[ Comfort of a Familiar Grip ]
pairings. naoya zenin x fem! reader tags. Explicit, Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Manipulation, Degradation, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Breeding, Babytrapping(?), Forced Domestic Fantasy, Forced Second Chances, Exes to Lovers, Penis in Vagina sex, Corruption, Mind Break, Cockwarming length. 8.1k!
What dumb fucking luck.
The moment you forgot to charge your phone before going out to meet a guy Mai had introduced, you had a feeling this day would spiral into something bad. Your hot water broke and your stove wasn't turning on, in addition, you left your laundry out on the balcony in a storm last night as you drifted off into sleep.
It was just not the day for you.
Now, you were scavenging for a proper enough fit and noticed a man's shirt inside your closet. It was dark green, soft on your skin, like Arachne has weaved the fabric herself. On the tag, Auralee.
Your mind races, you know the brand. Expensive basics, one that you could barely afford. You never find the need to splurge on so much. So, the question was, how is this in your possession?
As you let your mind rewind every single detail in your life in the last year, you finally remembered.
“Naoya…”
Ah, he always enjoyed visiting your doghouse apartment, he would say. Crashed at your couch while demanding you to cook him dinner as he watched your small television. The amount of degrading things he would say about your home should've been a good enough hint about how he sees you.
But for some reason, you always gave him the benefit of the doubt. Over and over and over again. To the point where he starts showering, leaving his dirty clothes, dropping off his dirty clothes for you to clean.
You feel more like a maid than a girlfriend.
Naoya does take you to obvious luxurious restaurants, letting you enjoy the amazing food with the company of men with more power than necessary. But even then, he would only let you smile and stay silent while his hand lingered on the small of your back. When someone talks to you, you are not to talk until he addresses you.
Only then you saw how it was the ‘normal’ in the place.
The women in the room only standing silently with (not even) their drink of choice. You were never a partner, you were a trophy.
You’d been staring at your closet longer than you meant to. It wasn’t even about what to wear anymore—more about the recalls of bad memories with your ex as you stared at the dark green shirt. You really should’ve thrown them out.
A blaring ringing from your phone snapped you out of your thoughts, the numbers on your screen glowed a bright “11:50”. Shit, you’re late.
In a rush, you tugged at the shirt that swallowed your frame. Putting it over a turtleneck, it looked almost intentional, layered, like some oversized outerwear that you liked. Good enough. You wanted the first impression to last. Smoothing the fabric down, you try not to think about how your fingers knew exactly which button was loose, how the faintest trace of cologne still clung to parts of the fabric if you pressed your face to it.
No time. You grabbed your bag, shoved your hair behind your ears, and hurried out the door.
You walked out of your building in a half rush, the meeting spot was not far from your place. A fifteen minute walk, even if you were late, it would only be for five minutes. That was still acceptable.
Until the first drop of rain hit your cheek, then another, then the sky fully opened up. Only then you realized just how fast the season had shifted. Autumn had arrived with full force. Cursing under your breath, you darted into the first shelter you saw: a small cafe tucked beneath a towering apartment complex.
You shook the water from your sleeves. Opening your phone, your date hasn't messaged, he was probably stuck in the rain too. Rather than staying outside in the cold, you decided to walk into the small cafe.
It was warmer than you expected. Golden lights contrasting the darkened grey of the sky outside, the air hazy with the scent of coffee and something sweet from the counter. You ordered a simple hot latte before tucking yourself into a corner seat, shoulders still damp from the downpour.
While waiting for the barista to call your name, you opened your phone to text your date.
Your phone buzzed.
‘Hey, sorry… the rain’s insane. Maybe we should reschedule? The park’s out for today anyway.’
You stared at the text for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Ah, of course. The date you had been looking forward to all week, gone in an instant because of the weather. Rationally, you couldn’t blame him, what kind of couple goes strolling in a storm? But still, something in your chest sank, heavy.
‘It’s okay. Stay safe.^^’
You typed it, the smiley face masked the large disappointment boiling inside of your chest. Before you could change your mind, you pressed send. Then, with a sigh, you set the phone down, its screen dimming, leaving you alone with the muted chatter around you and the sound of rain hammering the awning outside.
The barista’s voice rang across the cafe. Your latte was ready.
Running towards the pickup counter, muttering a small thank you while you work on gathering the needed condiments. At least now, you had time for yourself. You had bought a digital book recently, something you had been meaning to start for weeks now. Finally, you had the time, letting yourself sink and immerse yourself in the curated words. Maybe then the world would be a bit more peaceful.
Or so you thought.
“Well, won’t you look at that.”
The voice was familiar, filled with the same smugness you had come to despise, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist even before your mind caught up. Slowly, unwillingly, you turn.
