Synopsis: When trying out the bicep ribbon trend with your beloved turns into a headlocking session.
Pairing: Fuma x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, headlock duh, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), lotus position because I can, dom fuma, lowkey rough sex, we fucking in front of the mirror, sub!reader (because we're all pathetic for this man), cringey dialogue, maknae line being kawaii in the beginning
A/N: to the anon who requested this hontoni gomenesai for this taking so much time i got such bad writer's block on it. Shoutout to @saturnsfae for motivating me to finish this fic fae i hope you cum to this fic ilysm. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 4.3k (a mona fic under 5k? we clapped)
“One day Maki, I will buy you a house.”
“Really?”
“She’s obviously joking, you idiot.” Yuma didn’t take his eyes off the TV, hands deftly moving across his console. Harua, sprawled out across the sofa beside him slapped his arm tilted his head at you.
“What did he do to deserve a house?” He asked, wrinkling his nose at the blonde, “I was the one who helped you bake the cookies!”
“And you’re the one eating all of them too.” Taki commented from the floor, absolutely demolishing Yuma in whatever game they were playing. You laughed, patting Maki’s head like a proud mom as he munched away at the chocolate chip cookies.
“Our beloved youngest here has just given me some very amazing ideas.” You hummed, waving your phone in Harua’s face, “I always knew you’d be my favorite son.”
“What am I then, beef tendon?” Taki said, letting his eyes slip away from the screen for a fraction of a second, in which Yuma managed to defeat him. He let out a triumphant yell and punched the air with his fist, finally setting down the console and looking over at you with a toothy smile, his adorable snaggle tooth peeking out.
“Care to share these amazing ideas with us?” Yuma said, grabbing a cookie.
“Mmhhh maybe not.” You said, slumping back against a cushion, “They’re PG 13.”
“We’re all adults.”
“Not in my eyes you’re not.” You said, handing a cookie to a very puppy-eyed Taki who happily stuffed it into his mouth, “You’re like what, 12?”
“How were the dinosaurs during your middle school by the way?” Harua tittered, somehow avoiding the pillow thrown at him at the speed of light.
“Was triceratops your favourite?” Maki extended the joke, earning a slap on the back of the head from you, “Hey, you’re the one who called us 12!”
“I really wonder why you guys aren’t like this with Fuma.” You sighed, watching Taki and Harua fight for the last cookie, “Hell, you guys tease Yudai for it, even though we’re both just a year younger.”
“We just respect your man way too much.” Harua said, glaring at Taki who managed to snag the last piece of sugary goodness. Maki nodded furiously at the side.
“That’s dada right there.”
“Hey, I’m the only one who gets to call him that.” You smirked, laughing at the disgusted expressions on all their faces.
“Well, would you like to tell us what this amazing idea is?” Yuma asked, resting his head on the edge of the sofa, “Just give us a hint!”
You sighed heavily, closing your eyes in feigned thought as the boys looked on, probably desperate to know when you’d be making another batch of the delectable cookies. You reached behind you, to pull off the ribbon in your hair, dangling it in front of them.
“Have any of you ever heard of the bicep ribbon trend?”
There was a beat of silence before Maki couldn't keep it in anymore. He sat up straighter, nearly dropping the cookie crumbs in his lap, pointing at the ribbon in your hand.
“Allow me to explain, gentlemen!” He said far too enthusiastically. Three heads turned toward him at once.
“Here we go.” Yuma sighed heavily.
“Make it short.” Harua gave a faux yawn, “I don’t want to bore myself to death.”
Maki nodded eagerly, already halfway into explanation mode. “It’s that trend where someone ties a ribbon around their partner’s bicep—like, right here—” he grabbed his own arm to demonstrate, “—and then the guy flexes and it tightens and looks all…” he paused, searching for the word, “…aesthetic.” There was a brief silence.
“Oh.” Harua leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing. “I liked that less than I thought I would.”
Taki, meanwhile, looked deeply betrayed. “So that’s what the cookies were for? Emotional manipulation?” You pressed your lips together, trying (and failing) to hide your grin.
“I didn’t say that,” you shrugged innocently, twirling the ribbon between your fingers, “but now that you mention it…”
Yuma snorted, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Maki, however, looked completely invested. “Are you actually going to do it?” he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
You stretched lazily against the cushion, completely at ease under their attention. “Mmhm,” you hummed, “I’m going to ask Fuma to do it when he gets home.”
