Sae curled his palm over your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It would.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. Such a simple gesture made a thrill of electricity run up his spine, painfully shocking him to the heat pooling right in his groin.

“People will talk.” 

He was growing tired of this lame cat and mouse game. Moving closer, he bridged the gap, resting his large palm on your lower back to nudge you not-so-gently onto his lap. The weight of you felt familiar—right. This close, your scent of vanilla was stronger, nearly overpowering him. 

Before his lips brushed yours with an intensity that nearly made you dizzy with lust, he mumbled: 

“Let them.”

“Sae,” you mewled, nails stabbing into his fleshy biceps. 

He had you pressed against your own bedroom door, creaming right on his cock like the perfect little whore you were. Your makeup was ruined, red lipstick smudged and eyeliner crinkled in the corners. 

You had let him push your dress to the side, your panties ripped and in tatters on the floor. Sae was quick to fuck you the moment you gave him the green light to, and like the scrappy underground fighter he was, he never missed out on seizing a golden opening. 

Your thighs were trembling around his waist, struggling to hold yourself up right. Sae’s mouth devoured your weak mewls, and you let him paw at your covered breasts, ripping the dress down to expose your stiff, bare peaks. 

“No bra?” He murmured into the heat of your mouth.

You shook your head, a breathless laugh tumbling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I—mhm—don’t like to wear one.” 

“In a room with the other men…” Sae trailed off, a frightening flash of jealousy igniting his veins. The thought of any other man seeing those perfectly suckable nipples even through the silky hint of your dress made him want to break their teeth.

His growl reverberated against your throat, and you were thrown onto the bed, his larger frame crowding you into the sheets.

Sae hitched your thighs up to his shoulders, those teal eyes alight with feral lust.

“Slut.” He slid his cock back into your throbbing depths the second that degrading pet name slipped out of his mouth. “Whore. You could’ve shown them what was mine—what belongs to me.”

He bunched your cocktail dress out of the way, exposing your tits and pussy right into the cold air of your stuffy bedroom.

“Mhmf,” your eyes rolled back into your head. You were panting, bullets of sweat dripping down your face. “I-I belong to you? Says who?” 

The Prodigy nearly broke the headboard into two when he slammed into you, hard enough for the entire bed to shake. Your squeal rebounded across the room, sparking his filthy satisfaction.

“Me,” he growled breathlessly. “I said it. You belong to me.” 

Curling one hand possessively around your throat, the sloppy sounds of your two sexes meeting together sent him on a hazy high. Those teal eyes were glazed over, the broad muscles on his back twisting and flexing with every thrust into your tight, welcoming heat. 

Sae was careful not to choke you too hard, but hard enough for your mouth to fall slack, pathetic whines and drool slipping past your slick lips. 

Your toes were curled tightly in his periphery, one hand in between your legs to frantically rub your clit.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted, trying not to swoon at how pretty your sweat-covered skin looked like in the dim moonlight. “Daddy’s girl taking this dick like a champ.”

“Sae,” you dragged out his name. Ending it with a choke.

Sae felt your walls rippling around his cock, and he wasted no time in diving headfirst in between your cleavage to nip and suck at your plush fat; nursing on your nipples like a man close to starvation.

You seized, back arching and he felt those perfect velvet walls choke on his dick. Squeezing down on him.

“Cumming for me already?” He spoke in between harsh exhales. “Fuck. Fuck. This pussy is fucking perfect. I want you to cum for me—only for me. Do it, Y/N. Milk this cock, Princess. Let me fucking fill you up—fuck.” His choked moan made you see stars; the hand around your throat was now gripping your hair, forcing your feverish lips onto his. 

You practically ripped at his dress shirt, tearing two buttons off to scratch down his chest. Animalistic whines and low grunts filled the heated space between both your mouths. Sae tasted like champagne and regrets, his tongue lapping right at your teeth. 

With one last hard thrust, you broke around his cock, triggering his warmth to fill you up. 

Sae slumped onto you, and you dug your heels into the band of his slacks, pushing it further down his toned thighs to expose the rise of his firm ass to your wandering eye.

Your nails bit into the plush globes, raking down his thighs. You played with his balls, squeezing on them lightly to take every drop. Unable to resist taking all of him however you could. 

Sae smeared hot kisses down your throat, on your jaw and across your heaving mouth; completely smitten by how cockhungry you were. 

The both of you sat in the filth of your mutual mistake, stewing in the greasy silence until you nudged his shoulder. The look in your eyes was glorious; an opponent about to make her next move. Usually, he would push back—never surrender.

But, something locked his muscles in place, keeping him focused on the rise of your shoulders—the dip of your collarbone painted in his hickies. 

He let you push him back onto the bed, watching intently as you ripped the expensive dress right off your frame, gesturing to his still clothed torso.

“Take it off. Let me see you.” 

Like the obedient fighter he was, Sae unbuttoned his white dress shirt, letting it melt off his broad frame and onto the floor. Scars littered his milky pale skin, catching your curiosity. He silently observed as you straddled his thighs, working his cock back to half-mast with your much smaller fingers. All the while your other hand never stopped caressing his broad pecs and chest; tracing his scars. 

Sae didn’t know what possessed him to sit still and watch you. 

It was like seeing a painting coming to life; the remorse which melted into determination right in your fiery eyes. 

He let you sink down his cock, bracing your palms right on his shoulders. You bucked your hips slowly, grinding down on him with a painful passion; almost like you were afraid of making any sudden movement.

Sae found his large palms slotting perfectly on your hips, holding you right in place. 

Pleasure unfurled itself down your body, bending your spine back. It soused across your face, turning your determined stare hazy. You locked eyes with him, and he didn’t dare look away. 

“Feels so good,” you managed to pant. “Your cock feels so good.” 

He undulated his hips upward, instinct pushing him to surge towards the opening of your cervix. “Yeah?” he almost growled. “Can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself—you’re such an eager slut.”

Despite you being on top of him, Sae was still in charge. He clamped a hand around your throat; yanked on your hair until your neck snapped back and your cry bounced across the room. 

“Ride me,” he spat and then licked his lips. “Prove to me that good whores deserve to cum. Make me proud, baby.” 

Sae was entranced; unable to tear his eyes away from your pussy leaving milky rings of cream around his cock. 

“Mhm,” you tearfully whined. “Yes, yes! I wanna make you proud—wanna make you cum again.”

A thick arm swept you to his chest, muffling your cries right into his throat. Sae bit down on the tender juncture between your neck and shoulder, bucking his hips up into you with enough ferocity to nearly throttle you off the bed. 

“Fuck—” he snarled, grabbing at every inch of your skin; spanking your ass, groping it, raking his nails down your back. 

Doing everything he could to get you melting for him. 

“Give it to me, baby.” Not an order; but a desperate plea. “Cum for me—make me cum. Pretty girl. Pretty baby—g-gonna make me lose my mind—” 

“I’m cumming!” Your hitched gasp rang loudly in his ear, like an explosion of joyous surrender. “S-Sae, I-I’m—” 

Your walls rippled around him for the second time tonight, and for the first time ever, Sae found a new rush in his life that wasn’t centred around bruised knuckles and split, bloody teeth. 

He welcomed it—that surge of crazed passion, so different from when he was about to snuff a man’s life out with his bare hands. Felt it twist his bones, break his soul. 

The world exploded in a white ball of heat again, right into the depths of your body, his heart shattering into dust. 

Sae tasted your honeyed whisper of his name on his tongue, felt your tears stain his throat. 

He held onto you as tightly as he could, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he might find himself back in the ring, the glaring lights forcing your smile from his memory.

But, the jeers and cheers never came. The bell never rang. 

It was the sweetest fight he had ever lost. 

This was the part of the story Itoshi Sae never expected. 

Sae never had a home. His old apartment was recalled back by a shitty landlord who didn’t care about two orphans trying to stay afloat with what little money their dead parents had left them. When social services had taken Rin away, they tried to get him, too, but he was faster. 

Swiftly escaping out the window, Sae recalled nothing else but memories of wet underground passageways, nights rummaging through garbage bins and saddling up to the closest homeless community for warmth and company. 

Eventually, he met Aiku and everything else that transpired before he became The Prodigy was history. 

Fighting was all he had ever known. Violence and terror were all familiar flavours on his tongue. 

But tonight, in your sheets, Sae found another sensation creeping up his unsuspecting body that he could not quite name. It was sticky and hot, curling down his spine like a languid rush of lava to pool somewhere deep in his chest when he took in the sight of your pussy wrapped around his cock. 

He fucked you deep and hard, like he was trying to erase that sensation. But, you brought it back to the surface with your fingers in his hair, your lips on his and the sweet moans of his name brushing his hot ears. 

Where it was easy to repress his entire soul away from the world, Sae struggled to keep his emotions in a tightly shut jar under your gentle attention. 

Sae never believed in love; never believed in someone else’s goodness long enough to be confident in his own grace. But, he supposes that tonight’s encounter with you was the closest to love he could ever get. 

You let him stay the night, comfortable with him warming your sheets. Sae spent the entire sunrise staring at your face, memorising the curve of your nose and cheeks. That strange sensation was back again, this time stirring him to brush a piece of hair from your temple. 

But, like every good love story, it would not be the same without personal demons haunting every sentence. 

Sae wasn’t good for you; he knew that. You were a whole station above him, impervious and untouchable. 

Unlike fighting, there was no prize in the arena of love. No fame, no glory. 

Sae wasn’t sure what would be at the end of this chapter, and a part of him, the scared little boy who had been abandoned by forces beyond his control, didn’t want to stay to find out. 

Nothing good would come out of this if he pursued a story that he didn’t know an end to. 

The morning after, he had vanished, and you woke up alone in this too big apartment; smell of cedar and oranges still lining your blankets. 

Like it was a dream or a memory you could not quite shake off, you wandered down the halls, rustling every corner to find a shred of the man you had trusted enough to let into your inner world. But, he hadn’t stayed long enough to give your world any colour. 

The cold walls adorned with art your father had personally picked out for this apartment didn’t reflect your taste or your fondness as you stared at them, hard coals for eyes. The picture in front of you was of a woman, running free in a grassy sea. Above her, a weak sun shone down, illuminating her golden hair. 

Monet must’ve been the inspiration for this work, and though the French painter was known for his art that brought a sense of peace to the viewers, this particular one did not inspire the same notion. Perhaps it was the clinical wall it was attached to, or the furniture surrounding it that did not give off the warmth a serene painting like this was supposed to emote.

Whatever it was, you didn’t dwell on it long; turning on your heel and stomping back to your orange-cedar scented sheets, trying to ignore the pathetic ache in your heart which echoed the indent on the empty side of your bed.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

---

caged little birdie (m) — naoya

being naoya's wife comes with a rigid set of rules you can never escape from: always three steps behind him, never look him in the eye when he's talking to you, and the worst one of all—your pleasure kept under his lock and key

warnings: DARK CONTENT, misogyny, chastity belt, forced chastity, naoya is a sexy walking red flag, tease and denial, dubcon, [o]rgasm control, 🐱 inspection, the zen'in's archaic marriage views, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, ruined [o]rgasms, breeding, naoya deserves a punch tbh

"Is it too tight, wife?"

His odious voice purred in your ear, drawing shivers of distaste rippling down your spine.

Slim fingers tugged on the belt around your hips teasingly, driving the metal ridge to grind on your aching clit. A hitched exhale escaped past your clenched teeth, and behind you, his predatory grin grew wider.

"Or, shall I tighten it even more?"

You refused to answer him, keeping your eyes steadfastly hedged onto a spot beyond his shoulder.

"Wife?" Naoya taunted, his broad chest puffing with latent power and disapproval for your little protest. "I am speaking to you."

Your abject misfortune was to be blamed when your life was exchanged for your hand in marriage to Naoya Zen'in.

As one of the oldest clans in the jujutsu world, your family had grown power hungry; drunk on the idea of land, wealth and luck when they sold off their only daughter to Naobito's heir.

Those archaic bastards' code of conduct was simple: women were meant to be seen and not heard. Bred and not respected. Controlled and watched.

Your father had even suggested to blacken your teeth, but fortunately for you (the only sliver of fortune you could think about), the young master Zen'in was not a fan of such a dated practice.

Instead, his choice of control was far more insidious than your most perverted thoughts could conjure.

Jinichi's wife—Imora—was the first one who had introduced you to the thin, metallic belt every Zen'in men gave their wives.

She wore hers with pride and a tinge of red in the apples of her cheeks.

It helps keep me focus on master Jinichi, she mused, smoothing down her kimono skirt. Anything that keeps my thoughts from pleasing him is not something I would want to entertain.

Horror inscribed your features, but with your previous world gone up in flames, this was your reality now—there was nothing you could do to fight back against this unwilling chapter in your life.

This was the burden you had to carry to make sure your family name was well-preserved. Even at the expense of your dignity and sanity.

"Wife—"

Growing ill with his grating voice, you nodded. "It fits perfectly, husband."

The poisonous note in your voice didn't serve to dissuade him. In fact, it got him harder—looking for more ways to tease and rile you up.

"You know, my brother told me ever since he belted his wife, she's been all over him like a bitch in heat," he drawled, skittering his fingers over your bare waist. You flexed your fingers, fighting to keep them from closing into fists. Patiently waiting for this torture to be over.

The heat of his broad chest nearly turned you dizzy, the expanse of skin pressing to the softness of your own bare back. It was still early in the morning and Naoya had not yet changed into his standard dark blue kimono and white shirt—just in his hakama pants and arrogant disposition.

"I wonder," his lips were now at the juncture of your neck, puffs of hot breath drawing gooseflesh down your spine. "How this pretty little caged birdie will react if I did this?"

Before you could ask him what he was planning to do, you heard the belt unlock.

The coolness of the room air was second to your syrupy gasp—frightening you with how freeing and open you felt now that there wasn't a ridge of metal in between your legs.

Clanging to the floor, Naoya barely paid attention to the noise the chastity belt made—eager to part your folds and drink in the sight of your swollen clit.

"How long has it been, wife?"

The warm press of his palm cradled your womb. "Since you last came," he added, after sensing your stunned silence.

"Two weeks ago" you mumbled, hiding your face behind your hair. Doing everything you could to not be noticed by him. "Before we got married," you added as an afterthought.

"Hmm."

His chest vibrated with the force of his stuffy hum, and you flinched when he grazed two fingers across your mound.

Taking what was his without any regard for your comfort, Naoya spread your folds apart, using the tip of his ring finger to gently prod and tap on your clit.

The ache that simple touch set off in your body was unnerving—more so compared to the whimper you expelled when he started to circle and rub the swollen nub.

Pleasure, searing hot and bursting at the seams, exploded across your body like a lightning strike. Every inch of your skin felt like you were on fire; how sensitive and receptive you were to his touches nearly drove you to your knees to dissolve in reckless sobs.

You unwittingly clamped one hand around his wrist, not to push him away or encourage him, but to anchor around the dizzying curlicues he set off in your cotton-headed thoughts.

"Fuck," Naoya's curse brushed the hypersensitive skin of your shoulder with blatant arousal. "You're dripping for me."

Casting one look to in between your trembling thighs, you nearly cried out at the sight of your traitorous pussy leaving strings of slick and rings of cream around his long fingers.

Fuck, fuck. Cursing your body's blatant betrayal, you tried to gain control of the situation again, forcing your scattered thoughts to focus on loathing the man behind you.

But, it was all wasted effort.

One could never bite the hand that fed them, and you weren't able to hate Naoya, not when he was bringing you blistering pleasure just from his fingers alone.

Your saccharine cry of pleasure bounced across the room, no doubt filtering past the thin shoji doors where the poor servants could overhear.

Naoya was quick to clamp his free hand around your mouth; other hand busy taking his time to build up your climax with those infuriating digits.

He patted the thin hair coating your pubes, pulled your hood back lightly to tap tap tap his index on your engorged clit. All the while he sucked sloppy kisses on your neck, lost in the scent of vanilla drifting from your skin and hair.

Your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull, the whites glimmering in the weak morning rays. Naoya felt a bloom of heat crest past his masculine urge to decimate your self-control, fully rearing up to claim you.

But, he was pushing it too soon.

He had to make sure to be the one in control; the one steering this marriage.

With a heavy heart and even heavier balls, he popped his fingers out of your heat, wiping the slick off on your thigh.

You had slumped back against his chest, and a tiny spark of satisfaction ignited right in his core from your little lapse of stoicism. It seemed you needed him as much as he did, in this instance.

Through the fog of your mind, you felt the metal biting into your skin; heard the tiny click as Naoya locked you back again.

There was nothing that could prepare you for how much you ached after that; every part of you was throbbing—the spot in between your legs, your thrumming pulse. You were nothing more than sensation, wrecked apart by your husband's simple touch.

Devastated eyes charted the path of your chastity belt's key disappearing into his pocket, and Naoya grunted.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time for the same inspection, wife."

Your heart sank. How long could you take this torture?

Glancing down at the thin strip of metal allowing just the tip of your clit to peek through, you had to fight back a sob.

It seems like there was no answer to your startling predicament.

Naoya had not expected you to corner him right after dinner.

Your heated cheeks and twisting fingers spoke volumes of your anxiety, and he let you stew in those thoughts, completely charmed by how you were struggling to string together a coherent sentence.

"Imora..." you trailed off, unable to look him in the eye. "Imora-chan told me that she suspects she's pregnant. Master Jinichi—your brother—did the same thing y-you're doing. To me. And I... I want to be like her."

Naoya's heart twisted right in his chest. His disbelief was tamed down by a cruel sneer, attempting to free past his spiked excitement.

"I do not understand what you mean, wife."

The area you both were in was fairly filled with people, and he sensed every ear of the estate on his conversation with his lovely wife.

After all, the servants needed to report back to the clan elders on his progress in giving them an heir, and what better way to get the news than from the horse's mouth instead?

You casted a furtive glance around, and gestured for him to follow you.

Rule #1: Always stay three steps behind your husband.

You casually broke it in exchange for piquing his curiosity.

Naoya decided it was best to follow you, and trailed right behind, his sourness at being swept by no match for the smug excitement churning in his gut.

You led him straight to the sake cellars, right underneath the heart of the estate. The well-ventilated room was often checked by the maids, but now with a huge dinner winding down, the servants were all above ground pandering to his family's every need.

He was effectively alone right here with you.

In answer to his earlier inquiry, you stepped forward, undoing the loop of your obi. Naoya observed, expression barely rippling, when you disrobed right in front of him.

