muri ^__^

writer :3

[muriscenes]

ˎˊ˗ muri ୨୧ she / her ୨୧ multifandom writer!! ˎˊ˗

⌗ fandoms — ˚₊· MOSTLY bluelock … sometimes jjk & haikyuu | I do requests for others ! (all characters are aged up in my fics)

✧ requests — open! (please.)

⌗ this page contains . . . fluff ˚ angst ˚ MOSTLY smut ˚ sfw ˚ nsfw ˚ crack ˚ comfort scenes ˚ hurt/comfort ࣪˖

this is not an 18+ blog — but nsfw content may appear. minors, please think twice before checking my page! sfw content is open to everyone ♡

— please be respectful, keep this space soft + kind !

— luv yall :p

⌗ tags ✿

#muriscenes ⊹ #headcanons ⊹ #scenarios ⊹ #anime ⊹ #sfw ⊹ #nsfw ⊹ #sillymoments ⊹ #comfortwriting #bluelock #jjk #haikyuu

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ 𝓢𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐗! | ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇʀ

Some say it’s horrible to hold grudges forever, and who knows? They may be right. Unless it’s that stupid fox.

Understanding the rule that no other species shall mate with a different species, you had always taken it very seriously, perhaps a little too seriously. It was not a lesson that had been brushed off in your family. It had been repeated for generations, passed from one wolf to the next like a warning that should never be forgotten.

Your elders spoke about it with the kind of certainty that made it sound less like advice and more like a law. Wolves, they would say, were territorial creatures by nature. They were aggressive, protective, and far too dangerous to trust with something as fragile as bonds between species. The safest and smartest thing was to keep to your own kind.

Long before this school ever existed, that was exactly what everyone had done.

Species had stayed away from one another as if the simple act of standing too close might cause trouble. Carnivores stayed with carnivores. Herbivores kept to their own circles. Omnivores were caught somewhere in the middle.

Back then, that separation had been normal. It had been expected. Nobody had needed to explain why one species did not trust another because the answer was already stitched into daily life.

Then, about ten years ago, things had started to change.

At first, the change had been awkward and uncomfortable, the kind of change people complained about loudly while pretending they did not care. This school had been built to mix species together, and it had not gone over smoothly. Students had arrived with suspicious eyes, stiff shoulders, and expressions that made it obvious they would rather be anywhere else.

But slowly, they had adjusted because people eventually got tired of resisting what was already happening around them.

Mixed species classrooms stopped feeling like a disaster and started feeling like everyday life. Well. For everyone except you.

You had grown up with your family’s warnings ringing in your ears, and no matter how much the world changed around you, their words had stayed sharp in your mind. You were careful about who you trusted, careful about who you spoke to, and especially careful about who you let close enough to matter. To others, it might have seemed dramatic, but to you, it simply felt wise. You had been taught to pay attention, to stay alert, and to never forget what happened when wolves ignored their instincts.

Dating, in particular, had never seemed simple. The idea alone made your thoughts twist into something complicated and uneasy. You were not just cautious because of the old family beliefs, but because species differences still mattered to you in a way they did not seem to matter to everyone else. Some people acted as if the old rules were childish and outdated, but you had never been able to shake the feeling that they existed for a reason. Wolves had always been known for being intense, dangerous when provoked, and difficult to predict. Other species knew that too. That was why many of them kept their distance from wolves in the first place.

And really, you could not blame them. Being a wolf was not unusual. There were plenty of wolves around, enough that no one stared just because you had fangs or a sharp gaze. But being a wolf that was considered unusually intelligent and strong was another thing entirely. People noticed that. They noticed the way you spoke, the way you watched, the way you seemed to understand things before anyone else had even finished explaining them. Maybe strong was not even the right word, because all wolves were strong in their own way, but you were aware of the effect you had on others. You could feel it whenever people looked at you for a second too long.

You were especially aware of foxes. That was not an opinion you had formed carefully or fairly, and if someone asked you to explain it, you probably would not have been able to give them a very good answer. The truth was much simpler and much more childish than anything dramatic. It had all started in elementary school, when one stupid fox had stolen your crayons.

You had been sitting at your desk, minding your own business, perfectly focused on arranging your colors in the order you liked them best when you felt someone lean in behind you. Before you could turn around, the fox had already reached over, snatched the crayons from your hands, and held them up with a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

“Hey,” you had snapped, your ears flattening immediately. “Give those back!”

Instead of apologizing, the fox had only laughed, spinning the box in its hands like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Relax,” he had said with a smug little shrug. “I just wanted to see if you would notice.”

Of course you had noticed. Anyone would have noticed. The problem was not that he had taken your crayons. The problem was that he had looked proud of himself for doing it. From that day on, your opinion of foxes had been sealed.

Annoying and untrustworthy… And because you were only a child when it happened, you had decided that all foxes must be exactly the same.

The campus was still wrapped in the gray-blue hush of early dawn when you stepped through the main gates. Your backpack felt heavier than usual—not from the books inside, but from the weight of failure pressing down on your shoulders. The retake exam for Professor Aldridge's Advanced Biology class started in thirty minutes, and you'd been up since four reviewing notes until your eyes blurred.

You'd chosen this hour specifically because you knew the campus would be empty. No chattering students clogging the pathways, no couples draped over benches like lazy cats in the sun, and just people in general.

The concrete paths gleamed with dew, and the only sounds were your footsteps and the distant chirping of early birds. You allowed yourself a small sigh of relief. Good. You could make it to the science building without any interruptions.

Then you heard it. A low, rumbling, interrupted by a sharp laugh that grated against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. You recognized that laugh. You'd heard it too many times in the past months and it was always followed by some smug remark that made your blood boil.

You rounded the corner near the cluster of benches by the old oak trees, and there they were. Two figures lounging on the bench closest to the path. One with messy magenta hair that caught the pale morning light, ears drooping lazily as he scrolled through his phone. The other was a blonde, fox-eared, with a smirk plastered across his face. He was leaned back with his arms spread across the backrest like he owned the damn place.

Of course. Ness. And his friend whose name you could never remember. Something starting with Mika? Mark? Or—

"Michael!" the magenta-haired one shouted, waving his phone toward his companion. "Look at this meme I found—this cat's face—"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" Kaiser drawled, his golden eyes scanning the empty campus with theatrical boredom.

You tightened your grip on your backpack straps and decided to ignore them. Just walk past. Don't make eye contact. Don't give him any reason to—

"Oh? What do we have here?"

Of course.

Kaiser's ears perked forward as his gaze locked onto you. He shoved Ness aside without ceremony, rising from the bench in one fluid motion. He stepped directly into your path, blocking your way with a grin that made your teeth clench.

You took a slow, deliberate breath before attempting to sidestep him. But the problem wasn't just his presence in your way—it was his smell. That musky, masculine scent of pine and something wild. It hit you like a wall, making your nostrils flare involuntarily.

"Move," you said, keeping your voice flat.

The blonde stared down at you with mock confusion, tilting his head. "Hm?" He leaned closer, one ear flicking, his tail swishing lazily behind him. "Sorry, what was that, doggie?"

The condescension in his tone made your vision go red. "Are you trying to insult me by comparing me to your little friend here? Move, you stupid fox."

You didn't wait for his reaction. Your hand shot out, grabbing his arm and shoving him sideways with enough force that he stumbled a step. A small surprised "oof" escaped his lips, but when you glanced back, he was grinning stupidly.

"Fiesty," he called after you. "I like it."

You didn't dignify that with a response. You just kept walking as you mentally cursed every fox that had ever existed.

That should have been the end of it. A passing encounter, a brief annoyance, nothing more. But of course, the universe had other plans.

Over the following weeks, Kaiser made it his personal mission to infiltrate every corner of your life. He'd show up outside your classes, he'd sit two tables away in the cafeteria, loudly commenting about how "beautiful the weather was.” He'd walk past you in the hallways and deliberately "accidentally" brush his tail against your arm, leaving trails of his scent that made your skin crawl.

You tried everything. Ignoring him, snapping at him, threatening him. Nothing worked. He seemed to thrive on your irritation, his tail wagging faster the more flustered you became.

"Y/n," he'd coo, tugging playfully at the tip of your ear when you least expected it. "Helloooo? Earth to grumpy girl?"

It reached its peak one afternoon in Professor Hartwell's class. You were hunched over your notebook, desperately trying to catch up on the notes you'd missed from earlier that week, when Kaiser slid into the seat beside you. You didn't even need to look up—you recognized his scent instantly.

He didn't say anything at first. He just sat there, watching you with those unnerving eyes while you tried to concentrate. But then his fingers found your ear again, tugging gently at the sensitive tip.

"Y/nnnn."

Your pen snapped.

"What could you possibly need?!" you hissed, rounding on him. The rest of the class went quiet, students turning to stare. "This is why I try not to get involved with stupid foxes!"

You didn't give him a chance to respond. You shoved your notebook into your bag and stormed out, leaving the classroom in stunned silence.

Behind you, Kaiser's ears perked up. His expression shifted from amused to something sharper, more predatory. A slow smile spread across his face. Oh. So that's how it is.

He'd heard rumors about the "breedist" mentality—the old-fashioned belief that species should stick to their own kind. He hadn't paid it much attention before, assuming it was just outdated nonsense. But seeing your reaction, feeling the spike of your scent as you lashed out... he knew now.

You hated foxes. More specifically, you hated him. And that made him want you even more.

Michael Kaiser had never been given the luxury of choosing his own path. When he was younger, his life had been a long chain of lessons, practices, and forced commitments that his parents insisted would “build character” and “secure the family name.”

If they had wanted him in music, he was sent to music. If they wanted him in sports, he was pushed into sports. If they wanted him to smile politely through a room full of unfamiliar faces, then smile he did, even when every second of it felt like a waste of his time.

The older he got, the worse it became. By the time he was old enough to be considered a proper heir in his family’s eyes, his parents had started arranging blind dates for him. One after another, they brought him in front of different species, each one carefully chosen, each one presented with the same hopeful expression, and each one completely unable to catch his interest. Some were too quiet. Some talked too much. Some were awkward in a way that made the entire evening drag on painfully. None of them impressed him. None of them made him feel anything at all.

His parents only seemed to care about one thing anyway, continuing the family bloodline like it was some sacred mission instead of a burden dressed up in fine clothes.

Kaiser, of course, had zero interest. So when he stepped onto the college campus for the first time, he was already in a terrible mood.

The place was loud. Too fucking loud. Students were everywhere, rushing around with bags slung over their shoulders, laughing in groups, calling out to friends, or trying to drag their luggage through crowds that seemed determined to block every path possible. Kaiser immediately regretted leaving his room.

The only reason he had not already turned around and gone back was because Ness was supposed to be helping him. Keyword, “Supposed to.”

Instead, the two of them had somehow ended up standing in the middle of a busy crowd with no clear idea where they were going.

Kaiser glanced down at his phone, then back up at the sea of people around them, his expression flattening further by the second.“Ness,” Kaiser said, his voice sharp enough to make the blond beside him flinch.

Ness let out a small, miserable noise and tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. “I’m sorry, Kaiser! I swear this was the way to the dorms…”

Kaiser stared at him in silence. It was not the way to the dorms.

That much was painfully obvious, because if they had been anywhere near the dorms, they would not still be standing in the middle of a packed walkway with students weaving around them like they were two annoying obstacles in the road.

Kaiser exhaled through his nose and looked away with clear irritation. “God. You never know how to do things correctly.”

Ness wilted even more. “I really thought I remembered it.”

“You thought wrong,” Kaiser muttered.

There was no real point in arguing any further, so Michael lowered his gaze to his phone and began scrolling through social media with the detached boredom of someone already fully prepared to ignore the world. Ness, meanwhile, stood beside him looking tragically guilty, his eyes darting around the campus like the buildings themselves might suddenly offer directions out of pity.

A few posts passed. A few messages were ignored. Then, somewhere nearby, voices rose over the noise of the crowd.

“Move, you stupid mutt!”

Kaiser’s eyes shifted automatically toward the sound.

A small cluster of students had formed off to the side, their attention fixed on something happening in the middle of the walkway. People were already stopping to stare, some with shocked faces and others with the delighted curiosity of spectators who had clearly decided this was the most entertaining thing that had happened all morning.

Kaiser clicked his tongue lightly. A fight? On the first day? Ridiculous.

He should have kept walking. But then the same voice cut through the noise, sharp and ugly with arrogance.

“Can’t you see you spilled my drink? You stupid wolves are all the same. Only focused on your own kind.”

Kaiser paused. His interest sharpened immediately, though only a little. Wolves were not exactly rare, and he had met enough of them to know they were either painfully ordinary or painfully self-important. There was something almost amusing about hearing one of them being put in her place. Maybe it would be entertaining after all.

He adjusted his posture and began walking toward the crowd, slipping past a pair of students who were too busy staring to notice him at first.

By the time he reached the edge of the gathering, he could see the scene clearly.

You were standing there with your ears perked and your expression twisted in irritation, clearly already fed up with the situation. A spilled drink had darkened part of your clothes, and you looked less embarrassed than annoyed, which only seemed to irritate the tiger girl in front of you even more.

She was standing tall, glaring down at you like she expected the entire world to kneel in front of her. Her tail flicked behind her in sharp, angry movements, and her posture screamed confidence in the kind of way that made it obvious she was used to getting her way.

Kaiser’s eyes narrowed slightly. A tiger. Definitely not a species most people wanted to provoke carelessly.

And yet there you were, not backing down at all. “I fucking said sorry,” you snapped, your voice carrying clearly through the crowd. “Is that hard to understand?”

A few students exchanged looks, clearly sensing that this was about to get worse before it got better.

The tiger girl’s lip curled. “Sorry doesn’t fix it.”

“It’s a drink,” you shot back. “Stop causing a scene…”

A few people in the crowd snickered, but the tiger girl only looked more offended, her shoulders rising with obvious anger.

“You should watch where you are going,” she said coldly. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

You gave her a flat look. “Someone who is acting ridiculous.”

That was apparently the wrong answer. The tiger girl shoved you hard enough to make you stumble and fall to the ground. Gasps rippled through the crowd at once.

Kaiser’s brow lifted a fraction. So that was how it was going to go.

The tiger girl crossed her arms and looked down at you with open contempt. “I don’t care what species you are. Don’t you know who you’re messing with? I’m the—” She did not get to finish.

The next second, you drove a punch straight into her face. The impact was enough to silence the entire crowd for a brief, stunned moment.

Kaiser’s eyes widened just slightly, though he recovered fast enough that no one would have noticed if they were not watching him closely. The tiger girl staggered back, one hand flying to her face in shock, her expression turning from outrage to disbelief in an instant.

The crowd was practically vibrating with excitement now. A few students leaned in closer, whispering furiously to each other as if they had just witnessed the start of a scandal worth talking about for the rest of the semester.

Kaiser barely heard them because something else had caught his attention. It hit him all at once, subtle but unmistakable, slipping through the air like a thread he could not ignore.

Your scent. It was warm, distinct, and maddeningly sweet in a way he had never expected. It was not just pleasant. It was the kind of scent that clung to his senses and made his attention lock onto you with sudden, startling intensity. Kaiser’s expression shifted before he could stop it, his usual bored irritation replaced by something far more focused.

Kaiser had no idea who you were. He had not even gotten a proper look at your face. And yet his instincts were already uncomfortably loud. He wanted to step closer. Wanted to hear your voice again. Wanted to know exactly who you were and why your scent had managed to hit him like that out of nowhere.

But before he could move, Ness suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Kaiser,” Ness whispered urgently, panic already returning to his face. “I found the way”

Kaiser’s jaw tightened. “What? Now?.”

“Yea!”

Kaiser did not look away from you. “Can you double check—”

Ness tugged harder, finally managing to draw Michael back a step. “I already did,” he said in a strained whisper. “Let’s go.”

Kaiser finally looked at him, unimpressed. “Wait—” Kaiser clicked his tongue again and let himself be pulled away, though his gaze lingered over the crowd until the people between you and him blocked his view completely.

He did not know your name. He did not know your class. He did not know whether you were even worth the trouble. But one thing was already clear. He was going to remember you.

And unfortunately for him, he was not going to see you again. At least, that was what he believed.

That was until that day. Because when he smelled that same aroma again, it was impossible to pretend he had imagined it.

Months passed. Kaiser's harassment escalated from playful to relentless. You wished you could kill him. Metaphorically. Maybe literally, if he kept this up.

Then came the project. Professor Hartwell announced the assignment with a cheerful smile that made your stomach drop. "This semester, I've decided to pair you up randomly for the final ecology project. I'll assign partners by drawing names from a hat."

You closed your eyes and prayed. Anyone. Anyone but him. I'll take anyone—even that weird kid who smells like cheese—

"Y/n and Kaiser."

The universe hated you. You shot up from your seat, hand raised. "Professor, I'm sorry but I can't work with—"

"Sit down, Y/n," Hartwell said, not even looking up from his list. "Complaints will result in additional assignments. Work together or fail."

You sat down, seething.

Which brought you here… You were trudging toward the benches near the old oak trees, laptop bag slung over your shoulder, dreading every step of the walk.

Kaiser was already there, lounging on the bench like a lazy predator. Kaiser was scrolling through his phone, but he gave you a small, almost apologetic wave when he saw you approach. You ignored him.

"This spot is quiet," you said, setting your laptop bag down on the far end of the bench. "Let's get this over with."

"Aw, don't be like that." Kaiser stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a toned stomach."I brought snacks." He held up a bag of chips, shaking it enticingly.

"No."

"Come on, Y/n. Nice day, huh?" He leaned forward, chin resting on his hands, tail wagging behind him like an overgrown puppy. "You look nice when you're not bitchy. Which is rare, but still."

You opened your laptop with more force than necessary. "No."

"You know," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "When you're pissed, there's this sweet scent that lingers off you. It's... distracting."

You looked up, meeting his eyes. The playful glint was gone, replaced by something darker, more serious. The shift made your heart skip a beat.

"Weirdo," you said, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.

Kaiser sighed, leaning back. "Why do you hate me so bad? Is it really because you're only interested in your own kind?"

"Even if I weren't," you said, closing your laptop with a decisive click, "you wouldn't be my ideal partner."

"Aw, what a shame." His grin returned, wolfish and knowing. "Imagine our pups, though. They'd be so, so cute. Little fox or wolf ears, your eyes—"

"Stop saying nasty shit." You stood abruptly, shoving your laptop into its bag. "I'd never mate with you."

"Where you going?" He was on his feet in an instant, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Bathroom."

"Ah?" His tail swished in amusement. "Did I turn you on? Do you need help getting off?"

You ignored him, marching toward the science building. But he followed, his footsteps light and quick behind you.

"Why are you following me?!" you demanded, whirling around just inside the entrance.

Kaiser pretended to look innocent, ears twitching. "I thought you needed help."

"No, why would I need—" Your body pulsed.

A wave of heat surged through you, starting deep in your belly and radiating outward, turning your limbs liquid and your head fuzzy. Your knees buckled, and you caught yourself on the wall, palms pressed against the cool tile.

Oh no. Not now. Not today. Your heat cycle.

You'd been so stressed about the project that you'd forgotten to pick up your suppressant pills from the pharmacy. And your cycle was due any day now. You'd convinced yourself you had more time, that you could pick them up tomorrow. "W-Wait here," you gasped, trying to push past him.

Kaiser grabbed your arm. "No way." Before you could protest, he leaned in, nose brushing against your neck. He inhaled deeply, and a low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest.

"Fuck, you reek," he said, his voice rough. "Did you just start your heat cycle?"

"I-I don't know—" you whined, your body betraying you as another cramp twisted through your abdomen.

"Your scent is everywhere." His grip on your arm tightened, his pupils blown wide. "Anyone with a nose could smell you from across campus."

"Stop..." You were panting now, clutching his shirt for support. "I don't have my pills. I forgot them."

Kaiser stared at you for a long moment. Then he smirked, but it wasn't his usual playful expression.

"Aw, you poor pup." His free hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward his. His eyes swept over your flushed cheeks and your parted lips. "I could smell you all day, you know. It's driving me crazy."

You should have pushed him away. You should have told him to fuck off, ran to the health center, found anyone else to help you. Instead, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward the bathroom.

The bathroom was mercifully empty—four stalls, clean white tiles, a long mirror above the sinks. Kaiser stumbled after her, watching her fumble with the latch on the main door.