Harua gagged dramatically. “Why would you say that out loud?”
Maki, on the other hand, looked like he was about to witness the event of the century. “Wait, can we watch?”
“No,” four voices said at once—yours included. He sank back into the couch, pouting.
You smiled to yourself, glancing at the ribbon again, already imagining it looped snug around Fuma’s delicious arm, the way he’d probably sigh at first—but still go along with it anyway.
This was definitely going to be fun.
“So will you send us a picture or–”
“No, Maki.”
___________________
“Fumaaaa”
The sound of your voice drifting through the house brought a smile to his face as he sat on the bed reading his book. That sweet tone of yours never failed to refresh every molecule in his body no matter how tired he was.
The book in his hands lowered just a fraction, his eyes flicking toward the doorway right as you appeared. And then you were already crossing the room, that troublesome quirk to your step.
Fuma barely had time to set the book aside before you climbed onto the bed and straight into his lap like it was second nature, knees settling on either side of him. His hands came up automatically to steady you, fingers resting at your waist.
“Mmhh, suspicious…..” He murmured, glancing down at you, one brow lifting. “What are you up to, my beloved troublemaker?"
Your lips pushed into the prettiest pout you could manage, eyes wide and just a little too innocent to be believable.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you said sweetly.
“Hm.” He leaned back slightly against the headboard, completely unconvinced. “You only make that pretty little expression when you want something.”
You tilted your head, letting your hair fall forward just enough to frame your face. “And if I do?”
His grip at your waist tightened just a little. “Then I’d like to know what I’m agreeing to before I say yes.”
You huffed softly, like he was being entirely unreasonable and then slowly, you brought the ribbon into view. The corner of his mouth twitched, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his gaze dropped from your eyes to your hands—a long, silky slip twirling around your fingers like vines.
Silence.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet!” You blinked.
Fuma’s lifted brow climbed even higher. He drew soft shapes onto your waist.
“I do,” he said calmly. “And the answer is still no.”
Your pout deepened, “Fuma,” you dragged his name out again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please?”
“I should never have let you meet them.” Fuma exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering between your eyes and that ribbon in your hand.
“Hey, those are my kids.” You said, beaming.
“That’s even worse.”
You shifted slightly in his lap, arms slipping around his shoulders now, closing the distance in a way that made it harder to think clearly. “It’s just a trend,” you murmured. “It’ll take two seconds.”
“Mm.” He looked unimpressed—but he didn’t move you away either. Yay, progress!
“And you’ll look really good doing it,” you added, quieter, almost conspiratorial. Fuma’s chuckle was a low, warm rumble you felt through your knees where they bracketed his hips. His thumb continued its idle tracing on your hip, a calming counterpoint to your campaign.
You saw it—the smallest crack in his resolve and you knew your wide pleading eyes were working. So you leaned in just a little more, voice dropping. “Please?”
He studied you for a long moment, the quiet of the room filling with the unspoken history of all your previous, whimsical requests. And there it was. That long, resigned, defeated sigh, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with affection.
“You’re impossible.” Fuma muttered, but his hands shifted from your waist to take the ribbon from you. Your face lit up instantly, “And yet I love you.” He smiled, “Don’t get excited yet,” he warned, though there was no real bite to it. “This is the first and last time.”
“Sure,” you said, already not believing him, “I love you, Fuma.” You dragged out his name, giggling as he sent you an air kiss.
The victory was sweet, humming under your skin as you watched him take the ribbon. The silk slithered through his fingers, a stark, elegant contrast against the strength of his hands.
And boy did you know that strength like the back of your hand. Always effortlessly lifting you up everywhere, telling you to sit the fuck down like a good girl on his face, pinning you down down down when you tried to run from it. And many more examples, all for another day.
“First and last,” he repeated, more to himself than to you, a futile charm against your future whims.You just smiled and settled back on his thighs to watch. This was the better part anyway—the before. The lamplight caught the smooth definition of his muscle, the subtle shift and cord of strength beneath his skin as he moved and your breath hitched.
You’d seen his arms a thousand times—wrapped around you, lifting groceries, braced against a doorway—but there was something about this display, this staging of his strength for your silly game, that made your mouth go dry and something else get drenched.
What was a girl supposed to do when her beloved was so damn delicious?
Fuma looped the ribbon around the fullest part of his bicep. His movements were precise, like everything else he did, green silk standing out like a trophy sash against his skin. He pulled the ends to a gentle tension, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.
