Hii lovey, I adore your writing sm!! Tho I feel like I have a special request. Please could you do canon Naoya x reader? I just see way to much mischaracterization of him being some submissive good boy… I’d love to see Naoya degrade, humiliate, overstimulate, dominate etc.
18+ | Canon! Naoya x Reader
he is so fucking mean. the way Naoya treats you is borderline manipulative sometimes, he’s grabbing your pretty ass at every opportunity, sliding his fingers over your clothed pussy whenever he wants. in his mind, his pleasure is first, it’s the priority and whatever sick twisted feeling you get as an offshoot of his treatment is just a bonus.
naoya zenin likes calling you names. he never dignifies you by addressing you by your actual name, opting for whatever derogatory word he can come up with at the moment.
“What do you mean, you’re not feeling well? Stupid bitch,”
“You really should have thought about it before you talked to those guys, whore of a woman,”
it gets worse in the sheets, away from prying eyes. you’re his fuckdoll, cumdump, cocksleeve, obedient slut or whatever he feels like calling you with.
even when addressing you to other people he finds a way to degrade you, and you’re always his.
“My woman,”
“My partner,”
“My girl,”
and he won’t tolerate you calling him anything that makes him feel lesser. no ‘baby’ ‘honey’ ‘sweetie’ ‘cutie’ he’s your ‘husband’ and that’s all that is to it, damn it.
in bed he’s living up to the shit that comes out of his mouth, bending your poor body into whatever fits his cock better. sex with him feels more like some sort of aerobic workout, the way he has you folded into a mean mating press, or maybe forcing you to stay steady in a doggy position so he can rut into you.
he doesn’t give you breaks during sex between rounds, pumping his load into you and immediately contorting your body into the next thing that’ll make his dick hard. to give him some credit, aside from the humiliating shit he calls you in bed, small praises fall from his lips, unintentionally of course.
“Come on pretty…gonna make you a mama with this one,”
“Knew you could do it, you’re all mine aren’t you?”
“Take it, dolly, ive seen you do it before,”
He swears up and down he had never said anything and that you were getting irritatingly forgetful. sometimes he’s aware of his treatment, wondering if you’re a masochist or just too weak to fight back. No matter, you’re his.
"if i headshot you three times this game, you send a dick pic."
naoya zenin x f!reader
• genre: smut, streamer au, enemies-to-lovers
• content warning: mdni, explicit sexual content, heavy profanity & aggressive/vulgar insults, degradation (kink), rough/aggressive sex, power play, public humiliation
wc: 10, 758 (ao3 link here)
this is a highly explicit work of fiction. reader discretion is strongly advised.
for a chill girl like you, it’s too obsessive to be watching naoya zenin’s stream on your second screen right now, all while you’re timing your queue with him for the past hour.
his face cam showed the usual look of pure, unadulterated arrogance, his dyed hair messy, and a headset resting over his ears, the other pair of it slid backwards from his ear, showing his piercings there.
he was of course, in the middle of a fucking rant, leaning into his mic to insult a viewer who had the audacity to donate five dollars just to ask for gameplay tips.
“tips? you want tips from me?” naoya scoffed. “here’s a tip: sell your pc and buy a soul, you fucking loser. don’t ever talk to me like we’re on the same level just because you dropped a fiver.”
the chat was moving at light speed. half of them were simping for his degradation, and the other half were spamming ‘lmao’ or ‘classic naoya.’ he didn’t give a shit and just refreshed his queue.
you’ve been trying to snipe his lobby because you hated this prick. he was talented at valorant, sure, but his personality was a literal biohazard. that made you want to see him lose his mind on stream, and you were petty enough to stay up all night to make it happen.
match found.
the map was bind and you checked the scoreboard immediately.
there he was: ‘zenin_nao’ playing jett, because of course he was.
you picked chamber to counter then cracked your knuckles.
“oh, look at this,” naoya muttered on stream, squinting at the screen. “another fanboy in my lobby. ‘guest_01’? what a pathetic fucking name. hope you’re ready to get carried or get flamed, i’m not in the mood for dead weight.”
the game loaded in, and before the barriers even dropped, you hit shift+enter.
all [guest_01]: sup, princess. try not to cry on stream when you lose k?
naoya paused, his character frozen for a second as he read it. then he let out a mocking laugh. “this nobody really has balls. you hear this shit?” he said to his chat, his eyes widening. “humble me? you couldn’t humble me if i played with one hand tied behind my back, you little shit.”
you weren’t done. you knew exactly how to get under the skin of a guy whose ego was his only personality trait.
all [guest_01]: lets make it interesting then.
all [guest_01]: if i headshot you three times this game, you send a dick pic.
the chat erupted.
the scrolling text became a literal series of ‘OH SHIT’, ‘WTF’, and ‘CLIP IT’. naoya’s face went from smug to a shade of insulted red in record time. he leaned so close to the camera to the point that his nose was almost touching it.
“you fucking what?” he hissed, voice dropping. “you think you’re funny? i’ll fucking hunt you down. i’m going to make sure you uninstall this game by the time we hit round twelve. you’re dead, you hear me? you’re fucking dead.”
the barriers dropped.
naoya played like a demon, fueled by pure spite. he dashed into a-short, looking for an early pick, but you were holding a tight angle with a headhunter.
you didn’t panic one bit, his degradations are nothing on you, he can’t possibly kill you with trash talking you like that.
you waited for that silver hair to peek.
crack.
the kill feed showed your name and a golden crosshair next to his.
all [guest_01]: 1/3.
“fuck!” naoya slammed his desk and the sound echoed through his shitty mic. “that was luck! he was holding a pixel, what a fucking rat! stay in your hole, you coward!”
even now, he addresses you as ‘he’. just imagine his fucking reaction when he learns you’re a girl who’s clapping his ass.
his chat was losing it, mocking him, which only made him tilt harder.
by round five, he was playing sloppy, overpeeking everything because he was desperate to kill you and tea bag your corpse.
you caught him again on a mid rotation. he tried to updraft over a smoke, and you clipped his head mid-air with a vandal.
all [guest_01]: 2/3. hope you’re picking a good filter, nao-chan.
naoya was vibrating with rage now. he wasn’t even calling out for his team anymore. instead, he was busy cursing at his monitor while his face contorted. “i’m going to ruin you! i’ll find out who you are and i’ll fucking end you! shut up! chat, shut the fuck up before i ban every single one of you!”
the game went on and your team was winning, mostly because naoya was throwing his life away just to find you. what a pathetic loser.
this time, naoya was tucked in a corner on b-site, waiting. you knew he was there. so you threw a trademark to slow him, then swung wide. he fired and missed by an inch, giving you the opportunity to click.
headshot.
naoya’s face on your second monitor was a deep, humiliated shade of red, his veins were practically popping out of his neck as he glared at the screen. he had just been revived by his sage, only for you to instantly dome him again from across the map with a guardian.
“fuck! are you kidding me with this shit?” he screamed, slamming his fist onto his desk so hard his webcam shook. “he’s cheating! he’s definitely fucking cheating! nobody hits those shots on a moving target, i don’t care who you are!”
the chat was a dumpster fire. they were tagging him, laughing at him, and clip chiming every single death.
naoya was usually the one doing the bullying, so seeing him get systematically dismantled by a ‘random’ (worse, is a girl) was high-tier entertainment for his miserable followers.
you leaned into your keyboard as your smirk widened. the ‘dick pic’ threat had already turned him into a stuttering mess, but you wanted to see him actually break.
all [guest_01]: you’re playing like a boosted silver, nao.
all [guest_01]: new deal since you’re so easy to hit.
all [guest_01]: if i headshot you one more time this half, the pic isn’t enough. you’re gonna have to go on cam and masturbate for me.
the stream went dead silent for a second. naoya stared at the chat box with his mouth hanging open. he looked genuinely stunned, feeling his ego finally hit a wall. then, the chat exploded into a literal wall of ‘???’ and ‘NO WAY’ and ‘DO IT’.
“you... you sick fucking freak,” naoya spat with his trembling voice. “you think i’m some cam girl? you think you can talk to me like that? i’m naoya zenin! i'll have your fucking ip tracked before the next round starts!”
but he didn’t leave the game. he was too prideful to forfeit, and too obsessed with proving he was better than you.
round nine.
bind, defense side.
naoya was playing u-hall, holding the angle with an operator, his hands were visibly shaking on the mouse.
he was terrified that every time he peeked, he was thinking about your threat. he was tilted out of his mind, overthinking every micro movement.
you didn’t even use a real gun now. you pulled out the sheriff and jiggled the corner, baiting out his op shot.
thump.
he missed and the bullet hit the wall behind you.
“fuck! fuck! fuck!” he yelled, frantically trying to cycle his bolt.
you swung wide and you immediately saw his silver haired jett frantically trying to pull out a pistol. you took a breath, lined up the crosshair with his forehead, and clicked.
pop.
all [guest_01]: 4/3.
all [guest_01]: hope you’ve got the lotion ready, princess. i’m waiting.
naoya didn’t scream this time. he just slumped back in his expensive gaming chair, staring at the ‘killed by’ screen with a look of pure, hollowed out defeat. his chat was filled with ‘CAM ON’ and ‘PAY UP’.
he leaned forward on his face cam and his eyes dark and narrowed. “you think you won? you think you can just embarrass me like this and walk away?” he hissed. “i’m going to find out who you are. and when i do, i’m going to make you regret every single word you typed in that fucking box.”
he didn’t end the stream immediately. he just sat there, breathing hard, looking like he was debating whether to actually follow through or just smash his monitor into pieces.
all [guest_01]: stop barking and start working that hand, nao-chan. everyone’s waiting.
he let out a jagged, frustrated breath and finally ripped his headset off, throwing it against the wall.
the stream cut to a ‘technical difficulties’ screen, but you knew you had burrowed deep under his skin.
the next evening, you were just lounging in the main menu while your agent was standing idle.
you were scrolling on your phone when suddenly, the notification chime hit.
friend request: zenin_nao
the sight of his username made you wheeze.
the prick actually did it. he probably spent all night scrubbing through the match history and seething.
you clicked accept, and not even three seconds later, the party invite popped up. of course, you joined and the second your icon appeared in his lobby, his voice cracked through the headset.
although he sounded harsh, he was obviously incredibly stressed.
