synopsis: your boyfriend looks so good whenever you’re on top that it makes you shy. when are you ever shy?! you wanna sort this out asap or you ride bakugou trying to figure out which position feels best
what’s coming up: 18+, a whole load of smut this is lowkey pwp. p in v, riding, multiple positions, making out, head (f receiving), established relationship, overstimulation (m)
notes: antm title. listen i can’t explain what happened to me. needs another proofread i think.
you mention this one night wrapped in katsuki’s arms about to go to sleep. you’re doing the compulsory three minute spoon until you both pull away and get comfortable at your respective sides of his bed.
this time it’s you spooning him, your leg over his hip, your arm around his waist. you rub your lips over his shoulder and sniff his hair.
“i really want to get better at being on top.” you mumble into his skin, eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness around you.
katsuki shifts his head on the silk pillowcase. you told him to change fabrics to protect his hair (you really meant yours) and he listened, new ivory cases the next time you saw him.
“hah?” it’s a quiet one, not like his usual booming loud ones that hit the back of your eardrum.
“i never feel like i know what i’m doing when i’m on top and i get so shy. i am literally never shy! ever. then you just end up doing the work.” you whine, “i want to be able to be on top and do it well. make us both feel good.”
katsuki breathes in through his nose and out his mouth. you’re having a conversation with him. about sex yes, but this isn’t you offering to have sex now. despite this, the blood rushes to his cock by simply imagining you riding him to oblivion. your head thrown back as your hips grind down on him.
it is true. he’s never seen you shy in any other part of your life or relationship. usually during sex, you’re confident and excited. hell, you’re okay with walking around his apartment naked. but for some reason, you sitting on his cock, legs straddling his waist makes you shy in a way bakugou doesn’t understand.
after making out you’d mumble to him that you want to be on top but as soon as he slides inside of you, katsuki will just look at you and your whole body flushes with heat. it has you mumbling under your breath, trying to look away from him but then his hands are on your thighs and he’s softly cooing at you. compliments about how you feel around him and how pretty you look on top.
which leads to you either leaning forward to cover his eyes with your hand, covering his whole face with your hand so he can’t talk either or just whining that you can’t do it and he needs to take over.
he shuffles around so he’s facing you, your minty breath on his face. he gives you three soft pecks, catching your lips with every brush.
“hm no, don’t give a fuck about me in this. if you feel good, i feel good.” he whispers and it makes you tighten your leg around his waist, your crotch against his lower stomach.
he’s noticed how shy you get on top. the frustration. if he’s honest he thinks it’s adorable. at the beginning of your relationship it was him stuttering like an idiot, overthinking everything he did and assuming every text from you was going to be ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ which would mostly mean it was him all along.
bakugou is also an idiot for how you beg for him to take over, crawling into his mouth for a kiss. covering his eyes so he can’t see how your breasts bounce and how insanely sweet you look slotted over him. you, all of you, shaking and trembling as he thrusts up. but although he’s into this rare shy version of you, if you want to work on not being so like that, he’ll be there.
his ruby eyes are so caring, a little frown on his face like he’s urging you to understand.
“i do want to make you feel good though,” you rub your palm against his bare chest, feeling every breath he takes. “be in control over the pace.”
“y’can look at me and i feel good. tomorrow we’ll try. see what position has you comin’ over my cock.”
you smile, “i’ll put it in my diary.”
he gives you a kiss, rubbing his nose against yours after, “why d’you feel shy for? ‘s just me.”
that has you slamming your own eyes shut in refusal. laying on your back to sigh into the ceiling.
“because of you. you’re all…,” you wave your hands in the darkness for a terrible explanation. “and the pressure. you’re usually in control.”
that’s true, he is unless you’re giving him head. “i’m what?”
you open your eyes and stare at him. “you make me all shy. staring at me like that while you’re literally inside me and you’re all… big and sexy and i’m so exposed and now i need to make you come while you look like that.”
bakugou grins like you just proposed. the sight of him below you, usually with an aroused dopey smirk, always saying what’s on his mind. the sweat across his forehead or the worst, when he lays on his forearm behind his head without a care in the world. like it’s an everyday occurrence that women sit on his dick and you’re next. it turns you on more than you can admit, it makes you feel like a shy virgin being naked in front of a boy for the first time.
along with the thick cock pressing against your warmest points, it’s too overwhelming for you.
“big and sexy?”
you roll your eyes, “that’s all you heard?”
“y’know i love when you’re on top. happy to do whatever you want,” he chuckles boyishly and the big arm that haunts you, wraps around your waist to drag you into his body. “like i wasn’t shittin’ myself when we fucked for the first time. lookin’ up at me like your life depended on a hard fuck.”
you guys dated for two months before you got intimate. to say you were going crazy for a single touch from this man, would be an understatement.
“no i wasn’t! but you look cocky and mean in a sexy way,” you gasp looking at him, “you look like dynamight. tv dynamight.”
tv dynamight is an alternate version of dynamight and your usual boyfriend bakugou katsuki. tv dynamight is the one you see snappily answering after fight interviews or smirking when the crowd cheers for him or rolling his eyes when he’s on a talk show and he gets a stupid question. you never get this version of him, he’s so much softer and love struck with you. doesn’t mean you don’t love watching it.
bakugou frowns, “i just look at you and say you look good. that sounds like a bad thing.”
“did you miss me saying you look sexy? so sexy it gets me feeling like an idiot.” you cross your arms under the covers. “i just want to be good at it. able to make you come like that.”
as much as he loves you still feeling nervous around him, he wants to get to the bottom of this.
“we’re sortin’ this tomorrow.”
having planned sex is a whole different game than simply assuming you’ll have sex tonight or having it spontaneously. it includes you turning up at bakugou’s apartment, more excited than usual, flinging your overnight bag on the ground and your arms around his neck.
“i watched a few videos and read articles on how to be comfortable and i did a few stretches at home,” you say, kissing him hello and katsuki has to blink into realisation.
your conversation before bed. he’s been thinking about having you tonight all day that part of him believed it was all his imagination. he kisses you back, then your cheek.
“y’look pretty,” you’re in a matching comfy pink gym set. he doesn’t know the last time you went to the gym but you always ask him to buy you these expensive ass sets. “and wait, you stretched to prepare?”
he chuckles bubbly, grabbing your bag off the floor. you pout immediately, “don’t laugh at me. i’m trying here! all you have to do is lay back.”
“i’m not laughin’ at you, baby. i love you,” he grins, “i’d never laugh.”
but you’re clenching your teeth, looking away at the dinner he’s started preparing for you both. ah, this evening he’s got his sensitive girlfriend. perhaps this was a bigger deal than you originally made it out to be.
“maybe i shouldn’t—,”
“no, we are. it was just fuckin’ adorable, i should have had a wank before you came so i don’t bust as soon as you’re naked.”
he walks into his bedroom to plop your bag on the floor and you follow behind.
“you do that?”
“i used to when we started datin’. meant i’d last longer. the fact we planned this i should have done my prep.”
his last syllable is cut off when you lay your lips over his, tugging the end of his white tee so he pulls it off.
“don’t expect this to be good, i’m just trying and testing tonight, okay?” you mumble and just as quick as usual, katsuki hardens in his basketball shorts.
the idea of being your test dummy, your experiment while you ride him, sounds like a fantasy to him. it’s true that you’d ask to be on top usually and then upon not being able to find your groove, you give up. then katsuki will grab your ass cheeks and slide you up and down like you weigh a feather.
“sounds sexy, baby,” he groans, nibbling down your neck and in turn, being rewarded with sweet gasps from you. “get naked for me.”
bakugou lays back in the centre of his bed butt naked and hard as a rock while you sit on your knees beside him, also butt naked.
“sit on my face,” he orders.
“no! treat this seriously.”
“i’m so fuckin’ serious, c’mon. you say you need to get comfortable, you’re always comfortable on my face. maybe i needa make you come first.”
he doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, he just knows you're wet right now and he wants a taste.
it does sway you a little. thinking about the videos you’ve seen and articles you’ve read. educational ones! some being porn also. stretching your hips is necessary and it’s not that you’re uncomfortable around your boyfriend, just being on top, shyness takes over.
his hand drifts up your thighs, then your soft stomach before squeezing your breast. you see katsuki twitch out the corner of your eye. your mouth waters at the sight of him. always so pretty, thick and long, dead weight on his stomach. only from some kissing and being naked together.
“we could sixty nine?”
he grabs your hips, dragging you closer and manoeuvring you so you’re sitting on his upper chest. he can smell you from here, he’s sure pre is leaking from him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“we’re focusin’ on you.”
“says the one begging to eat me out.”
katsuki’s smiles always drive you crazy, mostly because they’re always dedicated to you. the world gets his smirks and as sexy as they are, it’s never a genuinely excited smile. especially over the prospect of having you on his face.
his gold tooth catches the warm lamp light and he reaches to kiss your thigh, “you’re so close now. can smell ya.”
before you can let the intimacy overwhelm you, you sit up on your knees and carefully slot your pussy over your lover's face.
katsuki only needed one session with you to be good at eating you out. an annoying thing about him is how he’s simply good at everything, whilst you, after months of dating, still need to work on things. you think about the sex positive podcasts you’ve listened to recently and it’s true, not everything is going to work out of the box. you’re two completely different people coming together. in both ways.
but katsuki, he always knew exactly what to do to get you trembling. it’s firstly his enthusiasm. probably the biggest turn on. how he clutches your thighs like someone’s about to take you away. the meat of your legs will definitely have an imprint after this. how he closes his eyes and moans into you. rocks your hips into his face as his tongue laps up everything you are.
like a man starved, his death row meal and he’s asked for you on a platter. he sucks on your clit and opens his eyes to see you lean over to grab the headboard. watching your tits and how they shake at every movement he makes. katsuki loves to talk but because his mouth is preoccupied, you just get vibrations through you along with the accompanying moans and groans he can’t help.
“fuck, y’taste… so fuckin’—,” is all he can manage, sticking his tongue down your centre and licking as much as he can.
“‘tsuki, so good,” you cry, you meet his eyes and your whole body heats up to boiling temperature. his ruby pupils are narrowed, as if he’s testing you to come now, on his face.
you grind your hips on him, following wherever feels good. he slaps your ass and you mewl. “i’m gonna, baby, i need to come.”
since he can’t speak even if he wanted to, you do as you please, coming all over katsuki’s face. your body trembles as he swipes up every drop that comes out of you, keeping you still so you don’t fall off. you clench your eyes shut, wailing loud enough that in any other part of the city, you’d have angry neighbours.
you flop onto the bed beside katsuki, as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. you’re quick to give him a cuddle, basking in the come down of your orgasm.
“good, baby?” he asks, rubbing your back slowly.
you nod against him, stuffing your face in his armpit as you catch your breath.
“how are you so good at that?”
bakugou laughs, chest swelling with pride, “‘m just passionate.”
after counting to three in your head you get up slowly, biting down on your lip.
“you wanna take another second?”
“no! and i think you were right. the orgasm helped.”
you swing your leg over bakugou’s thighs to straddle him. carefully you take hold of his cock, flicking your wrist up and down him.
katsuki reaches his arm behind his head to lay on his forearm. everything about the man is sex. the massive biceps, his flushed face. how he kneads your thigh to check you’re still there with his eyes shut.
“just like that, babygirl,” he grunts, “been thinking about this since you mentioned it. horny all goddamn day.”
you smile at him, “thinking of me in your meetings?”
you squeeze the base of his cock, your other hand coming in to rub his balls in your palm. his hips jolt into your hands, chasing every movement.
“i always fuckin’ am. b-but you on top, ridin’ the shit outta me.”
you moan without meaning to, “i want to do that for you.”
bakugou’s eyes slid open, “today is about you. findin’ out how you like it.” he pulls your hands off him and you pout. “sit on me and start movin’.”
“yes, sir,” you say playfully but it only makes bakugou exhale shakily, blinking away any newfound arousal.
he holds your hips, as you angle his cock into you. you’re already soaked from what he did to you, so he slides in like a dream, bottoming out completely.
“oh fuck,” you curse, planting your hands flat on his chest. staying still feels good, you feel him everywhere, prodding your softest parts, your walls sucking him in like he belongs there. but you know it could feel better, you just need to work out how.
“i wanna fuck into you. didn’t realise how hard this shit would be for me,” he groans, adjusting the pillow behind his head.
you blink away the horny fog the best you can. he’s still got your shine on his chin and he’s staring at you like he’s a second away from taking over. swinging you so you lay flat so he can take control. you feel his gaze on every part of your body, the focus on your soft stomach then where you meet between your legs. what gets you most is how he focuses on your face as if he’s recording every expression and exhale. the clear proof of him being so into you, the smirk rising onto his cheeks at the position you’ve got him in.
the fact he’s so into you, whilst looking like an adonis statue in an art gallery, makes you so shy.
“s-so last time i just grinded on you but i didn't feel anything? i watched a few videos on how to bounce on you without aching.” you try to look away from him, but it just has you staring at his chest. littered with these gorgeous scars. his golden body that can protect you and the country. you have to close your eyes.
