You didn’t deign to give Baby a glare. Instead, you blindly reached for Abby, hoping to get some popcorn. When your fingers didn’t find any, you stretched your arm farther. But when there was still none, you turned to the big man and found a teasing grin on his face.
“My bowl,” he said.
“My popcorn,” you countered which only made him grin wider.
Your skin prickled as he drew closer, his breath warm and smelling of butter as he said, “Say please.”
The bludgeoning need in you to say no rushed to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you hissed, “Make me.”
Not your best comeback—ever—as the room seemed to hold its breath, like a string pulled taut.
You never understood that part—the resistance. Whenever one of them came too close, whenever they touched you, warmth always pooled low in your belly. Your fingers would itch to touch, and your thighs would clench as blood rushed far, far away from your brain.
You’ve had your fair share of flings and hookups. Not a lot, but neither were you some aching virgin. And you knew those situations weren’t borne out of rational thought.
So maybe that’s what this was—your brain recognizing patterns.
A wicked glint flashed in Abby’s eye, a striking gold before returning to their usual tawny color. The solid arm pressed against yours seemed to burn, and as with other times, like prey, you knew you were being watched.
Your body knew what it wanted, but somehow, in your core, you also knew that giving in was more than just a physical surrender.
You gasped when the couch dipped as Romance sidled in beside you. “We haven’t even taken you out for dinner yet, princess,” he purred, arms winding around your waist. “But if you insist—”
Something whipped past your cheek, and you were jerked back by the weight of something, startling a yelp out of you.
“Come on, people,” drawled Baby, tossing a dented pillow back to Jinu. “Time and place. The dog’s about to die.” He gestured at the TV where Will Smith cradled his German Shepherd.
Spell shattered, the room breathed again, and you scooted away from Abby even though his gaze burned a hole through your temple.
Picking himself up from the floor was Romance who glared daggers at Baby as he rubbed his cheek. “Could you please lay off the face?”
“Your big head was in the way.”
“It’s hair spray!” Romance plopped back on the couch beside you, effectively squeezing you between him and Abby.
You thought you’d spend the rest of the evening in mortifying embarrassment, but the big demon threw an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in. The look he gave you held no trace of mockery or the heat from earlier. “Popcorn?”
Your smile echoed his as you grabbed a handful; if he was willing to drop it, then so were you.
Now that you were appropriately filled by salty, buttery goodness, you turned to Baby. “I’ll have you know, this movie is an iconic cultural piece.”
“You mean an allegory of humanity’s never-ending struggle against survival, loneliness and the gluttonous need to be at the top of the food chain?”
You all gaped at Jinu.
“What?” He shrugged. “I’ve read it.”
“Read it from where?”
“The internet,” he answered like it was the mot obvious thing. “People were talking about it.”
“Jinu,” whispered Mystery from the dining area. He didn’t want to share his popcorn, so he decided to watch the movie from there. “Did you look at spoilers?”
“Spoilers? No. People were just talking about it. I wanted to come prepared.”
Baby looked like he was about to swing a pillow again. “You don’t watch a movie ‘prepared’”—he drew quote marks in the air—“You watch it unprepared.”
The others mumbled their agreement, which only rattled Jinu as he gestured at you. “Well she was bragging about how good it was so I had to check, so I checked, and then I read it!”
“Read it from where?” you repeated. “You can’t trust everything you read on the internet, Jinu. Especially when it comes to movies. Everyone has different interpretations of it.”
Jinu groaned. “I’ve read it, okay? Why is that not—”
Abby tossed a phone to Jinu, interrupting him with, “Just show us where you found it so we can get back to the movie.”
Jinu caught it with ease, scrolled, and once he found what he was looking for, thrust it in your face. “Here! How many times do I have to say it?”
The phone’s brightness was set to max, and in the dim room, it glared like headlights. But finally, your vision adjusted. On the screen was a familiar orange logo and a thread of comments under a post titled, “I Am Legend Review - Good and Bad Points.”
You blinked, squinted, then blinked again before turning to Jinu. “Is this…Reddit?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Jinu. “Like I said, I’ve read it!”
The silence broke with Baby bursting into laughter. It was a sound you rarely heard, sparking something in you, something bright. Like the sun peeking behind clouds. And in spite of yourself, you grinned.
“You mean…” you began. “You went to Reddit.”
Jinu’s hair bounced as he nodded. “Yes, I read it.”
“No, you went to a website called ‘Reddit.’”
“Yes, and as I’ve read what they have to say, I’ve read it.”
Out of respect for their leader, the boys swallowed their laughter, save for Baby who was still doubled over.
Having mercy on him, you decided to explain the situation that Reddit was just a name. However, Jinu, being Jinu, would not put it down.
And you would all later see how right he was and how wrong you all were.
Jinu burst into your room later, phone clutched in hand.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, showing you the google page he was on. “Reddit really was made to be called reddit so you can say you’ve read it!”
Baby, whose room was just next to yours, appeared in your doorway, laughed at Jinu, then left, muttering something under his breath.
A pair of groans drifted up from downstairs. You heard the familiar creak of the bathroom door being opened, quickly followed by two loud, successive splashes. A weak whimper you recognized to be Romance’s echoed from within.
Nextdoor, Baby laughed harder.
“What’s going on?” You asked Jinu who grinned from ear to ear.
The dark-haired demon leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, nothing. Just a bet that if I was right and they were wrong, they’d jump into the bath tub in their best clothes.”
Your bed dipped as a presence came up behind you, the unmistakable spice and sweetness of cloves. “And who did you bet on?”
Mystery idly flipped through the pages of the book you’d been reading, a lazy grin on his lips. “Jinu’s not that dumb.”
──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────
Taglist (requests are open): @karmaslostbaby @yvanill4 @my-name-is-heartache
The prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. Pale, thick, curves up toward his stomach like it’s pointing at god. Veins prominent but elegant. He’s uncut but pulls back clean, and the head gets so red when he’s close.
Length-wise? Above average. Girth-wise? Problematic. He knows it. He watches your face when he pushes in, chasing the moment your eyes roll back.
Fucks like he has something to prove. Uses his hips. Uses gravity. Infinite Void means he can suspend you mid-air and ruin you at leisure.
Likes to keep the blindfold on so you can’t see where the pleasure’s coming from. Likes when you claw at it, desperate to see him.
Talks constantly. Filthy, arrogant, "you’re taking me so well, look at you, stuffed full." Edges you for literal hours because time stops when he’s inside you.
Comes with his teeth in your shoulder and his hand around your throat, and then stays hard because he’s the strongest for a reason.
Kento Nanami
Heavy. That’s the first word. Thick, blunt, cut with a ridge that catches on your rim every time he pulls back. Shorter than Gojo but wider. You feel him for days.
Precise. Knows angles. Knows exactly how to roll his hips to hit your cervix with a rhythm that’s almost cruel in its efficiency.
Keeps the suit on. Unbuttons just enough to free himself, keeps the glasses on so you can see your reflection in them while he fucks you over his desk.
"7:3 ratio," he whispers, hand over your mouth. "That’s the probability you’ll scream if I thrust here—" and then he does.
Control freak. Won’t come until you’ve gone twice, minimum. When he finally loses it, it’s with his face buried in your neck and his hands bruising your hips, groaning like he’s disappointed in himself for being so messy.
Aftercare is clinical and thorough. Bath drawn. Tea made. But his fingers stay inside you while you drink it, keeping his cum where it belongs.
Toji Fushiguro
Animalistic. No technique, just force. His cock is massive—thick, veined, heavy enough to slap against his stomach and leave a wet spot. Straight, no curve, just a battering ram.
No prep. No patience. He lifts you, pins you, splits you open on his length and grunts when you cry out. Likes the resistance. Likes the fight.
Fucks like he’s trying to break something. Uses his whole body—sweat-slick, scarred, muscles rolling. Bounces you on his lap like you weigh nothing.
Loves hearing you choke. Loves when you scratch him, bite him, leave marks he can feel later. "Again," he growls, already hard after coming once. "Wanna feel you break around me."
Stays hard. Always stays hard. Round two starts before round one ends, cum used as lube for the next round until you’re delirious, limp, leaking him from every hole.
Leaves you covered in bruises shaped like his fingers and walks away smirking, but he always comes back to carry you to bed when you can’t walk.