His eyes were immediately drawn to how swollen your clit looked trapped in between the metal teeth of the belt. It was accompanied by your pained expression, that one single longing look you shot him going straight to his cock.

"I want to..." you uttered in a hoarse voice, shame brimming in your lower lash line.

Naoya hated how much he enjoyed this—the blip of your demeanour as a cold, calculating Princess giving way to the whore right underneath.

Going exactly as the Zen'in rule had planned.

"Please take off this belt and... and fuck me until I'm pregnant, Naoya-sama."

In a flash, you were pressed right to the cold, brick wall. His jammed the key into the lock, twisting it, and the belt fell right onto the dusty ground, stirring up dust on both your getas.

Naoya's cock was a welcome respite in your neglected heat, your walls fitting around him like a glove; mushroom tip driving straight into your golden spot.

He fucked you like you were a cheap concubine and not his wife—snapping his hips up into your slick pussy with dense force; slipping a hand in between both your bodies to spank and rub your pussy.

The tightening in his abdomen was second to the clenching of your sweet cunt right on his cock; choking him out.

Naoya's lips crashed right onto yours, tongue pinning yours down. Swallowing up every sweet cry you were giving him and branding them with his own course moans of dizzying pleasure.

He didn't stop to check on you, white hot ribbons filling you up and spilling down onto the ground—some of it spattering onto your belt.

Your cry of dismay, of a disappointed Naoya-sama! melted into disbelief when he placed you back onto the ground.

Silly girl, he mused, a smile etched on his lips. He slipped the belt back on while you were recovering from the force of your ruined orgasm, large palm sweeping down your trembling belly and hips with more warmth than he wished to give you.

"Ssh," he consoled you, leaving small pecks on your thighs while he clicked the lock back in place, controlling your pleasure in his grasp once more.

Tears marred your cheeks, and you couldn't help a bitter, shuddering sob.

Naoya felt the slightest stirring of pity for you—his kisses soft yet unapologetic on the nape of your neck.

"You should've known." Was it you, or was his voice tainted with regret? "You should've known what my family does, sweetheart. Why we have so many heirs. It's part of your expectation to fulfil."

You surprised him by having enough of your wits to be able to ask a single question: "Does this mean I am to never experience pleasure from my own husband again?"

Naoya looked you up and down; taking in your flushed cheeks, tight nipples and twitching hips.

"Not exactly," he was honest with you for the first time in this marriage. "When you become pregnant with my child, then I will reward you. But, for now—"

He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you right into his arms to tilt your sweet and honest face up to meet his own cunning smirk.

"For now, you have no choice, darling."

punches him with my lips i hate this sexy misogynistic bastard

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

---

love line

s. on a very drunk night, satoru exposes your crush on the famous mma fighter, and friend of yours, toji zenin

w.c. 12.3k

w. fem! reader, mma!toji! x reader , fluff!, smut!

a/n: this might not be proofread well but I hope yall enjoy. im very in love with this man!

"I can't believe I lost that stock today!"

you're out having drinks with your friends at a fancy bar in shibuya when satoru gets shitfaced drunk. the matter is nothing new. he's the lightweight of the group and doesn't care about getting home most of the time because he knows either you or suguru will take charge and take him home.

you're taking frequent sips of your whiskey as you watch one of the country's most successful business owners mope over a small, so very minuscule, fraction of his wealth fly by. suguru is sitting next to you at the booth and exchanges a look of 'idiot' in reference to the white haired man's sad life story. sukuna is in front of you and no look needs to be exchanged because he simply acts on his thoughts and gives satoru a smack on the back of his head.

and toji's at the center of the booth, smooshed between shoko and satoru. he's looking at satoru in mild amusement, a small smirk on his face at the fool's stupidity as he too drinks from a glass of whiskey. he's wearing a low scooped black long sleeve that probably costs a thousand dollars and rightfully so, it makes him look so handsome. the price nothing compared to the pay he makes as a world champion mma fighter. 

you've known him for the better part of a year, a bit more actually. satoru met him near the end of your college career on a business whim with his father and has since made him a member of your friend group. you're not as close as you wish you could be, the immense nerves you have in fear of him even getting an inkling that you're attracted to him have always stopped you from initiating a more than necessary amount of text conversations or random phone calls. satoru could do that, you couldn't. god, you've even seen suguru have more dms with the raven haired fighter than you. even in the group chat all of you share, you can't bring yourself to connect with him aside from teaming up to tease satoru or sukuna. 

the last thing you ever conversed with him on your phone was a conversation you, surprisingly, started. he had told you about this one taco place and said you would love it based on your shared interest of food. when you told him you'd try it, he had told you, 'better send me a picture when you're there.' and you did. he had sent a laughing emoji when he asked if you liked the food and you said, 'I'd step on lime juice covered shards of glass to eat this again.'

that was the last thing you'd see in your messages between each other. 

he was close to four years older than all of you, except for sukuna, they were only a year apart. he had this endearing scar across his lip that curved so achingly whenever he smiled or grinned. he was built gorgeously, his back a sight to behold whenever you got to see him fight. and his eyes, fuck, the bright mix between grey and green always had you throwing a fit in your bed and wishing you could have him. 

nevertheless, you go back to paying attention to satoru. 

"you profit from so many other stocks satoru. that one stock is just a random occurrence."

"but the ladies won't want to go out with a guy who loses even one stock!" he looks up from where he's sprawled across the table, pouting at you.

"the fact that you're a millionaire at the age of 23 already gets enough ladies." you roll your eyes, unable to help the twitch of your lips at the sight of a little bit of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth

"it's not enough." he mutters

this time, you and sukuna share a deadpan face and you flick satoru's forehead, leaning only slightly across the table.

"yeah you're right. satoru gojo is such a loser for losing a stock, none of the girls are gonna want him now."

out of the corner of your eye, you see toji huff a little laugh at your antics, it makes your heart skip a beat a little that he finds you, even if its mostly satoru, funny.

"don't mock me!" satoru's cheeks are red as he scowls at you the best he can.

"she's not mocking." sukuna snorts, taking a swig of his beer.

"yea she is!" satoru points at you, "I never mock you about toji!"

everybody in the group stills except for satoru, who looks like he's still revved up about the subject.

much like cassie's reaction in euphoria when rue asked her how long she had been fucking nate, all you could do was nervously laugh.

"what–what are you talking about?"

you can feel your entire body starting to shake in fear. it was like you were in elementary again and some mean friend of yours was going to expose your crush on the popular boy of your grade. the fear was something you never thought you'd experience again.

"don't act stupidddd." satoru drags on, as if toji fucking zenin wasn't right next to him, "you're always talking about how bad you want toji and that ' I wish I could talk to him' bullcrap!" he says the last part in imitation of you with a high pitched voice.

suguru is staring at satoru in terror. sukuna is looking at you, in peril for you. shoko looks like she mentally checked out so she couldn't feel your embarrassment.

...and toji is staring at you, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, like he doesn't know what to say.

your phone is in your pocket. check. your purse is on your lap. check. satoru can pay for your tab when he comes to his senses. check.

all you can do is abruptly get up and start to dash away, ignoring the yell for you from suguru. you don't look back, pure peril and adrenaline taking over your body as you make it out of the bar as quickly as possible, thanking whatever god that you chose to wear the easiest pair of heels to walk today.

the metro, the metro, the metro.

you look around for a quick second, only taking a second to remember what way the metro was before you rush in its direction. you feel a buzz coming from your pocket when you do, and you can only figure its one of your friends, trying to get you to come back.

you ignore it and rush down the escalator to the metro, making a glance behind you and noting that nobody was behind you. thank god. however, it doesn't stop your pace and your heels click and clack you all the way to a seat on the train to your part of town. 

fuck.

your entire body feels like its on fire and melting. 

toji knows you like him.

fuck.

suguru 5 missed calls

shoko girl where did you go?

sukuna 1 missed call dude, since when do you run track

you have to stop yourself from bashing your head on the pole in front of you. shakily, you press on suguru's contact to call him. you would tell him you were going to home so he wouldn't need to worry. what's the worst that could happen by now anyway. 

"y/n? hello?"

"I'm on the train home." you breathe

"that fast?" he doesn't exclaim, he's not the type to show his surprise so blatantly like his counterpart but you can hear his concern at the fact.

"yeah." you murmur, stomach churning now that the adrenaline's worn off.

suguru sighs, "satoru is scared you're going to kill him now."

and you can hear his wails in the background. 'no she's going to come after me!' 'I need to up my security!' 'is that her on the phone?! y/n pleasseee forgive me!'

your nose scrunches in annoyance and you blurt, "I'm not going to kill you stupid idiot!"

"she says she's not going to kill you." suguru says to satoru and you can hear what you presuppose is suguru pushing the drunk fiend off of him before he continues talking to you, "about toji–"

you feel your stomach drop at the mention of the name, he's still there with them, fully aware of your feelings for him

"ah! don't wanna hear it!"

the beginning of a call to your name from suguru went ignored as you immediately pulled your phone back and pressed the little red button.

the sky had literally fallen for you and now you had to deal with the aftermath—which you weren’t doing right this second, due to what you just did to your friends, but you’d do it eventually. being an adult made sure you had to face it sometime soon. its just that toji zenin learning from satoru gojo that you had a massive crush on him had not ever been something you expected. hell you never expected him to find out in any sort of way, ever. god, he was never supposed to know.

well, your fun was over, you had to move on now. if you wanted your friend group to stay normal and go back to the way it was, the looming existence of your feelings for the world renowned fighter had to die. you could tough it through that, you could come back and say ‘i thought it over and don’t have feelings for you anymore toji so don’t worry about acting weird with me. we’re casual friends like we’ve always been.’

a particular rattle of the train had you planting your feet on the floor purposefully and waiting for it to fully stop before you got up. you were five minutes from your apartment now, the walk you started now would pass by in a flash and you’d get to wallow in your misery soon.

ordering takeout sounded nice and so did watching your favorite show, especially after a warm shower, it had been quite chilly tonight. 

you had no room to really think about your predisposition in regards to toji zenin the next day, having to attend work then go to a work party afterwards at some high end restaurant/bar located at the top floor of a skyscraper overlooking tokyo. at work, you had to host various meetings and delegate new responsibilities you planned out the day before to your peers. it was all very hectic since it was all a completely new project. you had barely looked at your phone and even if you did, there wouldn’t be much to fret over, your friends had busy lives too. and right after, you had to head straight home and get ready for the party later that evening. 

you were sporting a tight black dress with light red flowers embellished across it later that night while you drank champagne and conversed with your coworkers. it had been a decent night so far and you had photos taken of you along with your peers, they’d probably be posted on the company website or social media. 

there had been some interesting work tea to listen in on too, your rival company was involved in it too and you were smushed against your coworkers in a red leather lined booth with dim lighting to listen in on all of it. it was more than worthy of your time by the end of it, you deemed. you would have to tell shoko and sukuna about it whenever you got the chance next time. yes, sukuna liked tea, he was an ass who loved hearing about ass things happening. 

the craving for a new glass of champagne sent you to the bar the moment the story ended, so you sat up on one of the chairs lining it while you waited for the bartender to get to you. you could see your ceo already getting shit-faced from where you were and it was funny, she always did that and always managed to get embarrassed the next time everyone saw her in the office. 

“are you part of that office party?”

a large and handsome figure suddenly appeared before you, blocking the view of your boss. he was wearing a rather expensive looking black suit with a silky blue dress shirt under, all of which couldn’t hide the obvious hard and sturdy muscles under them due to the complimentary tailoring. when you took in his face, you had to hold back the urge to widen your eyes. he was excessively good looking, with sharp and devilish features sketched across his face, intertwining hand in hand with his semi-long brown wavy hair pushed back and away from his face, save for a singular pretty strand falling near his brow and down his cheek. and that scar near his eye, it seemed so familiar…

you had to blink yourself back into reality when you realized you were taking a bit too long to answer his question. 

“yes,” you finally responded, trying your best to remain neutral and politely smile at him

he leaned against the open spot of the bar table between your seat and the empty one behind him, one hand in his pocket as he smiled down at you, “you’re very beautiful.”

your spit got caught in your throat at the blatant admission, this time unable to hide the way your head reeled back a little and started sporting a rising heat on your cheeks in slight shock, “oh–i–thank you.”

his smile grew wider at your flustered state and he reached a hand out for you to shake, “aizen sosuke.”

so at to remain polite, you shook his hand and repeated your name back to him in return for his, but in reality your head was falling in on itself

him.

fuck.

that’s aizen sosuke, the other world renowned mma fighter that you were very aware of due to his competitive nature and rivalry with toji. as far as you were aware, toji absolutely hated him, and you were sure aizen did too. anytime the rivalry came up into the conversation you saw toji’s eyes darken and his posture straighten in seething hate for the man. if satoru felt like getting on his nerves, as he did with everyone, he always knew to mention the tall brunette to get a visceral reaction out of him. it was bad. wait–

they have a fight tomorrow.

oh god, this was all types of fucked up. you've been pining after toji this whole year and he just found out yesterday and now you're talking to his rival who's very obviously flirting with you.

...but he was aizen sosuke, aside from that, and he just called you beautiful.

“is there any particular celebration happening?” he tilted his head to the side a little in curiosity 

“no, not this time,” you breathed, trying to shake the nerves off, “my boss just likes to treat us frequently and…well herself.”

“is that the only occasion where you get treated as of late?”

suave

and you can’t help the small knowing smile starting to creep up your lips, “as of late, yes, although she mostly does it in drinks.”

“dinner isn’t often?” he leans a little closer, his lips quirking up a little

“no,” you shake your head, aware of the way your eyes are smiling back at him too.

“allow me to treat you then,” he says confidently, watching as the bartender slides you your champagne

“In exchange for…?” you quirk a brow up at him as you take a sip

“what are you willing to give?” he bites back with a canine smile, still looming over you and infringing himself a little into your space even.

“nothing.” you snark back smoothly, pressing a finger into the middle expanse of his chest. he’s really sturdy, you note before continuing, “dinner with me should be a prize enough.”

he laughs at your response handsomely, reeling away from your space in accordance with the finger of yours pushing him away, “i’ll pay for everything. hell, send me the receipt for your outfit if you feel like it. i’m sure some sort of gratitude will overcome you.”

“ravenous,” you tut your glass in his direction, “i’ll politely decline then mr sosuke.”

“you haven’t even allowed yourself to grace over the thought of spending a night in my sheets,” he’s leaned down to speak so sensually next to your ear, “if your line of work is a stress, i can make you forget all about it.”

“i’ve allowed myself to grace it,” you speak back lowly, matching his game, “and i can only see you adding onto my stress by the end of it.”

“you’re oddly confident about that,” he smiles deviously, turning his head so that you’re face to face with him, “i aim to please, if any.”

“to please?” you question in haughty disbelief, squinting your eyes playfully at him

“to please,” he’s still smiling, eyes fleeting to your lips for a second, “i could relay the details if you’d like.”

“that’s unecessary,” you laugh at his boldness, turning your head away from his, “but it’s not something i’m interested in. im only looking for stability right now.”

“how unfortunate for the both of us tonight then,” he retreats back into his space before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, then splaying it out in his hand for you to take, “at least leave me your number. i can be capable of stability for the right woman.”

you feel your phone buzzing erratically that night, when you’ve washed away the night’s events and lay comfortably in your bed with a glass of water cradled to you. upon first looking at your messages, you were greeted by a paparazzi picture of you, courtesy screenshot from gojo, and aizen speaking at the bar. it was one of you smiling and looking up and him while he was leaning down, face inches away from yours as he returned your toothy grin.

satoru img_736 ?????? is that aizen sosuke?! dude are you fucking him rn

sukuna  take one of his trophy belts when you come back home

shoko lol he looks hot in blue

suguru  satoru, aren’t you supposed to be on your flight back from dubai right now?

satoru first class has excellent cell service ha and y/n hasn’t answered aizen def has his hands busy rn

shoko it’s only been five minutes since you sent that picture plus she’s at her work party, i think. she probably just met him there

satoru who cares bud looks like he’s ready to pounce 

sukuna heard he likes bdsm shit

satoru send pics of his paddle lol y/n

suguru both of you are despicable

shoko let us know if he has good stamina

suguru the three of you

all those messages had been sent ten minutes ago and you gaped at your friends’ mischief

y/n  I AM NOT WARMING AIZEN SOSUKE’S BED RN!

satoru liar, he’s in your mouth rn isn’t he

y/n  literally shut up toru i’m in my bed. no aizen near

sukuna  sure you are you looked real horned up smiling at him in the pics

y/n LMAO  he was a little funny ok, i couldn’t help laughing

shoko oh he was funny hm

suguru  actually worried a little at that statement wdym he was a little funny

y/n im going to crucify all of you he tried getting me to warm his bed and was very smooth abt it, but i said no gave him my number though :p since he asked for it

satoru was that before or after he told you you have great boobs img_737 could not have been more obvious about it

the stupid texts from your friend had you laughing out loud and setting down your glass of water on your bedside table before you pressed on the microphone button and sent a loud, giggly voice message for emphasis of your previous point.

“I didn’t fuck aizen! and he didn’t need to tell me i have great boobs, i saw him staring at them the entire time.”

sukuna you are not living this down if we see hickeys on you tomorrow

satoru what he said ^^

and there came the realization, 

toji and aizen’s fight was tomorrow

and all of you always showed up to toji’s fights ever since you befriended him

hell, fuck, you hadn’t even remembered he was in this group chat too. fuck fuck fuck. was this good? was this bad? he hadn’t said anything and he never really took too long to answer sometimes. no, this was the night before a fight, he’s probably already knocked out right now considering the late hour. but still, what of when he woke up to the messages tomorrow? would this help ease the knowledge of your being into him? oh she’s already flirting with some guy she’s not into me as much as a i thought so i dont feel as awkward around her anymore. but what if he thought you were doing this purposefully to get a reaction out of him and that you were so obsessed with him, you did it for that sole reason. you didn’t even want to come to the fight anymore. could you get out of it somehow? no, stupid satoru knows you’re free tomorrow and that would add more drama to your ‘up and dash’ incident from the bar yesterday night. 

you turned around and flailed on your bed, screaming into your pillow in the process.

regrettably, you show up to toji’s fight the following afternoon, trying your best to suppress the notion that aside from having to be near toji later, that aizen was going to see you too, and that whole ordeal would be something different entirely for you to deal with.

you dressed pretty well, you always did, but you added a little more effort than the usual when picking your outfit for the day. it was ufc fight night worthy and showed a generous amount of skin, the pictures you would upload later that night to instagram would be amazing. 

sukuna snickered when he saw you, pulling you in for a quick friendly hug as he said, “wanted zenin to see that you really didn’t fuck sosuke?”

you gaped at him and held back a smile as you smacked him with your purse, “i will hurt you ‘kuna.”