“Like this?”
His voice was a low vibration that went straight through you. You could only nod, your own words caught somewhere in your throat. The ribbon pulled taut, digging a faint, enticing line into the hard curve of his muscle. Your gaze was locked on the sight, a slow, warm heat tightening low in your belly.
Fuma seemed to have noticed, as he always did. His eyes, which had been soft with amusement, sharpened just a fraction, turning heated. He held the ends loosely, not pulling yet, letting you look your fill.
“Someone’s staring.” Fuma murmured, a darker note of amusement in his tone.
“Can I not look at my beloved?” You managed to say, the excuse feeble even to your own ears.
“Of course you can, darling.” He gave a slow, experimental flex, just a subtle roll of the muscle beneath the silk.
The ribbon strained, the silken threads whispering in protest. A shiver raced down your spine, entirely unrelated to the temperature of the room.
Your earlier playfulness had evaporated, replaced by a thick, wanting silence. The air between you crackled, charged with a different kind of tension now.
The real subject of study was the way your heart hammered against your ribs, the way your skin felt too sensitive, the way you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the contrast of the delicate silk against raw strength.
Fuma just held it there, watching you watch him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. The quiet was profound, filled only with the sound of your breathing, which was becoming noticeably less even.
“You ok there, sweetie?” He said, his voice a velvet rumble.
You went completely still for half a second, swallowing. “Yeah.”
“Mmh.” His gaze dropped to your parted lips, then back to your eyes. “You sure?”
His voice made your knees weak even though you were already sitting down. Then, with his eyes still holding yours captive, he gave a single, firm pull.
The ribbon didn’t snap but god the way it held onto his skin, the way his bicep was staring at you like it needed your skin on it. Delicious.
His hands came up to frame your face, his touch warm. The look in his eyes was triumphant, possessive, and unbearably tender all at once.
“Mmh I don’t know.” He said, thumb brushing your cheekbone, “You don’t look too good, darling.” He leaned forward, chuckling at your flushed cheeks, “Why don’t we fix that, hmm?”
Fuma's smirk widened into a hungry grin. He closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you into a deep, demanding kiss. His lips crashed against yours, firm and insistent, his tongue sliding in to claim your mouth with slow, teasing strokes.
You moaned into him, your hands roaming up his chest to grip those biceps again, feeling the hard muscle flex under your palms. He tasted like mint and as the kiss deepened, he pulled you forward to lay on him, your body pressing flush against his.
His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips possessively before he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips,
“You like these so much huh? Want me to show you what they can do?”
You nodded frantically, your core aching with need, and he kissed you again, harder this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip as one hand tangled in your hair.
The kiss broke, leaving you breathless and dizzy, but he didn’t let the distance linger. His hands were firm guides at your hips, urging you up from his lap. With a gentle but undeniable pressure, he turned you and guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, facing the full-length mirror that stood against the wall.
The shift in perspective was sudden and intimate. You saw yourself first—hair slightly tousled from his grip, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes wide and dark with want. And then you saw him behind you, a powerful silhouette framed in the glass. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes.
“Look,” he murmured, his voice a low command in the quiet room. His hands slid down your arms, his touch both soothing and electrifying. “See what you do to me, my darling.”
In the mirror, you watched his hands move. They traced your collarbones, then drifted down, skimming the sides of your chest before coming to rest on your waist. His gaze in the reflection was locked on yours. Then he leaned in, his mouth hovering just beside your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
“And see what I can do for you.”
Fuma sat down, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled him, facing the mirror. His hands worked quickly, unbuttoning your shirt and shoving it off your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You gasped as he palmed them, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened into peaks.
“Watch yourself for me, my darling.” Fuma commanded, his voice rough with lust, nodding toward the mirror.
You obeyed, eyes locking on your reflection as he unzipped his jeans, freeing his thick cock. Your mouth watered at the sight, but before you could reach for it, Fuma gripped your waist and lifted you slightly, aligning you over him.
He didn't ease you down gently. With a firm thrust of his hips, he forced you onto his cock, the stretch immediate and overwhelming.
You cried out as he filled you completely, your pussy clenching around his length in shock and pleasure. The intrusion was intense—his girth splitting you open, every inch pushing deeper and deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, his balls pressing against your ass.
The mirror showed it all: your face contorted in ecstasy, breasts bouncing slightly from the motion, and Fuma's biceps bulging as he held you in place.