Naoya Zenin.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this cafe, not in your quiet moment, not in your life. And yet, here he was, in a comfortable white sweater, with his pale hair still damp. From the way his clothes are pristine, you guessed he wasn’t from the rain. On his face was that infuriating smirk you used to know so well.
Before you could form a word, his arm slid around your waist like the two of you had never even parted. No question, not even an ‘excuse me’. The action had made you freeze in your spot. Naoya’s eyes scanned the space, then his gaze found the table where your bag and your phone sat still. Guiding you back to the table, he sat in front of you, sprawling like the space had always been his.
“What are you doing here?” you finally asked, fingers tightening around your cup like it was a shield.
Maybe you could throw the boiling contents on his face?
Naoya shrugged. “I live upstairs now. Moved out of the house. This cafe’s convenient.” His smirk widened as his gaze traced over you again. “Didn’t expect to find you here, though. Guess fate likes to keep things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just getting out of the rain.”
“Mmhm. Sure you were.” He leaned back, the smirk still apparent on his lips. You hated the way your pulse skipped. “You always did look better a little…drenched.”
Your cheeks burned. “Zenin—”
“Zenin? Since when do you call me ‘Zenin’?” There was amusement in his voice, as if you were joking.
“Since we broke up, I have no business calling you by your first name, Zenin-san.” You made sure to put an emphasis on his name.
The smirk on his faltered for a moment but it was quick to resurface, you caught it though. Turns out your breakup took more of a toll on Naoya than you had expected. Despite his efforts to seem nonchalant, he was extremely chalant.
“Tch, whatever.” Naoya then proceeded to pull the chair in front of you and sprawled right onto it. Like that place had always belonged to him. Like the table you occupied was reserved with him in mind all along.
“And what are you doing?” You raised an eyebrow. It had always been like this with him. He thinks he can join in anytime, anywhere, uninvited.
“You dumb now, or something? I'm keeping you company, obviously.” His voice cut through the low murmur of the café.
Your mouth parted in shock, extremely baffled by the amount of audacity this man still exhibited. “I did not ask for your company.”
He let out a low chuckle, tongue pushing against his cheek. “Still got that bite, huh? I was starting to think the rain washed it out of you.”
You pushed your cup of coffee in front of you and held it there. Your fingers held it tight, holding back the urge to actually throw the hot liquid on his face. “What do you want?”
Naoya shrugged, hearing his name being called out, he just raised his hand and the barista behind the counter was quick to put it on a tray.
He did not.
It was as if the world had bent towards him, even in a cafe establishment, where it was supposed to be self service, Naoya had the audacity to make other work for him. The espresso was set right in front of him with such care despite the barista's obvious shaky hands.
Naoya lifted his espresso, as if toasting with you. You did not toast back. All desire to enjoy the cup of bitter liquid gold had been thrown out the window.
“Same as you, I guess. Warm drink, warm air, bit of peace. Funny how the world keeps pushing us back into the same room.”
“You mean you pushing into my space.”
Placing the cup back on the table, Naoya leaned back with a grin, arms resting wide like he owned the entire corner of the café. “You didn’t seem to mind when I did it in your apartment.”
Your jaw tightened.
As if he noticed the crack forming in your composure, Naoya glanced around the room before leaning forward, elbows on the table. His eyes traced over you—slow and intrusive, almost like undressing you with his eyes. It felt disgusting.
“I didn’t peg you for someone who kept souvenirs,” he said, tone lilting with mock surprise.
You blinked. “What?”
He didn’t answer. The smirk adorning his face made a shiver run down your spine. When he stood up, you instinctively scooted away as far as the booth allowed you to.
But the action only gave him space to sit down beside you. Placing a hand above yours, he leaned over, presence far too close for your comfort, pushing more into your personal space than you thought he could. You slid closer to the edge of your seat but there was nowhere left to go.
You had instantly forgotten how irritating this specific ex of yours was. Especially when the smell of his cologne, the sharp gaze, his chiseled jawline was the only thing taking over your senses. You fidgeted when you felt his fingers brush against your cheek and reach towards your shoulder. Realizing what he was doing, you gasped.
“Don’t—”
Two fingers hooked the collar of your shirt and tugged it slightly, enough for him to glance at the inside of the tag. His breath was warm against your skin.
Then, he clicked his tongue. “Knew I recognized this fabric. Auralee. Limited run.”
You jerked away slightly, but he kept his grip. Gentle but unrelenting.
Your face flushed red from embarrassment, feeding more into his ego.
Naoya grinned wider.
“Now, would you look at that?” His voice dropped, amused. His thumb traced over the embroidered ‘N.Z.’ on the tag. “You're wearing my shirt. If you fucking miss me, you could've just said so, sweetheart.”
You slapped his hand away but it did not bother Naoya one bit. His gaze was still fixated on you, glinting with something closer to obsession. His fingers released the fabric and he pulled back slightly, basking in the victory.
“I didn’t realize it was yours,” you muttered, hating how defensive you sounded.