“try me, idiot,” he bites back with a snarky smile before sinking into one of the cage-side seats toji always managed to get for you guys. you had already said hi to the rest of your friends before getting to him and all felt normal until that dumbass made his dumb comment about your crush on toji. satoru, had of course, without a doubt, inspected you for hickeys and love bites immediately upon your arrival and had given you a suspicious look, as if to say, ‘you got away with it this time.’ he was always ridiculous like that, trying to cling onto random drama, even if he gaslit himself, all for his own fun. 

“i really did not expect to meet him last night at the bar,” you sighed after you sat down, taking in the bustling crowds of people gathering in the arena with him

“fuckin hilarous,” he all but barks evilly in amusement at your predicament before taking a swig of his beer, “paparazzi is gonna have a field day thinking you’re aizen’s girl now that you’re here.”

“WAIT!” 

you immediately sit upright at the realization and turn your body towards sukuna, jaw hung open and eyes wide in panic.

“holy shit. what the fuck.” you start having an existensial crisis and sukuna, the great friend he is starts snickering at your dilemma, finding humor in your panicked expression

“go sit near his side of the arena,” he jeers, “there’s some open seats.”

you run your hands down your face, stressed, “i thought the worst i had to deal with would be aizen seeing me here.”

“still is,” sukuna is still smirking at you evilly, “everything is shit about your day today.”

and then the lights dim and sporadic blue lights start sparkling across the arena

“get ready to say hi to your boyfriends,” sukuna teases with a canine grin before leaning over to see who would do their walkout first.

and it’s toji first.

he’s so beautiful and rugged, wearing skin tight black shorts that highlight every muscle underneath them and his eyes are glowing so pretty against the fluroscents, even if he has a murderous look on them right now. his staff are behind him as he walks through the arena, and looking at them almost distracts you from the way toji holds you in a cutthroat stare the moment he spots you, and only you.

you can hear satoru’s sly voice saying from near you, “nice.”

too scared to look away from toji, you can only speak to your friends without turning to address them, “why is toji giving me a death stare?”

“cause you fucked aizen,” satoru’s teasing lilt jeers

“yeah,” shoko agrees

“i did not fuck aizen,” you bite through gritted teeth as toji walks into the fighting cage, eyes still on you.

“tell that to him,” sukuna snickers

“don’t think about it too much,” suguru tries to comfort

then the lights starts blaring furiously again and aizen’s presence is announced throughout the entire arena. and you were really right about that suit being unable to hide those muscles, because without any clothing over them…they were enormous and mouth-watering.

all of you watch as he, accompanied by his staff too, walks to the cage, handsome smirk planted on his face. 

“would you look at that,” satoru starts, “he doesn’t have your scratch marks all over his back.”

“ha ha,” you sarcastically mutter back when aizen enters the cage and he situates himself in his side, taking in his surroundings, like those sitting in the cage side seats.

like you.

you know he’s spotted you because of the way his eyebrows raise in surprise and the wolfish smile that starts forming on his face the moment you make eye contact. and you know toji’s noticed too because of the way he turns to you too and keeps looking between you and the fighter in front of him.

satoru whistles while sukuna howls, both leaning down to elbow you from either side much to your annoyance

“scratch the paparazzi thinking youre here for aizen being the worst thing capable of happening today,” satoru sighs haughtily, “if toji loses, you’re in for it.”

you spin your head to him, panicked, “what?! is he gonna stop being my friend?!”

satoru shrugs, nonchalant, “don’t know, just keep watching sweetheart.”

so you did and it was unnerving.

when the fight started and toji and aizen started squaring up against each other, you could see aizen start speaking to him. his mouth was moving a little and a smile crept up on it when he jeered his chin in your direction, all of which you saw toji answer back with what looked like single word short answers and a sneer on his face.

“wonder what they’re talking about,” suguru questioned softly

“i have a small idea,” satoru said under his breath before toji threw the first punch and the chaos ensued.

the fight consisted of a lot of hisses and ows coming from everyone, including you, in the arena. toji and aizen were really putting in the work to beat the crap out of each other. ten minutes had passed and toji was already bleeding from his mouth and aizen had blood falling down his nose. both of their bodies were beat too, red splotches blossoming all over them as a reaction to the various kicks and punches both of them sent to each other. 

however it looked like it was reaching its cusp when aizen got toji in a headlock and muttered something while looking at you. 

which must have given toji enough energy to quickly peel himself off and knock his face in a couple of times. and when aizen stood up straight after it to counter, he was bleeding profusely from his mouth and smiled so devilshly at you before wandering into toji’s space again. 

“hot,” shoko commented while gnawing on a toothpick

and that continued, the smiles at you from him, with his questionably hot bleeding mouth while he sported a beating from toji or gave it to him. but it started dying down when toji actually started knocking him in so close to his own victory. and there wasn’t much aizen could do until toji pinned him down and forced him into submission,

all while aizen stared at you and even had the gall to wink while his loss was announced

satoru whistled again, “the balls on this guy. surprised you aren’t soaked right now.”

people were starting to filter out when the winner and loser were officially announced and were beginning to get escorted back to their locker rooms.

“come on,” sukuna muttered as he drank the last of his beer and got up with the rest of you to go to toji’s room.

when all of you are rushed into toji’s locker room, you somehow wound up standing next to him, where he’s seated on a bench and wiping the blood off his face with a hand towel.

“congrats,” you mumble, along with the others

“what’d he say to you during the fight,” leered satoru, both of his hands in his pockets and his shades over his eyes again now that he doesn’t have to watch the fight.

“none of your business,” muttered toji after wiping his face again, “where’s my fucking water?”

“here sir, here,” one of his goonies said while weaving through the people in the room and nervously handing him a water bottle

“thanks,” he huffs with a small glare before opening the bottle and starting to chug from it

“who do you fight after this,” sukuna asks

toji shrugs and looks towards his manager, who then starts to explain the next sequence of events after this win. and it lasts for thirty minutes before everyone falls quiet and toji gets up abruptly

“alright, get out. ‘m gonna change,” he all but demands for everyone to leave ominously

and you listen to his words, letting the half closest to the door start to filter out before you make to move your feet and suddenly toji’s holding onto your arm.

“where do you think you’re going?” he huffs when the last person leaves the room and the door clicks shut

you feel like a deer caught in headlights and feel yourself start to grow nervous, “outside…to let you change?”

“you gonna fuck him?”

and you gaslight yourself into pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about, “who?”

he deadpans at you with bored and almost annoyed green eyes and you have to look away from him when you murmur, “no…i don’t know. listen, me having a thing for you isn’t that serious and if i entertain aizen it isn’t so you can finally notice me or something, i just–”

“when the fuck did i say i never noticed you before?”

your eyes widen and you didn’t know what to say

“what? you think it’s so easy for me to try and talk to your dumbass too?” he pulls you closer by the arm he’s already holding, scowl etched across his face

“what,” is the only thing you can get out in your nerves

toji glares at you, “when silver spoon said you wish you could talk to me, did it ever cross your smartass that i don’t know how to talk to you either?”

“no,” you let out meekly, struggling to make eye contact with him and feeling your heart rate go up by a million beats per minute

“so,” toji tugs on your arm again, “are you gonna fuck him?”

you look away to a locker near when you mumble, “do you not want me to?”

“no, i fucking don’t.”

“then i won’t.”

“great,” he lets go of you and now centers himself to stand in front of you, quirking a brow up when he asks, “you gonna let me take you out on a date?”

you have to fight the urge to fiddle with your hands as you look back up at him, “when?”

“tonight.”

“shouldn’t you rest after a fight!?” your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, pupils darting to the blood staining his lips

“not if i don’t feel like it,” he shrugs, before gaining a threatening aura, “or do you wanna bite the bullet and get lunch right now? you won’t have time to get a pretty dress on.”

panicked at his suggestion, you mindlessly put your hands against his chest and plead, “no! tonight is fine, tonight is fine!”

“thought so,” he huffs back at you, corners of his mouth quirking up a little 

and put on a pretty dress you did, a red sultry one that teetered between innocence and sex. it had toji staring you down as you took the unfathombly large bouquet of flowers he brought for you from his arms and set it on your kitchen island.

“where are we going?” you turned to look at him while he drove you to whatever destination he had in mind for tonight, playing with the metal clasp of your handbag

toji had been leaned against the driver side door of his car, with one hand holding onto his chin while the other steered, he seemed oddly pensive.

“allen’s,” he gruffly swallowed before straightening up and putting both of his hands on the steering wheel. you weren’t surprised by the mention of the michelin star restaurant, he could afford it and had the status for it anyways

so you couldn’t help but speak, “are you nervous?”

his entire body tensed visibly and his eyes slightly widened, glancing at you for a half second before looking back at the road and relaxing, “what do you think smartass?”

a smile crept its way onto your face, “well i am too.”

“you gonna run away again?” he side eyed you with a slight gleam of mischief

your face flushed and your mouth gaped, turning to look at the road too now instead of at him, crossing your arms as you huffed, “what else was i supposed to do? not like you had anything to say either, had your mouth open like a fish when i got exposed…”

“least i didn’t run,” he huffed back

“well you didnt try to contact me after,” you sasssed, sensing his growing irritation

“you’re a real pain in my ass,” he glared at you, “you know that right?”

“and you’re not acting like the guy who just won a fight earlier today.”

toji had just parked outside the restaurant and splayed his hands across the steering wheel, trying to control his breathing from what you could tell. 

“i didn’t know what to say, okay negative nancy?” he finally turned to you, green eyes striking under the night sky and neon lights from the restaurant name shining through, “and then when i was going to call your pretty ass the next day, i saw the pictures of fuck face raw dogging you at the bar.”

“he didn’t fuck me,” you whined in complaint as you splayed yourself across the center console of his car and batted your scorned eyes at him, “how many times do i have to tell you guys?”

“well you were real close to,” he smirked at you before something serious fell across his features and his eyes darted to your handbag, “matter a fact, block his number right now.”

your head perked up at the demand and you blinked at him, “i dont have his number.”

toji squinted his eyes at you, “you said you gave him your number in the group chat.”

“yeah but he hasn’t called me or anything, so i never got his.”

the ravenette rolled his eyes, taking his keys out of the ignition and pointing at you with them, “when he does, you better fucking block him.”

“i will,” you nod obediently, watching as he starts to get out of the car

you move to take off your seat belt and he leans back into the vehicle with a warning look, “i’ll unbuckle it, don’t move.”

and he does, closing the door of his side before walking over to you and opening the door to kneel in and take off your seat belt, then giving you a helping hand to get out.

“thank you,” you murmur appreciatively as you watch your step before landing a quick kiss to his cheek. and if it affected him, you wouldn’t know, he said nothing and held onto your arm softly while he guided the both of you to the restaurant entrance.

“you look hot by the way,” he breathed out before opening the door and entering with you, giving you no chance to respond when the hostess immediately greeted the both of you and began to lead you to a table.

it was intimate, the table. it was small and dainty, relatively little space would be between you and the gruff fighter. and both of your seats were at the same corner of the table, making the distance shorter than it would have been sitting across from each other. 

toji instinctively pulled out your chair for you and muttered out a sound of acknowledgement when you thanked him as he sat down. 

“you gonna drink?” he quirked a brow at you, gesturing towards the menu of alcohol planted right in front of the both of you

“a little red wine sounds nice,” you try to say politely, “you?”

“nah,” he responds while raising a hand for a waiter to come by, “i need to drive you home. you like sweet or bitter wine?”

“sweet.”

and so he orders a wine for you to drink right off the bat, saying a thank you as the waiter walks away to get the bottle.

“does your mouth hurt?”

toji hums mindlessly, as if his head had been somewhere else before he perks up again and says, “come again sweetheart?”

the pet name had you a little fluststered in speaking again, feeling your body grow hot as you gestured to his mouth meekly, “your mouth, it was bleeding after the fight, does it still hurt?”

the corners of his mouth start to rise as he encroaches into your space, eyes lusty, “nothing a little kiss won’t make better.” 

your breath hitches and you feel like pushing him away to hide how easily he’s affected you, “you’re shameless.”

toji is inches away from your face now, and he tilts his head in fake hurt, “i took those punches from the lowlife trying to steal my girl away, doesn’t that mean i deserve a reward?”

you try to keep your face serious as you deadpan, willing your need to laugh away as best you can, “your girl?”

“my girl,” toji grins sleazily 

you’re about to bite back when the waiter comes back with the bottle of wine toji ordered for you and the menus for tonight’s dinner. toji takes the bottle from the waiter and insists on serving you your glass himself while you begin to look at the menu. choosing a meal was difficult with all the delicious options available, every description making your mouth water, you wanted everything. when you complained to toji about not knowing what to get because of all the options, he brushed you off while still reading his menu.

“get whatever you want, we can come again and again until you try everything.”

well that’s one way to make you horny

so you settled for these sauteed calamari rings with a savory sounding sauce while toji got a steak under the pretense that ‘i need to stock up on protein after fights.’

while the both of you eat, good conversation comes up and the previous tense awkwardness of the both of you goes away.

“i haven’t dated anyone since my sophomore year of college,” you say while taking a sip of wine to wash down a bite of calamari

toji quirks up a brow in disbelief at your statement while he takes a sip of his water, a scowl almost, as if he’s offended for you, “what about that emo lookin kid—“

you tilt your head in confusion, not being able to pinpoint who he’s talking about, “emo?”

toji rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers at himself, “that kid, can’t even remember his name, with the blue hair, you know–“

“grimmjow?!” you gape, eyebrows knit

“yea that fucker,” toji nods before he takes a bite of his steak

“I never even got to have a thing with grimmjow,” you deadpan, swiveling the glass of wine in your hand, “we kissed like once and then he told me he wasn’t ready for anything the next day.”

“silver spoon made it seem like you guys fucked.”

you sigh in agonizing pain that your white haired freak best friend loves to say you fuck frequently, “satoru says that because he feels my dry spell more than me. horny ass. he wishes i could get laid.”

“what,” toji snickers, “haven’t fucked in a year or something?”

this was going to be a pain

“three years,” you clarify, staring at him with bored eyes because you know you’re going to get a reaction because of this, “with my ex was the last time. and i lost it to him.”

toji eyebrows immediately raise and he looks at you like you’re insane, “you’re lying.”

“don’t you think id rather say i just got laid two weeks ago or something?” you quizically ask him

“well yeah,” he scoffs, “but i'd rather you not at that point.”

you knowingly squint your eyes at him, jabbing a fork of calamari, “why’s that?”

and you laugh when toji drops his napkin back onto his lap very done with you and blankly stares you down.

“how long have you liked me anyway,” you continue, hoping and praying on the small chance that toji pined for you as much you did for him so that you didn’t feel as pathetic

he stays quiet for a bit, as if he didn’t hear you, and you feel embarrassed that you’re about to repeat himself until he looks up from his meal and says, “ever since business boy posted a picture of you before i got the chance to meet all of you.”

hoping and praying did you well

you had to physically stop yourself from giggling like a schoolgirl by holding your hands in fists under the table, “and..why did you never make a move?”

“i thought you had a crush on sukuna for a good four months,” he shrugged and if you were seeing right, there was a pink hue dusting the tips of his ears, “after i figured out you didn’t, i pussied out because i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

then his eyes fixated on you, “what about you huh?”

you felt yourself growing small in your seat, beginning to play with the ends of your dress, “well, when we met and you told lent me your jacket because my cardigan was thin…”

“both of us have been idiots this entire year huh,” toji joked, laughing at himself and you

“yeah,” you meekly agreed, taking a woeful gulp of wine until you came to a realization, “wait, is that why sukuna thought you didn’t like him for the first few months of knowing him?!”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” the fighter grunted, looking to the side as he drank another gulp of water

by the time your date with toji ended you were as happy as could be, having felt fulfilled that yes you were on a date with your long time crush, but that you were also very compatible and had amazing chemistry. you kissed briefly, outside the restaurant when your heel got caught on a pebble and he held you upright so as to stop you from falling. you pulled him in for it to thank him and he held onto your waist so fucking well, the fact that his hand was almost the same size as your back was dizzying. 

he had asked for another date the following afternoon for brunch with him and you couldn’t deny, wanting to spend more time with him. you were telling satoru this on the phone before he said…

“so when are you guys getting it on?”

if you could, you’d throw something at him through the phone right now.

“you are such a pervert!”

“i am not,” satoru defends, “okay maybe a little, ha. but in all honesty when are you two going to rip off the bandaid? it’s not like you’re strangers and you have to do that awkward period of oh im respecting your space crap. oh my god, does he know you’ve never gotten head?”

your cheeks flush hot, “no.”

“this is hilarious,” satoru jeers, “try to last longer than two seconds when he eats it.”

you sprawl across your bed and almost scream, “stop, because im going to be really embarrassed if that happens!”

“i think it’d be a miracle if it didn’t happen,” you can hear the millionaire open another candy wrapper before stuffing the sweet into his mouth, “so when are you sealing the deal?”

“when even is the appropriate time?” you gaze at your ceiling, feeling hot all over your body and embarrassed that you’re talking to your friend about having sex with one of your other friends

“personally, i think he would’ve done it by tonight already.”

“you think?”

“he looks at your boobs when you aren’t looking.”

“what?! why didnt you tell me this before?” you sit upright in your bed

“him wanting to fuck you is obvious, i just didn’t know if he liked you, so i kept it to myself.”

“unfair,” you huff, falling back into your comforter, staring at the ceiling in silence until you felt your phone beginning to vibrate

pending call - toji

“toru, ill catch up with you some other time, toji’s calling me,” you usher out and immediately accept the incoming call before the snow haired devil can say something cheesy.

“hi,” you breathe out

“hey,” toji’s gruff voice responds through the small speaker, “how are you feelin?”

“about the food or you?” you tease

“both.”

“wish i could’ve eaten some of that peach cobbler the couple next to us ordered,” you fluff up a pillow behind you, wondering if you should go forward with a thought before you think fuck it, and say, “wish i could’ve kissed you more.”

“i can get you both angel.”

“what are you doing?”