“you. guest_01. you better have a fucking mic,” naoya snapped. his voice sounded like he hadn’t slept a wink.
you keyed your mic, leaning back with a grin. “keep your pants on, nao-chan. i’m here.”
there was a deafening silence.
you could almost hear his brain short-circuiting through the fiber optics.
naoya, the guy who spent his entire career preaching about how women were ‘naturally inferior’ at everything from breathing to gaming, just realized he got clapped by a girl.
“fuck... you’re a girl?” he stuttered. “you’re kidding me, no fucking way. you’re using a voice changer. there’s no way some bitch hit those shots. you were cheating… you had to be.”
“cry harder,” you laughed, the sound loud and clear. “i clapped you on stream in front of thirty thousand people. you lost the bet. so, are we doing this, or are you a bigger coward than i thought?”
“shut the fuck up!” he yelled, though you can feel his embarrassment have doubled now. “listen to me. i’m not— i’m not doing that shit on cam. do you have any idea what that would do to my family name?”
“not my problem,” you countered. “you talked all that trash, called me a ‘nobody’, and you said you’d ruin me. turns out you’re the one getting ruined by a ‘nobody’. pay up, zenin.”
you heard him pacing. the rustle of his clothes, the heavy, frustrated sighs. he sounded like a cornered animal.
“look,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, desperate mumble. “let’s... let’s negotiate. i’ll give you skins. i’ll give you whatever fucking radiant points or gift cards you want. i’ll even duo with you and carry your ass to immortal. just... drop the bet. tell my chat it was a scripted bit or something.”
“carry me?” you snorted.
this guy is a fucking loser, indeed!
“nao, i carried you in that lobby. your aim is shaky and dogshit. why would i want to duo with a loser?”
“i’m not a loser!” he barked, slamming something, probably his desk again. “i’m the best player on this fucking server! you just got lucky! fine, you want something else? money? i have more money than you’ll ever see in your pathetic life. name a price to shut your mouth.”
you let out a low, amused laugh, leaning back in your chair as you listened to the frantic tapping of his fingers against a desk.
“money is boring, naoya. i want you to actually stick to your word for once in your pathetic life. you lost. and now the whole internet is waiting to see if the great naoya zenin is a liar or a man of his word.”
“i’m not a fucking liar!” he exploded. “but i’m not doing it on stream! do you have any idea how many people are watching? if i do that shit on cam, it’s over. my career, my family name, everything— gone because of some bratty girl who got lucky with a vandal.”
he paused, and you could hear him taking a shaky, sharp breath.
he sounded like he was pacing his room, cornered and frantic.
“look,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a cautious tone. “i’ll... i’ll do it. but not over the internet. i’m not giving you a recording you can blackmail me with for the rest of my life. i’m not that fucking stupid.”
your eyebrows shot up. “oh? you’re suggesting a meetup? that’s bold for a guy who just got his ego trashed.”
“shut up,” he snapped. “i have a private suite in the city. it’s safe there. no cameras, no recording devices. you come there, i do what you want, and then we never speak again. you delete the chat logs, you tell your friends it was a joke, and we’re done.”
you couldn’t help but laugh. “a private suite? naoya, do i look stupid? how do i know you’re not just planning to have me kidnapped or some shit to save your reputation? you’re a prick, i wouldn’t put it past you.”
the silence on the other end lasted for a few seconds before he let out a insulted scoff.
“kidnapped? you think i’m some low life criminal? i’m a zenin. i have more pride in my pinky finger than you have in your entire body. if i wanted you gone, i’d have bought your house and turned it into a parking lot by now.”
he sounded genuinely offended, his elitist pride flaring up.
“i don’t need to kidnap a girl to win an argument. i’m giving you my word because i’m a man who doesn’t owe anyone shit, especially not a coward who’s scared to meet me face-to-face. i’ll send you the address and the keycode. you show up, or you admit you’re just a loud mouthed bitch who’s too scared to collect her prize.”
you could practically hear the smug, challenging smirk returning to his face.
he was backed into a corner, but he was still trying to find a way to make it look like he was the one in control.
“fine,” you said. “send the address.”
the address was for a high-rise penthouse indeed.
you rode the elevator up in silence and when the doors dinged open, you walked straight to the suite number he’d sent.
you didn’t even knock, you just punched in the code and you’re in.
the place was spacious and clean.
filled with expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and naoya standing by a white marble kitchen island.
he was wearing a designer sweater, looking like he was posing for a magazine cover, but his knuckles were white where he was gripping the edge of the counter.
he turned around, ready to spit out some elitist insult about how ‘ugly’ or ‘pathetic’ you probably were, but the words died in his throat.
his eyes traveled from your boots up to your face, and his smug expression didn’t just fade, it transformed into an obvious wide-eyed bafflement.
“you…” he trailed off, his jaw tightening.
he clearly expected a stereotypical girl he could bully in person.
but instead, he was looking at someone who looked like they actually had a life outside of a discord server.
“you’re guest_01? no fucking way.”
“what? disappointed i don’t have a neckbeard, princess?” you smirked, tossing your bag onto his overpriced sofa.
you didn’t give him a second to recover. “i’m not here to small talk. i’ve got things to do. strip. now.”
naoya flinched. “don’t— don’t talk to me like that! you think you can just walk into my house and start ordering me around?”
“the bet was the bet, naoya. you lost. your pride is already in the trash, don’t make me wait.”
he went to open his mouth, but a sharp knock at the door interrupted him.
when it opened, one of his helpers, a guy in a suit who looked more like a bodyguard, stepped in.
naoya cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of authority.
“your phone, please,” the guy said, holding out a hand toward you.
“and any recording devices,” naoya added. “he’s going to take your electronics to the other room. if you want this to happen, you play by my rules. i’m not having a single pixel of this recorded.”
you rolled your eyes, pulling your phone and your smartwatch off and dropping them into the guy’s hand.
as the door closed and the bodyguard left with your stuff, you turned back to naoya and let out a mocking laugh.
“are you fucking serious right now?” you stepped closer, watching him instinctively take a half-step back. “a bodyguard, naoya? really? you’re such a fucking baby. you’re so terrified of a girl that you need a grown man to hold my phone for you? god, you’re even more pathetic in person than you are on stream.”
naoya’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated rage. “i’m being careful! i’m not taking any chances with my reputation.”
“your reputation is already ‘guy who got gapped by a girl’,” you countered, crossing your arms. “now stop stalling and get those clothes off. or do i need to call your guard back in to help you unzip your pants since you’re clearly too shaking to do it yourself?”
his teeth literally grinded together.
he reached for the hem of his sweater, his fingers twitching. “i’m going to make you regret this,” he hissed, though the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes told a completely different story.
you walked over to a leather armchair positioned perfectly opposite the island and dropped into it, crossing your legs. you leaned your chin on your hand, watching him strip his clothes for you.
“well?” you prompted. “i’m waiting, nao-chan. clocks ticking.”
naoya let out a frustrated snarl, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hem of his designer sweater and yanked it over his head.
his hair was a mess, falling over his eyes as he tossed the garment onto the marble floor.
you had to admit, the prick was built.
he wasn’t just some skinny gamer who lived on energy drinks; his chest was lean but defined, with pale, smooth skin and sharp collarbones.
his abs were tight, a clear v-line disappearing into the waistband of his expensive trousers.
he looked like a goddamn model, and the realization that he actually took care of himself made the humiliation of the situation ten times more potent.
“stop... stop staring at me like that,” he hissed, his voice cracking as he reached for his belt.
he stepped out of his pants, leaving him in just his boxers.
he was stalling, his face a deep, bruised red, but he couldn’t fill your silence with his usual trash talk. he eventually hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pushed them down, kicking them away with a jerky, humiliated movement.
your breath hitched in your throat, and for the first time since you entered the room, the smug comment you had ready upon seeing his dick died on your tongue.
the guy was fucking massive.
even when soft, he was heavy and thick, hanging with a weight that felt completely at odds with his lean, lithe frame.
as he stood there, completely exposed and shivering from the vulnerability, you felt a sudden, traitorous throb between your own thighs.
you can’t believe you’re actually wetting yourself from the mere sight of his private part.
you had come here to ruin him, to laugh at him, but looking at him like this; packing like a monster, made you feel on edge too.
“you’re... you’re a freak,” naoya muttered, though his eyes were glued to the floor, unable to meet your gaze.
he was shaking, obviously because his pride was at war with the biological reality of being naked in front of a girl who had just spent the last forty-eight hours destroying his ego.
you shifted in the chair, feeling the wetness of your own underwear, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“you talk a lot of shit for someone who looks like that, naoya,” you said, your voice a little huskier than you intended. “are you just going to stand there and let me admire the view, or are you going to start?”
he finally looked up, his golden-brown eyes narrowed and wet with frustrated tears, his chest heaving. “i hate you,” he whispered, his hand finally reaching down to wrap around himself.
his fingers could barely even close around the girth of it. “i fucking hate you so much.”
“good,” you breathed, leaning forward, your eyes fixed on his hand. “now show me what those hands can do, princess.”
naoya’s hand finally closed around himself. it was fucking absurd, his body was lean and wiry, built like an athlete, but between his legs, he was carrying a monster.
the head was already peeking out, pink and thick, and as he started to move his hand in a slow stroke, the skin stretched tight over the shaft, revealing the pulsing veins that made your own pussy throb in sync with his heartbeat.
“look at you,” you purred, leaning so far forward in the chair that you could smell the expensive cologne still clinging to his bare skin. “you’re shaking, nao-chan. is the big, bad streamer scared of a little audience? or is it just because you know how much of a pathetic slut you look like right now, naked and jerking off because a girl told you to?”