The pressure built fast, too fast, your walls fluttering around him, the fullness tipping you over the edge without any further movement. You came hard, your body shuddering as waves of orgasm ripped through you, your juices coating his cock. You didn't even revel in it properly, too busy still thinking about that initial stretch.
“Easy, pretty girl.” Fuma said, watching your reflection with darkened, half lidded eyes as you trembled on him, your head falling back against his shoulder, “So damn tight baby—ahh oh—ease up, darling.”
As your climax ebbed, leaving you sensitive and gasping, Fuma's arm snaked around your neck. He hooked his bicep under your chin, locking your head against his massive muscle.
The ribbon was still tied there, the silk brushing your cheek as he flexed, the bicep swelling against your skin.
And you were gone from the world. No longer did anything exist other than the feeling of him stealing the breath from your lungs. What air did you require anymore when your body was satisfied with this display of your beloved’s raw power? All your sensations seemed amplified as he pressed down on your throat, drawing needy little whines from you.
“You just gonna sit here, baby?” Fuma crooned, “Or are you going to move?” His free hand slapped your ass lightly to urge you on.
You started moving, lifting your hips and slamming back down, his arm keeping your gaze forced toward the mirror. You watched yourself impale on his cock over and over, the slick sounds of your pussy taking him filling the room. His arm tightened just a fraction with each bounce, the muscle pressing into your throat, restricting your breath in a way that sent sparks of pleasure straight to your dying clit.
Fuma thrust up to meet you, his hips snapping powerfully, driving deeper with every stroke. He made it impossible to look away from the erotic display—your thighs quivering, his cock disappearing into your soaked folds, the way your body arched against his hold.
“Look at how you take it.” He rasped, his breath hot against your ear, “Such a gorgeous girl.”
The pleasure built again, intensified by the pressure of his bicep, the way it flexed with his movements, rubbing against your neck like a constant reminder of his strength. Your hands braced on his thighs for leverage, nails digging in as you rode him faster, chasing that second peak. He released your hip to reach around, his fingers finding your honeyed spot and rubbing firm circles that made your vision blur.
You came undone a second time, harder than the first, your pussy spasming wildly around his cock as ecstasy crashed over you—mainly because of the restricted air, the unyielding muscle and the visual of your body surrendering in the mirror. Newfound kink, perhaps? You screamed his name, body convulsing, milking him with rhythmic squeezes until he groaned, his own release flooding you with hot spurts of cum.
You couldn’t speak. You could only watch in the mirror, your own desire painted plainly on your face, as he orchestrated this visual symphony of possession. He was showing you yourself, wrapped in his shadow, and showing you himself, the instrument of your pleasure.
Fuma held you there through the aftershocks, his arm loosening gradually as you both panted, still connected. The mirror reflected the satisfied mess you'd become—sweat-slicked skin, his cum leaking from you, and that damn ribbon still tied around his bicep, now slightly askew from the intensity.
As the tremors of your second orgasm faded, you slumped back against Fuma's chest, your body limp and spent in his embrace. His cock still throbbed inside you, semi-hard and slick with your combined releases, but he wasn't ready to let the moment end.
His arm, now relaxed from the headlock, slid away from your neck, fingers trailing down your spine in a soothing caress. You felt the silk of the ribbon brush your skin one last time before he reached up, untying it from his bicep.
Fuma moved with a languid grace, his body still thrumming. His hands, large and warm, slid under your thighs as he lifted you just enough to ease himself back, settling against the headboard with a deep, satisfied sigh. Then he drew you with him, turning you in his lap until you were facing him, straddling his hips once more.
You were a soft, pliant weight against him, your forehead coming to rest on his shoulder. His spent cock, still nestled inside you, was a tender connection. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your damp hair.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, slowly returning to normal. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat and him.
Fuma shifted beneath you, his hands gripping your hips to lift you off him just enough to slip free. A wet pop echoed as his cock exited your pussy, cum dribbling down your thighs in sticky trails. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but he shushed you with a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Mmmh let’s see.” He murmured, voice husky from exertion. He held up the ribbon, now slightly damp with sweat, the fabric shimmering in the dim light.
Your heart raced anew as he looped it around your neck, the cool silk contrasting with your heated skin. He pulled it snug but not choking, tying it into a perfect bow at the hollow of your throat. The ends dangled between your breasts, a makeshift collar.