"You're gonna need to solve that problem before you begin to attract all those horny wolves," he said, turning to admire himself in the mirror. He smoothed his hair, utterly unbothered. "I can already smell it. Sweet and thick. Like honey and something else."

You gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. A low moan escaped your lips as another wave of heat rolled through you. "I-I don't have my pills."

Kaiser's reflection smiled. He turned slowly, sauntering toward you with predatory grace. "Aw, you poor pup." His voice softened, almost tender, as he cupped your chin and tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

For a moment, his playful mask slipped. He stared at you—flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, lips parted on shaky breaths. He inhaled again, slow and deliberate.

"I could smell you all day."

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward the last stall, steps clumsy and urgent. Kaiser's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Woah! Woah! I never agreed to help."

You pushed him inside, locked the stall door, and sank onto the closed toilet lid. Your legs wobbled, and your thighs pressing together instinctively as another pulse of heat made you whimper. You looked up at him, your pride crumbling, desperation flickering in your eyes.

"Please..." Your voice cracked. "I have no other choice—“

Kaiser stared down at your, chest rising and falling faster now. His tail had stopped wagging. His ears were pinned forward, focused. A wicked grin spread across his face.

"So this is how it happens, huh?" He crouched in front of you, hands resting on his knees. "Should’ve asked sooner.”

"Don't make it weird," you whimpered, but your body betrayed you—leaning into his space, your thighs began parting just slightly.

"Too late." He reached out and traced the line of your jaw with his thumb. "But I'll help you out, justtt this once..”

You hated him. You hated his smug face and his teasing voice and the way his thumb burned against your skin. But your cunt was already soaking through your underwear, and your body was screaming for something—anything—to fill the aching emptiness.

He stood, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. You watched as he freed his cock—already hard, thick, the tip glistening. Your mouth went dry and he stepped between your legs, pushing your thighs wider with his knees. "Lift your skirt."

You obeyed, fingers trembling as you gathered the fabric around your waist. Your panties were ruined—a dark, wet stain spreading across the cotton. Kaiser let out a low whistle.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding. You're a mess."

"Shut up," you gasped, but it came out breathy and needy.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your thighs. The cool air hit her slick folds, and you shuddered. He let the panties drop to the floor, then knelt in front of you again, spreading your legs wide with his hands on your inner thighs.

"Look at you." His voice was rough. "Soaking wet."

"Just... hurry."

He chuckled and lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You were so wet that he slid in with almost no resistance, a single, smooth thrust that buried him to the hilt.

Your back arched, a broken cry escaping your lips. He filled you completely, stretching you in ways that made your toes curl inside your shoes.

"Fuck," Kaiser groaned, "You feel... you feel so good."

He began to move—slow, deep thrusts that rocked the toilet seat beneath you. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. You then wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper while your nails clawed at his shoulders through his shirt.

"More," You begged. "Please, Kaiser, more."

He gave you more. He fucked you harder, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the tile walls and your moans grew louder, until he clapped a hand over your mouth.

"Quiet," he hissed, though his own voice was strained. "Unless you want the whole campus to hear."

You nodded, but the pleasure was building too fast—you bit down on his palm, muffling a whimper as he hit a spot deep inside you that made stars burst behind her eyes.

He pulled his hand away and replaced it with his fingers. "Open."

You parted your lips, and he slid two fingers into her mouth. You sucked instinctively, tasting salt and skin and something distinctly him. "That's it," he murmured.

He leaned down, teeth grazing the curve of your neck. Then he bit down firm enough to leave a mark.

You couldn't speak with his fingers in your mouth, but you nodded frantically, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming sensations. The heat cycle had made you hypersensitive meaning every touch and every thrust, sent shockwaves through your body.

Kaiser pulled his fingers out of your mouth and wrapped his arm around your waist, lifting you slightly so he could pound into you at a new angle. The toilet seat creaked beneath them. Your legs were hooked over his forearms, spread wide open and completely vulnerable.

"Look at us," he breathed. "In a campus bathroom. Anyone could walk in—“ As if on cue, the bathroom door swung open.

Your blood turned to ice. You clamped your hand over your own mouth, eyes wide with terror. Kaiser, that asshole, just smirked and slowed his pace. He kept thrusting, shallow and teasing and watched you struggle to stay silent.

Footsteps echoed on the tile. A girl's voice, light and chatty. "—and then he said he'd meet me after class, can you believe it?"

Another voice, friendlier. "He's totally into you. Just go for it."

They were at the sinks now, giggling. You could hear the water running and the rustle of paper towels. Kaiser chose that moment to thrust particularly deep, hitting that spot again which caused a whimper to escape your throat.

"Did you hear something?" one of the girls asked.

Your heart hammered and Kaiser's eyes glittered with mischief. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in. Another broken sound clawed its way out of you.

"Probably just the pipes," the other girl said. "Let's go, we're gonna be late." The footsteps retreated and the door swung shut. Silence.

Kaiser laughed breathless. "That was close."

"I hate you," you sobbed, but your body was clenching around him, desperate for release.

"I know." He kissed your neck, "But you're going to cum for me anyway, aren't you?"

You were. You could feel it building, a coil tightening in your belly. Your slick coated his cock, dripping down onto the toilet seat, making everything obscenely wet. The sounds of their fucking were liquid and loud.

"Any day now." His voice dropped, raw and commanding. "Come onnn."

Your orgasm ripped through, milking him in rhythmic pulses. You cried out, no longer caring who heard, and Kaiser followed right behind her—a guttural groan as he spilled deep inside you.

He stayed buried in you for a moment, and your legs had gone limp around his waist.

"Fuck," he whispered. "That was..."

"Don't say it." You quickly said.

"...messy." He continued.

You didn't have the strength to argue and you were a sticky, dripping mess. His cum leaked out of you, mixing with your own fluids, anf pooling on the toilet seat.

Kaiser pulled out slowly out of you, he grabbed a wad of toilet paper and knelt, cleaning you up with surprising gentleness. You watched him, confused.

"What?" He shrugged, "I'm not a complete asshole."

You snorted, then flinched when the cum kept trickling out. "We need to talk about this."

"Later." He stood, tucking himself back into his pants. "Right now, we have a project to finish."

You opened your mouth to argue, but another wave of exhaustion hit you.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, and you couldn't tell if he was joking.

“Shut the fuck up.” You replied, embarrassed you broke your own family tradition.

[immortaldreamerz]

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WELCOME TO MY BLOG!!

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hihi my name is Ivy ,,!

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I write every once in a while !!

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I am 18 ,, my birthday is April 13th.

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I absolutely ADORE making mutuals

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My fandoms are :

BLLK!! ofc

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Naruto

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Death note

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Demon slayer

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JJK

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MHA (sometimes)

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my main one is bluelock 🤤🤤

also karasu is my favorite character if u haven’t noticed 🥹❤️‍🩹

Ⓜ️y rules!!

- I am SO sorry but nobody cares about your political views so keep it to yourself please.

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- if your gonna be rude and obnoxious get off my blog.

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- if your making someone uncomfortable your getting blocked.

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- no racism, transphobia, homophobia, nothing, just be a decent human please.

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What I WILL NOT write for!!

- incest

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- rape

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- pregnant reader

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- male reader (sorry!!!)

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- piss, poop, or knife kink

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- anything weird honestly

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PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES !!

dividers from @kthice,and @honeyluvsw

some cool bloggers to check out!

@unknownsvoid

@unknxwnsvxid

@kaisersbae

@saedation

@lushbunsss

@ughhvix

@yayamrata

@dollieadored

@fukunagal

@h3rmess

@jurisnow

@nagumoskitten

@mayplepie0

@muriscenes

@mochimishka

BYE! 👀👀

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 7

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

prev — next

a/n: sighh I haven’t been posting as much and I’m sorry guys 😢 schools is genuinely kicking my ass… and ive recently been busy playing visual novel games 😭 and I’m back in my creepypasta era. OKAY SORRY. This part contains sex , so beware. 😳

There lay Otoya sprawled out across his bed, limbs spread out like he had collapsed after surviving a war. One arm dangled off the mattress, his blanket halfway on the floor, and a concerning amount of drool clung to the side of his mouth.

Standing around him were Karasu, Yukimiya, and Hiori. The three silently stared down at him like detectives inspecting a suspicious corpse.

Yukimiya adjusted his glasses awkwardly. “Shouldn’t we wake him up…?”

Karasu ignored the question completely and pulled out his phone instead. Without hesitation, he snapped a picture of Otoya’s drooling face. “In a minute…” he yawned.

Hiori crouched down slightly to inspect Otoya closer. “No use,” he said dryly. “He’s dead. Aw shucks.”

Then, casually, he lifted his vape to his lips and inhaled before blowing the smoke directly into Otoya’s face, which caused Otoya to twitch.

Yukimiya immediately frowned and waved the smoke away. “Hiori, it’s early in the morning…”

Hiori only raised a brow before leaning closer toward Yukimiya’s face.

“What’s the issue? I ain’t ever heard you complain when we make-out early in the morning—“

“Okay!” Yukimiya immediately cut him off, face turning bright red as he raised both hands defensively. “We are NOT doing this right now.”

Karasu looked disgusted. “Can you two focus for five seconds?”

Hiori rolled his eyes while Yukimiya quietly died of embarrassment beside him.

Karasu shoved his phone back into his pocket before looking down at Otoya again. “This is what happens when this idiot stays up all night on call with his damn girlfriend.”

“Is she really his girlfriend?” Hiori asked lazily.

Karasu shrugged. “Whether she is or isn’t won’t matter now.”

Without warning, he grabbed Otoya by the shoulders and started shaking him aggressively. Otoya’s head bounced around violently while the drool on his face nearly swung off entirely.

“Ew,” Yukimiya muttered in horror.

Otoya groaned in his sleep, brows furrowing slightly. “Y/n…” he mumbled weakly.

Hiori stared at him for a second before sighing deeply. Then he grabbed Otoya by the hair. “Wake the fuck up!”

Otoya shot upward instantly. His eyes were barely open as he stared at the three blurry figures surrounding him. He squinted hard, looking genuinely confused about why everyone was in his room at this ungodly hour “Huh…?”

Karasu mocked him immediately. “Huh…?” Then he smacked the side of Otoya’s head lightly. “Wake your dumbass up. Ego wants everyone in the main room in twenty minutes. He’s got an announcement.”

Yukimiya gave Otoya a pity thumbs-up before following Karasu toward the door. Hiori took one last hit from his vape before walking out too.

The room went quiet. Otoya sat there for a few seconds in complete silence before groaning loudly and dragging himself out of bed. He stumbled toward the light switch and flicked it on. The bright light immediately assaulted his eyes.

“Stupid Ego…” he muttered, shielding his face dramatically before glancing around the room suspiciously like Ego himself might suddenly appear out of nowhere. Thankfully, no evil bowl-cut man was hiding in the shadows. Otoya dragged himself into the bathroom, splashed water onto his face, and brushed his teeth while staring blankly into the mirror.

Hopefully he’d shower later. Matter of fact, hopefully he washed his hands too.

A few minutes later, Otoya lazily walked through the empty hallways toward the main room. The closer he got, the louder everything became. Conversations echoed through the halls, mixed with yelling, laughter, and arguments from people who clearly didn’t want to be awake either.

When he finally entered the room, everyone was already gathered into their own little groups.

Otoya spotted Karasu, Hiori, and Yukimiya near the corner watching something unfold nearby. “What’s going on—”

Hiori immediately held a hand out to silence him. Otoya blinked before looking toward the scene in front of them.

Reo stood there with crossed arms and the nastiest glare imaginable while Nagi followed behind him looking exhausted.

“Reo, please—” Nagi sighed, reaching toward him.

“Fuck off, Nagi,” Reo snapped while clutching his black phone tightly.

Otoya stared in confusion. “Um…”

“Nagi accidentally locked Reo’s bank account,” Yukimiya explained with a sigh.

“I didn’t mean to,” Nagi groaned.

Before Reo could threaten murder, a loud voice suddenly echoed throughout the room.

“Listen up, you little ugly, sweaty, nasty-ass kids.” Everyone immediately looked up toward the giant monitor mounted above them. Ego Jinpachi appeared on screen looking exactly as evil as usual. “I have—”

“Why did you wake us up so early?” Bachira shouted immediately.

Ego blinked slowly. “Well first—”

“Don’t tell me Ms. Anri broke up with you,” Bachira interrupted again.

“We were never together, so—”

Bachira sighed dramatically. “So this is completely useless…?”

Ego pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked painful. “If you would allow me to SPEAK, Bachira!”

He slammed his fist onto the desk which caused the screen shook violently. “Ahem,” Ego cleared his throat. “I’m here to announce that starting today, all of you are allowed to leave the building—”

Bachira let out the loudest scream imaginable. Beside him, Isagi immediately tried covering his mouth. “We’re free!” Bachira yelled anyway.

Ego’s eye twitched. “I’ve had enough of you, Bachira. You’re staying an extra day to clean the locker rooms.”

Bachira froze in horror and the room immediately exploded into laughter.

“Stupid,” Rin muttered from somewhere nearby.

Bachira looked genuinely devastated, but he stayed quiet.

Ego exhaled deeply. “The rest of you are free to leave starting today. Take these next few days seriously. I expect every single one of you back here in a week.” The microphone screeched loudly before Ego leaned closer toward the camera.

“See you little shits later.” The screen shut off instantly.

People started cheering loudly while others immediately sprinted out of the room to pack their things. Conversations exploded everywhere at once about plans, vacations, family visits, food, and freedom.

Otoya looked like he was about to cry tears of joy. Finally. He could see you.

“Yo! Eita, do you wanna hang—” Yukimiya started asking.

But Otoya was already halfway out the room.

“…Okay!” Yukimiya shouted after him.

Karasu only shrugged. “We’ll probably see him again in a few days.”

Because the second Otoya got back to his room, he practically launched himself onto his bed, unlocked his phone, and immediately started spamming your messages like his life depended on it.

Gripping tightly to his phone, he decided to pack his things and waited for you to reply.

You were literally mid anime-bing, on the last episode of Attack on Titan, eyes filled with tears as you were devastated at Eren’s sudden death. You were technically heart broken to witness such hotrible scene. Your husband Eren Yeager has been killed. Tears streaming down your face and snot aswell… your phone rang. 

“Great timing.” You thought to yourself, this was a great distraction to take your mind off what happened earlier. Your teary eyes squinted at the contact name.

You groaned, “Not great timing…” you sighed before hesitating to answer. You figured it wasn’t serious until… more messages came in. You groaned and unlocked your phone, the bright screen flash banging you.

You arrived at 9:40, the cold air biting at your cheeks as you settled onto the bench outside the train station. The sky was a pale, a washed-out gray, and the streets were quieter than usual. Sunday mornings always had a kind of quietness to them.

You pulled your headphones from your bag, sliding them over your ears, and scrolled through your playlist until you found something that matched the mood. You leaned back against the bench, letting the music wash over you, your breath fogging in the cold air.

The minutes ticked by. Nine forty-five. Nine fifty. You weren't impatient since you'd learned that waiting for Otoya was an exercise in patience, like waiting for a cat to decide it wanted affection. He'd show up when he showed up, and he'd make it worth the wait.

You were lost in the music, your eyes half-closed, your mind drifting somewhere between the melody and the chill in the air, when a small tap landed on your shoulder.

You jumped and your eyes flew open, your body tensing instinctively, and you whipped around to see Otoya.

He was standing there, his breath pluming in the cold air, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hair was slightly tousled, and he was wearing that dark jacket you'd seen him in before in one of his posts.

And in his hands, he held a bouquet. Your favorite flowers. These were the ones you'd mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, during a late-night conversation that had meandered through a dozen different topics. 

These flowers were the ones with the delicate petals and the soft, sweet scent that reminded you spring. You stared at them, then at him, then back at the flowers.

"You—" you started, your voice catching.

Otoya's smile widened, just a fraction. "What? Did you think I forgot?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you launched yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. The flowers were squished between you, but neither of you seemed to care. He smelled like cologne and cold air.

"You're such a fucking softie," you mumbled into his coat.

"I'm not," he said, but his arms came up to wrap around you, his chin resting on top of your head. "You're just easy to please."

"Shut up." You muttered.

"Make me." He laughed before getting hit in the gut.

You pulled back, your cheeks flushed, and took the bouquet from him. "These are my favorites. How did you remember?"

"I pay attention." He shrugged, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "It's not that hard when you talk so much"

You felt your heart do something stupid and inconvenient. "Okay, whatever. Let's go. I'm starving."

He took you to a little ramen shop tucked away in a side street. Otoya seemed to know the owner who was an older woman with a kind face and flour on her apron. She waved him in without a word and seated you both at a small table near the back.

"You come here a lot?" you asked, settling into your seat.

"Uhh… quite enough." He picked up the menu, but his eyes were on you. "They have the best tonkotsu in the city. Trust me."

You did trust him. Which was probably dangerous, but you were past the point of caring. The ramen was, as promised, incredible. The broth was rich and savory, the noodles perfectly chewy, the chashu so tender it fell apart at the touch of your chopsticks. You ate in comfortable silence, until you spoke up.

"I have to ask," you said, halfway through your bowl. "How long did you wait for that bouquet?"

Otoya paused, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl. "I-I ordered them?”

"Uh-huh." You grinned, propping your chin on your hand. "And when did you order them?"

"...Yesterday." (He actually stole them from a couple who weren’t paying attention)

"Yesterday?" You laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "You really are a softie."

"I'm not—" He cut himself off, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Just eat your ramen."

You did, but you were smiling the whole time.

The rest of the afternoon blurred together in a haze of warmth and easy conversation. He bought you lunch. Well insisted on it, actually. Afterward, you wandered through the streets, stopping at a little bookstore where you spent twenty minutes arguing about which manga series was better, then at a café where you shared a slice of matcha cheesecake and he stole half of it when you went to grab napkins…

By the time the sun started to dip toward the horizon, the temperature had dropped, and the first few snowflakes were beginning to drift down from the sky.

"My place?" you asked, the question hanging in the air between you.

Otoya looked at you, his expression unreadable. "You sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure Otoya.” You laughed.

Otoya then nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, if you say so…”

Your apartment was warm and cozy, the lights dimmed, your cat Yuki was already sprawled across the couch. You kicked off your shoes and gestured vaguely toward the living room.

"Make yourself at home. I'm gonna change into something more comfortable."

Otoya raised an eyebrow. "Should I go with you?"

"Shut it." You disappeared into your bedroom, trading your outfit for a pair of soft fleece shorts and a long sleeve. When you came back out, Otoya had already made himself comfortable, his shoes were off, jacket discarded and lounged onto your couch. Yuki had migrated to his lap, purring loudly as Otoya scratched behind his ears.

"Traitor," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"He likes me," Otoya said, not looking up. "He has good taste."

You rolled your eyes and flopped down onto the couch beside him, grabbing the remote and scrolling through your streaming options. "What do you want to watch?"

"Something scary." He answered

"Scary? Really?" You scoffed.

"What, are you scared?" Otoya said in a teasing tone.

"No—" You paused. "...Maybe."

He laughed, the sound was low and warm. "Pussy."

You ended up picking a horror movie, it was something about a these kids encountering a clown. You'd seen it before, but that didn't stop you from jumping at the jump scares and burying your face in Otoya's shoulder during the tense parts.

He, of course, was insufferable about it. "Scared?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"No." You muttered.

"You're literally hiding behind me??” He questioned.

"I'm getting comfortable. There's a difference asshole."

"If you say so…” Yeah, he didn’t believe you.

By the time the credits rolled, the snow had started falling in earnest, blanketing the city in a layer of white. You could see it through the window, the flakes drifting past the streetlights like tiny, wandering stars.

"You should stay," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Otoya turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's snowing. It's late. I have a spare blanket."

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he nodded, a slow, deliberate motion. "Okay… but in the living room…?” He looked at you with a pout.

You turned slowly before rolling your eyes. “Yes in the living room.”

“But I’m going to be all alone and cold… What if someone jumps me in the middle of the night…” He was practically twirling his hair and fluttering his eyes.

You only stared at him and groaned. “You’re so stupid bro. Fine. Follow me.” 

He followed behind you with the dumbest smirk on his face. You glanced back at him once before scoffing quietly under your breath.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” you muttered.

“I can’t help it,” Otoya replied easily. “Your hospitality is beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed open your bedroom door. “Okay, room reveal…” you sighed dramatically before reaching over to switch on the lamp near your bed.

