going stupid on captain levi's cock! ₊˚⊹♡ ⇾ might be ooc (soz), lowk captain kink, p in v, etc
“no one said stop. so keep going.”
tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and onto levi’s bare skin. your thighs were shaking, your pussy aching from the overstimulation as a result of the past two rounds.
you knew levi had inhuman stamina when it came to everything else, so you weren’t sure what led you to believe that wouldn’t translate to sex.
his hands were cold and tight where they held your hips, doing nothing but providing an anchor between you and unconsciousness. he wasn’t helping you move at all, simply just digging his nails into your skin to get you going again.
“i-i can’t,” you whimpered, clenching your muscles to try and obey. “i’m sorry, captain."
levi scoffed at the use of his official title, a single rut of his hips forcing a cry out of you, the tip of cock hitting places you could never dream of reaching with just your fingers. you’d braced yourself for more, but he stilled– one hand released your hip, going up to grip your jaw and making you look at him through bleary eyes.
“you can,” his encouragement was strained, his own composure slowly starting to slip the longer he stayed inside of you without moving. “if you can keep up with me out there, you can keep up with me here.”
he let himself fall back to lean on the wall, watching you expectantly as you panted, thighs shaking as you strained. your legs felt unstable and your brain was practically mush so the second you attempted to start riding him again you only managed to push yourself up not even halfway before you collapsed on his chest.
you whimpered at the sound of him scoffing, your fingertips digging into the skin of his shoulders while you apologized profusely into his skin. “m’sorry, cap–”
before you could finish, his hips were rutting up into you, the length piercing through you again and making your stomach bulge out slightly with his movements. you screamed, thanking whatever gods existed that the stone walls did a relatively decent job at containing the noise inside.
“mmph! shit, captain!” you cried out, gasping as he tugged you closer by your jaw, his composed breath warming your face. your eyes were wide as you stared into his– the slightest bit of desperation masked behind his equanimity.
“stop callin’ me that.”
levi’s grunts blended perfectly with your moans, neither of you breaking eye contact despite the desperate need you had to let them roll to the back of your head. you blinked at him through damp lashes, seeing the slight furrow in his eyebrows whenever you tightened around him.
you could feel his tip just barely graze your soft spot, more tears falling down your cheeks due to the anticipation that he was nearly there. however, when he pulled you into him further, kissing your lips in a confusing rough yet gentle manner, his hips shifted ever so slightly, thrusting into it with such precision that you felt you might pass out.
your jaw fell slack, forehead pressing into his as a small string drool slipped out the corner of your mouth. “levi! fuck, right there, please don’t stop!”
his hand dropped to slap the plush skin of your ass, letting it rest there while he sped up– his shorter stature irrelevant to his strength. he finally let his restraint slip, head falling back onto the wall while he kept his eyes on you, watching the way your eyes had fallen shut, mind completely gone and solely focused on the pleasure only he could provide you.
levi couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face– watching one of his strongest members fall apart on him again was truly the sight.
the slightest ache began to bloom in his legs, the tightening of his muscles not going unnoticed despite the state you were in. your hand came down to his abs, pushing him flush to the mattress while simultaneously using it as support to ride him again.
he moaned out at the pressure on his stomach, letting himself relax as you retook the reins.
“atta girl, just like that, hm?” he praised, starting to lose himself in you. “gonna cum on me again?”
you nodded rapidly, face warm and words no longer an option. levi scoffed, that lazy smile resting on his face knowing your tells.
“keep going. you’re doin’ so well.”
note: OMFG I ACTUALLY START TWEAKING EVERY TIME I SEE THIS MAN LIKE MMMMPGHHG anyway... i'm back! academic probation was NAWT fun but i locked in and everything is fine now :) focus rn is clearing out my requests, but i hope this holds everyone over for now <3, lynn
rin wasn't willing to let anyone dominate him, period. he's never really understood the appeal of sex toys either, because what was the point of having them? he had you right in front of him. each time you brought it up, he'd confidently disagree and say, "tch. we don't need that shit." surely there's no way they actually felt good.
but now you were straddling his thighs as he lay pliantly on the bed, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. "cocky much? you're trembling, rinnie." you sneer, gently pumping his cock as the silicone buzzed away against his slit. you mercilessly circle the vibrator around his tip, just enough to keep him on edge, but not enough to make him cum. rin didn't dare show his face. "wait—hnn, stop! please.. haah."
you immediately pull the vibrator away, and his body truly betrayed him this time. fuck. this was a complete humiliation ritual. "n-noo—d-don't stop! 's just so much." he whimpers, weakly reaching his hand out to grasp yours. he shyly guides the toy back towards his aching cock. "c-come back, aah.." you swat his hand away, clicking your tongue in dissaproval. "think it's that easy?"
you hid the device behind your back, and rin was utterly broken. "n-no, 'm sorry." he pouts, finally deciding to swallow his pride and face you. god did he look fucking pathetic. "noo! please, 'm begging you, please don't stop." he mewls, looking up with teary-eyes as spit dribbles down his chin. you dangle the toy above his head and watch in amusement as he reaches out to grab it, whining every time it'd slip from his grasp whenever you'd bring it higher.
"use your words and tell me what you want or i'll stop."
it was clear that rin's brain had turned into pure mush with the way he chased after his beloved toy like a dog. "want'chu to make me cum—haah!" he squirms, gripping onto your waist—utterly overstimulated. "speak up. with what?"
"w-with the vibrator—please, please, please, please.. hnnn!" he chants. rin's leaking cock twitches relentlessly, tainted in a shade of angry red. "my poor rinnie." you sigh, finally giving in. you grab his cock, pushing the vibrator against the red tip. his entire body convulsed, the sensations being too much to bare as he bucks his hips for more. "still think you don't need this shit?" you cruelly squeezed the base of his shaft, halting his release.
"i do, i do, p-please 'm begging!" he cried. a series of pitiful whimpers left rin's throat as he inched closer and closer towards release. "shh, it's okay, rinnie." you hush, silicone buzzing away against his tip as precum leaks out profusely. "show me your pretty face and i'll let you cum." his glassy eyes met yours in a fleeting moment of desperation. "m'kay.. a-aah!"
"eyes on me now." you loosened your grip on his cock and started stroking it with no warning. rin looked so beautiful maintaining eye contact with the bit of drool leaking out of his mouth. he looked like he'd lost his mind. you grind the device against his cock again, and rin is screaming now. "haah.. 'm cumming, fuck! ah, ah!"
an ungodly amount of filthy cum sputters out of his slit non-stop, staining everything around you. "shh, that's it.. let it allll out." you coo, admiring the way he kept his eyes on you the entire time he came. rin's balls must've been empty by now with the amount of semen that shot out of his poor, overstimulated cock.
he gasps for air once more before collapsing into your arms. "whatever. you win."
a/n for this request !! hopefully i did this prompt some justice
the night air was cold—biting, seeping through the layers of your clothing. if not for the fire burning steadily before you, crackling and spitting embers into the dark, you were sure you’d have long perished to the frigid temperatures. of course, you were just being dramatic, but who could blame you? the chill was relentless, clinging to your skin, creeping its way into your bones despite the flickering warmth just a few feet away. what you would give to be peacefully resting in your bed back at the base. (you’d give anything).
yet, nothing ever seemed to go your way. not when xeno had casually informed you of your impromptu trip to collect data on the group—boat? colony? whatever they were—that had decided to take refuge on your lands.
with a quiet sigh, you tore your gaze away from the dancing flames, their golden glow casting fleeting shadows across the ground, and instead, let your eyes settle on something—or rather, someone—far more captivating.
stanley.
the glow of the fire painted him in hues of amber and burnt orange, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw, emphasizing the intensity of his amber eyes, the way they seemed to gaze into your very soul. you peer down to his lips, the faintest smirk seemed to permanently linger at their edge. a cigarette burned between his fingers, the glowing ember pulsing each time he took a slow, measured drag. the smoke curled around him like a specter, twisting into the cold air before vanishing into the dark.
there was something almost hypnotic about the way he moved—deliberate, calculated, never a motion wasted. even in something as simple as smoking, there was precision, an ease that came with routine. his golden eyes, always sharp, flicked toward you, catching you in the act of watching him.
the smirk on his face deepened. “see something you like?” he drawled, voice low, almost seductive.
you groan, rolling your eyes, feigning disinterest. you tear your gaze away to look at the vast forest where you both have set up camp, trying to distract yourself. his amusement was palpable, something knowing glinting in his gaze as he took another slow inhale of his cigarette, the ember burning hot against the dark.
with a lazy exhale, he let the smoke slip past his lips in a slow, curling stream. you caught it out of the corner of your eye, doing your best not to make it obvious that you were staring again.
“wanna try something?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.
you quirked a brow. “depends.”
“breathe in,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
you hesitated for a second, your eyes locking with his. you wanted to say something, to dignify his question with a response, but your brain was so scattered, your thoughts clouded by the warmth of his touch, that you couldn’t seem to think straight. so with no other choice, you nod wordlessly.
then, without warning, he exhaled—warm, slow, the smoke slipping past his lips and into yours, invading your lungs with the intoxicating mix of nicotine and something unmistakably him. your heart stuttered, the heat of his breath chasing away the biting cold you were feeling just minutes prior as you inhaled, letting the sensation settle deep before slowly releasing it into the space between you.
stanley leaned back just slightly, his amber eyes studying you through half-lidded lashes, smirking. “not bad,” he muttered, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth. the ember flared again as he took another drag, watching you over the rim of his fingers. “think you can handle another?”
you swallowed, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. it was a challenge. a tease.
and damn it, you were tempted to say yes.
but before you could respond, stanley moved in again, his hand still beneath your chin, pulling you closer, just enough that your lips brushed against his—soft and fleeting. the taste of smoke clung to him, the heat of his kiss stealing the air from your lungs. the world around you seemed to vanish for a moment, and you knew that you were completely, irrevocably consumed by him. when he finally pulled back, there was no teasing glint in his eyes—only an intense, searching look.
he didn’t say anything. and neither did you.
the night stretched on in a haze, the fire still flickering, the smoke drifting lazily into the air, and you both left in that unspoken tension, uncertain where the evening would go, but knowing that whatever happened next... neither of you were in a hurry to leave.
fuck my stupid baka life (reference for bae[ @lo1itado11 ], aka the one who got me to write this)
cooked this up QUICK, on nothing but a random "hey, i've never seen a stanley shotgunning fic" and a dream.
is this my formal introduction to the dr stone fandom? i like it here!
@ CHERICOS 2025 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works
It wasn’t every day when the atmosphere on Furin’s rooftop was rather intense with Togame Jo and Endo Yamato locking arms, their muscles straining against each other. You didn’t know why they were arm wrestling, but the energy between the two boys felt too personal for a casual competition. Umemiya, Tomiyama, and Takiishi stood behind you watching this unexpected brawl against Shishitoren and Noroshi’s mad dogs.
Their eyes were locked, each determined to prove their strength. Endo gritted his teeth, pulling Togame’s arm closer to the table. Victory was within his grasp the way something had distracted Shishitoren’s second in command. He glanced at you, and how you smiled at something Umemiya had said to make you laugh. Ah, that pretty smile of yours.
“Eyes here, not on the prize,” Endo muttered, smirking at Togame who seemed unfocused. But it wasn’t the arm wrestling he wanted to win. He was aiming for something more, something that involved only you. Green eyes narrowed and a sly smile appeared. “No need for that,” he replied, and with a sudden burst of strength, he slammed the tattooed hand down to the table. The veins in his arms bulged, and his victory was clear. He smiled sweetly at Endo, behind that expression was hiding the mockery and it was impossible to miss.
“Looks like I’ll be taking the prize,” he added and you blinked in confusion, not understanding what he meant, but before you could ask, Tomiyama leaped into the air with excitement. “Kame-chan won!” he shouted, back to his usual cheerful self as he started to jump around you. Then, suddenly, Togame grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the exit. Your eyes widened in surprise as he led you away, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at Endo, who rolled his eyes in defeat.
Silence fell as the two of you left the group. Umemiya scratched his head, sensing the awkward tension. “Well then…BBQ party for the effort?” he suggested and the other nodded, but Endo’s gaze lingered where you had disappeared. One day, he promised himself, he’d take you out too—far away from arm wrestling, and far away from someone named Togame Jo.
pro-hero! shoto todoroki who's the epitome of a young girl's dream, until he's behind closed doors with you.
↳ 0.7k (edited to fix errors)
↳ cw: established relationship (marriage), fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, implied marking, multiple positions & rounds, cum stuffing if you squint, implied quirk use
🍑 masterlist | 🍒 ꒰ cross-posted on @/springismss ꒱
Pro-hero Shoto, who’s the epitome of a man you’d be honoured to introduce your parents to. Someone who’s not only cool and collected, but the definition of a gentleman in everything he does.
If only the rest of society knew what he was really like behind closed doors when alone with you.
“Hah, Sho, please”. Your fingers threaded through his dual-coloured hair as you tried to anchor yourself to something, the feeling in your gut slowly starting to creep through your body, like electric sparks crackling from the tips of your fingers.
The long fingers that stretch your already wet cunt make your eyes roll. His tongue and lips tend to your swollen and overly sensitive clit like a man deprived of the sweetest substance known to man.
Heterochromia eyes that watch the way you squirm with a glint of pride as he feels your walls pulsate, your euphoria only moments away. “That’s it, princess, shit, Let me feel that pretty pussy squeeze my fingers like they’re my cock”.
Those same fingers tap at the spongy spot deep inside as your back arches, a broken cry of his name falling from your lips as you shake, your nth orgasm of the night crashing through you.
Whose strong arms manoeuvre you with ease as he pulls you into position once he’s climbed on the bed beside you. Who helps lift you up before bringing you down, sheathing his cock in your still fluttering cunt. “Fuck, princess, you’re squeezing my cock like you’re never going to see me again”.
Who wastes no time wrapping his arms around your waist, snapping his hips up into you at inhumane speed as wet sloshing noises gain volume. “Listen to that baby, your pussy's so wet, just for me”.
Bated breaths and drawn-out moans, marks of red that litter milky, glowing skin. He looked handsome to you at the best of times, but he looked ethereal during moments like this. “My pretty little wife, going to fill you so full”. “Fuck, Sho, need to feel so full”.
Who pulls you in every position imaginable with such ease, it should scare you. Who suckles in your tits, nipples rolled between teeth and tongue as you push your chest out further, folding into the pleasure you can feel. Who likes to bite, suck and mark inches of your skin until all he can see is him.
Who, when all is said and done, pulls you into the lotus position as he holds you close, tilting your head as he gazes into your eyes. Who kisses you passionately as he helps guide your hips, rutting up into you as he feels the walls of your pussy pulsate. Breaking the kiss to smile softly. “Shit, baby, squeezing my cock so good. Fuck, gonna fill you so full of me”. “Please, hah, need to be dripping your cum for days, Sho”.
Strong thrusts that come to a sudden halt as you feel the cock deep within you twitch, heat flooding through your pussy and into your very being. Whimpers of need sounding as you grip onto him, arms wrapped around his neck as you both pant.
Who uses the endurance training he had to his advantage, needing very little downtime between rounds, making sure to plug your cunt to stop any of his seed from slipping out. Who loves the feeling of being the only one to have ever claimed you in such a way, no other man will ever stuff you like he does.
Shoto Todoroki, the number two hero, who’s the epitome of every young girl's dream man, the one who they’d want to take back home with them.