The sight was intoxicating—your flushed face, marked lips from his kisses, and now this erotic accessory framing your collarbone. Fuma's eyes darkened as he admired his handiwork, his fingers tugging lightly on the bow to test its hold.
“Beautiful.” Your beloved breathed, leaning in to nip at the ribbon's edge, his teeth grazing your skin. The pull sent a shiver straight to your core, reigniting the ache despite your recent climaxes.
Your thighs draped over his, calves pressing against his back, locking you together like bee to pollen. His cock, hardening again from…….you, nudged against your entrance, teasing your swollen folds.
The ribbon fluttered with each breath you took, already missing the barrier that had once existed at the threshold of your lungs’ quest for oxygen.
Fuma gripped your waist, thumbs digging into your soft flesh, and lowered you slowly onto him. Inch by inch, his thick length speared into your cum-soaked pussy, the stretch renewed and delicious after the brief separation.
You moaned loud, hands flying to his shoulders for balance, nails scraping over the ridges of his muscles. He filled you utterly, the angle allowing him to hit deeper spots that made your toes curl.
“That’s it.” Fuma groaned, his head tipping back to expose his Adam's apple as your walls clenched around him, “Good—hah—good fucking girl.”
Once seated fully, your clit ground against his pubic bone, the pressure was electric. He wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you chest-to-chest, the ribbon pressing between you like a secret bond.
His mouth found yours in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he began to rock his hips upward. The motion was unhurried at first, a sensual grind that rolled through both of you, his cock dragging along your inner walls with each subtle thrust.
You matched his rhythm, undulating your hips in circles, this position keeping you pinned close. Sweat beaded on his skin, trickling down his chest to mingle with yours. The ribbon chafed lightly against your neck with every movement, heightening the intimacy. Fuma's hands roamed—squeezing your ass to guide your bounces, then sliding up to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples until you arched into him.
“Feel that, darling?” Fuma whispered against your lips, breaking the kiss to trail bites down your jaw. “Fuck baby, you’re dripping all over me.” His words fueled the fire, and you nodded, breathless, as the pleasure coiled tighter.
Fuma’s abs flexed against your stomach, the slick slide of him inside you making you go dumb as you rode him harder, lifting and dropping with more force, the bed creaking under the strain.
Fuma's control frayed as you picked up pace. He thrust up sharply, meeting your descents with powerful snaps that jolted you. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, where he latched on with sucking kisses around the ribbon.
The bow loosened slightly from the pull, but held, the silk whispering against your pulse like the snake whispering to Eve in Eden.
Fuma shifted his grip, one arm banding across your lower back to hold you steady while the other hand slipped between your joined bodies. His fingers found your clit, swollen and begging, and he rubbed it in insistent strokes.
The dual assault—his cock pounding relentlessly, fingers circling—shattered you. You cried out, body seizing as another orgasm ripped through you, fiercer than the last. Your walls clamped down, milking his length in vise-like pulses, juices gushing to soak his balls.
Fuma didn't stop, instead fucking you through it, grunting with effort, his hips pistoning faster now. He kept you locked in position, no escape from the overstimulation as he chased his own peak.
“Shit nghhh—fuck, you gonna cum for me pretty girl?” He rasped, teeth grazing your earlobe. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, the head of his cock battering your cervix with each drive.
You clung to him, legs tightening around his waist, the ribbon now askew but still tied round your pretty throat. Your back arched, his muscles strained and your limbs tangled together.
Pleasure blurred into one endless wave, your body quaking from the intensity. Finally, Fuma buried himself to the hilt, roaring as he came, hot jets of cum erupting deep inside you, overflowing to mix with your arousal.
Your beloved held you there, pinned and filled, breaths mingling as the aftershocks faded. Panting and absolutely spent, you looked down at him with hazy eyes. The ribbon dangled loosely now, a testament to the passion, as Fuma pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, his cock twitching softly within your pulsing heat.
“So do I win the trend or…?”
The only thing he was winning was the next few more years of you begging to be choked again.
Hey, who was he to refuse?
fin.
A/N: hi if this fic sounds lazy as fuck its because it is and im hontoni gomenesai but this legit is legit k i l l i n g me. anyways feel free to hate on it because i will join you
divider by @enchanthings
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when i was a kid i decided that killing people was bad therefore war was bad therefore the military was evil. and adults would tell me it's more nuanced than that and i would understand when i grew up. well i'm a grown up now and idk i still think that killing people is bad and war is bad and the military is evil
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