A warm glow spread across the room instantly. Your walls were covered in posters from anime series, old concert prints, and random magazine cutouts. Shelves held rows of manga, tiny figurines, trinkets you’d thrifted over the years, and stacks of folded hoodies shoved beside them. There were LED lights hanging messily near the window, though only half of them worked. Your desk chair had clothes draped over it, and your vanity was cluttered with makeup products and hair clips.

Otoya slowly looked around the room, his eyes moving from shelf to shelf. “Holy shit,” he breathed out. “What a nerd.”

Your jaw dropped in offense. Without hesitation, you grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it straight at his face. It smacked him directly in the nose. “Shut it.”

“OW—” Otoya grabbed the pillow dramatically before rubbing his face. “Violent as hell.”

“You deserved it.” You replied.

“You literally have figurines staring at me from every angle.” He judged.

“And?” You were about to shove your foot up his ass.

“…And it’s terrifying.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Get out.”

He laughed before casually tossing the pillow aside and jumping onto your bed without permission. The mattress dipped instantly under his weight. “So mean,” he sighed dramatically.

You stared at him in disbelief before climbing onto the bed beside him. “I call dibs on the left, so move.”

Otoya glanced at you lazily. “You’re bossy.”

“And you’re taking up half the bed.” You shot back.

Otoya sighed, “That sounds like a you problem.” 

You kicked his leg. “Move.”

“Okay, okay damn.” Still laughing under his breath, he scooted over to the right side of the bed. Even then, he somehow still managed to take up way too much space. You crawled under the blanket immediately, wrapping yourself up tightly like a burrito while glaring at him suspiciously.

Otoya laid back against the pillow, turning his head to stare at you.

You stared back. “…What?” you finally asked.

He glanced down at the blanket wrapped tightly around your body. “Let’s not be stingy with the blanket,” he teased. “Remember, I’m a guest.”

Your cheeks warmed almost instantly. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered.

“And yet here I am.”

You groaned softly before lifting the blanket just enough for him to slide underneath too “There. Happy?”

“Very.” He sounded way too satisfied.

You quickly turned off the lamp beside your bed before he could see the embarrassed look on your face. Darkness filled the room almost immediately, leaving only faint moonlight slipping through the curtains.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely calm compared to earlier. The soft hum of your fan filled the silence while the occasional sound of cars passing outside echoed faintly through the walls. You could hear Otoya breathing beside you, slow and relaxed now that he had finally stopped talking for once in his life.

You stared into the dark quietly. It felt weird. Not uncomfortable weird though. It had been a long time since someone else was this close to you without expecting something in return.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. “Jeez…” you muttered quietly.

“Hm?”

You hesitated for a second before speaking softer. “Goodnight, Otoya… and, um… thank you for everything.” Your voice cracked a little at the end, making you cringe internally.

The room stayed quiet for half a second. Then Otoya laughed softly. “Aw,” he murmured. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charm.”

You scoffed quietly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.” Before you could react properly, you suddenly felt him shift closer. An arm wrapped loosely around your waist and caused you to immediately jumped. 

“Otoya!” You tried shoving him away, but he only held onto you tighter while laughing quietly against your shoulder.

“Relax,” he mumbled. “You’re acting like I stabbed you.”

“You literally just grabbed me out of nowhere!” It was obvious you were getting flustered.

“And?” He said, teasing you.

“And move!” You could feel your heart racing even quicker.

“Nooooope.” He held onto you tighter.

“Otoya!” You shouted again.

“Shhh.” His voice dropped softer this time as he buried his face into the crook of your shoulder. “Just stay still,” he whispered sleepily. “Goodnight.”

You froze for a moment, feeling the warmth of him against you. His hair tickled your neck slightly every time he breathed, and his arms felt annoyingly secure around you.

You hated how comfortable it was. Slowly, your struggling stopped. A long sigh escaped your lips. “…You’re impossible.”

“Mhm,” he hummed tiredly.

You could already tell he was half asleep.

Your eyes drifted toward the ceiling again while your heartbeat slowly settled back down. Eventually, the warmth beside you stopped feeling overwhelming.

Instead… it just felt nice. Comforting, almost?You shut your eyes with another quiet sigh.

The next morning, you woke up before him.

The apartment was quiet, the snow still falling outside, the world muffled and soft. You decided to make breakfast. French toast, because it was easy and comforting. Eggs, because protein lol? 

You moved quietly, pulling out ingredients, whisking eggs and milk, dipping the bread slices until they were soaked through. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled the apartment, warm and inviting.

You heard him get up, a soft groan, footsteps padding across the floor. "Smells good."

You turned, and your breath caught in your throat. Otoya was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, shirtless. Where the fuck did his shirt go?! 

His hair was messy, still tousled from sleep, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, still half-lost in the haze of waking up. The morning light filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across his chest, across the lines of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone, the faint outline of his abs.

He knew exactly what he was doing. You could see it in the slight tilt of his lips, the lazy confidence in his posture.

Your face flushed. Your grip on the spatula tightened. "Put a shirt on," you said, your voice coming out a little more strained than you intended.

"Too early." He stretched, raising his arms above his head, and you very deliberately looked away.

"It's almost ten?” You glared at him.

"Exactly. Too early." He shrugged your comment off.

You turned back to the stove, your back to him, willing the heat in your cheeks to subside. "Whatever. Just—sit down. Breakfast is almost ready."

You heard him chuckle, when you risked a glance over your shoulder, he was sitting at the table, his chin propped on his hand, watching every move of yours.

"You're blushing," he said.

"I'm just hot." You said.

"Sure." He laughed, and you tried to ignore the way it made your stomach flip.

Breakfast was good, if you said so yourself. The french toast was golden and crisp on the edges, the eggs fluffy and seasoned just right. Otoya ate like he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years, polishing off his plate and asking for seconds.

"I'm not your personal chef," you said, but you were already pulling out more bread.

"You're the one who offered." He frowned.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

"We should bake cookies," you announced, wiping down the counter.

Otoya looked up from his phone. "Cookies?"

"Cookies. You know, flour, sugar, butter. Cookies."

"I know what cookies are." He set his phone aside, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Why cookies?"

"Why not cookies? It's snowing. It's cold and baking is the only acceptable activity."

He considered this, then shrugged. "Alright..."

The next hour was a mess of flour and sugar and laughter. You pulled out the ingredients, lining them up on the counter. Otoya proved to be surprisingly useless in the kitchen—he could follow instructions, sure, but he had a tendency to get distracted, to sneak spoonfuls of cookie dough when you weren't looking, to flick flour at you when your back was turned.

"You're being annoying," you said, wiping a smudge of flour off your cheek. You were in the middle of shaping the dough into balls when you remembered the small weed oil-based liquid you'd tucked away in the back of your pantry. You paused, a grin spreading across your face.

"Wait. I have an idea."

Otoya raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if you want to be." You retrieved the small bottle of liquid from the pantry, holding it up like a trophy. Otoya's eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face.

"Now we're talking."

The cookies turned out... edible. Mostly. A few of them were a little lopsided, and one tray had come out slightly darker than the others, but they were still warm and gooey and perfect. The two of you sat on the couch, passing the plate back and forth, the effects of the... special liquid started to settle in.

You felt light, floaty, your thoughts drifting like the flakes outside.

Otoya was lounging beside you, his arm draped across the back of the couch, his body warm and solid. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sweetness of the cookies.

The movie started playing, but neither of you were really watching it. The colors flickered across the screen, the dialogue washing over you like background noise, but your attention was elsewhere.

You were lying on the couch, your head resting on Otoya's lap.

It had happened naturally—a shift of positions, a rearrangement of limbs, until you were settled against him, his thighs warm and firm beneath your head. One of his hands had found its way into your hair, his fingers carding through the strands with a lazy, absentminded rhythm.

You should have felt awkward or nervous. The cookies had made everything soft, pliable, the edges of the world blurred like watercolors. You could feel your heartbeat, slow and steady, could feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

And then you felt something else. It was subtle at first—just a slight shift, a change in pressure. But then it became impossible to ignore.

His length, hard and insistent, pressing against the back of your head.

Your breath caught. He was trying to hide it, you could tell. His body had tensed, his fingers pausing in your hair, his breathing going shallow and controlled. But there was no hiding it now, not when you were this close, not when you could feel every twitch, every throb against your skull.

A small, pained groan escaped his lips—quiet, barely audible, but you heard it.

Your face flushed. The air in the room felt thick, charged with something electric.

You swallowed, your throat was dry, and you turned your head just enough to look up at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there was a flush creeping up his neck, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"Otoya," you said, your voice soft.

"Mm?" He muttered.

The low hum of the movie had faded into background noise, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

You turned your head, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Otoya."

He didn't respond, but his jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Otoya," you repeated, softer this time. "Let me help."

He looked down at you then, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. There was a war inside them—restraint against want, logic against hunger. You watched it play out, watched him lose.

"...Yeah," he said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "Yeah, okay."

You shifted, moving off his lap and onto your knees on the floor between his legs. He watched you with that same intense gaze as you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers brushing against the fabric.

"You sure?" he asked, his hand coming down to cup your cheek.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you pulled the waistband down, and his cock sprang free, already slick with precum, the tip flushed a deep, angry red.

You didn't hesitate. You leaned in, taking him into your mouth, and the sound he made—a low, guttural groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest—sent a shiver down your spine.

He was thick, heavy on your tongue, and you took your time, savoring the weight of him, the taste of salt and skin. Your hands gripped his thighs, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers as you worked him, bobbing your head slowly at first, then faster.

The whole time, he watched you. His eyes were fixed on your face, on the way your lips stretched around him, on the way your cheeks hollowed as you sucked. His hand found its way into your hair, not pushing, just holding, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hips twitching involuntarily. "You're so good at this."

You moaned around him, the vibration making him groan again. His head fell back against the couch, his throat exposed, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

You took him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat, feeling the stretch, the burn. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. The sounds he made, the way his fingers tightened in your hair—it was addicting.

"Shit—" He pulled you off gently, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. "I'm not gonna last if you keep that up."

You grinned, your lips slick and swollen. "That's the point."

He laughed, breathless, and pulled you up into a kiss. "Your turn," he said against your lips.

He laid you back on the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. He settled between them, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, his breath hot against your core. You were already wet, slick and aching, and he made a sound of approval when he saw you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his thumb tracing your folds. "Soaked."

"Stop talking," you managed, your voice breathless.

He grinned, dark and wicked, and then his mouth was on you. He was slow at first, teasing, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your clit, drawing out soft moans from your lips. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

You squirmed, your hips bucking against his face, but he only pressed you harder into the couch. His tongue dipped inside you, then back up, never quite giving you enough.

"Otoya," you whimpered.

He hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl. His fingers joined his tongue, sliding inside you, curling against that spot that made your vision go white. He worked you methodically, relentlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. He watched every expression, every gasp, every shudder.

You felt the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly. Your hands fisted in the couch cushions, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I'm—" You couldn't finish the sentence.

He doubled his efforts, his tongue flicking against your clit while his fingers pumped inside you. He was relentless, driving you higher, higher, until the tension snapped and you shattered.

Warm liquid gushed from you, soaking his face, his chin, the couch beneath you. You cried out, your body arching off the cushions as the orgasm ripped through you.

He pulled back, laughing, his face glistening. "Holy shit."

You were too dazed to respond, your chest heaving, your limbs trembling.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning. "You're full of surprises."

He flipped you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees on the couch. His hands gripped your hips, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Just—fuck me already." You insisted.

He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed into you in one slow, steady thrust, and you both groaned at the feeling. He was deep, filling you completely, and the stretch was perfect. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, then began to move.

His pace was slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. But it didn't stay slow for long.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he picked up speed. He fucked you harder, faster, his hips slapping against your ass with a rhythm that matched the beat of the music playing in the background.

“No romance is quite like ours…” “When I move myself around my room sweetheart…”

Your moans filled the room and mingling with his groans. He shoved your head deeper into the couch cushions, your face pressing against the fabric, your body completely surrendered to him.

"You feel so fucking good," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Been thinking about this. Thinking about you."

All you could do was whimper, your legs trembling, your body already oversensitive from your previous orgasm.

"You came already?" He laughed, breathless. "We're not done yet."

He drove into you again and again, chasing his own release. You were a mess—moaning, whimpering, clawing at the cushions. Your second orgasm hit you without warning, a raw, guttural cry torn from your throat.

That seemed to push him over the edge. His thrusts became sloppy, his breath ragged, and he pulled out just in time, spilling hot and thick across your ass. You felt the warmth spread, felt it drip down your skin.

He collapsed beside you on the couch, both of you panting, slick with sweat. The room was silent except for your breathing and the soft hum of the music. He left a trail of hickeys along your shoulder, your neck and your collarbone. You were too exhausted to protest since your eyes were already fluttering shut.

The last thing you registered was the warmth of his body beside you, his arm draping over your waist, pulling you close. Then you were gone.

The next morning you woke up with a slight groan. The morning light was pale and gray, filtering through the snow-covered window. The couch was empty. The apartment was quiet.

You sat up slowly, your body aching in ways that made the previous night flood back in a rush of heat and embarrassment and something dangerously close to hope. You looked around and realized he was gone.

You checked your phone, maybe he texted you? But you checked and there was… Nothing. You waited to wait a couple of hours. And then finally, a message came through. 

You excitedly grabbed your phone, almost dropping it. 

You stared at the screen, reading it over and over, trying to find something hidden between the lines.

Ofcourse he didn't respond. Maybe you were overthinking it? Maybe he’d respond later Which was what you told yourself… 

You would send him random images or texts throughout the hours. Eventually, you were just talking to yourself in the chat, a one-sided conversation you couldn't let go of.

It was starting to get to you. It was already 10 PM. Was he still busy? You weren’t sure but this was really making you feel sick to your stomach. You wished you hadn’t grabbed your phone and texted him that specific message.

It showed he read your message, the small chat bubble showed he was typing but it stopped a few seconds after. You furrowed your brows and decided to call, but it went straight to voicemail. You tried Instagram but it showed his account was gone. Meaning he had blocked you.

The realization hit you like a physical blow, a punch to the gut. He had played you. He had used you, taken what he wanted, and disappeared. You sat on the edge of your bed, your phone clutched in your hand, staring at the empty chat. The taste of bile rose in your throat.

You felt sick. How could you be so stupid to think he actually liked you? You sat there, staring directly at the floor. This was why you didn't date. This was why you kept people at arm's length, because they always left. They always took a piece of you and walked away like it meant nothing.

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss @luvvcharxo @shimiyayshimiyaydrank @megameowsticmeat @redsandroses @snowymafui @k4ss11333 @ratg4n @pookiei-bookie @justanotherweeb666 @akaashiit @90s-belladonna @yayamrata @youdontneedtoknowlol

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 6

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

prev — next

a/n: guess whos bavk… back again… okay pls don’t attack me… I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! sibling bond with sae is here 😳😳 okay enjoy your happiness while it lasts

Your alarm blasted through the room in the morning, and with a groan, you immediately slapped a hand over the snooze button, giving yourself ten more minutes of sleep without even thinking about it.

A thin strip of sunlight slipped through a gap in your curtain and landed right across your face. You frowned, pulling the blanket higher over your head.

A few seconds later, the alarm went off again.

You ignored it this time too, hoping that if you just stayed perfectly still and pretended the world did not exist, it would somehow stop on its own.

It did not. You sighed, rolled over twice, then finally sat up with your hair a mess and your eyes half shut. Reaching for your phone, you angrily turned the alarm off and squinted at the screen.

10:36. You scoffed and flopped back onto the bed. “Still early…” you muttered, already sinking back into the mattress. A little bit of drool had escaped the corner of your mouth, but you were far too tired to care. You were this close to falling back asleep too. So close. Then your phone started ringing with your favorite song.

You groaned and stabbed a finger at the screen. “Who the fuck is calling me?”

The contact name made you roll your eyes immediately. Of course. You answered, barely lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hey, good morning, beautiful—”

“What could you possibly want, Eita!?” you shouted, cutting him off before he could get comfortable. “I’m trying to fucking sleep.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Otoya laughed nervously. “…I am sorry? But it’s almost eleven.”

“And?”

“No one should be waking up this late when they have plans,” he said, like that should have made sense to you.

That made you freeze for a second. Plans?Your brain took a moment to process the word. Then it hit you all at once. “…Oh my god.”

You shot upright so fast your blanket slid off the bed. “Sae!”

You practically threw your phone onto the mattress and immediately started digging through your closet like a woman possessed. Clothes were yanked off hangers, tossed onto the floor, and shoved into piles all over your room. You were already forgetting what you were even looking for because your entire brain had gone blank with panic.

From your bed, Otoya’s muffled voice kept coming through the phone.

“Hello? Y/n? Hey—what’s going on? Did you die?”

“Shut up!” you yelled back over your shoulder while half-buried in your wardrobe.

You grabbed your phone again just long enough to speak into it. “God, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll call you when I’m back! Thanks!”

“Wait—”

You hung up before he could finish.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” In less than two minutes, your room looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Clothes were on your chair, your bed, your floor, and somehow one sock had ended up across the room. Your phone buzzed again and again, and you assumed it was Sae, probably wondering why you weren’t answering.

You had completely forgotten about your hangout with him.

The plan had been simple. You and Sae were supposed to go to the mall, walk around, shop a little, and maybe eat somewhere while he acted like buying your stuff was no big deal. He had insisted on paying as a thank-you, and you had never bothered asking him why. You figured he’d explain in person.

Now there was no time to think about that.

You grabbed a matching set of underwear, a lace bra, and rushed into the bathroom. By then, the hot water had started running, filling the room with steam. You set everything down on the counter in a hurry. Your brush, hairdryer, makeup, jeans, studded belt, and the jacket Otoya had gotten for you. That jacket had become one of your favorites.

You stripped off your sleep clothes, tossed them into the laundry basket, and stepped into the shower with a sigh. You knew you were on a time limit, so naturally your brain decided that meant absolutely nothing.

You still spent too long washing your hair. You still took your time rinsing off. You even brushed your teeth in the shower because, at this point, you didn’t want to be late.

By the time you got out, you were still moving fast, drying off completely before slipping into your undergarments. Then you blow-dried your hair, deciding to put on your clothes first and do your makeup after.

That turned out to be the better choice, because once you were dressed, you could actually see what you were doing.

You pulled on your jeans, fixed the studded belt around your waist, and slipped into the cropped top you’d picked earlier. Then you sectioned your hair into two pigtails, leaving the rest loose around your shoulders. A few final touches with your makeup later, and you were finally standing in front of the mirror again, catching your breath.

You gave yourself a small twirl. Then your eyes landed on the jacket. “Right—” You snatched it from the bed and threw it on over your outfit.

It was now 12:02 PM, so you were still good. You grabbed your phone and checked Sae’s message.

You stared at it for half a second. “Fuck.”

No time for a proper selfie, which annoyed you for a whole separate reason. So instead, you quickly posed in front of your mirror about ten different ways, snapping photos like your life depended on it. One of them HAD to come out decent. You were already halfway down the stairs when your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it for the moment and raced outside.

A car honked from down the street.

Then again AND again… You barely made it to the curb before Sae rolled the window down and shouted, “Hurry the fuck up! I’ve got people staring at me here.”

You rushed over and practically threw yourself into the passenger seat. The second you were in, you slammed the door shut and fastened your seatbelt.

“Jeez,” you huffed, catching your breath. “So impatient.”

“Hey,” he said, starting to drive, “I’m the one picking you up. You don’t get to complain.”

“Whateveerrr.” You leaned back with a dramatic sigh.

Then he glanced over at you. “Nice jacket.”

You looked at him and smiled a little. “Thanks. Some guy bought it for me.”

Sae’s eyes shifted toward you. “Guy? Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend.” you said immediately. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure. Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “His name is Otoya. He’s in the same program as your brother.”

At that, Sae’s expression changed just slightly. He knew exactly who Otoya was. Rin had complained about nearly everyone in Blue Lock, and Otoya’s name had definitely come up before. Sae could have said something, but he decided not to ruin the moment.

Instead, he just gave a small, stiff nod. “Mm. Nice.”

You turned your head toward him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Then, a beat later, his mouth twitched. “Speaking of Rin, he contacted me last night.”

Your face brightened. “Aw, that’s really good, Sae.”

He gave a small laugh, but it sounded more relieved than amused. “Yeah. Which is why I’m taking you shopping as a thank-you. He told me about his conversation with you yesterday. I honestly thought we’d never speak again.”