Shoto Todoroki, who’s also insatiable when it comes to you. Who loves to draw out whimpers and moans, broken cries of his name as he pumps you full of his seed until you think you’re going to burst. Who likes to grin wickedly as you squirm but soothes you with his deep voice when he’s taking care of you after pound town.
Who not only uses his quirk to save people, to help those in need, but also uses it when he’s dicking you down in bed. Who proves that you can look like he does, and be a completely different person behind closed doors.
It happened to be today when it truly hit Shoto: this undeniable greed for your love and attention, to need you by his side. The feeling was insatiable. He wanted you to rely on him—to need him, for him to show you how he could give you everything you deserved and more.
content/warnings ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, softdom!shoto, yandere-adjacent!shoto, newly established relationship, smut, pwp, switches pov, obsessive & possessive behavior, fingering, slight thigh humping, vaginal sex, oral sex both m & f receiving, dirty talk, praising/praise kink, size kink if you squint, voice kink, overstimulation, missionary, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, very slight undertones of manipulation, pet names
a/n ᢉ𐭩 birthday fic for sho even tho his birthday passed and the birthday theme isn’t really prevalent here LOL i felt depraved writing this and need him bad
Shuddering breaths leave your lips, soundlessly, teeth gnashing onto the poor flesh as you struggle to muffle your pants. Clouds fill your hazy mind as you throw your head back against his sturdy chest, desire burning low in your gut, shaky palms gripping onto strong forearms that spread you open. Wide open, as you teeter on the edge of control that threatens to slip.
It’s an extremely fragile edge. But one that takes two to nudge—one that tests you, more so than him.
And perhaps that’s why it’s unfair, because he knows you. He’s quietly observant and unsuspectingly relentless. Knows just how much to give and how much to take. Knows how much to corner you so that you’ll hold on to him, reveling when it works.
How unfair.
A voice filters in from your phone speaker, layering static on top of drunken slurs that you can’t bother to decipher—that you are unable to decipher. Especially not with Shoto’s large hand palming your clit, grinding firm and slow circles against it. Heat met with heat.
“Are you going to answer him?” Shoto murmurs lowly into your ear. Words that wave off the clouds in your brain for one second before they muddle again when he teases a finger against your slit.
It’s a featherlight breach in comparison to the rest of him, and it wrecks you that this is only the beginning. That, despite him having barely done anything, your arousal already gathers heavily onto the pad of his finger. Undeniably wet. Sticky.
You remember he asked a question, and your whispers come out choked. Tight. “I- I don’t know what he’s saying—” Shoto pushes one thick finger in, smooth, sliding steadily along your walls that clench tight around the single digit. A whimper nearly breaks out before you clamp your mouth shut, the feeling of his knuckle cool stone against your entrance.
This feels wrong. Wildly inappropriate as Kaminari mumbles to himself across the line. But it seems to barely affect Shoto as his only response is to tighten his arm around your squirming waist, pulling your back flush against his chest as he pries you open on his lap.
Two forgotten wine glasses sit on the table, barely touched. The aftermath of the party was strewn around the house: cups and stray chairs littering everywhere, a half-eaten cake on the kitchen counter, the space worn with the familiar echo of friends.
All background to what’s playing out obscenely on the living room couch.
“Would you like my help?” he asks. A little too sweetly, as if he weren’t the reason for your fog-filled mind.
You hurriedly nod, though not entirely comprehending what he’s saying, teeth biting harsher into your lip when he slips another finger inside.
Shoto rests the side of his head against yours, red strands of hair peeking into your vision. He speaks—a low sound. A deep rumble that reverberates through your limbs, and you’re scared that you might cum from his voice alone.
You probably can. His effect on you is just that powerful.
“Tell him to go home,” he whispers into your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. Less of a suggestion and more like a command.
It comes out immediately, strained. Straight to the point. “Kaminari. Go home.”
“You’ll give it to him tomorrow,” Shoto murmurs, pumping in and out of you. Steady, strong strokes that leave you breathless, that have you wondering how he can make you feel so full with two mere fingers. Until he stills, reminding you generously, “His jacket.”
You gasp out, fighting to keep your composure, if only through your stuttering voice. “I’ll- I’ll come by tomorrow. I’ll stop by. To give you your- your jacket.”
Kaminari whines, high-pitched and noisy and clearly intoxicated. “But ‘m still nearby. We all turned back already and ‘ts cold.”
“Try again, sweetheart,” Shoto urges you.
Which makes you breathe out hotly, heart racing in your chest, words tumbling out fast. “Just go home, Kaminari. It’s late, a-and dark, and I’m tired. Sho’s tired. We’re practically—”
Shoto suddenly curls his fingers upwards, grazing a sensitive spot inside. You jerk against his hold, pinching your eyes shut, trying to dull the warmth webbing from your core.
The rest out comes weakly. “—practically in b-bed already…”
Practically.
Past the squelching of his fingers leaving and entering you, rustling can be heard from over the phone. You hear voices—people who are completely oblivious as to what’s transpiring on the other end of the line. Worried mumbles, loud complaints, whines, arguing and yelling over who knows what.
You feel Shoto smile against your temple.
Then finally, you hear your friend’s voice again, crackling like electricity in the already charged air. “Alrigh ‘right. We’ll sswing by t’morrow then. Hey, kiss ‘Roki g’night for me, won’t cha?”
An I will means to come out. It really does. But Shoto relentlessly starts his pace again, thrusting in with more force, pressing the heel of his palm onto your clit, and his other hand makes it just in time to wrap around your mouth as a moan helplessly erupts from you.
The span of his hand easily covers half your face, hushing the delicate sounds meant for his ears only.
You squeeze your eyes tight as he works you. Aloof, careful, serious; all words people would describe him. If only they also knew how shameless he could be, shamelessly unworried as he finger-fucks his lover whilst on the phone with his dear friends.
“—oh!” Mina’s voice. At least, you think it is. “And tell him happy birthday for us again! We hope he had a lot of fun tonight!”
Shoto doesn’t move from his position, though he raises his head just slightly. His thrusts are rapid now, but his voice is steady, unassuming. Dare you say it, amused. “Thank you, Mina. I will.”
Three consecutive beeps ring out, signaling the end of the phone call. By the third chime, Shoto’s hold on you releases immediately, hand unwinding from your face, digits quickly pulling out stickily. Almost too fast for you to process, if not for the instant cold washing over you.
You whip around on his lap, glaring up at him with flushed need, pants leaving your lips erratically. Your eyes ask him what you can’t seem to say. Anger and embarrassment masking plead.
What’s wrong with you? Why did you do that?
And why did you stop?
Shoto tilts his head to the side, and you know, you just know he understands.
“You were going to come.” He states it as a fact because it is.
So, why did you stop? The words were on the tip of your tongue but unescaping. Instead, your fist lifts to thump weakly against his broad chest. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He never does because it’s not an action meant to push.
“We have a long night ahead of us,” is all he says, eyes patient, but darkening by the second.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
You don’t nod, nor shake your head, but prickling anticipation boils in the pit of your gut. He says this as if he knows what’s best for you. And you can’t deny the flutter in your stomach at his unwavering confidence, at his own self-trust that he knows exactly what you need and how to give it.
At your silence, Shoto grabs your frozen fist against him, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. Reverent and appreciative, how one treats something they love. Desire scorches into your bones at the sight, heart beating wildly in your chest.
And his voice clings to you, sticks to you like honey:
“Here. Why don’t I show you?”
Shoto would never deny how smitten he is with you. In fact, he knows it hit him very early on in the relationship: this all-consuming love he felt for you, this desire to be by your side, this greed to be the recipient of your attention at all times.
You came into his life like a flurry of flames—became the center of his world, and if there’s one thing he can ever be confident of, it's that he could provide you with everything you needed and more.
If only you’d let him.
Perhaps it’s because you two have been dating for only half a year now, or maybe it's because he was high-profile in the hero world, but you still had this air of courtesy surrounding you. A distance that kept him from veering too close, a wall that shot up in favor of “taking the relationship slow.”
Shoto was desperate to break it down.
And the truth is, he wanted you to rely on him. To need him. Because while he admired your strength and independence, you didn’t need to be when he’s around. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger or ever deny yourself anything, because he’d do it for you. You only had to say the words.
But Shoto knew you were too headstrong for that, too cautious. And so, he was careful. Careful to scatter his love in ways that you’d accept it, careful not to be too forceful. He should’ve known it’d backfire on him—his patience, on his birthday of all days.
January 11th, the day was spent walking around the winter-chilled city. A date meticulously planned and led by none other than you. He thought it was cute, adorable really, with how insistent you were to celebrate his special day, perhaps even more excited than he was.
It was going great. You were attentive—practically doting on him, ensuring he was having a fun time. Giddy by his side. But more importantly, you were open: lenient when he talked about future birthdays as if he was certain you were going to be there, willing when he prodded about bits of your life that you’ve always been hesitant to share. Perhaps it was the birthday luck everyone spoke so highly of.
Perfect—it was going perfectly. That is, until an unwelcoming encounter with an old friend stopped you in your tracks. Shoto had narrowed his eyes at the sight: your childhood neighbor who graciously interrupted him on the streets with a loud yell and a too-familiar call of your name, your eyes lighting up in response to the unexpected reunion.
Shoto was silent throughout the entire interaction, save for when he introduced himself stiffly behind you. It displeased him further when the man barely acknowledged him, when he excitedly babbled about how things were going well back at home, and that everyone missed you. And his heart stopped when he heard the conversation unfold before his very eyes:
“It was nice seeing you. I was actually curious about how everyone was doing back home. It does make me miss it.”
It did?
Your friend smiled, an action that had Shoto seething inside, even more so at the faint blush reddening the man’s cheeks. It made his blood boil. “You should move back home. Like I said, everyone misses you.”
“Ah. Yeah… maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Shoto reeled then. Not physically, but inside, his mind was racing. Were you just being polite? Or did you actually mean your words? Were you actually thinking of moving back home?
Were you going to leave him?
Shoto felt his world nearly crumble then and there.
But after your friend left, you looked at him with such a warm and beautiful smile on your face. A sight that never fails to make him want to keep you all to himself, a sacred treasure. He was deathly quiet when you pulled him along to the next planned destination, thinking—reflecting, unable to help himself when he asked:
“You’re moving back home?”
Your head whipped up to him, eyes wide, a little shocked. “Huh? Oh… No… I was just saying what I think he wanted to hear.” You didn’t offer any other explanation, but Shoto saw it, that crack of hesitation in your expression. After all, he studied you well, seared every emotion and reaction you exhibited safely away in his mind. He could tell, in a heartbeat, that you had some reservations, though he didn’t know exactly what.
Then again, it was undeniable: Shoto is smitten with you—he loves you. So, in that split second, he decided he wouldn’t be upset or angry with you. He couldn’t be.
He just had to make you see it, what he could give you.
The day continued with that notion solely on his mind, through all the birthday festivities you had planned and the warmth you basked him in. It didn’t stop when you two made it back to his place, for a chorus of Surprise! welcomed him at the threshold of his door—the presence of all his loved ones there, courtesy of you.
He was indeed surprised. Not so much because of you, that you would think to plan something like this; it was telling of your character, of how much care you put into things. It thrills him, to be the one you think so methodically of. It almost makes him forget that you hesitated.
Shoto was more surprised at seeing his family whom he couldn’t visit often due to work, and at his friends who embarked on paths different from his. It was pleasant to catch up with them, since he hadn’t seen them for a while. And that should’ve been the first sign.
If they haven’t seen him all that much, then they haven’t seen you. And for most, it was their first time officially meeting you. So, as much as everybody wanted to be with the birthday boy, they just as much wanted to be with and get to know his new beloved.
You are easily lovable, and loved by many; it’s one of your charms. He sees that. He understands why, even if all he was itching for was you to be by his side. The timing couldn’t have been worse, the culmination of everything built up today that made this wretched spear of possessiveness stab him at the throat. That dug with each passing second.
At first, it was five minutes. Iida had pulled you away briefly, leaving him to chat with Fuyumi and Natsuo. Shoto was admittedly confused, on edge and alarmed. He counted down the minutes, listening aimlessly to their rambling, until you came back, waving off how Iida was fussing over proper first introductions.
The sense of relief that hit him was immense, a hefty arm gently wrapping around your hip that tugged you back to his side. He ignored the mildly interested looks of his siblings, just focusing on the fact that you were near him again.
Then, it was twenty-four minutes, give or take thirty seconds. Uraraka came up to you, cheeks redder than usual from the alcohol, and promptly tugged you to the other side of the room. Girl time, she said. It was frustrating because you were still in sight. So close but out of reach, laughing and spreading your love to those around you.
Shining like the bright star you were, giving undivided attention to those who craved it.
Oh, how he longed to take you back. He would’ve, if not for Kaminari holding him hostage.
Shoto can blame it on his birthday all he wants, perhaps use the idea that your world should revolve around him on his special day. But he would be lying to himself. It just happened to be on his birthday when it truly hit him: the insatiable need to swallow you up whole. To be the center of your universe and simultaneously lead you through it at the same time.
He knew he was greedy, but he couldn’t care less.
Eventually, you came back, only to be whisked away again. And this time, it was an hour, two minutes, and thirteen seconds.
By then, Shoto was undoubtedly irritated.
Because this time. This time, you don’t make your way back to him. Mina excitedly decides to ask for your life story. Midoriya catches you in the midst of his tangents. Bakugo, for some reason, was insistent on hearing your thoughts on the birthday cake he so graciously made. And pulls you into a debate on the right amount of sweetness in pastries.
It’s not your fault.
That is, until he managed to grab you for forty-two seconds, before someone snagged you again. His hand latched onto your hip firmly, messily, a little roughly, and that’s when he felt it. Slipped underneath your shirt, the texture of familiar lace he’s seen paired with your supple skin in the heat of the night.
His eyes widened just slightly; he could even feel the blood pumping through his body.
Because you understand him well, if the knowing smile you gave him was anything. Then there you were, ushered away again like Cinderella at midnight, throwing a gaze with twinkling eyes behind your shoulder. Mouthing the words: your gift.
He barely saw you for the rest of the night. (Three hours and thirty-six minutes)
No. He was just able to get his hands on you when the last person trickled out. Yellow-haired and with one less jacket than he came with. Shoto was already by your side before the door shut with a resounding click.
“Did you have fun?” you had asked him, sweetly.
His response was instant, “Thank you for planning this for me. It was nice seeing everybody.”
Then you chuckled lightly, sighing when his hands molded to your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I had fun,” Shoto affirmed. Then looked down with honest affection, tinged with something dark. “I admit, it’s more fun now that I have your attention again.”
You laughed, raising your arms to rest on his shoulders, wrists crossing behind his neck. “What do you mean? I’ve been paying attention.”
“No.”
His simple statement made you laugh harder, vibrating against his body. The corner of his lips lifted at the sound, as he pressed his forehead against yours.
“I love you.”
The words came out breathlessly, a forever-standing devotion. Then,
“It slips my mind at times. The reminder that other people will want to love what I love.”
You smiled cheesily, knowingly. But he can’t imagine that you can truly fathom how he really feels. “Are you jealous, Shoto?”
“It’s my birthday,” he stated back, half-heartedly, childishly. You gazed into his eyes, crinkles forming around your own.
“I want you,” he said lowly.
Not just on my birthday, but forever. I want your eyes only on me. I wish to be the center of your world, like how you are in mine.
Shoto didn’t say any of this. Instead, he lets you grasp his hands. Lets you lead them underneath your shirt, and feel the lace that’s been tempting him all night. His gift for him, or so you said.