“you’re watchin’ porn without me?”
you and bakugou have never watched porn together with the aim to come. sometimes you’d send him a video of something you wanna try but that’s all.
“for research! and some girls on tiktok helped.”
“okay, babygirl. do your thing, pretend i’m not here lookin’ big and sexy.”
“shut up,” you mumble, firstly planting your feet into the mattress by his hips and keeping your hands flat on bakugou’s chest to begin bouncing on his cock.
it’s a position you’ve never tried, one that always embarrassed you to imagine getting into and moving like so. you’re grateful for your stretch beforehand because bakugou glides in and out like butter. it’s more intense than just sitting on him, your body is squashed and he knows he’s gonna be using this image to get himself off till the end of time.
“oh, oh…,” you whine, tits smushed, stomach clenched to focus on what feels best. “i like this. feels good, baby.”
bakugou clenches his teeth. he can see you suck him up with every bounce, your thighs wet, so is his length. he could come like this alone if you moan any louder.
“you comfortable?” he asks, “you look insane, babygirl. can’t believe this… i could come.”
“don’t!” you squeal, whines flowing out of you without meaning to, “my knees are hurting.”
“i can help,” bakugou thrusts his hips up into you and he’s about to thrust you down into him, like what he usually does once you give up.
“no, no, let me try something else.”
without pulling off him completely, you press your knees into the bed and lean all your weight onto your left side. you begin to bounce again, up and down, up and down.
you fling your head back, mostly from the burn switching from your knees to your thighs.
bakugou’s obsessed with whatever position you get yourself in, “doin’ so good, princess.”
that has you looking at him, leaning forward for a kiss. he meets it without thought, biting down on your bottom lip when you pull away.
“i am?”
he nods rapidly, swearing under his breath. he’s got a layer of sweat on his forehead even though he’s barely done anything. forcing himself to not move is more exerting than just moving.
“yeah, baby. feels like torture though, not gonna lie to you.” he squeezes the fat of your hips, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds.
you switch your weight onto your right knee, sighing in delight, wetness leaking from you. your bodies are getting louder now, the slap of your skin against his. graphic with the white ring forming around bakugou’s cock.
“now you know how i feel when you won’t let me come,” you whisper and he’s about to lean in to bite your lip as a punishment but you rotate around so your back is facing him.
you’ve never tried reverse cowgirl before but you can already predict how katsuki will feel about it. bakugou’s least favourite position. you know this because he always goes on about how he loves to see your face. your sweet loverboy. but equally one of his favourites because it’s a front row view of your rippling ass every time you slap down on him. it’s enough to make him come, a few bounces and he’s done. it’s also a good break to not have to think about him staring at you. the number one tip for other shy girls on that blog site you read.
you forward, grabbing his knees and for a second you can barely move.
“princess?” bakugou asks, caressing your ass slowly. “you okay?”
“i can feel you in my stomach,” his cockhead nudges against your insides, somehow further than you’ve ever felt before. why the hell haven’t you tried this before?
bakugou sits up on his forearm, sneaking his hand to your stomach, “does it hurt? you wanna pull off?”
you shake your head, then you remember he can’t see you well. you moan, grinding back into him. you can’t be quiet, can barely make out a coherent word either. you’re between crying and moaning, soft breaths of “‘tsuki,” and another wail.
“so good, fuck, i’m gonna die,” you gasp and the warmth in your stomach bundles together and tightens. you ignore the burn in your knees, focusing on the obscene amount of pleasure that bursts under your skin. you reach between your legs to play with your clit, slow circular rubs to make everything last as long as possible.
katsuki gets where you are now. the idea of you using him like a toy is what had him boiling all day. you’re moving on your own accord, focusing on yourself and what feels good. he begins to help, meeting your thrusts just so you scream louder.
“cmon, baby,” he says behind gritted teeth, “let me hear ya, louder for me.”
bakugou’s strict with his thrusts, obsessed with how your body shakes when it comes into contact with his. how his thighs are equally soaked and the fact that you’re both leaking onto his bedsheets. he keeps moving and before he knows it, only hearing your whines, he comes inside you.
jolting harshly, a hand on your hip bone to keep you close while he comes. it has you looking back at him with a frown.
“s-sorry, i couldn’t fuckin’—,” he’s gasping for air, back arched off the bed. he holds you down and you’re grinning like you’ve won a prize. “fuck, holy shit.”
“you came.”
delight blossoms inside of you, your body burning for your own release. katsuki looks exhausted. red cheeks, sweat coating his forehead. he genuinely looks pissed that he came. you look at the mess between your legs, so much come.
he grunts in annoyance, “i didn’t mean to i—,”
but he’s cut off as you face him again, ignoring all the liquids spilling out. you plant your feet by his head and lean back, your hands on his knees.
“touch my clit for me,” you ask politely and bakugou does what he’s told, mentally preparing himself for the overstimulation about to come.
you begin bouncing again, using your hands to guide your body up and down, rolling your hips to grind to hit a specific spot. all the shyness you ever felt before has evaporated, simply following your body to catch whatever feels good.
bakugou on the other hand, feels as if he’s about to pass out. if it’s the squelch in the air, the sight of your pussy drenched and his cock soaked. your pubic hair has strings of his come and his lower stomach has a shine to it. his cock is still hard, aching, twitching in painful flicks of pleasure. but there’s no way he could say no, not with you looking practically angelic.
you’re in your own world with your little mumbles, your whines that sound troubled but are anything but. he’s not sure how he can have you in any other position but on top after this. you ride him like you own him, like he’s yours to play with and use to relax. your breasts are soft, nipples perked to the ceiling and as he rolls his thumb against your clit, he knows you’re ready to come any second now.
“oh my god, katsuki.” you make those odd grunting sounds that make bakugou leak, “faster, w-why haven’t we done this before?”
you say in a rush and bakugou obeys, speeding up his rubs on your clit.
“this is all we’re gonna do now, huh?”
you hum, pace slowing as the burn of your knees radiates.
“lettin’ you ride my cock while i come early like a fuckin’ teenager,” he moans, frowning harshly because he’s too sensitive now, way too sensitive.
bakugou takes matters into his own hands, especially once you whine for him, “help me, ‘tsuki.”
you lift your head up to lock eyes with him. you’re fucking crying. tears down your cheeks, “i love you so much.”
he thrusts into you, meaning you no longer need to strain your body anymore. he moves you for your own pleasure, sliding you up and down, mimicking how you were moving and he’s ready to come again.
“nah, you love my cock. tell me you do.”
it takes only a second for you to reply, stretching your arms straight, your back arched so bakugou can see all the beautiful curves of your breasts and waist. he bites back his bearish groans, this is way too much for him right now. he thinks hes about to come again.
“l-love your cock so much. feels like heaven, like i’m gonna split open,” you babble, “love it so much, ‘tsuki.”
“my good fuckin’ girl, usin’ me like this. love you so much, princess,” he hums and before you can even catch yourself, after all the noise tonight, your orgasm is a silent one.
these strained gasps come from your throat as you lean forward, your whole body tensing. you don’t mean to dig your nails into his chest, but bakugou welcomes the pain especially when he orgasms again, loud enough for you both.
he growls into the air as you hold yourself up over him, open mouthed, tears falling from your eyes.
you can barely contain yourself, your body still bouncing as he continues thrusting his hips. everything is lewd, the stained bedsheets and the trail of sweat down your breasts. the sound of your ass hitting his balls only draws out your orgasm, your bodies soaked with each other.
“oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper. you stare at your boyfriend in shock as he slows down and wraps his arms around your body to drag you to his chest. “we’ve never… it’s never felt like that before.”
you can feel him pulsating inside of you and your walls are hot around him.
you both breathe, catching your breaths, plastered to each other.
“you’ve got me fucked,” his chuckle is dry, but you shuffle to get comfortable and bakugou yelps. “don’t fuckin’ move. please.”
you smile, pressing kisses into his chest until you realise what you’ve done. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to…”
you trail off, lightly brushing your thumb over the red scratches over katsuki’s chest. bakugou’s half lidded eyes catch yours, grabs your hand to kiss the centre of your palm.
“it felt good, princess. needed any distraction to ignore your warm pussy.” he pouts his lips and you happily meet his, “you confident bein’ on top now?”
bakugou twitches inside of you, “yeah. i know what to do now.”
“you looked…,” and he doesn’t know how to describe you. but you’re patiently waiting for an answer. if anyone likes to be complimented more than him, it’s you, “like a goddamn angel. thought you were gonna kill me.”
“i’d never,” your eyes droop, ready for an evening nap. “you need to pull out now.”
bakugou sighs, “this is gonna be a mess to clean up and my dick aches.”
“i’m sore too!”
bakugou rolls his eyes but he knows he’s going to be kissing your knees and thighs any minute now.
“still want me to cook dinner or order in?” he asks, pushing you on your back to slowly slide out of you.
you whine softly as he does, not used to the feeling of not being full. you almost want to sit back on him, clamp your legs around him and never let him go.
“fuck,” bakugou grunts, then he sees your pout. “after dinner.”
your eyes light up, “really?”
“you’re goddamn insatiable.”
“it’s just there’s one more position, well two, i want to try with you sitting up and me laying down.”
he climbs off the bed to grab a clean flannel from his en-suite. “you wanna break me, huh?” he calls.
you giggle, “no, i just wanna know how it’ll feel and the website i found has loads of positions we haven’t tried.”
you have the audacity to look innocent while he wipes your legs with the damp flannel. then your lower stomach and very lightly between your legs.
“you should have told me earlier i would have booked tomorrow off work.” he kisses your knee, “we can do whatever you want. until you get all achy.”
there’s no doubt he’d be able to get hard again for you, especially looking this eager about trying a new way to have sex with him.
you nod softly, running your hand down his face, “can you still cook? i want your udon noodles.”
if it was up to bakugou he’d order in. he’s way too tired to cook for you right now and still have energy to have sex again after. he had a whole patrol and training earlier today too.
but one thing bakugou has always struggled with since he met you, is the ability to say no. especially not when you sit up and grab the flannel from him to slowly swipe across his stomach and then his softened cock.
“Wait, lemme fix this up” He spoke, squinting his sight as his gaze remained focused on your math homework, with the intent of helping you figure it out.
“You see this symbol?” He paused, making sure you two were on the same page by catching your gaze in his. “It means that you’re supposed to use that method right there, not this one” he stated patiently as his fingers stood in pointing position, tapping on your sheets and trailing invisible logical connections along the white paper, while his tone was clear as water.
“M’kay..” you acknowledged, nodding slightly as your eyes met the same spot as his on the written surface. “Okay, yeah - got it.” You bit your lip, memorizing the explanation and stealing the pen from his hand, processing the next step for the calculation.
“Thank you Ray” Your voice sweet and reserved as usual. Your eyes met his, glistening in admiration as you basically saw in him your savior. Rafe had been helping you in math for quite a minute now, and he has made somehow everything lighter for you to handle. He was present when you though you were failing and when you thought it was over. He was there when you succeeded too, slowly feeling more and more proud of you for learning.
He reciprocated the kind smile that grew on your lips, meeting your gaze. “it’s nothing, I’m more than okay with helping you as long as you learn”
Now that your knowledge was sufficiently developed, you didn’t need him anymore as much as you used to. He was still helping though, cause he craved every single moment he spent with you. Staying by your side was his perfect little habit by now.
Without thinking, you leaned in his personal space as your lips split in a seductive smile, locking your eyes with his. Your voice lowered as you dissolved the distance from his lips to yours almost completely in a slow motion. “You’re so smart and talented… You ain’t just a pretty face, you know?”
You attempted with your compliment as Rafe simply chuckled, his gaze jumping up from your lips to your eyes, the corners of his lips sharpening as confidence slowly marks his features.
“Yeah? Wanna see how much more I can do?” His eyebrows slowly raised, eyes smoothing with certainty as he never lacked a cocky comeback.
You chuckled, as if your flirting was a joke. As if you’ve not already replayed this in your head every night for the past months. “What can you do, huh?”
——————————————————————————
“Oh- oh my god” your voice cracking weakly as you yelped mindlessly, your spine arched at its maximum width while your thighs were growing limp and barely squashing into his cheekbones for stability anymore. Your fingers pulling at his damp frontal hair pieces in a desperate rush of satisfaction.
His tongue struggling to keep its pace as it fought your silky walls squeezing tightly around the wet muscle, imploring for more stimulation while all you could do was jolt your hips rhythmically, led by his rapid motions inside of you that had you curling your toes in ecstasy.
You moaned and whined with no filter as your head fell back without a trace, your thighs trembling as your muscles froze in a light shade of soreness.
His name rolled out of your lips frenetically as your breath came out in short gasps, your bodily reactions manipulated by his actions.
His fingers wandered up around your waist and torso, having a shiver creep up your spine and shoulders. His fingers crawled up to the swell of your breasts, where he reached and rolled one of your nipples between his thumb, between the squeezing of the soft skin and the itchy teasing to your peaks.