“just put some patches on my back, ‘s sore,” theres a moment of silence before he quips, “was thinking about you.”

“me too,” you sigh, hoping he can’t hear how dreamy you unintentionally sounded

“what about me?” you can hear the smirk in his voice

and you indulge him a little, just to fuck with him, “how big your hands are.”

“you like ‘em?”

“mhm, they looked nice with the bruises on them too.”

“ ‘s that why you kept holding onto them?”

“maybe,” you watch as you kick your feet up in the air, finding something to exert your energy 

“yours are soft,” he breathes, “i like it.”

“you know what else is soft?”

“what?” you can hear his energy shift

“my hair, i use really good conditioner and product.”

“fuckin tease.”

you turned around in your bed to hold your head in one of your hands, “what ever do you mean by that toji?”

“you always pull shit like this and you know it. you made me think i forgot your birthday last week.”

you laugh at his offense, noting that you did get a good scare out of him last week when you pretended he said your birthday wrong, “okay that was a one time thing though.”

“and then you told me the chinese restaurant i sent you to had shitty lomein.”

he had recommened the restaurant to you last month based on the premise that the lomein was good as hell and that you’d like it. you didn’t think he’d fall for it, but you told him it was crap just to fuck with him and he couldn’t function for a minute. 

“okay okay maybe i do pull shit like that every once in a while,” you digress

“every once in a while…” the scowl on toji’s face is quite loud when he responds

“every once in a while,” you punctuate with a sing songy voice

after your brunch date with toji the following day, he took you vase shopping because when he showed up at your place to pick you up he had another very large bouquet of flowers in his hands for you. and unfortunately, you couldn’t even fit all the flowers from the night before into the three vases you had. 

he took you to a high end home furniture store that you were pretty sure millionaires only shopped in, your theory being proven when a rug you passed by was the exact same one satoru kept in his apartment and shamelessly replaced when shoko got red wine on it. 

“woah,” you say when you get to the vase section, “this is way different than the ones at ikea.”

“see anything you like?” toji moves to stand next to you while you take in the vast number of beautiful vases in front of you

and at first you think you have nothing to say, unable to pick from all the beauties in splayed out for you, until your eyes spot a pretty almost seashell shaped vase, with defining ridges, colored gold, it was beautiful and you wouldn’t mind a number of those decorating your apartment. 

“i like this one,” you murmur as you walk up to it, noticing the slight iridescent shimmers on it

you can see toji raise his hand and make some sort of mannerism towards someone, you assume a worker, out of the corner of your eye after you say that. 

which led to the predicament of accompanying toji into your apartment numerous times as he carried the multiple boxes carrying the same vase into your apartment. you weren’t allowed to, he had demanded. he even eyed you threatningly when you made to pick up your own box to take with him. 

by the time he had brought in the last box you were very antsy, trying to find something to do in return for him like offer a water or food, or what fucking ever, just anything in exchange for his buying you multiple luxury vases and carrying them into your apartment. 

“i did that shit because i like you and i think you deserve it,” toji huffed, eyeing you pointedly while he accepted the glass of water you had offered him, “don’t get all weird.”

“okay…” you nervously looked to the side as you traced invisible lines across your kitchen island, “at least sit for a while before we have to unpack them and put the flowers in them. please?”

the tall and buff fighter let your small and nimble hands drag him to your couch by the arm and then guide him to sit on it, with you following after.

“I was watching grey’s anatomy before you came over,” you start, looking at him earnestly, “do you wanna watch some with me?”

toji set the glass of water on your coffee table then splayed his arm behind you on the couch and nodded, “go for it.”

“okay,” you smiled lightly then, much to his obvious surprise, crawled over him and reached for the remote next to him, tucked into the corner of the couch just a little, then went back to your original spot next to him.

your eyes were focused on opening netflix when he spoke, “is that the uh–the show with the doctors and crap?”

you pressed play when you set the remote off to the side and leaned more into his space, “yeah! it’s a little cheesy, but it’s fun to watch, at least before a certain season. after that it just goes downhill.”

“alright,” the ravenette said, leaning closer to your space too

“glow in the dark,” toji exhales a light laugh at the mention of glow in the dark condoms

“ever tried those?” you look up at him from where you’re tucked underneath his arm, hand splayed across his chest and abdomen area

“never knew they were a thing,” he smirks, “you?”

“i don’t even know what head’s like,” you roll your eyes, “as if i would’ve gotten to the exploration stage of fucking.”

you can see toji visibly stiffen at your comment

“what?”

“there’s no way in hell that fucker didn’t eat you out,” he’s sat up straighter now, eyes pining you under his gaze

“well there is a way in hell,” you move your hands as if to gesture ‘it is what it is’, “he didn’t like the taste.”

“what, he got a wonder dick or something?” he looked annoyed, “that do the job?”

“i did not ever orgasm, so no,” you laugh, finding it funny how pissed he’s getting on your part, “why are you so pissy for me zenin?”

he gives you one glance before looking forward at the tv to avoid your gaze, sighing a little, “it’s stupid, is all.”

“me not getting head?” you’re still staring at him even though he’s watching george and alex bicker on the tv

“yeah,” he nods

and satoru’s words play through your mind again, ‘personally, i think he would’ve done it by tonight already.’

but you shake the thought away before you start something stupid and reassume your cuddling position next to toji, watching as it gets revealed that the neurosurgeon lover has a wife already. the previous piece of information making toji uncharacteristically scrunch his nose and look as if he wants to spit at the screen. 

“what,” he looks at you, eyes waiting in earnest for the next episode, “that the end? start the next one.”

“are you sure,” you giggle at his sudden interest in the soap opera.

toji sinks into his spot on the couch, bringing you closer to him with a hand on the skin just above your knee, “yeah, play it.”

while you take the remote to start the new season, you laugh, then place it down before leaning up and placing a chaste kiss on the fighter’s lips, “you’re cute.”

he gives you a bored look, obvious in expressing that cute is not something he wants to be described as, but you can also feel the grip he has on you twitch for a second. 

“what?” you smile, “can i not call you cute?”

“can’t you find something better?” he says, trying not to roll his eyes

“not when you’re acting cute,” you sit up a little and grab his face to place a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, which scrunches up cutely at the action. you can see toji try to chase your lips just the slightest when he sees your mouth fall away from his nose and wander so close to his mouth. you use the observation to tease him, making it look as if the next destination was his lips until you go further down and land a peck on his chin. 

toji’s had enough of it, it seems, when he swoops a hand under your jaw and near your neck and guides you to his own mouth. he's soft about it, simply trying to taste your lips and memorize the feeling of your lips on his, until–you dont know who–one of you takes a sensual turn and makes it much more intense than need be. although unable to find the culprit of before, you can say that toji’s first in sliding his tongue into your mouth moments after. he does it slowly, flicking the muscle to tease at your own before retreating, as if waiting for yours to give the same response and you do, shyly dipping yours in to lick across his tongue. almost like he lured you in, he intertwines his muscle with yours upon the interaction and you can’t help the small high pitched moan that escapes you. 

on some sort of instinct, toji uses the hand on your knee to hook it under his grasp and guide you to his lap, planting you thigh to thigh on top of him. your hands, having forgotten what to do in these situations, awkwardly place themselves on his chest, shakily feeling the hardness of his chest underneath them. he grabs onto one of them, caressing the skin of it, while his other hand finds comfort in your waist. 

a second moan makes it way out of your throat and toji’s hips buckle up subconsciously, which makes you gasp into his searing kisses. the action has you noting that he’s hard underneath you and the exact size of him is a curiosity to you, the thought making you reach a hand down to hold him. 

he’s big, an ‘it’s going to hurt’ kind of big. 

“don’t…” he grunts out, letting go of the hand holding onto his chest and reaching down to take off the one holding his length, “touch unless you’re ready.”

“i’m ready,” you shift your hips atop of him and being forced to look at him when he pulls away from the kiss, lips pink and splotched and his pupils blown out.

“I can wait,” he says, trying to control his breathing, the expanse of his chest rising and falling so controlled even though the look in his eyes says otherwise, “don’t worry about me, if that’s it.”

“well I can’t,” you tug at one of the buttons of his shirt for emphasis, then guide one of his hands underneath your skin and near your inner thighs, “feel me.”

slowly and hesitantly, toji moves his hand onto your panties and runs a finger across the excessively damp wet spot of them.

“fuckin tease,” he groans at the touch, sliding his finger across again and again, earning mewl after mewl from you

“do you want me?” you shyly pant as you hold onto his free arm, fighting the need to put your head in his shoulders

“yeah, i fucking want you,” toji growls as he pushes you onto his chest by a hand on your back

he maintains eye contact with you when his hand pushes your panties out of the way and immediately slips a finger into your heat. the pressure of his gaze turns feral when your eyebrows knit and a loud moan leaves your lips.

for some reason, trying to excuse the loud reactions he’s about to get from you, you heave, worried, “i—i haven’t done this in a long time and–oh mmmm–i won’t be able to help myself.”

“think i care?” he huffs, concentrating on you when he slips a second finger inside and curls them both curiously to find your spot, which he does, smirking a little when your hold on him grows tighter and your hips wiggle at the pleasure, “scream all you want princess.”

he starts jutting in his fingers quickly in and out of you after the words leave his mouth, and the stretch is so good, so unlike your small hands that haven’t been able to do crap for years, that you start squealing and hug toji in by the back of his neck and shoulders.

“there you go, there you go baby,” he coos, smiling a little at the cute sounds you’re making and relishing in the squelch of your pussy while his fingers abuse it. 

“wait–wait–” you heave, beginning to push him away, even though the advance is useless due to his iron grip and try to explain an embarrassing admission so as to warn him, “i feel like im gonna–”

he gives you no chance to finish your sentence when he punches in a third finger and makes you nearly scream.

“what?” he breathes, lusty eyes boring into your own, “you gonna cum?”

“no–”you shake your head, trying your best to still relay your message even though you can feel your orgasm taking its final steps near, “well yeah–but–but–”

your stomach starts dropping and toji picks up his pace so brashly that you release almost instantaneously all over him. your legs twitch uncontrollably and you bury your face into his neck while squealing through the feeling.

“shit.” he utters, still fingering you through it, “fuck, fuck.”

“i squirt,” you almost cry, embarrassed and shaken up by your orgasm, unable to look at him, “i’m sorry, i tried to tell–”

“shut up,” toji spanks your pussy and doesn’t care when you yelp as he throws you with your back on the couch and starts to tug your panties off, “you’re gonna do it again.”

submitting to him, you shimmy out of your dress nervously while he hastily undoes the buttons of his dress shirt. the burly fighter drags you, so your legs dangle off the couch before he kneels down and places his hands underneath your thighs to spread you out for him

“look at me when i eat you,” toji pinches your clit to get your full attention on his face, “don’t close your eyes or look at the ceiling, none of that shit. got that?”

you nod your head impishly, hesitantly putting a hand on your stomach, itching to hold onto his face or his hair. 

his eyes drift to your sex and you can see a hint of irritation paint itself across his features when he mutters under his breath, “didn’t like the taste my ass.”

within milliseconds, toji saves no mercy and starts to eat you out like a man starved. his mouth is hot and wet, and you don’t know where the mess is coming from, his lips or yours. the man spits onto your pussy and so sloppily makes out with your sticky heat, interchanging between that and sucking so harsly against your clit. 

your legs are twitching so wildly and the only thing keeping you from scrambling away is toji’s hands that are now wrapped around your thighs to keep you pressed against him. 

you’re basically screaming now, in utter bliss from the heavenly feeling, unable to speak. 

his eyes keep looking up to bore into yours all while he aggressively kisses your pussy. it has your breath picking up rapidly and goosebumps rising all across your skin. his tongue laps across your lips so foreign yet so deliciously that you can’t help the increasing reach of your orgasm.

“I'm close!” you squeal after a particular suck of your clit, thinking that he needs to heed to the warning because you’re so sure you’re about to squirt on his face

all toji does in response is growl and let go of one of your thighs to start fingering you with two digits rapidly.

he stares you down while you struggle to keep the eye contact, your whole body beginning to twitch uncontrollably and your vision starting to see white until the invisible cord snaps and you feel an immense relief wash over you–and him.

the juices seeping from you seem to spur him on and he doesn’t move in any sort of way to avoid them, instead choosing to lap at them and drink it in all while making growls and groans of satisfaction. 

he’s still going at it when you come to, and you start shuffling away–well try to–from him, yelping, “it’s sensitive toji!”

he seemingly listens to you after a few seconds, running his tongue flat against your folds before he lifts his face from you. the entire lower half of his face is covered in your juices and his spit and he looks outright animalistic as he looks back at you. 

he gets up and stalks towards you until he’s on top of your body and dives down to kiss you aggressively, making you taste yourself in the process. it’s so erotic, it has your pussy fluttering all over again. 

“fuck,” he groans deeply into your mouth, “you don’t have any condoms right doll?”

you shake your head a little, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and offer something else, “i’m on the pill…so i don’t really mind…”

you can feel his breath hitch and you’re quick to add, “but! if you’re not comfortable without one–”

“you fine with me blowing a load in you?” he mutters and seizes the chance to nip at your bottom lip

“i wanna feel it,” you admit, glad he’s still kissing you so he doesn’t see the flustered look on your face.

“dirty fucking angel,” he says heavily against your mouth before he gets up to undo his belt buckle and push both his pants and briefs in one motion.

he doesn’t even really spring up free like you expected him to. his dick is so hung that well, it hangs. the size looks bigger than what you predicted already when you touched it earlier. your ex, the only person you’ve had sex with, was the stark opposite of this, easy to fiddle with and well below average. the difference of having toji’s thick length right in front of you now had you clenching around nothing. 

“you like it?” toji smirks at you while he goes up to you again and moves you so that you’re completely laying across the couch before he climbs up on top of you between your legs.

“mhm,” you nod, looking down and hoping his tip can at least graze your folds while it bobs down near your inner thigh and that’s when you get an idea.

“can we–” you almost hesitate, “can we do a mating press?”

“was planning on it,” he says gruffly when he leans forward and pins your legs next to your head. 

you giggle at the words and he smiles down at you, a moment of innocence before the both of you look down and he’s using one hand to guide his tip into you.

the pop of his tip inside of you is overwhelming. you feel like you’re going to push him out in a single clench with how girthy he is. and you think the previous two, very wet, orgasms are what lets him slide into you, even though it stings. 

“shit’s fucking tight,” toji groans, both hands back to your legs while he and you watch him pull out nearly all the way and sink back in.

“ ‘s so big,” you huff, feeling like he’s outright in your stomach, “feel so full.”

“bet you do,” he sounds so serious when he says it, still entranced when he starts to pound in and out of you at an average pace that, although it’s not fast, still has you starting to feel tears brim near your waterline

the man above you starts groaning in sync with your moans and whines, shuddering a little everytime you clench and suck him in

“beautiful,” toji groans under his breath and you can feel his pace start to pick up a bit, “getting fucked on a huge cock, little princess slut. tiny fucking hole’s begging for help.”

the mean words mixed with his praise has you feeling epically embarrassed yet turned on all at the same time and all you can do is moan in response 

“you like getting called a slut?” he presses himself against you, almost chest to chest, smirking evilly while he raggedly breathes, “or princess? or you like me talking about splitting your pussy open?”

“all…of it,” you gasp through two punctual thrusts of his, he’s hit your cervix multiple times but the pleasure is so overwhelming, you’re starting to enjoy it

toji snickers a little, opening your legs a bit further to expose more of your torso, your tits being part of it and his intention, you realize when he goes down to pop one of your nipples into his mouth. he swirls the bud around his mouth and bites at it with his teeth while he starts to jackhammer into you, making sure each thrust is deep.

his balls start making a pap–pap sound everytime he thrusts back in, accompanying the wet squelch of toji dragging himself inside of you repeatedly.

it’s rough and hard, but more intimate than anything considering the few words being exchanged. the both of you are more concentrated on each other’s presence and reactions because after toji comes back up from your tits, he finds your lips and starts to makeout with you languidly. 

the grip on your thighs grows bruising when you mix tongue into the kissing, coaxing him to do the same too. 

“feel so fucking good,” he hisses when you clench around him uncontrollably, a sign of your incoming orgasm, “pussy’s close isn’t it”

you nod instead of speaking, concentrating on the delicious drag of his veins against your walls and the prodding of his tip at your g-spot

toji leans close to your ear, voice hard and lusty as he starts to mutter sweet and dirty nothings, “such a pretty girl, taking this cock so good.”

he then bites your ear softly, “you gonna milk my cock like a good girl? squeeze my load all out?”

shivering, you nod again and make a whimper in response 

“squirt all over me angel, i know you want to,” toji starts plummeting a bit harder into your sweet spot, finding it again, the action has you looking down at where you’re both connected unable to fathom how large he is and just how he’s making it all fit inside, “look at me.”

one of his hands is gently under your chin now, guiding you to look at him since your eyes had strayed from his own. he’s breathing heavy now and his irises are almost completely gone considering the blown out size of his pupils. 

“cum with me sweetheart,” the hand from your chin snakes its way down to your clit so as to start rubbing harsh circles for you, and you just know you’re about to make a bigger mess than before, “wrap that pretty pussy around me. milk the shit out of this dick. cum’s all yours baby.”

“ ‘s too much,” you whine, breathing ragged, “i don’t think–oh my god!”

you feel the pleasure wash over your entire body and come out all over toji’s lower abdomen accompannied by the profuse hard flutters of your pussy on his cock. you release a combination between a whine and a cry, feeling completely wrecked by the sensation.

toji follows you the moment your release gets all over him, his hips stiling and jerking into you roughly, this time giving hard kisses to your cervix instead of the fleeting small pecks from earlier. his cum feels immense, its warmth you can feel pooling inside you as toji sputters it into you.

“shit! fuck!” he groans, watching himself push it all into you before looking back up and taking you into a passionate kiss

“atta girl,” he utters after swiping his tongue across your teeth, one of his hands coming up to tentatively hold one of your breasts, “that feel good?”

tired, you weakly nod and sigh a weak, “mhm”

he lets go of the one hand holding your thigh up and moves both of your legs so that they wrap around his waist. he hasn’t pulled out yet.

“gonna buy you a new couch,” his lips twitch a little as he looks at the surrounding area near the both of you, “shit’s soaked.”

“toji!” you whine, embarrased, and pull him into you so you can hide your face.

toji doesn’t let you, instead pulling away so he can get a good look at you and grin, “you got spare sheets?”