Yuji Itadori
Perfect. Honestly unfair. Cut, thick, flushed dark, curves slightly left and hits your anterior wall like it was designed by a deity who wanted women to suffer.
Sensitive as hell. Whines when you touch him. Comes fast the first time, apologetic and red-faced, but then—then—the stamina kicks in.
Enthusiastic. Wants to know what you like. "Here? Like this? Can you take more?" Fucks with his whole heart, trembling and sweating and telling you you’re beautiful while he’s ruining you.
Sometimes Sukuna bleeds through. When it happens, the cock gets thicker, the thrusts get cruel, and the voice drops to something ancient. "Taking what’s mine," Sukuna growls, gripping your jaw. "Look at you, stuffed full of cursed energy and cock."
Yuji always comes back after, horrified and turned on in equal measure, gentle hands checking you over before he gets hard again and forgets to be careful.
Likes it best when you ride him so he can see your face, likes to thumb your clit until you’re shaking, likes to come inside you and watch it drip out with fascination.
Megumi Fushiguro
Long. Slim but long. Curved in a way that finds spots you didn’t know existed, presses against them until you’re seeing stars.
Quiet. So fucking quiet. You think he’s not into it until you feel him—hard as steel, leaking precum, thrusting with a desperation that belies his cold face.
Likes the dark. Likes shadows. His technique curls around your ankles while he fucks you from behind, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll run.
Possessive in silence. Bites your shoulder to muffle his groans. Grips your hair hard enough to tear. Whispers "mine" like he’s casting a curse.
Comes with a shuddering exhale, face buried in your neck, cock pulsing deep. Stays inside you until he’s soft, thumb tracing your hip bones like he’s memorizing you.
After, he’s distant, but his shadows follow you home. Marking you. Keeping you.
Suguru Geto
Religious experience. Thick, elegant, cut with a flared head that catches on your rim and makes you sob. He’s patient with it. Cruelly patient.
Likes you on your back, legs spread, while he watches. "Look at you," he murmurs, sliding in inch by inch. "So wet for a monster. Is this your salvation?"
Moves like water. Fluid, endless, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Can go for hours without breaking a sweat, smiling while you beg.
Likes to edge you with his cock barely inside, just the head stretching you open, until you’re crying, clawing at him, "please, Suguru, please—"
Comes with his eyes open, staring into yours like he’s stealing your soul. Spills hot and deep, then stays there, thumb circling your oversensitive clit until you’re coming around him again, milking him dry.
Whispers sutras against your skin while you tremble. Marks you as his last good thing. Fucks you like he’s taking communion.
"if i headshot you three times this game, you send a dick pic."
naoya zenin x f!reader
• genre: smut, streamer au, enemies-to-lovers
• content warning: mdni, explicit sexual content, heavy profanity & aggressive/vulgar insults, degradation (kink), rough/aggressive sex, power play, public humiliation
wc: 10, 758 (ao3 link here)
this is a highly explicit work of fiction. reader discretion is strongly advised.
for a chill girl like you, it’s too obsessive to be watching naoya zenin’s stream on your second screen right now, all while you’re timing your queue with him for the past hour.
his face cam showed the usual look of pure, unadulterated arrogance, his dyed hair messy, and a headset resting over his ears, the other pair of it slid backwards from his ear, showing his piercings there.
he was of course, in the middle of a fucking rant, leaning into his mic to insult a viewer who had the audacity to donate five dollars just to ask for gameplay tips.
“tips? you want tips from me?” naoya scoffed. “here’s a tip: sell your pc and buy a soul, you fucking loser. don’t ever talk to me like we’re on the same level just because you dropped a fiver.”
the chat was moving at light speed. half of them were simping for his degradation, and the other half were spamming ‘lmao’ or ‘classic naoya.’ he didn’t give a shit and just refreshed his queue.
you’ve been trying to snipe his lobby because you hated this prick. he was talented at valorant, sure, but his personality was a literal biohazard. that made you want to see him lose his mind on stream, and you were petty enough to stay up all night to make it happen.
match found.
the map was bind and you checked the scoreboard immediately.
there he was: ‘zenin_nao’ playing jett, because of course he was.
you picked chamber to counter then cracked your knuckles.
“oh, look at this,” naoya muttered on stream, squinting at the screen. “another fanboy in my lobby. ‘guest_01’? what a pathetic fucking name. hope you’re ready to get carried or get flamed, i’m not in the mood for dead weight.”
the game loaded in, and before the barriers even dropped, you hit shift+enter.
all [guest_01]: sup, princess. try not to cry on stream when you lose k?
naoya paused, his character frozen for a second as he read it. then he let out a mocking laugh. “this nobody really has balls. you hear this shit?” he said to his chat, his eyes widening. “humble me? you couldn’t humble me if i played with one hand tied behind my back, you little shit.”
you weren’t done. you knew exactly how to get under the skin of a guy whose ego was his only personality trait.
all [guest_01]: lets make it interesting then.
all [guest_01]: if i headshot you three times this game, you send a dick pic.
the chat erupted.
the scrolling text became a literal series of ‘OH SHIT’, ‘WTF’, and ‘CLIP IT’. naoya’s face went from smug to a shade of insulted red in record time. he leaned so close to the camera to the point that his nose was almost touching it.
“you fucking what?” he hissed, voice dropping. “you think you’re funny? i’ll fucking hunt you down. i’m going to make sure you uninstall this game by the time we hit round twelve. you’re dead, you hear me? you’re fucking dead.”
the barriers dropped.
naoya played like a demon, fueled by pure spite. he dashed into a-short, looking for an early pick, but you were holding a tight angle with a headhunter.
you didn’t panic one bit, his degradations are nothing on you, he can’t possibly kill you with trash talking you like that.
you waited for that silver hair to peek.
crack.
the kill feed showed your name and a golden crosshair next to his.
all [guest_01]: 1/3.
“fuck!” naoya slammed his desk and the sound echoed through his shitty mic. “that was luck! he was holding a pixel, what a fucking rat! stay in your hole, you coward!”
even now, he addresses you as ‘he’. just imagine his fucking reaction when he learns you’re a girl who’s clapping his ass.
his chat was losing it, mocking him, which only made him tilt harder.
by round five, he was playing sloppy, overpeeking everything because he was desperate to kill you and tea bag your corpse.
you caught him again on a mid rotation. he tried to updraft over a smoke, and you clipped his head mid-air with a vandal.
all [guest_01]: 2/3. hope you’re picking a good filter, nao-chan.
naoya was vibrating with rage now. he wasn’t even calling out for his team anymore. instead, he was busy cursing at his monitor while his face contorted. “i’m going to ruin you! i’ll find out who you are and i’ll fucking end you! shut up! chat, shut the fuck up before i ban every single one of you!”
the game went on and your team was winning, mostly because naoya was throwing his life away just to find you. what a pathetic loser.
this time, naoya was tucked in a corner on b-site, waiting. you knew he was there. so you threw a trademark to slow him, then swung wide. he fired and missed by an inch, giving you the opportunity to click.
headshot.
naoya’s face on your second monitor was a deep, humiliated shade of red, his veins were practically popping out of his neck as he glared at the screen. he had just been revived by his sage, only for you to instantly dome him again from across the map with a guardian.
“fuck! are you kidding me with this shit?” he screamed, slamming his fist onto his desk so hard his webcam shook. “he’s cheating! he’s definitely fucking cheating! nobody hits those shots on a moving target, i don’t care who you are!”
the chat was a dumpster fire. they were tagging him, laughing at him, and clip chiming every single death.
naoya was usually the one doing the bullying, so seeing him get systematically dismantled by a ‘random’ (worse, is a girl) was high-tier entertainment for his miserable followers.
you leaned into your keyboard as your smirk widened. the ‘dick pic’ threat had already turned him into a stuttering mess, but you wanted to see him actually break.
all [guest_01]: you’re playing like a boosted silver, nao.
all [guest_01]: new deal since you’re so easy to hit.
all [guest_01]: if i headshot you one more time this half, the pic isn’t enough. you’re gonna have to go on cam and masturbate for me.
the stream went dead silent for a second. naoya stared at the chat box with his mouth hanging open. he looked genuinely stunned, feeling his ego finally hit a wall. then, the chat exploded into a literal wall of ‘???’ and ‘NO WAY’ and ‘DO IT’.