“Don’t start crying now,” you teased.

He let out a breath through his nose. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a little bit of a deal,” you corrected gently. “But it’s fine. I just think siblings should talk things out.”

Sae looked away for a second. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Hard to believe he’s in a relationship now. I really didn’t think he was into men.”

You laughed. “Really? I don’t know. Being locked up with a bunch of guys changes people.”

Sae rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Then you looked back at him. “What about you?”

He blinked. “What about me?”

“Don’t you have a partner?”

Sae's grip on the steering wheel tightened almost imperceptibly. "No…" He was getting traumatizing flashbacks from his previous relationship.

"I see," you said, drawing out the words with obvious amusement.

He shot you that flat, unimpressed stare he'd perfected over years of dealing with reporters and fans. "Can we drop this?”

"Fine, fine." You held up your hands in mock surrender. "But I'm gonna remember this." You filed the information away for later, tucking it into the growing collection of ammunition you had against him. "Okay, I won't ask any more questions—oh, by the way, is it safe to be in public?"

Sae nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly now that the conversation had shifted. "It should be fine." He paused. "I hope," he added, and there was a dry edge to his voice that made you snort.

He pulled into the mall's sprawling parking lot, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the rows of cars. The evening crowd was thinning, but there were still plenty of people milling about. You spotted a prime spot that was close to the entrance, wide enough that Sae's car wouldn't get dinged, practically glowing with parking lot real estate energy.

"Oh, there should be a spot right there—" You pointed, your voice bright with victory. And then, like a goddamn villain from a movie, a blue sports car roared past you, engine screaming, and slid into the spot.

"Fucking asshole." You leaned forward in your seat, your eyes fixed on the obnoxious vehicle. "Can this fucker not see us—!?"

Sae sighed, the sound long-suffering and resigned. He reached into the center console, pulling out a cigarette and pressing it between his lips without lighting it. "The windows are tinted... please don't do something stupid—"

But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt. "Sit tight," you said, your voice deceptively calm.

"Wait—" The door slammed shut behind you, cutting off whatever sentence he was about to make. The evening air was cool against your skin, carrying the faint scent of exhaust and fried food from the food court vents. Your shoes clicked against the asphalt as you marched toward the blue car.

It was a nice car, you'd give them that. Some kind of modified import, matte blue with racing stripes and aftermarket rims that probably cost more than your outfit. The kind of car that screamed look at me in the most desperate way possible. God. How annoying.

You pulled up to the driver's side window and started knocking aggressively. Each rap of your knuckles against the glass was a punctuation mark in your growing irritation.

"Hey." "Hey, fucker!"

The window rolled down with a smooth electric hum, revealing the driver—a man with half-dyed blonde and blue hair that looked like it had seen better days, rose tattoo on his neck and a general air of exhaustion that didn't quite match his flashy vehicle. He wasn't even looking at you directly, his gaze fixed somewhere on the dashboard.

"Can I help you...?" he muttered, his voice flat.

"Yeah, you can." You planted your hands on your hips. "Matter of fact, get the fuck out of the car."

The man finally turned to look at you, blinking slowly like he was processing your words through a thick fog of fatigue. "Look, I have places to go... I am sorry for taking your parking spot, but I needed this more than you two, okay?"

He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. There was something about the gesture that seemed almost... pathetic. Like he was running on fumes and spite.

You scoffed, your temper flaring. "Look, I don't give a fuck—" And then two hundred-dollar bills appeared in front of your face, held between his fingers like a peace offering.

"Look, why don't you take this and buy something nice for yourself, huh?" He scratched at his half-dyed hair again, the gesture desperate and almost endearing in a sad sort of way. "Okay, sweetheart? A little trade?"

You stared at the money. Two. Hundred. Dollars. For a parking spot. Your brain short-circuited. The anger drained out of you like someone had pulled a plug, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated greed. You snatched the bills out of his hand with the speed of a striking cobra, and when you spoke, your voice had gone from furious to saccharine sweet in the span of a heartbeat.

"Ahaha... you could've just said so... have a good day!"

The blonde man gave you a weak thumbs-up, his expression still dazed. The window rolled back up, and you practically skipped back to Sae's car, the two hundred dollars clutched in your hand like a trophy. You slid back into the passenger seat, grinning like a cat who'd swallowed a canary.

Sae was staring at you, his cigarette holder unlit and forgotten in his mouth. His expression was one of pure, unfiltered judgment. "Why the fuck are you so jolly?"

"Oh, nothing!" You waved a hand airily. "Go ahead and drive!"

Sae squinted at you, clearly debating whether he wanted to know the details. He decided against it and pulled the car forward, circling the lot for what felt like an eternity before finally finding a spot three levels up in the parking garage.

It took him twenty minutes to find a parking spot.

But you were too busy with your phone to care, scrolling through your camera roll to find the perfect selfie.

You tagged Otoya in it, because of course you did. Part of you wanted to see his reaction. Wanted him to see you looking good in his jacket. But when you checked your phone a few minutes later, all you got was a like. Just a like. Bummer.

You huffed, locking your phone and slipping it into your pocket. Whatever. You weren't going to let his lack of response ruin your day. You had shopping to do, and Sae's wallet was ripe for the picking.

The mall was alive with the usual evening crowd—groups of teenagers clustered around the food court, couples walking hand in hand, mothers wrangling screaming children. The fluorescent lights cast a warm glow over everything, and the ambient noise of chatter and music filled the air.

You and Sae walked side by side, a comfortable rhythm settling between you. He was quiet, as usual, but there was a relaxed set to his shoulders that hadn't been there before. Every now and then, a fan would approach—usually someone who recognized him from soccer coverage or magazine spreads.

"Excuse me, are you Itoshi Sae?"

"Can I get a picture?"

"Your last match was incredible—"

Each time, Sae would nod stiffly, pose for the photo, and then move on without engaging further. It was efficient and you watched him navigate the attention with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

And then, to your surprise, a couple of girls approached you.

"Oh my god, are you on Instagram? You look exactly like a model—"

"Can we get a picture with you?"

You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Uh... sure?" They snapped a few photos, complimented your jacket, and scampered off, giggling. You stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened.

"Wow," Sae said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. "You look the part."

"I didn't even do anything," you muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips.

"So, I was thinking," you said, practically bouncing on your shoes as you came to a stop in front of the mall directory. "You said go for it, right? No limits?"

Sae's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Caution or regret. (LOL) "Yeah, go for it. It's not like I have anything to do with this money."

Inside your head, an alarm went off. Sirens and lights and confetti raining down because holy shit, he actually said that out loud.

"Oh, Sae." You grinned, the expression sharp and predatory. "You really shouldn't have said that."

The next three hours were a blur of shopping bags, credit card swipes, and the slow, agonizing death of Sae's dignity.

You hit every store in the mall. Every single one. The high-end boutiques, the department stores, the little niche shops that sold handcrafted jewelry and alt clothing. You dragged Sae through racks of clothes, made him hold your purse while you tried on shoes, and forced him to give his opinion on at least seventeen different outfits.

"Is this cute?!" You held up a set of matching bra and underwear—lace, deep burgundy, delicate straps that looked expensive and felt even more so.

Sae stared at the lingerie, clearly uninterested. "Yeah." His voice was flat, his expression carefully blank. "Just get them all in the same color."

You cackled and threw three more sets into the cart. By the time you were done, Sae's arms were loaded with bags. Shopping bags dangled from every finger, hung from his wrists, threatened to topple over with every step. He looked like a pack mule in designer sneakers.

"Okay," he said, his voice strained, "we need to go back to the car."

"Already? But we haven't finished—"

"We need to go back to the car."

You relented, mostly because you couldn't carry any more bags either. The two of you made the road back to the parking garage, loading the trunk with your haul until it was packed to bursting. Then because you were a nice friend, you dragged him back inside.

Another hour passed. The mall was starting to empty out now, the stores dimming their lights as closing time approached. Sae had acquired another seven bags, and his expression had gone from neutral to something approaching existential despair.

"It's almost eight," he said, checking his watch. "We need to go."

"Just one more store!"

"You said that three stores ago."

"Please!"

He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. He didn't say it out loud, but you could see it his face that he wasn’t resisting.

After you'd finally exhausted the mall's supply of things to buy (and Sae's patience), you insisted on buying him dinner. With his money because you were a terrible person.

"Come on," you said, tugging him toward the food court. "I'm starving."

"You spent thousands of my dollars and you're taking me to the food court?"

"The sushi place here is actually good, I swear."

Sae looked at you like you'd grown a second head. But he followed anyway, settling into a plastic chair at a cheap table while you ordered two plates of the least expensive sushi on the menu. It was ridiculous, spending a fortune on clothes and then eating budget sushi. But the way Sae's lips twitched when he took his first bite told you he didn't mind.

"See?" you said, pointing at him with your chopsticks. "Told you it was good."

"It's acceptable."

"Wowie!!" You said excitedly.

He sighed, “It’s as if I have a younger sister.”

It was 9:34 PM when Sae pulled up in front of your apartment building. The street was quiet, the porch light casting a warm glow over the front steps.

"Thanks for today," you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Seriously. I had a lot of fun."

Sae nodded, his hands still on the steering wheel. "Mm."

"And I promise I'll pay you back someday."

"You don't have to."

"I know. But I will." You paused, then added, "Maybe."

That earned you the ghost of a smile. "Get inside before I change my mind about the bags."

You laughed, gathering as many shopping bags as you could carry (which was not all of them—it took three trips to get everything inside). By the time you finally collapsed onto your bed, surrounded by your haul, Yuki was already there, perched on your pillow like a tiny, judgmental monarch.

"Yuki!! My baby!" You cooed, scooping him up and burying your face in his fur. He purred, kneading your chest with his paws.

Your phone buzzed. You unlocked it, still cuddling your cat, and checked Instagram.

"Oh? Otoya posted?"

You tapped on his story, and the screen filled with his face. Dear god. His face. The sharp jawline, the lazy smirk, the way the lighting caught his eyes just right. You felt your heart do a little flip-flop that was entirely unwarranted given the circumstances.

Holy glaze, you thought, and immediately felt embarrassed for it.

But then the irritation set in. He had time to post himself looking like that, but he couldn't reply to your text? The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated audacity. You decided, then and there, that you were going to be a problem.

You lit a small blunt, the familiar herbal aroma filling your bedroom. The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as you leaned back against your pillows, Yuki settling on your stomach like a weighted blanket. Posing and staring directly at the camera, you snapped a selfie and waited for him to also… reply.

To be even more petty you also decided to post the haul Sae got you…  which he also immediately also replied to. 

You snickered, locked your phone, and set it on the nightstand. You didn't mean to fall asleep… but the combination of the general exhaustion of the day pulled you under like a tide. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Otoya's chat, frozen on your screen. Sorry not sorry, Otoya!

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss @luvvcharxo @shimiyayshimiyaydrank @megameowsticmeat @redsandroses @snowymafui @k4ss11333 @ratg4n @pookiei-bookie @justanotherweeb666 @akaashiit @90s-belladonna @yayamrata @youdontneedtoknowlol

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 5

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

prev — next

a/n: hi guys im back. IM SO SORRY FOR TAKING LONG. I LITERALLY WAS STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO WRITE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. BUT NOW I FIGURED IT OUT. ahahha tiny nsfw in the end🤤

Ever since you had forgiven him, he seemed a lot clingier than usual. Months passed, and your relationship with him only grew stronger, which you honestly did not mind.

Every morning, he was the first to text you a simple “Good morning.” In the afternoons, it was usually a casual “hey, wyd?” Your conversations never seemed to run dry.

At this point, it almost felt like it would have been easier to just call each other instead of typing out every little thing. Still, it became a normal part of your day. Like a routine. One that repeated itself over and over without either of you seeming to get tired of it.

Otoya had a habit of slipping in flirty comments like it was nothing. Surprisingly they bold enough to make you pause every single time. You would be staring at your screen, rereading the same message over and over, your lips pressed together while your heart did something stupid in your chest.

It was not just a one-time thing either. Over the past few months, he had been consistent with it—compliments, teasing, little comments. ANYTHING.

And somehow… it was working. That was the problem.

You leaned back against your pillow, staring up at the ceiling. No way. No actual way you—you—were catching feelings for him.

You knew exactly what kind of person he was. You saw the signs early on. He was the type you told yourself to stay away from.

A walking red flag.

And yet you rolled onto your side, grabbing your phone again, your thumb hovering over the chat. lol

“…Whatever,” you muttered under your breath.

You convinced yourself it was okay, the green streak in his hair definitely covered his red flags. Either ways, It did not feel like enough to stop you.

You didn’t even realize how fast you were moving until you were already sprawled out across your bed, one arm hanging off the side while your other hand lifted your phone.

You pressed the FaceTime button and waited.

Your own face stared back at you in the glossy screen for a few seconds before the call connected. Otoya had propped his phone up somewhere on a table, the camera angle slightly too low, making the whole thing look like he had no idea what he was doing.

Then his face popped up. “WHATS UP YOUTUBE!” he shouted immediately, throwing his arms up like he was about to start a whole performance.

You snorted so hard you nearly dropped the phone. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He stood up even straighter, flexing both arms with way too much confidence. “Do you like what you see?”

You squinted at him, but your attention drifted to the background behind him. There were a few guys moving around in the room, and one of them with brown hair caught your eye.

Your mouth fell open. “OMG, is that Yukimiya?”

You leaned so close to the screen that your nose nearly touched it, trying to get a better look. The quality was horrible, though, so it was hard to tell.

Otoya turned his head, then sighed dramatically. “Huh? No, that’s Bachira.”

“Bachira?” you repeated, louder than you meant to.

At the sound of his name, the brown-haired boy snapped his head toward the phone. In only a second, he was bouncing over to Otoya with a grin so big it practically filled the screen.

And then you realized Otoya had been right. That wasn’t Yukimiya.. oops.

This guy had a messy yellow bob, bright eyes. Your own face lit up. “OMG, he’s so cute!”

Bachira practically lunged for the phone before Otoya could stop him. The screen jolted as he shoved his face into it. “HIII NEW FRIEND! I’M BACHIRA MEGURU!”

You laughed, instantly matching his energy. “HI MEGURU! YOU’RE SO CUTE!”

From somewhere in the background, Otoya’s voice cut in, offended and loud. “Bachira, give me my fucking phone!”

Bachira ignored him completely, still grinning at you through the screen. “Otoya, is this the girl you mentioned in the groupchat?”

You blinked. “Groupchat?”

Before you could even ask anything else, the screen went black for half a second as Otoya yanked the phone back. When the camera came back on, it was zoomed in on his face, and he looked deeply annoyed now. “Jeez,” he muttered. “How annoying.”

You laughed again, unable to help it. “Wow, there’s so many cuties there.”

Otoya immediately frowned. “Hey. You’re supposed to be focused on me.”

“Whatever bro,” you said, still laughing. “So… you talk about me?” 

Otoya’s jaw clenched. 

You grinned. “Oh? You do talk about me?”

He pulled the phone farther away from his face and looked off to the side. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing serious.”

“Aw,” you teased, putting on your sweetest voice. “You love me so much you talk about me to your friends?”

You could practically hear the silence on his end. He was blushing and that made your smile grow wider. 

Otoya scoffed and shook his head. “What.”

Right then, he shifted the phone a little, and the angle caught more of the room behind him. A few people were moving around, voices overlapping, and someone in the distance looked like they were arguing over something stupid. Then Otoya checked the screen and frowned again.

“Your food should be here in a minute,” he said, sounding weirdly casual now, like he was trying to save face after getting embarrassed.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You had almost forgotten. “Oh,” you said, and then the knock on your front door rang out at the exact same time. Your face lit up. “Food!” You practically dropped the phone and ran out of the room.

The call stayed connected, though. Otoya was left alone on-screen, staring at your empty bed with a very awkward expression on his face. He scratched the back of his head. “Awkward…”

Before he could say anything else, a deep voice came from behind him. “Otoya.”

He flinched so hard it was almost funny. You could barely see the person at first, only a tall figure stepping into the edge of the frame. Otoya’s whole body tensed up immediately.

“What’s up, Rin?” he asked, sounding way less confident now.

Rin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the phone. “What the fuck are you doing looking at the screen like that?”

Otoya cleared his throat. “On call… with a friend.”

At that exact second, your voice floated through the speaker from the other room “Otoya! They forgot my ranch!”

There was a brief pause and Rin raised a brow.

You came back into view a few seconds later, holding your food tray in one hand and a fry in the other. You walked into the kitchen while chewing, then set the phone up against a water bottle so you could keep talking while you fixed the missing ranch situation.

“Otoya—” You stopped.

A second voice was now on the call.

You stared at the screen, then at the tall dark-haired guy standing behind Otoya.

“Uh…” You tilted your head. “Who’s that?”

Rin’s eyes shifted to the phone, and you could see his expression flatten a little as he processed your face.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yeah?” you said at the exact same time.

Then you both froze. Your eyes widened when you got a better look at him. It took maybe two seconds before your brain caught up.

“Holy shit,” you blurted. “You look so much like—”

“Itoshi Sae,” he said flatly, already sounding tired of the conversation.

And in the background, Otoya completely lost it. You could hear him crashing out before you even looked over. He was pacing now with one hand on his head.  “Of course,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Of fucking course.”

You blinked a few times, still staring at Rin. “Wait… are you…?”

“His younger brother,” Rin said. “Yes.”

His tone made it sound like he had been asked the most obvious question in the world. Then, almost like he couldn’t resist, he added, “Why? Does he talk shit about me?”

That pulled a small laugh out of you. You set your plate down and leaned closer to the phone, resting your hands on the counter.

“Actually, it’s better than that,” you said. “He mentions you every time he and I hang out.”

Rin’s expression shifted for the slightest second. Not much, just enough for you to notice. A little irritation and a little surprise.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. You should definitely unblock him though.”

Rin stared at you for a second like he was deciding whether that was advice or an insult.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered. Then his gaze narrowed slightly.

“Aren’t you that girl from those dating rumors with my brother?”

You nearly choked on air. “Uh… yeah?” You scratched the back of your neck. “But we’re not dating. He told me he wasn’t interested in dating.”

Rin gave a quiet hum and looked away like he didn’t care nearly as much as he sounded

“Okay.” That was all he said before he started walking off, disappearing from the edge of the camera like the conversation had already bored him.

Otoya immediately leaned back into view, pointing at the screen like he was trying to reclaim the entire call.

“Hey don’t just forget about me.” Otoya said loudly.

You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth. “You’re jealous.”

He made an offended noise and rubbed his face with one hand. “I’m not…?”

“Sure.” You glanced at the tray and then back at him, still smiling. You leaned back in your chair, a half-eaten chicken sandwich dangling from your fingers. 

Otoya’s face appeared first blurry, then sharpening into that familiar smirk you’d grown used to over the past few weeks. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead, and the low light of his room made his eyes gleam with something unreadable.

“Gosh, I guess I attract quite the crowd, huh?” you said, digging your hands into the brown paper bag that sat beside your vase. The rustle of the bag punctuated your words, and you pulled out another fry, popping it into your mouth with exaggerated satisfaction.

Otoya’s camera angle shifted—he must have adjusted his phone—and suddenly you could see more of him. “I deadass can’t call you in peace. Why is everything so fixed on you?” His tone was teasing, but there was a genuine edge of irritation beneath it.

You shrugged, licking salt off your thumb. “Dunno. I guess I have a lot of aura.” You grinned, then remembered your manners. “Anyways, thank you, eitaaaa!” You formed a small heart with your fingers, pressing it against the camera as if he could feel it through the screen.

Otoya scratched the back of his head, looking away for a second. “No big deal…” he mumbled, then his gaze snapped back. “Oh, did you ever open the package I sent you?”

Mid-bite into your chicken sandwich, you froze. The breading crunched between your teeth as you chewed slowly, processing his words. “That was you?” You set the sandwich down, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “Oh my god, I was scared some weird creep knew my home address. I almost threw it out.”

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. “No shit? I swore I told you like a week ago. I even texted you the tracking number.”

“Not gonna lie, I don’t really open packages… what was in it, though?” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued.

“Uh… just something…” He trailed off, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You raised a brow before pushing yourself up from the chair. “Okay, package reveal time?!” You scanned the room, trying to remember where you’d tossed the nondescript box. “I’m not sure where I threw it…”

“Oh, so we’re just throwing my gifts around now?” Otoya’s voice dripped with mock offense, and you could almost hear the grin in his words.