“Oh please,” Naoya laughed. “You know how expensive that shit is. You think you bought it?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. Out of remarks to throw back his way.
“And you kept it,” he went on, enjoying your silence. Knowing that he is right. “All this time. Didn't toss it. Didn't sell it. Hell, you wore it out. On a date.”
“I was not going out on a date, it was…appropriate for the weather.”
Naoya cackled at your answer. “If you were so prepared, you would've brought a fucking umbrella.”
Your silence was damning, and he knew it. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his smirk widen.
“Tell me something,” he drawled. “Did you keep anything else? The scarf I left on your couch? My toothbrush? The little silver lighter you used to flick even though you didn’t smoke?”
“Shut up.”
He hummed. “Not a no.”
“I didn’t know it was yours,” you repeated, jaw tight.
Naoya tilted his head, then leaned in again. Too close. His voice was a whisper now, curling under your skin.
“Liar.”
Your eyes snapped to his.
A wicked smile on his face. The one he always adorned when he was about to say something hurtful. Something that would cut your heart to pieces.
“You wore it because it felt good, didn’t you? Soft on your skin. Familiar. Maybe you even missed the way I looked at you when you wore my clothes.”
You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, almost sweetly. “I missed it too.”
He let the words linger a little bit longer. And when he pulled back, you couldn't tell whether the action was deliberate or simply an accident. But as he pulled his tray of espresso and water, the tug had been a lot harsher than intended.
While you were thankful Naoya managed to save the espresso, putting it safely back onto the table. He had failed to reach for the glass of water, causing the liquid content to spill all over your clothes. The liquid seeped through the white turtleneck you wore, causing the fabric to cling to your skin and—ahem, your bra.
It was as if your day couldn't get any worse.
You immediately pulled your green shirt—his shirt in an attempt to cover yourself. Buttoning every single one to appear at least decent for a cafe establishment.
“Oops, my bad.”
Your eyes immediately snap towards him. The words he spoke did not mirror the expression on his face. Your jaw clenched.“Naoya, oh my God—!”
Your exasperation seemed to only humor him rather than scare him. “It was an accident. Come on, Y/N. Are you really that angry over spilled water?”
“You obviously did it on purpose!” You exclaimed, gathering your stuff in a hurry. Wanting nothing more than to get away from him as quickly as possible. “Ugh, you were always so irritating.”
“You know, you're cute when you're angry,” Naoya smirked, hand moving quickly to grip yours so you can't move away. “You showed up at my café, wearing my shirt, and sat here looking all pitiful and soaked like some wet stray. Can't help but bully you a little~”
“I didn’t know it was your shirt,” you snapped. “And this isn’t your café. Get over yourself.”
“Oh, I am way over myself, sweetheart.” He leaned in again. “I’m just not over you.”
You tried to tug your hand away. Tears prickled the corner of your eyes, you thought that by enjoying some time by yourself, you can make up for what a disappointing day. But no, this…asshat just had to come by and ruin your day!
Naoya's eyes dragged over your figure once again. “Well, now you can't go around looking like that. You'll give the entire café a free show.”
Your eyes immediately gazed down to see that despite trying to cover up, your top still clung to your skin. “I swear to—”
“I’ve got spare clothes upstairs,” he cut in smoothly, already reaching for your arm. “Come on.”
You resisted, but he wrapped his arms around you. The action felt like an old habit, he would always do that when you were together. Something about making sure everyone in the vicinity knows you are his.
But now, you are not his. And you don't want to be. That experience was the closest thing you had to hell and you wished to not experience it again.
Naoya stood up, pulling you along with him, flushed against his side.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he leaned down and whispered, lips brushing close to your ear. “You can change. I’ll even throw in a fresh towel.”
“Naoya—”
“Sweetheart.” He looked at you, gaze darkening just a notch. “Let’s not start a scene.”
Before you could argue further, he was already guiding you out the café’s side exit, the bell above the door jingling faintly behind you. Rain still pattered lightly outside, but all you noticed was the quiet hum of the elevator as he hit the button.
Going up.
And you—furious, wet, burning—were still holding his shirt close to your chest.
The elevator door dings open and Naoya swiftly pushes you in and turns towards the numbers, pushing the biggest number. Of course, the penthouse. What else did you expect from the heir of the Zenin Corporation? And someone like Naoya would rather fly off somewhere else rather than having to live in someplace other than a mansion or a penthouse.
His grip loosen a bit, giving you the opportunity to press yourself into the far corner of the elevator. Naoya stood beside you, the annoying smirk still decorating his face. As if he hadn't just dragged you out of a café like it was still 2021 where you were still his.
You didn't speak. Not finding any need to. The only sound that filled the silence between you was the soft music from the elevator and the faint patter of rain outside.