His eyes devoured every single contraction of your features, sight blinded by the distraction of your body twisting and being responsive around his tongue to his twisted liking.
Your liquids rolled dangerously further into his mouth with the way you thrust your hips, chasing his movements as much as your body claimed.
The outer peak of his tongue spasming against your folds and clit, your juices flowing down his chin as a result of his not so gentle fraction.
You ground your folds against his lips, more and more frenetically as you felt the orgasm approaching, clearly not controlling the way your body visibly trembled and froze in place, about to explode in a shaking vulnerable mess.
Your moans came out in quick, leading gasps as the grip on his hair began to grow more solid and demanding. Your warmth spasmed around his tongue, dragging it further up as your eyes turned glossy.
Overstimulation crashing over you just as soon as your orgasm hit you, making your hips twitch against the fraction of his mouth and your ribs to expand in a desperate gasp.
You squeezed your eyes shut as his hands dug into your hips, keeping you grounded as he kept devouring and torturing you through your climax.
You moaned in short sighs, slowly angling your head down to see Rafe, to make sure he was aware of what he just did to you.
He pulled his tongue out, dragging it up your sensitive folds with a lewd lick, brushing against your swollen clit, making you whimper and jolt against his face.
“Fuck..” His voice raspy and almost amazed, coming from between your thighs. His grin noticeably wider than when you got through an exercise without his intervention.
His chest dropping and raising gradually while he tried to catch his breath after almost suffocating in your pussy. You inhaled, air itching in your sore throat as you still came down from the orgasm.
Your knees lifted off the bed, dropping your body on the soft duvet as you landed on your back, turning your head to him, hoping he’d say something while you waited for your lucid reasoning to return back to you.
“Am I still just a pretty face?” Rafe asked grinning, shifting on top of you, with his chin on your stomach as his elbows dug in the soft fabric near your bare hips. His eyes glistening as he looked up at you, his fingers brushing intimate paths on your ribs.
Your eyebrows still facing up in a knot, lips swollen from all the biting. Your hand digging through his hair as you sighed, physically strained.
“No..” you breathed, legs tangling together under his chest, fighting the ache you had been left between you thighs. “Fuck, you’re not…” you scoffed, amazed and still breathing laboured.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. friends to lovers, aphrodisiac/honey packets, explicit sexual content, mutual sexual tension, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switch dynamics, light hair pulling, biting, neck holding, creampie, brief mentions of squirting, aggressive sex, topper thornton being an accidental matchmaker.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: topper swears the honey packets work, you swear they’re bullshit, and rafe decides there’s only one way to prove him wrong. unfortunately, the honey has other plans.
𝐚/𝐧: this is equal parts friends-to-lovers, “we’re definitely not into each other” denial, and absolute stupidity. everyone is an adult. please read the warnings before continuing. i kept editing and fixing and changing this. after a while it was turning into that series of events where you take a selfie and keep looking at it until you hate it LOL so i kinda gave up. hopefully it makes sense and hopefully you guys like it anyway :) ♡
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k
you're on rafe's bed scrolling through your phone when he walks in with that stupid smirk, holding something between his fingers.
"what," you say without looking up.
"so... topper gave me these." the mattress dips as rafe sits, his weight pulling you slightly toward him. you glance up and see the tiny golden honey packets catch the light as he turns them between his fingers.
you actually laugh. "oh my god, rafe. are you serious?" you sit up straighter, grinning at him. "those don't even work. you know that right?"
"nah, i mean—"
"it's honey... it's literally just honey in some fancy ass packet. topper probably paid like thirty bucks for two dollars worth of honey because some instagram ad told him it would turn him into a porn star." you're fully laughing now, years of giving each other shit making this easy. you reach out and flick one of the packets in his hand. "you actually believe that shit?"
"listen—" rafe tries, but there's that smile tugging at his mouth because he knows you're gonna dog him for this. he shifts closer, his knee bumping against your leg.
"no, seriously, i need to know how much money topper wasted on honey packets." you push at his shoulder, invested in roasting him. "remember those gas station dick pills he got last summer?"
"alright, alright—" rafe's laughing too, shaking his head, catching your hand before you can push him again. his fingers wrap around your wrist for just a second before letting go. "you're not wrong."
"i'm never wrong about topper being an idiot." you settle back against his pillows, satisfied, tucking your legs underneath you. "remember when he tried to convince us that eating raw garlic would make him better at golf? and then his breath just smelled like shit the whole time?"
"yeah, and you kicked him out of the car," rafe says, grinning, leaning back on one hand so he's angled toward you.
"because he made it smell so fucking bad. and you know what— now you're an idiot too for even believing this."
"yeah, but—" rafe pauses, something shifting in his eyes. he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the packets still dangling from his fingers. "i mean... c'mon. if it doesn't work, then nothin' happens, right? like literally nothin'. we'd just be sittin' here exactly like we are now."
you narrow your eyes at him. "that's your argument?"
"i'm just sayin'..." he shrugs, still holding up one of the packets, close enough now that you can see the gold foil catching the light. "if it's bullshit... then it's bullshit and we laugh about how dumb topper is. but if it's not..." he trails off, that smirk getting wider as he tilts his head.
"it is bullshit."
"probably," rafe agrees, way too casual, shifting his weight so he's sitting fully on the bed now, one leg bent, facing you. "but... what's the actual harm? you gonna tell me you're scared of honey?"
"i'm not scared of honey, i'm just not gonna waste my time on some stupid—"
"so then try it. humor me," his voice is smooth and logical, like he's not actively trying to peer pressure you into this. he holds one of the packets out toward you, close enough that you'd only have to reach a few inches to take it. "seriously. worst case scenario? nothin' happens and you get to say 'i told you so' for the rest of the night. and you love that shit."
and you hate that he's right. you hate that that actually makes sense, because if it doesn't work then literally nothing happens. it's just honey. and you do love being right.
"this is so fucking dumb," you mutter, but you're already grinning because this is exactly the kind of stupid shit you two always end up doing together. you reach out and snatch the packet from his hand.
"yeah, probably." rafe's already tearing open a packet, squeezing the honey into his mouth like it's nothing. he swallows, then looks at you with this expectant expression, leaning in slightly. "c'monnn. prove me wrong."
"i will." you tear open your packet, very aware of how close he is, how he's watching you. the honey is sweet on your tongue, sticky as you swallow it down and look at him. "it's not gonna work."
"we'll see," rafe says, settling back against the headboard next to you, his arm brushing yours as he gets comfortable, but his eyes are still on you.
"yeah, we will," you say, going back to your phone. "and when nothing happens, you're buying me food for a week as an apology for wasting my time."
"deal," rafe says, and there's something in his voice that makes you think he's not worried about losing that bet at all.
twenty minutes later the heat starts low in your belly and spreads outward until your skin feels too tight and every nerve ending is awake. you shift and the seam of your shorts catches against you in a way that makes your breath hitch—suddenly you're aware of how wet you're getting, the fabric sticking to you, and every tiny movement makes it worse.
your thighs press together without you meaning to and the pressure sends a pulse of need straight through your core that's so intense you have to bite the inside of your cheek. you try to focus on your phone but the words blur together and all you can think about is the throbbing between your legs, the way your pussy is clenching around nothing, how the cotton of your shirt feels too rough against your nipples.
"you good?"
your phone nearly slips from your hands when he speaks and for a second you can't catch your breath.
"yeah, i'm fine." but your voice sounds all wrong—strained and slightly pitched up in a way that gives you away immediately.
he's silent for a moment but you can feel him looking and it makes your skin prickle with awareness, makes the heat worse.
"you sure?" there's amusement threading through his voice now, low and knowing. "i could've sworn you said it was bullshit."
"it is." you try to sound convincing but you're pressing your thighs together again and you know he can see it, can probably see the flush spreading down your neck. "it's definitely not working."
"yeah? then why are you squirmin' like that?"
your entire body goes rigid.
"i'm not squirming."
"you keep pressin' your legs together..."
"oh my god, shutupshutupshutup."
then his hand lands on your thigh and the touch burns through the thin fabric of your shorts, making your breath catch immediately, and you realize you're in trouble because just that simple contact makes you want to spread your legs and beg.
"relax, alright?" his thumb strokes back and forth and each pass makes the ache between your legs worse, makes you wetter. "just checkin' somethin'."
"checking what?"
"how full of shit you are."
his hand slides higher and your pussy throbs so hard you gasp—you can't help it, can't control the way your body responds to him. he stops with his palm resting on your inner thigh, his fingers so close to where you're dripping that you want to grab his wrist and shove his hand where you need it.
"rafe—"
"whattt," he mutters, all innocence, but you can hear the smugness underneath. "thought it wasn't workin'."
"it's not." but you're shaking and your voice is barely there.
his thumb strokes your inner thigh again and you feel his breath against your ear, warm and close. "but you're breathin' all hard..." his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and you can't stop the whimper that escapes because you need more, need him to touch you properly or you're going to lose your mind.
"shut up."
his fingers trace the hem and it feels like you're going to die if he doesn't touch you properly, if he keeps teasing like this. "you want me to stop?"
"no." it comes out immediately and you want to take it back but then his hand slides up and cups you through your shorts and the pressure makes your hips jerk forward into his palm without permission.
"jesus—you're fuckin' drenched."
you are—you can feel how wet you are, how the fabric is clinging to you, and when he presses harder you feel the slickness spread and it should embarrass you but all you can think about is getting his hand closer.
then he's yanking you toward him and suddenly you're straddling his lap and his cock is right there beneath you, thick and hard and pressing up against your pussy through too many layers of fabric. you grind down without thinking and the friction makes you gasp because it's not enough but it's something.
his hands grip your hips and guide you to move against him again and the drag of his cock against your clit through your shorts makes your head fall back, makes you chase that pressure desperately.
"look at you." his voice is strained, rougher than before. "still waitin' for you to admit it was legit."
"shut up." you grind against him harder, chasing the pressure, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise but you don't care because you need more.
his hand slides up your back into your hair and tugs and the sharp pull makes you gasp. his other hand moves between your bodies and presses against you through your shorts and you're so sensitive that even that makes you whimper, makes your hips roll forward seeking more contact.
"please..." you hear yourself say it and you don't even care anymore.
"please what?" he's enjoying this but his voice is rough, barely controlled. "what d'you want?"
"please touch me."
he pulls your shirt off and then your shorts and suddenly the air hits your wet pussy and you're exposed and aching and vulnerable. his hand slides between your legs and his fingers stroke through your folds and you shudder at the contact, at finally feeling his skin against you.
"jesus—" his voice cracks and you look down to see him staring between your legs like he's never seen anything like it. "you're fuckin' drenched."
his fingers run through the wetness and when he pulls his hand back you can see how they're coated, strings of it connecting his fingers to you, and he stares at it like he's mesmerized. the sight makes you clench around nothing, makes you need him inside you.
"look at this mess—" then his fingers find your clit and you stop breathing because the pressure is perfect and you're grinding into his hand desperately, chasing the sensation.
you're making these sounds you can't control—gasping and moaning—and you don't even care anymore because his fingers feel so good and you're so close already.
"there you go." his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants and you can see how hard he is, can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. "listen to yourself—"
then his fingers slow down and barely touch you and you whine at the loss, at the sudden absence of pressure.
"what was that thing you said?" his voice is rough and his hips jerk forward into his own hand like he can't help it. "about instagram ads?"
"rafe please—"
his fingers push inside you—two at once—and you clench around them immediately, your pussy trying to pull them deeper because you need more. he curls them and presses against that spot and your entire body jerks forward, a sharp cry tearing out of you.
"shit—you're so tight—" his hand is shaking where he's gripping your hip and you can feel how affected he is, how much he wants this.
he does it again and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. his thumb finds your clit while his fingers work inside you and you can't help but moan at the combination, at how good it feels to finally have him touching you like this.
"you want more?"
"ohmy—pleaseyes—"
"c'mon, ask me nice."
"pleaseplease i need more—"
"yeah? need what?"
"your mouth." it comes out desperate and broken. "need your mouth on me."
he groans and the sound is all raw and broken like just hearing you say the words is fueling him, like he's been waiting to hear it. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean and watching his eyes roll back makes something flip in your stomach because he looks needy for it already.
then he's pushing you down onto your back and the sheets are cool for half a second before his hands are spreading your thighs wide and his mouth is on you and—
your back arches off the bed before you can stop it. a sharp gasp tears out of you and your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight because you need something to hold onto. the groan he makes vibrates straight through your clit and you whimper, your hips bucking up involuntarily.
his tongue pushes inside you and you weren't expecting that—weren't expecting the wet heat of it or how deep he'd go or the obscene sound it makes when he does. your hips jerk up and he groans again, louder this time, like he's the one being overwhelmed.
you look down and oh god—
his face is buried between your legs, his jaw working as his tongue moves inside you, and his chin is already shiny and dripping with you. when his eyes flick up to meet yours there's something feral in them, something you've never seen before. this isn't calm, collected rafe who always has a smirk and a comeback ready. this is rafe completely undone, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black, his mouth slack and wet and desperate as he stares at you like he's starving.
but that's not what makes you forget how to breathe.
his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants, his hips grinding forward into his own hand in these short, desperate thrusts, and you can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric—thick and hard and so obvious it's obscene. there's already a wet spot forming where he's leaking through and you can't stop staring, can't stop noticing how his shoulders are trembling, how his free hand is gripping your thigh so hard you know there'll be bruises, how his breathing is ragged and uneven against your pussy.
rafe was always so controlled, always the one with the upper hand, the one who stayed calm no matter what. but right now he looks frantic, completely gone, and it's because of you.
you want to touch him, want to wrap your hand around his cock and feel the weight of him and taste him and watch him fall apart under your mouth the way you're falling apart under his.
then his tongue drags up through your folds so slow like he's savoring the taste and the thought dissolves into nothing.