“you... you sick fucking freak,” naoya spat with his trembling voice. “you think i’m some cam girl? you think you can talk to me like that? i’m naoya zenin! i'll have your fucking ip tracked before the next round starts!”
but he didn’t leave the game. he was too prideful to forfeit, and too obsessed with proving he was better than you.
round nine.
bind, defense side.
naoya was playing u-hall, holding the angle with an operator, his hands were visibly shaking on the mouse.
he was terrified that every time he peeked, he was thinking about your threat. he was tilted out of his mind, overthinking every micro movement.
you didn’t even use a real gun now. you pulled out the sheriff and jiggled the corner, baiting out his op shot.
thump.
he missed and the bullet hit the wall behind you.
“fuck! fuck! fuck!” he yelled, frantically trying to cycle his bolt.
you swung wide and you immediately saw his silver haired jett frantically trying to pull out a pistol. you took a breath, lined up the crosshair with his forehead, and clicked.
pop.
all [guest_01]: 4/3.
all [guest_01]: hope you’ve got the lotion ready, princess. i’m waiting.
naoya didn’t scream this time. he just slumped back in his expensive gaming chair, staring at the ‘killed by’ screen with a look of pure, hollowed out defeat. his chat was filled with ‘CAM ON’ and ‘PAY UP’.
he leaned forward on his face cam and his eyes dark and narrowed. “you think you won? you think you can just embarrass me like this and walk away?” he hissed. “i’m going to find out who you are. and when i do, i’m going to make you regret every single word you typed in that fucking box.”
he didn’t end the stream immediately. he just sat there, breathing hard, looking like he was debating whether to actually follow through or just smash his monitor into pieces.
all [guest_01]: stop barking and start working that hand, nao-chan. everyone’s waiting.
he let out a jagged, frustrated breath and finally ripped his headset off, throwing it against the wall.
the stream cut to a ‘technical difficulties’ screen, but you knew you had burrowed deep under his skin.
the next evening, you were just lounging in the main menu while your agent was standing idle.
you were scrolling on your phone when suddenly, the notification chime hit.
friend request: zenin_nao
the sight of his username made you wheeze.
the prick actually did it. he probably spent all night scrubbing through the match history and seething.
you clicked accept, and not even three seconds later, the party invite popped up. of course, you joined and the second your icon appeared in his lobby, his voice cracked through the headset.
although he sounded harsh, he was obviously incredibly stressed.
“you. guest_01. you better have a fucking mic,” naoya snapped. his voice sounded like he hadn’t slept a wink.
you keyed your mic, leaning back with a grin. “keep your pants on, nao-chan. i’m here.”
there was a deafening silence.
you could almost hear his brain short-circuiting through the fiber optics.
naoya, the guy who spent his entire career preaching about how women were ‘naturally inferior’ at everything from breathing to gaming, just realized he got clapped by a girl.
“fuck... you’re a girl?” he stuttered. “you’re kidding me, no fucking way. you’re using a voice changer. there’s no way some bitch hit those shots. you were cheating… you had to be.”
“cry harder,” you laughed, the sound loud and clear. “i clapped you on stream in front of thirty thousand people. you lost the bet. so, are we doing this, or are you a bigger coward than i thought?”
“shut the fuck up!” he yelled, though you can feel his embarrassment have doubled now. “listen to me. i’m not— i’m not doing that shit on cam. do you have any idea what that would do to my family name?”
“not my problem,” you countered. “you talked all that trash, called me a ‘nobody’, and you said you’d ruin me. turns out you’re the one getting ruined by a ‘nobody’. pay up, zenin.”
you heard him pacing. the rustle of his clothes, the heavy, frustrated sighs. he sounded like a cornered animal.
“look,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, desperate mumble. “let’s... let’s negotiate. i’ll give you skins. i’ll give you whatever fucking radiant points or gift cards you want. i’ll even duo with you and carry your ass to immortal. just... drop the bet. tell my chat it was a scripted bit or something.”
“carry me?” you snorted.
this guy is a fucking loser, indeed!
“nao, i carried you in that lobby. your aim is shaky and dogshit. why would i want to duo with a loser?”
“i’m not a loser!” he barked, slamming something, probably his desk again. “i’m the best player on this fucking server! you just got lucky! fine, you want something else? money? i have more money than you’ll ever see in your pathetic life. name a price to shut your mouth.”
you let out a low, amused laugh, leaning back in your chair as you listened to the frantic tapping of his fingers against a desk.
“money is boring, naoya. i want you to actually stick to your word for once in your pathetic life. you lost. and now the whole internet is waiting to see if the great naoya zenin is a liar or a man of his word.”
“i’m not a fucking liar!” he exploded. “but i’m not doing it on stream! do you have any idea how many people are watching? if i do that shit on cam, it’s over. my career, my family name, everything— gone because of some bratty girl who got lucky with a vandal.”
he paused, and you could hear him taking a shaky, sharp breath.
he sounded like he was pacing his room, cornered and frantic.
“look,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a cautious tone. “i’ll... i’ll do it. but not over the internet. i’m not giving you a recording you can blackmail me with for the rest of my life. i’m not that fucking stupid.”
your eyebrows shot up. “oh? you’re suggesting a meetup? that’s bold for a guy who just got his ego trashed.”
“shut up,” he snapped. “i have a private suite in the city. it’s safe there. no cameras, no recording devices. you come there, i do what you want, and then we never speak again. you delete the chat logs, you tell your friends it was a joke, and we’re done.”
you couldn’t help but laugh. “a private suite? naoya, do i look stupid? how do i know you’re not just planning to have me kidnapped or some shit to save your reputation? you’re a prick, i wouldn’t put it past you.”
the silence on the other end lasted for a few seconds before he let out a insulted scoff.
“kidnapped? you think i’m some low life criminal? i’m a zenin. i have more pride in my pinky finger than you have in your entire body. if i wanted you gone, i’d have bought your house and turned it into a parking lot by now.”
he sounded genuinely offended, his elitist pride flaring up.
“i don’t need to kidnap a girl to win an argument. i’m giving you my word because i’m a man who doesn’t owe anyone shit, especially not a coward who’s scared to meet me face-to-face. i’ll send you the address and the keycode. you show up, or you admit you’re just a loud mouthed bitch who’s too scared to collect her prize.”
you could practically hear the smug, challenging smirk returning to his face.
he was backed into a corner, but he was still trying to find a way to make it look like he was the one in control.
“fine,” you said. “send the address.”
the address was for a high-rise penthouse indeed.
you rode the elevator up in silence and when the doors dinged open, you walked straight to the suite number he’d sent.
you didn’t even knock, you just punched in the code and you’re in.
the place was spacious and clean.
filled with expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and naoya standing by a white marble kitchen island.
he was wearing a designer sweater, looking like he was posing for a magazine cover, but his knuckles were white where he was gripping the edge of the counter.
he turned around, ready to spit out some elitist insult about how ‘ugly’ or ‘pathetic’ you probably were, but the words died in his throat.
his eyes traveled from your boots up to your face, and his smug expression didn’t just fade, it transformed into an obvious wide-eyed bafflement.
“you…” he trailed off, his jaw tightening.
he clearly expected a stereotypical girl he could bully in person.
but instead, he was looking at someone who looked like they actually had a life outside of a discord server.
“you’re guest_01? no fucking way.”
“what? disappointed i don’t have a neckbeard, princess?” you smirked, tossing your bag onto his overpriced sofa.
you didn’t give him a second to recover. “i’m not here to small talk. i’ve got things to do. strip. now.”
naoya flinched. “don’t— don’t talk to me like that! you think you can just walk into my house and start ordering me around?”
“the bet was the bet, naoya. you lost. your pride is already in the trash, don’t make me wait.”
he went to open his mouth, but a sharp knock at the door interrupted him.
when it opened, one of his helpers, a guy in a suit who looked more like a bodyguard, stepped in.
naoya cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of authority.
“your phone, please,” the guy said, holding out a hand toward you.
“and any recording devices,” naoya added. “he’s going to take your electronics to the other room. if you want this to happen, you play by my rules. i’m not having a single pixel of this recorded.”
you rolled your eyes, pulling your phone and your smartwatch off and dropping them into the guy’s hand.
as the door closed and the bodyguard left with your stuff, you turned back to naoya and let out a mocking laugh.