“I said I’m sorry,” Naoya chimed up, watching the number go up slowly, there was no trace of guilt in his tone. “You really gonna stay mad over a little coffee?”
You didn’t respond.
His head tilted slightly, watching you. “You called me by my name again.”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
“‘Naoya.’” His smirk was back, full of satisfaction. “You just said it. Guess it still slips when you’re worked up.”
Damn it.
“I don’t—”
He stepped closer. One hand came up to gently tug at your damp collar again, knuckles grazing your collarbone. “Say it again.”
“Fuck you.” you spat.
“Oh, so that's how you wanna play?”
That was all it took.
Before you could bite back, Naoya had already captured your mouth in a searing kiss. Crashing your lips together like he had every right to. As if the elevator to this complex was his and so were you, like all those years ago. His hand found its way to your hip, holding you still while pulling you closer all at the same time. While the other braced against the steel wall behind you.
You can't help but melt into the kiss, fingers finding its way to curl into his damp sweater. You could've pushed him away. Should have, even. But you didn't.
The kiss deepened, both of your teeth clashing, breathing weaving into one. You could taste the espresso on his tongue, mixing with something sharper. It seemed like nicotine. Was this the same cigarette he smoked when you were together?
One of his hands slid up and cradled the side of your face, pulling you deeper into the kiss. Something that seemed impossible to do.
Then, he pulled away slightly, just enough to mutter in between kisses. “Missed this mouth.”
His lips dragged down, peppering butterfly kisses on your jaw. Stopping at the crook between your neck and shoulder, still covered by the high turtleneck that you wore.
“You don't even know how much.”
Your hands raised, tangling themselves into his hair before stopping at his nape, tugging slightly. Your breath heaving at the tension, and a moan escaped when he rolled his hips. Just once. But it was more than you could already take.
“Stop—” you managed, breathless.
“Shut up,” he said, kissing you again before you could say more.
And in that moment, God seemed to help you, standing by your side against this asshole of a man.
Ding.
The elevator jerked, stopping a few floors early.
You froze but Naoya simply turned slightly. As if the commotion was nothing but a bother to him.
The doors slid open and a man stood there, umbrella in hand, ready to step in but stopped when he saw the position you two were in. The look of pure shock and horror mirror the emotions inside you.
Naoya barely glanced at him. His body still shielded yours, breath steady.
“Well?” he said, one brow arching lazily. “You getting in, or are you just going to stare?”
The man’s eyes flicked between the two of you—Naoya’s hand still on your waist, your lips clearly kissed swollen, your shirt visibly damp and clinging. He stammered something unintelligible and took a step back.
“I’ll… I’ll wait for the next one.”
Then the doors closed.
And silence fell.
Then Naoya turned to you, his grin full of wicked satisfaction.
“You used to get embarrassed,” he said, leaning in again.
You stared at him, chest still rising and falling too quickly. “I still am.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Not enough to stop me.”
You hated how right he was.
The elevator doors slid open again with a soft chime. This time, no interruptions.
Naoya wasted no time and took your hand, his grip hard and unrelenting, fingers wrapping around yours like he still had the right. You didn't shake him off.
Just a step out of the elevator, you were immediately greeted with his penthouse. For a moment, you bask in the luxury of it all. From the beauty of the city skyline in the middle of rain. The marbled flooring and the carefully curated furniture that catered to his preferences.
You could feel your pulse thumping quickly under your skin. You were sure Naoya could feel it too. When you were together, he had always taken you to luxurious hotels, nothing less than a five star. And yet, being in his apartment has a different feeling to it. Something far more intimate than you wanted to admit.
Before you could comprehend the scent of his signature cologne in the air, Naoya had turned and pushed you against the kitchen counter.
The lower part of your back hitting the edge of it and his hands trapped you. Before you knew it, his lips were on you once again. Rougher this time, after having the privacy and as if the elevator had merely been foreplay to him.
Naoya's hand pulled your skirt up, letting it fall on top of his leg. Then grinded his knee against your heat. Letting a muffled moan escape your lips.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered, grinding against your damp layers once more. “Let me fix that.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but his hands were already on you—pulling the outer shirt off your shoulders, tugging your turtleneck over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric clung from the rain, dragging your bra with it slightly as he stripped you down, until your skin prickled with exposure.
Naoya paused, taking in the sight of you in nothing but your lace bra and underwear.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes raking over you. “You really wore this under my shirt?”
You flushed, instinctively folding your arms. “I told you I didn't—”
He clicked his tongue. “Still with that lie.”
Then, with a theatrical flair, he pulled the dark green Auralee shirt back onto your shoulder. The fabric still damp but it hangs off your frame in a way that's enticing, familiar, and most definitely, his.
“Better,” he said, smirking. “Now it looks like mine.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Possessive much?”
“Always.”