"oh—" you gasp and your hips buck up, seeking more. "oh god—"
he does it again—licks you from your entrance all the way up to your clit and then circles it with his tongue, teasing—and you whimper. your hands tighten in his hair and you pull him closer without meaning to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he needs you to use him.
"you taste—" he pulls back just enough to breathe and his voice is completely shot, wrecked in a way you've never heard before. his hand is still working himself, his hips still jerking forward. "so fuckin' good—"
then his mouth is back on you and his fingers push inside—two, then three—and the stretch makes you cry out because he's not gentle, he's messy and desperate, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers curl inside you. the wet sounds should embarrass you but you're too far gone to care, too focused on the way he's devouring you.
"listen to that—" his voice is muffled against you and you can feel his lips moving, can feel the vibration. "so fuckin' messy—"
his hand is still working himself and his hips are still grinding forward and you can see how badly he's shaking, can see his jaw tighten and his eyes squeeze shut for a second like he's trying to hold himself together. when they open again and lock on yours they're needy and pleading and desperate.
he's looking at you like he's memorizing you—his gaze drags up from where his mouth is on you, over your stomach, your tits, your mouth. he's staring at your face like he needs to see every reaction, every gasp, every time your eyes flutter closed, and the intensity of it makes your breath catch.
"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get the words out. "oh my god—"
he pulls back just enough to breathe and his chin is dripping, his lips swollen and shiny and his pupils are so blown you can barely see the blue. "y'gonna cum for me?"
then his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and everything goes white.
"yes—fuck—yes—"
it hits you and your entire body convulses, your hands gripping his hair so tight it has to hurt but you're pulling him closer as your hips buck up against his face. you're sobbing his name and he doesn't pull away—he keeps his mouth on you through all of it, drawing it out, groaning against you like he can't get enough, his hips still grinding into his hand like watching you come is almost enough to make him lose it too.
when he finally pulls back his face is a mess—his chin is shiny and dripping, his lips swollen and red. his hand leaves his cock and you can see how hard he is, the outline obscene against his sweatpants, a wet spot spreading where he's leaking, and suddenly you need to taste him, need to make him fall apart the way he just made you fall apart.
"my turn."
you're pushing him before he can react and he's so surprised he lets you flip him onto his back, his eyes going wide as you move down his body, your hands already reaching for his sweatpants.
"wait—"
"shut up." you yank his sweatpants down and his cock springs free and jesus christ—it's thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach, pre-cum dripping steadily from the slit. you watch it drip down his shaft and your mouth waters because you need to taste him.
"fuck—" his voice cracks when your hand wraps around him and he's so hard, so hot in your palm, and when you stroke up his entire body jerks like he's been electrocuted. "oh fuck—"
you lean down and lick the pre-cum from his tip and the taste of him—salty and clean and him—makes you moan. his hips buck up and he whimpers, the sound high and broken.
"shit—wait—i can't—"
"yeah you can." you lick up his shaft, following the trail of pre-cum, and his hands fly to the sheets and grip tight, his knuckles going white.
you wrap your lips around the head and suck and the sound he makes is this half moan, half growl that goes straight between your legs. you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his cock throbs on your tongue, leaking more pre-cum.
"shit—" his voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "fuckin' love your mouth—"
you pull off with a wet pop and stroke him with your hand, watching more pre-cum leak from the tip, watching the way his abs flex and his hips jerk up seeking more. "god, you're so easy."
"yeah? so fuckin' what."
you take him deep again, as far as you can, and his hips thrust up involuntarily, pushing him deeper. you gag slightly but don't pull off, just relax your throat and take him deeper, and his hands fly to your hair.
"fuck—sorry—i'm sorry—" but he's not pulling you off, his fingers are tangling in your hair and holding you there and you moan around him because you want this, want him to lose control.
you pull off, spit connecting your lips to his cock, and pump him with your hand—fast and tight and slick. you take him deep again and this time when his hips thrust up you meet him, taking him into your throat. the groan he makes is almost anguished, desperate and raw, and you set a rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you can while his hips start moving, fucking up into your mouth in shallow thrusts.
"oh fuck—oh fuck—" his voice is breaking, cracking on every word.
but then his hands are pulling you off and he's gasping, his chest heaving. "fuck—wait—i'm gonna—"
"that's the point."
"no—" he's pulling you up his body and his hands are shaking, trembling as they grip you. "not yet—need to fuck you."
his cock is pressed between your bodies, hot and slick and throbbing, and you can feel more pre-cum leaking onto your stomach. you grind against him and he groans, the sound pained.
"god—" you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him and stroke, feeling how hard he is, how much he's leaking. "you're shaking."
"yeah—" his voice breaks and his hips jerk up into your hand. "yeah i'm fuckin' shakin'—you have no idea—"
you position him at your entrance and sink down slowly and the stretch makes you both moan because he's so thick, filling you so completely, and from this angle he's so deep you can feel him everywhere.
"oh fuck—" his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and his entire body is trembling beneath you. "oh fuck you're tight—so. fuckin'. wet—"
you start moving and the slide of him inside you is perfect—you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs when you clench around him. you brace your hands on his chest and his heart is slamming against your palms, fast and erratic and out of control.
"look at you," you manage, even though you can barely breathe. "thought you were gonna be in control."
he thrusts up hard and the argument dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp.
"yeah?" his voice is strained, barely there. "you were sayin'?"
but you can see the flush spreading down his neck, the way his shoulders are tensed like he's holding himself back, and you know he's just as ruined as you are.
you ride him harder, faster, chasing the feeling building in your core. the wet sounds are so fucking obscene—slap slap slap, squelch squelch squelch—and you can feel your arousal dripping down his shaft, coating his balls, making everything slick and messy.
"fuckkkk—" he's watching where you're joined and his voice breaks, his jaw completely slack as he stares. you grind down in a circle and he whimpers, the sound all high and broken. "topper's never gonna believe this shit." he laughs—breathless and broken—and you feel it vibrate through his chest.
"are you seriously thinking about topper right now?"
"tryin' not to." you clench around him and watch his head tip back, his throat exposed, a groan tearing out of him that sounds almost pained. "but shit—you owe him a fuckin' thank you card."
the angle drives him so deep you feel it in your stomach and suddenly you're not thinking about topper anymore—you're thinking about the drag of his cock inside you, the wet sounds that match your rhythm, how his fingers are digging into your hips hard enough to leave purple marks.
his hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit and the pressure makes your movements stutter, makes you lose your rhythm because you can't focus on anything except the fullness of him stretching you and the tight heat building low in your belly.
"oh my god—"
"there you go." he mutters, voice all low and shaky, and you can see sweat dripping down his temples, can see his abs flexing with every thrust up into you. "'s what i wanna see."
you grind down and take him deeper and his hips jerk up to meet you and you're both slick with sweat now, your bodies sliding together. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can feel his other hand find your breast and squeeze, his palm damp against your skin.
"so full—" you gasp it out because you can barely form words. "can feel you everywhere—"
"yeah?" he thrusts up harder and you watch his biceps flex as he grips you tighter, watch the way his muscles coil. "y'like feelin' how deep i am?"
"yes—fuck yes—"
you roll your hips and he whimpers and you realize you're the one making him sound like that, you're the one unraveling him. his composure is completely gone—he's gripping you like he's drowning, his fingers digging in, and there's something raw in the way he's looking at you. pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open.
"you're so fuckin' tight." his hands grip your ass now and his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, hard enough to sting. "you keep squeezin' me like that and i'm gonna—gonna cum."
"already?"
"shut up—you're the one who's—look at you—you can barely—" his voice breaks when you clench around him again and his jaw goes slack, his eyes rolling back. he's right though—you're gasping and your movements are getting frantic and his fingers find your clit again and suddenly you're close, so close you can feel it building.
"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get his name out. "i'm gonna—"
"yeah?" his hips are bucking up desperately now and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is too. "do it—wanna feel you—need to feel it—"
his fingers work your clit in tight circles and you come so hard you're seeing stars, clenching around him in waves, your body convulsing as his hips buck up against you, prolonging it.
you're still moving, still riding him through it because you can't stop, and he's falling apart beneath you—his grip on you tightening, his breathing ragged. then his hands are gripping your hips hard and he's flipping you and you barely process the change before you're on your stomach and he's entering you from behind in one brutal thrust that makes you scream into the sheets.
"fuck—"
his arm hooks around your neck and he's pulling you back against his chest, fucking into you so hard you can barely think, can barely breathe. his forearm is solid against your throat, the weight of it holding you exactly where he wants you, and his other hand finds your clit and rubs tight circles. you're squirming against him, trying to escape the intensity but he's holding you so tight you can hardly move.
the sounds are so nasty—the wet slapping, the squelch with every thrust, your moans and his grunts mixing together.
"rafe—" you're gasping, barely able to form words. "it's too much—"
his hips snap forward hard and you feel his teeth graze your shoulder before biting down, his fingers pressing harder on your clit. "nah—c'mon you can take it."
"fuck—pleasepleaseplease—"
his next thrust goes so deep you can't breathe and your body goes rigid for a second before your back arches involuntarily, your ass pressing back into him hard enough that he groans. the angle sends everything white-hot through you and your thighs clench.
"ah—ah—fuck—" the sounds punch out of you with every thrust and you can't stop them. he sounds so fucking good right now. the way he's rutting into you like he's been wanting to do this, like he's finally letting himself have you, makes you even wetter.
"every. last. inch." his voice is low and rough in your ear. "just like this—"
"that's it—" his arm flexes around your neck and pulls you tighter against his chest. you can feel his collarbone digging into your shoulder blade, the solid heat of him pressed against every inch of your back. "fuck yourself back on my cock."
you do it without thinking, meeting his thrusts, and the angle makes him go even deeper. "oh god—fuck—you're so fucking deep—" your thighs are shaking.
"you like this?" his breath is hot against your ear and his voice is wrecked, barely controlled. "like me fuckin' you like this?"
"yesyesyes—" it comes out broken between thrusts.
"yeah?" he thrusts harder and you can hear how wet you are with every movement, can hear the obscene squelch. "listen to that—so fuckin' messy—drippin' all over me—"
your nails dig into his forearm and you feel the flex of muscle beneath your fingers, the way his tendons shift with every movement. his hips slow and grind deep instead of thrusting and you feel every inch of him, the pressure maddening, his cock dragging against that spongy spot inside you with every slow roll of his body.
"tell me i was right." his voice drops lower, more guttural, and his rhythm falters before he regains control and fucks into you with renewed desperation. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his whole body is coiled tight.
"i—" you sob it and tears stream down your face because it's too much, because you can't think. "fuck—"
"say it." his hips slam forward hard enough to push you into the mattress. "say it. need to hear you say it."
"i was wrong—" you sob it out, your voice breaking. "okay? i was wrong—"
"that's not what i said." his arm flexes around your throat and his hips grind deep, so deep you feel it everywhere. "tell me i was right."
"god—fuck, you were right." you're clenching around him with every thrust, your body betraying you. "you were right about everything—"
"yeah i fuckin' was—" he groans against your neck and his control finally cracks, his hips snapping forward brutally now, chasing his release, his rhythm completely gone. you feel his arm tighten around your neck as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust and the angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting so deep you see stars. "you gonna remember that? gonna remember how good i fuck you?"
"yes—yes i'll remember—i'll never—forget it."
and just like that you're coming again, clenching around him so tight it's almost painful, gushing around him and soaking everything. and even still he's fucking you through it, his arm around your neck holding you in place.
"keep fuckin' takin' it—"
"i'm taking it—" you sob, tears streaming down your face. "fuck i'm taking it—"
his rhythm is erratic now and desperate and you can feel him getting harder inside you, the way his cock swells right before he comes, and you want it, need to feel him come inside you.
"wanna feel you—wanna feel you come inside me—"
then he's pulling out suddenly and flipping you again and you're on your back and he's on top and he's slamming back inside in one brutal thrust that makes you both cry out.