You laughed, the sound echoing in your small apartment as you shuffled through piles of clothes and old textbooks. Your eyes landed on the corner near your closet—a brown parcel peeking out from behind a stack of shoes. “Ah! Found it. It’s kinda fat... What did you buy me now?” You grabbed it, the weight surprising you, and plopped back down in front of the camera. Your forgotten sandwich sat cooling on the desk.

“I figured… you’d like it.” His voice softened, losing its teasing edge. “I saw it online and figured you may want it.”

You tore the bag open, the tape giving way with a satisfying rip. Inside, nestled in crinkled tissue paper, was a black jacket. The material was thick, high-quality—and the hood was lined with plush, dark fur that looked impossibly soft. You held it up, the weight of it heavy and comforting in your hands.

“O-M-G.” Your voice climbed an octave. “NO FUCKING WAY! OTOYA, YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO!” You stood up, holding the jacket against your body, feeling the fur brush against your cheek. The lining was silky, and the sleeves hung just a little long—perfect for an oversized, cozy look. “I’m literally gonna kiss you.”

Otoya’s composure cracked. A flush crept up his neck, and he let out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head again. “I don’t know, guys… I think she likes it.” He shifted, the phone angle wobbling as he adjusted his posture. His ego was clearly inflated, but there was a nervous energy in the way he kept touching his hair.

“Bro, if you were here, I’d literally make out with you—no way, you did a good job.” You meant every word. The jacket was perfect—stylish, warm, and utterly unexpected. You draped it over the back of your chair and sat down, still buzzing with excitement.

Your praise hit him like a physical blow. He coughed, his eyes dropping to his lap for a brief moment before meeting yours again. “Gee… stop it. I’m getting hard.” The words came out low, almost a mutter, but the camera picked them up clearly.

You cringed, your cheeks heating. “I did not need to know that.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I can’t control myself.” He scoffed, but his lips twitched into a smirk. “You should try it on. I want to see how it fits.”

You glanced at the jacket, then back at the camera. “Maybe tomorrow. I have plans with Sae. I might as well make the fit worth it.”

Otoya’s expression shifted. His smile faded, replaced by a flat, unreadable look. He stared at you for a long moment, and the silence stretched thin. “You still talk to him?”

You furrowed your brows, confused by the sudden shift. “Why wouldn’t I? We literally text each other every day. He’s my friend.”

“I dunno… it’s weird.” He looked away, jaw tightening.

“How is that weird?” You pressed, leaning forward. “We’ve been friends for months. It’s not like I’m going to drop him just because—”

“Never mind.” He sighed, cutting you off. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken jealousy.

You both stayed quiet. The hum of the laptop fan filled the void. You picked at the edge of the jacket’s sleeve, unsure what to say. Finally, Otoya broke the silence.

“I should probably go shower now. I don’t want Ego getting mad at me for being late to practice tomorrow.” He picked up the phone, the camera jostling as he walked into a hallway. You caught a glimpse of a tidy room, a poster of some band on the wall, before the angle settled on his face again.

“What’s up with that dude? He’s so strict.” You laughed, grateful for the change in topic.

“You should see him with the others… the favoritism goes crazy.” He chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “He lets Isagi get away with shit, but the rest of us? One wrong step and we’re running laps until we puke.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Right… but anyways, thank you for the food and the jacket. I love it.” You said the last words softly, meaning them.

Otoya’s expression softened. “It’s whatever, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your girlfriend.”

He stopped walking. The camera steadied as he leaned against a wall, his face inches from the lens. “What if I want you to be?”

The question hung in the air, charged and honest. Your heart hammered, but you kept your voice steady. “Ask me properly, and we’ll see.”

“Right, right.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Goodnight. Love you.” The words came easily, as if he’d been holding them back for weeks.

You froze. “Whatever.” You waited for him to hang up, but he didn’t.

“Say it back.” His voice was low, commanding.

“Are you serious—”

“Yes.” He didn’t blink.

You groaned loudly, the sound echoing in your room. “Goodnight.”

“…And?”

“I’M NOT SAYING I LOVE YOU.” You yelled at the phone, then jabbed the end-call button before he could respond.

The screen went dark. You stared at your reflection in the black glass, your cheeks flushed, your breath uneven. The jacket laid across your chair, a silent testament to the boy who had just made your heart race and your stomach twist.

As for Otoya. The water was scalding hot, almost punishing, but Otoya welcomed it. He stood under the spray, hands braced against the cool tiles as rivulets streamed down his back, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his spine, the dip of his waist. The bathroom was thick with steam, fogging the mirror until his reflection became nothing but a ghostly silhouette in the haze.

But the heat did nothing to ease the tension coiling in his gut. He couldn't stop thinking about you. The way you said "I'm literally gonna kiss you" with that breathless, excited voice that sent a jolt straight to his groin.

His cock was already hard—had been hard since the call ended. The ache was persistent, throbbing, pressing painfully against the inside of his thigh as he stood there, trying to breathe through it.

"Fuck." The word escaped him like a surrender. He looked down, watching the water cascade over his flushed skin, watching the way his dick twitched and strained, desperate for attention. His hand moved before he could think about it, fingers wrapping around the slick, heated length, and he groaned—a low, guttural sound that echoed off the tile walls.

He jerked himself slowly at first, teasing, letting the heat of the water and the memory of your voice build the fantasy in his mind. He imagined your hands instead of his, gripping him with that same playful energy you had on the call.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he muttered to the empty shower, his voice rough. "You'd fucking love it."

His strokes grew faster, more desperate. The slap of his hand against his skin was loud in the enclosed space, mixing with the drumming of water. He pictured bending you over the edge of your bed as he fucked into you from behind. He imagined the sounds you'd make—little gasps, broken moans, your voice saying his name like a prayer.

The thought made his hips buck into his fist, chasing the friction, chasing the release that was building hot and tight in his belly.

He was close. So close. His breathing came in ragged pants, his muscles tensing, his mind filled with nothing but you.

With a choked moan, he came. White ropes of cum splattered against the shower wall, painted in stark contrast against the cream tile, some of it washing away instantly in the streaming water. His body shuddered through the aftershocks, his forehead pressing against the cool tile as he gasped for air, his hand still loosely wrapped around his spent cock.

The steam curled around him, thick and obscuring.

"Otoya, quit jerkin' yerself and hurry up!" Hiori's voice rang out from the other side of the door, sharp and amused. "Some of us have places to be!"

He flinched so hard he nearly slipped.

Otoya's jaw clenched. He looked at the mess on the wall, the evidence of his desperation still glistening under the spray.

He scoffed, turning his head toward the door. "Fuck off!" he shouted back, his voice hoarse but defiant.

There was a beat of silence, then Hiori's laughter—light and mocking—filtered through the wood. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't take all night."

Otoya rolled his eyes, even though no one could see him. He reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his palm as he tried to push the thoughts of you to the back of his mind. But it was impossible.

He finished his shower quickly after that, scrubbing his skin raw as if he could wash away the want. But as he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist, he caught his reflection in the now-fogged mirror. He wiped a hand across it, clearing a streak of glass, and stared at himself.

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss @luvvcharxo @shimiyayshimiyaydrank @megameowsticmeat @redsandroses @snowymafui @k4ss11333 @ratg4n @pookiei-bookie @justanotherweeb666 @akaashiit @90s-belladonna @yayamrata @youdontneedtoknowlol

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 4

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , later smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

a/n: sorrryyy tjis took long!! I wanted to make this chapter longer and as interesting as possible ! also slight rinsagi mentioned…. 🥹

prev — next

It had been a couple of days since you last texted him, or more accurately, since he last texted you. You tried not to think too much about it, but the thought kept creeping back in anyway. It was not like you expected constant replies, but this long?

You exhaled and stared at your phone. It made sense, right? He was in Blue Lock. His coach was probably strict, and their schedule had to be packed. He was busy.

At least, that was what you kept telling yourself. Still, he had not even read your last message. And there was no way you were double texting. That would make you look desperate, and you were not about to give him that impression.

What really made you question the whole guy-friend thing was how they always seemed to disappear for some random amount of time, then text you later like nothing happened. It made you wonder why you had even bothered.

“Y/n, but you texted him.” Yeah, because you were bored.

“Y/n, but he is interested.” Well, you’re not and you had made that perfectly clear.

“Y/n, but—” Shut the fuck up!!

The whole thing was starting to annoy you, and you were seriously considering that this would be the first and last time you ever let yourself deal with something like this.

You needed a breather. Getting this worked up over something stupid was not helping, and stress only made your skin break out, which was the last thing you needed. So you pulled on a warm jacket, wrapped a scarf around your neck, and stepped outside.

Snow drifted down softly as you walked, quiet and slow. You were bored. Completely bored. And being alone made it worse.

You stared down at your phone, the black screen reflecting your face back at you. “I look good,” you muttered to yourself.

So you snapped a quick selfie, posted it on Instagram, and added your favorite song to the story. Then you hit post.

Not only that, if Otoya ended up viewing your story, that would mean he was on his phone and still could not be bothered to send something as simple as a “hey, what’s up?”

A cold shiver ran through your body as you kept walking. You had already been outside for half an hour, and now it was getting to the point where turning back felt pointless, but continuing forward felt even worse. The snow kept falling softly around you, dusting your hair and shoulders as you looked around for the nearest person you could ask for directions.

Your eyes landed on a pink-haired guy standing near a window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers.

Without really thinking, you walked up to him.

“Excuse me—” you started, your voice shaking a little from the cold.

The guy immediately cursed under his breath and looked away with a tired expression. “Sorry, I’m not taking photos,” he said flatly.

You blinked in confusion. Photos? “What? Why would I want photos?” you asked, genuinely thrown off.

He glanced around once before putting out his cigarette. After a beat, he looked back at you with a faint look of surprise. “You… do not want photos?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “That is kind of a weird thing to ask a random stranger. Anyway, I was just wondering if you could point me to the nearest café.”

The pink-haired guy stared at you for a second like he could not believe what he was hearing. He could not decide whether he should feel offended that you had no idea who he was or relieved that you had no clue.

Still, this worked out better for him. Maybe he could get directions to his hotel afterward. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “I can take you there. I have only been in town for a few weeks for work, but I have been to that café a few times.”

You walked beside him through the snow, your shoes crunching against the ground. “Only for a few weeks?” you asked. “For work?”

He stayed quiet for a moment before answering, “Yes.”

“Work as what?” you asked, not trying to be nosy, just curious.

He glanced at you from the side. “Are you always this curious?”

You scoffed. “You brought it up first. Not my fault.”

“Fair enough,” he muttered. Then, after a pause, he said, “I play for Japan’s national team.”

You stopped walking for a second, looking at him with widened eyes.

“Wait—like the team that played against Blue Lock?”

He let out a long breath and immediately gave you a sharp look. “Please,” he said dryly. “Politely shut the fuck up. You are going to attract attention.”

You quickly mouthed a small apology. Then he looked at you again, still confused. “How do you know about Blue Lock but not know who I am?”

“To be fair,” you said, rubbing your arms against the cold, “I barely watch soccer. I only know about it because of a friend.”

That seemed to amuse him a little. A quiet laugh escaped him before he looked ahead again. “Strange,” he said. “Anyway, here it is.”

You looked up and saw the café sitting ahead of you. It was perfect. “Thank you,” you said. “How about I buy you something warm?”

He looked hesitant for a moment. “I am not sure. I really should—” A small grunt left him when you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward the entrance.

“I am not taking no for an answer,” you said, leading him inside.

To your surprise, he actually looked amused. In fact, he looked a little more relaxed than he had a minute ago. He had not felt this comfortable around someone in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something good. “My name is Y/n,” you said once you got in line.

He nodded. “Itoshi. Itoshi Sae.”

You smiled. “Nice to meet you, Sae. From now on, we are friends, okay?”

After the two of you ordered warm drinks, you ended up talking for a while. He told you a little about his strained relationship with his brother, and you admitted that you hated relationships in general, which he surprisingly agreed with. At some point, you exchanged socials too.

Eventually, you glanced outside the window and realized the sky had already grown dark. “Guess time really does go by fast,” you said with a laugh.

He nodded, and right then your phone buzzed. You glanced down at the notification.

“@toyaeita liked your story.”

So he was on his phone. You ignored it and turned your attention back to Sae. “Hey,” you said suddenly, “have you ever made a snowman?”

He raised a brow. “Not since I was younger.”

“Perfect. Come on.” He gave you a look, but you were already smiling, already dragging him toward the snow.

The two of you ended up laughing more than you expected to. It had been a long time since you had spent time with someone who felt easy to be around. Together, you made matching snowmen, both of them bundled up in little bits of clothing you found nearby, and you even snapped a picture of your masterpiece.

“Is it okay if I tag you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I do not mind. Maybe you will get a little fame out of it.”

You laughed and posted the photo to your story.

He looked at his phone and reposted the story onto his. Eventually your account blew up with new followers and likes. It seemed he was right. But you weren’t right on the fact a certain someone replied to it.

Your eyebrows furrowed. Why did it matter to him all of a sudden? He had ghosted you for a week, and now he was acting like it was a problem that you had not replied.

You decided to leave him on read. Sae’s snowman’s head suddenly slipped off and hit the ground, grabbing your attention.

“The head fell off!” you snickered, watching him scramble to pick it up.

“No! Don’t die on me!” he yelled dramatically, dropping to his knees like he had lost a close friend.

You burst out laughing. “He’s gone.”

Sae snapped his head toward you, then suddenly charged at you. He tackled you into the snow before rolling off to the side.

“Oh God,” you groaned, spreading your arms out as you laid there. “I think my back is broken.”

He copied you immediately, laying back in the snow too. “Oh please. You are being dramatic.”

You turned your head to him, still laughing a little. It was then that a few fans seemed to notice where he was. Suddenly, excited squeals broke through the air, and Sae’s expression changed immediately.

He stood up fast, but the flash of multiple cameras hit him almost instantly.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, clearly annoyed. Then he looked back at you. “Sorry, Y/n. I think you should go. I do not want you getting caught up in this.”

His voice was quieter now, almost apologetic. You nodded and stood up, brushing the snow off your hands.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said with a small smile. “Thanks for hanging out with me.” You gave him a quick wave before walking away from the growing crowd.

By the time you got home, you were smiling to yourself. For once, it actually felt nice to get your mind off things.

You took a warm shower, got comfortable, and settled in, ready to watch your favorite show. But of course, the universe had other plans. Your phone beeped.

As for Otoya, his plan from the start had been to act friendly and see what you would do. He thought you were a little too energetic for his taste, which only made him more curious. In his mind, the fact that you had seemed so normal with him a few days ago had to mean something. To him, that meant you were interested.

He even told Karasu about it, explaining how he was just going to wait for you to text him first. Karasu could not have cared less about Otoya’s stupid little fantasy.

Still, Otoya kept himself busy and waited. Most of the past few days were spent training, but every now and then he would catch himself thinking you were probably never going to message him again. That thought annoyed him more than he wanted to admit.

He groaned and kicked a ball hard enough to slam straight into the wall. It bounced back fast, and he barely dodged it before it flew across the room and hit Yukimiya right in the face.

“What the fuck?!” Yukimiya shouted, grabbing at his glasses as they fell to the floor.

Otoya froze for half a second, then immediately bolted before he could get blamed for it. He headed back to his room, deciding to just chill for a while. At some point, he had opened Instagram so many times he had lost count. Then he noticed the glowing ring around your profile picture.

Without thinking, he tapped it. Your story opened, showing your face covered in a few snowflakes. It was enough to make him pause for a second before he liked it.

Maybe that would get you to text him first.

Five minutes passed… Then twenty… Then forty… He kept waiting.

At some point, the waiting got boring enough that he fell asleep, and he ended up napping for the next six hours.

When he finally woke up, his body jolted as if he had just remembered something important.

“Y/n—” he muttered, sitting up with a little drool still on his chin.

He unlocked his phone and checked Instagram again. His brows furrowed immediately. You had posted something else.

His eyes landed on the photo of the two snowmen. Then he noticed it a tagged account in the corner.

Itoshi Sae.

For a second, Otoya just stared. Then his eye twitched. Curiosity really did kill the cat, because the second his ego saw Sae’s profile and all those followers, it completely cracked.

He clicked back to the post and started typing fast, barely thinking.

“??? yk sae, what r u doing with him” he sent.

Then he stared at the chat, fists tightening into the sheets beneath him. If he had animal ears, his irritation would have been obvious.

He waited and still no reply. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, finally starting to understand that you were probably mad at him now. Why was he trying so hard just to get a reaction out of you? The whole thing was getting on his nerves. He took it out on the weird-shaped pillow next to him, shoving it aside before flopping back onto the bed.

He was not giving up yet. If he did, that would just make the whole thing even more embarrassing for Otoya Eita. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, exhausted and annoyed, when his phone suddenly started blowing up.

Poor Otoya Eita. The entire group chat was making fun of him, and he hated every second of it. Was this the beginning of the end for his reputation? Absolutely not. He was not about to let that happen.

“Stupid fucks,” he scoffed, tossing his phone aside for a second before snatching it back up again.

Honestly, he was starting to feel like he was losing his mind. The whole thing was getting to him more than he wanted to admit. He just wanted to talk to you. He wanted you to answer. He wanted some kind of reaction, anything at all.

Why could nothing just go the way he wanted?More than anything, he wanted to know one thing. Whether you actually hated him like the others, or whether there was still a chance you did not.

Staring at the text in disbelief, you were about to silence your phone until you were able to feel the desperateness through his messages.

You hated yourself for how easily you forgave him.

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss @luvvcharxo @shimiyayshimiyaydrank @megameowsticmeat @redsandroses

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 3

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , later smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

prev — next

The day after the whole thing, you did not think much of it and went on with your life like usual. You woke up late, went through your normal routine, and spent most of the day doing nothing important.

Later that afternoon, your best friend wanted to hang out and watch today’s football game. She kept talking about how her favorite player, Itoshi Sae, was going to be playing. Soccer was never really your thing. You were more into volleyball, and Oikawa was more your kind of player. Still, you could not really say no. It was her turn to choose, and she had already decided on watching the game and ordering food.

Most of the time, you were not even fully paying attention. You just zoned out while the screen played in the background. Earlier, you and your friend had made a bet on which team would win, and without even knowing much about the teams, you had guessed Blue Lock.

Apparently, you had guessed right.

By the end of the match, the room was full of noise. Your friend was practically throwing a fit over Sae losing and complaining that she now owed you forty bucks. She got up and went to the bathroom, leaving you alone on the couch just as the post-game interviews started.

That was when you actually started paying attention.

One of the players on screen caught your eye. He looked familiar.

“So, Otoya Eita, what message would you want to share with the entire world?” the interviewer asked.

Otoya had one arm hooked around Karasu like he owned the place. “Oh, you know,” he said, grinning at the camera. “This one’s for all the beautiful ladies out there. I love you all.”

He even winked before the camera moved on to someone else.

You froze for a second, then immediately grabbed your phone and pulled up the deleted messages from yesterday. You scrolled back to the photo, then searched his name online and compared his unfiltered face to the one from the picture.

A groan left you as the realization hit.

You had somehow fumbled be-friending a pro soccer player.

For the rest of the night, you kept thinking about whether you should text him. It would be embarrassing, though. You had left him on delivered, after all. Still, it was not like anything could get worse.

So you opened the message, your finger hovering over the keyboard, and typed something small and simple.

You stared at the blank screen for a long moment before groaning and tossing your phone to the other side of the bed.

This was embarrassing.

You could not believe you were even doing this, all for the slight chance of talking to someone with a bit of fame. It felt desperate, and you hated that you cared enough to try anyway. It wasn’t as if you wanted to date him.

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall, trying to ignore it. It was almost midnight. There was a good chance he would not even see it, let alone respond.

Then your phone lit up. A small chat bubble appeared. He was typing.

You squinted at the message, reading it over once, then again. A scoff slipped out before you could stop it.

“Oh? He wants to play that game?” you muttered, a small smirk pulling at your lips as you reached for your phone again.

You didn’t want to admit you seen him on TV. Thay would’ve been extremely rude of you, I mean. Plus, you also didn’t want to boost his ego even more.

It had been a while since you had a new guy friend. Most of the time, whenever you tried, things got weird. They would take your friendliness as something more, and it always ended the same way. You hated that. You hated how quickly things shifted, how it never just stayed simple.