“shut the fuck up,” he hissed, his voice dropping into a strained rasp.
he was starting to get hard, and as he did, the size of him became even more terrifying.
his dick was lengthening, thickening until it the tip was weeping a bead of pre-cum.
“i’m only doing this so you’ll leave me the fuck alone. don’t— fuck— don’t think this means anything.”
“it means everything,” you countered, your hand sliding down between your own thighs, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties.
you were fucking dripping while watching his dick slide in and out of his grip, seeing the way his abs rippled with every strained breath, was making you lose your goddamn mind.
“it means you’re my bitch. every time you go live from now on, every time you talk shit to some kid in chat, you’re gonna remember sitting here like a dog, tossing your own salad for me.”
naoya’s eyes snapped to yours, full of pure, concentrated hatred, but his body was betraying him.
his strokes were getting faster, more desperate. the slapping sound of his palm hitting his own thighs was loud and echoing in the room.
he was fully erect now, making his dick look like it would split you in half if he ever got his hands on you.
the sight of it made a fresh wave of wetness burst from your pussy, soaking your seat.
fuck.
“you like it, don't you?” he suddenly spat.
he defininitely saw the way your eyes were glued to his cock, and they way you keep shifting in your seat.
“you’re fucking soaking wet just looking at me. you’re probably just some lonely bitch who sniped my game because you wanted a piece of this, didn’t you? you’re pathetic.”
“maybe,” you whispered, not even bothering to deny it as you watched him pump that massive dick, his thumb rubbing over the head. “but at the end of the day, i’m the one sitting in the chair, and you’re the one performing like a circus animal. keep going, princess. i want to see you blow that load all over your expensive floor. i want to see how much of a mess a prick like you makes.”
naoya let out a choked, broken sound, his head tossing back as his pace became faster.
he was close, his entire body tensing up, muscles popping in his arms and chest as he neared the edge, his cock twitching violently in his hand.
naoya was losing his fucking mind.
he was flushed from his chest up to his ears, a mess of sweat and pure, raw humiliation. every time his palm slapped against the base of his throbbing cock, he’d let out a little grunt that he tried to swallow down.
you didn’t stay in the chair as well. you can’t…
you wanted to make him feel shit as much as you can, to make sure he understands that you were the one totally in control right now… and that he’s just your little bitch with a show right now.
you stood up slowly and walked over to him until you were standing right in his personal space.
the smell of his pre-cum hit you immediately.
“you’re losing steam, princess,” you whispered, circling him. “honestly, this is getting a little boring. i thought the great naoya zenin would be a lot more into this. are you not horny enough? or is your dick just too big for your tiny ego to handle?”
“shut— fuck— shut up,” he gasped, his eyes blown out and hazy as he stared at your waist. “i’m... i’m almost…”
“almost isn’t good enough,” you interrupted, stepping directly in front of him. “do i really have to do everything for you? do i have to actually put in effort to get this pathetic little streamer in the mood?”
you reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, the one he’d discarded earlier, and tossed it aside, then leaned in.
you pressed your chest right against his face.
and he immediately realized that you weren’t wearing a bra, and the soft weight of your breasts smothered his mouth and nose, burying him in your scent.
naoya made a muffled, strangled sound against your skin, his hands pausing on his dick for a split second before he absolutely lost it.
you shoved his face deeper into your cleavage, allowing his nose to brush against the underside of your tits as he let out a long, shaky moan.
“there we go,” you cooed, your hands reaching down to cup the back of his head, forcing him even deeper into your chest. “is that better, nao-chan? feel how wet i am for you? it’s almost a waste to let all that go to the floor, isn’t it?”
the contact turned him into an animal.
his grip on his cock became frantic as he buried his face in your tits like a starving man, turning his muffled moans into desperate, shaky whimpers.
“that’s it,” you hissed, feeling your own pussy clench and leak another wave of juice down your legs as he nuzzled frantically between your breasts. “show me what a pathetic, needy dog you are. cum for me, naoya. blow it all over yourself while you hide your face like a coward.”
he couldn’t hold back anymore.
with one final, deep groan, his body went rigid.
he slammed his hand down the length of his cock one last time, and a thick, hot jet of cum erupted from the tip, hitting his own stomach and the floor.
he kept shooting, ropes of white splattering everywhere as his massive dick convulsed wildly in his hand.
he stayed buried in your breasts long after he finished, his breath hot and shaky against your skin, his body trembling as the post-nut clarity and the crushing weight of his own humiliation finally started to sink in.
you stood there for a moment, just feeling his breath against your skin as he slumped against you, completely spent.
his dick was still twitching in his hand, while he kept his face buried between your tits like he was trying to hide from the reality of what just happened.
you let out a mocking laugh and reached down, running your fingers through his messy hair, tugging just enough to force him to look up at you.
his face was a disaster; flushed, eyes glassy and blown out, and his lips parted as he gasped for air.
“look at you,” you giggled. “such a good, obedient little boy. you did exactly what i told you to do, nao-chan.”
he tried to scowl, tried to find some remnant of that sharp-tongued prick he was on stream, but he couldn’t find the words.
he was too far gone. “i... i fucking hate you,” he managed to wheeze out, though his hands were still resting weakly on your hips, keeping you close.
“shhh,” you whispered, leaning down. “you’ve earned a little reward.”
you didn’t give him a choice.
you pressed your lips to his, and for a split second, he froze, his brain probably screaming at him to pull away.
but then his ego snapped. he let out a desperate moan into your mouth, then his hands went up to cup your face with a violent sort of need.
it wasn’t a sweet kiss. you wouldn’t call it sweet if you shoved your tongue into his mouth, right?
naoya met you head-on, his tongue fighting yours, twisting as he tried to reclaim some shred of dominance. he was devouring you, his fingers digging into your cheeks.
when you finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips before breaking.
naoya looked absolutely wrecked, his chest heaving, his eyes darting to your mouth as his head instinctively leaned forward to chase you, begging for more without saying a word.
“stay,” you commanded, stepping back and watching his face fall. “and clean up your mess. i’m leaving.”
later that evening, you were curled up on your bed, scrolling through the clips of his ‘technical difficulties’ stream from the day before. the comments were still a war zone of people wondering if he’d actually followed through on the bet.
your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
a message from an unsaved number.
[unknown]: you’re a fucking witch. i don’t know what you did to me.
[unknown]: my dick is still hard. fuck.
you smiled.
because he was clearly obsessed.
the arrogant, untouchable naoya zenin was officially on a leash, and he was the one pulling on it.
[you]: ready for round two, princess? or do you need to buy more lotion first?
it’s been a few weeks since that night in the penthouse, and the internet is basically in a state of permanent cardiac arrest.
naoya’s stream schedule has completely changed and started revolving around yours.
he went from swearing he’d have you banned and erased from the face of the earth to being in your lobby every single fucking day.
what’s even funnier is that…
the first time he admitted it on stream, he looked like he wanted to swallow a grenade.
“yeah, it’s the same bitch,” he had spat at his chat, his face turning that familiar shade of red. “she’s annoying as hell, but she’s the only one in this game who can keep up with my utility. shut up about the bet, or i’m banning the next ten people who type ‘dick pic’.”
now, it’s just your routine.
not only you, in fact.
but his too.
you’re sitting at your desk, headset on, watching his face cam on your second monitor as you both queue for another match.
“buy me a vandal, nao,” you sweetly demanded with a breathy whisper.
“buy it yourself, you lazy brat,” naoya snaps, though he’s already clicking the buy button for you. “i’m top fragging. i shouldn’t be funding your shitty habits.”
the game starts, and you’re playing sage.
ironic, considering how much he hates being ‘subservient’.
so you’re now following his jett around, walling off his flanks and keeping his health topped off while he dashes around like a maniac.
“heal! heal me now!” he shot called as he ducks behind a crate with 12 hp.
“what’s the magic word, princess?” you tease, holding the orb just out of range. “you know the rules. every time i save your ass, you bark for me. come on, let me hear it.”
“i am not fucking barking on stream!” naoya yells. he looks at his camera, seeing the chat spamming dog emojis. “get away from me! i’d rather die and lose the round than give you the satisfaction, you psycho!”
“suit yourself,” you chuckle, watching his health bar blink red. “guess you’ll just have to watch me top frag instead.”
he lets out a frustrated sound, more like a half growl and half whimper and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a ‘woof’ under his breath just as you click the heal.
“good boy,” you purr.
the third teammate, a guy playing omen, finally chimes in.
he’s been quiet all game, but clearly, he’s heard enough.
“yo, sage... you’re actually hilarious. and your aim is cracked. you got a discord or something? i feel like we’d actually vibe way better than you and this loud mouthed clown.”
naoya’s character stops dead in its tracks.
on the cam, his eyes narrow into slits, and he leans so close to his mic.
“who the fuck are you talking to?” naoya hisses, his voice dropping, a sign when he’s about to lose it. “did i ask for your input, you bottom-fragging piece of shit? she’s with me. pay attention to the map and keep your fucking mouth shut while we carry your heavy ass.”
“chill, man,” the omen laughs, oblivious to the fact that naoya is actually vibrating with rage. “i’m just saying, she’s a vibe. hey, guest_01, you ever played with a guy who doesn’t scream every five seconds? i could show you a much better time.”
naoya’s face is a mask of pure, unadulterated jealousy.
he isn’t even looking at the game anymore; he’s glaring at the team chat. “get out,” he snaps. “hey! i said shut the fuck up! she’s mine! we’re in a duo for a reason, you desperate little rat! if you say one more word to her, i’ll find out where you live and personally make sure you never have internet access again!”
“jealous, nao-chan?” you ask mockingly. “he’s being much nicer to me than you’ve ever been.”
“i’m not jealous!” he screams at the monitor. “i just hate losers! and you— you don’t talk to anyone else! you’re my pocket sage, and if i catch you giving that omen a single drop of utility, i’m ending the stream!”
the chat is absolutely losing it.