He kissed you again, stealing the breath from your lungs. One hand tangled in your hair, the other slipping under the hem of the shirt he’d just redressed you in, fingers brushing the side of your waist, trailing fire wherever they touched. You hated how easily he could undo you—how your body responded before your brain had time to say no.
You pulled away just enough to mutter, “Naoya—”
But Naoya pushed you against him again. Not wanting to break away for even one second. But what he didn't realize was—you were in dire need of air.
Your palm patted his chest, a signal that you needed to breathe. Naoya noticed, he's not that much of an idiot. So, he pulled away and you gasped.
“Bedroom.”
Unable to answer, you simply let him lead.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind you, and before you could say a word, he had you against the bed, hands roaming with calculated ease. He kissed you like he was trying to remember every inch of you, tongue sliding against yours in lazy, taunting strokes. His fingers worked swiftly on your skirt, opening the zipper and pulling it down with ease. Leaving you in nothing but your underwear and his shirt.
Your hands also reached for him—first, his chest, then moving slowly to his toned shoulders, before landing on his bicep. Feeling how the muscle flexed under you. Your imagination ran wild, wondering how different he had been after years of breakup.
When your hands continue to move down, getting closer and closer towards the band of his pants, you looped a single finger into his belt.
The action was enough to entice him. You don't make the moves around here.
Catching your hands in his, Naoya pinned them against the mattress above your head.
“Aww, miss me that bad?” he murmured against your jaw.
“You're delusional.”
His grin widened. “And look who's wet around here.”
You hated how right he was.
Naoya pressed a kiss to your neck, then another, then another—slow, purposeful. Before stopping at the bridge just below your ear. He gave it a small lick, earning a yelp from you, before he bit down and sucked.
“A-Ah! Naoya that hurts—”
Naoya pulled away, watching the blueish-purple color slowly bloom in the place that was hard to hide. A wicked grin spread across his face before he pressed another kiss on it. “Meant to hurt.”
Then, his kisses slowly moved down, to the collarbone, to the valley of your chest, biting and pulling against the band of your bra. While his fingers teased the edge or your underwear through his shirt. Like a mockery of modesty.
Then, his touch disappeared and the loud clinking of metal was heard. Naoya pulled his cock out of its confines. It was almost ironic how much he teased you for being wet when he was this hard. The size and weight felt heavy and warm against the skin just below your navel.
You gasped.
Pressing his fingers through the fabric of your panties, where your clit was. A desperate moan emitted from your lips.
“Gosh, woman, are you wet or did you pee yourself?” he mocked, thumb circling your clit through the fabric of your panties.
Your hand grip on the mattress below you, the buildup anticipation from the elevator had made you far more sensitive than intended. Or maybe…Naoya just knew how to get you off with a few simple touches.
The wetness had made the fabric clung to your folds, clothed but naked. It felt even more embarrassing than having him just strip you down naked.
When you feel him press the head of his cock right against the wetness, your breathing heaved. There, where you are already slick and aching, but the fabric of your panties still tugged against your skin like a barrier.
He pushed forward—through your panties, just enough to make you feel the pressure of him, the anticipation. But not enough to give you wanted.
You whimpered.
Naoya leaned down to whisper against your ear. “I could fuck you like this. Right through your panties. Ruin them. Ruin you. Think of them as…protection.”
You wanted to deny, to push him away. But the way he rolled his hips again, pushing in just a bit more, just to let you feel the head of his cock inside you through your underwear.
Naoya used it as both an obstacle and a torture device. He has to make you feel guilty for breaking up with him all those years ago, now. He would be lying if he said he wanted nothing more than to slam his whole cock inside of you. Make you high on pleasure, unable to comprehend any single thought.
Like how you were meant to be.
“Naoya—”
“Say it properly.”
“I—fuck—please—”
“Please what?” He ground forward again, still not giving you more than the tip, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to squeeze your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the bra. “Tell me what you want.”
You squirmed, hips lifting instinctively into his, chasing more friction.
“Take them off—Naoya, please—”
“Mmm.” His grin turned smug. “See? You do remember how to beg.”
With one final slow thrust against the fabric, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips—gentler this time.
“Say it again.”
“…Naoya. Please. I want you.”
All hesitation went out the window.
Fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and dragged them down slowly—so agonizingly slow—before he pocketed them into his pants as souvenir.
And then he was back, between your thighs again.
You didn't even get the chance to catch your breath before he was inside you in one full thrust. Bare skin and raw, giving you exactly what you asked for. Your whole body jerked from the impact, mouth hanging open and a silent scream emitted from your throat.
Ah, such a beautiful image. Naoya almost misses it. Although, there was always a different feeling when seeing it in real life and not through his imagination. He could feel your walls squeezing him, stretching around to accommodate him as he bottomed out. It was as if it wanted to push him out. A foreign connection that you had forgotten from all the years both of you going your separate ways.