"look at me." his hand grips your jaw and forces you to meet his eyes and there's something desperate in them, something that feels vulnerable and unlike anything you've ever seen on his face. your heart clenches at the sight of it and you don't look away, not for a second. "need to see you."
he's pushing deep, deeper than before, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"fuck—" his voice breaks and cracks. "fuck i'm gonna—i'm—"
then he's spilling inside you, his entire body locking up. you feel it—the first pulse of his cock, then another, then another. the heat of his cum flooding inside you, filling you, and it's so much. he's groaning your name against your neck—a sound that's almost anguished—and you can feel every pulse as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking forward with each spasm like he can't help it, like his body is trying to get deeper even though there's nowhere left to go.
the sensation triggers something in you and suddenly you're coming again, clenching around him, milking him, taking every drop. you're sobbing as you come and rafe is holding you so tight, his arms wrapped around you, his fingers digging into your back.
you can feel his cum inside you, hot and thick, can feel it leaking out around his cock because there's so much. your pussy clenches again and he whimpers against your neck, the sound vulnerable and raw.
his movements slow and become gentle but you can still feel him throbbing inside you and the aftershocks running through both of you. his full weight settles on you and you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your chest—fast and erratic. sweat is cooling on your skin but inside you're still burning, still feeling the heat of him.
"je—" his voice is rough, barely there. "jesus fucking christ—"
he stops like there's something he was about to say and swallowed it. his face is buried in your neck and his arms are wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe. you can feel his pulse against your collarbone where his throat presses into you.
you wonder what he was going to say.
you're both gasping for air and your legs are still wrapped around his waist, holding him close.
he's not pulling out—he's staying inside you and softening but still there, still connected. his full weight is pressing you into the bed and you can feel his cum leaking out around him, dripping down your thighs, making everything even messier. the sheets beneath you are soaked.
you can feel the honey packet still working through your system—the warmth that hasn't faded, the need is still there simmering under your skin.
you shift slightly and you feel him getting hard again almost immediately. he groans against your neck and the sound is surprised and almost pained.
"oh my god. already?"
your hips roll without meaning to and you feel him thickening inside you and he shudders, his arms tightening around you. you can feel the tension returning to his shoulders, the way his muscles coil.
"yeah."
you clench around his hardening cock and he makes this sound—half groan, half whimper.
he pulls back just enough to look at you and his hips press forward—a slow thrust that's all the way in that makes your breath catch. there's this look on his face, something softer than before like something changed between you. his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead and there's a flush spreading down his neck.
"told you."
but the teasing sounds different now—less about winning, more about something else. something you're not quite ready to admit yet.
you want to argue but he's grinding into you in slow circles that make your eyes flutter closed and your body is already desperate for more.
"oh fuck you."
but you're smiling. your legs wrap around his waist and pull him deeper and he laughs—soft and ragged—before his mouth finds yours.
he's kissing you—actually kissing you for the first time tonight. his lips are softer than you expected and he tastes like sweat and a little sweet from the honey. his tongue licks into your mouth, messy and urgent and perfect, the warmth of it making you melt into him. you're already grinding up into him and your hands are in his hair pulling him closer.
his hips start building a real rhythm again, slow at first but building, and you're so sensitive that every thrust makes you whimper into his mouth. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers gently beginning to work your clit and you gasp into his mouth.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice low and rough.
"gonna fuck you all night."
𝐚/𝐧: i hope you guys like this one!! i'm ngl i'm kinda scared this one's gonna flop because i know people usually aren't as into the best friends to lovers trope as they are older!bf. i usually write things that have some kind of taboo element, and i really enjoy writing power imbalances and other weird shit like that, so this was definitely a step out of my comfort zone. i kept trying to figure out a best friends premise that didn't feel generic or boring, and i wanted to write a version of canon rafe that felt a little different without making him feel out of character. i hope you guys enjoy this version of him :) sometimes i like imagining season one rafe if he wasn't actively losing his shit lol.
bff rafe thats has a past of being a notorious fuckboy is shocked when his lifelong bff (reader) mentions that shes a virgin bc shes undeniably HOT. and hes experienced... shes not... so they do something about it..!
pov. while playing truth or dare, he discovers his long time bestfriend (who’s so hot and cute) has never had sex before.
notes. i love this plot, it’s so similar to my nerd x frat boy rafe fanfic! thank you for recommending this anonymous
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, gentle sex, vanilla sex, praising, cussing, titty sucking, no proof read, rafe teaching kissing, oral sex
rafe grew up swearing he’d never be attracted to you, swore he’d never let himself be perverted toward you. but ever since you hit college, it’s been a different story.
he’s been with so many girls. every age, every type, but none of them ever hit like you do. your tits sit so perfectly in your bra that he gets nervous whenever you stand there casually talking about life while getting dressed.
he’s seen you almost naked plenty of times, just in a bra and panties, but never fully bare. he acted cool in the moment, eyes not lowering down to the obvious outline of your pussy. but he’d be lying if he said he’d never fantasized about you being fully bare and finally seeing the outlines.
the soft curves of your body make him hard in seconds. even the lightest brush of his fingers against you while he was taking a photo for your mom’s facebook left him aching.
it’s honestly laughable how many times rafe has told himself you’re completely off limits. all those almost-kisses, the times he’s accidentally walked in on you changing, and the sharp jealousy he felt whenever his friends started showing interest in you, none of it helped.
but right now, the two of you are playing truth or dare with a generous side of alcohol that wasn’t exactly part of the rules. it’s been light and playful so far; crushes, stripping off a hoodie or socks, handstands against the wall, holding your breath for thirty seconds. then you both decided to make it more interesting.
“someone you’d fuck for access to their partner?” you asked, reading from a website full of spicy questions. rafe laughed. “any lesbian couple,” he teased. you rolled your eyes. “cheater!” you yell. he grinned before asking his own. “do you prefer virgins or experienced guys?” he questioned. the question came too smooth, like he’d been waiting to ask it for a while. “i don’t know… i’m a virgin,” you said, then laughed. “i haven’t gotten that far yet.” you add.
rafe didn’t laugh with you. he stared at you like you’d just said something insane. “what?” he asked quietly. “sorry, i was joking,” you clarified, still smiling. “i meant i basically am a virgin.” you continue.
his expression didn’t change. his eyes dragged slowly down your body, taking you in. “no… i heard you,” he said, voice low. you blinked, suddenly aware of how intently he was looking at you. “oh.” a small smile tugged at your lips.
“how are you still a virgin?” he asked before he could stop himself. his gaze wandered shamelessly over your curves, no longer pretending it was casual. you felt heat rise in your cheeks, but the alcohol made you bold. “wanna come do something about it?” you teased, locking eyes with him.
rafe’s smirk was slow and hungry. “you giving me a go?” he asked and you paused, tilting your head as you held his stare. then you nodded.
rafe didn’t waste another second. still sitting on the floor across from you, he leaned forward, one hand bracing on the carpet as he closed the distance.
his other hand gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath right before his lips met yours.
the kiss was soft at first, warm and careful, like he was testing the waters. but when you stayed frozen, unsure, he pulled back just enough to look at you. “i… i don’t know how to kiss,” you whispered, a little embarrassed.
rafe’s eyes softened, but his smirk stayed. “that’s okay, baby. i’ll teach you.” he said. he tilted your chin up slightly with his fingers. “just relax your lips… don’t tense up.” his voice was low and patient. “follow what i do.” he adds.
he leaned in again, slower this time, pressing his mouth to yours with a little more pressure. his lips moved gently, guiding yours to part just enough. when you started to mirror him, he hummed approvingly against your mouth.
“good girl… like that,” he murmured between kisses. “use a little tongue if you want.”
he demonstrated, licking softly at your bottom lip until you opened for him. the moment your tongues touched, a small sound escaped you, and rafe deepened the kiss, taking control but staying gentle enough for you to keep up.
his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you like he’d been waiting years to do it. he pulled back for air, forehead resting against yours, breathing a little heavier. “see? you’re a natural,” he whispered, voice rough. “again?” he whispered, voice low and rough.
you nodded, cheeks flushed. “yes.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, a wicked little smirk tugging at his mouth. “beg me for it then.” he teased. you bit your lip, heart racing, but the heat between you made you brave. “please, rafe… kiss me. i want you to teach me.” you begged. his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “good girl.”
he leaned in and captured your mouth again, slow but deliberate to make you ache. “relax your lips,” he murmured against you. “open for me a little… yeah, just like that.” he kissed you deeper, guiding your mouth with his, teaching you how to move, how to respond, all to him. his tongue slipped in lazily, stroking yours until you started kissing him back properly, all soft and eager.
while his mouth worked against yours, your hands moved on their own. you tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly and over your head. he quickly kissed you once again, as you dropped it beside you, now sitting there in just your bra, chest rising and falling quickly.
rafe broke the kiss to look down at you. his gaze locked on your tits, big and perky, straining against the thin fabric of your bra. they were so full and plump, perfectly rounded with a soft, sexy bounce as you breathed. he smiled, slow and hungry. “so fucking pretty,” he breathed.
he couldn’t hold back anymore. rafe leaned down, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts. his hands cupped them, squeezing gently, feeling their weight and softness. “fuck… look at these tits,” he groaned, clearly obsessed with how big and plush they were.
he pulled one cup down, exposing a nipple, and immediately dragged his tongue over it before sucking it into his mouth. he moaned against your skin, sucking harder, switching between licking broad strokes and deep, greedy pulls. his other hand kneaded your other tit, thumb brushing the nipple through the fabric.
he was completely lost in them, burying his face between your soft, plump curves, kissing and sucking like he couldn’t get enough.
you got shy all of a sudden, face burning as the heat between your legs became too much. biting your lip, you reached down, grabbed his hand, and slowly guided it to the waistband of your shorts, pressing his fingers there.
rafe pulled back from your chest, eyes filled with desire and hungry as he understood exactly what you wanted. “yeah?” he murmured, voice rough. without another word he hooked his fingers into your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion and tossing them aside.
you were completely bare now. rafe’s gaze dropped between your thighs, and he let out a low groan. his fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing slow, firm circles over the sensitive little bundle. your hips jerked hard at the first touch, twitching and bucking uncontrollably as he played with your soaked, horny clit.
“fuck, look at you,” he breathed, eyes locked on the way your body reacted, twitching and jerking every time he stroked you. “so sensitive already.” he comments.
you moaned loudly, the sound spilling out as pleasure shot through you. your back arched and you leaned back until you were lying flat on the floor, chest heaving.
rafe didn’t stop. he moved down between your legs, spreading them wider. before you could catch your breath, he pinned your hips down firmly to the floor with both hands, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm away.
then his mouth was on you. his tongue dragged hot and wet over your clit, licking and sucking with filthy hunger.
he kept you pinned down tight, strong hands gripping your thighs as he ate you out like he’d been starving for it, tongue flicking and circling, lips sucking gently then harder. every time you tried to buck or twist, his grip only tightened, keeping you right there for him.
rafe kept his mouth on you, licking and sucking your clit until your moans turned into desperate little cries. you couldn’t take it anymore.
“rafe… please,” you whimpered, voice shaky. “please fuck me. i want you inside me. please.” you plead.
he pulled back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes full with lust. “yeah? you want my cock, baby?” he asked, already moving up your body. he shoved his shorts down just enough, freeing himself, and settled between your spread legs. you nodded quickly, breathing fast. “please… i need it.” you continued on.
rafe leaned down, kissing you softly as he lined himself up. he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, then started pushing in, very slow and careful.
just the tip stretched you open, and you gasped, body tensing hard. it was a lot. your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight as you struggled to adjust.
“shh, easy baby,” rafe murmured, voice low and sweet against your ear. he stayed perfectly still, only the head inside you. “you’re doing so good already. just breathe for me. we’ve got all the time you need, okay? i’m not gonna hurt you.” he says sweetly.
you whimpered, nodding, trying to relax around his thick tip. “that’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing your neck and jaw. “you can take it. just let me in nice and slow… there you go.” he continued.
he pushed forward another inch, then stopped again, letting you feel every bit of him. his hand stroked your hair, thumb brushing your cheek as he whispered encouragement. “look at you… so tight and pretty for me. you’re doing perfect, baby. whenever you’re ready, i’ll give you more. no rush.”
after a few deep breaths, the stretch started turning into something hotter. you nodded again, and rafe began moving, continuing the slow, shallow thrusts, easing more of his cock into you with every gentle rock of his hips. he kept talking you through it, voice warm and steady.
“feel that? that’s all for you. just relax and let me fuck you nice and slow… good girl. you’re taking me so well already.” he kept that gentle rhythm, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper, patient and sweet while your body slowly opened up for him.
rafe kept his pace slow and deep, rocking into you with steady thrusts that gradually grew stronger. your legs were spread wide open for him, knees bent and falling further apart with every push of his hips. they bounced and shook each time he sank back in, the soft flesh of your thighs jiggling from the impact.
you were holding onto him for dear life. arms wrapped tightly around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as your body rocked beneath him. every thrust pulled a shaky moan from your throat, your chest pressed flush against his while he fucked you.