“are you fucking serious right now?” you stepped closer, watching him instinctively take a half-step back. “a bodyguard, naoya? really? you’re such a fucking baby. you’re so terrified of a girl that you need a grown man to hold my phone for you? god, you’re even more pathetic in person than you are on stream.”
naoya’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated rage. “i’m being careful! i’m not taking any chances with my reputation.”
“your reputation is already ‘guy who got gapped by a girl’,” you countered, crossing your arms. “now stop stalling and get those clothes off. or do i need to call your guard back in to help you unzip your pants since you’re clearly too shaking to do it yourself?”
his teeth literally grinded together.
he reached for the hem of his sweater, his fingers twitching. “i’m going to make you regret this,” he hissed, though the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes told a completely different story.
you walked over to a leather armchair positioned perfectly opposite the island and dropped into it, crossing your legs. you leaned your chin on your hand, watching him strip his clothes for you.
“well?” you prompted. “i’m waiting, nao-chan. clocks ticking.”
naoya let out a frustrated snarl, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hem of his designer sweater and yanked it over his head.
his hair was a mess, falling over his eyes as he tossed the garment onto the marble floor.
you had to admit, the prick was built.
he wasn’t just some skinny gamer who lived on energy drinks; his chest was lean but defined, with pale, smooth skin and sharp collarbones.
his abs were tight, a clear v-line disappearing into the waistband of his expensive trousers.
he looked like a goddamn model, and the realization that he actually took care of himself made the humiliation of the situation ten times more potent.
“stop... stop staring at me like that,” he hissed, his voice cracking as he reached for his belt.
he stepped out of his pants, leaving him in just his boxers.
he was stalling, his face a deep, bruised red, but he couldn’t fill your silence with his usual trash talk. he eventually hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pushed them down, kicking them away with a jerky, humiliated movement.
your breath hitched in your throat, and for the first time since you entered the room, the smug comment you had ready upon seeing his dick died on your tongue.
the guy was fucking massive.
even when soft, he was heavy and thick, hanging with a weight that felt completely at odds with his lean, lithe frame.
as he stood there, completely exposed and shivering from the vulnerability, you felt a sudden, traitorous throb between your own thighs.
you can’t believe you’re actually wetting yourself from the mere sight of his private part.
you had come here to ruin him, to laugh at him, but looking at him like this; packing like a monster, made you feel on edge too.
“you’re... you’re a freak,” naoya muttered, though his eyes were glued to the floor, unable to meet your gaze.
he was shaking, obviously because his pride was at war with the biological reality of being naked in front of a girl who had just spent the last forty-eight hours destroying his ego.
you shifted in the chair, feeling the wetness of your own underwear, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“you talk a lot of shit for someone who looks like that, naoya,” you said, your voice a little huskier than you intended. “are you just going to stand there and let me admire the view, or are you going to start?”
he finally looked up, his golden-brown eyes narrowed and wet with frustrated tears, his chest heaving. “i hate you,” he whispered, his hand finally reaching down to wrap around himself.
his fingers could barely even close around the girth of it. “i fucking hate you so much.”
“good,” you breathed, leaning forward, your eyes fixed on his hand. “now show me what those hands can do, princess.”
naoya’s hand finally closed around himself. it was fucking absurd, his body was lean and wiry, built like an athlete, but between his legs, he was carrying a monster.
the head was already peeking out, pink and thick, and as he started to move his hand in a slow stroke, the skin stretched tight over the shaft, revealing the pulsing veins that made your own pussy throb in sync with his heartbeat.
“look at you,” you purred, leaning so far forward in the chair that you could smell the expensive cologne still clinging to his bare skin. “you’re shaking, nao-chan. is the big, bad streamer scared of a little audience? or is it just because you know how much of a pathetic slut you look like right now, naked and jerking off because a girl told you to?”
“shut the fuck up,” he hissed, his voice dropping into a strained rasp.
he was starting to get hard, and as he did, the size of him became even more terrifying.
his dick was lengthening, thickening until it the tip was weeping a bead of pre-cum.
“i’m only doing this so you’ll leave me the fuck alone. don’t— fuck— don’t think this means anything.”
“it means everything,” you countered, your hand sliding down between your own thighs, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties.
you were fucking dripping while watching his dick slide in and out of his grip, seeing the way his abs rippled with every strained breath, was making you lose your goddamn mind.
“it means you’re my bitch. every time you go live from now on, every time you talk shit to some kid in chat, you’re gonna remember sitting here like a dog, tossing your own salad for me.”
naoya’s eyes snapped to yours, full of pure, concentrated hatred, but his body was betraying him.
his strokes were getting faster, more desperate. the slapping sound of his palm hitting his own thighs was loud and echoing in the room.
he was fully erect now, making his dick look like it would split you in half if he ever got his hands on you.
the sight of it made a fresh wave of wetness burst from your pussy, soaking your seat.
fuck.
“you like it, don't you?” he suddenly spat.
he defininitely saw the way your eyes were glued to his cock, and they way you keep shifting in your seat.
“you’re fucking soaking wet just looking at me. you’re probably just some lonely bitch who sniped my game because you wanted a piece of this, didn’t you? you’re pathetic.”
“maybe,” you whispered, not even bothering to deny it as you watched him pump that massive dick, his thumb rubbing over the head. “but at the end of the day, i’m the one sitting in the chair, and you’re the one performing like a circus animal. keep going, princess. i want to see you blow that load all over your expensive floor. i want to see how much of a mess a prick like you makes.”
naoya let out a choked, broken sound, his head tossing back as his pace became faster.
he was close, his entire body tensing up, muscles popping in his arms and chest as he neared the edge, his cock twitching violently in his hand.
naoya was losing his fucking mind.
he was flushed from his chest up to his ears, a mess of sweat and pure, raw humiliation. every time his palm slapped against the base of his throbbing cock, he’d let out a little grunt that he tried to swallow down.
you didn’t stay in the chair as well. you can’t…
you wanted to make him feel shit as much as you can, to make sure he understands that you were the one totally in control right now… and that he’s just your little bitch with a show right now.
you stood up slowly and walked over to him until you were standing right in his personal space.
the smell of his pre-cum hit you immediately.
“you’re losing steam, princess,” you whispered, circling him. “honestly, this is getting a little boring. i thought the great naoya zenin would be a lot more into this. are you not horny enough? or is your dick just too big for your tiny ego to handle?”
“shut— fuck— shut up,” he gasped, his eyes blown out and hazy as he stared at your waist. “i’m... i’m almost…”
“almost isn’t good enough,” you interrupted, stepping directly in front of him. “do i really have to do everything for you? do i have to actually put in effort to get this pathetic little streamer in the mood?”
you reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, the one he’d discarded earlier, and tossed it aside, then leaned in.
you pressed your chest right against his face.
and he immediately realized that you weren’t wearing a bra, and the soft weight of your breasts smothered his mouth and nose, burying him in your scent.
naoya made a muffled, strangled sound against your skin, his hands pausing on his dick for a split second before he absolutely lost it.
you shoved his face deeper into your cleavage, allowing his nose to brush against the underside of your tits as he let out a long, shaky moan.
“there we go,” you cooed, your hands reaching down to cup the back of his head, forcing him even deeper into your chest. “is that better, nao-chan? feel how wet i am for you? it’s almost a waste to let all that go to the floor, isn’t it?”
the contact turned him into an animal.
his grip on his cock became frantic as he buried his face in your tits like a starving man, turning his muffled moans into desperate, shaky whimpers.
“that’s it,” you hissed, feeling your own pussy clench and leak another wave of juice down your legs as he nuzzled frantically between your breasts. “show me what a pathetic, needy dog you are. cum for me, naoya. blow it all over yourself while you hide your face like a coward.”
he couldn’t hold back anymore.
with one final, deep groan, his body went rigid.
he slammed his hand down the length of his cock one last time, and a thick, hot jet of cum erupted from the tip, hitting his own stomach and the floor.
he kept shooting, ropes of white splattering everywhere as his massive dick convulsed wildly in his hand.
he stayed buried in your breasts long after he finished, his breath hot and shaky against your skin, his body trembling as the post-nut clarity and the crushing weight of his own humiliation finally started to sink in.
you stood there for a moment, just feeling his breath against your skin as he slumped against you, completely spent.
his dick was still twitching in his hand, while he kept his face buried between your tits like he was trying to hide from the reality of what just happened.
you let out a mocking laugh and reached down, running your fingers through his messy hair, tugging just enough to force him to look up at you.
his face was a disaster; flushed, eyes glassy and blown out, and his lips parted as he gasped for air.