‘HE’S OBSESSED’ and ‘JEALOUS NAOYA’ scrolling so fast in his stream chat.
he’s completely exposed himself, and the best part is, he’s too mad to even realize how much he’s admitting.
the game ended with naoya nearly popping a blood vessel, and ten minutes later, you were both in a private discord channel with him.
the green light next to his name flickered as he unmuted.
“you’re such a fucking headache,” he spat. “why didn’t you mute him? you just sat there and let that pathetic loser flirt with you. you probably liked it, didn’t you? getting attention from someone who doesn’t know what a massive pain in the ass you actually are.”
“oh, absolutely,” you hummed, leaning back and spinning in your chair. “he was sweet, naoya. he called me a ‘vibe’ and he complimented my aim. when was the last time you called me anything other than a ‘brat’ or a ‘psycho’? maybe i should’ve given him my discord. he sounded like he actually knows how to treat a girl.”
“don’t you fucking dare,” naoya hissed. “you’re not giving your discord to some bottom fragging nobody. you’re stuck with me.”
“you sound so insecure when you’re jealous, nao-chan. it’s cute,” you teased, enjoying the way he let out a frustrated breath. “it makes me wonder how you’re going to act next month. or did you not check your email yet?”
there was a pause, the sound of aggressive clicking filling the silence. “the valorant invitational expo?” he muttered, his voice shifting from angry to annoyed. “the one in the city? of course i’m invited. i’m the face of the regional server. wait…”
another pause. you could practically see the gears grinding in his head.
“don’t tell me,” he groaned. “don’t tell me they invited a random like you just because you sniped me on stream.”
“not a random, naoya. the top-ranked female player on the server,” you corrected him. “they want us there for a showmatch. they’re even putting our booths right next to each other. isn’t that sweet?”
“i’m going to kill someone,” naoya whispered, but he did not exactly sound angry. “two days of being stuck next to you? with cameras everywhere? with fans watching? i won’t be able to say half the shit i want to say to you.”
“is that right?” you laughed. “and what exactly is it that you want to say to me, naoya? or better yet, what do you want to ‘do’ to me? because the last time we were in a room together, you were the one with your face buried in my chest, crying like a baby while you came all over your floor.”
“i was not—! shut the fuck up!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “that was a one-time thing! a moment of weakness! if you bring that up at the expo, i will personally make sure you never see the light of day again!”
“hmm, we’ll see,” you said, clicking your tongue. “but just so you know, i’m wearing a sundress to the event. the kind that’s real easy to slide up.”
the silence on the other end was deafening. you could hear his shallow, shaky breathing, the sound of a man who was once again realizing he was completely and utterly fucked.
“you’re fucked up in the head,” he finally choked out. “i’m going to make your life a living hell at that expo. just wait.”
“i’m looking forward to it, princess,” you whispered. “don’t forget to pack the lotion. you’re gonna need it.”
then the day of the expo arrived.
the convention center was a zoo, filled with the smell of expensive cooling fans and energy drinks.
you could hear the loud cheer of the crowd from the main stage, but you were currently focused on the back entrance.
you walked toward the ‘pro player’ lounge, and as soon as you pushed the doors open, you spotted him.
naoya was surrounded by staff, looking bored and arrogant wearing a custom jersey.
he was in the middle of sipping from a bottled water when his eyes landed on you.
naoya actually choked.
he sputtered, water spraying down the front of his expensive shirt as he coughed violently.
the staff around him scrambled to help, but he shoved them away, his eyes locked on you, specifically on the way the sundress clung to your hips and the deep dip of the neckline.
“you…” he wheezed, his face rapidly turning a shade of red. “what the fuck are you wearing? this is a professional event, not a—”
“not a what, naoya?” you asked, walking right up to him and patting his chest with a smirk. “you look a little hot. is the air conditioning not working in here, or are you just happy to see me?”
he looked like he wanted to scream and pull you into a closet at the same time. “you’re doing this on purpose,” he hissed, leaning down so only you could hear him over the noise of the convention. “you look like a bratty little slut. everyone’s staring at you. i can’t even stand up right now because of you.”
“good,” you whispered back, giving him a wink before heading toward the booths.
the day was a series of interviews and showmatches.
naoya was a mess; every time you leaned over to check your monitor or reached up to adjust your headset, his aim would go to shit, causing his chat to have a field day, clipping every time he got distracted by you sitting just a few feet away.
once the first day wrapped up and the players were heading to their respective hotels. naoya was at the curb, waiting for his private car, looking exhausted and tense.
“where’s your ride?” he muttered as you walked up to him, your small suitcase trailing behind you. “your hotel is on the other side of the district, isn’t it?”
“was,” you corrected him, popping the trunk of his car before he could protest and tossing your bag inside. “i decided my room was too lonely. i’m staying with you.”
naoya’s jaw dropped. “the fuck you are! i didn’t agree to this! you can’t just—”
“i can and i am,” you said, sliding into the back seat and patting the spot next to you. “unless you want me to tell your manager why you were vibrating so hard during the third round of the showmatch. get in, nao-chan. we have a lot to talk about, and i don’t think a discord call is going to cut it tonight.”
the drive to the hotel was silent, mostly because naoya looked like he was one comment away from a total meltdown.
his hand was resting on his lap, and you could see the way his knuckles were white, his eyes darting toward your legs every time the streetlights hit the car window.
the second the door to his suite clicked shut, he turned on you, slamming his hand against the wood next to your head.
“you’re a menace,” he growled darkly. “you show up in that dress, you humiliate me in front of my fans, and now you’re invading my room? you really think you can just keep pushing me like this without any consequences?”
“i’m counting on the consequences, naoya,” you said, reaching up to trail a finger along the collar of his jersey. “you’ve been acting so tough all day. why don’t you show me if you’re still a good boy when the cameras are off?”
he let out a jagged sound, his pride finally snapping as he grabbed your waist and hauled you flush against him.
you could feel the hard ridge of his dick pressing into your stomach, even through the fabric of your dress.
“i’m going to ruin you,” he whispered against your lips. “i’m going to make sure you can’t even walk to the booth tomorrow.”
he slammed you back against the door, crashing his mouth onto yours violently.
there was no teasing this time, no slow build-up. what’s left is just his raw, frantic need.
he groaned into your throat as his hands flew to your chest, grabbing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress.
“fuck,” he rasped against your lips, mounding your breast. “i’ve been wanting to rip these out of this goddamn dress since the second you walked into the lounge. you fucking brat.”
“ah— nao, wait—” you gasped, but the protest was swallowed by his tongue forcing its way back into your mouth.
it was a messy, wet war between your tongues; fighting for space while you scrambled at the zipper of his jersey. your nails dug into his shoulders, pulling at the fabric.
naoya didn’t have the patience for zippers, so he hooked his fingers into the neckline of your sundress and yanked downward with a sharp rrip.
the yellow fabric gave way, tearing down the middle and exposing your bare tits. he let out a jagged breath at the sight, his eyes dark and blown out.
“oh yes... look at you,” he hissed, his hands immediately cupping your breasts, and rolling his thumbs over your nipples until you let out a sharp, high pitched “ah!”
you didn’t stay still either.
you fought back, yanking his jersey over his head and tossing it somewhere.
your hands went straight for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle in your haste. “get... get this off, naoya! fuck, you’re so slow!”
“shut up!” he growled, biting down on your bottom lip so hard you tasted the tang of blood.
you bit him back, your teeth catching on his lip as you finally freed his dick from his pants.
it sprang out, already standing proud and throbbing, slamming the head against your stomach.
he was fucking huge, even bigger and harder than you remembered, the thick veins pulsing against your skin. “uhm... god, naoya,” you moaned, your head tossing back against the door as he buried his face in your neck, leaving dark, bruised marks.
his hand slid down, his fingers roughly pushing aside your lace panties until he found your pussy.
you were a complete mess, dripping wet and your juices immediately coated his fingers the second he touched you.
“you’re soaking,” he muttered. “look at how much of a slut you are for me. you’re practically leaking all over the floor.”
“fuck you, naoya! ah— right there!” you cried out as he shoved two fingers deep inside you while his thumb grinding against your clit.
you were clenching around him, your walls pulsing with a desperate need to be filled by the real thing.
“stop talking and... and put it in. i want it now.”
he let out a low, animalistic sound, his teeth grazing over your collarbone.
he was shaking, his pride is completely gone, replaced by a twitching need to claim you. his massive dick was rubbing against your wet slit, smearing pre-cum all over your folds.
naoya didn’t let you breathe.
before you could even process the weight of him against the door, he hooked his arms under your thighs and hauled you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist.
your torn dress hanging off your hips in shreds as he stumbled toward the bed, tripping over his own discarded pants. he threw you onto the mattress, but he didn’t give you a second to recover.
“you’ve been running your mouth all day,” he rasped, licking his lips. “time to put it to better use.”
he stood at the edge of the bed, leveling his throbbing dick which was already standing tall and angry. he reached down, fisting his fingers into your hair and pulling your head toward him.
“suck it. i want to feel how much you missed me.”
you didn’t need to be told twice. you leaned forward, darting your tongue out to lick the length of himt.
when you finally took him into your mouth, you let out a muffled “uhm!” the sheer length of him made your jaw ache instantly.
naoya let out a long, shaky groan, his hand tightening in your hair, forcing you deeper onto him.
“fuck... yes, just like that. you’re so good at this, aren't you? ah! fuck, your tongue—!”
he was even thrusting his hips instinctively, his breath coming in jagged hitches as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock.
he held your head in place like he was holding on for his dear life just from the sensation of you giving him a head, his body vibrating with the effort not to blow his load right then and there.
but you weren’t done being the one in control.
you pulled back with a wet pop, looking up at him with a defiant, hungry smirk.
before he could complain, you shoved him back onto the pillows and crawled over him. you positioned yourself over his face, your dripping, swollen pussy hovering just inches from his mouth.
you could see his eyes widen, his breath hitching as the scent of your own juices hit him.