“fuck… you feel so good,” he groaned against your neck, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread nice and wide for him. “look at these legs… all open for me.” he said.
your grip on him tightened as he thrust a little deeper, your walls fluttering around his cock. you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing hard, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded while he filled you over and over again.
the wet sounds of him sliding in and out mixed with your soft, desperate moans, your body bouncing gently on the floor with each roll of his hips. rafe kissed the side of your head, still talking you through it in that low, sweet voice. “that’s it, baby… just hold onto me. you’re taking my cock so fucking well.” he said.
rafe kept fucking you with his deep, and steady thrusts. your legs spread wide and bouncing softly with every roll of his hips. you were still clinging to him tightly when you reached up and tugged desperately at the bottom of his shirt.
“take it off,” you breathed.
he didn’t hesitate. rafe slowed his thrusts just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, since he has done it so many times, tossing it aside. the second his bare chest pressed against yours, you pulled him down harder, craving his mouth.
he leaned all the way down, covering your body with his as he kissed you. at first your kissing was eager but messy, a little too much tongue too fast, lips slipping awkwardly as you tried to keep up.
rafe smiled against your mouth. “slow down, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. “watch…”
he took control, tilting his head slightly and kissing you deeper, slower. his tongue slid sensually along yours, teasing and stroking in long, wet strokes that made your stomach flutter. you tried to match him but slipped again, pushing your tongue too eagerly. he gently sucked on your bottom lip, correcting you.
“easy… let me lead,” he whispered. “open your mouth a little more… yeah, you got it baby.” he coos.
then he really kissed you, hot, filthy, and unhurried. his tongue licked into your mouth deeply, curling around yours in slow, sexy strokes.
wet sounds filled the space between you as he fucked you and kissed you at the same time, tongues sliding and tangling sensually. every time you messed up the rhythm he fixed it with a soft groan, guiding you until you were kissing him back perfectly, sloppy, passionate, tongue heavy making out that left you both breathless.
you moaned into his mouth, legs trembling around his waist as he kept thrusting into you, never breaking the intense kiss. his tongue explored yours like he owned it, slow and dirty, sucking lightly on your tongue before sliding back in deep again.
“good girl” he praised against your lips once more, then dove right back in for another kiss. rafe groaned against your mouth as you kept kissing him, your tongues sliding hot and wet together. he could feel how desperate you were getting, the way your pussy clenched around him tighter with every thrust.
“you want it harder, baby?” he rasped, breaking the kiss just enough to look at you. you nodded, biting your lip. his hips snapped forward suddenly, driving his cock deeper and faster. your legs bounced harder, spread wide and shaking as he started fucking you with more force.
you cried out, nails digging into his back as he picked up the pace. the wet slap of skin on skin got louder, his thrusts turning rougher, pounding into you steadily. every hard stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, making your whole body jolt.
“rafe—fuck—” you moaned, holding onto him tighter, legs trembling uncontrollably around his waist. “that’s it,” he encouraged, fucking you harder, deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open for him. “cum on my cock, baby. i can feel how close you are.” he continues.
rafe kept pounding into you harder, hips snapping with deep, relentless thrusts that made your whole body bounce beneath him. your legs stayed spread wide, trembling violently as your orgasm crashed over you.
“rafe—!” you cried out, back arching hard off the floor as you came hard on his cock. your pussy clenched and pulsed around him in tight, wet spasms, gushing slick, creamy liquid all over his thick shaft. the warm wetness painted his dick with every thrust, coating him shiny and messy, dripping down his balls as he fucked you through it.
he looked down between your bodies, groaning loudly at the sight. “fuck, baby… look at that. you’re soaking my dick so good,” he rasped, voice strained with lust. he didn’t slow down, sliding in and out of your spasming, drenched pussy, the wet sounds even filthier now as your cum coated every inch of him.
your body kept twitching and jerking, soft whimpers falling from your lips while he kept thrusting through your orgasm, his cock glistening with your release.
synopsis — ᨳଓ . you and jackie haven't been on good terms since the two of you fell out. you've spent months pretending he doesn't exist, but jackie seems determined to remind you that he does. 70s au.
content - old friends, toxic, swearing, pussy eating, fingering, getting dicked down at Hayvenhurst
inspired by @kissmyglxck 🌚
"Remember, I do the type of evil that men do"
"Like cursin' out my window at a bitch and her friend too"
- Redman (a 90s lyric in a 70s era LMFAO chill on meeee)
𓏲ꪆ. 𝒯he afternoon was too nice to spend cooped up inside. The sun hung high over the neighborhood, warming the sidewalks as people drifted in and out of little shops, music spilling from open storefronts every now and then. Cars rolled by with their windows down, bass thumping just enough to make heads turn.
You walked between your friends, laughing at whatever story your friends were trying to tell. Every few steps one of you would bump shoulders with another, somebody cutting somebody else off before the punchline could even come out. It was one of those days where nothing felt like a headache.
"Girl, you know he ain't say that," one of your friends scoffed.
"He did!" you laughed, "I couldn't make this up if I tried."
The three of you kept moving down the sidewalk, completely caught up in your conversation, paying no mind to the trouble that was approaching. The low rumble of an engine matched your pace. You didn't think too much of it at first. In L.A., people cruised the streets all the time.
But when the car didn't pass one of your friends glanced toward the street. "…Girl."
You barely looked up, "What?" your smile slowly fading.
"Don't look now…" she said quietly to you, but she kept staring. What was she staring so hard at? Next thing you know a loud horn chirped at you making you jump slightly. That's when you had to turn your head. As you looked it was none other than Jackie. An old friend you used to be close with.
"I know this ain't him," you mutter under your breath, pissed. There he was, window rolled down, arm resting out the window.
"Y/n," he called your name loudly.
Just let the whole world know my name, you thought to yourself. You turned your head back and kept walking with your friends. "So like I was saying..."
"Y/n!" he called out your name again.
"Get out the street dumbass!," you yelled back not bothering to even look at him.
Jackie smirked to himself. "Alright." He killed the engine and climbed out. He shut the door behind him, and started making his way across the sidewalk toward you like you hadn't just told him off. You looked over your shoulder just in time to see him.
He came to a stop in front of you, a grin slowly creeping onto his face like he hadn't just interrupted your afternoon. "You really gon' act like you don't know me?" he asked, tilting his head.
You let out a quiet sigh, looking everywhere but at him. "Jackie… don't start. Not right now, I got enough going on."
"Start what? I was just tryna say hey."
You laughed, but there wasn't anything funny, "You done blew your horn, yelled my name across the whole damn street, parked your car in the middle of traffic, and now you standing in front of me. If that's your way of 'just sayin' hey,' you got issues."
He rubbed his lips together to hide a smile, he was about to speak until you cut him off.
"See that's your problem, always thinking shit funny," you said low to him.
"A man can't smile now?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm just happy to see you, that's all, Y/n, been a minute." There he went, trying to act all innocent. Like he didn't have anything to do with the reason the two of you weren't speaking in the first place. Like everything between you could just be brushed off with a smile and a few words.
So instead of giving him the reaction he wanted, you decided to change the subject. "How's your brothers? You know… Michael and them?"
You folded your arms, trying to play it off like you were just making conversation. Jackie's smile faded slightly. He tilted his head, studying you for a second before answering.
"....They good," he said. "We still touring and everything. Same ol' stuff."
"Hm, and what about Michael? He good?" you asked him again tilting your head. Jackie raised an eyebrow, watching you carefully.
"Michael?"
You frowned, "What?"
"Nothing, just seems like you know everyone's name but mine."
You gave him a look, arching your brow. "Because I don't care too much for you, Sigmund."
Jackie scoffed, shaking his head as he looked away for a second. "Yeah, alright."
His eyes drifted past you toward your friends, who were quietly waiting nearby, clearly trying not to get caught watching the two of you go back and forth. He looked back at you, his expression softening just a little.
"I see you got your lil friends waiting on you," he said, nodding toward them. "I'll let you be then."
You didn't answer right away, just watched as he started stepping back toward his car. Of course, even after everything, he still had to leave like he was the one doing you a favor. You should've known better than to think one conversation was enough to get him to leave you alone. Jackie had always been like that, once he got something in his head, there was no talking him out of it. So when you heard the familiar sound of a car pulling up outside your house later that evening, you already had a feeling of exactly who it was.
You looked out the window and immediately sighed.
Of course.
Jackie was leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world, looking way too comfortable for someone who had been told to leave you alone hours ago. The second he saw you, he lifted his head.
"Come on," he called.
You frowned and stepped closer to the window. "Excuse me?"
"Come here y/n."
You stared at him, waiting for him to realize how ridiculous he sounded. "Jackie.." you started. You rubbed your fingers over your head before continuing, "It's almost funny how you think you can just show up at my house and tell me what to do."
He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I ain't tellin' you what to do. I'm asking."
"Sounds like you tellin' me....and go where exactly?"
"Hayvenhurst."
That made you pause. His family's home. A place you used to spend more time at than your own sometimes. A place filled with old memories, before everything between you and Jackie got complicated.
And maybe that's exactly why he chose it.
"Why?"
Jackie shrugged, but you could tell there was more behind it. "Because we need to talk, Y/n."
You crossed your arms, "We already talked."
"No, you talked. I stood there and let you be mad."
"I ain't goin nowhere with you," you barely made it a few steps before you heard him sigh behind you.
"Man, stop all this shit."
You paused. Jackie wasn't someone who raised his voice often. If anything, he was usually the calmer one, the one who laughed things off, the one who tried to keep things easy. So hearing that edge in his voice made you look back.
He ran a hand over his face, clearly trying to keep himself from getting more frustrated.
"I said I need to talk to you," he continued, shaking his head. "And for once, I need you to quit bein' so damn hardheaded and just listen." You opened your mouth, ready to argue back, but Jackie beat you to it.
"Nah, don't do that," he cut in, shaking his head. "I already know that look. You about to say something slick, walk inside, and pretend this never happened."
He let out a quiet laugh, but there was still a little frustration behind it. "I'm not doing this back-and-forth with you all night. You can be mad at me in the car, you can complain the whole way there if that's what you wanna do."
You stood there with your arms folded, eyes narrowed at him. The nerve of him. Jackie had months to do this. Months to try and talk to you, months to fix whatever he thought he could fix. And now he wanted to show up at your house, act like everything was normal, and tell you to get in the car?
You scoffed, shaking your head before turning toward the house, "Mama!"
A second later, her voice called back from inside. "What?"
"I'm going over to Jackie's for a second.... I'll be back."
"Jackie's out there? Tell my baby I said hey!"
You stopped for a moment, looking toward the doorway before rolling your eyes. Of course she did. You turned back toward him with a straight face.
"My mama said go fuck yourself."
Jackie stared at you for a second before letting out an annoyed scoff. "I heard what she said." He shook his head, fighting back a smile. "Tell her I said hey," he leaned off the car and opened the door for you.
You just stared at him, "You're annoying."
"Yeah, but she still likes me."
"You ain't shit," you said before getting in his car. He then slams the door on you rolling his eyes.
The second Jackie pulled away from the curb, it started right back up. "You really got a lot of nerve showing up at my house like this," you said, looking out the window.
"Here we go."
The whole drive was filled with old wounds, things neither of you had properly said before, and every little thing that had been building up since the two of you fell out. Jackie tried to keep his cool, letting you get it all out, but you knew him too well. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way he kept taking a breath before answering.
He was trying. But you were pushing him closer and closer to the edge, he was going to handle you soon though.
You both walked through the door. Jackie shoved the front door shut behind you, the slam echoing through the narrow hallway of the house.
"You always think you better than everybody, huh?" he snapped. "Such a Goody Two-Shoes with her fake-ass smile. You ain't shit but a stuck-up little girl playin' grown."
You whipped your head around, staring at him. Now he was mad, but so were you.
"Fuck you, Jackie," you snapped back, eyes flashing as you jabbed a finger at his chest. "At least I ain't gettin' into shit that gon' land me under 2 wheels of a car," you let out a quiet laugh.
Jackie narrowed his eyes at you, "So that's funny y/n?"
You heard about the incident, Jackie was too busy trynna be a player and his woman at the time didn't like it. Ran his ass over with no problem.
"It is. It's actually exactly what you get for sticking your face in problems you don't got no business in. You talk all that noise but you still the same little boy who used to cry when we played tag."
He then grabbed your wrist, yanking you close until your faces were inches apart. "Cry? The only thing I'm 'bout to make cry is that smart-ass mouth of yours. Keep runnin' it and see what happens."
His fustration was written all over his face, his voice was low. You stared him right in the eyes.
"Go on," he tells you lowly.
You had a whole list of things you wanted to say, a million things ready to throw back at him, but the words got caught somewhere in your throat. It seemed like your own mouth got tired of talking back. Your eyes glanced down to his mouth, his lips plump and brown. Jackie saw that, his eyes relaxed at you for a moment.
"You make me so damn mad, you know that?"
And somehow, that was the most honest thing either of you had said all night.
He let out a quiet breath, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think I finally figured out why you been so mad at me."
You frowned, already knowing you weren't going to like whatever came next. "Oh, really?"