I want to see how I affect you. I want to see you fall apart for me. I want you to rely on me. To want me. To need me. I want to show you how I can give you everything you deserve and more, that there will never be a reason for you to leave.
Shoto still didn’t say any of this, but his hands roamed. At the back of his mind, he didn’t want to scare you with his obsession. So he starts with this:
“Let me take care of you.”
Without a doubt, these were odd words to be coming from the birthday boy. But if birthdays were to revolve around his world, and you were his world, it made sense. And there is no other gift in the universe that would be greater than you.
A call vibrated from the couch when he crashed his lips onto yours, sealing the deal.
Shoto’s lips chase after you. It’s invigorating, the way they melt into yours, over and over and over again. He cradles your cheeks, trapping your head still as he moves you backwards. One step after another until the back of your knees hit the bed, and your hands instinctively clutch onto his chest.
But he keeps moving forward, his tongue dancing with yours in fervor. You pull back to take a breath, deprived of oxygen, but he keeps pushing, swallowing your yelp as you fall backwards. Big hands that help your body move upwards on the mattress, his lips never disconnecting from yours.
When you finally settle on the cushy mattress, you push against his chest again, breaking away from the kiss. “Sho– I can’t breathe–”
Shoto’s head darts underneath your chin, sucking on the spot he knows sends you into a frenzy. You whimper at the sensation, heart jumping when you feel the harsh latch of his lips. He sucks, licks, bites, devours.
Your body arches into him, squirming. Tingling with want, with need. He’s relentless, marking your neck feverishly while his hands come up to play with your nipples, brushing the pad of his thumbs against the peaks.
You jolt, sensitive from his touch everywhere. He wastes no part of him: tongue licking all over your skin, fingers tweaking the hard buds over your shirt, meaty thigh grinding into your clothed core. You bite your lip, trying to contain the moans from rolling out, but a harsh bite makes you gasp.
“I want to hear you,” he mumbles against your neck, in between licks. “Don’t hold back. Not right now.”
Hands make their way into his hair, tugging at the red and white strands. Pushing and pulling because you can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough.
Shoto doesn’t give you a choice.
Warmth wells in your belly again. Familiar and telling. He must know, with the way you yank on his hair, and the tender smile you feel against your skin sends you into a high.
(He loves how compliant your body is with him. How reactive you are. How you never fail to respond to his touch.
He wonders how many he can coax out of you tonight.)
“Sho. Please, please—”
“Yes?” His thigh presses harder against you, firm and unyielding. You grind your hips up, moving in rhythm with him. He helps your movements, grabbing a handful of your ass as it rolls up.
The friction is delicious. Muscles trained with years of hero work so strong and hard against your core.
“Can you cum for me like this?”
He’s shameless because he knows you can, and you do, with a drawn-out moan, head buzzing, chasing after the high denied from you on the couch. Not a second later, he peels your clothes off, taking his time. It’s almost embarrassing, just how easy your body succumbs to him. Clothes on and all. Bare thighs sticking to the wet fabric in between your legs.
When you’re left in the lingerie you wore for him, his breath hitches. Marveled under his gaze.
What you would give to know what’s running through his head right now.
Shoto kisses your forehead, breaths hot against your skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers while his hands roam your shoulders. Leaving a trail of fire as he goes down to the swell of your breasts, fondling, before tracing your hips and thighs.
As if he can’t get enough of you.
You tremble underneath his caresses.
And slowly, he pulls the lace off, running over the sliver he felt earlier just to lift it off your body. He kisses your naked breasts—one by one, as he pulls your panties, wrecked from your orgasm, down your legs.
Then, he shifts, rising up before settling in between your legs, hooking the backs of your knees over his shoulders. Your eyes widen as he stares at your glistening folds, his gaze of wet stone and sea glass purposeful.
He looks up, and you nearly flinch at the raw intensity in them.
It makes you almost laugh. With the way he’s treating you, doting on you. You question whose birthday it is, really.
And without warning, without so much as a word, he dives into your heat like a starved man. One long strike of a lick that has your hips bucking up, hands immediately flying to his shoulders.
“Wait!” you gasp. “It’s too much, just wait—”
Shoto doesn’t wait, tongue heavy against your folds, lapping at everything you have to offer and more. Your toes curl at the sensation, chest rising with deep breaths as he explores the bundle of nerves the way a lover does.
He knows what you like, what you prefer. Practiced precision of using the plane of his whole tongue on your slit before dipping shallowly inside. Alternating between licks and deep sucks that make you reel in return.
It’s obscene, hearing him gulp from between your legs. Eyes closed in focus, savoring your taste.
Your thighs clamp around his head, unable to handle it all. But strong arms wrap around them, under and over, effectively holding them apart and giving you something to ground yourself with. To be able to push and squirm freely without losing the feeling of his tongue, his mouth that lets you both hear and feel his love.
It’s euphoria.
(Shoto couldn’t feel more delighted. He doesn’t think it can get better than this. The feel of your hands tugging at his hair. Pulling just to push his head down again when he purposefully slows down. Your moans that carry into the air, echoing his name.
This is good. Perfect. He wants you to want him, to never get enough.
It makes a smile stretch across his face. And he feels like a madman when he breathlessly chuckles into your warmth.)
You twitch at the sensation, feeling the curl of his lips and a stuttering breath against your heat.
“Are you l-laughing…?” you breathlessly ask, shocked. He answers with another deep suck, effectively distracting you with ease as you keen.
(Because to him, he’s not trying to mock you, or be condescending. He simply just loves to see you in pleasure, to see you feel good. Loved. Because of him. Because he knows you; mind, body, and soul.)
Moonlight swimming with city lights filter in from the window, bathing you in an angelic glow, contouring all your dips and curves. You look beautiful. Other worldly with your eyes screwed tight, body shaking in intervals, chanting his name with your head thrown back.
Shoto grinds his bulge into the mattress, unable to help himself. Oh, how he can’t wait to sink inside you, to feel your warm and welcoming heat around his cock—
“S-Sho..!”
Your eyes shoot open when he pulls back just slightly, whipping your head down. For a second, you’re taken aback at the sight: your slick glistening on his mouth and chin, his tousled hair, eyes that burn and freeze you at the same time.
He captivates you in his gaze. A devastatingly handsome face that speaks in an equally as devastatingly low voice.
“Do you want to come?”
His voice sends butterflies into your stomach and you nod, shyly, hands tugging on his hair to urge him back. But he doesn’t move.
“Tell me. What would you like me to do?”
Your heart stutters at the question, lips forming into a pout. Because he knows. He knows what you want. He always does. So why—
“I want to hear you say it.”
Again, less of a suggestion and more like a command. He’s good at that, phrasing his words simply, with his tone making you question yourself. It implies something completely different; leading—guiding you the way he wants.
You huff out a shaky breath, stunned at what he’s trying to play at, with your slick covering his face so filthily.
“Shoto…” you whine, nudging him with the heel of your foot. But he is nothing if not unyielding in his desires. He only offers kitten licks to your entrance, teasing, but far from enough.
“Say it for me. Let me hear you.”
With eyebrows furrowed, you stomp down the feeling of embarrassment threatening to take over. You’re not used to saying what you want out loud, at least not explicitly. But he looks at you with private earnestness, an emotion you can’t quite understand.
“I want you to keep going…”
Shoto’s eyes saturate with desire, darkening by the second.
You hesitate again, so incredibly shy under his heated gaze. Hard stone and freezing waters. You almost don’t want to say it, don’t want to admit how much you want him.
“I- I want you to make me cum,” you whisper, cheeks burning hot. “Please make me cum.”
And with that, Shoto wordlessly continues, neither approving nor disapproving. One hand unfurls from your thigh before stuffing you full with three fingers at once. A moan rips from your throat, hips lifting high but a big hand effectively presses you down by your stomach. His digits stretch you, preparing you for what’s to come so deliciously.
You feel the warmth in your belly rising again. Strong. His fingers don’t pump, don’t thrust. Only the pressure of them deep inside and the pads of his fingers pressing firmly into that same sensitive spot. That, paired with his hot tongue attacking your clit, swirling and flicking, sends you into orbit.
Your body thrashes, your orgasm hitting stronger than the last. He easily keeps your body pinned to the mattress, curling his fingers just slightly more to make you gush. A sob releases from your chest when his fingers leave you, right before his mouth fully covers your opening and he sucks sloppily, as if he couldn’t waste a single drop.
Gradually, the tension in your limbs eases, chest rising and falling heavily. Shoto gives you one last lick—a gentle one, before he pulls off of you, breathing just as deeply as he licks his lips, eyes pinned on your spent figure.
He’s never eaten you out like that before. As if you were water in a desert, his last meal on earth. It both confuses and rouses you beyond belief.
And he’s still clothed.
As if Shoto read your mind, he slowly unbuttons his shirt, panting—steam billowing out the corners of his lips. And you can’t stop staring: him on his knees, one princely hand working his way through the buttons, staring down at you as if you’re the only thing that ever mattered.
It drives you crazy. He drives you crazy. Since when did your brain think of just him, him, and him?
With shaky limbs, you heave yourself up, mirroring his position: on your knees in front of him, looking up as he looks down. Shoto doesn’t say anything, barely moves a muscle. Simply watching you as he lets you pull his shirt open, sliding the sturdy fabric off his body.
His bare torso greets you. Muscular, pale, and scarred with battles. You’ve seen pictures of him when he was younger, and he’s grown larger—bigger over the years. Still with his princely charm, but more fit, a fullness to him that makes your mouth water.
You marvel at him, roaming your hands across the plane of his chest. Delighted at him twitching underneath your palms, the slight intake of his breath.
So handsome, big, strong. And all yours.
Your hands travel: up and down his arms, his shoulders, his waist, and to his stomach. Obsessed with the way hard muscles and scars span across his body. They show years of discipline and hard work; they tell stories. Stories of the man in front of you who looks at you with so much devotion, it should scare you.
It doesn’t. Because you’re quickly seeing that same devotion reflecting back at you in his glassy eyes.
Slowly, you pull at his waistband, the air shifting its intimacy and tenderness to include lust again. Something raw and scarily intense. You unbutton his pants, unzip his zipper, and look up at him, with thumbs that skim his skin just above his trousers. Goosebumps rise after its trail.
You wonder exactly what type of look you give him—what he sees in his eyes, because he gives in immediately. Wordlessly strips himself out of his pants before kneeling in front of you again, tender hands that snake up your arms.
Shoto gently pushes your shoulders, signalling for you to lie down, but you try not to budge, shaking your head. He tilts his own quizzically.
Because instead, you pull him, and he lets you. Lets you move him how you like. Lets you maneuver his body until his back rests against the headboard, and you make space in between his legs.
“Let me take care of you, too.”
His eyebrows immediately furrow, already rising to get up. “This is not a favor you need to—”
“I know,” you interrupt him. “I just…”
Shoto waits, eyes boring heavily into yours. You know that he knows what you want to do, and he’s neither stopping nor urging you.
“I want to make you feel good.”
It’s true.
Shoto pauses for a second, and you question why he’s thinking so astoundingly hard about this. Yes, your relationship was still a little new, but the sex was familiar, even if you had to admit that tonight surprised you in more ways than one.
He doesn’t nod, doesn’t shake his head, doesn’t really give you any decipherable emotion. But your heart skips when he raises a hand to stroke your hair, slow and soft strokes. He then palms the back of your head, drawing you in for a deep kiss. All before releasing you and relaxing against the headboard.
Liquid gold courses through your veins when his eyes roam up and down your figure, heavy-lidded. His cock stands upright, flushed and swollen and hard. Precum dribbling from the tip and down his length.
You sit on your knees, tucking your legs underneath as you take in the sheer size of him.
He’s so goddamn big. You could never get used to it.
Usually, he would frequently check in on you when you gave him head, during sex in general. Asking if you’re alright, if you want him to take over, that you don’t have to. But he doesn’t say anything now, and it makes you wonder why again. Why, despite being patient and quiet, is there this particular intensity to him? Why was there this unfamiliar push and pull with him tonight?
You find that you chase after him without hesitation, the desperate feeling of wanting to please him coming in full force. It’s addictive, having him look at you with such passion.
Wrapping a hand around his length, you observe him closely, hoping for any reaction while dragging your palm up and down. Starting off with slow, full, firm strokes, just the way he likes it. The only tell he gives is a tick in his jaw, as he watches you with his mouth shut.
Leaning forward, you gather spit in your mouth, dribbling and using it to aid your strokes. Your hand pushes all the up, then all the way down, meeting trimmed red and white hair at the base. You feel his legs tense when you lick the tip, swipes of your tongue that allow you to taste the salt of his precum. Then finally, the whole of his swollen head.
Shoto’s fists clench at his sides, the sheets peeking in between his taut fingers.
(He wanted to keep going—to keep tasting you with his mouth or fill you with his aching cock. Wanted to bring you to another orgasm. But the look you carelessly threw his way stumped him.
In between the desire-saturated eyes and the pleading pout on your lips, he found elation. And he guessed this worked too. Another way to fill your mind with just him, to be the center of your world. Because if wanting to please him showed you needed him, he’d let you.)
You stretch your mouth around him. He’s girthy, and big. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you cover with your hands, the mix of his spit and precum enabling the twists of your wrists. You move up, then down; hollowing out your cheeks, taking him as deep as you can.
The sounds are obscene: the slurps of his cock entering and leaving your mouth, the gulps that follow when you reach the top, the near gag when he hits the back of your throat.
Shoto doesn’t rush you.
So you become more desperate. Because how is it that he barely has any reaction? Usually, he’d be helping you, wiping away your tears when they leak out, telling you to take breaks. But he does none of it. And it’s only when you notice his iron-grip on the sheets that it shows just how much he’s holding back.
Why is that?
Your hands venture on their own, finding his—grabbing them with his cock still in your mouth and pushing them into your hair. Letting him know that it’s okay to do so. Telling him wordlessly, I want to please you.
Let me.
And Shoto watches. Observes. Hopes that you don’t look up with your tear-rimmed eyes. For if you did, you would’ve seen the smallest flick of a smirk gracing his face. His hands tangle into the tresses of your hair, firm, but gentle in a way that he ensures it’s a clean hold.
And he pushes down.
His eyes had widened when you took his hands to place them on your head, how hard you gripped them into your hair in hopes that he’d do the same. It filled him with exhilaration: seeing you try so hard, seeing you perk up with the pressure of his hands on your head. The rise of emotions rivaled the sensation of your mouth taking him whole.
Shoto loves to see you indulge yourself, even if it is in this way.
So, he pushes more. And not in hopes of making you gag, but because he can see the way you rub your thighs together when his grip tightens, desperate for relief. It surprises him for a second, right before a thought forms in his mind, one that makes his chest swell with curiosity and molten lava heat.
“You’re so good for me,” he praises you lowly, cock twitching when you stutter around his length. He watches your eyes promptly fly up to his. Shocked, but eager.
Shoto’s throat is so dry that it hurts to swallow, but he fights through the desert in his mouth.
“It’s what you wanted, right? To make me feel good?” he rasps out, jaw aching from how hard he clenches it. “You’re doing so well for me, so pretty when you suck my cock.”
The words feel foreign on his tongue; he was never one to be talkative during sex. But his mind buzzes when he sees the effect it has on you. You squirm, thighs pressing impossibly close together. So tightly that he nearly wants to wrench you off of him, just so you can get that relief you so desperately need. For him to be the one to give it.
Shoto leans down closer to your ear, holding back a groan when your pace wavers and your hands either grip him too tightly or too loosely. Then, it all tumbles from his lips, honey velvet:
Keep going. Good girl.