“sit on me,” he choked out, his hands reaching up to grab your ass, fingers digging into your skin. “do it, fuck, i want to taste you.”
you lowered yourself slowly and your wet slit pressed firmly against his lips. “ah! yes... fuck, naoya!” you cried out as his tongue immediately lashed out, making sure he’s darting deep inside you.
he was eating you like a starving man, kissing your pussy sensually while swirling his tongue up and down your clit. constantly teasing and constantly sucking at the same time.
“uhm—! ah! right there, nao! fuck!” you arched your back, your hands clutching the headboard as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his fingers reaching around to pull your cheeks apart so he could get even deeper.
the sensation was overwhelming, his tongue was literally making your pussy lick more from licking to sucking.
he’s making you see stars while your pussy is clenching rhythmically, splashing more of your juice onto his face.
“you taste... so fucking good,” he managed to gasp out between licks, his voice muffled by your folds. “ah! fuck, look at how much you’re leaking for me. you’re a fucking mess. you’re my bitch, you got that?!”
“shut up and... ah! keep going! yes! ah! ah! ah!” you were losing it, your entire body was shaking as the first wave of an orgasm started to build up, and your internal muscles squeezing tightly around nothing while naoya continued to devour you with a relentless hunger.
it did not take a while before you were screaming stop and holding his face back, forcing him to stop licking because you were literally about to pee on his face.
the sensation was too much and it was tickling your sexual soul so much that his tongue was doing you all the favors that him eating you out felt much greater than when you were touching yourself.
he ate your clit and inserted his tongue inside your pussy with intent and naoya didn’t even give you a second to breathe after you came on his face.
he growled and grabbed your hips, flipping you over onto your back violently.
he was panting, his face smeared with your juices, his hair a mess, and his massive dick was throbbing so hard it looked like it was about to split skin.
“you’re such a loud-mouthed brat,” he hissed as he pinned your wrists above your head. “think you can handle this? think you’re big enough for me, guest_01?”
he didn’t wait for an answer and just positioned the broad head of his cock against your dripping entrance. you immediately felt the tip of him, thick and blunt, pushing against your folds, and as he began to drive forward, you let out a sharp, strangled “ah! ah! fuck, naoya!”
your pussy was being stretched to its absolute limit.
you could feel the walls of your vagina being forced apart, the skin of your entrance pulled taut while your hole adjusted around the size of him.
it felt like you were being filled to the brim, every nerve ending in your slit screaming as he buried himself deep inside you in one long, relentless shove.
“uhm—! god, you’re... you’re fucking huge,” you gasped, your head tossing back against the pillows. “you’re trying to... ah! break me, aren’t you? you pathetic... arrogant... prick!”
“shut your mouth!” naoya snapped, though his own breath was hitching in his throat.
he started to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.
“you’re so tight... fuck! it’s like you were made to be stretched out by me. admit it, you fucking love being filled like this.”
he wasn’t just hitting you; he was hitting everything.
because of his size and the angle he was driving at, his dick’s head was hooking right against your g-spot with every single thrust.
“ah! yes! right there! oh god, fuck!” you cried out, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper. “you’re hitting it... ah! ah! don’t stop, you bastard! keep going!”
“i’ll stop when i say so!” he barked, his eyes narrowed with a mix of lust and pride as he watched your face contort in pleasure.
he was hammering into you frantically, just freely letting his massive dick slide through your entrance, creating the sound of loud and vulgar squelch from your wetness. “look at you... moaning like a slut. who’s the winner now, guest_01? who’s owning who?”
“uhm—! you’re still a bitch, naoya!” you choked out, even as your pussy clenched violently around him, milked by the sheer size of his shaft. “you’re just a... ah! ah! a big-dicked bitch! fuck! right there! ah!”
the insults were getting drowned out by the sound of skin slapping skin and the frantic moans escaping your lips.
naoya was losing his cool too as he felt your internal muscles squeezing him, begging for more.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth as he delivered deep, punishing stabs that made your vision go blurry.
“i’m gonna... fuck... i’m gonna cum so deep inside you,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “you’re gonna be full of me all through the expo tomorrow. everyone’s gonna see you and know... ah! fuck! know exactly what i did to you!”
“do it then!” you screamed, your nails digging into his back, drawing blood as your own climax began to build again, triggered by the relentless pounding against your g-spot. “fill me up, naoya! ah! ah! yes! fuck! now!”
naoya wasn’t satisfied with just hearing you scream from underneath him.
as soon as you peaked, your walls twitching and milking him with desperate, wet clenches, he let out a jagged growl.
he didn’t pull out; instead, he grabbed your waist with bruising force and hauled you upward, flipping you onto your hands and knees in one motion.
your pussy felt wide and raw, still throbbing from the stretch, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust.
he reached forward, his fingers fisting into your hair and yanking your head back so your spine arched, pushing your ass high into the air.
“you think you’ve had enough?” he hissed into your ear. “i told you i was going to ruin you. we’re just getting started.”
he lined his massive cock up with your opening and slammed with a single, violent thrust.
“ah! fuck! naoya!” you shrieked, your chest hitting the mattress as the sheer force of the impact rattled your entire frame.
taking him from behind felt completely different. he was hitting even deeper in this position, maybe until your stomach now, you don;t fucking know. all you know was he’s fucking tipping your pussy apart with his thick shaft sliding through the pool of your combined juices with loud squelch.
“uhm—! god, it’s too... it’s too deep!” you gasped, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets as he started to drill deeper into you.
he was relentless, his hips snapping forward arrogantly and every time he bottomed out, his balls slapped against you.
naoya was a maniac.
he kept a firm grip on your hair, using it to control the angle as he hammered away at your g-spot. “look at this mess you made,” he mocked as he watched his thick, veiny dick disappear inside you and pull out covered in your cum from earlier. “you’re so fucking wet. you’re begging for it, aren’t you? ah! fuck, you're so tight, i can barely—ah!”
“shut up and... ah! ah! just keep hitting it!” you cried out, your head tossing. “you talk too much... uhm! yes! right there! fuck, naoya, harder! slam into me like you mean it, you prick!”
“you want it harder?!” he barked, his ego flaring at the challenge.
but he still increased the pace, his thrusts becoming short stabs that sent sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your brain. “i’ll give it to you... ah! i’ll give you exactly what you deserve! hm fuck yeah..”
you were losing your mind from the sensation of his massive cock filling you completely, combined with the sharp pull on your hair and the vulgar sound of your bodies colliding.
your pussy was screaming, clenching around him so hard which made naoya grunt and bite his lower lip because it felt so fucking good.
he shifted, grabbing your hips with his sweat-slicked hands and dragged you upward until you were straddling him.
he leaned back against the headboard, his chest heaving, and his still hardening dick guiding you until you lowered yourself down, sliding down onto his full length in one slow, agonizingly deep plunge.
“ah! ah! fuck, naoya!” you gasped, your nails digging into the mattress as he filled you completely.
being on top lets you control the friction with how you ground your hips down.
naoya didn’t stay still, he was too hungry to be. his hands flew up to your chest, and made his mouth latch onto your breast.
he wasn’t just kissing; he was sucking, teeth grazing your nipple while he fisted his hands into your hair, yanking you down so you had no choice but to stay close to his face.
“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest as he sucked harder. “you’re so fucking wet, you’re drowning me. ah! look at you riding me like a pro.”
“you’re... ah! ah! still a prick!” you cried out, your own hands gripping his messy hair as you started to grind against him. the feeling was electric, every slide of his dick against your internal walls were sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
“you’re still so tight, you’re killing me!” he barked while his eyes rolled back, all while he sucked your other breast, pulling until you let out a high-pitched “ah! ah! ah!”, feeling the sensation of his mouth on your tits while your pussy clenched around his massive cock.
you started to bounce, faster and harder, making your breasts jiggle with every movement.
his hands never left your hair because he was using it to keep you locked in place. “i’m not... ah! i’m not slowing down for you! fuck, naoya, you’re so big... ah! it feels like you’re splitting me in two!”
“yeah? let me fucking split you then!” his hips were bucking upward to meet your downward thrusts.
he was hammering into you, and every time you slammed down, he’d suck harder on your nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin until you were sobbing with pleasure.
“oh god... yes! fuck! ah! ah! ah!” you were lost, your body is now moving on instinct as your pussy milk him, feeling his dick swell even more inside your aching, stretched-out folds.
he was staring up at you, his eyes dark, his lips swollen and red from your own teeth earlier, looking at you with a mix of pure, unadulterated possessiveness.
“ride me until you can’t walk,” he ordered, sounding more drunk while his grip in your hair is tightening until it almost hurt. “i want you to remember this feeling every time you look at me on stream. you belong to me.”
“i’m ... ah! fuck! ah! ah!” you screamed, your hips moving in a wild, uncontrolled manner until the pressure finally became too much, and you both shattered into an earth-shattering climax together.
you were bouncing wildly on top of him, your nails shredded through his scalp, and he responded by arching his back and driving his hips upward.
you felt his balls slap against your pussy with every frantic lunge, and when he finally exploded inside you, it was too much that it started to drip out.
you clutched his shoulders while your legs were shaking uncontrollably. you spasmed around him, milking every last drop of his cum. then you collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air.
the next morning, you woke up so fucking sore.
you groaned, trying to roll over, but your entire body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.
your pussy was swollen and throbbing, and your hips ached with a deep, bruised soreness that made every movement sting.
you crawled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
you gripped the sink to steady yourself, your eyes half-closed as you stared at your reflection.
your neck was covered in hickeys and your hair was a tangled disaster.
you assumed he was still dead to the world in the king bed, out like a light after the absolute marathon he’d forced you through.
you had just started scrubbing your teeth when the bathroom door creaked open.
you didn’t even have time to turn around before you felt a heavy weight press against your back.
naoya was still stark naked with his hair still messy from sleep, and before you could even say out a “good morning”, he grabbed your hips with both hands and jerked you backward so your ass was pressed firmly against his hard, morning stiff cock.
“think you’re getting away that easily?” he rasped against your ear.
you didn’t even get to pull the toothbrush out of your mouth before he slammed his hips forward without warning, no lube, no foreplay, just the sudden, heavy pressure of him sliding into your tight, already-sore slit.