“look at you,” you giggled. “such a good, obedient little boy. you did exactly what i told you to do, nao-chan.”
he tried to scowl, tried to find some remnant of that sharp-tongued prick he was on stream, but he couldn’t find the words.
he was too far gone. “i... i fucking hate you,” he managed to wheeze out, though his hands were still resting weakly on your hips, keeping you close.
“shhh,” you whispered, leaning down. “you’ve earned a little reward.”
you didn’t give him a choice.
you pressed your lips to his, and for a split second, he froze, his brain probably screaming at him to pull away.
but then his ego snapped. he let out a desperate moan into your mouth, then his hands went up to cup your face with a violent sort of need.
it wasn’t a sweet kiss. you wouldn’t call it sweet if you shoved your tongue into his mouth, right?
naoya met you head-on, his tongue fighting yours, twisting as he tried to reclaim some shred of dominance. he was devouring you, his fingers digging into your cheeks.
when you finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips before breaking.
naoya looked absolutely wrecked, his chest heaving, his eyes darting to your mouth as his head instinctively leaned forward to chase you, begging for more without saying a word.
“stay,” you commanded, stepping back and watching his face fall. “and clean up your mess. i’m leaving.”
later that evening, you were curled up on your bed, scrolling through the clips of his ‘technical difficulties’ stream from the day before. the comments were still a war zone of people wondering if he’d actually followed through on the bet.
your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
a message from an unsaved number.
[unknown]: you’re a fucking witch. i don’t know what you did to me.
[unknown]: my dick is still hard. fuck.
you smiled.
because he was clearly obsessed.
the arrogant, untouchable naoya zenin was officially on a leash, and he was the one pulling on it.
[you]: ready for round two, princess? or do you need to buy more lotion first?
it’s been a few weeks since that night in the penthouse, and the internet is basically in a state of permanent cardiac arrest.
naoya’s stream schedule has completely changed and started revolving around yours.
he went from swearing he’d have you banned and erased from the face of the earth to being in your lobby every single fucking day.
what’s even funnier is that…
the first time he admitted it on stream, he looked like he wanted to swallow a grenade.
“yeah, it’s the same bitch,” he had spat at his chat, his face turning that familiar shade of red. “she’s annoying as hell, but she’s the only one in this game who can keep up with my utility. shut up about the bet, or i’m banning the next ten people who type ‘dick pic’.”
now, it’s just your routine.
not only you, in fact.
but his too.
you’re sitting at your desk, headset on, watching his face cam on your second monitor as you both queue for another match.
“buy me a vandal, nao,” you sweetly demanded with a breathy whisper.
“buy it yourself, you lazy brat,” naoya snaps, though he’s already clicking the buy button for you. “i’m top fragging. i shouldn’t be funding your shitty habits.”
the game starts, and you’re playing sage.
ironic, considering how much he hates being ‘subservient’.
so you’re now following his jett around, walling off his flanks and keeping his health topped off while he dashes around like a maniac.
“heal! heal me now!” he shot called as he ducks behind a crate with 12 hp.
“what’s the magic word, princess?” you tease, holding the orb just out of range. “you know the rules. every time i save your ass, you bark for me. come on, let me hear it.”
“i am not fucking barking on stream!” naoya yells. he looks at his camera, seeing the chat spamming dog emojis. “get away from me! i’d rather die and lose the round than give you the satisfaction, you psycho!”
“suit yourself,” you chuckle, watching his health bar blink red. “guess you’ll just have to watch me top frag instead.”
he lets out a frustrated sound, more like a half growl and half whimper and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a ‘woof’ under his breath just as you click the heal.
“good boy,” you purr.
the third teammate, a guy playing omen, finally chimes in.
he’s been quiet all game, but clearly, he’s heard enough.
“yo, sage... you’re actually hilarious. and your aim is cracked. you got a discord or something? i feel like we’d actually vibe way better than you and this loud mouthed clown.”
naoya’s character stops dead in its tracks.
on the cam, his eyes narrow into slits, and he leans so close to his mic.
“who the fuck are you talking to?” naoya hisses, his voice dropping, a sign when he’s about to lose it. “did i ask for your input, you bottom-fragging piece of shit? she’s with me. pay attention to the map and keep your fucking mouth shut while we carry your heavy ass.”
“chill, man,” the omen laughs, oblivious to the fact that naoya is actually vibrating with rage. “i’m just saying, she’s a vibe. hey, guest_01, you ever played with a guy who doesn’t scream every five seconds? i could show you a much better time.”
naoya’s face is a mask of pure, unadulterated jealousy.
he isn’t even looking at the game anymore; he’s glaring at the team chat. “get out,” he snaps. “hey! i said shut the fuck up! she’s mine! we’re in a duo for a reason, you desperate little rat! if you say one more word to her, i’ll find out where you live and personally make sure you never have internet access again!”
“jealous, nao-chan?” you ask mockingly. “he’s being much nicer to me than you’ve ever been.”
“i’m not jealous!” he screams at the monitor. “i just hate losers! and you— you don’t talk to anyone else! you’re my pocket sage, and if i catch you giving that omen a single drop of utility, i’m ending the stream!”
the chat is absolutely losing it.
‘HE’S OBSESSED’ and ‘JEALOUS NAOYA’ scrolling so fast in his stream chat.
he’s completely exposed himself, and the best part is, he’s too mad to even realize how much he’s admitting.
the game ended with naoya nearly popping a blood vessel, and ten minutes later, you were both in a private discord channel with him.
the green light next to his name flickered as he unmuted.
“you’re such a fucking headache,” he spat. “why didn’t you mute him? you just sat there and let that pathetic loser flirt with you. you probably liked it, didn’t you? getting attention from someone who doesn’t know what a massive pain in the ass you actually are.”
“oh, absolutely,” you hummed, leaning back and spinning in your chair. “he was sweet, naoya. he called me a ‘vibe’ and he complimented my aim. when was the last time you called me anything other than a ‘brat’ or a ‘psycho’? maybe i should’ve given him my discord. he sounded like he actually knows how to treat a girl.”
“don’t you fucking dare,” naoya hissed. “you’re not giving your discord to some bottom fragging nobody. you’re stuck with me.”
“you sound so insecure when you’re jealous, nao-chan. it’s cute,” you teased, enjoying the way he let out a frustrated breath. “it makes me wonder how you’re going to act next month. or did you not check your email yet?”
there was a pause, the sound of aggressive clicking filling the silence. “the valorant invitational expo?” he muttered, his voice shifting from angry to annoyed. “the one in the city? of course i’m invited. i’m the face of the regional server. wait…”
another pause. you could practically see the gears grinding in his head.
“don’t tell me,” he groaned. “don’t tell me they invited a random like you just because you sniped me on stream.”
“not a random, naoya. the top-ranked female player on the server,” you corrected him. “they want us there for a showmatch. they’re even putting our booths right next to each other. isn’t that sweet?”
“i’m going to kill someone,” naoya whispered, but he did not exactly sound angry. “two days of being stuck next to you? with cameras everywhere? with fans watching? i won’t be able to say half the shit i want to say to you.”
“is that right?” you laughed. “and what exactly is it that you want to say to me, naoya? or better yet, what do you want to ‘do’ to me? because the last time we were in a room together, you were the one with your face buried in my chest, crying like a baby while you came all over your floor.”
“i was not—! shut the fuck up!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “that was a one-time thing! a moment of weakness! if you bring that up at the expo, i will personally make sure you never see the light of day again!”
“hmm, we’ll see,” you said, clicking your tongue. “but just so you know, i’m wearing a sundress to the event. the kind that’s real easy to slide up.”
the silence on the other end was deafening. you could hear his shallow, shaky breathing, the sound of a man who was once again realizing he was completely and utterly fucked.
“you’re fucked up in the head,” he finally choked out. “i’m going to make your life a living hell at that expo. just wait.”