Dating wasn’t something you wanted to deal with anymore. The thought alone made your stomach tighten. Your last relationship had done more damage than you liked to admit. Even now, thinking about it left a bitter feeling sitting heavy in your chest. He hadn’t cared about you. He cheated more than once, and somehow you kept convincing yourself to stay. You told yourself it would get better, that he would change, that what you had meant something. But it didn’t.

Looking back, it was exhausting. Draining in ways you didn’t even realize at the time. But you stayed because you didn’t want to be alone. In the end, he was the one who walked away, which made you look pathetic.

And for a while, that completely wrecked you. It took months to pull yourself out of that place, to finally understand that you deserved better than what he gave you.

Since then, you made a decision to not be in a relationship. No more getting pulled into something that would leave you feeling like that again. Anything more than that wasn’t worth the risk.

You set your phone down beside you, deciding to wait for him to reply instead of sending anything else.

Otoya stared at his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Yeah… he still had it.

Even after that whole mess yesterday, he could still pull someone back in. That alone boosted his mood more than he wanted to admit. Still, he frowned slightly at your message.

Friends?

He leaned back against his pillow, thinking it over. He didn’t love that idea. If anything, he was already aiming for more than that—or at least something a little more interesting. In his head, though, it made sense. You were probably just being careful, not trying to rush anything. At least, that was what he told himself.

Otoya had always been quick to jump to conclusions, and this was no different. It didn’t even cross his mind that you genuinely meant only friends.

With that settled in his head, he sat up and grabbed his phone again, already opening the group chat with Karasu, Yukimiya, and Hiori. No way he was keeping this to himself.

Realizing he didn’t want to make you wait any longer, he came up with an excuse.

A smile spread across your face before you even realized it. You stared at your phone, rereading the messages, the warmth in your chest catching you off guard. It had been a while since you had talked to someone new like this—especially a guy.

For a second, maybe he was different?

The thought slipped in quietly, settling somewhere you couldn’t ignore. Maybe this wouldn’t end the same way the others did. Maybe this time, it would actually last.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb brushing against the edge of your phone.

Then you forced yourself to exhale, the smile softening. It was too early to think like that.

Otoya wasn’t going to sleep. He had said that just to buy himself time. In reality, he was wide awake, staring at his phone. He hadn’t expected you to look like that. And he definitely hadn’t expected the conversation to go this smoothly.

If anything, it felt like things were lining up a little too perfectly.

He leaned back against his headboard, running a hand through his hair as a smirk pulled at his lips. In his head, this was already going exactly how he wanted it to.

“Is this messed up?” he muttered to himself.

He paused for half a second—then shrugged it off. “Nah,” he said under his breath. “She’s probably into me the same way.”

It didn’t even occur to him to question that assumption any further.

With that, he picked his phone back up and opened the group chat again, fingers already moving as he started typing.

Otoya stared at the messages, his expression tightening with irritation. He couldn’t believe they were lecturing him. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

He scoffed under his breath, tossing his phone onto the bed for a second before dragging a hand down his face. In his mind, this was simple. He had done this before. He knew how these things went. He knew what he wanted—and he was convinced he knew what you wanted too.

He didn’t stop to think about where this could go or how it might end. He wasn’t thinking about you as a person with your own expectations—just the situation in front of him, the thrill of it, the way it was already playing out in his favor. No way was he backing off now.

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝓓𝐔𝐌𝐁 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋.” | ʜᴜɢᴏ ᴠɪᴠɪᴀɴ

Ive been wanting to right something with hugoooo ! I hope you guys love this—I’m also going to start making banners for my stories!! | CONTAINS FLUFF & SMUT

The shrill beep of your alarm clock pierced the quiet of your room, but in your groggy haze, you must have hit snooze one too many times. When your eyes finally snapped open to the harsh glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, panic hit you like a freight train. The digital clock on your nightstand which read 8:45 AM. School started at 8:00, and calculus was your first period. With a strangled yelp, you tumbled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your uniform lay crumpled on the chair from the night before—a white blouse with the school emblem embroidered on the collar, a pleated navy skirt that fell just above your knees, knee-high socks, and a red tie that you always struggled to knot properly. There was no time for ironing or precision, you yanked on the blouse, fumbling with the buttons until two were slightly askew, giving the fabric a rumpled look.

The skirt zipped up crookedly, and your hair was a disaster. You raked a brush through it hastily, settling for a loose hairstyle that left stray strands framing your face like a halo of chaos. Grabbing your backpack, you dashed out the door, the screen slamming behind you as you sprinted down the tree-lined street.

The three-block run to school felt eternal, your lungs burning with every gasp of crisp morning air. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk in the autumn breeze, and you dodged a group of early birds chatting by the gates. By the time you reached the calculus classroom door, sweat trickled down your back, and your face was flushed a deep red. Your hand trembled as you gripped the knob, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding. With a deep breath, you shoved the door open.

The bang reverberated through the room like a gunshot. Students jolted in their seats, pencils clattering to desks, and a chorus of whispers erupted. Mr. Hargrove, the stern calculus teacher with his wire-rimmed glasses and perpetual frown, froze mid-sentence, his marker hovering over the whiteboard where he'd been scribbling derivatives. The equation—a tangled mess of x's and integrals—stared back at you accusingly.

“I-I’m so sorry—for being late!” you stammered, bowing so deeply that your hair swung forward. Your voice cracked, already thick with the threat of tears.

Mr. Hargrove's face reddened, his mustache twitching with irritation. “Ms. Y/n! This is unacceptable. How many times must I remind you that punctuality is not optional in my class? You're disrupting everyone—again!” His voice rose, booming off the walls, and he slammed the marker down for emphasis. “No more excuses. Sit down and open your book to page 147. Try to keep up if you can.”

The class tittered—soft laughs from the back, where the popular kids sat, and sympathetic glances from a few kinder souls. But it was the stares that undid you. Twenty five pairs of eyes, judging, amused and pitying. Your chest tightened, a familiar lump forming in your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room.

You were too sensitive, always had been—a bad grade, a sharp word, even a misplaced comment could send you spiraling. Mumbling a final “Sorry, sir,” you hurried to your seat, head down, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Your desk mate, of course, was Hugo. The transfer student from France, with his striking red hair that caught the fluorescent lights like fire and long lashes. He'd arrived mid-semester, his presence turning heads with that effortless charisma and the thick accent that rolled off his tongue like music—or mockery, depending on the day. For you, it was always the latter. He lounged in his chair, uniform impeccable, tie straight, shirt untucked, a faint smirk playing on his lips as you slid into the seat beside him.

You kept your eyes glued to your notebook, scribbling nonsense to avoid looking at him, but his gaze burned into you. The scent of his cologne—something spicy and masculine, like cedar and smoke—invaded your space, making your stomach twist.

“Ah, don’t cry now, ma chérie,” he drawled softly, his voice a low rumble with that French lilt that made every syllable dance. “It’s not your fault you’re such a dumb girl, running late like always, no?” The words dripped with tease, but to your ears, they were venomous, laced with condescension.

Dumb girl. It stung deeper than the teacher's yell. Why did he always target you? You'd never crossed him, never even initiated a conversation beyond polite nods. Tears welled up fully now, spilling over as you bit your lip to stifle a whimper. The classroom closed in—the whispers growing louder “She's crying already? Over being late?”, Mr. Hargrove's ongoing lecture a distant drone, Hugo's amused stare. It was unbearable. You surged to your feet, chair scraping shrilly against the tile, and fled the room, sobs bursting free as you ran down the echoing hallway.

Hugo watched you go, a soft scoff escaping his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms, that smirk deepening into something almost fond. “Can’t handle a joke? Quelle fille stupide,” he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk in idle rhythm.

To him, your sensitivity was adorable—a rare spark of genuine emotion in the monotonous grind of high school. The way your eyes shimmered with tears? It stirred something primal, a thrill that quickened his pulse. But you saw only rudeness, another reason to weave through crowds to avoid the red-haired guy who seemed to haunt your days.

Months had passed in this pattern, his teasing barbs flying your way no matter how you dodged. In the cafeteria, he'd slide into the seat across from you uninvited. “Hey dummy, that sandwich looks as sad as your grades.”

During group projects in history, he'd lean over. “Let me explain it simply, okay? For the sensitive one.”

Even in the library, burying yourself in books, he'd appear. “Hiding again? Afraid of a little chat?”

Each time, his accent softened the blow just enough to confuse you—was it malice or playfulness? But the tears came anyway, and you'd retreat, leaving him chuckling in your wake.

The breaking point, or turning point, came on a Thursday afternoon after school. The final bell had chimed like freedom, and the hallways buzzed with students eager for the weekend. You lingered at your locker, methodically stacking textbooks, your mind replaying the day's minor disasters. A skipped lunch, a confusing pop quiz in biology. In your distraction, you turned too sharply, your water bottle slipping from your grasp. It tumbled, cap loose, and splashed across Rei's pristine khaki pants—the star midfielder of the soccer team, surrounded by his rowdy crew.

The dark stain spread like ink, and Rei’s face contorted in fury. “What the hell? Are you blind or just stupid?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the chatter. His friends hooted, egging him on as he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I-I'm so sorry!” you gasped, dropping to your knees to blot at the mess with a napkin from your bag. Your hands shook, heart hammering. “It was an accident—I’ll pay for it, I swear!”

Rei wasn't having it. He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back sharply enough to make you yelp. The pain shot through your scalp, tears instant and flooding. “Do you know how much these cost? Fucking idiot—apologize like you mean it!” He raised his free hand, as if to strike, his buddies laughter turning darker.

You froze, puffy eyes streaming, accepting the humiliation because fighting back felt impossible. “Please, I'm sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking.

Then, a voice sliced through the chaos: “I think that’s enough. Are you really going to hit a girl over some water? Pathetic.” The accent was unmistakable and commanding.

You blinked through your tears to see Hugo materializing from the crowd, his hand clamped firmly on Rei’s wrist. His red hair was tousled from the day's wind, uniform jacket open to reveal the white shirt beneath, and his eyes narrowed in quiet threat.

Rei wrenched free, rubbing his arm with a scowl. “Mind your business, Frenchie. This doesn't concern you.” But his bravado faltered under Hugo's steady gaze—rumors of the transfer student's no-nonsense attitude had circulated, and Rei’s crew shifted uneasily.

“Fuck off,” Hugo said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rei muttered a curse, shoving past his friends as they dispersed, the hallway emptying around you.

You stayed kneeling, sniffling, mortified that Hugo out of all people had intervened. Wiping your face, you avoided his eyes, the embarrassment burning hotter than the scalp tug.

“Hey, dumb girl,” he said, crouching down, his voice gentler than usual. He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Tear tracks streaked your cheeks, and he studied them with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Stop the crying. Everyone’s staring now. Makes you look even more... pathetic.” Before you could respond, he pulled you up and into his chest, arms encircling you in a hug that was surprisingly tender. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, a contrast to your ragged sobs.

The embrace broke something in you. You clung to his shirt, crying harder, the rough afternoon pouring out in hiccuping waves. Rei’s anger, the stares, the constant feeling of being too much, it all crashed down.

Hugo sighed, his hand stroking your back in slow, awkward circles. “Quelle honte... Viens, on rentre chez toi.” The words rumbled softly, meaningless but comforting.

You lifted your head, confusion mingling with the tears. “...What?”

He exhaled sharply, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but his hold didn't loosen. “I said, let’s get you home, dumb girl. We can’t stay like this in the hall.”

Numbly, you nodded, letting him guide you out of the school. The twenty-minute walk to your house unfolded like a dream, the autumn sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the suburban streets. Hugo matched your pace, his presence a solid anchor beside you. At first, silence hung heavy, broken only by your occasional sniffles. Then he started talking, his teasing light but persistent.

“So, what happened there? You always finding trouble, huh? Dumb girl can’t even hold a bottle straight.” He nudged your elbow, a playful glint in his eye.

You shot him a watery glare, but it lacked heat. “It was an accident. And stop calling me that—I’m not dumb.” Your voice wobbled, but the walk's rhythm soothed you, the crisp air clearing your head.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the houses. “Not dumb? Thats debatable. But... it’s cute, how you react. Like a little kitten, all claws and no bite.” His accent wrapped the words in warmth. Making you wonder if there was affection beneath the jokes.

The conversation meandered from there. He shared snippets of France. The crowded Paris metros the smell of fresh corner bakeries, how he'd left behind a big family that argued loudly but loved fiercely. “My mother would say you need toughening up. But you’re lucky I like you soft.” He glanced at you sideways, his expression unreadable.

Emboldened, you opened up too. About your parents high expectations, how a single harsh word from a teacher could leave you reeling for hours. “I know it's silly, crying over everything. I just... can't help it.” You kicked at a fallen leaf, watching it skitter away.

Hugo's teasing paused, his voice turning serious. “Not silly. Rare, thats what. After all you’re human.” He bumped your shoulder again, lingering this time. “And maybe a bit adorable, even if you’re a dumb girl.”

By the time you reached your porch, the awkwardness had eased into something companionable. The house was quiet due to your parents at work—and you fumbled with your keys, hyper-aware of him behind you.

“Thanks for walking me,” you murmured, turning to face him. “And for... earlier. With Rei.”

He shrugged, but his eyes darkened, roaming over your tear-streaked face with new intensity. “If you’re still feeling horrible... I could make it better. Take your mind off it all.” His voice lowered, voice thickening like honey.

Unsure but trusting the odd comfort he'd shown, you nodded. “Okay.”

Time blurred in a haze until you found yourself on the bed, positioned on all fours, skirt hiked up around your waist, blouse clinging to your skin. Hugo knelt behind you, his pants shoved down just enough, his thick cock pressing insistently at your entrance. With a firm grip on your hips, he thrust in without warning—filling you completely in one deep push.

You cried out, the sudden stretch overwhelming, tears springing to your eyes as your body adjusted to his size. He was too big, the burn intense, but slickness eased the way as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward relentlessly. His hand fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the pillow to stifle your loud sobs, the fabric muffling your whimpers into desperate, choked sounds.

“Thaaats it,” Hugo groaned, his voice husky with pleasure, accent slurring as ecstasy twisted his features. Your tears soaked the pillowcase, and even without seeing, he knew the knowledge alone made his cock twitch inside you, arousal spiking at your vulnerability. He pounded harder, the bed frame creaking in protest, his uniform tie swinging like a pendulum with each brutal thrust. “Such a sensitive little thing, taking my cock like you were made for it. So tight, so wet... you love being my dumb girl, don’t you?”

The roughness bordered on pain, his girth stretching you to the brink, but pleasure coiled deep in your core, building with every drag and slam. You clawed at the sheets, body rocking forward, tears streaming freely now as sobs wracked you. He didn't relent, one hand pinning your hip while the other kept your head down, silencing the cries that fueled his desire. Him imagining your puffy, tear-filled eyes only drove him wilder, his pace erratic, breaths coming in harsh pants.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of sensation, the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your muffled pleas blending with his teasing growls. “Look at you, whimpering into the pillow. Can’t even handle a real man, huh? But you take it so well—” He shifted angles slightly, hitting deeper, grinding against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Sweat beaded on his forehead, red hair sticking to his skin, uniform shirt untucked and damp as he rutted into you.

Your body trembled, overwhelmed, the mix of hurt and bliss pushing you toward the edge. But Hugo wasn't done. With a low curse in French, he pulled out abruptly, the loss making you whine into the pillow. His hands flipped you onto your back, skirt splaying out, blouse riding up to expose your stomach. He loomed over you, eyes locking onto your face—sobbing, red-rimmed, and utterly wrecked. The sight hit him like lightning; tears tracked down your cheeks, lips parted in gasps, and it shattered his control.

“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he rasped, sliding back in with a single, forceful thrust that buried him to the hilt. You arched, fresh tears spilling as he resumed his brutal pace, now face-to-face. He watched every sob, every flutter of your lashes, the vulnerability amplifying his pleasure. “Thats why I call you dumb girl—look at you, falling apart on my cock. Makes me want to ruin you more.”

His thrusts grew frantic, hips pistoning as he chased release, the bed shaking violently. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, body coiling tighter under the onslaught. The friction built unbearably, his thickness dragging along your walls, hitting every sensitive point. “Please—Hugo—” you sobbed, the words garbled through tears.

Seeing your crying face up close undid him completely. With a guttural moan, he pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock to spill hot ropes of cum across your stomach, painting your exposed skin and the hem of your blouse in sticky white. His body shuddered, pleasure etching lines of bliss on his face as he milked every drop, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked one.

But he wasn't finished with you. Panting, he pushed back inside, the slick mix of your arousal and his cum easing the way. “Not yet, you still need to cum.” His fingers descended to your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles as he fucked you steadily, drawing out your peak. The overstimulation was intense. His cock still throbbing, filling you again and again, combined with the targeted pressure, it hurled you over the edge.

You shattered, back bowing off the bed, a wail tearing from your throat as orgasm crashed through you. Waves of ecstasy pulsed around him, tears flooding anew as your body clenched and released in rhythmic spasms. Hugo groaned, riding it out, his movements slowing to gentle rocks until you went limp, spent and sobbing softly.

“See? Feel better now?” His voice was soft and teasing as it faded to tenderness. He wiped away the last of your tears, smiling.

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 2

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , later smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

prev — next

The next morning, Otoya and Karasu went to get breakfast. Otoya was in a terrible mood and made no effort to hide it. He still couldn’t believe he got shut down that hard by some girl he didn’t even know.

“Otoya, stop pouting. You look stupid,” Karasu said, casually eating his rice.

“Shut it, Karasu,” Otoya muttered, taking a bite of his toast.

A few footsteps sounded behind them. Karasu turned to see Yukimiya walking over, with Hiori right beside him.

“What’s up, guys!” Yukimiya greeted in a cheerful tone, setting his tray down in front of them. Hiori followed and sat down quietly.

“What’s up, Yuki. Hiori,” Karasu nodded.

Hiori only managed a small “hi” before dropping his head onto the table, clearly exhausted.

“Woah whats up with him?” Karasu mumbled.

Yukimiya sighed, “His stupid ass greened out earlier and now hes feeling like shit.” “Not only that, Ego found out and confiscated his blinker.” He shook his head in disappointment.

Hiori let out a quiet whine, his voice muffled against the table. “That was my last one… It was supposed to last until we got to break…”

He forced himself to sit up just enough to take a small bite of his pancake, absentmindedly poking at the rest with his fork.

Yukimiya and Karasu exchanged a glance, both of them clearly realizing they were dealing with moody teammates this morning.

“Otoya’s pissed too,” Karasu added. “He texted some girl yesterday, and apparently she completely wrecked his ego.”

Yukimiya nearly choked on his food, his face scrunching up before he burst out laughing. “No fucking way. How did he even manage to get in contact with a girl?”

Karasu sighed, shaking his head. “He mistyped your number and ended up texting some random person instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Otoya muttered, glaring down at his plate. “You’re acting like it’s a big deal.”

Hiori lifted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “If you’re that desperate, just date Chigiri. He’s close enough.”

Otoya slowly looked up at him, unimpressed. “No offense, but I don’t swing that way.” He paused, frowning. “And isn’t he dating Kunigami?”

“Oooh… not gonna lie, I think they broke up,” Yukimiya said, scratching the back of his head. “Remember? He got locked off.”

“Actually! They’re just friends!” A bright voice cut in from the side. Bachira had somehow inserted himself into the conversation.

“Bachira… let’s stay out of other people’s business…!” Isagi whispered urgently, giving the group a quick apologetic smile as he dragged Bachira away.

The four of them sat there in silence for a moment, exchanging confused looks.

“Well, that settles it,” Hiori muttered, resting his chin back on the table. Then he glanced at Otoya. “Why don’t you just try texting her again?”

Otoya shook his head. “I think she blocked me.” He leaned back slightly, trying to sound unfazed. “Besides, I could do way better than some random number.”

The other three just stared at him, unconvinced, but chose not to argue.

“Yeah, alright,” Karasu said after a moment, pushing his tray aside as he stood. “Come on. Don’t forget we’re playing against the U-20 team today.”

The others got up as well, tossing their trash before heading out to get ready.

After the game, everyone split off to celebrate in their own way. Otoya didn’t bother with any of it. He headed straight back to Blue Lock, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed.

He knocked out almost immediately. At some point later, he woke up to the sound of his phone going off nonstop.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“What the fuck…?” he groaned, barely conscious as he reached for it. His eyes were still half-closed, and the brightness of the screen hit him hard, making him squint.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, deciding he might as well stay up for a bit and scroll through his phone.