“ah! f-fuck—!” you choked out, the toothbrush clattering into the sink as you doubled over, your hands bracing against the counter.
his dick was massive, filling you up instantly, stretching you out until you felt like you might snap.
“you’re mine,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he started to drive into you right there in the bathroom. “i’m not done with you yet.”
sure enough after an hour of him absolutely wrecking you against the bathroom vanity, you were left in a state of complete ruin.
your legs were shaking, your pussy felt like it had been through a car wash, and every muscle in your back were screaming in protest as you tried to even stand straight.
naoya, meanwhile, was glowing with a satisfied energy that made you want to claw his eyes out, if you had the strength.
when you finally left the hotel, the transition to the expo was pathetic.
naoya didn’t bother with a cab or a shuttle.
he literally walked through the lobby with his arm hooked firmly around your waist, his grip so possessive and tight that you couldn’t have pulled away if you tried.
he was practically carrying half your weight, leaning down every few seconds to whisper something lewd into your ear, making sure you felt every ounce of his arrogance.
“look at you,” he hissed, his thumb digging into your hipbone. “you’re so sore you can barely stand. you’re just my favorite little toy, and everyone here is going to know it just by looking at the way you’re struggling to keep up with me.”
you tried to snap back, but all that came out was a breathless, “fuck... off, naoya.”
when the two of you walked into the player lounge, the room went dead silent.
naoya didn’t give a shit. instead, he steered you straight to your booth, which, true to the organizers’ plan was right next to his.
he didn’t let you walk to your chair; he literally guided you, his hand sliding down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze before he shoved you into your seat.
he leaned over the small partition between your booths, his face inches from yours, looking like a king who had just conquered a new territory. “stay right there,” he commanded. “don’t talk to anyone. i’m watching you.”
you slumped into your chair, the soreness in your hips making you wince as you sat down, and you saw his eyes track the movement with a sick, satisfied smirk.
he knew exactly why you were hurting and he knew exactly what he’d done to you in that bathroom.
as he turned to his own setup, you saw him glance at his chat, which was already scrolling past, thousands of people realizing exactly why you were walking so slowly and why naoya looked like he was vibrating.
“yeah, she’s staying here,” he said, shooting you a sharp, hooded look. “she’s a bit tired today. i gave her a hell of a morning workout.”
the chat went into complete meltdown, and you could only lean your head against your monitor, while feeling your face burning, knowing you were well and truly trapped.
Yo ref do sum ToT HAD FUN DOING THIS ONE SM I was just goofing around but then I remembered I need to lock tf in ( ◜‿◝ )♡ I AM GOING INSANE I NEED TO SEE GAKU ALIVE AGAIN PLS
All these gachiakuta smut fics where the reader is like all big and confident versus me being an actual loser irl is so disheartening like no guys, I'm not gonna be big and tuff against tamsy, no I'm not gonna fight Jabber and make him eat my ass, no I'm not gonna be the one who overstimulates Enjin during sex, I'm a pussy 💔
rin itoshi tying your shoes because you’re taking too long
── 𝒴ou’re taking too long.
Rin doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you struggle with the laces, fingers fumbling like they’re deliberately testing his patience.
“Tighten it,” he mutters.
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
Before you can argue, he crouches in front of you. Quick and efficient. Like he’s done this before and decided you can’t be trusted with it.
“Rin—”
“Hold still.”
His fingers move fast, practiced. He pulls the laces tight, ties the knot cleanly, then tucks the ends in so they won’t come loose. You look down, then back at him.
“…You could’ve waited.”
He stands, brushing his hands on his pants. “You’d still be here.”
You smile. “You’re impatient.”
He glances away. “You’re slow.”
He takes your hand and starts walking before you can respond, grip firm, pace already set—like this was always how it was going to go.
✦ KISS IT BETTER, BREAK THE BEARER ✦ YANDERE CHROLLO X GN!READER ✦
• SUMMARY: Throwing things at Chrollo in anger has become second nature to you. But what do you do when, for once, he doesn't dodge and you end up burning him? You tend to him, anxious about the possibility of retaliation, even though you're aware he's playing with you the entire time... only to be caught off guard when he asks for a supposedly small recompense. But with him, nothing is ever truly innocent.
• CONTAINS: burns, very suggestive, guilt-tripping, fear of punishment, dub-con implication and entrance at the end, one reluctant but very heated and somewhat explicit kiss, nudity, chrollo is annoying and scheming, unwanted touch, forced relationship, reader battling their own feelings towards him. inspired by my own coffee burn I once accidentally suffered (fortunately it happened a long time ago and there’s no scar left today :].) WORD COUNT: 5,6k.
• NOTE: Every time I think I’m done with my Chrollo fixation, some new idea comes to my mind *sigh*. Divider is by @/saradika-graphics.
Whether Chrollo is deliberately provoking you or he’s simply irritating on his own, it’s usually irrelevant to the bad habit you’ve been fostering ever since he started dragging you along his criminal journey as his own pocket lover. It’s quite often that you find yourself reacting with a violent tone, that is flinging the nearest item at him once he provoked you enough.
Your little baseball game isn’t actual violence — it’s more about relieving built-up tension or proving a point for your pride when you fling things at him, as you’re fully aware that Chrollo will dodge every attack. The action is cathartic… until the frustration of missing hits right after, along with the relief.
He memorizes each item that would be capable of causing harm should he actually allow them to hit his body… but you throwing a hot liquid at him is new in your usual repertoire. A shoe in the head would hurt but give no more than a bruise, a pillow is nothing, while a freshly brewed coffee is on another level of artillery to be weaponized, ought to give anyone a nasty burn. Quite ungrateful too, considering he made the brew for you.
Although, liquids are still nothing that he cannot dodge; however, this morning, for some odd reason, the black caffeine ends up coating his skin, burning it through his shirt.
A few words too many, of the category he could choose from worse than usual, and you were boiling hot from anger, choosing to skip the morning drink supposed to wake you up for the sake of expressing yourself — and that bastard let you hit him, moving rapidly out of his seat only once it happened, not before like you anticipated.
It’s been heavy seconds of you staring at each other in shock. You’re frozen in the spot after you stood up from the kitchen chair to hurl your mug’s coffee towards him, now terrified by the implications of him not moving away, as if one wrong twitch could set him off. You have for once managed to hurt him, and it’s not empathy that forces gnawing fear of consequence into your entire nervous system, but the idea of his retaliation. You doubt Chrollo would benefit from killing the one he’s obsessed with, which is no relief if there’s many ways for him to make living for you as dreadful.
“Why… why did you just stand there?” you ask with panic, across the kitchen table. Your hand holding the mug slowly falls down back onto the flat surface, in hopes you can somehow restart this 8am of some cheap motel room you’re staying at as a pit stop.
It has to be a game of sorts — why would he not get out of the way for once? Why would he let him himself hurt?
Chrollo winces in pain and you wonder if it’s performative. Out of all injuries he has suffered in the past, combining the endurance of them with his prowess, surely some burn is like a scratch to him. “You threw a hot liquid at me and you’re mad at me for getting burn?” his tone actually sounds tormented, and then he looks up at you with a gaze full of unusual for him fragility.
“That’s not—” you try to argue he must know what you mean, but he’s just standing there, out of his own chair, clutching his front. Your terror grows, seeing the soiled black material of his shirt clinging to his upper abdomen, surely where the burn is. Oh no, once the blisters form and their liquid dries, the fabric will stick to the skin.
You shouldn’t care about his wellbeing. You don’t. It’s the dread that has you moving around the table and towards him. You are worried about some hypothetical punishment you’re not even sure he’ll deliver; and maybe you do feel some sympathy, because unlike him, you’re not a heartless being.
“Fucking hell, Chrollo, you need to remove that shirt - immediately,” you urge him, pulling at his sleeve nervously. The smell of coffee is overwhelming your nose, reminding you of what you’ve done, supposedly not deliberately. Closer to him, you notice there’s actually a lighter splatter all over the rest of his clothes, matching the one on your pajama you still didn’t change after waking up.
The tilt of his lips in response is either a reflection of his amusement or another wince — your wide eyes of something different from anger surely must be a spectacle to him. “It’s alright, I can take care of myself…” he says humbly, looking at you wistfully. “Also, I feel compelled to ask if you got hurt in the process too?”
“No, and don’t play games with me right now, and take it off, now!” with more assertiveness, you scold him and tug at the hems of his long sleeve.
You imagine him saying something almost flirty at your insistence of undressing him in any other situation. As of right now, he obediently lifts his arms for you; not without another tiny, pained breath that your hammering heart takes with even more frighten.
You’re met with the sight of his chest, and while it’d typically be an uncomfortable confrontation, all you can concentrate on is the red and shiny blotch that has formed already, right below his sternum, a size of an average hand. The contrast of it against his pallor makes you nauseous.
“Does it hurt much?” you ask tentatively. If Machi was there, she could easily take care of the scald; if anything, Chrollo should be able to handle this injury relatively easily. And yet, you’re fussing over him, trying to make it up to him before he could decide you need to be punished even if you both know you have never meant to actually achieve harming him; at least, you think you know that.
Right as his mouth opens, you shut it with an urgent-sounding demand. “Nevermind. Let’s get this cleaned up!”
He’s got to be messing around; as you lead him by his arm to the bathroom, his steps are not hurried enough, he focused mostly on vocalizing his pain. There’s simply no way for Chrollo to be suddenly so sensitive! Your own stroll is with you dizzy, sweating from the nerves. You suspect it’s not even the fact that you hurt him but the visceral reaction to hurting someone this badly in general — very human.
“Chrollo. Please, move faster. We need to cool down your wound!” you beseech with anxiety, imagining the nasty blistering and whatnot should you not make it in time. And then, when his members come here later they will be mad at you, and Chrollo will tell you that you intentionally harmed him—
“I’m trying, best believe. It’s not easy to walk when every move makes it worse…” he sighs pathetically.