“yeah?” you furrow your eyebrows, “but what does that have to do with the couch?”

“it doesnt. I’m fucking you on your bed later,” he shifts both of your bodies so that you can sit on top of him now just as he shifts the conversation back to what it was, “we’ll go shopping for the couch tomorrow. make it celebratory gift.”

“for the first time we fucked?”

“nah,” he lands a teasing kiss on your nose, “for your first time.”

you roll your eyes at him, “just because its been three years–”

“don’t care, doesn’t count if you never came with shrimp dick.”

a fit of giggles escapes you as you press yourself up against him for physical support, “yeah okay, it’s my first time gift.” 

then your eyes stray to his very wet clothes on the floor next to yours, “sorry i got your clothes dirty though. I don’t think i have anything for you to wear either.”

toji puts both of his thumbs at the corner of your mouth to make your pout disappear, he snickers at himself for it, “i’ll call my assistant to drop off some clothes here.” 

“how long will that take?”

“long as our shower,” toji huffs as he lifts the both of you up and starts walking to your restroom.

“and how long will that take?” you laugh, wiggling your eyebrows at him and clinging onto his shoulders.

“three more orgasms,” he comments, opening the door and leading the both of you to a very steamy shower. 

“you haven’t even made the call yet!”

“shut up.”

---

꒰ྀི 𝒪𝒞𝐻𝒪 𝑅𝐼𝒪𝒮 ꒱ྀི

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 12.9kay words , black fem reader coded , strangers to friends to loverz , tutor armin :3 , some miscommunication , pining , slight flirting , sex on a yacht , oral sex [ r. + a. receiving ] , fingering , cum swallowing , dumbification , reader has a phat creamy pussie :3 , soft dom + service dom armin .

𝜗ϱ 𝓁𝓊𝓋 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝓂 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓀 . . . had noooo idea dis wuz gna b dis long . . ૮꒰ ྀི . . ꒱ა . uhm . fic title inspired by dis song c: Minors + Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch ! ! ! ! !

life has a funny way of pissing you off, you think.

of pissing you the fuck off, actually.

if it isn’t one thing, it’s another. in spite of you ultimately  managing to find a balance between your social, academic, and family roles, after having attended winsome university for almost three years mind you; the beginning of your junior year, and first statistics lecture, all it really takes is ten seconds, ten for you to realize that all the work you have spent fighting to find an equilibrium between those three mantles is now swirled down the drain.

because within those initial, mere ten seconds, your professor introduces herself, guides you all to click on the link of a syllabus decreed almost mockingly near the top of your incoming emails, and what you see on the first page of the, admittedly sublimely, organized opening page is, ‘ exams — 75% of your grade. ‘

“i’m so screwed.”

your professor’s name is ida sullivan. her ratemyprofessor’s rating sits at a decent 3.5 / 5, 62% of the general population of students would take her course again, and her level of difficulty is a solid 4.0.

from this, you declare your own score by comparing yourself to the rest of winsome university’s students — a 3.5, round that up to a 3.8 . . and the difficulty level, a hard 4.4. while you were clearly intelligent enough to be accepted into the university ( acceptance rate is a cruel 8%, categorizing it as one of the most competitive ivy leagues in the country ), you are painfully aware that when compared to majority of your peers, you sit at a very low rank. what are subjects that took you half a lesson to grasp in high school, now takes you nearly three in college. disparate to others, you have to fit in an extra day to study before a quiz or exam, all in efforts to get a grade just near theirs.

it’s discouraging.

walking the campus’ quad, through the hallways, bypassing buildings that a multitude of your friends’ mothers, fathers, and grandparents threw thousands of dollars into every year — each day you open your eyes, you’re hit with a sense of . . dread. no true sense of belonging.

“what’s wrong?”

a month later, after having been struggling with statistical concepts for twenty two long, extremely winded days, it’s a friday.

disregarding your school being named a ‘ bottomless pit of big brained knowitalls ‘ within a world-known news outlet article, your football team wasn’t half bad. mikasa enjoys going and dragging you along because ymir’s there, you let her to escape the four, ghoulish gray walls of your dorm who seem to be trying to speak to you after spending six hours at a desk going over the same fifteen note cards.

after the game, the rest of your group of friends find you — eren, pieck, reiner, ymir, and historia — and sometimes, usually after a win, you all pile up into reiner’s pick up and head to his.

a high rise condominium that over looks the bustling life of the city, completed with high windows showcasing a panoramic, three sixty view of it all. you love reiner’s apartment because, while clearly a token of affluence and grandeur, it’s also lived in. there are frames of family photos hung along the walls in the foyer, pictures of scruffy art drawn in vivid crayolas and pastels made by his baby brother pinned to the fridge, a guest room dedicated just to him when he visits. it’s precious.

“ ‘m gonna fail my stats course,” you whimper into the palm of your hands when you’re all seated upon the balcony, reposed along the propane firepit. “ ‘ve aced the syllabus and first two lesson quizzes but there’s an exam coming up in a week and i’m,” you recognize it — the choke, that mass of your throat closing as it tries to somehow work in more oxygen come the influx of tears. “m-my gpa’s gonna drop — i don’t wanna go on academic p—“

“—chill, hey.”

“no, don’t cry.”

as annoying as they can be, all of your friends are ultimately good people. there’s a soothing rubbing on your back, a comforting hand on your shoulder, hair ruffle from no doubt reiner, and a big squeeze of a hug from eren. “stats?” historia’s questioning with a darling head tilt. “hmm . . — have you tried—“

“—‘ve tried everything.”

you’re falling back against the cushioned bench where you sit, crossing your legs atop of one another and dabbing the few pearls of tears that’ve glided themselves across your cheeks with the small pads of your fingers. “different note taking, studying methods, ‘m like . . burnt out.”

reiner takes a thick quaff of the beer he holds within one rough paw, eyes glancing up towards the glittering pellets of stars for a moment — as if they held an answer prior to lifting a shoulder, letting it drop, then retorting, “get a tutor.”

voices are overlapping before your response.

“oh, shit. yeah,” eren’s smiling — that boyishly handsome smile that achieves in placing all of his aligned, white teeth on display. “yeah. i had to get one when i took quantum physics.”

a tutor.

you have never needed a tutor. you don’t think you want a tutor. in a way, you suppose that it all kind of, cements it all — that you need help. that you aren’t as smart as you’d thought.

you want to simply mold yourself inside of the linen — ingrain your body within the weaving and take your stupid brain with you. “. . a tutor?”

slipping a cig from the inside of his pocket, eren places it between his lips in advance to leaning his face dangerously close to the fluttering flames of orange and gold and lighting it. mumbling around the stick, “yeah. i know a few people who do it for letters of recommendations from professors,” he inhales, holds it, and through a strained breath, concludes, “others, just because.”

“who’s the best?” you inquire. might as well. “like, in stats.”

“. . uh,” eyebrows furrow, green eyes lift. “. . connie?”

“no,” ymir rolls hers. “connie’s good for like, english lit and shit. he’s very articulate. go with armin — he’s a fucking genius in everything. especially math.”

armin.

the name sparks something — enters your ears, squeezes past your brain, and knocks along the walls of it. “armin uhm,” you nibble on your bottom lip, mind churning to remember a surname. “a-arlert? he’s blond?”

with the confirmation, you’re suddenly reminded of a familiar blond that sits within your lectures, always in the front row, far to the left.

“please be reminded that you do not only have me to come to for any questions, but also my ta, armin here,” first day of class, professor sullivan had gave a small chin raise his way. “he will not steer you wrong — top student currently here at the university, please take advantage.”

mikasa seems to perk up come the mention of a clearly familiar name, “oh god, yeah. armin’s so nice. yeah, ask him.”

you’d thought with their encouragements that you’d be able to actualize tough enough skin to walk up to the guy, ask for some help, and get it over with — nonetheless, at the end of the day, you’re just a girl with an insane amount of pride. you don’t need tutoring. you’ll be okay.

commence your exam grade being returned back to you — 68 / 100.

it’s a tuesday when you finally generate the guts. thankfully, you aren’t the only one who has questions for armin. there are two students ahead of you — a guy you recognize by the name of hayden, campus’ running back on the football team, and a girl, grace. hayden asks him a simple question, something about what’s going to be the main topic on the next exam and if it’ll be as long as the previous. come him stepping away, you see the shift in grace ahead of you.

she comes to a stop in front of his desk, and after placing her exam down upon it, inclines toward him with a small lean to gently question, “on question eight — uhm, i guess i’m just . . a little confused. can you tell me where i went wrong at?”

you come to realize that armin’s voice is gentle. there’s the occasional sound of a deep tenor when he says ‘did’ and ‘some,’ words with short vowels, however, he’s mostly quiet. you can’t really hear, nor see him, only grace. she gives an occasional nod, a quiet, long, drawn out ‘ ohhh ‘ and eventually, a small giggle when the conversation is apparently over. “okay, great. thanks. i’ll see you on thursday then.”

“same here.”

upon her exiting, and you replacing her spot at his desk, seemingly, about a feet on either side of him — there’s the scent of citron and ambertonic. you wouldn’t say there’s a cloud of it surrounding him, because in a case like that, you doubt you’d be able to breathe, nonetheless, it’s definitely there. it teeters a line of an aromatic wood; reminds you of those gossamery salt tinged breezes you feel at the beach, and you suppose, come being in his line of sight for the first time, that armin’s cologne . . suits him.

he’s . . handsome. he’s attractive. he’s . . . pretty — in a kind of . . all american, golden boy way.

tawny blond hair sits atop of his head in tufts, falling near midway of his ears with a, presumably, natural part in the middle. it’s a bit darker at the roots, a kind of light brown, however it’s natural, you can tell. he doesn’t dye. his skin tone is a bit on the lighter side — there’s a blush tinged along his knuckles and the tips of his ears. it’s autumn, nearing winter, that’s to be expected, albeit still, there resides a sort of . . flaxen glow within the undertone. he tans well in the summer, you can tell.

his eyebrows match his roots, they’re admittedly well groomed. thin framed, gold matte, polygon framed glasses shield long eyelashes — and those border pools of beautiful, ocean blue. they catch you immediately, your eyes feel pinned to them due to the fact . . they aren’t necessarily an unsettling shade of blue — they teeter the shade of . . ultramarine? there are peppers of baby blue near his pupils, but, they’re . . pretty. the type of blue found only in jewels buried within the ocean floors of fiji and moorea.

“hey.” he gives a small smile, it’s polite, warm.

“hi,” you rub your lips together, quickly averting your eyes downwards — they find the chain he wears . . a simple curb chain, made of silver? white gold, maybe? it stands out against the starking white hoodie he wears, looks to be bleached by the gods. “uhm, i’m ( ❤︎ ). i heard that . . you tutor?”

he’s closing a binder, his laptop, and standing while you talk.

oh.

okay, he’s taller than you thought. for so many days, you’ve only seen him from afar, never thought he looked any taller than six feet at most, albeit, up close, he graces the line of at least six three. “oh, uh, yeah. did you fail the exam?” his eyes are . . concerned. he packs his backpack slowly, a plain, black moncler, wow, all while keeping his attention on you.

you want to wince at that word. fail. you’re close to doing so. you know it. “uh,” you hesitate, finding interest in your nail when it finds a divot in the desk beside your thigh. “i got a D.”

he doesn’t flinch away or give a sympathetic coo, only a quiet, “huh,” underneath his breath. “okay, sure, yeah,” he swings his bag over a single shoulder and pockets his phone within the one of his hoodie. “i’ll tutor you. we can start . . tomorrow? at the library? around,” he looks up, rolls those pretty, blue eyes skywards towards the high ceilings of the classroom and clicks his tongue against the fine porcelain of his teeth. “four?”

you feel relieved. your shoulders fall forwards as you both begin the trek towards the door. “yes. thank you,” oddly, you feel as though you want to cry. “i appreciate it.”

“no worries,” another warm smile, then a large hand is held up as a goodbye. “i’ll see you tomorrow then.”

wednesdays are always kind of a busy day for you. you have your microbiology lecture at ten am, and come it ending at twelve thirty, anthropology begins at one. there’s little to no time to go back to your dorm and change in preparedness for your first tutoring session because by three fifty eight, after leaving your lecture and stopping near the dining hall for a quick meal, you realize that you’re going to be late.

winsome university’s library sits on its own acre of land across the campus. it’s labeled something akin to the state’s pride and joy — was built by the founder of it and all. half of the money donated towards the school is to upkeep the library and add improvements when necessary.

admittedly, the building is gorgeous. rustic and sylvan-like — the inside of the five story high structure houses eighty thousand books, an entire level of study rooms, and two computer labs. you have only ever been a few times — twice with mikasa, once by yourself. within a distant part of your mind, you wonder why. it’s a pretty place, a quiet place. you adore it — think it’ll act as a nice change of scenery when studying. upon first entry, there’s a hushed stillness settled over the interior, save for the occasional low murmur and cough. the wicker platform of your sandals click against the buffed chateau flooring as you slowly walk, head on swivel, searching for a familiar mop of blond hair.

amidst finding him, huddled in his own, little corner on the second floor, at a desk between a shelf of autobiographies, you tap your fingers upon the wood to alert him of your arrival.

he looks up at you while pulling an airpod from his ear, giving a sort of quick scan of your face in efforts to recognize you prior to smiling, “hey,” he quietly murmurs. collecting a few books and folders that are scattered along the surface of the desk, armin soon closes and gathers them in a stack beside his expanded macbook to make room for your backpack and ipad. “sorry. i realized when i got here that . . i didn’t tell you where to meet me.”

you shake your head, “it’s okay. i found you.”

when you take a seat adjacent from him, you find yourself reimmersed within the intimate, salt tinged breeze of his cologne again. it drains your brain a little empty. “uhm,” when your ipad is opened onto a blank doc, pencil in hand, you look at him. “i . . dunno . . even where to begin.”

taking hold of the top and bottom of his frames with one hand, armin pushes his glasses a bit higher up on his nosebridge, “shit, yeah, well,” he licks his lips. “she’s started on chapter three right? frequency distributions? you . . do you get that part?”

you pause on your rejoinder. your automatic response is ‘yes,’ be that as it may, you’d only lie. big and blue, his eyes are expectant, though they don’t judge. when you quietly shake your head, he doesn’t sigh or suck his teeth, only nods and opens a notebook to a fresh page to begin to sketch a few things. “well,” he utters. “statistics’ just . . all about data, right? uhm, collecting it, reading it, drawing conclusions from it. a lot of it is taught so that we’ll have the proper methods on how to conduct research and employ the correct analyses. what do you major in?”

“pharmacology,” you reply, thumbing with the silicone nub of your pencil. “minor in ethics.”

beneath his glasses, still writing, he looks up at you, “hm,” he mumbles. “mkay,” armin looks back down. “interesting.”

his reaction . . is unreadable. it stumps you. “what do you major in?”

“petroleum engineering with a minor in communications and a foreign language.”

wow.

blinking, you quietly hum, “you must make your parents really proud.”

he scoffs a bit . . then he smiles. it’s a big grin — the biggest you’ve ever seen. it pushes charming dimples into his cheeks an inch away from deep smile lines. “ah,” he chuckles. “you’ve no idea. but,” insert a shrug, a blasé one. it says ‘eh, what can you do?’ “thankfully, i actually do love the subject, so . . can’t feel too bad for myself.”

with the intention of only warming your brain up, armin introduces a practice question to you.

‘ Data from a sample of 10 pharmacies are used to examine the relation between prescription sales volume and percentage of prescription ingredients purchased directly from the supplier. The sample data are shown below. ‘

“starting off simple, i want you to find the mean of the sales volume.”

easy enough, you think. you can do that.

as you work, the table falls quiet. armin watches you, moreso, your fingers — he needs to make sure you’re following the correct procedure. or at least, he’s supposed to. you’re distracting him. your handwriting is quite lovely as you scribble along the doc of your ipad and his eyes linger on how you hold the pencil — nails are layered with acrylic . . long and square. they’re nude based with pastel designs and pretty, gold charms. he trails them up your wrist wear a few bangles sway from, to your shoulder, your neck . . .

hm.

. . you’re actually quite pretty.

you’re very fucking pretty.

“like that?”

your eyes are wide, when they look up into his — oases of mahogany. you’re standing on pins and needles, aching for his approval.

“can i see?” armin turns the pad his way and double checks your work. “. . yeah,” gently, he begins to nod. “yeah. good work. now, do the same for the ingredients purchased directly.”

complying, from then on, step by step, he instructs you on how to properly plot the residuals. he gives you another question after that, and another, and then two more. by six o’clock, you find yourself heavy eyed. the library closes at seven. warm, dim lights are now illuminated throughout the aisles and the green visored lamp that sits upon the desk you both work scrawled atop of had been lighted by armin almost an hour ago. “thank you,” you’re softly saying as you pack your bag. you feel a little more confident in your skills — not completely A+ worthy, nonetheless, some progress was made. “i understand like, half of chapter two now.”

he’s simpering while packing his own bag, “nice. cool. you’re really not that bad at it. i think you make it harder when you double back on things just because they don’t seem right — most of the time they are.”

he’s correct. you’re just not sure of how to resolve that fickle way of thinking. “thank you, armin.”

when you’re both outside, you find yourselves cloaked within the darkness, a moon, and her millions of children. under silver rays armin’s hair lightens to platinum. you take a look at him again while he has his phone pulled in close to his face, shooting a text to someone.

he’s disgustingly handsome.

how haven’t you noticed him before?

“do you need a ride home?” he points in the vague direction of two cars — a simple, grey honda civic beside a metallic blue bmw i5. no need to wonder which is his.

you gather enough willpower to take a step back, towards the direction you came. “oh . . no,” you shake your head and your island twists move along with it. “i live on campus. it’s not a far walk.”

he looks past you, in the direction of the university’s main grounds. you’d have to walk along the twisted, lengthy pathway between here and there to get to it, past the main, lecture halls, and the dining hall, to enter the dorm buildings. his eyes squint a bit, eyebrows gather in close, and lip curls as he sucks his teeth — it’s a cute face. “that’s a long walk . . at least twenty minutes.”

“i need to get my steps in.”

“it’s cold.”

“i have a sweater.”

arminfinds himself at a loss, you have him absolutely stuck. he wants to be demanding — say something like, ‘( ❤︎ ), just get in the car,’ however, when regarding the state of the world today, he’s aware of what he’d look like. he would never. he wants you to feel and know that you have a choice, in everything. albeit, in spite of this, his mother raised a gentleman. he isn’t going to feel right, driving home, knowing you’re out here walking alone. “mm.”

you read the obvious frustration slathered across the soft slopes of his face. it’s an interesting thing — to see features like his harden and inure.