A couple of hours passed just like that.

It was almost eleven now, and Otoya lay flat on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram reels. The day felt a lot better compared to that morning. Not only had they won, but he had also managed to get a few numbers from girls who were watching the game.

Who knew he was this popular.

Just as he was about to swipe to the next video, a text notification popped up.

His eyes narrowed at the contact name. “Future girl ong 🤣”

“…What?”

He sat up slightly, curiosity instantly kicking in. He tapped the message open—then immediately backed out of it, like he had just realized something.

Without wasting a second, he switched over to his group chat with Karasu, Yukimiya, and Hiori and started typing.

Realizing he took a bit to answer, he quickly thought on how to respond back.

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 1

synopsis : you end up receiving a text message from an unknown number , which later you decide to mess with him a bit after realizing he was a famous soccer player.

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

warnings : jokes , later smut , f slurs , underaged smoking and drinking , toxic relationships, etc

next

It was just another day at Blue Lock. With the teams split into different groups, everyone was pretty much cut off from their friends unless they used their phones.

The problem was, Otoya had broken his phone a few weeks ago, and after begging Ego for a replacement, he had somehow actually gotten one.

The real issue was that he had lost everyone’s contacts. Every single one of them.

So now, he had to ask his best friend, Karasu, for everyone’s numbers one by one.

“Uh, what’s Yuki’s number?” Otoya asked, holding his phone out while casually kicking a ball into the empty net.

“It should be 432-728-7229,” Karasu mumbled.

Otoya gave him a quick thumbs-up. “Okay.”

Without bothering to double-check, he typed the number into his phone as fast as he could.

Then he glanced up at Karasu and lifted his camera. “Look over here.”

He opened the camera app and snapped a photo of the two of them with some stupid filter on it.

You were minding your own business, enjoying a quiet night while catching up on a series you had dropped a while ago. Then your phone buzzed three times in a row from an unknown number.

“Who’s this..?” you muttered, frowning as you opened the notification. What you found was not an answer. It was a very interesting photo of two guys wearing a ridiculous filter.

“Oh!” you blurted out, your expression shifting from confusion to concern in an instant. After a second, you started typing back.

You stared at the message for a minute. Yuki? The only Yuki you knew was Yuki, your cat. Maybe it was some guy from your school. Maybe. But your brain wasn’t giving you anything useful, and no face or name was coming to mind. Just to be sure, you decided to ask before assuming anything.

Otoya stared down at his phone screen, still confused. Then he looked over at Karasu, who was lingering nearby.

“Yo…” he called. “YO! KARASU. GET YOUR FUCKING ASS HERE.” he shouted, finally getting Karasu’s attention. Karasu jogged over with a tired look on his face.

“Damn, bruh, what are you yelling for? Did Yukimiya text you back?”

Otoya shoved his phone in Karasu’s face. “I don’t remember Yukimiya having a pair of tits.”

Karasu glanced at the unknown number on the screen and immediately went rigid. “You idiot. I said 432, not 422.”

Otoya tilted his head. “Oh. Oops.”

Then, almost immediately, he grinned. “Well, I guess the gods have blessed me with a new opportunity.”

Karasu snorted. “Are you deadass about to hit on a stranger?”

“Look, she’s got a nice pair—and I’m desperate for some female interaction,” Otoya said. “I need to know if I still got game.”

Karasu threw the soccer ball at his head. “Just say woman interaction. It’s rude to call a woman a female.”

He crossed his arms. “This is why you got no girlfriend.”

Otoya tried to kick the ball back at him, but missed completely. Still, his attention quickly returned to the random girl he had texted by mistake.

At first, you figured he had simply gotten the wrong number and that would be the end of it. After all, he hadn’t responded for five minutes.

But you were wrong. A few moments later, another notification came through.

Otoya stared at the message, blinking like he had read it wrong. Then it sank in. “She said I look dumb…?”

He went completely still for a second before dropping to his knees in pure disbelief. His grip tightened around his brand-new phone, and for a split second, it really looked like he was about to launch it across the field. But the thought of Ego finding out stopped him immediately.

Instead, he made a dramatic throwing motion at absolutely nothing, flicking his wrist toward the empty field like he had just hurled it anyway. “What the fuck!?” Otoya groaned. “I’m literally SO fine.”

Karasu didn’t even try to hide his laughter. “See? You just can’t attract women.”

Otoya shot him a look. “Oh, shut up.”

“You’re too stupid,” Karasu added, shaking his head. “Plus… it was probably the filter.”

Otoya scoffed, brushing himself off as he stood back up. “Whatever, bro. I’m just gonna text Yuki.” Otoya did NOT text Yukimiya. He opened his camera to make sure he didn’t look chopped and then glanced back down at the chat one more time, still mildly offended.

[koufukumino]

my view on the world changed oh my god❤️‍🩹

[muriscenes]

kissing rin after giving him head, even though he hates it!

inspired by — @itoshigaze :3

Rin's favorite thing to receive from you was your head skills. Every time he won a game, he wanted you on your knees. Every time he lost a game, he wanted you on your knees. You never minded at all. After all, you loved pleasuring your man in that way. But one thing you hated was how he always refused to kiss you afterward.

The idea of him tasting his own cum on your lips turned him off completely. You thought it was stupid. I mean, you always allowed him to kiss you right after he ate you out. So, why was that a huge deal?

Today, you decided that would change. He was coming home around six and he had already told you that he wanted you on your knees the moment he laid down on that bed.

Rin walked in, looking tired from his day but with that familiar spark in his eyes when he saw you waiting in the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his clothes quickly, and climbed onto the bed. Laying against the pillows, his cock already starting to harden as he spread his legs slightly. You moved toward him without a word, dropping to your knees between his thighs on the soft mattress.

You started with your usual routine. Licking the tip of his cock slowly, tasting the salty pre-cum that had gathered there. Your tongue circled the head, pressing flat against the sensitive underside. Rin let out a soft sigh, his hands resting on the sheets beside him. You wrapped your fingers around the base of his shaft and began rubbing up and down in firm strokes, feeling the veins pulse under your palm. You took more of him into my mouth, sliding your lips down the length until you reached halfway, then pulled back with a slight pop that echoed in the quiet room.

His groans grew louder as you repeated the motion, sucking harder each time. Bobbing your head steadily, hand twisting gently at the base to add extra friction.

Rin shifted his hips, thrusting upward into my mouth to push his cock deeper. The sudden movement made you gag a little, throat tightening around him involuntarily. He grabbed a handful of your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, and used that grip to guide me. He forced you down faster, making you take him deeper with each thrust.

The room filled with the wet sounds of your mouth working on him—slurps and pops mixing with his increasing moans. You could feel his cock throbbing against your tongue, growing even harder as you increased the suction. Rin bucked his hips again, driving into your throat.

Every time he was close to cumming, his right thigh would twitch slightly, the muscle contracting under his skin. So you quickened your pace right then, sucking vigorously and stroking the base with your hand in rapid motions. His groans turned into deeper, more urgent sounds. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling just enough to sting.

With a loud groan that filled the bedroom, Rin came with a loud groan. His cock pulsed hard in your mouth, shooting thick ropes of cum straight down your throat.

You kept your lips sealed around him, swallowing some but holding the rest in your mouth as he finished. His body relaxed, as he released my hair and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“You’re the best, baby,” he muttered, his voice husky and satisfied. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.

You kept the warm, salty pool of cum in your mouth, savoring the taste. Without wasting time, you climbed onto the bed and straddled his crotch, positioning your weight on his hips. His eyes opened, and he looked up at you with confusion creasing his brow. You leaned forward, face inches from his.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice uncertain. He placed his hands on your shoulders and tried to push you back gently.

You ignored him and closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a firm kiss. He turned his head slightly, trying to avoid it, but you held his face with one hand and captured his mouth anyway. His eyes widened in surprise. Releasing the cum into his, letting it mix with his saliva and tongues mixing.

Rin whimpered against your lips. “Baby, wait—” he protested, his words muffled. He used his hands to push at my chest, exerting all his strength to create space between us. His legs shifting as he tried to twist away.

You didn’t let him escape as you grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them above his head against the headboard. Your body weight kept him in place, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. You kissed him more aggressively, forcing your tongue past his lips and into his mouth. The cum transferred fully, coating his tongue and the inside of his cheeks. He squirmed beneath you, bucking his hips upward in an attempt to throw you off, but that only pressed his softening cock against your core.

He resisted hard, turning his head side to side, but you followed his movements, keeping both mouths locked. His breaths came in short gasps through his nose, and his tongue pushed back against yours, then more deliberately as the taste spread. You held him down completely, forcing the kiss until he had no choice but to accept it.

Finally, with a loud gasp, you pulled away, breaking the contact. Strings of saliva and cum connected your lips for a second before snapping. You smiled down at him, feeling triumphant. “See, Rinnie? Perfectly fine.”

Rin laid there, staring up at the ceiling with his mouth covered by one hand. His cheeks flushed a deep red, spreading to his neck. He looked shocked and embarrassed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn’t sure to feel turned on or scared. But his body betrayed him as his cock began to harden again beneath you, twitching against your thigh. The evidence of his arousal was clear, growing firmer with each passing second.

[rinskazuu]

→ it's the same every time, like a waltz ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ text messages between you and your bllk boyfriend. it feels as though your inescapable toxic relationship is an endless, vicious cycle doomed to inevitably die in bitter words and lack of understanding.

featuring. ꨄ︎ fem!reader x sae, kaiser, hugo, bunny, otoya, karasu, aiku, rin, isagi, ness, yukimiya, shidou, barou (separate)

includes. ꨄ︎ cursing, pet names, gaslighting, toxic patterns, angst, might be ooc (bunny), basically the bllk men being emotional bricks and/or clueless

notes. ꨄ︎ i do NOT, by any means, condone nor romanticize toxic relationships but i really wanted to make a fic out of selfish waltz

♪ track. ꨄ︎ selfish waltz by ateez

end notes. ꨄ︎ selfish waltz ON REPEAT.

join my taglist

tags. ꨄ︎ @idexmids @introspectiveintroverthere @rainychi2 @dazqa @scarlettstrawberrys @f1zzyecola @msfantasy-manga @asphodeloss @mimiluvzu2 @ratg4n

bllk masterlist | general masterlist

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝓢𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒.” — ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ

warnings: this includes somnophilia (engaging in sexual activity with a [un]suspecting sleeping person // dw this is technically consensual) read with caution

The dim glow of your TV screen flickers across the cluttered living room, casting shadows on the pile of empty snack bags and half-drunk soda cans scattered around the coffee table. It's one of those late-night sleepovers with Gojo that always stretch into the wee hours, the kind where time slips away unnoticed amid laughter and zero-filter banter. You're both sprawled on the oversized couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, dressed in those ridiculous matching Hello Kitty pajamas you picked up on a whim during a mall trip last month. The pink fabric is soft against your skin, dotted with cartoon cats that seem almost mocking in their innocence. On your faces, those silly pink sheet masks cling stubbornly, the kind that promise glowing skin but mostly just make you both look like deranged influencers.

Attack on Titan blares from the speakers, the epic clash of titans and scouts filling the air with tension. Eren's latest outburst has you both glued to the screen, though Gojo's commentary is nonstop. “Man, if I had those gears, I'd be zipping around like a pro. Bet I could take down a titan with one hand tied behind my back,” he boasts, his voice muffled slightly by the mask as he shoves another fry into his mouth.

You snort, pausing mid-bite of your In-N-Out burger—the Double-Double with extra cheese, just how you like it. The juicy patty drips a little onto the wrapper, and you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Yeah, right. You'd trip over your own ego before you even reached the wall.” “Pass me the ketchup?”

He tosses the packet your way without looking, his white hair peeking out messily from under the pajama hood. Gojo's always been like this—effortlessly cool. You've been best friends since high school, the kind of duo where personal space is a myth. Hugs linger too long, playful shoves turn into wrestling matches on the floor, and yeah, the occasional peck on the cheek or forehead when one of you is being an idiot. Boundaries? What boundaries?

The episode hits a lull, scouts regrouping after a brutal fight, and you both lean back, masks crinkling as you sigh in unison. “This show's got me thinking,” you say, licking sauce from your fingers. “All this talk about survival and what you'd do in a pinch. Like, if the world ended tomorrow, who'd you trust with your life?”

Gojo tilts his head, blue eyes glinting under the mask's edge. “You, obviously. You're the only one who'd save me.” He grins, that signature cocky smile that always makes your stomach flip just a little, even if you'd never admit it.

You laugh, setting your burger down to adjust the blanket over your lap. The room smells like fast food and the faint citrus scent of the face masks. Outside, rain patters against the window, a cozy backdrop to the chaos on screen. “Same. But seriously, do you ever think we should have boundaries…” “Like… remember that time at the beach when you just... stripped and jumped in the water?“

“Hey, it was hot! And you joined me five seconds later.” He pokes your side, making you squirm. The conversation drifts, as it always does with you two—from anime plot holes to hypothetical disasters. Titans lead to zombies.

“Okay, but real talk,” you say, voice dropping a notch as the show cuts to commercial. “If some creep tried something while I was out cold—like, passed out drunk or whatever—I wouldn't want it to be a big deal if it was you. Hypothetically.”

Gojo pauses, fry halfway to his mouth. He turns to you, eyebrow arched. “Me? As in, me doing what exactly?”

You shrug, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks but playing it cool. The mask hides some of it, thank god. “I don't know. Anything. We've got no lines, right? If you fucked me in my sleep, I wouldn’t even care—fuck that, I'd probably be grateful. At least it'd be you and not some random asshole.”

The words hang in the air, bold and unfiltered, just like everything between you. You take another bite of your burger to cover the sudden awkwardness, but Gojo doesn't laugh it off like you half-expect. His eyes narrow thoughtfully, chewing slowly as he watches you. The episode ends, and then resumes, but the vibe shifts. He was quiet for a little too long.

You steal glances at him, wondering if you pushed too far, but he just nods eventually, like he's filing it away. “Grateful, huh? That's a new one.” His tone is light, teasing, but there's an undercurrent, something electric that makes your pulse quicken.

The night wears on. You finish your food, the burgers leaving you both stuffed and lazy. Another episode rolls, then another, the plot twisting into heartbreak as always. Your eyelids grow heavy around 2 AM, the rain lulling you into a doze. “I'm tapping out,” you mumble, sliding down the couch until your head rests on a pillow. “Wake me if something happens to Eren.”

Gojo chuckles softly. “Sweet dreams I guess.” He dims the lights further, the TV's glow the only illumination now. You drift off to the sound of distant explosions and his steady breathing beside you.

Sleep claims you fully, deep and dreamless, your body lax under the blanket. The masks have slipped off sometime in your slumber, discarded on the floor amid crumbs. Hours pass—or maybe just one; time blurs in the quiet house. Gojo sits there, the show long paused, his gaze fixed on your peaceful form. Your words echo in his mind, that casual confession igniting something he's buried under layers of friendship. His heart races, a mix of curiosity and raw want surging through him.

He shifts closer, the couch dipping under his weight. You're out cold, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, lips parted slightly. The Hello Kitty pajama top has ridden up, exposing a strip of your stomach. His hand hovers, then gently traces the hem. Emboldened, he leans in, breath warm against your neck as he presses a soft kiss there—just like the casual ones you've shared awake. Still nothing.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, voice husky. His fingers trail lower, slipping under the elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms. The fabric is thin, easy to push aside. He reveals you slowly, heart pounding as he parts your thighs with careful hands. You're soft, warm, and completely unaware. His cock twitches in his own pants, hardening at the sight, the trust you've placed in him.

He starts slow, like he's savoring a secret. One finger slides along your folds, finding you dry at first. He pauses, then brings his thumb to his mouth, wetting it before circling your clit gently. Circles turn to light strokes, building friction until your body responds on instinct—a subtle slickness gathering. Gojo bites his lip, suppressing a groan as he dips a finger inside, feeling your walls clench faintly around the intrusion.

He adds a second finger, pumping slowly, curling to brush that spot that makes your hips twitch unconsciously. His free hand frees his cock from his pajamas, thick and leaking pre-cum as he strokes himself in time with his fingers in you. “Can’t believe I’m doing this…” he murmurs, voice breaking into a whimper. He leans over, sliding two fingers from his other hand into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You suckle instinctively in sleep, and he nearly loses it right there.

He can't wait anymore. Withdrawing his fingers, he positions himself between your legs, the blanket kicked aside. Just skin on skin, the risk heightening everything. He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your growing wetness. Then, inch by inch, he pushes in. Slow, so slow, savoring the stretch, the way your pussy grips him like it was made for this.

Halfway in, he whimpers, a low, needy sound escaping his throat. “Shit... so tight. Can't... hold back.” His control snaps. Hips snap forward, burying himself fully in one thrust. The sensation overwhelms him. How hot, and wet you feel. He loses himself in your pussy, the rhythm turning frantic. Slow thrusts become pounding, his cock slamming deep, chasing that edge.

Whimpers spill from his lips with each drive, breathy and desperate. “Yes—“ He stuffs his fingers back into your mouth, watching your lips wrap around them as he fucks you harder, faster. The couch creaks under the force, his balls slapping against you. No protection means he's bare, feeling every ridge, every pulse. Breeding you floods his mind—filling you up, marking you as his in this hazy, forbidden moment.

Your body rocks with his, still unconscious but responding. Your walls began to clench, a soft sigh escaping around his fingers. He drives deeper, losing all restraint, hips pistoning until pleasure coils tight. With a choked whimper, he cums, spilling hot and thick inside you. He collapses forward, panting, cock still twitching as he stays buried, fingers slipping from your mouth.

The rain continues outside, the TV screen saver flickering. Gojo pulls out slowly, watching his cum leak from you, a satisfied haze settling in.

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝒪𝑼𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑮𝑼𝑬!” — ғᴜᴄᴋ ʙᴏʏ!sᴜɴᴀ x ʙɪᴍʙᴏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

The bass from the speakers thumped through the walls of the frat house, vibrating the sticky floor beneath your strappy pink heels. You'd gotten the invite earlier that week. It was a casual text from one of the sorority girls who always acted like you two were besties, even though she whispered behind your back about how you were 'such a hoe.' Whatever. You didn't give a damn about the rumors. Let them talk. It just meant more eyes on you, more attention, and yeah, maybe more dick if you played it right. Your mind wandered there often, a constant hum of desire beneath your bubbly exterior. But you weren't some airhead chasing it blindly. No, you knew exactly what you wanted, and you weren't afraid to take it.

You'd chosen your outfit with care—a bright pink mini dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on. The fabric was stretchy, thin enough to show the outline of your lacy thong underneath, and it barely skimmed the bottom of your ass cheeks. One wrong move, and you'd flash the whole party. Your ass swayed with each step, drawing stares as you pushed through the crowded living room. The heels added a few inches to your height, making your legs look endless, toned from all those late-night gym sessions you squeezed in between classes. Pink glossy lips, matching nails, and hair cascading in loose waves—you were a walking fantasy, and you knew it.

The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, weed, and sweat. Bodies pressed together on the makeshift dance floor, red Solo cups sloshing everywhere. A group of guys from the basketball team hollered as you passed, one of them—a tall dude with a fade—leaning in with a grin. "Yo Y/n! Looking sexy tonight! Let me fuck you in that dress!”

You flashed him a sweet smile, batting your lashes. "Aw, thanks, babe. You know I gotta keep it cute. But you’re not really my type.” Your voice was light, playful, but your eyes scanned the room, already picking out the potentials. He laughed awkwardly, but you kept moving, not interested in small talk with him.

Across the room, Suna slouched against the kitchen counter, nursing a beer while his buddies ragged on him. He was the epitome of a fuckboy, tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a smirk that screamed trouble. Tattoos peeked out from under his black tee, and his jeans hung low enough to show the waistband of his boxers. Confident, rough around the edges, the kind of guy who collected hookups like trophies.

"No way, man," his friend snorted, clapping Suna on the shoulder. "Y/N? That chick's a straight-up legend. She's fucked half the campus already. You think you can just walk in and bag her? Bet you a hundred bucks you strike out."

Another guy chimed in with a laugh. "Dude, she's picky for a hoe. Heard she turned down that lacrosse captain last week. You're dreaming." “Yo Suna, we dare ya to try and hook up with her.”