“i’m looking forward to it, princess,” you whispered. “don’t forget to pack the lotion. you’re gonna need it.”
then the day of the expo arrived.
the convention center was a zoo, filled with the smell of expensive cooling fans and energy drinks.
you could hear the loud cheer of the crowd from the main stage, but you were currently focused on the back entrance.
you walked toward the ‘pro player’ lounge, and as soon as you pushed the doors open, you spotted him.
naoya was surrounded by staff, looking bored and arrogant wearing a custom jersey.
he was in the middle of sipping from a bottled water when his eyes landed on you.
naoya actually choked.
he sputtered, water spraying down the front of his expensive shirt as he coughed violently.
the staff around him scrambled to help, but he shoved them away, his eyes locked on you, specifically on the way the sundress clung to your hips and the deep dip of the neckline.
“you…” he wheezed, his face rapidly turning a shade of red. “what the fuck are you wearing? this is a professional event, not a—”
“not a what, naoya?” you asked, walking right up to him and patting his chest with a smirk. “you look a little hot. is the air conditioning not working in here, or are you just happy to see me?”
he looked like he wanted to scream and pull you into a closet at the same time. “you’re doing this on purpose,” he hissed, leaning down so only you could hear him over the noise of the convention. “you look like a bratty little slut. everyone’s staring at you. i can’t even stand up right now because of you.”
“good,” you whispered back, giving him a wink before heading toward the booths.
the day was a series of interviews and showmatches.
naoya was a mess; every time you leaned over to check your monitor or reached up to adjust your headset, his aim would go to shit, causing his chat to have a field day, clipping every time he got distracted by you sitting just a few feet away.
once the first day wrapped up and the players were heading to their respective hotels. naoya was at the curb, waiting for his private car, looking exhausted and tense.
“where’s your ride?” he muttered as you walked up to him, your small suitcase trailing behind you. “your hotel is on the other side of the district, isn’t it?”
“was,” you corrected him, popping the trunk of his car before he could protest and tossing your bag inside. “i decided my room was too lonely. i’m staying with you.”
naoya’s jaw dropped. “the fuck you are! i didn’t agree to this! you can’t just—”
“i can and i am,” you said, sliding into the back seat and patting the spot next to you. “unless you want me to tell your manager why you were vibrating so hard during the third round of the showmatch. get in, nao-chan. we have a lot to talk about, and i don’t think a discord call is going to cut it tonight.”
the drive to the hotel was silent, mostly because naoya looked like he was one comment away from a total meltdown.
his hand was resting on his lap, and you could see the way his knuckles were white, his eyes darting toward your legs every time the streetlights hit the car window.
the second the door to his suite clicked shut, he turned on you, slamming his hand against the wood next to your head.
“you’re a menace,” he growled darkly. “you show up in that dress, you humiliate me in front of my fans, and now you’re invading my room? you really think you can just keep pushing me like this without any consequences?”
“i’m counting on the consequences, naoya,” you said, reaching up to trail a finger along the collar of his jersey. “you’ve been acting so tough all day. why don’t you show me if you’re still a good boy when the cameras are off?”
he let out a jagged sound, his pride finally snapping as he grabbed your waist and hauled you flush against him.
you could feel the hard ridge of his dick pressing into your stomach, even through the fabric of your dress.
“i’m going to ruin you,” he whispered against your lips. “i’m going to make sure you can’t even walk to the booth tomorrow.”
he slammed you back against the door, crashing his mouth onto yours violently.
there was no teasing this time, no slow build-up. what’s left is just his raw, frantic need.
he groaned into your throat as his hands flew to your chest, grabbing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress.
“fuck,” he rasped against your lips, mounding your breast. “i’ve been wanting to rip these out of this goddamn dress since the second you walked into the lounge. you fucking brat.”
“ah— nao, wait—” you gasped, but the protest was swallowed by his tongue forcing its way back into your mouth.
it was a messy, wet war between your tongues; fighting for space while you scrambled at the zipper of his jersey. your nails dug into his shoulders, pulling at the fabric.
naoya didn’t have the patience for zippers, so he hooked his fingers into the neckline of your sundress and yanked downward with a sharp rrip.
the yellow fabric gave way, tearing down the middle and exposing your bare tits. he let out a jagged breath at the sight, his eyes dark and blown out.
“oh yes... look at you,” he hissed, his hands immediately cupping your breasts, and rolling his thumbs over your nipples until you let out a sharp, high pitched “ah!”
you didn’t stay still either.
you fought back, yanking his jersey over his head and tossing it somewhere.
your hands went straight for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle in your haste. “get... get this off, naoya! fuck, you’re so slow!”
“shut up!” he growled, biting down on your bottom lip so hard you tasted the tang of blood.
you bit him back, your teeth catching on his lip as you finally freed his dick from his pants.
it sprang out, already standing proud and throbbing, slamming the head against your stomach.
he was fucking huge, even bigger and harder than you remembered, the thick veins pulsing against your skin. “uhm... god, naoya,” you moaned, your head tossing back against the door as he buried his face in your neck, leaving dark, bruised marks.
his hand slid down, his fingers roughly pushing aside your lace panties until he found your pussy.
you were a complete mess, dripping wet and your juices immediately coated his fingers the second he touched you.
“you’re soaking,” he muttered. “look at how much of a slut you are for me. you’re practically leaking all over the floor.”
“fuck you, naoya! ah— right there!” you cried out as he shoved two fingers deep inside you while his thumb grinding against your clit.
you were clenching around him, your walls pulsing with a desperate need to be filled by the real thing.
“stop talking and... and put it in. i want it now.”
he let out a low, animalistic sound, his teeth grazing over your collarbone.
he was shaking, his pride is completely gone, replaced by a twitching need to claim you. his massive dick was rubbing against your wet slit, smearing pre-cum all over your folds.
naoya didn’t let you breathe.
before you could even process the weight of him against the door, he hooked his arms under your thighs and hauled you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist.
your torn dress hanging off your hips in shreds as he stumbled toward the bed, tripping over his own discarded pants. he threw you onto the mattress, but he didn’t give you a second to recover.
“you’ve been running your mouth all day,” he rasped, licking his lips. “time to put it to better use.”
he stood at the edge of the bed, leveling his throbbing dick which was already standing tall and angry. he reached down, fisting his fingers into your hair and pulling your head toward him.
“suck it. i want to feel how much you missed me.”
you didn’t need to be told twice. you leaned forward, darting your tongue out to lick the length of himt.
when you finally took him into your mouth, you let out a muffled “uhm!” the sheer length of him made your jaw ache instantly.
naoya let out a long, shaky groan, his hand tightening in your hair, forcing you deeper onto him.
“fuck... yes, just like that. you’re so good at this, aren't you? ah! fuck, your tongue—!”
he was even thrusting his hips instinctively, his breath coming in jagged hitches as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock.
he held your head in place like he was holding on for his dear life just from the sensation of you giving him a head, his body vibrating with the effort not to blow his load right then and there.
but you weren’t done being the one in control.
you pulled back with a wet pop, looking up at him with a defiant, hungry smirk.
before he could complain, you shoved him back onto the pillows and crawled over him. you positioned yourself over his face, your dripping, swollen pussy hovering just inches from his mouth.
you could see his eyes widen, his breath hitching as the scent of your own juices hit him.
“sit on me,” he choked out, his hands reaching up to grab your ass, fingers digging into your skin. “do it, fuck, i want to taste you.”
you lowered yourself slowly and your wet slit pressed firmly against his lips. “ah! yes... fuck, naoya!” you cried out as his tongue immediately lashed out, making sure he’s darting deep inside you.
he was eating you like a starving man, kissing your pussy sensually while swirling his tongue up and down your clit. constantly teasing and constantly sucking at the same time.
“uhm—! ah! right there, nao! fuck!” you arched your back, your hands clutching the headboard as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his fingers reaching around to pull your cheeks apart so he could get even deeper.
the sensation was overwhelming, his tongue was literally making your pussy lick more from licking to sucking.
he’s making you see stars while your pussy is clenching rhythmically, splashing more of your juice onto his face.
“you taste... so fucking good,” he managed to gasp out between licks, his voice muffled by your folds. “ah! fuck, look at how much you’re leaking for me. you’re a fucking mess. you’re my bitch, you got that?!”