But of course, he would make sure by the end of this, you remembered. Shape your insides into him, making sure anyone knows you only ever belonged to the Naoya Zenin.
Naoya pulled out fully, leaving nothing but the tip inside before slamming in one full thrust again. The force knocking the air from your lungs, your back arched and a choked moan tore from your throat.
“Fuck—” you gasped, legs trembling from the stretch.
“Oh? That too much for you now?” Naoya drawled, grinning down at you with a cruel spark in his eyes. “Can’t take it like you used to?”
He pulled back and slammed into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping forward with enough force to send the headboard creaking.
Your hand reached towards him, wrapping around his shoulder as your nails raked down his back. “Naoya—!”
“There it is,” he muttered, grinding into you until your thighs shook. “That’s how you used to moan. Just like that. Every fucking time I ruined you.”
You wanted to tell him to shut up. To fight back. But he was too deep, hitting all the right spots inside of you, fucking into you like he thought every part of you still remembered him—still belonged to him.
And you hated how much your body agreed.
Naoya leaned over you, one hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread wide as he fucked into you relentlessly. The shirt he made you wear clung to your sweat-slick skin, the scent of him still in the fabric and yours weaving together in the air into something indescribably errotic.
“So tight…” he muttered, voice rough against your ear. The words fell out of his mouth rawer than he intended to. Were your insides always this snug against him? But of course, Naoya wouldn't want you to know that. So instead, he threw back mockery. “I'm the only one who can ever make you like this, yes?”
Your mouth opened but nothing came out. Not wanting to admit how nobody had ever come close to him.
Another thrust. Deeper.
“Say it.”
Your jaw clenched. You refused.
Naoya growled. “Stubborn woman.”
Without any warning, he flipped you over, chest pressed against the mattress as he pulled your hips up. Pulling your arms behind, he used the fabric of his shirt as a makeshift bondage, keeping you bound under him. And before you knew it, he pulled back and slammed back into you from behind.
The new angle let him reach deeper into you, the tip of his cock knocking against your cervix. Your forehead pressed against the sheets, fingers curling into a fist for something—anything—to hold onto.
“You act like you’re better now,” he spat, snapping his hips forward. “Like you're too good for this.”
You whimpered.
“But you showed up in my shirt. Walked into my building. Sat there in that little fucking café, pretending like you didn’t want me to notice.”
He pulled your hair, just enough to lift your head, just enough for his mouth to press close to your ear again.
“You wanted this.”
“Naoya—please—”
“Yeah, that’s right.” His tone dropped into a cruel murmur. “I remember this. You’d act all bratty just to get railed like this. You needed it rough. You liked being used.”
Another hard thrust had your toes curling, a sharp moan escaping your lips.
“And now you’re whining for me again. Bent over my bed, panting, soaking wet, still fucking moaning my name like it means something.”
He leaned forward, hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down as he pistoned his hips into you, faster now—each stroke knocking a cry out of you, pleasure building too fast to hold back.
You were spiraling.
Your thighs shook. Your breath came in ragged gasps. The pressure curled deep in your belly, coiling tighter, tighter.
“I—Naoya—I’m—”
“Gonna come?” he said, voice mocking. “Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over my cock?”
You nodded, desperate, barely able to speak.
“Not yet.”
Then, out of cruelty, he slowed. The overbearing pace that you wished would disappear before actually did. Leaving you realizing that you were mistaken. You wanted nothing more than for it to come back. You were so close.
So, so, so close.
You sobbed. “Please, Naoya—!”
“Not until you say it.”
You whimpered, blinking through the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. What the hell does he want from you?! “Say what?”
Naoya continues to thrust shallowly, stretching you out against him but hitting nothing at all. Keeping you on the edge of need. He needed his ego to be stroked, just like what your insides are doing to his cock. And there is only one way for him to get that.
“Say you miss me.”
Baffled, your mouth hung open. “Wha—”
“Say it,” he snapped, slamming into you again with more force than necessary.
That action earned a cry from you and your back arched and your whole body trembled. Ragged moans were the only thing falling out of your lips at this point.
“Come on,” he hissed. “You’ve got my cock in you, my shirt on you, you’re in my fucking bed, and you still want to pretend you’re over me?”
Naoya could feel your walls convulse around him, you were so tight, if he didn't focus, he was sure to finish right then and there. And with the way your body was going against you, hips moving back ever so slightly to meet him, only caused the coil inside him to come closer to snap.
“Naoya—please—I’m so close—”
Your voice sounded so whiny, it sounded like angels in his ears. Shit—he needs to focus—
And he stilled. Completely.
You almost screamed.
“Say it,” he repeated, voice low and sharp. “Say you fucking miss me, or I’ll leave you dripping and desperate.”
Despite his words, Naoya probably would not be able to hold himself back. He wanted you cockdrunk for him and you did. But he didn't expect to be as pussydrunk with your body.