Suna rolled his eyes, but a competitive glint sparked in his gaze. He wasn't one to back down from a dare, especially not about something as easy as sex. "Watch me," he muttered, taking a swig of his beer. Deep down, though, he wondered if they were right. Y/N had a rep for being wild, she was definitely out of his league—always one step ahead, leaving guys begging for more.

The party pulsed on. You grabbed a drink from the keg, giggling with a couple of girls who complimented your dress while side-eyeing you. "Girl, you're gonna break necks in that," one said, her tone half-admiring, half-judging.

"That's the plan," you replied with a wink, sipping your beer. The alcohol warmed your veins, loosening you up as you swayed to the music. That's when you spotted him—Suna, weaving through the crowd toward the back porch. He looked bored, scanning the room like he was on a mission. Your eyes met for a split second, and something electric zipped through you. He was hot, no denying it. Rough, confident. The kind of guy who thought he could handle you.

You slipped outside for some air, the cool night breeze hitting your exposed skin. The porch was quieter, just a few people smoking and chatting. You leaned against the railing, scrolling your phone, when heavy footsteps approached.

"Whatchu doin out here alone looking this good?" His voice was low, teasing, but you caught the slight cringe in his expression as the words left his mouth. Lame pickup line, you thought, but you turned anyway, tilting your head with a playful pout.

There he was, Suna, closer now, towering over you even with your heels. Up close, he smelled like cologne and faint smoke, his eyes dark and intense. "Oh? And who might you be?" you shot back, your tone bubbly but sharp, crossing your arms under your chest to push up your cleavage just a bit.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of nerves from the guy who acted like he owned the place. "Uh, m-my name is Suna. Saw you inside. Figured I'd come say hi before someone else does."

You laughed, a light, tinkling sound that made his stomach twist unexpectedly. She was even cuter up close, all pink and curves, but there was something in her eyes—smart, calculating. Not the ditzy bimbo everyone made her out to be. "Suna, huh? So? Bored of the easy ones already?"

He leaned against the railing next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. "Easy? Nah. I like a challenge." His gaze dropped to your dress, lingering on how it rode up your thighs. "That outfit's gonna get you in trouble tonight."

You smirked, uncrossing your arms and turning to face him fully. Your ass brushed the railing as you shifted, bouncy and inviting. "You think handsome?” “But don't think a cheesy line's gonna get you anywhere. What's your deal?"

Inside, his friends were watching through the window, whispering, "He's actually talking to her. No way he pulls this off." Another shook his head. "Ten bucks says she shuts him down in five minutes."

Suna ignored the invisible audience, focusing on you. The conversation flowed easier than he expected—you bantered about classes. You were acing psych, dropping subtle insights that made him pause. Or how the parties lame music was ass, and yeah, the rumors too. "People say I'm this or that," you said with a shrug, sipping from the beer you'd snagged outside. "But whatever. I know what I want. Life's too short for bullshit."

He nodded, intrigued. "Yeah? And what do you want right now?"

Your eyes locked on his, a spark of heat building. You were thinking about dick, sure—his, specifically, from the bulge you could already imagine under those jeans—but you played it cool. "Maybe a real conversation. Or maybe something more fun. Depends on you."

The tension simmered as the night wore on. You two ended up back inside, dancing close amid the crowd. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, your ass grinding back into his crotch. He was hard already, pressing against you, and you felt a thrill at how quickly he reacted. "Fuck, you're killing me," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot.

"Good," you whispered back, turning to nip at his jaw. "I like that."

His friends gawked from the sidelines. "Holy shit, he's got a shot," one muttered. The other just handed over the cash, stunned.

But Suna's confidence started cracking as you led him upstairs, your hand tugging his shirt. The hallway was dim, doors slamming from other hookups. You pushed him into an empty room—a spare bedroom with a messy bed and posters on the walls. The door clicked shut, and you were on him in seconds, your lips crashing against his in a hungry kiss.

He kissed back rough, hands gripping your ass, squeezing the bouncy flesh through the thin dress. "Goddamn," he growled, hiking it up to expose your thong.

You broke the kiss, shoving him onto the bed with surprising strength. "My turn," you said, voice breathy but commanding. Your heels stayed on as you straddled him, grinding down on his hardening cock. He groaned, hands roaming your tits, pinching your nipples through the fabric.

But you weren't slowing down. You yanked his shirt off, nails raking his chest, then worked his jeans open. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking precum. You wrapped your hand around it, stroking fast and firm, your pink nails a stark contrast. "Fuck, Y/n,” he hissed, bucking up.

You leaned down, licking the tip, tasting the saltiness before sucking him deep. Your mouth was hot, wet, bobbing with energy—rough. He tangled his fingers in your hair, but you set the pace, slurping and hollowing your cheeks until he was throbbing.

"Shit, slow down," he panted, but you didn't. Popping off, you climbed back up, shoving your thong aside and sinking onto his cock in one swift motion. Your pussy was tight, soaked, clenching around him as you rode hard. Bouncing your ass, your heels digging into the mattress for leverage, you fucked him fast—slamming down, grinding your clit against his base.

Suna's hands gripped your hips, trying to control it, but you were relentless. Energy poured out of you, rough thrusts that had the bed creaking. "You like that?" you gasped, your eyes locking on his, reading every twitch of pleasure-pain on his face.

"Fuck—yes, but… s-slow down—?" he managed, his usual cocky rhythm thrown off. He'd fucked plenty, but this? Your pace was frantic, pussy milking him with every bounce, your moans high and demanding.

You leaned forward, biting his shoulder as you sped up, ass slapping against his thighs. He felt the pressure building too fast, his control slipping. "Y/n—I'm—" But you didn't stop, riding through his groan as he came hard, cum flooding your pussy in hot spurts.

You kept going a moment longer, chasing your own release, then collapsed on him with a satisfied sigh. He lay there, chest heaving, utterly spent—the first time he'd tapped out before the girl. Who knew the Uou would be the one leaving him wrecked?

As you caught your breath, you smiled down at him. "Told you I know what I want."

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ ℛ𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑨𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑺𝑪𝑼𝑴 — ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ!ꜱᴇᴍɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Who would have thought that you would end up fucking Semi Eita, the well-known lead singer of the band "January"? The one that every girl wished he would fuck them.

You didn't get the hype around this guy everyone was obsessing over, but you had to admit his music hit hard enough that when Yachi and Kyoko hit you up about hitting this gig in some sketchy rented-out auditorium downtown, you were this close to bailing until Yachi dropped that your plug Suna was gonna be there too, and suddenly you were all in because that asshole still owed you for a fat bag of weed and a couple of pens from two weeks ago when you went a bit overboard on the order and he freaked out, blocked your number, and straight-up ghosted you like you were some junkie he needed to cut off, which stung more than it should have coming from your damn dealer. 

The afternoon dragged on at your cramped apartment, the three of you scattered across your living room floor with clothes strewn everywhere, blasting playlists to set the mood while you rummaged through your closet for the perfect outfit. You finally settled on a short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, pairing it with a tight cropped top that exposed a sliver of your midriff and teased the curve of your underboob, then ripped fishnet stockings that laddered up your legs like deliberate chaos, and chunky fluffy fur boots that added a few inches to your height but made every step a wobbly adventure. 

Yachi kept it simple in her oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that bobbed as she laughed at your indecision, while Kyoko rocked a worn leather jacket over a faded band tee and denim shorts frayed at the edges, her dark hair spiked up with gel for that rebellious edge. You all crammed into your tiny bathroom, the mirror fogging from the heat of your bodies as you did makeup—Yachi opting for soft pink gloss and precise winged eyeliner that made her eyes pop innocently, Kyoko going heavy with smudged black kohl for a smoky, intense stare, and you loading on bold red lipstick that promised trouble, blending smoky shadows around your eyes until they looked sultry and dangerous. “You look gooood,” Kyoko teased, bumping your shoulder as she capped her mascara, and Yachi giggled, adding, “Suna's gonna regret ghosting you when he sees you.” 

By 8 pm, the sun had dipped low, casting orange streaks through your windows, and you were out the door, boots clicking on the pavement as you hustled to the metro station two blocks away, the evening air carrying hints of rain and street food from nearby vendors.

The train was packed, bodies pressed too close in the humid car, the air thick with that metallic underground tang mixed with the cloying sweetness of someone's floral body spray overpowering everything. You wedged yourself between Yachi and Kyoko, gripping the overhead rail as the car lurched forward, but your eyes kept flicking to this homeless guy slumped in the corner seat, his ragged coat bundled around him like a shield, staring openly at the exposed skin of your thighs peeking from under the skirt. His gaze lingered too long, unblinking and hungry, making your skin crawl, so you shifted closer to Kyoko, pulling out your phone to scroll through fake notifications just to break the contact, your heart picking up a notch until the train rattled to your stop. 

You spilled out with the crowd, the cool night breeze a relief against your flushed cheeks as you walked the few blocks to the venue, neon signs flickering to life along the bustling street lined with dive bars and graffiti-covered walls. The bass from inside the building thrummed through the sidewalk, vibrating up your legs, and the line snaked around the block—clusters of people chatting animatedly about the headliners, passing joints discreetly, the excitement buzzing like static in the air. Yachi linked arms with you on one side, Kyoko on the other, the three of you whispering about what Suna might say when you cornered him, her voice low and conspiratorial. “If he tries to weasel out, just threaten to tell everyone he's a flake—his rep's all he has.” You nodded, scanning faces in the queue, spotting familiar ones from past parties but no sign of him yet.

The wait stretched another thirty minutes, your feet aching in the boots as the line inched forward, the chill seeping through your thin top until you finally reached the front. The door guy loomed like a wall, arms crossed over his black vest, his voice a gravelly bark. “Thirty bucks each, cash only, so no cards and no bullshit..” You paused, wallet in hand, the price hitting like a gut punch for what was supposed to be a casual night out, but you forked over the bills anyway, muttering 'Robbery' under your breath as he stamped your hand with a fluorescent mark. 

Inside, the auditorium hit you like a wave—dim red lights strobing over a writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor, the warm-up DJ spinning heavy beats that pulsed through your chest, the air saturated with the sharp tang of weed, stale beer, and unwashed excitement. Sweat already beaded on your skin as you navigated the crush, Yachi turning to you with wide eyes and a tentative smile. “This place is insane—you sure you're good if we split for a bit? We're gonna grab drinks and stake out a spot near the stage.” Kyoko grinned, slinging an arm around Yachi's shoulders. “Yeah, catch up later. And hey, go easy on Suna—don't want you ending up in jail before the show's even started.” They melted into the crowd, their laughter trailing behind, and you knew exactly what they were up to—the subtle way Yachi's hand brushed Kyoko's waist, the shared glances that screamed unspoken desire. You didn't mind since it left you free to hunt.

You shoved through the throng, elbows jabbing ribs, cups sloshing sticky liquid onto your boots as you scanned for Suna, the music drowning out conversations into a low roar. Finally, you caught sight of him near the bar, slouched against a concrete pillar with two girls draped over him like accessories—one with neon pink hair giggling into his ear, her hand on his thigh, the other in a crop top too small for her curves, fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest under his shirt. A flare of irritation twisted in your gut, not quite jealousy but a sharp claim on what was yours—your money, your drugs. You marched over, grabbing his sleeve and yanking hard enough to dislodge the pink-haired one, who stumbled back with a surprised yelp, then shoving the other off his arm—she shot you a venomous glare, flipping her hair as she snapped, “Who the hell are you?” But you ignored her, dragging Suna by the wrist into a dim side hallway where the music muffled to a throb and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry insects. “What the actual fuck, Suna?” you hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest, feeling the give of his lean frame. “You owe me—big time. That bag of weed, those pens? Then you block me like I'm the addict here? I need my shit back, or the cash, now.” 

He rubbed his neck, eyes darting to the floor, cheeks coloring under the harsh light as he shifted his weight. “Shit, yeah... look, I'm sorry, okay? It wasn't personal. You were hitting me up non-stop, ordering heavy, and I... I didn't want to be the guy feeding that. Health stuff, y'know? Cutting ties for your sake..” You barked a laugh, arms folding tight over your chest, the crop top riding up slightly. “Health stuff from my dealer? That's the lamest excuse I've heard. Just settle up, or I'll make sure every show you sling at becomes a nightmare for you.” He sighed, finally meeting your gaze with that lopsided, apologetic grin that always softened you a fraction. “Alright, alright—you win. I'll hit you with the cash before tonight, or the full re-up if that's better. Scout's honor?” 

You rolled your eyes, skepticism heavy in your tone as you pushed past him. “Better not flake again, or next time it's public.” Back in the main room, the energy had ramped up, cheers rippling from the stage as roadies hauled equipment—amps humming to life, drums glinting under spotlights, guitars slung over shoulders.

You wormed toward the front, the crowd thickening like quicksand, sweat-slick skin brushing yours as you claimed a spot just off-center. The band climbed on stage, five guys radiating post-rehearsal swagger, and the one who'd shoulder-checked you earlier in the press tall, tousled hair, pierced guy—grabbed the mic, his voice cutting through the din with a smirk. “What's up, everyone? Pumped to tear this place down tonight. I'm Semi Eita on guitar, Osamu's holding bass, Atsumu's on drums ready to wreck shit, Aran's keys will fuck you up, and Kita's vocals—let's get this started!” The audience erupted, fists pumping, but your focus zeroed on Semi, the memory of his rude shove fueling a petty spark—how he'd muttered “Watch where you’re going bitch,” without a glance back, his bandmates chuckling like it was nothing. Now you had a name, and ideas swirled. Maybe trip him during load-out, or splash his amp with a drink. They dove into the set, riffs slicing the air like knives, drums pounding a relentless heartbeat that synced with your pulse, the crowd moshing in waves that jostled you side to side. Songs blurred—one gritty anthem about lost nights bleeding into a slower burn about betrayal, Kita's voice raw and commanding but boredom crept in after the first hour, thirst parching your throat amid the haze of smoke curling from hidden joints. You excused through bodies to the bar, a sticky counter manned by a tattooed bartender who slid you shots of bottom-shelf vodka splashed with flat soda, the burn spreading fire through your chest as you knocked back three in quick succession, the alcohol loosening your limbs and sharpening your resolve for revenge.

By the fourth drink, the world softened at the edges, lights trailing rainbows as you swayed back to watch the encore, the band sweat-drenched and electric, Semi shredding solos that drew whoops from the pit. The set finally wound down after two grueling hours, chants of 'one more' fading as lights brightened, the exodus beginning in a chaotic shuffle of chatter and lingering high-fives. You snagged a final beer, foam spilling over your fingers, and stumbled toward the side exit, vision doubling until you slammed into Semi again as his guitar case thudding to the floor, strings rattling inside as he cursed, “Fuck, watch where you're—”You cut him off with a sloppy snicker, leaning in too close, the scent of his exertion—salt and amplifier heat—filling your nose. “Watch it yourself, rockstar. Not even a sorry for bumping the lady earlier?” 

He straightened, recognition flashing in his eyes alongside irritation, snapping back, “You? Again? Jesus, get your shit together.” But you waved him off with a drunken flourish, bursting outside into the night air that cooled your overheated skin, the sidewalk a minefield of discarded cups and butts. Footsteps pounded behind you, his voice sharp. “Hey! Wait up—you can't just—“ You half-turned, the world tilting, and in your buzzed mind, his pursuit twisted into pursuit of another kind, so you pivoted and lunged, smashing your lips to his in a vodka-soaked clash, tongue pushing past his surprise. He stiffened, then shoved you back, hands firm on your shoulders, sputtering, “What the hell? Back off!” You grinned, wiping your mouth, triumph buzzing until nausea surged, doubling you over to retch onto the pavement, the acrid burn of vomit splattering your boots as your knees gave out, darkness swallowing you whole.

Semi hovered a few paces away, staring at your slumped form amid the dispersing crowd, disgust curling his lip at the puddle, shock widening his eyes at the kiss, but a reluctant worry gnawed—he couldn't just abandon you here, not with the sketchy shadows lurking in alleys and groups catcalling from across the street. “Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his damp hair, glancing at his watch before crouching to awkwardly scoop you up, your limp body heavy over his shoulder as he grunted with effort, trudging to the band's van idling nearby. His mates paused mid-load, Atsumu barking a laugh, “Semi, what the—? Picked up a fan on the way out?” Osamu smirked, stacking cases. “Thought you swore off the clingy types after that festival incident..” Aran just raised a brow, silent judgment in his stance, while Kita shook his head. Semi dumped you onto the back seat, buckling you sloppily. “Not a fan…” “Look she got hammered, and three up outside. Can't leave her passed out here.” “Plus, dorm's close.” They teased him the whole five-minute ride, the van rumbling over potholes, but he tuned it out, pulling into the dimly lit campus lot and hauling you up the stairs to his solo dorm room in the music hall, the door creaking shut behind him as he laid you on his rumpled bed, sheets tangled from hasty mornings. “Sleep it off, crazy bitch,” he grumbled, sinking into his gaming chair to boot up Fortnite, headset on as he dove into a match to shake off the night.

You woke around 1 AM, head pounding like a bass drum, mouth cotton-dry and foul, blinking at the unfamiliar posters peeling from the ceiling—faded images of punk legends and sold-out tours. The TV glow illuminated Semi, hunched in his chair, cursing into his mic as avatars dropped into the game, his fingers mashing buttons with focused fury. You watched him quietly, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way sweat still clung to his neck from the show, stubble darkening his jaw, until he botched a build and yelled, “Goddamn it!” spinning to face you, nearly toppling his Monster can. “Holy shit—you're up?!” His voice mixed surprise and wariness, eyes flicking over you. You sat up slowly, smirking through the haze. “Yeah, and I've been watching you play like trash. Seriously, that was painful—let me show you how it's done.” Before he could protest, you snatched the controller from his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle him, settling your weight on his thighs, the thin fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide the heat building between you. You jumped back in, landing kills and stacking wins effortlessly, his body going rigid beneath you, breath hitching as your skirt hiked up, ass grinding inadvertently against his crotch with each shift. Months without action had him primed; his cock twitched and hardened, pressing up against your core, but he stayed frozen, hands gripping the chair arms, afraid to shatter the moment.

You clinched a victory royale, whooping as you tossed the controller aside and slid off, flopping onto the bed with a stretch. He turned slowly, face red, confusion etching his features. “Okay, who are you, really? And why the fuck am I playing host to some random chick who barfs on me?” You kicked off a boot, massaging your sore foot. “I didn’t even vomit on you.”

He groaned, scrubbing his face. “Vividly. Look, you're probably good to Uber home now. This is too weird.” You scooted against his pillows, inhaling the faint musk of his scent mixed with fabric softener. “Not happening—thanks for the rescue, though. And lugging me here. You're sweeter than you act.” He fidgeted, the bulge in his sweats obvious now, tension crackling as he avoided your eyes. “Just... being human. Don't read into it.”

You bit your lip, heat pooling low as the lingering buzz urged you on. “You seem stressed, though. All wound up. I could fix that and you can call it thanks.” He searched your face, jaw tight in hesitation, then rasped, “Fuck... okay, alright.” You dropped to your knees, yanking his sweats down to expose his thickening cock, wrapping your hand around the base and licking the slit before sucking him in deep, tongue swirling as you bobbed, his groans filling the room, fingers tangling in your hair to urge you faster until he bucked and came, flooding your mouth with hot spurts you swallowed greedily.

Your pussy throbbed, soaked through your panties, so you rose, peeling off the fishnets and skirt to stand in just lace, climbing back onto him and rubbing your wetness along his spent length until he stiffened again, both of you gasping at the slick drag. “We barely know—fuck,” he half-protested, hands on your hips, but you nudged the fabric aside and impaled yourself, moaning as he filled you, rocking slow then hard, his thrusts meeting yours. You rode him in the chair, tits bouncing free when he shoved your top up, mouth latching onto a nipple to suck and bite, then he surged up, carrying you to the bed and bending you over, slamming in from behind with a sharp slap to your ass that drew a whine from you. “Like that? Harder?” he growled, pounding deep, balls smacking your clit until you clenched and came, shuddering. He flipped you to your back, spreading your legs wide to drive in missionary-style, sweat dripping as you clawed his shoulders, orgasming again with a scream, and he pulled out to jerk himself, painting your belly and breasts with ropes of cum before collapsing beside you, breaths ragged in the dim room.

Morning light filtered through cracked blinds, your body a map of aches, thighs bruised, core tender and slick, as you stirred to Semi's soft snores, his arm heavy across your waist, the night's chaos replaying in vivid flashes, leaving you tangled in sheets and uncertainty. You fucked up big time.