Yeah, just like that. There you go. I know it’s big.
You make me feel so good. So, so good.
There, that’s it. God, I could just—
Shoto barely recognizes what he’s saying, only spewing whatever comes to mind. It’s intoxicating, finding that it encourages you. Bobbing your head up and down faster, slurps that become louder, deeper, messier.
And it feels incredible, truly. It always does. But he can’t help but marvel more at the way your legs twitch from underneath you, jolting when the friction grazes closer to where you need it to. An odd thrill mixed with fascination swirls inside him when he realizes the effect his words have on you. Or rather—
“You like my voice,” he states it as a fact. He knows it is now. Your face turns bashful, twisting in embarrassment as your lips leave the tip of his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting you to it before it snaps. It’s adorable the way you shy away, unable to meet his eyes but clearly so aroused.
And you’re still stroking him like the good girl you are. The sight makes him unbelievably harder, makes him want to give you everything you deserve and more.
He can’t help but ask, “Have you always liked it?” Rough and strained.
You nod again, slowly, eyes flitting up to meet his and then back down to your hands. In a small voice, you say, “From the day I met you.”
“In that way?”
“Yes.” You fidget underneath his stare. He doesn’t know what prompts this—what urges you to reveal this special piece of information, but his cock jumps when the words roll off your tongue:
“I-I’ve used it to get off before. Those voice memos you send me.”
And that carefully woven thread inside him, the one he’s been delicately weaving, the one that’s been wringing taut the entire night—threatening to break, finally snaps. Breaks with a sharp crack, its fibers ruined in the aftermath.
Shoto rises, up on his knees with swift movement as your hand releases from his member in shock. He grabs the back of your head again, palms it with urgency, and meets you halfway into a kiss that consumes.
To think that his voice would have such a powerful effect on you, to think that the sound of him would be enough to get you off. For a split second, he imagines the perfect picture of you lying in bed, home alone and needy, listening to his voice while thrusting your pretty little digits in and out of your wet folds. With fingers that would never be as good as his.
He groans into your mouth, pushing you back with such force that you two fall and thump onto the bed. Lips breaking apart for a needle of a second before crashing into each other again.
Shoto wants you, so badly. Just as badly as he wants you to want him. It’s all he can think of as he nudges your legs apart, settling in between them. The sound he makes is carnal, roused deep from his gut as the length of his cock meets your bare, warm, wet folds for the first time tonight.
He can’t help but move, sliding his length along your folds, your warm pools of slick easily allowing him to grind back and forth. Back and forth. Broken moans fall, echoing in the bedroom. A symphony of you two.
And it all happens so suddenly for you: his mouth practically swallowing yours whole, his hands traveling everywhere from your cheeks to your breasts, his feverish grinding that pulls a needy whine straight from your head. He’s so thick, so impossibly hard, but you can’t help but feel despairingly empty as your walls clench around nothing.
Then comes Shoto’s voice again, gravelly, right into your ear. It sends an electric bolt to your stomach, the vibrations running straight to your core.
“What do you think of when you listen to them?” he rasps out.
“Y-you. Inside of m-me,” you manage to get out, bucking up to meet his rocking rhythm, already wound up when he’s not even inside of you yet. The head of his cock grazes your stomach, his balls—hot and heavy—meeting you flush before drawing stickily away again.
It takes all that you can to not do it yourself, to reach down and angle him where you want. To have it finally sink into the place that’s been aching for him all this time.
Shoto doesn’t let up, not quite yet. “What? What inside of you?”
God, he’s being so infuriating tonight. Can’t he already see how wrecked you are from him? Can’t he tell just how much you want him?
You relent, still finding the words hard to say through the slicked grinds. “You. Y-your….”
“You’re hesitating,” he states, to which you quickly shake your head, heart plummeting to your feet as his torso rises off of you. Your hands hastily grab his arms, legs immediately wrapping around his waist, and words tumble from your lips faster than your mind can catch up.
“No, please,” you nearly sob out, and you feel embarrassed. So incredibly embarrassed, but you still try. “Please, I want it. I want you now, Shoto.”
Your eyebrows furrow—distraught, and you think he’s never been so unfair as his movements abruptly halt, hips lifting up despite you saying what you think he wants to hear.
Why does he keep pushing just to pull back?
(Shoto can only feel so bad when you’re so, so close to where he wants you to be.)
“Don’t be embarrassed.” A hand strokes down the side of your hair. Patient. Too frustratingly patient. “I’ll give it to you.”
Shoto braces a forearm beside your head, the other snaking its way down to grab his length, heavy in his own sturdy hands.
And he whispers, calm and low. “You know I’ll always give you what you want. Won’t you do the same for me?”
Your face scrunches as he shifts the head of cock to your slit, biting your lip when he shallowly sinks it in before pulling away. Then he does it again, and again, and again. Teasing you before greedily taking it away, even tapping your clit with it, watching as you jolt from the contact.
You squirm, raising your hips because you want more. More. But he moves in sync, away from you, and you have half a mind to think he’s being hypocritical. It all becomes too much to bear.
“I want you. Your cock.” you desperately say, small as ever. “Please, I want it so bad.”
Shoto plunges in only slightly deeper. Unmoving as an iron wall to your legs that fail to pull him closer despite using all your might. He holds the base of his cock tight, stopping himself from sinking more of it in before pulling back again.
“No, please,” you sputter helplessly. “I want you to fuck me. W-Want you deep inside me. Want you. Shoto—”
And finally—finally, he pushes in again. Slow, shushing you when you cry out as he doesn’t stop, when he stretches your pulsing walls apart, making way for his thickness. Your mouth drops open, hands clawing against his back—no doubt leaving marks as he fills you, sliding each throbbing ache away inch by inch.
His words are faraway, barely reaching your ears as he murmurs into your ear again, in between rough groans:
Need to take it slow. Don’t want to hurt you.
You take me so well, you always do.
Do you feel it? My cock inside you? It’s what you wanted, right?
(Shoto watches your expression as hard as he can, forces his eyes to stay open, and watches your own roll to the back of your head. He’s not even sure if you recognize yourself speaking: “you feel so good inside me”, “you’re so big”, “yesyesyes” spilling from your lips.
And when he finally bottoms out after what felt like eons, he drops his forehead onto yours, panting out thick puffs of steam. Not thrusting nor moving, just feeling each addictive pulse and clench of your warm walls around him. It’s sporadic, absolutely telling to him.
You’re about to cum again.)
He’s so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, throbbing thick and heavy. Can feel him pulsing as if his cock had its own heartbeat. And you know it's coming. The buildup of his praise, of his coaxing voice, of him finally stuffing you deep, leading to a steady high again.
It’s a done deal when Shoto grinds up once. One firm motion that hits deep inside your walls. One hard hump that shakes the bed.
And you cum for the third time tonight.
You thrash underneath him, the wave of your orgasm making your body arch into his, moans breaking prettily from your lips. Shoto’s eyelashes flutter against yours, feeling you squeeze his cock like a vice. Muscles taut when he humps into your warm and wet heat again, and that's all it takes as you suddenly feel him spilling deep inside, moaning low, his cum releasing in hot spurts.
You breathe in each other’s pants. And only seconds had passed, did it hit you:
You both just came. And that’s all it took. Just like that.
It’s a short revelation because before you can fully comprehend it, Shoto shifts, and you whimper at the sensitivity blossoming from your core. And through it all, somehow, you can still feel him. His hard cock, even after cumming, pulsating in your walls that seem to have molded themselves around him.
“S-Sho– I don’t know if I–”
You whimper when he moves again, pulling just barely the tip out before filling you up. Going all the way out, then all the way back in. Slowly, with purpose. And it fucking wrecks you. That, despite the overstimulation and sensitivity jolting your insides, another heat crawls its way back into your stomach, catching the last embers before igniting again.
He burns his way into you, sears himself on your mind—on your body. And you want to let him, want to wrap yourself around his flames that devour.
So you do. You fall into him hopelessly.
Shoto’s voice comes out hoarse, and you can’t completely tell if he’s talking to you or to himself. He thrusts. “You feel incredible.” Another thrust and a groan. “My love. You’re so perfect.”
He knows you. Body, mind, and soul.
“We were made for each other. I know it,” Shoto lowly says, this time with half-lidded, trance-like eyes boring into yours. It enraptures you: the tiny scrunch in between his eyes as he bottoms out again and again, the low and quiet moan that seeps through gritted teeth.
If the entire night was spent coaxing you—pushing you just to pull you back in, then this was unrelenting. Unyielding. Fully swarming your senses that you can’t think of anything else besides him. Besides what he’s pounding into your body and purring into your ear. And you find yourself letting go instead of trying to hold on, because despite falling apart at the seams, you can trust that he’ll always carry you to the end.
You truly don’t know—don’t know what he sees in you that you can’t seem to see yourself. But you bask in it. Embrace in his all-consuming love that scorches.
It’s a raw feeling. Both inside and out. Both inside your heart and out your core as he drives into you with vigor.
And it keeps building up, that coil he’s been springing all night, pulling you this way and that. It feels good, too damn good because you love the sensation of him overwhelming your entire being. It causes tears to start rimming your waterline, the overstimulation breaking you.
“Shoto–! S-Sho–!”
Shoto pulls away for a fraction of a second, and you’re almost about to protest—about to fire out how unfair he’s being despite how sensitive you are, before his hands slink down and around your thighs. Big hands palm the underside of it, and your heart nearly lurches out of your throat when he pushes your legs up, folding you into a brutal mating press.
You’d throw your head back if you could, if not for his warm hands cradling it to his. Your mind blanks as he sinks into you deep, the lines between pleasure and pain blurring so wickedly sweet. All you can do is hold onto him as you soundlessly scream, barely able to catch a breath.
“One more,” he coos against your face. Not a suggestion, and not so much as a command either. It’s as if he’s simply stating a fact, a path that he knows will run its course.
Shoto pounds into you, the bed creaking under all the weight—under all his vigorous effort to bring you to your climax again. Sweat-soaked skin slapping against each other as he rams his cock into you as if his life depended on it.
You can feel your tears trickle out of your eyes, a wobbly path down as your body shakes from his thrusts. Shoto gently licks them away with his tongue, leaving a lingering kiss on your temple so tender that it tugs at your heart despite him fucking you deep into the mattress, his weighty body nearly suffocating you under him.
Hot. Your belly feels hot, core tight and exhausted but still craving him. Still craving more with each powerful split of his cock and each dampening kiss to your temple.
(Shoto feels his body burning with so much desire that he fears flames might erupt from his skin. The line between pleasure and pain blurs for him as well. A murky river that borders on the high of seeing your blissed out face paired with your wrung out body, and the prickling sensation of needing you so badly. In every way possible.
It almost hurts, the extent of his hunger for you.
He needs you. And he also needs you to need him.)
“I–” you gasp through stuttered breaths, “I-I’m going to—”
“What do you want, my love?” Shoto pistons in and out of your contracting walls, his voice thick and rough. “What do you need?”
“I want you,” you squeeze your eyes tight, legs shaking in the air, but Shoto makes sure to hold them tight against his body, leveraging them. “I need you.”
“Need?” he asks. A voice that becomes hazier in your mind.
“Yes, yes, yes.” It comes out slurred and reliant. “I need you. I need you, please, please—”
“Yeah?” Shoto spreads his legs outwards—further apart, allowing him to drive into you deeper. Harsher. Rougher.
“You’re going to let me give you everything you need?”
You nod, though you don’t know if he can tell, don’t even know if your nods even come out as nods. But his name leaves your mouth over and over again, the only thing grounding you as you feel yourself peaking. Right at the edge of toppling over.
“Say it, my love. Let me hear it,” Shoto coaxes, with finality.
Your voice shakes, desperate and longing. Desperate to cum and longing for him.
“I need you,” you wail. “Give it to me, p-please. Everything.”
And Shoto rejoices. Heart flying to the crown of his head, heat burning in his being, rejoices. Voice so low that it comes out as a near growl.
“I can give you that. I’ll give you everything you want, anything you’ll ever need. What you deserve. I’m the only one who can.” Shoto keeps thrusting, erratic but anchored. Tinged with a profound urgency that aims to crumble.
“You sound so pretty when you say my name. You deserve this—deserve to cum. You deserve everything.”
He knows your body like the back of his hand. Knows where to angle and that the storm is at its peak when your walls start convulsing around him and choked sobs leave your lips. It tells him to find that spot again—that sensitive spot he has to curve into that would make you writhe wildly. A knowing smile graces his lips when you do, with smug pride he’ll never admit to your face.
You feel the pressure of him everywhere. On you. In you. His mouth that crashes onto yours, muffling your cries and kissing you hard. You feel him inhale deeply, taking even the breath that escapes your nose.
Shoto drives into you, grinding harshly when his cock stuffs you to the hilt. Then does it twice. Three times. And with one final grind, you fall apart for the fourth time tonight, a dark sea full of stars behind your eyes.
Chanting: I want you. I need you. I love you.
You tell him to cum inside. You tell him you want it and need it. You tell him you need him. And it all goes straight to Shoto’s head, then his cock. Drives him to insanity as he buries himself inside, shuddering, balls tensing as he spills rope after rope of cum into you. He milks you of your orgasm as you squeeze him through his, tremors wrecking you both.
Shoto fills you to the brim, both heart and body, its essence spilling at the edges.
Your chest heaves under his, exhausted as you fall dead weight into the mattress. Minutes pass, and only then do you finally take in your surroundings, bleary eyes blinking their way through the moonlit bedroom. The air is thick—humid with the smell of sweat and sex. But it hardly bothers you, fatigue quickly taking over your mind.
You vaguely note how the white wash of the moonlight shines onto Shoto, sweat glistening on his skin from the aftermath. Beautiful in every light.
You want him. You need him.
You love him.
Your lover slowly rolls your legs down, kissing the inside of your ankle softly as it passes him, massaging aching limbs as you wince from the released pressure. A small whimper vibrates from your throat when he pulls out his softened cock, limp as you both watch the mess that oozes from your hole.
“Stay here,” Shoto says gently, stroking a tender hand through your hair. You nod wordlessly, still panting, throwing your head back against the damp pillow as he rises from the mattress. The bed dips then bounces back when he gets off, heading towards the bathroom with a certain grace in his stride.
Your gaze falls to the ceiling, eyelids getting heavier with each passing second.
In the quiet of the bedroom, your hand drifts to your neck, pressing on the tender love bites created by him. You tap lightly on your skin, feeling a slight sting that brings a bashful smile to your face, not needing a mirror to know the many marks blossoming across your body.
Then your fingers travel: to his stomach that he pressed down, to the hips that he gripped, to the thighs that he held onto. Each graze across your skin reminds you of Shoto, reminds you of the devotion he speaks and shows with his heart. It makes you giddy—makes your chest swell and thrum with such warmth that you physically have to put your hands over yourself to quell it.
“You know I’ll always give you what you want. Won’t you do the same for me?”
“You’re going to let me give you everything you need?”
“I can give you that. I’ll give you everything you want, anything you’ll ever need. What you deserve. I’m the only one who can.”
“You deserve everything.”
Your vision blurs with those words on your mind, promises that wrangled its way into you so deeply that you would remember them even in your dreams.
When Shoto returns, he finds you on the edge of slumber, drowsiness and vulnerability cradling you softly. It’s with this in mind that he treats you carefully, satisfaction and ache warring in his heart.