Is this what longing feels like? The need to be as close with the person you desired so much?
Naoya was dealing with demons inside his mind, demons who threaten to stomp his ego to pieces. Grinting his teeth, he held back the emotions inside of him from spilling freely. Causing the grip on your hip to tightened, leaving a reddish mark where his palm was once were.
Inside your mind was a different kind of battle. Your pride and restraint fighting against the lust that was slowly flooding your whole being. The thought itself shattered you. You promised yourself to not let your pride get stomped like before.
But here you were, writhing under him and wanting nothing more than to give into the pleasure.
And you finally break.
Your breath stuttered as you choked on the words. “I miss you.”
“What was that?”
Your eyes squeezed shut. “I miss you, Naoya.”
A triumph for Naoya. The words a melody to his ears. A wicked smirk appeared on his lips. He had fucking won. Turns out between the two of you, he could handle his longing better.
He slammed back into you, merciless and victorious. “Fucking knew it.”
And this time, he didn’t hold back. His hand fisted your hair again, dragging you upright until your back arched into him, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as his cock thrust harshly into you like he meant to mark you, shaping him into your core.
“You missed this?” he hissed. “Missed being used like my little fucktoy? Missed the way I break you open?”
You could barely answer—drowning in the pleasure you were once denied. You couldn't fathom how you would feel if you were denied once again. The only thing falling out of your lips were broken moans and sobs. Even your begs had turned into breathless words of ‘Please’.
You were unraveling fast, hips meeting his with every brutal thrust, the heat in your belly blazing out of control.
Naoya knew you were close with how tight you were squeezing him. “Come on my cock. Show me how much you missed it.”
And that was all it took.
The coil inside you broke and you shattered.
Your body seized around him, climax crashing through you like waves crashing, drowning you in an endless abyss of pleasure, your scream loud and your whole body convulses.
Naoya let go of his hand holding you up, letting your whole body fell face first onto the mattress.
Your slick dripped with your release, wetting the pristine sheets of his bed. And even then, he grinded through your overstimulation.
“God, look at you,” he grunted, voice raw now as his own hips began to falter. “So fucking good for me.”
Naoya did not stop. Not even slowing down.
“Fuck, you’re still squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, thrusting through your release. “What a greedy little thing.”
Your hands scrambled for the sheets, something to hold on to as he fucked you harder, each thrust making your already-sensitive body jolt.
“N-Naoya—!” you choked, the pleasure turning raw and sharp, too much for you to handle.
“Shh.” He didn’t let up. “You can take it. You used to take more than this.”
He was right. Naoya knew it. You could take more than what he was giving to you right now. He just needed to remind you. A cruel punishment for leaving him all those years ago.
Your second orgasm was building again far too fast. Nerves fried and body overstimulated, but the slick squelch of each thrust and the stretch of him hitting that devastating spot inside you kept building the coil back up.
“Look at you,” he sneered, voice breathless with exertion and pleasure. “Already fucked dumb. You gonna cry now, baby?”
You whimpered, your cheek pressed into the sheets, drool falling from the side of your mouth.
Disgusting. But Naoya loves it.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he murmured darkly, leaning over you.
His hand wrapped around your throat from behind—pressing the sides of it to imitate the sensation of choking you. He didn't want you dead. Oh no, he wanted you reacting to every sensation he was giving you. This is simply a cruel reminder for you of who was in control.
“I should keep you like this,” he growled into your ear. “Just keep you in bed all day, stuffed full of my cock, so you never forget who you belong to.”
You sobbed at the words. The reality suddenly dawned on you. No, no. This is not what you wanted. You should not be crawling back to him. Cowering at his foot for a single trace of mercy.
But oh—the pleasure, the bliss, and the thrill of being owned had your toes curling. Did you actually want this?
As your thoughts spiral deeper, the image, the memories of Naoya forcing his desires onto you. Despite your cries of denial. A part of you had gotten used to it. The cruel survival instinct of your body had turned what should've been known as pain to passion, devotion.
Your walls clench around him instinctively.
“Shit—You’re gonna come again or what?” he mocked.
“P-please—”
Your tone came out whinier than intended. Or maybe you meant it to sound like that. Maybe you had thrown away the last piece of sanity you had, just to feel the utmost pleasure with Naoya Zenin. You couldn't think anymore. You just wanted the coil inside you to snap again.
And Naoya noticed this.
“Come again for me. Come like a good little thing. Show me how much you missed being ruined.”
And with a few more brutal thrusts, you broke again. This time, your cry was loud, wrecked. You came with your entire body, legs shaking violently, walls fluttering around him so tight it made Naoya hiss through his teeth.
“Fucking hell,” he growled. “You’re milking me.”
But still—still—he didn’t stop.
You were trembling, your body overwhelmed, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as he fucked you through the second high like it wasn’t enough.