His eyes stayed on yours. "Mhm," His eyes never left yours as he pulled you a little closer, his voice dropping just above a whisper.
"It's because you couldn't have me, at least, not then."
A smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he studied your face "Got in your feelings, hm?"
You let out a dry scoff. "That's bullshit, and you know it," you lied straight through your teeth.
"Lyin' don't look good on you."
.ꪆৎ
˗ˏˋ Next thing you know, you were in his room. Nails digged in the clean sheets above your head, back arched as you felt every sensation pushed right on your clit. Your eyes were slightly teary from the tingles. " Jackie gave a soft kiss on your pussy before looking up at you, "It's alright baby, I know how to handle you now."
You sucked your teeth hard, fingers twisting in his hair. "You out here actin' like you doin' me a favor. I could walk out that door right now...and find somebody who actually got somethin' to offer," you spat at him.
Jackie's eyes narrowed at your words, his jaw tightening, but his tongue never stopping up. He circled your clit with slow pressure, sucking it between his lips for a long moment before releasing it with a wet sound.
"Find somebody?" he repeated, anger flashing in his gaze. "Who else gon' put up with your fucked-up attitude? You stay mad about somethin'." he mutters to you.
"Maybe someone better than you, that's for sure. Unless you wanna prove me wrong?" you asked him. You tiredly lifted your head up looking down at him. Even with his head between your legs, you still had some shit to say.
"Yeah?" he asks you.
"Yeah," you responded.
"Close your legs and go find em," he said simply, his breath hot against your pussy as he waited, tongue still resting right there but not moving.
Your thighs stayed open around his head. The challenge hung between you, thick and heavy, but you didn't move to shut them. Jackie's eyes didn't leave yours, waiting for you to actually do it. When you didn't, his tongue finally moved again, slow and steady, licking up your slit with that same controlled pressure.
"...That's what I thought," he said between strokes. "You ain't closin' nothin'."
"Shut up!," you snapped, but your voice came out thinner than you wanted. "I could close them right now if I wanted."
"Mhm, but you not"
His tongue did a slow swirl around your clit, "It's so pretty...could do this all night" he says almost to himself.
Your pussy twitched hearing him say that, still, you kept your legs wide open for him. "All night?" you laughed, but it came out shaky. "You ain't got the patience for that. You probably already hard as fuck, waitin' to stick your dick in me."
"You got such a foul mouth baby," he chuckles at you. "Look at you.... lettin me taste what you been hidin' under them panties," he shook his head slowly, a disappointed look crossing his face, though the teasing edge in his voice gave him away.
Your grip on his afro tightened, pulling hard enough to make him grunt, but he didn't stop. "I ain't hidin' nothin'," you fired back. "You the one who can't keep his dick in his pants. Everybody know you fuck around with any girl who give you attention. Why the fuck would I want somebody like that?"
"Why you so worried 'bout who givin' me attention hm?" he asks looking up for a second. "I thought you ain't care what I do."
"I-I don't," you mutter out.
He then let out a scoff before going back to your pussy, "And for the record, none of them talk back like you do. That mouth always got some to say, makes it that much sweeter when I got you moanin' instead."
He then took his thumb and rubbed it around your clit, small circles. You let out a quiet moan as you relaxed back in the bed.
“Think you slick ‘cause you down there,” you hissed, voice shaking. “Ain’t nothin’ special.”
He comes to your pussy again and flattens his tongue, he licked a long stripe before he slid two fingers through your wetness and pushes them inside without warning. Your back arched hard off the bed, a sharp curse flying out of you.
"Shit—Jackie!"
He pumped them steady, curling on every pull, still staring you down. "M'Jackie, fuck....please..." slowly but surely, your attitude was melting away. Your toes curled from the feeling. The fight was draining fast, replaced by shaky breaths and the wet sound of his fingers working deeper.
"...Feels so good....," you mutter to yourself. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this good, like, ever.
Jackie slowed the pace of his thick fingers, watching your face soften. “There she go,” he murmured, voice dropping low and warm. “That’s my good girl, takin’ it so pretty.”
A soft whimper slipped out of you. Your eyes fluttered half-shut, the tension in your shoulders melting as he kept praising you.
“Feels better when you stop fightin’ me, don’t it?”
You kept your eyes shut but you let out an annoyed groan, "Just a little…"
He twisted his wrist, thumb brushing your clit in lazy circles while his fingers stroked that spot inside you over and over. Your hips rolled to meet his hand now instead of pulling away. Every pump sent another rush of heat through you, and the slick sounds filled his room. Jackie’s free hand smoothed up your thigh, gentle where his fingers were firm.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “Feelin’ it now, ain’t you?"
"Yeah Jackie, mm, I feel it" you whimpered out.
Your breathing heavy, the pressure coiled tighter with every pump, walls fluttering around him, slick dripping down his knuckles. A broken moan slipped out as your back arched, toes curling harder into the sheets.
“Jackie—fuck, I’m—”“
He felt the way you clenched, the sudden rush of wetness, and pulled his fingers out. Your hips jerked, chasing the loss, a frustrated whine tearing from your throat as the edge slipped away.
“Nah,” he said, calm and firm, eyes locked on your face. “Not yet.”
You sit up, embarrassed slightly. You couldn't believe the sounds that were leaving your mouth from the actions of Jackie.
"You're such a fucking asshole!" you yell at him.
He smiles and shushes you. His free hand rested on your thigh, thumb stroking lazy circles on your skin instead of where you needed it. "You gonna ride me now, it's the least you could do." Jackie stood and unbuckled his pants, he sat on the edge of his bed.
His dick was thick and hard. He wrapped his hand around it, stroking slow and teasing while he watched you. The motion was lazy, meant to draw you in, which unfortunately it did. The way it pulsed in his hand made your pussy twitch so good. You looked annoyed, brows drawn tight, but your eyes kept dropping to his hand moving up and down his length.
You stepped closer and straddled him, annoyed little huff leaving your lips, "Your Tootsie roll ain't that impressive," you say low against his lips. Jackie didn't argue. Instead, he leaned up and caught your lips in a slow kiss, tongue sliding against yours so you could taste your own pussy on his lips.
"Sit down," he tells you between the kisses, and you do. In one slow motion, your walls flutter around him. Your knees dug into the bed while you tried to find your balance, palms flat on his chest.
"Hm- shit, take your time mama," he tells you. One hand slids up your side, "Probably not used to real dick..," he added under his breath.
Your eyes snapped to his face, glare sharp. You stayed still for a second, letting the words hang there while your pussy squeezed him tighter. Then, you lifted your hips and sank back down, starting to ride him purposeful motions. Your boobies swayed with each movement, Jackie watched in awe. He then leaned forward to press his mouth to one nipple, sucking gently as you kept moving.
Your fingers found his coiled hair as you shoved his face more into your chest. He kept kissing across your skin, lips dragging wet trails over the swell of your breast as he spoke against you. "You still hate me?' he asks still kissing over your chest.
You let out a sarcastic laugh your hips still rolling in that quick pace, "Yeah even worse."
Jackie pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes locked on yours. His hands went firm on your ass, helping you down onto him again and again. "Hate me , hate me more then," so you rode him faster and harder, his thrusts met with yours on the bed. His right hand slid up from your hip, having his fingers wrapping around the front of your throat, giving a light squeeze.
"Do you hate me that bad you don't wanna cum?"
Your eyes widened, you shook your head, your fingers gripped into his broad shoulders, "N-no, I wanna cum, please." you tried saying normal but it came out as a desperate whimper. Jackie slowed your pace, giving deep but slow thrust underneath you.
"Beggin' now mama?" he asks a little surprised but not really, "Say it again."
"Jackie please alright m'sorry," you told him trying to ride. He held your neck with a firm grip, he then leaned in and kissed your lips, kisses traveling all over your face. You whimpered into every touch, soft and shaky.
“Cum,” he told you, “and look at me when you do, not askin”
He picked up the pace underneath you, thrusting up harder and faster while you clung to his shoulders. Your cries stayed quiet but kept coming, one after another, soft and broken as you kept her eyes locked on his. "F-fuckkkkk!" you cried into his shoulder.
Your pussy clenched hard around him, wet as you came, your cream coating his dick in thick, slick waves.
Jackie groaned at the feeling, the sound rough in his throat. He felt himself about to buss so he pulled out fast. His fist wrapped tight around his dick, and stroked it once, then twice, thick ropes of his cum painted your ass. He kept going until the last spurt landed, then tapped the head of his dick against your sticky skin, flicking the last drops off with lazy little flicks of his wrist.
He then looks at you, looking over your tired expression, he then leans in and kisses your lips.
A while after, he came back with a towel and wiped your ass clean with slow, careful strokes, making sure he got every drop.
"You good?" he asked quietly, voice softer now. His fingers traced over the curve of your hip, then up your spine. "That was a lot."
You stayed on your stomach, face half-buried in the pillow. Your thighs still trembled. "Yeah. Just... give me a minute," you muttered.
He hummed, his big hand rubbing over your ass, "Wore you out huh?"
"Get off me" you say annoyed before smacking his hand from you. "Cant't stand you," you mumbled, but there was no heat in it. You turned your head toward him, eyes half-lidded. "You always gotta talk."
Jackie chuckled and laid next to you, "M'Just checkin' on you. Wanted to make sure you weren't floatin' too far."
Your fingers found his wrist and held it, not pulling him closer, just keeping him there. Jackie stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch. After a moment he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, softer one behind your ear.
"Water's on the dresser," he said. "If you want it."
"Mhm," you hummed. "Later."
Jackie shifted closer, his free hand resting lightly on your hip. "You always this stubborn after you cum?"
"Only with you," you answered, voice still soft, thumb stroking once over his wrist. "You make it easy."
He smiled against your shoulder, breath warm. "Hm, that's cute." You stayed like that, fingers loose around his wrist, the heat of his body seeping into yours. After a beat you spoke again, quieter. "Didn't have to pull out so fast."
Jackie lifted his head, meeting your half-lidded gaze. "Oh so you wanted it?" he asks. "Thought you might want to feel it."
"I did," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Still do."
His hand tightened gently on your hip. "Next time I won't move then."
"Next time?" you echoed, the corner of your mouth twitching. "You already plannin' that far ahead?"
"With you?" Jackie brushed his thumb over your skin. "Always." You let out a small breath, not quite a laugh, and your grip on his wrist loosened just enough to slide your fingers between his.
"Don't get cocky, i'm still mad."
Jackie sucked his teeth, "Ain't nobody worried bout you"
The way he said it made you roll your eyes. "Yeah, alright." He glanced back at you, that familiar little smirk showing.
"See? Can't even let me have the last word."
"Just hush alright? And don't tell nobody about this," you gently hit his broad shoulders.
He grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss, "Relax...I ain't got time to be runnin' my mouth about you."
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . For your master's degree in sports psychology, you have to do a study on an athlete from your university. After a tumultuous encounter with Suguru that triggered you, Utahime helps you reconcile, and you carefully decide to do your research with him, since he's the captain of the university's basketball team. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to discover behind the basketball player's purple eyes. A wounded soul, addiction, depression, fears—you share many things you hadn't suspected, and an intimate relationship blossoms during your study sessions. With a friends-with-benefits arrangement, he teaches you to overcome your fears, and thanks to your kindness and your knowledge of psychology, you help him rediscover the joy of life.
౨ৎ ⤷ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 (𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧) - 𝟏𝟗𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . college au, slow burn, reader with heavy backstory, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, basketball!player!suguru, romance, love, sex friends, falling in love, sexual trauma, mentions of sexual abuse, abuse, mommy issues, self-harm, depression, addiction, grief, heavy psychology info dumps reader is a nerd lol, music, trauma, suicide mentions, mutual pining, [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 : smut, kisses, foreplay, cunninlingus, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, missionary, unprotected sex, gentle sex, sex with feeling, open but happy ending!!!!].
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . oldddddd fic i rewrote and have never posted here!!! i hope you will like it, sorry for not being that active, life is kicking my ass :((( anyway, happy reading <3
Like every time you started a college year, you had this annoying habit of hurting yourself. At the first light of April, when the cherry trees began to bloom, it was your moment, even though you hated going to parties. No matter where you were in your healing, you had this constant need to shatter the few advances and improvements you had managed to make, as if to test yourself. Were you still that girl who was afraid of men? Could you enjoy yourself in bed?
You already knew the answer. This fear of penetration was always there, it followed you even in your shadow, spoiled the few sexual experiences you had and ruined your self-esteem.
“Wait,” you breathed against the lips of the stranger you wanted to lose yourself with at the start of this school year. His weight crushed you against the mattress in the empty bedroom, the music outside the room still blaring.
His hands under the fabric of your tee-shirt paused at your words.
“What is it?”
“Can you be gentle with me?”
A flicker of disappointment crossed his gaze, and your heart sank. Men didn’t care about your trauma. They just wanted to fuck.
“Well, if you want,” he mumbled, with little enthusiasm.
The man whose name you'd already forgotten continued to kiss you. The familiar feeling of disconnection from your body washed over you. It left you a spectator of the action on the bed, your eyes stared at the ceiling as his mouth roamed on the rest of your body.