He brings a warm, damp towel to the bed. Gentle strokes that clean his spent and sweat off of you, loving hands that knead at parts of your body that he knows will be sore in the morning. You grumble at the tenderness in your limbs, and he soothes them without hesitation, laying kisses across your skin.
Shoto changes the sheets, the blankets, even the pillows. Soft silk, the ones he knows you like best; doing anything to make you more comfortable. All before sitting on the edge of the mattress, with fingers running through your hair tenderly, diligently working out the knots.
“Should I head home soon?” you lazily mumble, though you don’t move a muscle.
Shoto’s heart ascends, his motions pausing before continuing.
Because normally, you’d announce you were going home—claiming it’s late, refusing his offer to stay over time and time again. And he’d let you go, a dip in his eyebrows as he watched you pack your things and drove you home, all because he thought it best to ease you slowly.
But things are different now. You were asking him if you should leave. Almost as if you knew what he was going to say.
“No,” he murmurs lowly, trying to keep his tone steady, his excitement at bay.
“Stay here,” he declares. “With me.”
“Yeah?” you say softly, a noise of contentment leaving you as his hand cards through your hair.
“Yes,” he responds. “Move in.” You should.
You giggle, and the sound makes him restless. Shoto watches as you slowly shift yourself, moving your head from the pillow to his lap, looking up at him with shimmering eyes. Wordlessly, he drapes the sheets back over your bare body, admiring the way you tuck into his embrace.
“Jumping the gun, don’t you think? You’d get tired of me.”
His palm cradles your face, thumb swiping across your cheek delicately. “Never.”
Your face softens, a worried glint in your eye. It’s astounding, he thinks to himself, how you can still doubt his feelings. “Never?”
“No. Never,” he affirms, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
You look at him—look at the way he’s gazing down at you with enamored eyes, a hint of something private lurking underneath them. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, but it only makes you huddle closer to him—aching for his warmth.
Then willingly, you place your heart in the palms of his hands that cradle you, whispering without an ounce of hesitation,
“Yeah. I do.”
And a smile stretches across Shoto’s face, a quiet, pleased curve that spoke of a million words. Words that he wouldn’t dare say out loud as he thinks:
The greatest gift in the world just fell right into his hands.
people think Levi core is being sum kind of badass but in reality it’s just saying the most unhinged thing before reverting back to your cinnamon roll ways.
You know something is wrong the moment you open the hotel room door.
The smell hits first—sweet, sharp, unmistakable. Cola. Too much of it.
Your eyes trail downward.
Michael Kaiser is sitting on the floor in nothing but his boxers, his back crouched and eyes fixed on the TV as he glared at it. Around him are empty cans. One. Two. Five. Too many to count. Some are crushed and twisted obviously opened in anger rather than thirst.
The TV is on.
Isagi’s voice fills the room, calm and infuriatingly confident as he answers an interview question. Kaiser scoffs under his breath.
“That fucking smile.” he mutters, cracking open another can. “I swear I’m going to wipe it off his face.”
You close the door behind you quietly. For a second, you just stand there. Arms crossed. Tired. Fed up. Watching him spiral in real time over a rival who lives rent-free in his head.
“Michael.” you say, flatly.
He shoots you a sharp look, blue eyes flashing. “What.”
You sigh.
It’s not worth fighting him like this. Not when his pride is already bruised, not when you know how quickly frustration curdles into something uglier for him. So instead of snapping, instead of lecturing him about caffeine and obsession and how drinking twelve cans of cola is not normal, you bend down.
And start picking them up. One can at a time. The sound of aluminum clinking echoes too loudly in the room.
Kaiser freezes. “…What in tarnation are you doing?” he asked. irritation laced with something uncertain.
“Cleaning.” you reply simply. turning your back to him. You gather another can. And another. “Someone has to.”
Silence fell the two of you and you can feel his eyes on you now, heavy and unreadable. The TV keeps talking—Isagi laughing lightly at something the interviewer says. Kaiser’s jaw tightens. He looks away and for once, he doesn’t say anything.
You keep cleaning. Your movements are slow, deliberate. Not angry. Just tired and somehow that makes it worse.
The room is quiet except for the TV and the soft sounds of you picking up his mess. Guilt crawls up his spine, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He wants to tell you to stop. Wants to snap. Wants to say something clever to cover it up. But nothing comes out.
Then you speak. “I know you can beat him.”
Kaiser’s head snaps up.
Your back is still turned to him as you crouched down and eyed a can twisted so violently you feel sorry for it.
Your voice isn’t loud when you spoke again. It isn’t dramatic. It’s steady and certain.
“I believe in you.”
The words hit harder and for a moment Kaiser just stares at you. Something tight in his chest loosens, then immediately panics at the relief. He hates how easily you get to him. Hates how much that sentence matters.
You stand up, aiming to throw the trash away but when you turn— you’re yanked backward.
You yelp as Kaiser pulls you down onto his lap, arms wrapping around your waist with no warning. His laugh is sharp, bright, back in full force.
“Careful, love..” he says smugly. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me.”
Before you can protest, he presses a kiss to your cheek. Then another. And another. Rapid, messy, almost aggressive in their enthusiasm.
“Hey—!” you laugh, trying to push him away.
He doesn’t let you.
“Oh, I’m absolutely going to destroy Yoichi now.” Kaiser says between kisses, voice brimming with renewed arrogance. “For you? I’ll humiliate him.”
He kisses your jaw. Your temple. The corner of your mouth.
“I’ll make him regret ever smiling on that field.”
And as he holds you there, cocky grin firmly back in place, the TV droning on in the background, you realize something quietly important;
Michael Kaiser doesn’t just need someone to challenge him.
He needs someone who believes in him even when he’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty cans, fighting ghosts only he can see.
Most humbly requesting some Feitan x reader pretty pretty please I love the way you wrote him
Feitan Porter X Reader
A/N: This is gonna be kinda short cuz I need to do part 2 for the chrollo x feitan x reader but I love requests so here you go baby boo 🫶🏽
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The air in the hideout was thick with silence, broken only by the metallic rasp of Feitan’s blade sliding back into its sheath. You stood in the doorway, pulse unsteady, watching the faint line of blood on his cheek catch the lantern light.
He didn’t look at you right away—he never did. But when he finally turned, his gaze was razor-sharp, dark eyes dragging over you with deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch.
“Still here?” His voice was low, roughened by exertion. “Thought you’d run.”
You didn’t answer, just took a step closer. The faint scent of iron and smoke clung to him, something dangerous and magnetic. His lips curved—not quite a smirk, but something close.
“Curious little thing,” he murmured, taking a step toward you.
“You didn’t have to take all of them alone,” you said quietly.
Feitan didn’t answer at first. His head tilted just a little, that faint, eerie stillness before he spoke. “Didn’t need help,” he muttered. Then his gaze slid to you, slow and assessing. “You followed anyway.”
You swallowed. “Maybe I wanted to make sure you came back alive.”
That earned you a low, amused sound. Almost a laugh. “Worried?” His voice was softer now, teasing, laced with something dark.
He took a step closer — then another. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of metal and sweat in the air. His eyes caught the light when he looked at you, sharp enough to make your knees tighten.
“Or,” he murmured, “you like seeing me like this.”
You froze. He was close enough now that the tips of his fingers brushed your wrist — not quite a touch, but enough to spark something in your chest.
You met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “And if I did?”
That wicked little smirk cut across his mouth. “Then you’re worse than I thought.”
His gloved hand caught your chin, the leather cool against your skin. He tilted your head up just slightly, just enough to make you forget to breathe.
“You know what happens when you stare at something sharp too long?”
Your back met the wall before you realized he’d moved. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear.
“It cuts you,” he whispered, voice dropping into a taunting hum.
You swallowed, the sound too loud in the quiet room. “Maybe I don’t mind getting cut.”
That earned you a real smirk this time—small, sharp, and wicked. “You really shouldn’t say things like that to me.” He leaned in again — so close his breath grazed your jaw. “You don’t know danger,” he whispered, the words sending a chill down your spine. “Not yet.”
Then, just as suddenly, he stepped away, leaving the space between you painfully empty. The tension snapped like a pulled thread, but the heat lingered — heavy and unsaid.
At the door, he paused, glancing back. The faintest trace of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.
“Next time you follow me,” he said, “be ready for what you’re asking for.”
And then he was gone, silent as smoke. You were left there, heart hammering, his touch still ghosting over your skin like a promise you weren’t sure you could survive.
a/n: trigger warning, i’m on demon time. happy valentine’s day <3
currently thinking about riding on a dick, real nice and slow right now.
don’t you love thinking about it?
about making eye contact with that person and you fucking him with your eyes while you both feel it slide in, niceee and slow.
you’ll be so ready and wet for that dick, you’ll be twitching from anticipating the feeling of it slipping into your warm heat. and you just love to sit on it for a little longer, warm up his cock a bit.
and then you’ll slowly go up, and righttt back down. and it’s sooo hot, how you’ll look at each other the whole time, mouths agaped, jaws slacked, and completely drowning in each others’ desire.
it feels soo good when he grabs your hips and starts fucking up into you.
as though he’s desperate for his dick to reach all the way inside.
even his hips move with intention. the intention to fuck you senseless and get you to cum all over his body.
every stroke is precise, deep, and it drives you crazy.
when he hits that sweet spot, continuously, your pussy throbs on his dick like it’s holding onto it for dear life.
you love how he fucks you, and you love how he encourages you to fuck him back. you’ll grind into each other, letting your hips move all over his hips, while he slams up into your pretty little pussy.
Summary: Togame Jo could understand anything---all your weird habits and personality. But, never the habit of SKIPPING YOUR OWN MEALS. Togame does not like that.
A/N: It's been a long time, huh? since I last posted? I finally got to post this one! OH MY GOODNESS. I still have more in my drafts but just give me another few weeks to handle...them. ALSO, I'M MISSING JO SO MUCH SO HERE WE AREEE!
No usage of y/n. You only have a nickname called ‘Tiny-chan’. I don’t like writing y/n whenever I create fics. Hehe.
Warnings: None. This is wholesome and candy-sweet. All SOFT, CARING AND THOUGHTFUL TOGAME. Just Togame being a huge teddy bear! Also, Togame just really doesn't like you skipping your meals. So, to the Togame girlies out there, don't skip your meals too! (I have a bad habit of that. Hehe. Sorry!) This is also just partially edited? in a way that I just gave it one read all in all.
I apologize for the grammar mistakes, English isn’t my first language and I’m not entirely fluent with it.
LIKES, COMMENTS AND REBLOGS SURELY MAKES ME SMILE! Don’t be shy to leave a comment if you want. Hehehe. Send an ask if you want to talk about stuff! I'm in the JJK and WBK fandom as of the moment!
Words: 2.6k
Disclaimer: Please do not repost this on any other media sites. I only have Wattpad and Tumblr for all of my fics.
EVERYBODY---well, not technically everyone---but, a few dozen of Shishitoren members were in groups on the roof top of Ori.
It seemed like everyone was having their lunch. A new practice that Shishitoren had unofficially stated after that fight with Furin just days ago.
"Tiny-chaaan," Togame has grabbed onto his chopsticks, inserting it between his lips and breaking it apart with one hand, a plastic tray with a dozen of gyoza on the other. A soft admonish with a calling of your name was given.
He'd taken a gaze at you before peering over that phone you were holding. It was still that.
No, he wasn't worried you were texting someone while being with him.
Jo was just noticing how you were completely glued to your phone since the moment you arrived at Ori, three hours ago.
You were being too quiet for your own good, not in a sense that you were upset or mad; you were being too quiet because of being too engrossed in that game he couldn't understand.
"You've been on that for hooours." he'd stated the obvious, the drawls in his vocabulary, dancing with his tone.
With his viridescent eyes locked on you, he was concerned as he looked at you above his sunglasses. Sitting beside you criss-cross, eyes constantly peering at your phone then towards your face.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"No, Kame-chan." you shook your head, fixing how you also sat criss-crossed beside your boyfriend. Still, thoroughly focused on that game you were trying to ace on for hours now.
Jo had lackadaisically dropped down that tray of food he has against his clothed leg, gaze fixated on you as he responded.
"Mmh." his hum sounded like an understanding from where you were coming from. Quick to dealing with your fancies, never one to debate nor be angered for it. No matter what you do.
Togame have placed his chopsticks down, a finger lifted up to scratch the side of his face. In ponder for being unenthusiastic over the food you've asked for. The request coming from you who have been all giddy just imagining what you wanted.
You wanted it. Well, Togame have gotten it for you. Of course.
"You wanted some Yakitori and Gyoza," he'd started, words in a lull as he frankly uttered, "You have it. It's time to eat."
At that exact moment, Togame was beginning to sound like he was softly nagging at you---was it even a nag?---your character in the game died at the same time when your team mates messed up.
"But," you placed your phone on your lap, welcomed by Jo's eyes who have been staring back at you the first second he started talking. His eyes were soft and understanding, yet it still held that subtle admonishment he wanted you to comprehend.
Howbeit, you were hard-headed.
"I'm on a ranked game." when you were revived, your hands immediately held onto your phone. Togame's gaze simply going straight towards your gestures, blinking lackadaisically from the response he'd gotten. "You go first. You eat fast anyways."
He couldn't help but subtly sigh at that, wordless as he could. Not knowing what to say. A small smile still lifting his lips when he'd caught you beaming by stealing in a kill from another team mate.
"Hm."
You heard him drone, sounding deep that you mistaken it as him being disappointed or upset. Hence, it was enough for you to take a double take and give him a gander, your expressions a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Were you worried about him or excited for the game that was beginning to be on your favor right now?
Without a doubt, he was more important than this game you were on which initiated on turning your whole focus on Togame instead. His face now incomprehensive of what he was thinking. Purely a deadpan expression, but filled with no malice in it. Was he really...irked? or not?
"Wait, are you finally mad at me?" a straightforward question, answered by an immediate one.
"You sound like you want me mad." Togame quipped, blinking out of his stupor, curious as to why you sounded like the idea of it was interesting.
"Then, are you pissed off mad?"
He was quick to do so, his lips lifting into a soft smile as he reassured, "No."
"I know you aren't, Kame-chan!" With a smile, you've tried to coax him on to something. Your phone right on the palm of your hand as you reached it out for him to take.
"If you aren't mad, then play my game for me."
Obviously, Jo was quick to refuse. Never knowing what games you play nor is he knowledgeable enough for that. "Eh?" he'd languidly expressed, eyes momentarily going a little wider than he should have. A shake of his head coming after, "I have no idea how." pause. "I'm also not good at it."
You've retracted your arm back, whining from his constant, concerned nags. Lowkey, loving it as well. He just doesn't know.
"But, Kame-chaaaan," you've complained a little. It was the last game already. So, after that, you'll be spending time with him and everyone as well.
Calm as he always is, he honestly stated it out in the open, going back to when he first fetched you from your home, bringing you to Ori, your chatters playing inside his head again as he confessed.
"Come on, you haven't eaten yet." he'd try to calmly coax you on this one, emerald eyes soft and pleading, "You haven't eaten breakfast as much as I remembered."
His eyes locked on you who was constantly looking between him and your phone. Being in a dilemma from his persistent persuasions.
Alright, you've raised the white flag in this one.
"After I finish this game then." you stated, final. Squinting your eyes at him as his eyes was fast to show that adorable crescent shapes that made you tap on your phone a lot harder than it was supposed to. Your heart doing a somaursalt for how he was always thoughtful, considerate and caring at the same time.
Those three were a triple threat.
Togame was just simply dangerous...to your heart. It makes you stressed---in a good way.