“hm,” you turn your head over your shoulder to gauge the distance once more. it is a long walk. “i think . .” a step back towards his way. “i’ll jus’ go ahead and take the ride, actually.”

he leads you towards his car, using a keyless remote to open the doors with a small ‘ beep! ‘ he’s smiling, you realize, a small thing paired with a head shake as he opens the passenger door, allowing you to slip in against cool, leather seating.

you have tutoring sessions at the library with armin twice a week — early evenings on wednesdays and late mornings on fridays. he’s helpful, he’s kind. with his methods, you pass your next exam with a lustrous B+, and for the first time in a long time, your pending future doesn’t loom over your head bordered by an infernal grey cloud full of disappointment and failures.

there isn’t a word to really describe how the two of you interact during the sessions — it’s all very . . formal. he demonstrates a math problem — muttering quiet and slow, and attentively, you listen. on more lazy days, days where your mind is churning just a bit more idle than normal, still traced with the sluggish residues of sleep, you like to admire him. today’s one of those days — because armin’s charming, he smells good, and upon a few accidental grazes, you’ve come to find that his skin is as soft as it looks, too.

“so,” he’s different today. behind his glasses, rings of mauve underline the skin beneath his eye sockets. his chin is rested within the divot of his palm and, almost idly, a finger traces the shape of his lips as he mumbles, “you gotta remember this formula — memorize it for me. the probability of success equals,” his voice breaks off in a yawn. he turns his head away, using a fist to cover it as he does.

you can’t help but yawn too.

“shit, sorry,” he smiles, sniffs, and shakes his head quickly as if to shake the drowsiness off. “uh . . the probability—“

“—n equals the number of trials. r is the number of successes during the trial. and p is the probability . . of success on a given trial.”

his eyes twinkle something akin to delight when he looks at you, “good,” he whispers. “very good.”

unable to help it, you let your upper body fall and with it, your head follows until it plops onto your folded arms, “ ‘m sleepy, armin,” you tenderly say. you’re hoping that this session could be cut short. you’ll see him again on wednesday. the two of you can cram some of this lesson into it to fall back on track. “i need a nap.”

“you need to learn this, though,” he’s tracing his lips again, absentmindedly. you wish he’d stop. “it’s gonna take us a while to get back on course.”

“but ‘m tired.”

“so?”

“you look tired, too.”

“don’t be a hellion.”

you’re giggling before you can help it, covering your bright smile with a couple fingers, “. . a what?”

he’s smirking and shaking his head, eyes focused out towards the large, arch shaped, stained glass window ahead of you both, “a . . minx. pirralho,” his smirk widens into a grin. “a brat.”

you bristle with taken ignominy. “ ‘m not,” your voice doesn’t display your true emotions. it’s quiet, a mere grumble. “i’m not a brat.”

he closes a text book with a firm thump, “wanna go grab a coffee?” he’s already shoving binders into his pack. “there’s a uh . . cafe a few blocks down. they’re really good.”

oddly, your heart skips a beat . . and in that same moment, you feel its speed pick up. you’re lifting yourself up slowly, “a coffee?”

“yeah,” he’s waiting for you. “c’mon.”

the cozy kettle is a little hole in the wall a mile out from the university. it’s sweetly nuzzled between a thrift shop and record store and upon first glance, nothing stands out to you. there’s a sign outside of it and written in pastel colored chalk on it are the specials, however, that’s about it. it’s sort of a shame though, because the interior is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

similar to how it looks from outside, it’s small, nonetheless welcoming, pleasant. there’s the smell of roasted cocoa beans and marshmallows, the sound of mellow piano keys and boiling water. the decor is homely. there are cushioned seats, a sofa, framed photos of customers, and precious, porcelain figurines. strangely, you want to cry again. you adore places like these. you can see why armin gravitated towards it.

he fits right in with his cream, cable knit sweater, tattered blue jeans, and warm, blond hair. “hey dré,” he greets the cashier by name and looks towards you first. “need a second?”

the menu is . . extensive. your eyes tremble, darting from left to right while you try to figure out what you wanted. “uhmm . . n-no, uh, just a dalgona coffee.” you’ve always wanted to try one.

he’s humming, leaning towards you on the tips of his toes, “that’s it?” he asks softly, eyes low yet inquiring. “are you sure?”

you give a nod, he squints them prior to turning back towards the register, “large dalgona coffee, please, with a large strawberry matcha latte, honey cruller, and strawberry cruller.”

after your order is taken, armin pays, and leads you up a short, spiral staircase whose landing opens into a small dining area. it overlooks the lower half of the cafe. “this is so . .” you try to find the words as you both take a seat within a little nook. it’s a plush bench, inserted within a window. you can see the busy avenue ahead and his car parked in front. “cute.”

his irises glimmer with mirth, “yeah,” he nods and takes a quick look around himself — as if he were trying to view it from your perspective. “it is very cute. i found this place a couple months back, it’s quaint.”

“mhmm.”

with a new bout of silence, you find yourself nervously picking at a loose thread of your thermal tights. other than the occasional ride back to your dorm, and of course, the ride here, armin and you are hardly ever . . truly alone. there are always other students around you both, other professors, other distractions. you have nothing to do but gaze out of the window. you don’t want to touch your phone, ‘cause that’d be rude, right? yeah.

“uhm,” armin speaks up and you’re hooked on his words, instantly, giving him your undivided attention. “so, is stats the only class you need help in?”

you pause for a moment to think about the question, “. . kind of, yeah. i mean, ‘m taking microbiology, anthropology, and an elective, too — ceramics. they’re challenging however, i get the gist of them,” abstractly, you find yourself twisting a curl that’d been threaded into one of your island twists around one of your fingers. “stats is . . . yeah,” you breathe out with a small smile. “the only class so far where i really struggle.”

armin listens to you. his eyes are pinned on yours and refuse to move anywhere else, despite you breaking the contact multiple times to look down or away.

“well,” he has his hands resting against his knees, and he sits . . comfortably — back against the window, legs agape.  “as i said before, you’re getting pretty good at it.”

“ ‘m not a natural at it,” the thought makes you pout a little bit. “not like you.”

he smiles again. you feel your palms getting a little sweaty. “nah, nah,” he shakes his head. “not a natural.”

you roll your eyes, “don’t be coy, armin.”

he’s quiet, “. . . alright. maybe.”

when you release a small groan, he laughs — it’s a boyish thing. he inhales hard between each cute cackle.

“you’re so smart,” you hum with a small smile, looking back out towards the street. “i wish it was natural for me. i have to study, like . . all day, everyday. it’s so tiring.”

“hm, you’re intelligent, ( ❤︎ ).”

when you make a face — lift your eyebrows and purse your lips, it says ‘ yeah, right. ‘ armin nudges at your knee so you’d look at him when he says, “you are.”

you don’t agree, nonetheless, you won’t disagree with him. crossing a leg over the other, another silence ensues. if you decide to be honest with yourself, they’re painful. you kind of ache . . . to know more about him, to listen to him speak again, and laugh, and smile at you. “you don’t live on campus?”

he shakes his head, the soft tufts of his hair follow with him, “no. i have a loft, about . . ten minutes away.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” armin turns himself more toward you. “so, uh, tell me . . about your parents. are they cool?”

armin listens to you while you talk, he does, really. however, he can’t be too sure that he actually retains a lot of what you say because his mind is fucking . . fogged. it’s clouded with you. he quietly admires the softness of your brown skin, the way the long wispies of your eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, trying to remember things, how your lips pout out sometimes around certain words — you’re a fucking enigma.

a paradox difficult for him to figure out.

or maybe, you just tangle his feelings and thoughts together and — that doesn’t happen much. it’s a skill he’s mastered a long time ago with the help of his father, to never let his emotions get in the way of doing things that had to be done, disregarding the person or situation.

armin’s been sure that it’s simple attraction. it’s dwelled and has started eating at him since your second session together. and he’s thought of people as pretty before. he’s wine and dined before, has fucked only three girls in his lifetime so far, albeit, none of them have ever sparked the sentiments he’s been inwardly battling for nearly a month now, except for you.

he thinks now that this is . . a crush. he isn’t sure if he likes it. it’s too much. he feels too much, thinks too much.

“what about you?” he’s tuning back in when you give him a polite smile. “are your parents cool?”

“oh . .” he shrugs. “yeah. they’re nice. they’re . . old.”

“they’re old?” you’re giggling again.

he smiles. he likes the sound of it. “yeah, m’dad is like . . fifty eight. mom’s fifty five. they’ve been together for thirty five years now. was an arranged marriage type deal but, they actually liked one another.”

“do you have siblings?”

armin shakes his head, “no, ‘s jus me. i have dogs though,” he’s states. “had them since middle school.”

a barista is setting your drinks and crullers down on the small table in front of you soon after. they all appear so tempting. you and armin give your thanks and as you take a teaspoon of the coffee froth toppled atop of your own drink, you take a look at armin’s.

there’s pink near the bottom of his glass cup and it fades into a sweet gradient of green from nearly half of it on up. “here,” after he takes a sip, he pushes his glasses up higher upon his nose and brings the plate of crullers closer between you both. “have you ever tried one?”

you nod slowly, “years ago though.”

the crullers are both golden brown. the honey cruller is glazed with syrup and dusted with powdered sugar, however the strawberry one is more of a pastry. there are two of them stacked on top of one another with whipped cream layered in the middle. “ ‘ll just . .” armin takes a butter knife, and carefully, he cuts the first one in half, followed by the strawberry. “there you go.”

you watch, amazed, how he pops his half of the honey cruller inside of his mouth and begins to slowly chew.

by no means was it a little piece, both desserts are about the size of his own fist. “y’just gotta . .” he’s smirking while he chomps. “go for it. tastes even better that way.”

you try to do what he does — only fit half of it inside and sticky sugar smears along the corner of your lips. unleashing a small sound of disappointment, you take a napkin to dab it away.

“ ‘s good, no?”

“it’s yummy.” it is. the texture’s heavenly.

you notice that he eats the strawberry cruller more slowly — bites half of it, lazily chews, swallows, then finishes it. marveling the tincture of his drink again, you soon sweetly denote, “you like strawberries.”

there’s the pink of his tongue, swift, it peeks past his lips so that he’s able to rid them of specks of sugar. “hm? you can tell?” he's chewing on the inside of his cheek — the motion of it causes the dimple in his cheek facing you to play peek a boo. “yeah, they’re m’favorite fruit. an uh,” he huffs a small laugh here and thumbs with his glass. “a family friend, she owns a strawberry farm. i go there every spring . . she lets me pick like, a freaking boatload of ‘em. i ship ‘em here to m’loft.”

“yeah?” you’re simpering. you try to picture it — a more tanned armin, crouched and picking through bushes for the most plump, most ripe berry with sweat beads dotted along the margin of his forehead. “that sounds so nice.”

“it is. you should come this spring.”

unheedingly, your spine straightens. ‘ this spring. ‘ the sun, the greenery, a strawberry farm, armin in tees and short sleeved garments. your cheeks swelter, your heart blooms. “uhm,” you revert your attention back outside of the window. you hope your smile isn’t too wide. “yeah. that’d be swell.”

you don’t really know how it happens.

armin remains your tutor for the rest of the semester. four days and nearly eight hours a week spent around one another — it is no secret to yourself that what little attraction you’d felt towards the boy at the start evolves into something more . . a feeling more ample and vast than you could have ever imagined. on friday afternoons, after your tutoring lesson is over, you both frequent the cozy kettle. you order your dalgona coffee, he grabs his strawberry matcha latte — contrarily, never the same pastries. there are the yummy macarons, iced with little faces of bear cubs in buttercream, moist banana breads, and sweet strawberry tarts. and over these delicacies, what are seconds spiral into minutes, and what are minutes, hours. you immerse yourself within a boy — a sweet boy. you learn about his favorite color ( cornflower blue ), his favorite foods ( creamy tomato prawn pasta and smoked salmon sandwiches, toasted bread preferably ), what his hobbies are ( chess, painting, and . . wood carving ?! ) , what he enjoys doing when not focused on his schooling ( sleep, taking walks within the city ).

armin arlert is beautiful, you discover. he’s beautiful inside and out, starting from the few, dark moles that pepper the back and sides of his neck to the childhood scar that runs vertically across the top of his right foot ( showed you one day while you both sat on the sun warmed grass of the quad . . learned a lesson to not run with scissors after that anymore ). he interweaves himself within your life until he’s nearly all you think about, every single day.

your friends notice. they’d all explained that they knew armin from way back — the group of them attended the same high school, therefore, it was no question as to how they were aware just how far his intelligence ran and why they recommended him to you as a tutor, all’d shared a class with him at one point. nonetheless, come college, armin’d gravitated and became more close with connie and jean. and while he wasn’t as tight with the others as you were, it didn’t stop the rest from light teasing. never in front of him, only towards you.

you’d never felt your face so warm. “it’s cute,” mikasa had smirked at you one night while giving a slight nudge toward your shoulder with her own. “it . . works. can’t say ‘m too surprised.”

then january came — a new semester, new classes.

you aced your statistics course and what few classes you needed left to receive your degree were all quite simple. near the beginning, four meet ups with armin a week dwindled into three, and then two. you were busy with classes. he was busy with his thesis — it made sense. however, what became a week of not seeing one another, soon progressed into two without even texting one another. you don’t know how it happened, really, however, by april, you and him were basically . . . strangers once more.

it hurt. if you decide to be honest with yourself, it still hurts. you barely see him around campus, he’s hardly ever in the library anymore, and during, admittedly, desperate attempts to run into him at the cozy kettle you’re never successful because, according to dre, ‘ you just missed him ‘ or ‘ he hasn’t stopped by in a while. ‘

blond hair now sends a frigid chill down your spine. you smell a familiar cologne and the disconcerting sting of viscid tears boil the surface of your eyes. you wished you were able to just . . forget. redact his name from the fissures of your mind and bowdlerize the feeling his name evokes when you hear it from inside of your heart.

and mikasa knows you best. she knows you better than anybody, at times, even yourself.

you need to escape the prison of your dorm, go out, socialize, hopefully find a new person, even if just temporarily, to occupy your time and mind. and you agree. why not? jean has some yacht party he’s throwing. a farewell before spring break and, you like jean. he’s polite, he’s funny, he’s kind. you’re aware of what this can entail, however — jean being one of armin’s closest friends and all, there’s a high chance he could be attending and you think it’s this simple regard that has you tunneling yourself within the furthest pits of your closest to produce your most shortest and skimpiest two piece set.

berry blue, the top is to only be held up by a thin string tied at the back of your neck and another around the mid section of your back. the neckline follows more of a cowl style, however, cinches tight in the middle, accentuating your tits. the flowy excess fabric of the skirt skims the tops of your thighs, inches above your knees. it’s . . a lot. it’s . . just what you need.

everyone on the yacht appears to follow your lead, because you end up not being the only one to go for something so flimsy.

the ship pushes off from the dock when the sun is hung high within the sky — it’s thronged with people, lots you recognize from your classes, from bow to stern. on the upper deck are four, bass boosted, five foot surround sound speaker towers. they stand beside the dj who shouts at the crowd below on a mic. “this is fucking insane,” mikasa’s giggling behind a meticulously manicured hand. the two of you stand beside the main deck aft’s bar. she nurses a pink tinted drink within the other, however you can’t find the energy to remember the name. your eyes are shifting, from here to there, in search for one, tall, blue eyed, dimple cheeked, horribly handsome boy. “i think jean fuckin’ outdid himself with this one.”

“well,” you reach for her hand to bring her drink closer between you two. lowering your head, you wrap your lips around a thin, black straw and take a long sip. sweet, tart, bitter. “he’s graduating next month. might as well.”

“mmm, where have you been?” there are arms being draped along your shoulders before you can as much as so blink — heavy ones, buff ones. you have to feel a small smooch on your temple and the scruff of a beard to know who it is.

“reiner,” you whine and push back against him to let his arms fall. “my hair.”

with reiner comes eren, ymir, and historia.

the blond in front of you is shirtless. he wears nothing but black swim trunks, printed with a designer’s name all over in abstract. “i apologize,” he’s smirking and reaching a hand out to help you fix a curl out of place, albeit, is not surprised to get a quick swat on the knuckles within the same second of doing so. “got excited. haven’t seen you in like, three weeks, no?”

maybe you were more depressed than you’d thought. “i know,” involuntarily, you’re pouting. you’ve missed him too, you’ve missed them all. “been busy . . studying for finals and stuff.”

“mhm. been okay, right?” he’s concerned, tilting his head, waiting until you give him a sweet nod. “okay, good. need to make sure. you know my parents have been asking about you.”

you’re brightening up come the mention of them — how sweet the brauns are, you can’t help but smile. “really? what they say?”

“want you and everyone over for dinner again, especially you,” the golds of his eyes are slyly rolling. “some . . - something about your major. they like learning about it, hearing you talk about it. i don’t fuckin’ know.”

once the opportunity reveals itself, you’re pushing at one, tough, broad shoulder, “ugh, jealous much?” the brauns are sweet. his mother bakes the sweetest pumpkin pies and his dad is entertaining — has a thousand stories about his younger days working in the mines. you wouldn’t mind another dinner with them, not at all.

reiner entertains you for the time being, “mm, you can’t imagine how much.”

it’s nearly ten minutes of you chatting with reiner before you feel it — it’s a subconscious thing at first. there’s the sensation of a bug crawling across your shoulder. it startles you, nonetheless, without breaking eye contact with reiner, you quickly reach and rub it away. but, there it is again, this time, on your neck. you swat at it irritably, glossed lips pulling downwards into a frown. by the third time, you’re flinching and huffing, swiftly turning on your heels and holding your hair to one side to grant him a more extensive view, “can you check if there’s a bug on me, please?”

while reiner’s humming, eyes scanning your back, you look up, catching the familiar blues of someone’s across the ship.

unwittingly, your body pulls taut.

you’d wanted to see him first before he saw you, gather some conviction, some tenacity, be that as it may, it’s clear he’s been watching you for a while.

his eyes don’t hold the same kindliness as they once did. while they used to remind you of sweltering summers spent in palau, of fine sapphires and calm seas — from nearly forty feet away, you can view the hidden lividity that dances within them. calm seas are now raging waters. sapphires roast within an inferno. they’re set on you, unmoving, even while the bodies between you both shift and sway this way and that, he remains where he is. nevertheless of connie saying something to him, leaned in close to his ear so that he can hear, armin’s clearly not listening.

you snap your eyes away quickly.

turning back to reiner, you await for him to give you an all good before you’re slipping away, from everyone, and everything. you head to the bow of the boat. you’re pleading with the stars, begging for them to not have him follow you — you need to breathe for a moment, replay that meager interaction back a dozen times in your brain to dissect and figure out what’d just transpired. but, it’s clear the universe is out for blood today. you hear footsteps, they’re steady, firm — they make you walk faster.

there’s a teeth suck, an annoyed sigh.

he doesn’t say anything though, not until you’re both alone, at the front of the boat . . away from brain rattling music, loud laughter, loud splashes, and squeals. you take a seat within the sunken area meant for accommodation — arms folded, back straightened, you refuse to look at him.

armin plops himself down nearly three seats away from you and through your peripheral, you watch his head tilt back as he downs the rest of his drink. it falls back forward as he swallows and places the glass down on the floor between his feet. your knee is bouncing — you hadn’t even realized.