Incorrigible. You are now absolutely certain he’s being dramatic on purpose. Not that a burn is something to walk off for a regular folk, yet a man of his caliber should be able to take it well — what’s coffee in comparison to some toxic chemicals he for sure felt on his skin during fighting some enemies?
And yet, you feel like you have no choice but to be nice — at least to show some regret, easing the impact of your transgression.
Finally stepping into the bathroom, your sanity is fraying at the seams already, your brain overworked from him making things unnecessarily difficult. Still, you try to figure out the logistics — the sink is awkward to work at with the burn, so you think a shower will be more comfortable for spraying cold water at it.
Watching him stand in the narrow space of the yellow-tiled bathroom, he hunched over like some victim, you decide, “Okay, Chrollo, take off your clothes and step into the shower. We need to rinse you with cold water. Please hurry!”
Here he goes being himself, at last, as if he’s trying to lighten up the mood even if you know it’s not quite that. “You seem quite desperate to witness me naked today,” he chuckles, glancing at you with mirth despite his supposed suffering. “It shouldn’t require scalding my skin for you to get this chance — you only need to ask.”
The fluster he still manages to provoke in you despite your ongoing panic is revolting; you almost drop the idea of helping him.
“For someone so hurt, you’re doing little to be treated,” you mock scornfully and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Get naked or I’ll assume that you’re fine!”
Chrollo sighs again, before moving onto grabbing his pants — slow and struggling. As you hear the familiar clinking of his belt, you’re suddenly reminded of what you asked in actuality, turning your gaze away. Seeing him bare usually happens in less comfortable positions for you. You’ve seen him in his most natural state many times, yet each time, you want to bleach your eyes; he’s surely with an attractive physique, but it’s the gentle manipulation, intrusive, that you usually face his body with.
He breaks the trail of your thoughts with another offensive line. “You’re not undressing as well?”
You whip up your head towards him, eyes bulging from the worry. “Huh? Why would I do that?”
“I thought you were eager to lend me a helping hand,” he says with interest.
You gulp. On one hand, you don’t want to be naked next to him, in the cramped space of shower especially. On the other hand, you feel it’s your duty to tend to his wound, you desperately trying to minimize the damage you appearing to want to hurt him was. Except—
“Chrollo, all you need to do is stand under a cold water for a few minutes. I’d only get in your way. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare something to patch you up,” you manage to talk strictly enough, for once in this situation not yielding to your desire to please him. A cold shower is the least he can do on his own, you decide with more logic, if only to avoid him taking advantage of your kindness.
A short look of satisfaction passes over his face, as if he’s proud of you setting your foot solidly for at least one matter. “Very well. I’ll stand there, hoping that this excruciating pain will be rinsed off along with the water,” he says rather dramatically, and removing his clothes entirely, he finally steps inside the shower cabin.
You release the breath you’ve been holding. “Excruciating pain my ass,” you mumble under your nose, opening the cabinet above the simple mirror of the sink.
There’s something you can work with, you realize as the water droplets drone against the tiles in the background. The first aid kit this motel is providing, albeit not full, has some sachets of gauze and medical tape remaining. You find a bottle of aloe vera gel Chrollo bought for you when you one day burned yourself on the porch’s sun, too stubborn to go back inside into the same space with him, as well some painkillers for when living as his reluctant lover serves you a headache. Gathering all, you leave the bathroom, making sure you don’t look towards the clear glass Chrollo is behind of — there’s not even any heat fog to cover his nudity.
On your way to your shared room, you think about how idiotic the notion that you’re babying him is, considering he has to be pretending about the extent of his harm the coffee caused, and you anticipated him moving out of your way when throwing coffee at him as usual. But he has you operating based on your deepest fears, skillfully, leaving you in uncertainty about how mad he might be at you, never making it clear if you taking care of him will actually help your case and ease his disappointment or is merely you taking responsibility and some discipline still awaits you. He’s not hiding the fact he’s acting, and yet, you still are serving him on auto-mode.
You didn’t even mean to hurt him and you’re sure he knows about that. You threw the liquid at him assuming nothing bad will happen and he’ll dodge as always. Can you even be at fault if he didn’t dodge in clearly a deliberate way, considering his agility? Is he not making a ploy to paint you as an assaulter and leave you squirming from the price of being one? It’s unfair, really — you can’t even defend yourself, if the harm was done anyway.
Still, you suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry — showing lack of consideration would only make you look malicious as intended.
You plop yourself on the creaky bed laid out with a brown blanket and throw your items at it, awaiting his return. The room smells musty, the wallpaper is peeling off, the wooden furniture is scratched everywhere, but you don’t bother to close the curtains and let the sunlight in. Closing your eyes for a few moments, you’re measuring every sound he makes through the thin walls, then the step towards you that start few minutes later, as you attempt to take deep breaths…
You open your eyes only when the door does, freezing upon the sight. Chrollo’s body is dripping with water droplets, and he has only a white towel wrapped around his hips. Sitting up on bed immediately, you start expressing your disgruntled mind. “Couldn’t you get dressed?!”
“The clothes were stained in your coffee. They have to be washed,” he informs you calmly.
“Then…” you sputter in anger, though you quickly assess his wound while you’re already staring at him. The redness has barely decreased on his pale skin, and some blisters are forming already. “Something from the closet.”
“Sure. Eventually. I want to lie down for a moment. Surely you don’t mind, if I’m still in pain?” he asks innocently, and not so innocently, he moves to put his body next to yours on bed. The bed was never that big, so the space between you two is rather suffocating; you already are forced to sleep next to him at nights.
You’ll have to dress his wound when he’s like that — is your dreadful realization. “Great..” you mutter.
Chrollo crosses his arms under his head, sprawled across the mattress. He looks at you expectantly, curious of your next move. “You really don't need to do this, if you don't want to. I’m sure I can handle myself,” he assures nonchalantly.
His words are chosen to give you the illusion of free choice, which to you only reads like a trap — one you’re scared to leave.
At this point, Chrollo’s not even hiding the fact he’s taunting you. Gone is the painful expressions that were meant to push you into the belief that you've hurt him; no need to keep the act if he knows where you’re headed already.
You probe previously gathered items under your hands, grinding them into the blanket, as your mind is addled by the weight of one stupid sentence.
You don’t have to — technically — but what will happen if you don't do the thing? Would he actually punish you for burning him? He has not yet lashed out on you in the span of the last months you lived with him, only was incredibly intrusive in different ways, yet it is also the first time you've managed to land your attack on him…
“Let me take care of your wound. We wouldn't want you to think I threw my coffee at you with premeditation,” you say sardonically, despite the worry that you can’t hide is written all over your body language. You shift your body weight onto resting on your knees in front of him for easy access.
“You didn’t?”
Here comes another question, one that makes you question yourself all over again. You tense up even more. Every time you’ve thrown something at him, you told yourself it was safe — he would always dodge, and so you could act without consequence. But now, confronted with his words, you can’t tell: have you been throwing things because you trusted he would always avoid them, or because you hoped he might finally get hurt?
You can tell it was at least in the beginning of your forced relationship that you were aiming to serve him real harm. Nowadays, adjusted to the brutal truth you can’t land even a scratch on him unless he decides so, it’s hard to tell what your intentions were.
“N-no. Why would I be fussing over you if I were to intend to hurt you?” you ask defensively.
“Because rage lends people a certain bravery. And once that rage subsides, they scramble to undo what they’ve done. Your tending to me now doesn’t have to imply you never meant to hurt me — it might only mean you lost your nerve and confidence afterward.”
He’s got you good. You stare him, and he stares back at you without any specific emotion for you read from, apathetic and relaxed. So you deflect, bringing up his own crime, as you rip open the gauze sachet, so hard your knuckles bracket each other. “And why didn’t you dodge, like you always do?! It’s as if you wanted to make me look malicious!”
“Dodging would’ve changed nothing,” he argues with infuriating calm. His body is below yours but it’s him controlling the flow here. “You already threw it. I simply let the truth land where it was headed. Seeing the wound… makes it harder for you to pretend you weren’t aiming to hurt me. It’s eye-opening about how vicious your intentions seem to be. Consider it a lesson from me.”
The audacity to go this far to prove some point — who normal hurts themselves for the sake of proving a point? Teaching you a lesson about what?! Showing you how you’re stressed out by him, especially when constantly provoked by him?
“I told you, I didn’t want to hurt you!” you snap. “I threw it expecting you’d dodge, like you always do!”
He tilts his head, studying your face as if he can see the argument cracking under you.
“You’re used to me dodging,” he agrees softly, as if he’s suddenly understanding how hard it must be for you to admit something your pride wouldn’t want you to — he’s patronizing you this way. “But did you actually hope I would?
When you’re angry enough to throw something at me… can you truly swear it’s harmless? A performance to make yourself look scary? Or were you finally hoping I wouldn’t move out of the way, when choosing to grab a hot liquid for the first time?”
The room rises up by a few degrees, and you try to finally attempt to treat his wound before your nerves would eat you alive and you’d start believing him. Opening the bottle of the aloe gel with a loud pop of the plastic, you use one more argument. Your eyes are darting between your shaky hands and his upper abdomen, while avoiding the risqué sight of his hips in towel. “Chrollo… I don’t deny that you are an artisan when it comes to provoking my anger, but I mean it when I tell you I’m not a violent person. I have never attacked anyone before meeting you, let alone gave them a burn on purpose,” for once, you use a tone closer to being civilized that you usually stray from when interacting with him.
He places his hand on your thigh and you think that maybe he’s reconsidering things; only for him to speak another conjecture, while his hand is trailing too high, as a reminder of his possession over you… and your mind. “But have you ever resented someone the way you resent me?” he poses the question lowly.
You know the answer is no; or that at least, it’s been a while since there was an individual as blood-thirsty as he is when it comes to controlling your life. That alone could potentially turn anyone aggressive, even if out of need for protection.
You inhale deeply, trying to squirm away from his hold; he keeps you in your place on his bed that now feels even smaller, and you can’t avoid neither his touch nor his accusations. By this time, the wound should have been taken care of, yet you’re staring at the awful blisters spread across the breadth of his burn, thinking that maybe you should pop them open and let him feel pain all over again — chain him to a rock and do it over and over—
—And then you remember that showcasing this desire would only prove him right.