"Hm?" he hummed again, acknowledging your answer, "How many minutes left then?"
You were being lost in your own focus. Just constantly accepting your death in the game for the third time.
Feeling his gaze still on you, you tried not to look back, trying hard to focus on that long game where your enemies just don't want to give-up despite of knowing the stance they have on the game now. "Thirty? twenty?"
Now, Jo's tone was in between playful and scolding at the same time.
"Eh. That won't do good..."
Much to yourself losing focus, you were glad Choji had to tag in the conversation. He was fast as heck, not even being around a minute ago until he came out of nowhere and sat beside you, peering over your phone as he stared at the game you were playing.
His hands, reaching out for his own chopsticks and foods that were opened for everyone to take. "I can play it for you, Tiny-chan!" Tomiyama joyously announced, grabbing onto a can of Taro milk tea that sat in front of everyone, grabbing his own paper plate and grabbing a Yakitori for himself, "After I eat, though."
Togame was quick to refuse his offer for you, shaking his head back at Tomiyama, "No, no." his tone silvery and deep, "It's fine, Choji."
Without a doubt; without dilly-dallying, Togame grabbed his own chopsticks, picking up a piece of gyoza, dipping it in his favorite sauce; vinegar and pepper, one that you've also taken to love too.
Bringing it up to your mouth, you had no idea about it at all---this feeding gesture he was on about---without taking a whiff of that appetizing scent that the dumpling had to offer.
"Here, Darl." Jo gently moved the food closer to your mouth, awaiting for you to take it for his effort, "Eat."
You've stared hard at the dumpling, your eyebrows meeting together, not knowing what to do as you tried to pull away from his own food, knowing that it was his to begin with. "But, that's yours. I told you, go eat, Kame-chan. I can wait this out."
Your gestures made him emit a sound that simply says he was perturbed by your response. He sounded a little bit disappointed and sad but soft at the same time. The whole tone he was using began to make you more stressed than he probably could right now. "No?" he continued to coax, never surrendering nor raising the white flag, not bringing his hand down.
"Tiny-chan, are you going to continue ignoring me like this?"
He worriedly gazed down at you, your differences in height obvious as he subtly offered a frown, trying to seek for your surrender.
Was he trying to act soft with those puppy eyes of his?
Is this his strategy because you know damn well it's working.
You've eventually scrunched your nose at that. Your eyes squinted back at your lover---mentally raising the white flag for that soft, succulent, coaxing tone he was using.
Togame knew how to make you succumb. Shishitoren's vice-general know what makes you surrender just by his tone and gestures.
"Togame-san," Wanijima Yugo decided to butt in, watching you both wheedle each other---goading on whose decision would end up being picked in the end. He'd call out Jou, interrupting how he was trying to feed you with his chopsticks.
He'd given Yugo a look, glancing at him.
"You always tolerate her habits." Wanijima stated frankly. A placid smile on his face as he reminisced a few years back---those days where Choji wasn't chosen as Shishitoren's leader yet. "---Just like what you always do for Choji."
Tomiyama had his own world. He was munching on his food---those tempura's he was busily gobbling down when his name was called out of the blue.
"Huh? Whatsh? me?" he'd pointed to himself with his own chopsticks. Crumbs of tempura breading around his mouth. Words gibberish. "---Whatsh did I do?"
You've blinked back at them three. The conversation going on between the trio. Togame's response catching you off-guarded with glowing heart-eyes and a thumping heart.
"Tiny-chan's happy playing her game, Wanijima." his tone was understanding and tender. It was a subtle reprehend that Yugo felt from Togame's perspective. This one, sounding like one of what he heard from him whenever he tolerates Choji's bad habits.
The side of Jou's lips quirked into a reassuring smile. "Let her be."
From the way Togame immediately took your side, turning a blind side towards your tendencies and little foibles---felt like you were being spoiled.
It felt like he was mollycoddling you more than he could ever do than towards his best friend. Hence, you couldn't help but feel guilty for your constant insistence on what you wanted him to tolerate for all your proclivity on skipping meals.
In which, you felt that he did NOT like. Yet, he chose to chide you in a way where there was no verbal fights involved---bearing his detest for your bad habits of skipping food. Ending up just finding a way to have you munching on your meal as much as he could.
"Well, I think I've heard that before." Wanijima couldn't help the satirizing remark. A smile following suit. His shoulders shrugging as he was straight forward to say,
"---This isn't new, Togame-san."
"Ah...Eto..." Togame could only manage to scratch the side of his face. Looking away and appearing to be guilty for what was said out in the open. Needless to say, he was too on the nose for subtly knowing he was well-aware of the situation with you.
There was an awkward pause. Togame clearly did not know what to say. Was he suppose to agree with that? what if you hear it and end up getting angry at him for agreeing to what Yugo said?
You've quickly opened your mouth and ate the food he was feeding.
He was caught blinking to himself. Flabbergasted to hear you munch that piece of Gyoza hanging for dear life on his chopsticks in the air.
"Oh?" he'd audibly mumbled. Mouth in an 'O' before it faded into a soft, appreciative smile that reached his downturned eyes. "That's not so difficult, right?"
You were grumbling about something with your mouth full. Probably yapping about how you couldn't resist him too, no matter how the people around you sees the opposite. Though, it was cut-off short when you've finally swallowed the dumpling, lately realizing how scrumptious it was.
You've gulped it all down, frantically tapping Togame's knee that seated beside you. Excited and anticipating more. "Waitsh! That tastesh good! More, more!"
Togame's emeralds were in crescent shapes. Happy to see you enjoying your food. He'd languidly nodded once, grabbing one dumpling on his chopsticks, "Yeah, yeaaaah..." he dipped the Gyoza on the sauce, "I'll feed you all you want,"
"---Don't want you starving anyway,"
Your caring boyfriend had let the excess sauce drip back on the plastic container. His movements slow and languid---like he always is. With how deliberate he was, it gave you time to glance at your phone that had been on your lap, lately noticing that you've had thrown your responsibility away in the game---focusing more on your thoughtful lover.
Togame glanced to see you out of it again. Your focus on how the game was slowly taking its down fall. He'd brush it off, bringing up his free hand to leniently clip his thumb and forefinger over your chin. A gentle nudge and turn of your head, his chopsticks nearing your mouth. The puff in his breath as clear as ice---continuously dwelling on how you get distracted by stuff too quick---just like Choji.
His deep tones were emphasized. This one underlying that he was taking everything into consideration---but, cooperation was needed. He'd softly tapped the flat of his thumb over your chin, eventually caressing it lightly, making your heart flutter more than it ever could as he gazed straight into your eyes. Togame's sweet-talking making you bite the side of your cheek from being under his touch.
"At least, look at me while I feed you, alright?"
You could only stare at him. One filled with adoration and fondness when he began manhandling you in a way that would make a woman kick her feet in the air.
Togame made his sigh obvious when you remained unmoving. He'd draw out his vowels as he nudged the dumpling on your lip. This time, letting it touch your vermillions. The gyoza getting colder every second, "You know you gotta' eaaattt, Darl."
The food was munched on a hot second from the time he'd sigh. It sounded like the ones where he was stressed out when Choji was out and about with his shenanigans. You didn't want to stress him out that way---in which you had immediately took one huge bite. Never leaving anything on his chopsticks.
Your gaze was pooling with this puerile demand. Togame blinked out of curiosity. Wordlessly asking what was up. He was also understanding this as some kind of favor he was about to end up agreeing in the end again.
"Will you feed me later too, Kame-chan?"
Jou had his emeralds wide, wondering why you were even asking for it. Yet, he'd eventually obliged. Never finding anything wrong with it.
Because Togame Jou ought to provide for your happiness and satisfaction.
"Eh?" he'd looked away, grabbing onto another dumpling---forgetting his own hunger. The need to secure you first getting in the way of his own satiation. "Sureeee, Darl. If that's what you want."
Wanijima had bore holes into him just by staring. Probably thinking you were...spoiled rotten by the second-in-command that Wanijima knew his face was caught in disbelief. On the other hand, Choji gobbled down the food he had in his mouth. Eyes wide and sparkling as he watched Togame silently feeding you his own gyoza's with a soft smile on his face.
Tomiyama pointed towards his best friend---the only person who had the guts to say what others couldn't nor would have the audacity to because Togame tried his hardest not for it to be obvious or known around Shishitoren. Though, it takes a dummy not to know.
"Kame-chan! I didn't know you were such a simp!"
This has been in my drafts for so long despite of it being done long time ago too. Oh my goodness. Also, A WISH HAS BEEN ANSWERED. I FINALLY HAVE MY OWN TOGAME JO AND GOJO SATORU LOOK UP FIGURE! They're all so cute! AAAAAAA!
ೀ isagi knows you’re close. he can feel it in the way your thighs shake around him, in how your hands grip his arms like you’re clinging to reality itself. “hey, baby… breathe for me,” he whispers, sweaty forehead pressed to yours. “you’re doing so good. let go, yeah? let me feel you fall apart.” he’ll talk you through it the entire time. so soft but firm, grounding you in his voice. his thrusts slow just enough to grind deep, his thumb drawing perfect circles over your clit with practiced precision. and if your head’s too cloudy, he’ll hold your cheeks between his hands, making you look into his blown-out, adoring eyes. “you can let go. i’ve got you. i’m right here.” the second you break, the way your body clenches around him sends him over the edge too with a breathless, “that’s my girl.”
ೀ bachira he notices immediately. you’re so close and yet your orgasm keeps slipping out of reach. “aww, poor baby,” he coos, hips grinding slowly into you, tip dragging deliciously. “you can’t cum yet? even when i’m right here?” he loves how frustrated you get, whining and squirming. but when he realizes you’re stuck, he switches and his sweetness shining through. “let’s make it easy for you,” he murmurs, flipping you over to ride him so you can control the pace. hands on your hips, guiding you in lazy, deep rolls. he grabs your vibrator or uses his fingers, adding that pressure right on your clit. “there we go. now cum for me, pretty girl.” if you still can’t, he’ll beg. mouth at your throat, his voice desperate and needy, “please, i need to feel you lose it on me. please.”
ೀ barou gets pissed. not at you, but at the fact that something’s keeping you from cumming when you’re being fucked by him. “what are you waiting for, huh?” he growls, dragging your hips back against him with brutal force. “you’re not cumming until i say you can. and now i’m telling you. fucking let go.” he’ll pull out and drop to his knees, shoving your legs open and eating you like he’s starving. growling into your cunt, one hand wrapped tightly around your waist, the other stroking himself. “i’m not moving from this spot until i feel you cum on my tongue, brat.” sometimes, it’s exactly what you need. intense focus, no escape and that pressure tipping you over the edge. when you finally cum, sobbing and twitching, he licks you through it like a man obsessed. “there she is. that’s it. fuckin’ knew you could do it.”
ೀ kaiser notices the second you tense, lips pulling into a smug grin. “oh? you’re close? but not quite there?” he doesn’t speed up. he slows down. teases. pushes you even further to the brink until you’re begging. “what’s wrong, baby? can’t cum unless i give it to you?” his voice is thick with a cruel kind of sweetness. but then he leans in close, presses a soft kiss to your temple. “i’ll give it to you. you just have to let me in.” he links his fingers with yours and stares straight into your soul as he fucks you just right, like he’s been mapping your body his whole life. when you cry out and finally fall apart under him, his voice drops, “that’s it. look at you. so fucking beautiful when you break for me.”
ೀ rin knows you’re nearly there, but he won’t say much as he just watches you his eyes stay locked on you, studying every twitch of your body, adjusting his angle until you gasp. and then his hand moves between you like it’s instinct. l the right pressure. the right rhythm. he doesn’t ask, because you don’t need to tell him. but when he sees that flicker of doubt in your eyes, like you’re afraid to let go, he breaks the silence. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, unexpectedly soft. “let go. i’ll catch you.” his voice is quiet and raw, and it undoes you completely. he keeps fucking you through it, watching like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.
ೀ aiku feels the change in your body, your grip, your breathing and he knows you’re close, but something’s keeping you tethered. “mmm, you’re right there, aren’t you, princess? but you’re holding back. why?” he’ll press his chest to your back, fucking you in slow, deep thrusts, his hand sliding between your legs. “don’t worry, baby. i’ve got you. let me help you fall apart. you don’t need to do anything. just feel me.” and if that doesn’t do it? he flips you over, lifts your legs over his shoulders and fucks you at an angle so perfect, your eyes roll back in your head. “cum for me, now. i wanna feel you shake.” and he won’t stop until he does.
ೀ nagi notices you’re close, your legs tightening around his waist, your fingers gripping his back, but then it slips away again. “huh? thought you were about to cum,” he murmurs, grinding into you. but then he lifts his head, catching the frustration in your face. “oh… you can’t?” something shifts in him. you’re not just a game anymore. he kisses your cheek. “want me to help you, baby?” suddenly he’s focused. slow, deep strokes while his fingers find your clit with that signature nagi precision. “you’re too pretty to be frustrated,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face as he pumps into you. “just relax. i’ll take care of the rest.” he doesn’t stop until your back arches and you’re gasping. he even stays still for a second, letting you ride it out. “that’s my girl. knew you could do it.”
ೀ reo is all about luxury, but his favorite indulgence? making you feel completely worshipped. he sees how you’re close but struggling and just melts with love and desire. “you think i’d let you leave this bed without cumming?” he says with a little laugh. “no way, baby. we’re not done until you see stars.” he lays you down like royalty. silk sheets, candles maybe, a soft hand on your belly to ground you. he uses his mouth, his fingers, his cock. whatever you need. his only goal is your release. he praises you the whole time. “you’re doing so good, sweetheart. don’t rush. just let yourself go. i’ll catch you when you fall.”
ೀ kunigami feels it and he sees how it’s hurting you, how your brows pull together in frustration. “hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “you don’t have to push so hard. i’m not going anywhere.” he’d slow down, hold you, wrap you in his arms and just stay there inside you. kissing your temple, rocking gently. “let your body feel, baby. i’ll wait as long as you need.” he’s so calm, so steady, and that safety can be what finally breaks the wall. he notices every breath you take, every shift in your hips. “there it is… just like that.” his voice a soft rumble, holding you close when you cum like he’s protecting you from the world.
ೀ shidou can see it in your eyes that you’re so close. he usually fucks like he’s trying to tear you in half. but this time he surprises you. “what’s wrong, baby? can’t cum? that’s no fun,” he purrs, but his tone is softer than usual, curious. “lemme try something.” suddenly he’s… gentle. focused. he lowers his voice, lips against your ear. “you trust me, yeah?” he’ll pull out, eat you like it’s the only thing he was made to do, moaning against your clit, eyes never leaving your face. “c’mon, baby, let go. i know you want to. you’re so fucking hot when you lose control.” and when you finally cum he loses it, groaning like your pleasure is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “fuck, that’s it. that’s what i wanted.”
ೀ hiori is so attuned to your body. he doesn’t even need to ask. he knows when you’re stuck. “you’re overthinking again,” he says softly, brushing his fingers along your stomach. “you don’t have to perform. you don’t even have to try.” he stops moving. just lays on top of you, still inside, heart pounding with yours. “just feel me.” he talks you down from your head, grounding you with slow kisses and gentle touches. “let go for you, not for me.” he uses his voice like a balm. murmured affirmations between every lazy, perfect thrust. “you’re safe. you’re loved. you’re perfect.” and when you finally cum he cups your face like he’s in awe. “god… you’re beautiful when you come undone.”