“shut up and... ah! keep going! yes! ah! ah! ah!” you were losing it, your entire body was shaking as the first wave of an orgasm started to build up, and your internal muscles squeezing tightly around nothing while naoya continued to devour you with a relentless hunger.
it did not take a while before you were screaming stop and holding his face back, forcing him to stop licking because you were literally about to pee on his face.
the sensation was too much and it was tickling your sexual soul so much that his tongue was doing you all the favors that him eating you out felt much greater than when you were touching yourself.
he ate your clit and inserted his tongue inside your pussy with intent and naoya didn’t even give you a second to breathe after you came on his face.
he growled and grabbed your hips, flipping you over onto your back violently.
he was panting, his face smeared with your juices, his hair a mess, and his massive dick was throbbing so hard it looked like it was about to split skin.
“you’re such a loud-mouthed brat,” he hissed as he pinned your wrists above your head. “think you can handle this? think you’re big enough for me, guest_01?”
he didn’t wait for an answer and just positioned the broad head of his cock against your dripping entrance. you immediately felt the tip of him, thick and blunt, pushing against your folds, and as he began to drive forward, you let out a sharp, strangled “ah! ah! fuck, naoya!”
your pussy was being stretched to its absolute limit.
you could feel the walls of your vagina being forced apart, the skin of your entrance pulled taut while your hole adjusted around the size of him.
it felt like you were being filled to the brim, every nerve ending in your slit screaming as he buried himself deep inside you in one long, relentless shove.
“uhm—! god, you’re... you’re fucking huge,” you gasped, your head tossing back against the pillows. “you’re trying to... ah! break me, aren’t you? you pathetic... arrogant... prick!”
“shut your mouth!” naoya snapped, though his own breath was hitching in his throat.
he started to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.
“you’re so tight... fuck! it’s like you were made to be stretched out by me. admit it, you fucking love being filled like this.”
he wasn’t just hitting you; he was hitting everything.
because of his size and the angle he was driving at, his dick’s head was hooking right against your g-spot with every single thrust.
“ah! yes! right there! oh god, fuck!” you cried out, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper. “you’re hitting it... ah! ah! don’t stop, you bastard! keep going!”
“i’ll stop when i say so!” he barked, his eyes narrowed with a mix of lust and pride as he watched your face contort in pleasure.
he was hammering into you frantically, just freely letting his massive dick slide through your entrance, creating the sound of loud and vulgar squelch from your wetness. “look at you... moaning like a slut. who’s the winner now, guest_01? who’s owning who?”
“uhm—! you’re still a bitch, naoya!” you choked out, even as your pussy clenched violently around him, milked by the sheer size of his shaft. “you’re just a... ah! ah! a big-dicked bitch! fuck! right there! ah!”
the insults were getting drowned out by the sound of skin slapping skin and the frantic moans escaping your lips.
naoya was losing his cool too as he felt your internal muscles squeezing him, begging for more.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth as he delivered deep, punishing stabs that made your vision go blurry.
“i’m gonna... fuck... i’m gonna cum so deep inside you,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “you’re gonna be full of me all through the expo tomorrow. everyone’s gonna see you and know... ah! fuck! know exactly what i did to you!”
“do it then!” you screamed, your nails digging into his back, drawing blood as your own climax began to build again, triggered by the relentless pounding against your g-spot. “fill me up, naoya! ah! ah! yes! fuck! now!”
naoya wasn’t satisfied with just hearing you scream from underneath him.
as soon as you peaked, your walls twitching and milking him with desperate, wet clenches, he let out a jagged growl.
he didn’t pull out; instead, he grabbed your waist with bruising force and hauled you upward, flipping you onto your hands and knees in one motion.
your pussy felt wide and raw, still throbbing from the stretch, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust.
he reached forward, his fingers fisting into your hair and yanking your head back so your spine arched, pushing your ass high into the air.
“you think you’ve had enough?” he hissed into your ear. “i told you i was going to ruin you. we’re just getting started.”
he lined his massive cock up with your opening and slammed with a single, violent thrust.
“ah! fuck! naoya!” you shrieked, your chest hitting the mattress as the sheer force of the impact rattled your entire frame.
taking him from behind felt completely different. he was hitting even deeper in this position, maybe until your stomach now, you don;t fucking know. all you know was he’s fucking tipping your pussy apart with his thick shaft sliding through the pool of your combined juices with loud squelch.
“uhm—! god, it’s too... it’s too deep!” you gasped, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets as he started to drill deeper into you.
he was relentless, his hips snapping forward arrogantly and every time he bottomed out, his balls slapped against you.
naoya was a maniac.
he kept a firm grip on your hair, using it to control the angle as he hammered away at your g-spot. “look at this mess you made,” he mocked as he watched his thick, veiny dick disappear inside you and pull out covered in your cum from earlier. “you’re so fucking wet. you’re begging for it, aren’t you? ah! fuck, you're so tight, i can barely—ah!”
“shut up and... ah! ah! just keep hitting it!” you cried out, your head tossing. “you talk too much... uhm! yes! right there! fuck, naoya, harder! slam into me like you mean it, you prick!”
“you want it harder?!” he barked, his ego flaring at the challenge.
but he still increased the pace, his thrusts becoming short stabs that sent sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your brain. “i’ll give it to you... ah! i’ll give you exactly what you deserve! hm fuck yeah..”
you were losing your mind from the sensation of his massive cock filling you completely, combined with the sharp pull on your hair and the vulgar sound of your bodies colliding.
your pussy was screaming, clenching around him so hard which made naoya grunt and bite his lower lip because it felt so fucking good.
he shifted, grabbing your hips with his sweat-slicked hands and dragged you upward until you were straddling him.
he leaned back against the headboard, his chest heaving, and his still hardening dick guiding you until you lowered yourself down, sliding down onto his full length in one slow, agonizingly deep plunge.
“ah! ah! fuck, naoya!” you gasped, your nails digging into the mattress as he filled you completely.
being on top lets you control the friction with how you ground your hips down.
naoya didn’t stay still, he was too hungry to be. his hands flew up to your chest, and made his mouth latch onto your breast.
he wasn’t just kissing; he was sucking, teeth grazing your nipple while he fisted his hands into your hair, yanking you down so you had no choice but to stay close to his face.
“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest as he sucked harder. “you’re so fucking wet, you’re drowning me. ah! look at you riding me like a pro.”
“you’re... ah! ah! still a prick!” you cried out, your own hands gripping his messy hair as you started to grind against him. the feeling was electric, every slide of his dick against your internal walls were sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
“you’re still so tight, you’re killing me!” he barked while his eyes rolled back, all while he sucked your other breast, pulling until you let out a high-pitched “ah! ah! ah!”, feeling the sensation of his mouth on your tits while your pussy clenched around his massive cock.
you started to bounce, faster and harder, making your breasts jiggle with every movement.
his hands never left your hair because he was using it to keep you locked in place. “i’m not... ah! i’m not slowing down for you! fuck, naoya, you’re so big... ah! it feels like you’re splitting me in two!”
“yeah? let me fucking split you then!” his hips were bucking upward to meet your downward thrusts.
he was hammering into you, and every time you slammed down, he’d suck harder on your nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin until you were sobbing with pleasure.
“oh god... yes! fuck! ah! ah! ah!” you were lost, your body is now moving on instinct as your pussy milk him, feeling his dick swell even more inside your aching, stretched-out folds.
he was staring up at you, his eyes dark, his lips swollen and red from your own teeth earlier, looking at you with a mix of pure, unadulterated possessiveness.
“ride me until you can’t walk,” he ordered, sounding more drunk while his grip in your hair is tightening until it almost hurt. “i want you to remember this feeling every time you look at me on stream. you belong to me.”
“i’m ... ah! fuck! ah! ah!” you screamed, your hips moving in a wild, uncontrolled manner until the pressure finally became too much, and you both shattered into an earth-shattering climax together.
you were bouncing wildly on top of him, your nails shredded through his scalp, and he responded by arching his back and driving his hips upward.
you felt his balls slap against your pussy with every frantic lunge, and when he finally exploded inside you, it was too much that it started to drip out.
you clutched his shoulders while your legs were shaking uncontrollably. you spasmed around him, milking every last drop of his cum. then you collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air.
the next morning, you woke up so fucking sore.
you groaned, trying to roll over, but your entire body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.
your pussy was swollen and throbbing, and your hips ached with a deep, bruised soreness that made every movement sting.
you crawled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
you gripped the sink to steady yourself, your eyes half-closed as you stared at your reflection.
your neck was covered in hickeys and your hair was a tangled disaster.
you assumed he was still dead to the world in the king bed, out like a light after the absolute marathon he’d forced you through.
you had just started scrubbing your teeth when the bathroom door creaked open.
you didn’t even have time to turn around before you felt a heavy weight press against your back.
naoya was still stark naked with his hair still messy from sleep, and before you could even say out a “good morning”, he grabbed your hips with both hands and jerked you backward so your ass was pressed firmly against his hard, morning stiff cock.