Trying to dim your wick, you redirect your rage onto the task at hand, squeezing out a lot of clear gel onto your fingers. “Both versions can be true, can they be not? I could have been hoping to hurt you, as I could have been hoping that you step away from the trajectory of my throw as usual. I could have forgotten there’s coffee inside, intending to throw a mug at you only. What matters now is that your burn did happen,” you force every words with enough pressure, making sure you’re heard.
His mouth opens to argue immediately. You don’t give him a chance, “It might hurt,” shoving your fingers into his burn, and this time, unlike when he was freshly burned, you hear a noise you suspect is of a genuine pain. The coldness of the gel doesn’t help either.
But Chrollo is relentless; he says something else in the brief break of you grabbing the gauze, “You’ve changed.”
Your hands freeze above his stomach. “I changed how?” you scowl. He’s throwing more and more curveballs at you, and you are still taking the bait.
“You’ve become more circumspect when it comes to speaking to me. Choosing your words carefully, but also trying to not let your anger ingulf you,” he remarks with a small smile, while inching his body closer to you. The towel loosens and you gulp.
You’re confused, glaring holes into his burn as if it might open and speak for him — really, there’s so much mental trouble in one morning over one wound, who knows what else will happen tomorrow. “Then what’s all this deal with me throwing things at you is supposed to be?” you point out.
“I reckon your anger at my words still tips the scales towards you doing that. A bad habit, perhaps. Outside of that, you search for more logical and sound arguments. I like that about you,” his smile widens, and his dark eyes sparkle prettily when he’s honest for once, veiled by thick lashes.
You think he’s actually praising you. Noticing something positive about you than twisting some aspect of your person to his benefit. You don’t know how to feel about that. “Well, I have not intended to have debates with you for sport or fun, if only to make you listen to me. I still don’t enjoy the thought of being here with you,” you grumble.
“I know your disdain is strong, but who can say what rules time might rewrite?”
The idea of you transforming into someone who actually wants to be with him is both ridiculous and laughable. You would have launched another round of anger if it weren't for the exhaustion that has only just made itself felt; morning or not, Chrollo drained your mood for the rest of the day like an energy vampire.
Spreading the gauze over his stomach, you force yourself to ask one last thing, desperate to know your fate after your hypothetical assault.
“Anyway... I just want to know if you're going to punish me for throwing that coffee at you.”
“Do you want to be punished?” he doesn’t answer immediately, rubbing your leg instead. That question posed with his touch on you send chills into your spine — not the pleasant kind, if you’re hoping his groping doesn’t evolve into more.
Of course, you shake your head. You haven't even had the (dis)pleasure of knowing what being punished by him is like yet, which isn't exactly the relief it should be — it only leaves you hanging in anticipation and uncertainty, as you await the first time he’ll get back at you properly, in way another than being petty, annoying, or intrusive. Up till this day, you’re not sure what exactly he wants from you, other than breaking you into pieces to analyze and own.
“I'd much rather make it up to you... if you're holding a grudge or something,” you admit quietly.
You press a piece of tape onto his skin, no longer caring that he's nude in front of you, and almost laugh when he shivers at your touch, suddenly soft under your fingers. Even now, he's not immune to you.
“I don’t hold grudges. But, I do earn favors that might come in handy when needed… or those that simply bring pleasure.”
It is now that you put on the alarmed suit once more this morning, your mind wrapping the word pleasure into the worst hypothetical scenario.
Chrollo chuckles, slowing down his strokes on your thigh into something soothing; you don’t believe him to be that caring, not with his smirk and his eyelids resting low from the desire your defiance brings him. “Not of that kind. Merely a kiss to make amends… and to make it feel better. My burn is still deriving a lot of pain, you know?”
A kiss is surely easier to take than being manhandled by him — it’s definitely lighter in comparison to a painful punishment — but still is something you’d love to avoid. “There’s a painkiller, so…” you mumble awkwardly, patting down the finished dressing under his sternum. Out of sight, out of mind. “There. You should avoid sleeping on stomach or wearing tight clothes, though I’m sure you know that…” you ramble from another tension growing in you.
He peers down at his body below. “Mhm. It’s neat enough. Back at our topic…
Pain management of chemical kind is rather dull, and if a kiss is meant to make it up to me just like you wish to make it up to me…” a dramatic sigh follows after, as if he really needs your lips to kiss it better, and then he dares to look at you from under his lashes, holding some command in it to make it worse. Your stomach twists.
“I-is there no other way?” you stammer, eying his mouth with a clear reluctance.
“We could bargain, I suppose. I wonder what else do you think would be equivalent to one kiss for me to forgo it?” he asks humorously, eager what other price your mind could come up with that wouldn’t be only worse than a kiss he’s well-aware you don’t want to share with him.
Your brain errors, and you don’t need time to ponder to know a single kiss is a short annoyance and bruised dignity in comparison to what else Chrollo’s whims could steal from you; the deal of only a saliva exchange is really accommodating and lenient of him. At the same time, it’s extremely suspicious, and you doubt he’ll make the makeout easy.
You decide to get done with it, enticed by the idea of being able to move on for the rest of your day. You're pushing your head down with a hand carefully placed on his chest, right before your lips envelop his with a rather angry energy resurfacing again.
Then a certain itch that appears. Desperate to control something in your dynamic with him for once, your movements are firm and messy, as you’re craving to assert yourself, to show that you’re not entirely under his sway. For a moment, it feels like you’re finally in charge; be it brief, fleeting satisfaction, it’s still intoxicating and both comforting.
You hear him gasp in surprise and your head swims in ecstasy.
Unfortunately for you, Chrollo doesn’t stay passive. His hands wrap themselves around your midriff, strong and steady, and he’s drawing you even closer, pushing your upper body to rest directly on his, desire making him forget any burns or pains your weight is provoking. You yelp into his mouth, as your pajama is the only layer between you and his toned chest, and you can feel the growing bulge under his towel. It’s all as if he's been finally called to grab what he’s owed. It’s not enough to break your defiant stance but still enough to make it clear that he’s in control regardless of you kissing him first.
If you have thought it was your kiss that was heated, he proves you wrong, moving his lips with a provocative pressure, keeping his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling of you properly. There’s a roughness behind the kiss that renders your nerves raging the same way it ignites the desire you can never quite accept, and it makes your chest flutter in a way you don’t entirely understand, not that you want to. His pepper perfume and the closeness of his handsome features is already too overwhelming — now it’s hard to focus on what’s happening exactly when your faces are so close and he’s like mad, everything being blurred in your vision.
Still resting your hips on your knees and bent in this uncomfortable position, you press back your palms against his chest to withdraw for least the second, wanting your breath and comfort back, also fueled by the resistance long engraved in you. But he brings your head with one hand leaving your body ending up on the back of your skull, and so he’s catching your lips again.
The kiss worsens; with disgusting precision, controlled intensity, as if he’s trying to swallow you whole, releasing the tension that's been brewing between you two for the past hour, as well is testing the limits of your restraint. Your heart hammers in your chest, both the familiar bitterness and flush churning up your stomach. His skin is hot under your defensive palms, for once not cold like he is; he’s really not hiding his desire for you. You’re worried about the towel on his hips moving below you.
As you struggle to slow him down and watch clear pleasure in his knitted brows, you think you’ve never tasted him to be so impatient before, and you wonder if he's that starving for you, if he wants to make it dreadfully memorable for you, or all the above. Each press of his lips go deeper until he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth, grunting as if he cannot get enough of your taste, while still keeping your head close. When his hand pushes at your waist with even more insistence, you can’t breathe at all, and the friction between you two builds up too much sensitivity that you can’t stop any noises coming from your throat.
Every few rolls of his tongue is with you trying to push away, only for him to push you close, reminding you that you want to pay him back for hurting him. Until you finally relent, returning the favor with even more anger, giving your own punishment for being a bastard ever since the first day you have met him, indulging yourself in the ephemeral sense of being his equal. You press your body at him with more force, kissing him back instead of trying to shut your lips like before, growling as he only laughs into your tongue.
He murmurs something against your lips — low, soft, almost a taunt about you being aggressive again — and so you bite his lips and grab his biceps to scratch at them, drawing out a weak mewl. Your skin prickles and flushes with lust when he takes that as an invitation for lowering his hand from your waist to the apex of your ass. You close your widened eyes to focus on physical sensations, even if you know he occasionally opens his to watch the myriads of emotions passing over your face and enjoy them.
Initially thinking you’re reclaiming your control over your body if you can’t take control over your life, he still twists things other way around, at last shifting his weight to press you down onto the bed and under him. The kiss continues as more teasing now, suddenly slow, and you gasp between the short withdrawals, catching your oxygen. He doesn’t let you forget who really is in charge, pinning your wrists above your head; right as that damn towel finally slips off his hips.
It's becoming dangerous, the vile in your stomach turning into almost butterflies, overwhelmed by the heady softness behind the kiss as well noses brushing each other, even if you recognize the affection in it is faux. Chrollo is clearly trying to fluster you, going further than the kiss you owed him, and you are stuck in limbo of knowing better and not wanting to get away.
And so when he finally pushes his head up from you, letting you inhale properly and witnessing you in your must vulnerable state, he naturally says:
“Thank you for tending to my burn, darling. It’s reassuring to see you don’t despise me enough to leave me in discomfort. How unexpectedly tender you can be… It makes me wonder what the future holds, with all the trepidation of a lover waiting to be surprised,” he throws the words at you with a tone deceitfully gentle — meant to burn your cheeks and cause indignation at the very idea you might start wanting him, and succeeding.
Oh, how much you hate his guts; not any less when his hands start wandering everywhere over your body, but your mind asks for a short reprieve for the sake of receiving pleasure your stressed-self begs for, carefully manipulated by him. And Chrollo will be there, gathering the fruit of his labor, desiring you the same if not more as you show him your “disdain.”
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