ೀ karasu knows it’s not just about pressure. it’s about your mind. and he’s dangerously good at slipping into it. “i can feel it, babe. you’re right there. but something’s stopping you, huh?” his voice drops low, almost teasing. he backs off slightly. enough to make your body ache for it. “let me in. let me drag it out of you.” he tells you exactly what he’s doing, how good you look, how much he wants to feel your pussy clench when you cum. “you know what’s hot? watching you fight it. watching you try not to lose it. but you will, sweetheart. i’m gonna make sure of it.” and when you finally break his smug smile melts into awe. “there she is. knew you were close. just needed me to push you over the edge.”
you’ve been friends with them since you were small. which sounds sweet out loud, like you’re all in some wholesome childhood photo with matching backpacks.
but in reality?
it means you’ve spent half your life standing in the middle of the itoshi brothers emotional crime scene, and you’re the only witness.
you’re sitting on the edge of rin’s bed, legs crossed, watching him silently scroll on his phone. his room looks the same as always. clean. neat. barely lived-in. you glance at the clock, then back at him, then you sigh.
“so,” you say.
rin doesn’t look up. “don’t.”
you blink. “…don’t what?”
“don’t start.”
you stare at him. “i literally just said ‘so.’”
rin finally looks at you. his eyes are sharp. tired. irritated like he’s been annoyed since birth and it’s everybody else’s fault. “you’re gonna bring him up,” he says.
you open your mouth, close it, then say, “okay. first of all. rude.”
rin goes back to his phone.
you scoot a little closer. “second of all,” you continue, “you’re right.”
rin’s jaw tightens. you can feel the air shift in the room.
and it’s always like this with rin. he doesn’t explode. he doesn’t yell. he just gets colder. quieter. like he’s shutting a door in your face and locking it.
you lean back on your hands. “i’m not even trying to start something,” you say. “i’m just saying… he’s literally coming home today.”
rin’s thumb pauses on the screen. “i know.”
“and you’re acting like you don’t care.”
rin’s eyes flick to you. “i don’t.”
you stare at him. “okay. liar.”
rin doesn’t respond. he just stares at his phone like it’s suddenly very interesting.
you sigh again. this is your life now. you’re not even a person. you’re a mediator. a translator. a hostage.
rin doesn’t talk about sae. but rin is always talking about sae.
it’s in the way he gets quiet when his brother’s name comes up. in the way he refuses to look at old photos. in the way he pretends he doesn’t hear when their parents ask if he’s excited.
and you get it. you do.
you were there when everything changed.
you were there when sae came back from madrid and looked rin in the eyes like it was nothing, and told him he was going to be the best midfielder in the world now. you were there when rin stood there, stunned, because their whole dream had been different.
sae was going to be the best striker in the world. rin was going to be the second best. that was the plan. that was the thing they said over and over like it was a promise.
and then sae “abandoned” it. just like that. like it was nothing. like rin was nothing. like rin had no value anymore if he wasn’t following sae’s new path.
and rin thought it was lame. not because midfielders were lame. but because sae said it with that cold certainty, like their dream was childish, like rin was childish for still believing in it.
and after that, rin went quiet in a way that never really went away.
you just wish he’d stop dragging you into it because you’re tired. and also because sae is coming home. and sae is… sae.
the front door opens about twenty minutes later. you hear it from rin’s room. then footsteps. unhurried.
rin doesn’t move. you sit up. you already know what’s about to happen. it’s like watching a train you can’t stop.
rin’s door opens without knocking. of course.
sae steps in, tall and clean, dressed like he’s never been uncomfortable a day in his life. he glances at you first. his eyes soften slightly. not much. but enough that you feel it.
“you’re here,” he says.
you nod. “yeah.”
sae looks at rin. “you’re home,” sae says, like he’s making casual conversation.
rin doesn’t answer.
sae stares at him for a second. then he just walks further into the room and leans against the wall, arms folded.
he looks… normal. like this isn’t the most tense sibling interaction on earth. like rin isn’t sitting there radiating resentment so strong it could power the house.
sae’s gaze shifts back to you. “how’s school?”
you blink. this is insane. this is actually insane.
rin is basically seething in silence, and sae is asking you about school like you’re all at a family barbecue.
you clear your throat. “it’s… fine.”
sae nods. “good.”
rin’s phone screen goes dark. slowly, he sets it down and you know he’s about to speak. your stomach tightens.
sae doesn’t seem to notice. he keeps talking.
“i saw you changed your desk setup,” sae says to rin, glancing at the corner of the room.
rin’s voice is flat. “don’t talk to me.”
the words drop into the room like a heavy object.
sae pauses. then he looks at rin again. his expression doesn’t change much. he just looks mildly confused, like rin said something weird and dramatic and sae is trying to figure out if it’s serious.
“…what?” sae says.
rin doesn’t look at him. “don’t talk to me,” rin repeats.
you sit there, frozen. you want to disappear. you want to become a pillow. you want to be anything except the third person in this room.
sae’s eyes flick to you, just for a second, like he’s checking if you’re seeing this too.
you give him a look that says: yes. i’m seeing it. i’m suffering.
help.
sae looks back at rin. and he says, calm, “what’s your problem?”
rin’s jaw tightens. “you,” he says.
sae blinks. then he scoffs, quiet. “me?”
rin finally looks up. and his eyes are sharp in a way that makes you want to put on a seatbelt. “yeah,” rin says. “you.”
sae stares at him and you can see it in his face. he genuinely doesn’t get it. he genuinely thinks this is… a phase.
like rin is going through some moody teenage thing and eventually he’ll snap out of it.
sae speaks like he’s dealing with a child. “you’re still on this,” he says.
rin’s expression doesn’t move, but his voice gets lower. “still.”
sae’s eyes narrow. “i didn’t do anything to you.”
rin lets out a small laugh and it’s not funny. it’s the kind of laugh that sounds like something breaking.
you shift on the bed. you want to say something. anything.
but you already know if you open your mouth, rin will look at you like you betrayed him too. and sae will look at you like you’re being dramatic.
you’re literally in between. you always have been.
rin speaks again. “you didn’t do anything,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the words. “that’s the whole point.”
sae stares. “…what are you talking about.”
rin’s hands clench on the blanket. “you left,” rin says. “you came back and acted like i was nothing.”
sae’s expression hardens slightly. “that’s not true.”
rin’s eyes flash. “it is.”
sae pushes off the wall. he takes a step closer. not aggressive, just direct, like he’s trying to end the conversation quickly.
“rin,” sae says, voice calm, “you’re being dramatic.”
rin’s face goes blank. and you know that word hit him like a slap.
you glance at sae. he looks completely unaware, like he genuinely thinks he’s helping. like he’s thinking: i’m the older brother. i’m calming him down.
but rin doesn’t want calm. rin wants blood. and sae doesn’t even know he’s bleeding.
rin stands up. slow. controlled. his shoulders are tense. his posture a bit slouched. but his eyes look like a storm.
“i’m not dramatic” rin says.
sae sighs. “okay.”
rin steps forward. “you think i’m going through a phase,” rin says, voice sharp. “like i’m just… throwing a tantrum.”
sae blinks. “…aren’t you.”
you flinch. you literally flinch.
because sae just said that so casually. like it’s an observation. like it’s not the most insane thing to say to rin’s face.
rin’s mouth tightens. he looks like he’s holding himself back with sheer force.
you jump in before rin can say something that’ll make their mom cry.
“okay,” you say quickly, “hi. hello. i’m still here.”
both of them look at you.
rin’s stare is cold. sae’s stare is neutral.
you suddenly feel like you’re being interviewed for a job you didn’t apply for.
you gesture between them. “can we not do this while i’m in the room?” you say.
sae raises an eyebrow. “why not.”
you stare. “because it’s awkward.”
sae looks genuinely confused. “how.”
you laugh once, dry. “sae. seriously.”
rin’s eyes flick to you. “don’t defend him,” he says.
you whip your head toward rin. “i’m not defending him. i’m defending myself. i don’t want to die in this room.”
rin’s jaw tightens.
sae’s eyes flick to you again. and you can tell he’s realizing something. not the whole thing. but something.
“you knew,” sae says quietly.
you freeze. “…knew what?”
sae looks at rin, then back at you. “you knew he felt like this.”
your throat tightens. because yes. you did.
you knew rin felt like this for a long time. you were there when rin started sleeping less. when he stopped smiling. when he stopped saying sae’s name like it was something good.
you were there when rin started talking about sae like he was a stranger. no more ‘nii-chan’.
you were there when rin started treating you like the only person he could talk to, even though he barely talked at all.
you swallow. “i mean,” you say carefully, “yeah.”
rin’s eyes narrow. “don’t.”
you glance at him. “rin.”
“don’t explain me,” rin says.
sae’s gaze stays on you. “why didn’t you tell me?”
you stare at him because that question is crazy.
because telling sae would’ve done nothing. because sae doesn’t listen unless he wants to. because sae doesn’t understand feelings unless they’re spelled out for him.
you exhale. “because you wouldn’t have listened,” you say.
sae’s eyes narrow. “you don’t know that.”
you blink. then you laugh. not mean. just… tired.
“sae, you literally think he’s going through a phase.”
sae’s jaw tightens slightly.
you continue. “you think he’s being dramatic. you think he’s throwing a tantrum. you think he’ll get over it.”
sae’s eyes flick to rin. rin is staring at the floor now, like he doesn’t want to be seen, like he hates that this is even being talked about.
sae’s voice is calm. “he will get over it.”
rin’s head snaps up. “no,” rin says. “i won’t.”
the room goes quiet. your heart pounds.
sae stares at rin, and for a second, something changes in sae’s eyes. it’s small but you see it.
it’s like he finally realizes this isn’t just rin being moody, this isn’t rin being childish. this is something deeper. something that’s been sitting there for a long time.
sae’s voice drops slightly. “…rin,” he says.
rin’s eyes are hard. “don’t say my name like that,” rin says. “like you care.”
sae’s face tightens. “i do care.”
rin laughs again, that same bitter sound. “you don’t.”
sae takes a breath, and you can tell he’s trying, in his own way, in the only way he knows how.
but sae isn’t good at this. sae is good at being confident. good at being cold. good at being the older brother who’s always right.
he’s not good at saying sorry.
and rin? rin doesn’t want a half apology. rin wants everything. he wants the past back. he wants his brother back. he wants to stop feeling like he was left behind.
sae looks at rin. “i didn’t betray you,” sae says.
rin’s eyes flash. “yes you did.”
sae’s voice stays calm. “i didn’t.”
rin steps closer. “you left,” rin says. “you came back and looked at me like i was nothing.”
sae’s jaw tightens. “that’s not what happened.”
rin’s voice shakes slightly, just barely. but you hear it. “it is,” rin says. “you changed. you became someone else. and you acted like i was stupid for still being me.”
sae’s eyes widen slightly, and you can tell that part hits him.
because sae remembers things differently. in sae’s head, he didn’t betray rin. he just… grew up. he just moved forward. he just did what he thought he had to do. and he assumed rin would follow.
because rin always followed.
but rin didn’t follow.
rin stayed behind and watched his brother become someone he didn’t recognize.
and sae never turned around.
you shift again, feeling sick. because you love both of them. and being their childhood friend means you have memories with both.
you remember sae teaching rin how to tie his shoes. you remember rin waiting by the door for sae to come home. you remember sae ruffling rin’s hair and calling him annoying. you remember rin smiling so wide it made his whole face soft.
and now?
rin’s face is stone. sae’s face is controlled. and you’re in the middle like a stupid referee.
you speak quietly. “you guys were so close,” you say.
both of them look at you.
rin’s eyes soften for half a second, then harden again.
sae’s gaze is unreadable.
you swallow. “and now it’s like…” you trail off.
like what? like you’re watching two people who love each other pretend they don’t. like you’re watching a family crack down the middle. like you’re watching rin bleed quietly and sae act like he doesn’t see it.
sae exhales, then he says, “he’s always been like this.”
rin’s eyes narrow. “like what?”
sae looks at him. “stubborn.”
rin’s voice is cold. “don’t.”
sae’s jaw tightens. “you’re acting like i ruined your life.”
rin’s eyes burn. “you did.”
you flinch again.
sae’s expression hardens. “that’s ridiculous.”
rin steps closer. “you think i’m ridiculous,” rin says. “you think i’m a joke.”
sae’s eyes narrow. “i don’t.”
rin’s voice sharpens. “you don’t even know me anymore.”
sae goes quiet.
and that’s when you realize something.
sae isn’t unaware because he’s evil.
he’s unaware because he’s… sae.
he’s always been like this. he’s always been focused. he’s always been a little detached. he’s always assumed people will just understand him.
and rin? rin is the opposite.
rin feels everything and then locks it inside like it’s a secret, and you’re the only person who’s been close enough to see both.
you stand up. both of them look at you.
you take a breath. “okay,” you say. “i’m gonna say something and neither of you are allowed to kill me.”
rin’s eyes narrow. sae’s eyebrow lifts.
you continue anyway.
“rin,” you say, “you’re not wrong for feeling like he hurt you.”
rin’s jaw tightens.
you hold up a hand. “and sae,” you say, turning to him, “you’re not wrong for thinking you didn’t mean to.”
sae’s eyes narrow slightly.
you nod. “but you did,” you add.
sae stares at you. rin’s eyes flick to you, sharp.
you swallow. “you did hurt him,” you say to sae, voice quieter now. “maybe you didn’t mean to. maybe you thought he’d just… get over it. maybe you thought he’d understand.”
sae doesn’t speak.
you look at rin. “and rin,” you say, “you can’t keep acting like he’s a stranger and then be mad he doesn’t know what’s wrong.”
rin’s eyes flash. “i don’t want him to know.”
you blink. “…what?”
rin’s voice drops. “i don’t want him to understand,” rin says. “because if he understands, then it means he could’ve understood before.”
your throat tightens.
because that’s it. that’s the whole thing.
rin doesn’t just feel hurt. rin feels humiliated. rin feels like he was left behind. like he wasn’t worth explaining things to.
sae looks at rin. his expression shifts slightly. he looks quieter. less sure.
you can see him trying to put the pieces together. and it’s painful.
because sae is the kind of person who hates not knowing. he hates being wrong. and right now, he’s realizing he might’ve been wrong for a while.
sae’s voice is low. “i didn’t think you needed me,” he says.
rin’s eyes widen slightly, then narrow. “you didn’t think i needed you?” rin repeats.
sae’s gaze doesn’t move. “you were always fine,” sae says. “you were always… you.”
rin laughs, bitter. “you don’t get it.”
sae’s jaw tightens. “then explain it.”
rin’s face goes blank, and you can see him freeze.
because rin doesn’t explain. rin doesn’t beg. rin doesn’t ask for comfort. rin would rather choke on his feelings than hand them to someone else.
you step in again, because if you don’t, this will go nowhere.
“he needed you” you say to sae.
sae looks at you.
you continue, carefully. “rin’s always needed you. even when he acts like he doesn’t. and he hates that. he hates that he still cares.”
rin’s eyes flick to you, furious. “shut up.”
you look at him. “no.”
rin’s eyes widen slightly.
you’ve never told rin no. not like that.
you feel your heart pounding. but you’re tired. you’re so tired.
you’ve been carrying this weird drama for a long time, stuck in the middle of two brothers who refuse to talk like normal people.
you point at rin. “you don’t let shit go,” you say, voice sharp, “and you act like you don’t care, but you do. you care so much it’s embarrassing.”
rin’s face tightens.
you turn to sae. “and you,” you say, “are the most emotionally unavailable person i’ve ever met in my life. you think everything is a phase because it’s easier than admitting you messed up.”
sae stares at you, then he blinks. slow. “…emotionally unavailable.”
you nod. “yes.”
sae’s mouth twitches slightly, and you swear to god he almost looks amused.
rin looks like he’s about to explode.