“i don’t . .” his voice is low, quiet. you try not to react to it — try so hard not to melt within his lap and sob. “i don’t think i . . really know what to say . . . where to begin.”

your response is simple, “mm.”

armin turns his head, fixing you with a stare of incredulity. he tries not to focus too much on your dolled up face . . how you’ve taken your braids out which now leaves tightly coiled curls resting a few inches past your shoulders — half of it is pulled into a ponytail with a small, pretty, glitter dusted scrunchie. he doesn’t want to focus too much on your attire — jesus fucking christ, just what were you doing?”. . . reiner?”

eventually, you look at him. your expression crosses a line between bewilderment and irritation, “what?” you mimic his same tone. whether it was done intentionally or not, armin doesn’t know but his own aggravation rises.

turning his face back forward, he then folds his arms and leans back within his seat, “would’ve thought eren was more your type,” he utters. “or . . fuckin’ jean, i don’t know.”

“what are you even talking about?” your tone is exasperated, you plop your face within your hand and shake your head, visibly annoyed. armin refuses to elaborate. the longer silence stretches, the angrier you become. “why . . do you even care?” your body’s straightening once more and again, you look at him. “like, what the hell is your problem, armin? seriously?”

his hair has gotten longer. it isn’t a drastic change, but . . still. and the earrings he wears are no longer white gold and round cut however, black, square cut diamonds. you weren’t supposed to look at him for so long. you find it hard to look away now. “don’t do that,” his face is screwing — morphing annoyance into a meld of discomfiture and vexation. “don’t sit here and . . .”

you remain mute, waiting for him to finish though he never does. he only tilts himself back forward and places his elbows on his thighs to reach up and comb a hand through his hair. his sigh is quiet. “. . i’m sorry,” he murmurs.

you hadn’t expected an apology, truthfully. it stupefies you.

you aren’t sure of what to say. to forgive or apologize, too. there’s no reason you need to do either, you suppose. he’s apologizing because he sees you, that’s all. he’s had your number for months now. he could have easily called, or even texted, albeit . . nothing. for nearly eight weeks, it’s been nothing from armin. complete radio silence. and now he’s here . . . it’s insane how bad you’ve wanted to see him for so long, although, now being within his presence, you want nothing more than to leave. “whatever.” you’re standing and beginning up the short flight of stairs to head back towards the stern, however, armin’s right behind you again. he intercepts your path, holding an arm out between you both to keep you from taking another step.

“i’m . .” he’s confused. “i’m sorry. i apologized.”

your folded arms acts more as a fence separating you and him, rather than an action to exhibit your huffiness, “good for you, armin. i don’t forgive you.”

he doesn’t seem surprised. “you don’t forgive me.” his voice is low — not a sad low, however, he’s contemplating . . studying you.

“i don’t. i want to go back to my friends.”

he’s motionless . . and he’s quiet. behind his specs, armin simply stares at you for a moment, tracing the shape of his lips slowly — the same way he always does when he’s evaluating or ruminating on something. you feel like a literal open book. it’s a feeling of excruciating bareness. “come with me.” grabbing hold of your hand, armin interlaces his fingers within the spaces of yours while leading you behind him. he walks swiftly — a step of his takes two of yours, and in no time, you’re stumbling after him, holding onto his forearm with your other hand. “armin — c-can you not?”

he’s leading you down to the dining space of the yacht. there are a few people dotted here and there — most of them using the space for shelter against a beaming sun. he ignores them, so you do, too. a short flight of stairs below the dining area opens into a short hallway concealed by a door. he opens it, turns right, opens another, then softly nudges you inside first. it’s a bedroom. it’s minimalistic — only a queen sized bed, a few pieces of art hung along the walls and a comfy sectional, however, still . . it’s quite nice. there are two, rectangular windows that over looks the right side of the yacht. the room sits about a foot or two below the sun deck it seems because you can see people below you.

“i find that people usually enjoy saying what and how they really feel when in an enclosed space. when alone outside, you’re never truly alone.”

armin stands beside the sectional, hands on his hips. it appears as though he’s waiting.

you remain rooted beside the window. “. . i have nothing to say.”

“no?”

you look back out towards the sea, “yeah, no.”

he’s walking over . . steps deliberate, quiet. you’re stiffening the closer he gets because you know what he wears. black swimming trunks, and a thin, black button down top — only a few of them were fastened near his sternum. when he’s directly behind you, you sense the warmth of the sun, still embedded within his skin, radiating off of it onto yours. he’s close, he’s very close, albeit, he isn’t touching you . . simply, crowds your space. “. . i’ve missed you.”

your head drops and your eyes close as you rub a temple. “you’re so mean. you’re being mean.”

“ ‘m sorry.”

“stop it, armin.”

“. . i’ll leave.”

when you feel the warmth of his body retreat, you’re turning, “why would you — . . stop it, armin,” before you can really realize it, your fists are balling, you’re stomping a foot, and you’re exploding, “why did you do that? you jus’ . . stopped talking to me, stopped . . dealing with me. who does that to a person? to a friend?” you’d started off strong — voice firm and adamant, however, it weakens near the end; leaves you quiet and feeble. “that’s not . . nice, armin. that’s mean. you’re mean. you can’t keep saying sorry if you don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”

armin loathes this. he loathes what you make him feel. he sees the beginning of tears glisten your eyes and he’s walking over to take a seat on the bed and carefully pull you between his legs consequently leaving you to stand above him. albeit it’s only an inch or so separating your faces, it’s still good enough. he wants you to look at him. “i fucked up,” he admits quietly. “at first, i was busy . . i was just busy, ( ❤︎ ), honest.”

“and then what?”

you’re frowning again. armin crumbles underneath your stare. you don’t know what you do to him — what you continue to do. groaning out, he drops his head, “i just . . i can’t . . i couldn’t be around you.”

he feels you withdrawing. thoughtlessly, his hands are on your waist and he’s tugging you back, “i needed to focus,” he mumbles. “when i’m around you, i don’t focus. it’s very fucking hard for me to even concentrate on breathing when i’m with you. i didn’t . . want it to go like that. i just needed some time, but then, a week turned into two and by three i thought,” he rubs the back of his neck. “you’d be angry with me. i just, i never grew the balls to approach you head on until today. i’m sorry.”

he feels pathetic. utterly fucking pathetic. when it’s said out loud, he realizes just how much of a dick he truly is. he found himself thinking of you, every second of every day. it’d gotten to a point where he’d even dream of you — your smile, your lips, your touch. “i’m sorry,” he’s sighing and pulling you closer. “i shouldn’t have done it. forgive me.”

you’re not as tense as you once were. granted, you’re still refusing to touch him — you aren’t pulling away either. and with a ticking silence, armin admires his current position. you smell of brown sugar and patchouli, and you’re soft. he opens his legs wider, pulls you even closer. you sharply inhale comes his grip on you tightening. “armin,” your tone is hushed. he can’t help it. softly, he deposits a kiss upon your tummy, right above the gold bar of your dangling navel piercing. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin. he engraves the apology within you alongside another kiss — this one upon the mole he’d always catch a peek of when you’d wear cute baby tees and cropped tops. it sits right upon your hip. “ ‘m sorry.”

he goes higher. kisses each of your bone of your ribs, your sternum. he feels you squirming, however, it isn’t away. you push into him — lean when he pulls away and tugs when he’s close. “let me show you.”

a hand skims down your thigh — it raises small bumps in its wake. you feel yourself trembling as he takes the back of your knee and makes you bend it to plant your foot upon the bed, slow and careful. “won’t happen again, i promise,” his eyes are fixated upon yours as he falls to the floor upon his knees. they don’t move, even as he kisses along your calf, pushing himself higher with each passing second.

your heart’s pounding. you let the small shoulder bag you wear fall off of your arm when he reaches for it and places upon a nightstand. tension cascades off of the walls of the room — slow and thick. you no longer hear the constant thump of bass outside, but each shallow, quivering breath he takes. it’s maddening how unhurried he is — you can tell he feels your frustration, because he smiles, dimples exposed. “you smell so fucking good,” he utters within the inside of your thigh, stunning you when he suddenly kisses a patch of skin there, nibbles, then draws it tight inside his mouth. it’s . . impressive — how quick he marks you. “all the time. everyday.”

higher he goes and the more you tremble.

his whisper is quiet, “stay still.”

majority of his face is now hidden beneath the chiffon of your skirt. you think you’re going to faint. there’s the sensation of a finger, one single finger, hooking within the crotch of your panties . . carefully pulling them aside. you whimper, suddenly apprehensive, “a-armin.”

“there we go.”

a couple more kisses against your thigh, then he’s pulling you closer. you’re a second away from bolting — leg twitching, eyes locked upon the door. your nails are pinching within your own knee as you go to move, right as you feel the warmth . . of something firm, wet, and long, touching your clit.

you dissolve — eyes closing, face melting, as he does it again with a wet pucker — he’s . . kissing it. slow and deliberate. “oh my,” you gulp when he does. “. . god.”

armin’s slow . . careful. he pays attention to your clit, beckoning the little, wet pearl inside of his mouth to sweetly suckle before snaking his tongue down to your hole to get a taste from the direct source. you’re sweet, salty . . akin to rose water. he breathes out through his nose — a sigh of gentle relief because you taste just as good as you look, just as he’d imagined for so many lonely nights, lying in bed, fist wrapped around his cock that’d drip with an obscene amount of pre cum and lube. “dreamt of this,” he mutters into your pussy, suddenly grabbing a handful of one soft, plush orb of your ass to bring you even closer. “sweet fuckin’ pussy — god, give it. give me it, baby.”

you weakly sob his name, reaching a trembling hand for his head. soothingly, your fingers scratch through, soft and cloying, as if you were afraid you’d hurt him, prior to you establishing a grip. “mhm.” he presses himself higher, opens wider, strokes his tongue along the canvas past your lips, no longer paying attention to one, sole place. your hips shyly buck when he pushes.

“oh, god,” you sigh and let your head fall backward, body liquefying within his hold. he feels so good. his tongue, his touch, it churns your mind into goo. “armin,” you mewl his name, sweet and quiet. “ ‘min it feels so g-good.”

you don’t know how long he’s waited. how long he’s envisioned himself between your legs . . you using his mouth for however long you needed, however long you wanted. he feels your hips beginning to move with more assuredness, rolling and rocking down onto his awaited tongue, and his cock plumpens. it solidifies, twitching against the muscle of his thigh. “unh,” your moans are riveting — cute and whiny. he never would’ve guessed that your voice would become so broken, so tender when you feel so good. “please,” you’re whimpering. suddenly you’re reaching for your skirt, pulling it up to reveal his face. his glasses are fogged near the bottom, pupils are blown. “ ‘min . .”

“i know,” he breathes. “i know you wanna cum, baby. i know.”

you feel a finger. it traces the puffy rim of your hole as the tip of his tongue plays with your clit. he only sinks it in when you whine of restlessness — he enjoys the teasing, the building pressure. watching your face, armin evaluates it and intently observes each expression. slack jaw, crease between the eyebrows, chest heaving — you feel good. that’s all he wants.

your body literally jerks when he presses his finger as far as it’ll go then hooks it. “oh god,” your balance nearly teeters. you start to move again, pushing back against his finger then back forward into his mouth. you’re delirious, inhibitions gone, worries left somewhere astray within the seas surrounding you both.

armin groans, glasses knocked a bit askew — he doesn’t care, “fuck m’mouth,” he whispers, warm breath panted into your cunt. “y-yeahhh, jus li’that — . . so good. good fuckin’ girl.”

it’s at this moment when you admit to yourself that he’s all you want. he’s all you ever need. these couple months without him have been hell. you don’t want to go another day, let alone another minute without belonging solely to him and him, you. you cum with a hiccupy cry. your hand wrenches within his hair, pulling and seizing as he forces you to ride it out with shaky pivots of your hips. armin’s tongue refuses to quit for a moment. he pushes it alongside his finger to gather your sticky release within the opening vent of his mouth and swallow. “mmm.” only moves when you pull yourself away, palpably overstimulated.

your foot falls to the floor and you stumble before quickly finding stabilization against the bed. you brace yourself against it . . and for a while, there aren’t anything but pants heard within the room. armin’s face is drenched. he wears your cum like a necklace — driblets cling to the curve of his chin hanging there for several moments, as if stubborn to let go, before they fall to the floor between his knees. you watch him lick his lips prior to using one, large hand to swipe against his mouth and groom him back clean. you think you hate him . . you do because it’s clear he isn’t satiated. you watch him take off his glasses . . watch him quietly clean them with the fabric of his shirt. “. . stop it.”

“stop what?”

his tone is serene. he doesn’t even look at you.

“this.”

when they’re no longer smeared with a damp fog, he places them back on and rises onto his feet, slow and careful. “. . . i’m gonna go now,” he gives you a smile. it’s . . shocking . . what you now know, how filthy you know that same mouth can get, however now only imparts you a warm, civil simper.

you watch him turn . . watch him head towards the door.

“please don’t.”

his sigh is heard. it’s long . . hard. you remain where you stand, hoping he feels what’s clear that you want. “i’m not . .” he scratches his head for a moment before turning back around. what now lies beneath his eyes is a thin layer of frenzy. “you know what you’re doing, right?” one step closer. “i’m not . . doing this with you, ( ❤︎ ). i’m not. i refuse to even encourage the mere thought of having something strictly platonic again, especially fucking casual with you. i did that,” he points to the area where you both just were. “to exhibit my regret. to express my forgiveness. there was some selfishness in there, yeah. i’ll admit that,” another step closer. he stands only a few inches apart from you now. “but, you want me to stay,” his voice softens, his eyes do too. “if i stay we both know what will happen. we’ll fuck and it’ll be good. and i can’t place myself in a position to intertwine myself within you, even further just for sex. i’m not—“

you’re quickly rising to your toes, placing your hand upon the back of his neck to lower his face down and connect your lips against his. it quiets him and he catches on quick. armin’s pulling you into his body, molding his lips within the soft seam of yours, pushing and pushing himself until your back is flushed against a wall and he surrounds you completely. in the distant part of his mind, he’s cursing at himself. this isn’t supposed to be happening, nonetheless, what is a human being without some indulgence here and there? he needs this. if he can’t have you, one hundred percent, pure, and refined you, then the least he can have is this — a memory of your lips. they’re plush and soft; imbued with the taste of cake batter.

“don’t leave,” you mewl, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. you’re undoing them, one by one, revealing the plane of his abdominal muscles, faintly carved.

your lips are moving, slipping down his jaw, to his neck. armin’s eyes close as he melts and ingrains his nails within the wall behind you. you feel so good. “i can’t,” he’s shivering when you nibble upon the soft lobe of his ear. his cock is dripping precum down his thigh. it’s a mess. “can’t b-be just friends . . with you.”

“then don’t,” your nails scraps against his chest. they’re sliding, lower and lower until they find the hem of his trunks. “i’ll be yours. jus’ yours,” when it slithers its way in, your fingers wrap around the thickness of his base. involuntarily, he bucks within your grasp. “i promise.”

he’s kissing you again — this instance with more vigor. you let him spin and guide you blindly to the bed while his tongue weaves its way around yours. hints of salt reside upon his tastebuds, hints of you. you hear his shoes being kicked away when you’re lied down and he’s on top of you. you want to do the same with your strappy heels . . alas, they’re buckles. “lemme see,” he’s breathing while lifting up on his knees, inducing you to give him your foot. “look so pretty. don’t think i told y’that today.” he’s unfastening your heels and letting them fall, eyes fixated on your little skirt and low plunging top. “i like you in blue.”

you’re smiling, suddenly timid, “really?”

“yeah,” he’s opening your legs wider to accommodate his build. “you look like a princess.”

says him. armin’s princely in all that he does — suave and smooth. the way he walks, talks, the way he peels off your skirt and tiny panties, followed by your top. you’re bare below him within a minute, leaving him atop of you, still in his trunks and opened shirt. “wow . .” you squirm underneath his gaze, blushing and meek. “be still,” he whispers, eyes tracing your bod . . focusing on a mole here, freckle there, a cute birthmark. “let me . . let me look at you.” you watch him raise a hand . . it pauses midair above your tit, as if hesitant, before he carefully cups it. “hm.”

you keen underneath his touch, watching his thumb carefully roll the brown, hardened nub of your nipple beneath it. he’s studying you again — eyebrows furrowed in a bit, completely focused. he brings his thumb to his mouth, quickly wets it, then places it back against your nipple, this time gently twisting and squeezing at it. “ah,” you hiccup and writhe, dreadfully sensitive.

his eyes meet yours as his brows raise, “want my . . want m’tongue instead?”

he doesn’t give you much room to answer. his head lowers and his hands are dimpling the fat of your breasts as he presses his fingers into the skin to establish a good grip. you watch his tongue lathe across the surface of your areola preceding him completely enveloping it within his mouth. he’s generous. licks and suckles, trades between both, giving them equal amounts of affection and care. your pussy leaks between your legs while he does so. from his bent head, you’re able to smell his shampoo — a woodsy milk. and it’s a hard reality to grasp for a while . . armin here, above you, solid hard cock pressed up against your thigh as he nurses on your tits as though he’d been starving without them. “touch me,” you’re gasping and pulling him closer, leading his other arm underneath you so that he’s able to take a second nice grasp of your ass. “mmm.” you conceive that he’s a dream. a simple beaut made just for you. that maybe you’ve gone crazy and this is how your brain is coping after having been driven to the point of delirium.

but then, armin’s moving. he’s kneeling to shrug off his shirt, then his trunks are removed and . . . “oh my god . .?” you lift onto your elbows, thoroughly stunned. you’d felt him when you slid your hands down his shorts — knew he had the thickness about the size of a coke bottle, but . . you hadn’t expected the length.