“Almost there,” he muttered, voice tightening, hips speeding up. “Almost—”
Naoya's thrusts were animalic now as he chased his own high. Then suddenly, he leaned down, locking you in a prone bone position. His chest against your back and his breathing felt hot against your ear.
And with a voice so casual it made your skin crawl, he said:
“Let’s just get back together, hm? Get you round and plump, stay at home with the kids, while I do all the work. All you need to do is stay pretty for me. How’s that?”
Your eyes shot wide.
“Wh—what—”
Naoya groaned, hips snapping into you with brutal finality. “Yeah… get you knocked up real good. Keep you barefoot and round.”
You were too far gone to think straight. Your mind was blank, fogged with overstimulation, his words sinking in like poison and honey all at once.
You didn’t say yes.
But didn’t say no either.
And yet, your body, soaked and trembling—your hips moving to meet his was enough of an answer for Naoya.
“Poor thing,” he cooed. “What happened to all that attitude from the café, huh?”
He kept moving, slow and deep, grinding into you like he was savoring it—watching your body convulse, watching you break again and again.
“Say yes,” he murmured. “Say you’ll be mine again.”
You shook your head weakly. “Naoya…”
Another thrust—slow and hard. Hitting that sweet spot that caused your whole body to shudder.
“Say you’ll come back.”
You bit your lip, tears streaking down your face. “You’re crazy.”
He laughed, breathless. “Yeah. Crazy for this pussy. Now say yes.”
“Naoya, I—”
He rolled his hips again, slow and tight, until you felt every inch of him grinding against that devastating spot inside you. The tears came again, half from overstimulation, half from how good it felt. How familiar.
“Say you’ll let me knock you up. Keep you all pretty and pregnant. Let me fuck you full whenever I want.”
Your walls fluttered around him.
He felt it.
His voice dropped into a growl. “Say yes, baby.”
And you broke.
“…Y-Yes, Naoya, please—”
He smirked, feeling your walls flutter again around him.
“Thought so.”
Then, finally—finally—he started to move again, this time with purpose. No more teasing. No more games. Naoya’s pace turned filthy and fast, the sounds of slick skin and breathless cries filling the room.
“You’re gonna take it,” he growled, one hand gripping your waist, the other snaking around to rub between your legs. “Gonna take every fucking drop like the little housewife you’re meant to be.”
Your back arched into him, hips meeting his on instinct, your body too far gone to resist.
“I’ll give you everything,” he hissed. “You won’t need to lift a damn finger. Just lie back, look pretty, and take what I give you.”
The pressure built again—your third high coiling fast, your legs shaking, your mind frayed to nothing but him.
Naoya’s rhythm stuttered—hips jerking, pace messy.
“F-fuck—” he groaned. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna watch it leak out of you.”
Your fingers clenched the sheets.
“Naoya—please—”
“Come with me,” he gasped. “One more. Just one more.”
Your body obeyed before your brain did.
Pleasure detonated in your gut like a bomb—your third orgasm ripping through you so hard you screamed, nails digging into the mattress. Naoya thrust twice more before burying himself to the hilt, his mouth falling open as he came with a guttural groan.
Heat spilled inside you in thick pulses, hot and endless. And he held you through it, cock still twitching, bodies locked together, both trembling.
Then he collapsed over you with a quiet laugh, his voice low against your shoulder.
Naoya chuckled, deep in his chest, the sound full of smug satisfaction. His lips brushed against the damp skin of your temple, breath warm and steady as he pressed his body flush against your back.
He never pulled out.
Instead, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapping around you as if you'll slip through his fingers again if he lets go.
“Hope you’re ready,” he whispered, voice dark and honey-slick, as his palm spread possessively over your stomach, fingers tracing idle circles into the softness just below your navel. “Because you’re about to become a Zenin.”
You shivered.
As the high slowly went down, clarity filled your thoughts. You finally realized the events that actually just happened. What things you had agreed on with this…ex-boyfriend of yours.
Was it more of a fiancé now?
The thought caused a soft, broken sob to escape your lips.
And Naoya heard it. The despair in such a brief moment. He basked in it, low and cruel. Coming out triumphs through acts that lack any ethics. And yet, a lingering fondness was there. Because despite his words and his efforts, all of this was simply because he desired you.
Then he kissed your shoulder. A slow, lazy press of lips against your trembling skin. And as if to seal the promise, his hips rolled forward in an almost gentle way, grinding the last of his cum—his claim deeper into you.
You were sure, there is no breaking up or getting out of the relationship this time. The thought almost broke the spirit inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to kick him off the bed and run as fast and far away as possible. But your whole body felt sore. Naoya will surely overpower you easily. So, you finally let fatigue take over, embracing the darkness that was soon to take you.
The last thing you hear Naoya murmured in an almost endearing tone was:
“My little wife. Plump and perfect, carrying my name.”
crossposted on ao3