“think you’re getting away that easily?” he rasped against your ear.
you didn’t even get to pull the toothbrush out of your mouth before he slammed his hips forward without warning, no lube, no foreplay, just the sudden, heavy pressure of him sliding into your tight, already-sore slit.
“ah! f-fuck—!” you choked out, the toothbrush clattering into the sink as you doubled over, your hands bracing against the counter.
his dick was massive, filling you up instantly, stretching you out until you felt like you might snap.
“you’re mine,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he started to drive into you right there in the bathroom. “i’m not done with you yet.”
sure enough after an hour of him absolutely wrecking you against the bathroom vanity, you were left in a state of complete ruin.
your legs were shaking, your pussy felt like it had been through a car wash, and every muscle in your back were screaming in protest as you tried to even stand straight.
naoya, meanwhile, was glowing with a satisfied energy that made you want to claw his eyes out, if you had the strength.
when you finally left the hotel, the transition to the expo was pathetic.
naoya didn’t bother with a cab or a shuttle.
he literally walked through the lobby with his arm hooked firmly around your waist, his grip so possessive and tight that you couldn’t have pulled away if you tried.
he was practically carrying half your weight, leaning down every few seconds to whisper something lewd into your ear, making sure you felt every ounce of his arrogance.
“look at you,” he hissed, his thumb digging into your hipbone. “you’re so sore you can barely stand. you’re just my favorite little toy, and everyone here is going to know it just by looking at the way you’re struggling to keep up with me.”
you tried to snap back, but all that came out was a breathless, “fuck... off, naoya.”
when the two of you walked into the player lounge, the room went dead silent.
naoya didn’t give a shit. instead, he steered you straight to your booth, which, true to the organizers’ plan was right next to his.
he didn’t let you walk to your chair; he literally guided you, his hand sliding down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze before he shoved you into your seat.
he leaned over the small partition between your booths, his face inches from yours, looking like a king who had just conquered a new territory. “stay right there,” he commanded. “don’t talk to anyone. i’m watching you.”
you slumped into your chair, the soreness in your hips making you wince as you sat down, and you saw his eyes track the movement with a sick, satisfied smirk.
he knew exactly why you were hurting and he knew exactly what he’d done to you in that bathroom.
as he turned to his own setup, you saw him glance at his chat, which was already scrolling past, thousands of people realizing exactly why you were walking so slowly and why naoya looked like he was vibrating.
“yeah, she’s staying here,” he said, shooting you a sharp, hooded look. “she’s a bit tired today. i gave her a hell of a morning workout.”
the chat went into complete meltdown, and you could only lean your head against your monitor, while feeling your face burning, knowing you were well and truly trapped.
It starts the same. You’re lying on his bed, the world quiet except for the low hum of his laptop and the occasional shift of blankets as you both breathe.
Kenma’s hood is up, his face half-hidden, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s quiet, but his fingers trace little shapes against your hip, absent-minded and gentle. He’s thinking, but not about the game on his screen—he’s thinking about you.
You shift a little, turning toward him, and your hand reaches up to brush the hair from his eyes. “You okay?”
He nods, then leans in. “You’re distracting.”
The kiss starts soft—barely there. Just his lips brushing yours, featherlight. He kisses like he’s trying not to wake you, even though you’re both wide awake. But then your hand curls into his hoodie, and your lips part just a little, and something shifts.
His hand moves to your waist, not gripping—just resting. But it’s heavy, like a silent don’t leave. You deepen the kiss, slow and gentle, your lips parting again as his tongue brushes yours, shy at first. He tastes like tea and quiet sweetness.
Kenma sighs into your mouth, and the kiss grows just slightly heavier. His body melts into yours, one leg sliding between yours, his chest against yours. He’s warm. Soft in the way only someone completely comfortable can be.
His hands stay slow—one curled around your hip, the other lazily trailing up your spine under your shirt, his touch light enough to make you shiver. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. Everything is said in the way he kisses you. Like time doesn’t exist. Like the world outside his room can’t touch either of you.
Eventually, he pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded, breath mingling with yours. He whispers, voice barely audible:
“Stay right here.”
And you do.
౨ৎ
Nishinoya :
You didn’t even mean to start kissing. One second you were watching some movie, the next, Noya’s fingers were brushing your cheek, and his lips were on yours—quick, excited, barely controlled. Like he couldn’t wait anymore.
His kisses come fast and eager, all tilted heads and laughing into your mouth, like he’s having fun. His hands find your waist and pull you onto his lap without a second thought, and then it’s on.
You’re straddling him, his back pressed to the wall, and your hands are in his hair—messing it up even more than it already was. He groans when your fingers tug, then kisses you harder in retaliation. His lips are warm, a little chapped, moving fast against yours—hungry, but never rough. He kisses you like he can’t get enough. Like he needs one more, and one more, and then ten more after that.
His hands slide up your back, under your shirt, warm and grounding as they spread over your skin. One of them rests right between your shoulder blades, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’ll float away.
You both pause for a moment—just a moment—to breathe. You’re panting against each other, foreheads touching, and he’s smiling.
“You good?” he asks.
You nod. Then kiss him again—slower this time, deeper.
His hands grip your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered. His mouth moves with yours now in a more deliberate rhythm, slower, thicker with emotion. When your tongue brushes his, he moans softly, the sound muffled against your mouth. He chases you every time you pull away, leaning forward to steal more, more, more.
When you finally pull back, his lips are red and swollen, and his eyes are glazed over.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes.
You laugh—and kiss him again.
౨ৎ
Sugawara :
With Suga, it always starts slow. Romantic. He pulls you into his lap on the couch, wraps a blanket around both of you, and kisses you like it’s the only thing on his schedule. Like the world can wait.
His lips are soft. Gentle. He tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, and his hand finds your jaw, thumb stroking just under your cheekbone like he’s savoring the feel of you.
You shift in his lap and he lets you, pulling you closer, pressing your chest to his, letting you lean all your weight into him. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just endlessly affectionate.
But then your fingers tangle into his shirt and pull. Just a little.
And something in him flickers.
The kiss deepens, shifts. His hand slides down your spine slowly, and his tongue slips past your lips—exploring, deliberate, slow. You hum softly against his mouth and he smiles through the kiss.
He breaks away only to press tiny, trailing kisses down your jaw, behind your ear, across your neck. Lazy, teasing little brushes of lips that make you melt into him.
“Suga—”
“I know.” His voice is low and warm. “I just want to kiss you everywhere.”
You lose track of time like that. Wrapped in each other, kissing like the world doesn’t need you back yet. His hand holds the back of your head like you’re precious, his mouth moves like a prayer, and your body feels boneless against his.
Every kiss says: I’m yours. I’m here. I’m not letting go.
tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy
synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔
Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.
Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of.
Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work.
The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest.
Somehow, it stings even more.
It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness.
The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on.
It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection.
He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin.
You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound.
Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother.
The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother.
(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line.
It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)
The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.
The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.
(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)
Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.
The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.
“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.
You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”
His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.
Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.
And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water.
You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor.
He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light.
These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.
You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind.
You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about.
(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did.
You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)
You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.
Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.
“How are they?”
(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.
The air in the household had shifted that day.
In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.
Except it was not.
You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband.
You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.
Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)
His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.”
Not getting worse than she already is.
You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering.
It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.
“Is Vince asleep?”
“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this.
Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”
“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.
You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”
(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.
Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.
“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.
“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”
“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.
His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)
He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.
Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.
“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”
“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”
All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.
He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.
Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder. “How… is he?”
Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.
“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”
You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always.
It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines.
Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.
“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you.
His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”
“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”
Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.
“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”
You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.
You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come.
You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.
If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.
The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.
“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”
He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him.
“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you.
The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.
“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger.
“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”
You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar.
You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.
“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”
He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion.
To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.
But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole?
Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly.
You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.
Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.
That's all the confirmation you need.
(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.
That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)
“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”
You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it.
Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in.
“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”
You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.
Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life.
Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”
At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.
Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you.
You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—