“what?” he’s clueless. eyes wide in . . some form of unease and apprehensiveness. “is it bad?”

“what, no . . it’s,” your head tilts and you . . blush. “pretty.”

he’s cut with a fat coral toned tip. stands at nearly eight inches, seven point five maybe . . equal in girth and length. there’s a trail of light brown hair below his belly button that stretches into a thin patch of it against his groin, nevertheless, his balls are bare. they’re chubby . . soft yet a little droopy. you would’ve never expected him to be so . . perfect below the waist, albeit, when regarding everything else about him, you suppose it checks out.

“d-do you have . .”

he catches on, “oh, yeah . . uhm,” he picks his shorts again, reaching into the pocket for a lilac packet. “alright.”

you watch him spit into his palm. he strokes it along his length a few times, face momentarily melting into one of ease before he’s ripping open the wrapper, and though it was quick, you try to imprint the picture of him jerking himself within your brain — his arm pumping, bicep flexing, facial muscles relaxing.

your clit thumps. you try to hold off on touching it while watching him carefully roll the condom upon his dick. “hurry,” you’re whiny . . impatient.

he’s whispering, “mm, don’t be a brat,” while crowding back in again though this time he remains standing. he pulls you closer towards the edge of the bed, closer towards him, then forces your legs up and holds one of them out of his way when he grabs the foundation of his cock. you watch him lift it then let it fall upon your chubby, little pussy with a hard smack. you feel the weight of it when he does — it’s leaden and dense . . heavy . . your heart is hammering.

armin smooths the underside between them for a moment, back and forth, lets you both admire the way your lips hug his length tight . . how your pussy begins to speak to him with shy little quips of wetness. “mm, fuck,” he puckers his lips, lets a foamy dribble of spit fall from between him, and with the tip of his cock, he pushes the blob inside of your cunt.

“o-oh!” you tense and pierce your nails in the skin of your thighs, forced to watch as his cock presses in . . inch by inch. it’s weighty, just as you’d thought. it sits within your womb akin to a dumbbell inside of foam, slowly but never halting . . sinking deeper and deeper. “g-god . . oh . . god.” your head falls back.

armin’s watching you . . mostly silent. if it weren’t for his expression, you wouldn’t have thought he felt anything, however, you read how his eyelids have fallen low into his eyes . . his loosened jaw, how his fingers press in deeper and deeper into your calf. when its fully sheathed, you both sit there for a moment, settling in the moment. “mm,” you feel yourself loosening. your eyes flutter open and you take a peek down to commend the picture of your cunt stretched open and full, gratefully taking all that he gives. “y’can . . move.”

“yeah?” armin’s breathless. he’s holding himself scarily still, awaiting the instant you give him a sweet nod.

you don’t think there’s a lot of . . talking after that. he pulls his hips back, leaves about half of him inside, pushes back, then pulls further out, loosening you up further. and you’re trying to keep your eyes open , because armin’s body is pretty. the slight abdominals of his torso flex with push of his cock inside . . and, god, his face is even prettier. and you’re trying not to be too loud, make too much noise because neither of you know who could be outside the door listening. but, disregarding your obvious efforts, both happen.

your eyes shut as you lose yourself in the sensation of being rocked forward and back . . of a hard, thick cock working your pussy nice and well. “oh my god,” you’re whimpering, curling your toes, helplessly wriggling. “oh, fuck . . armin . . a-armin.”

he groans come the sound of his name leaving your lips so beautifully, so melodically. “yeah,” he sighs, pressing your legs back further, leaning himself closer. “feel good? do i feel good, baby?”

it’s adorable how quick you nod. you reach for him, little paws scrambling for his shoulders to bring him nearer. the smacking of skin soon arrives — loud and rhythmic. it induces your eyes to roll back into the back of your skull, coupled with the waxy sound of his dick fucking your slick out of you, firm and steady. “u-ungh . . feels so . .” you feel a harsh sting behind your eyelids. “oh my . . god,” you collapse into tears, holding him tighter when he attempts to pull away. they’re inevitable. you hadn’t known you could feel so good. it frightens you, too. “n-no, keep going . . please. n-need . . your cock . . your cum—“

“—unh, shit,” armin’s gone. you’ve successfully pulled him in. “wan’my cum? how bad?” he’s picking up speed, pushing you further up the bed, no longer opting to stand but lay directly atop of you and pound your sweet, little pussy sore from up above. “how bad? tell me.”

you feel yourself creaming. it’s dripping down the puckered button of your ass, effectively spreading across the front of his balls. “s-so . .” you’re hiccuping. “bad. so fucking bad.”

he’s kissing you, swallowing your cries and keens into the pit of his stomach, “good girl,” he huffs into your mouth. “so f-fuckin good, you have no idea j-just how good you are.”

he fucks you with everything he has — until the bed begins to squeak underneath your conjoined weight and the door rattles on its hinges. how bad he’s wanted this . . for so long. he thinks about what you said, ‘ i’ll be yours. just yours. i promise, ‘ and a warm tremor wracks across the length of his body. that’s all he wants. you as his, him as yours, forever until the end of time itself. he looks down at you — at your bouncing tits, gloss smeared lips, pretty eyes, and decides you’re the only one he cares for to have in this position again. mind completely gone, drool and tears trickling across the berry toned blush and glitter that powders the high peaks of your cheeks. “take it,” he’s moaning, voice broken. he realizes he sounds warbly . . close to erupting into his own laments of raw emotion. “oh g-god, take your f-fuckin’ dick.”

he’s fucking you so hard . . no longer settling on speed but depth. plop . . plop . . plop. your legs find themselves thrown over his shoulders, your knees touching your ears. “ ‘m gonna cum,” you’re gasping, wriggling harder. “f-fuck . . y’gonna make m’cum.”

“yes,” one of his hands reaches down and he finds the tiny, slick nub of your clit to sweetly caress with precious halos. “ ‘ll take it . . you know i will. give it to me.”

you feel out of body. your mouth falls agape however no sound emerges. it’s nothing but the notes of his breathing, skin clapping, and the bed creaking until you’re suddenly releasing a slow, hard sob as you paint his cock white with a slow deluge of thick cream. armin groans laggard and low along with you, stroking you through it, never increasing or slowing his pace. you’re dizzy. you don’t even comprehend him moving until you find yourself now up top — ass against his thighs, chest pressed against his. he’s underneath you, gazing up at you with fondness glowing within the chasmal darkness of his distended pupils.

“y’so pretty,” he whispers, rocking his hips up slow and steady, successfully pushing his cock up into the squelching warmth of your cunt each time. “pussy feels so good. don’t want anyone else. i jus’ n-need you.” he’s spewing every thought that enters his mind. you can’t help but kiss him. your affection is his vitality. suddenly his arms are wrapped around you, tight, mimicking a hug. it’s a hold to keep you still and firm as he pace increases, sending you separating from his lips with a small squeak of surprise emitted. “oh god,” you’re gasping, holding onto the headboard for stability. “oh — yesyesyesyes.”

“all mine, right?” he’s asking, face painted in titillation. “ ‘s my pussy?”

“ ‘m yours,” you’re weeping and nodding when he does, brainlessly complying. “m’pussy’s yours. all y-yours.”

there’s a smack — a loud one. he swats it against the cheek of your ass and repeats the motion against the other. and then, armin loses himself. he focuses on that fat, wad of pure, undiluted pleasure, rolling through the lines of his veins, towards the base of his core. his eyes close, head tilts back, “awe, shit,” his pitch is rising the closer he gets. “ungh, unh, shit, pussy’s s-so f-fuckin good — shit . .” he feels your lips on his neck again, skimming, suckling, kissing. it’s a pressure point for him. he’s sensitive. “. . i’m gonna f-fuckin—“

suddenly you’re moving. you’re hurrying, climbing off of him, sliding down between his legs and pulling the condom off. armin watches you eyes wide, breathing labored . . and then, against all odds, you’re swallowing his cock into the channel of your throat. it’s so sudden, so unforeseen that when it happens, his cum is erupting from the crown of his cock before you both can even really expect it. “o-o-oh fuck,” he shudders, eyes rolling back, fingers pinching the messy sheets. you whimper, guzzling it all down happily. your hips even shift . . from side to side, as if you were an overeager pup with a wagging tail. you don’t move until you swallow. armin gives a small whimper, watching his dick pop free from the confinements of your lips. you’re softly smiling, planting a kiss against the tip, stroking your tongue tenderly against his balls.

he’s done for.

nonetheless, you’re happy . . so he’s happy. your smile is wide, eyes glisten, and he can’t help but mimic it as you come to a sweet curl and nuzzle upon his chest. there’s a kiss given to the crown of your head and one given upon the back of his hand. you’ve never felt more sated.

“mm,” he shuffles, brings you closer and kisses your lips. “. . what’re you doin’ for spring break?”

the question has to take a moment to enter and process within your still foggy mind. you’re quiet for a while, simply thinking. “. . i-i dunno,” you whisper. “nothing. you?”

he gives you one of his pretty, princely smiles, “wanna camp out on a strawberry farm?”

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ෆ Not So Innocent

Synopsis: Sweet and innocent girls like you are his favorite thing in this wretched world.

CW: f!reader, pro-soccer player!Bachira, cunnilingus, lowkey dirty talk + corruption kink, inexperienced + implied virgin reader, car sex. This is for my beloved @sleepysnk ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

When you go out with both your friends and his, Bachira can’t help but keep his eyes on you most of the time. The pretty little skirt and crop top, coupled by that cute little soft pink makeup on your eyes, and gloss on your lips—Bachira is unable to avert his gaze, making it easy to get caught by you (and literally everyone.)

His eyes are wide, your bright smile sends shivers down his spine as you jump happily over winning some fucking game that he doesn’t even know the name of—the stupid and embarrassed look on your face as you sit and listen to everyone unabashedly talking about their sexual life. 

The hookup culture that you never wanted to participate in, and the relationships that you’re always too afraid of being in. Bachira’s eyes never leave your face, he’s scrutinizing every little detail of your cute reactions that you keep failing to hide from everyone. He keeps his gaze on you as he talks about that one time he let one of his fans suck him off in the locker room. Smirking to himself when he realized that you’re sweating from how the heat of your body was creeping up your face from all the unnecessary details he began to spill.

Damn.

Sweet and innocent girls like you are his favorite thing in this wretched world.

Bachira cackles when Isagi begs him to stop. 

Bachira doesn’t think that you’ll ever manage to get out of your comfort zone—you don’t seem bold enough for any of this. Damnit, he really wishes he could be the first to watch the way you’d cry from being pleasured by something—someone other than your pretty little fingers.

-

The next time the friend group hangs out at a club, you find yourself clinging to Bachira’s side since the others were already fucking around with other people, or too busy dancing. And you think that maybe it’s the drinks, but his hands are definitely playing with the plush of your thighs. Squeezing and pinching all that he can. 

You feel heat pooling between your legs when he places his hand on your inner thigh, letting his palm rest there as he draws circles with his thumb while chatting with Chigiri. 

“Bachira…” your voice is weak, dimmed by the loud music too, but he hears you regardless. 

“Hm?” His head turns to you, a small smile playing on his lips as your foggy eyes blink slowly at him. He leans towards you, his lips purposely brushing along your jaw before he presses them near your ear. “Do you wanna go somewhere private?” Bachira whispers.

The smile on his lips is stretched into a grin when you nod at him, eyes wide and doe—his fingers tighten to squeeze your thigh, then he taps you gently as he stands. 

You don’t expect to end up in his car, but there you were in the back seats of his SUV—kissing him desperately as your hands touch around his body, a man’s body…something you’ve never seen nude nor touched in your entire life. You are puzzled at the way you become so fucking needy, your body craved him ardently, wishing to be touched by his firm hands. 

Bachira’s pupils are dilated as his golden orbs glow brightly when he looks at you. His eyes smile with him at the way you attempt to follow his lips after the kiss is broken. “Don’t be hasty,” Bachira says. 

You are silent, peering at him and watching the way he smiles down at you as he removes his shirt. You shyly raise your hips for him to drag down your skirt along with your panties; instantly clamping your thighs to hide your most intimate part. 

“I’ll have to see what I’m feasting on, no?” Bachira’s palms grab your knees, fighting against your shyness until you let him spread you apart. 

Clenching at the cool air as it hits your dripping wetness, the back of your hand is over your mouth as you peer at Bachira. He is watching you through narrowed eyes, he blows some air on you then licks a quick stripe over your clit—giggling softly at the way your shoulders shake from shuddering, he presses a kiss to the side of your vulva, a bit close to your inner thigh. 

“Grab my hair if you need to,” is the last thing you hear before you’re struck with sparks of pleasure. Your abdomen clenches at the warmth of his wet tongue as he flicks your clit hungrily, your eyes dip behind your head and your fingers find purchase in his hair—subconsciously gripping the soft, ebony locks. 

So sweet, Bachira thinks. Fuck, you taste so good. 

You take care of your body so much, yet you never give yourself to anyone. Why are you letting him have you in the backseats of his car? Bachira wonders if you’ve ever had those nasty little thoughts about him the same way he does about you. 

The possibility of this situation happening earlier than this makes Bachira’s cock throb painfully. 

He’s thankful to taste you—to be the first one to taste you; Bachira’s tongue swirls your clit, flicks it messily between every two long stripes. He squeezes your thighs as he pushes his face deeper into your pussy. 

Your thighs tremble and your toes curl as tight as the knot in your lower belly before it snaps, causing your back to arch tight and your jaw to slack as your eyes are screwed shut when you cum over his tongue. Bachira moans as he sucks on your inner folds, collecting your juices with his tongue to swallow them and relish in the taste that lingers on his taste buds. 

“Sweet girl,” he pressed his thumbs in the plush of your ass. “How was it?” Bachira asks, hovering over your sprawled form. 

Your eyes are glossed from your tears, yet you keep them open to gaze into his darkened ones. “So…good,” you say, and it’s breathless too. 

He leans to kiss your sweetness into your mouth—letting you have a taste of yourself; Bachira thinks that maybe you’ll understand why you deserve to be licked and fucked good. 

Your arms lazily wrap around him, feeling giddy at the way he kisses your tongue, and swirls his own over yours. His hand trails between your legs, he dips a finger into you to feel how wet you are, then he adds another to stretch you a bit as he pumps them into you. 

“Bachira—”

“Say Meguru,” he murmurs into your neck. 

You hum softly, swallowing thickly as you mutter out his name, “Meguru…”

“What is it baby?”

“I haven’t…I haven’t done this before.” Your voice is timid when you speak, and the way you look at him makes his heart clench from all the wicked thoughts that simmer in his brain.

“Oh of course you haven’t,” he giggles, not caring about the offense he’s stuck you with. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

Your face feels hot—your body is burning hot as well, too exuberant to even speak your thoughts anymore. There is a real cock in front of you, it’s not from some porn video on your screen, and it’s not anyone else’s; it’s Bachira’s. 

Bachira Meguru, the boy you’ve crushed on since middle school, and grew up to watch him become a professional soccer player. 

Holy fuck, is all you can think of when Bachira squeezes his hard cock as he presses a thumb over the leaking tip. You part your thighs further, giving him more than enough space to settle between your legs. You think your brain has shut down the moment Bachira drags himself along your soaking folds—you feel the small bump of his protruding vein as it brushes your clit. 

“Meguru please—!” you cried, losing your (very little) self control as you held his wrist. Your cunt clenching at the sight of his sweat slicked abs and the clear precum shining on his tip. 

Bachira raises a brow, “didn’t I tell you to not be hasty?” he questions through a smile. 

When he enters you, you feel weird, there is an odd stretch that your walls aren’t used to. Not that you’re complaining, but fuck, his cock feels so good dragging along your tight walls. Your jaw is slacked from the curve of his cock as he kisses your g-spot repeatedly. 

Shit, it’s alien to you. It’s something you’ve never thought that you’ll experience, albeit all those videos that talk about how bad men are at finding your g-spot…they’ve become nothing but lies to you, because Bachira Meguru’s cock is stimulating that certain spot that has you seeing the stars inside his fucking car.

On another point of view, Bachira is so fucking sure that you’ve fucked yourself on something as big as him. To be specific, a pink jelly dildo that he always sees in those stupid porn pop us. Oh you definitely have done that, because a virgin like you wouldn’t be this good at handling cock on your first time. 

“Are you really a virgin?” He huffs out his question through his heavy breathing. 

Your gaze is weak as you struggle to hold eye contact, “I am—!” Your choked out answer is convincing, so he chortles lightly—taking your left ankle and pushing it high until your foot is on the roof. Bachira’s pounding becomes heavier, speedy as well; he brings his right hand to slap your boob, laughing at the small yelp, then he presses his thumb over your clit. He watches the way your eyes cross briefly before you screw them tightly, biting your lip as though you’d be able to muffle out your moans. 

A virgin and innocent pussy doesn’t suck cock this greedily on a first time. Maybe you’ve lost your virginity to your dildo, honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

“I wonder what toys you’re hiding.” You hear him giggle, his voice is nothing but a whisper in the back of your head as you’re too wrecked from all this warmth that’s building up in you. 

His hips snap into you harshly as he watches the way you break your back into an arch when he circles your clit. 

“Butt plugs, maybe?” He snickers, “are you even brave enough for those?” Bachira tilts his head to the side, he uses your calf to wipe the sweat from his cheek before he bites you—moaning against your leg when your pussy flutters on him, squeezing him harshly until his hips stammer with each roll.

“I have…those,” you manage to stutter out through your whimpers. “I tried—one time, it hurt so much.”

Your blurry eyes caught the manic grin on his face as he spoke, “you really are a dirty girl in secret, aren’t you?” he murmurs, there is a menacing glint in his tone. 

Bachira can’t wait to finish this round so he can go for another, and another, and another—until your body breaks from being folded into every position you never thought you'd be in. And he certainly can’t wait to teach you all the things he can do to your body.

©kenruu

If something doesn’t make sense, keep your mouth shut or I’ll blow my brains out. 😞‼️

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