“why are you talking like you’re my mom?” rin snaps.
you glare at him. “because someone has to.”
rin’s eyes burn. “you’re taking his side.”
you throw your hands up. “i’m not taking his side. i’m taking the side of peace. i want to live.”
sae finally speaks. “you’re right.”
rin’s head snaps toward him. “don’t.”
sae’s gaze stays on rin. “you’re being stubborn.”
rin’s voice goes deadly calm. “say that again.”
you inhale sharply. oh my god. you’re going to die in this room.
sae doesn’t move. “you’re being stubborn,” he repeats.
rin steps forward. “you think i’m stubborn,” rin says, voice low, “because you think i’m just being difficult for no reason.”
sae’s eyes narrow. “you are.”
rin’s hands clench.
you step between them immediately.
“okay,” you say quickly, palms up. “no. no. we’re not doing this. nobody is fighting. i’m not getting traumatized.”
rin glares at you. “move.”
you glare back. “no.”
sae watches you, and you can tell he’s realizing something else now too. that you’ve been doing this for so long. that you’ve been the one smoothing things over. that you’ve been the one taking rin’s moods and sae’s bluntness and trying to make them fit in the same room.
sae’s voice is quieter. “you’re always here,” he says.
you blink. “yeah,” you say. “unfortunately.”
rin’s eyes flick away.
sae looks at rin, then he says, calm, “i thought you’d grow out of it.”
rin’s face goes still. “grow out of what.”
sae’s eyes narrow slightly. “this,” sae says. “the anger.”
rin laughs again. “you thought i’d grow out of being hurt?”
sae’s jaw tightens. “i thought you’d understand.”
rin’s eyes flash. “understand what?” rin says. “that you left and came back different and expected me to just accept it?”
sae’s gaze hardens. “i didn’t expect you to accept it,” sae says. “i expected you to keep up.”
the room goes quiet.
your stomach drops.
because sae didn’t mean it cruelly. he meant it like a fact. like rin was supposed to follow him naturally. like rin was supposed to grow into the same shape.
but rin hears it as: you weren’t enough. you were too slow. you got left behind.
rin’s face tightens. his voice is cold. “you’re so arrogant.”
sae stares. “you’re so dramatic.”
rin’s eyes go sharp. “don’t call me dramatic.”
sae’s voice stays calm. “then stop acting like i ruined your life.”
rin’s hands shake slightly. just a little. and you see it.
you see rin swallow hard. you see him blink. and you realize rin’s not just angry.
rin’s devastated.
you step closer to rin without thinking. your hand touches his arm. light.
rin stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away.
you look up at him. “rin,” you say quietly.
rin’s eyes flick to you. and for a second, his face cracks. just a little. then he turns away.
sae watches that and you can tell he sees it too.
sae’s expression changes. it gets quieter. less sharp.
he exhales. and then, in the most sae way possible, he says:
“…i didn’t know it was that serious.”
rin’s laugh is bitter. “of course you didn’t.”
sae’s eyes narrow. “i’m saying it now.”
rin’s voice is cold. “what do you want, a medal?”
sae looks at rin. “no,” he says. “i want you to stop acting like i’m your enemy.”
rin’s eyes flash. “you are.”
sae’s jaw tightens. “i’m not.”
rin steps forward. “you don’t get to decide that” rin says.
you step between them again. “okay,” you say. “pause. both of you. please.”
rin’s eyes flick to you. “what?”
you take a breath.
“sae,” you say, “he doesn’t think you’re his enemy because he wants to. he thinks you’re his enemy because it hurts less than admitting he misses you.”
rin’s head snaps toward you. “shut up.”
you glare at him. “no.”
sae’s eyes flick to rin. rin’s face goes tense.
and you can tell rin hates that you said it.
because it’s true. and rin hates the truth.
sae’s voice is low. “…you miss me.”
rin’s eyes burn. “no.”
sae watches him. “you do.”
rin’s voice is sharp. “i don’t.”
sae’s gaze doesn’t move. “you do.”
rin’s jaw clenches.
you watch rin’s face and you know what’s happening.
rin wants to scream. rin wants to say yes. rin wants to say i hate you, i miss you, i wanted you to stay, i wanted you to look at me like i mattered, i wanted you to acknowledge me.
but he can’t.
so he chooses the easiest thing.
he chooses cruelty.
rin’s voice is cold. “you’re not worth missing.”
the words hang in the air.
you feel them hit sae like a punch.
sae’s expression doesn’t change much. but you see it in his eyes. that tiny flicker. that split second of hurt.
then it’s gone.
sae’s face goes blank. “okay,” sae says.
rin’s chest rises and falls.
you stare at sae. because sae is the older brother. sae is the one who acts like he doesn’t care.
but sae isn’t made of stone. he’s just good at pretending.
sae turns toward the door.
rin doesn’t move. you don’t move either.
sae pauses with his hand on the doorframe. then he says, without looking back, “you’ll get over it.”
rin’s eyes go wide and something in him snaps. “no,” rin says, voice sharp. “i won’t.”
sae’s hand tightens slightly. he doesn’t turn around. he just says, calm, “you will.”
then he walks out.
the door closes and the room goes silent.
you stand there for a second, then you sit back down on rin’s bed like your legs forgot how to work.
rin stays standing. his shoulders are tense. his hands are clenched. he looks like he wants to throw something.
you look up at him. “you know,” you say quietly, “you could’ve just said you missed him.”
rin’s eyes flick to you. his voice is flat. “no.”
you sigh. “okay.”
rin stares at the wall, then he says, quieter, “he doesn’t deserve it.”
you swallow because that’s rin’s whole heart in one sentence.
you lean back on your hands. “he’s not doing this on purpose,” you say.
rin’s eyes narrow. “yes he is.”
“rin.”
“he knows,” rin says, voice sharp. “he just doesn’t care.”
you shake your head. “no,” you say. “he doesn’t know. he’s just… stupid.”
rin stares at you. “sae is not stupid.”
you shrug. “emotionally? yes.”
rin’s jaw tightens, then, despite himself, he huffs a short laugh. it’s quick. it’s small.
you point at him immediately. “there. you’re human.”
rin glares. “shut up.”
you smile slightly. “you’re welcome.”
rin sits down on the edge of the bed, finally. he looks exhausted.
you look at him. “you want me to go?” you ask.
rin doesn’t answer right away. then he says, “no.”
your chest softens.
you scoot closer, shoulder bumping his lightly.
rin stiffens for a second, then he relaxes. just a little.
you both sit there in silence.
then you say, “you know what’s funny?”
rin’s voice is flat. “what?”
you stare at the closed door. “he genuinely thinks you’re going through a phase.”
rin’s jaw tightens. “i’m not.”
“i know,” you say. “that’s why it’s funny. in a horrible way.”
rin’s eyes flick to you. “…he’s an idiot.”
you nod. “yeah.”
rin’s voice is quieter. “he always has been.”
you lean your head lightly against rin’s shoulder.
rin doesn’t move. but he doesn’t push you away either.
you sigh. “i hate being in the middle of you two.”
rin’s voice is flat. “then don’t.”
you look at him. “i can’t.”
rin’s eyes flick away. “…why?”
you shrug. “because i’ve known you both since we were kids.”
rin’s jaw tightens.
you continue. “because i remember when you actually smiled. and i remember when sae actually acted like an older brother instead of… whatever he is now.”
rin’s eyes harden. “don’t talk about him like that.”
you blink, then you stare. “…rin.”
rin’s face tightens.
and something hits you.
rin loves sae. but rin also defends sae.
because even now, even after everything, sae is still sae. still his brother. still the person rin built his whole world around.
you exhale. “okay,” you say softly. “sorry.”
rin doesn’t respond.
you sit there for a while.
then rin speaks again, voice low. “he looked at me like i was nothing.”
your throat tightens. you glance at him.
rin’s eyes are fixed on the floor. his expression is neutral. but his voice is quieter. more honest than he’s been all night.
you nod. “i know,” you whisper.
rin’s jaw tightens. “and then he acts like i’m the problem.”
you swallow. “i know.”
rin’s hands clench. “and you’re still friends with him.”
you look at him. your stomach twists.
because there it is. the part you’ve been avoiding.
you take a breath.
“i’m friends with both of you,” you say.
rin’s eyes flick to you. “why?”
you stare at him. “because i love you,” you say simply. “and i love him too.”
rin’s expression goes still.
you continue, quieter. “and because you’re both annoying in different ways.”
rin’s mouth twitches. “you’re annoying,” he says.
you nod. “i know.”
rin goes quiet.
then he says, “he doesn’t deserve you.”
you blink. “…what?”
rin stares at the floor. “he doesn’t deserve you,” he repeats.
your chest tightens.
you look toward the door again, and you can’t help it. you think about sae outside the room. probably calm. probably thinking rin’s being dramatic. probably thinking this will blow over.
and you think about rin beside you, holding all that resentment and betrayal like it’s keeping him alive.
you exhale. “i don’t belong to either of you,” you say.
rin’s eyes flick to you.
you add, “but i do deserve hazard pay.”
rin’s mouth twitches again. then he lets out a quiet laugh.
and it’s the first real laugh you’ve heard from him in a while.
you look at him. “see,” you say. “you’re not dead inside.”
rin glares. “shut up.”
you smile a little. “noo.”
rin leans back slightly, eyes half lidded. and you can tell he’s tired. tired in a way that isn’t just physical.
you sit there with him.
then you hear footsteps outside. slow. steady.
the door opens again.
sae steps back in.
rin stiffens instantly.
you sit up straight like you’re about to be questioned by police.
sae looks at rin, then at you. then he says, calm, “mom said dinner’s ready.”
rin doesn’t answer.
sae watches him. then he adds, like he’s trying to be casual, “you coming?”
rin’s eyes narrow. “why?”
sae’s brow furrows slightly. “why what?”
“why are you asking like you care.”
sae exhales. “because i’m asking?”
rin’s jaw tightens.
you cut in immediately.
“okay…!” you say, standing up fast. “yes. we’re coming. we’re all coming. we love dinner. dinner is great.”
both of them look at you.
you smile tightly. “i’m starving,” you add.
sae’s eyes linger on you for a second, then he nods. “okay.”
rin stands slowly. he doesn’t look at sae. he just walks past him, shoulder brushing sae’s.
not an accident.
sae doesn’t move. he just watches rin go.
then sae looks at you. and for the first time all night, his voice sounds quieter.
“is he serious?” he asks.
you stare at him.
because yes.
rin is serious. rin is so serious it’s painful.
you exhale. “yeah,” you say. “he is.”
sae’s jaw tightens. “it’s been a while.”
you nod. “i know.”
sae looks away, then he says, almost like he’s annoyed, “he’s stubborn.”
you blink. “yeah,” you say. “and you’re emotionally constipated.”
sae looks back at you. his eyebrow lifts. “…what?”
you shrug. “i said what i said.”
sae stares at you, then he exhales through his nose. “you’re on his side.”
you look at him and keep your voice calm. “i’m not on his side,” you say. “i’m on the side where you both stop making me feel like i’m babysitting.”
sae blinks. then he nods. “fair.”
you walk toward the door, then you pause. you glance back at him. “sae.”
he looks at you. “yeah?”
you hesitate, then you say, “he doesn’t hate you.”
sae’s gaze sharpens slightly.
you continue, quieter. “he’s hurt. he’s disappointed. he feels betrayed. he feels abandoned. but he doesn’t hate you.”
sae goes quiet.
for a second, he looks like he wants to say something. something real.
then he just says, “i know.”
you blink. “…you do?”
sae’s eyes flick away. “i do.”
you swallow.
because that’s new.
and you don’t know what to do with it.
so you do the only thing you can.
you nod.
then you walk out.
dinner is loud.
their mom is happy you’re there, asking about school, asking if you’re eating enough, acting like everything is normal. their dad talks about random stuff like the weather.
rin eats quietly.
sae eats quietly.
you sit between them, chewing like your life depends on it.
at one point, sae reaches for a dish.
rin reaches for it at the same time.
their hands brush.
rin jerks his away like he got burned.
sae pauses.
then he just takes the dish and sets it closer to rin.
rin stares at it.
doesn’t say thank you.
doesn’t touch it.
but he doesn’t push it away either.
you watch it happen, and you feel your chest tighten.
because it’s small. so small. but it’s something.
later, when you’re leaving, you’re at the door putting your shoes on.
rin stands behind you, arms crossed.
sae stands a little further back, hands in his pockets.
you glance between them.
“okay,” you say. “i’m going.”
rin doesn’t respond.
sae nods. “bye.”
you stand up.
you look at rin. “text me,” you say.
rin’s voice is flat. “i will.”
you look at sae. “and you,” you say, “don’t be stupid.”
sae blinks. “…what?”
you sigh. “just… try. okay.”
sae stares at you, then he nods once. “okay.”
you step out into the night.
the door closes behind you.
and as you walk down the steps, you realize something.
it’s funny being their childhood friend.
not because it’s cute. not because it’s sweet.
but because you’re literally in between this weird drama with them. on one hand, rin has this resentment and betrayal for his brother.
and on the other hand, sae is completely unaware of how deep it is, still thinking his little brother is just going through a phase.
and you? you’re just trying to survive long enough to make it home without getting emotionally hit by stray bullets.
and honestly? you deserve a medal.
a/n: just to be clear, i’m actually very neutral on the whole rin/sae thing. i just want them to make up like asap man
thinking about what an absolute grudgeholder MICHAEL KAISER would be over little things. he’s always overreacting and giving the most offened, flabbergasted, pouty little expressions he could manage whenever you refuse him the most mundane thing. that’s just how he is. when it’s michael kaiser, what he wants, he gets.. but when it comes to you, well.. let’s just say he doesn’t always get what he wants.
it could be refusing to let him pick your outfit for the day, telling him to get out when your changing, telling him your not hungry after he made you food, etc. if you tell him you want to pick your own outfit, his face will fall and he’ll cross his arms, trying to be all high and mighty like usual, refusing to show how pouty he really is over the fact he doesn’t get to pick what you wear 24/7 despite the fact that he bought 3/4’s of the items in your closet.
if you tell him to get out when you’re in the middle of changing, he won’t even listen at first. in fact, he’ll sit down or stand leaning against the wall with a shit-eating grin as if he’s about the watch the latest movie in theatres. after you cross your arms, refuse to take off the rest of your clothes, and tell him another four times to get out, only then will he finally listen. oh, but don’t think he’s going without showing how pouty he is—he’s leaving that room with clenched teeth, an angry pout, scrunched eyebrows, crossed arms, and loud stomps. a full-on, child tantrum, over not letting him watch you get dressed.
he’s not going to let that go either. for the entire rest of the day he’s going to sulk about it, his mood completely soiled on by the little fact that he didn’t get to see you naked ’nd changing.
only after you suck up to him, rubbing his arm, playing with his hair, telling him in that honey-silk voice as you cling to his side that you love him so much, how handsome he is, how lucky you are to have him and what a good boyfriend he is, will he finally stop pouting. yeah, he does need that ego boost. needs to know how much you love him as if he didn’t just stick his tongue out at you before quietly slamming the door in his expensive ass robe he’s always wearing around the house on free days.
and if you don’t do all that.. well let’s say he’ll take that grudge all the way to his next practice and end up breaking the net with the force of his kicks... ‹𝟹