You weren’t really there when he ate you out, it wasn’t that good, but you still faked your moans to not make him feel bad. After all, it wasn’t his fault if you were broken. It wasn’t his fault if your legs shook every time he would make an abrupt move, or if you couldn’t really feel anything when his tongue lapped at your core.
Your mind was somewhere else, focused on your clinical psychology classes or on the blushing of your best friend Utahime when she talked about her crush on Shoko.
When he positioned himself above you, his naked body resting his elbows beside your head for support, your stomach dropped, anxiety gripping you. He aligned his dick near your entrance, and you clenched your thighs around his waist, making penetration difficult.
“Hey, stop being so tense, it’s uncomfortable.”
Your voice trembled. “S-Sorry.”
He didn’t notice how hard your body was shaking, the tears welling in your eyes as his cock nudged your slit, your mind filled with painful memories.
“Stop crying, damn it,” he huffed, irritation in his voice, louder than before.
Anger.
Ah, that gentle emotion, which allows humans to express their displeasure either through outbursts or blows. You knew the latter well, which is why your entire body began to tremble at his raised voice.
“I’m so sorry.” Your voice quivered.
With shaky hands, you pushed him away and dressed yourself in a hurry and ignored his confused attempts to stop you. You needed to get out, now. An angry man was always a criminal in one way or another, and you weren't in the mood for any insults or beatings tonight.
“Where do you think you’re going? Come on, c’mere ! I want to fuck, damn it !” He tried to grab your arm, but you dodged his hand, leaving the room with quick steps. Enveloped by the sea of people at the frat party, you were separated from your failed one-night stand as you searched for Utahime's dark purple hair in the crowd. Same Damn Time by Future blasted in the big speakers, the loud rap music making you put your index in your ears as you analyzed each head next to you.
You spotted your best friend in the kitchen. Sipping on her red cup and leaning against the fridge, she chatted with a group of girls. You apologized as you sneaked into the group to steal Utahime.
“Hime, we have to go,” you grabbed her arm, your voice a little breathless from your hurried steps.
“Already? Damn, your man came that fast?” Her chuckle followed you behind you.
You shook your head, your voice bitter.
“Nobody came. And don’t call him ‘my’ man. He’s worst than the misogynistic lecturer in my child psychology course.”
“Worst than Naoya Zenin?!”
Her indignant voice made you laugh. You were struggling to get out of the frat party because of the partygoers around you, pressed against the sweaty bodies of the people who danced. You finally manage to get out, and the cool night air makes you shiver. The smell of damp earth enveloped you, indicating that there had been a downpour during the party.
“Let’s go, it’s gonna rain again,” Utahime said softly and took your hand in her, to walk to campus on the sidewalk.
But it was raining on your face because you burst into tears after a few minutes. Your sobbing interrupted Utahime in her account of her evening.
“Oh my god, what did that man do to you, sweetheart?” Utahime wrapped her arms around your shoulders as you walked together.
You explained to her what happened, your words hesitant.
“He’s such a jerk!” Utahime spat, obviously disgusted by the behavior of your night-stand. “Why do you look like you’re ashamed? You didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Because I should have know better,” you sniffled, “I don’t know why I always do this at the beginning of the school year.”
Utahime’s face had a pained expression, her dark eyebrows furrowed as she listened to you. She rubbed her hands on your back.
“You have every right to try to have intimate life, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. I always tell you this, but you’re not broken, just a bit damaged, okay? Please, stop crying and listen to me.”
You shook your head, not believing what she said. It had been three years since you left your abusive mother, and three years since you'd been trying to heal on your own, but you felt like you hadn't evolved. You still had the same triggers and fears, making you incapable of doing normal things for people your age, like having sex or being in a relationship. You were a psychology major, of course you knew that healing took time, but you hoped you'd at least be able to sleep with a boy without being scared at the slightest raised voice.
“You have to find someone who is very familiar with triggers and traumas, and someone you’re comfortable with. You can’t do that with the first guy you meet at a party, you know? He was a jerk to you, it’s normal you’re reacting that way. Just like disabled people go where the environment is safe for their needs, you have to find the person who’s right for you, without necessarily being in a relationship with them. A friend with benefits for healing, or something like that, I don’t know,” Utahime chuckled, and your lips curled into a smile.
“Absolutely no guy will want to do this “therapy” with me. You’re literally my only friend, I don’t talk to men.”
“Why not Takuma? You have the same major as him.”
“Not my type…”
The giggle of Utahime rose into the night as you walked back to campus.
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SUGURU'S POV
With GTA by Future & Metro Boomin in his ears, the rap music blasting in his headphones, Suguru focused on his morning gym routine. His long black hair tied in a low bun, strands of hair would fall out when he did his push-ups, warming up for the real workout. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black compression t-shirt that hugged his massive muscles and left his biceps tattoos visible, Suguru looked the same as his best friend, Satoru.
Doing his own gym routine alongside him, Satoru and Suguru worked as a team. Satoru helped him set up the weights on the machines, and Suguru fixed his postures when he lifted heavy weights.
“Your posture is worse than ever,” Suguru fixed Satoru’s back as he bent down for a squat. He pushed the barbell back at his last rep, letting out a sharp breath.
“It’s because of this weekend’s training. No one should train on Saturdays, our coach is crazy,” Satoru cracked his knuckles.
“Yeah, I tried to talk to him about it but he doesn't want to hear anything.”
Suguru was the captain of the basketball team of Kaisen University. Him and Satoru were equal in performances and abilities but Suguru was known at the best since he was the captain. Satoru was more popular though, his nerdy personality and cheerful smile charmed all the girls, while Suguru was more intimidating with his reserved personality.
“You’re not helping matters with your morning workouts. We already have training this afternoon, I don’t know how you stay in shape, I can barely keep up…”
Suguru's eyes darkened and he avoided Satoru's gaze while putting away the weights. The truth was, he wasn't in shape. He was tired, but working out was the only thing that made him feel anything, so he was addicted to it.
They showered in the locker room, sharing a toning eucalyptus shower gel. As the water streamed down his muscular body, Suguru pushed his hair back while contemplating his classes for the day. He was a philosophy major and was in his third year.
He didn't even feel the water running over his skin. The water was too hot for his skin, red patches were appearing all over his body, but he was unaffected.
He dressed in dark baggy jeans and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved rock band T-shirt, tucked his silver chain inside his T-shirt, and put on his silver rings after putting on cologne.
The cold morning air made Suguru shiver as he stepped outside. Since it was April, the cherry trees around the university were beginning to bloom, while the trees with the iconic orange leaves of autumn had shed their leaves.
Since Satoru was pursuing a bachelor of science in economics, he wasn't in the same department as Suguru. They exchanged their usual handshakes as they parted.
Suguru walked towards his department - the Arts Department, where philosophy, english, and liberal arts classes were held.
Suguru slumped into his chair in the auditorium, tiredness starting to set in, though he tried to hide it from Satoru this morning. Having high-functioning depression wasn't just about having depression and being able to function like a normal person. It was a constant game of pretending to be okay while carrying a burden on your back. Suguru didn't know when he would be able to overcome it, his life seemingly on hold since he had it.
As the lecturer entered the room to begin his lecture on Kant, Suguru's mind wandered to the window, watching the students walking to their departments.
───────────
READER'S POV
Utahime was a fem lesbian. Her nails were always done, with her index and middle fingers short, in case she managed to get her crush, Shoko. She always had a ribbon bow in her long purple hair and always dressed in skirts and dresses. Even when she was tired, she took care of her appearance, she remained impeccable at all times.
Sat on your bed, you watched her come back from the communal showers with her wet hair stuck to her face. She put her jewelry away in her sofa-shaped jewelry box.
“This is the worst jewelry box I have ever seen, you know that?”
Her laughter filled the room.
“Please, you collect tea bags.”
“That’s actually a very refined hobby,” you rolled your eyes and your gaze darted to the shoe box on top of your wardrobe. It had all your memories in it and all the tea bags you could find. “You should try.”
“No thanks,” Utahime tugged her tongue at you, your exasperated expression accentued. Utahime always had a childish side that she showed when she teased you or when she got mad at Satoru.
Thinking about Satoru…
“Hey, you know when you said that I could use your friends for my master’s application?”
Utahime titled her head and nodded. “Yeah? You weren’t very cool with that.”
“About that,” you sighed. “It's not that I wasn't cool with it, it's just that I wanted to do my research project on a female athlete, but when I talked about Shoko…”
Utahime’s cheeks flushed and she fidgeted. “Right…”
“Right,” you chuckled. You didn’t mind her jealousy. Utahime was a very jealous girl, so using Shoko was impossible, even though she was perfect for you since she was a volleyball player.
“So, I was saying that I think I will see Suguru and Satoru, just to see if it could work between us. I don’t really have friends besides you, so without Shoko, I have to fall back on your other friends. I’m a little nervous, though. I’ve never seen Suguru.”
Utahime’s face softened. For your master’s application, you needed to do a research project on an athlete on the campus of Kaisen University. The problem was that you were a very reserved girl without many friends, and was scared of men.
“Satoru is a bit dumb, but Suguru is very gentle, it will be okay,” she approached you and took your hands in hers. “Either way, if they hurt you, just let me know, I’ll kill them for you.”
Your warm smile lifted the corners of your mouth.
"Why do I feel like you're not kidding?"
“Because I’m not!”
───────────
SUGURU'S POV
On the basketball court, Suguru was unbeatable. His ability to run with the ball even while being blocked by multiple opponents was spectacular. His passes were always perfectly executed, and he rarely missed his shots. This was exactly why it annoyed him when his teammates couldn't keep up with him.
“What the hell are you doing? Just block me,” he commanded at his teammates while running. His coach rolled his eyes. Despite being an incredible player, Suguru was a bit of a… Rough captain? He always demanded excellence and lacked tact when speaking to his teammates. For Suguru, it was simple. Sports were what kept him up in the morning, and he couldn’t stand people who didn’t take his passion seriously, so he was a bit of an asshole with his team.
Today, one of his teammates was particularly lacking in judgment and speed. It wasn't his usual style; Koji was a talented center. But this wasn't the first time he'd missed his performances, and it was starting to annoy Suguru, who walked toward him with a frown.
───────────
READER’s POV
Upon entering the university gymnasium, you were immediately overwhelmed by the sound of the ball bouncing on the court, the squeak of sneakers, and the music blaring through the speakers.
When Utahime told you to go watch Satoru and Suguru at their training, you didn't expect this. The games on TV were a flimsy copy of the real intensity that came out of the game. You wanted to sit in the stands, but loud voices rose, and you turned your head.
A tall and muscular man wearing your university's iconic blue jersey was grabbing at the collar of one of his teammates' jersey. The angry man had long black hair with silvery white streaks underneath. His dark, purple gaze was fierce and menacing, and he was tattooed all over, right down to his neck. His facial traits were sharp and well-defined, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
Satoru was trying to separate them, and even though you'd never seen Suguru before because he was more present during parties you didn't usually go to except when you wanted to ruin your mental health like this weekend, you knew it was him. He had the intimidating aura and poise that only someone with responsibilities possessed, indicating he was the captain.
Everybody knew Satoru, even you, even though you weren’t in the friend group of Utahime, but Suguru was more mysterious. His name was known for his position in the basketball team, but a lot of people didn’t actually saw him, if he wasn’t with Satoru.
“I don’t give a damn about your sick mother, you think you’re the only one who have it rough? Everyone in this team has problems, but you’re the only one who makes others suffer with you,” Suguru spat, his deep voice filling the place as the coach stopped the music.
You didn't know if it was something about his voice or the way he grabbed the collar of the jersey, but your hands shook at your sides. The sight before you took you back to an altercation with your mother a few years ago, the brutal memory leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You could smell her breath full of alcohol or hear her hoarse voice.
His thin, angular facial features and the way his long black hair framed his face could call him a incredibly handsome man, but in front of that outburst of anger, you only saw a ghost from your past—your mother.
He felt someone stare at him and turned his head towards you. His face softened when he saw your expression, a mixture of apprehension and tension, but it was too late. As soon as he let go of his teammate's collar, pushed by his coach, you ran away, his dark purple eyes following your silhouette as you left the gym. He didn't know who you were, but he intended to apologize. His outbursts were reserved for his teammates lacking discipline, not women who minded their own business.
───────────
“I need you to make up. You’re my friends, and she’s my best friend, you have to get along! So do what you want, but make up,” Utahime decreed, sipping her latte. She had chosen a deserted Tokyo cafe, as if it were her secret hideout. The deafening noise of the coffee machines running behind you didn't help your grumpy mood.
“You barely get along with Satoru, and no one says anything,” you muttered. Your head was lowered, you only looked at your plate and avoided the gaze of the black haired man next to you.
“What the hell?” Satoru frowned. “Utahime and I are besties. She loves me so muuuuch.”
Satoru tried to wrap an arm around her, but she pushed him away as if he had a serious contagious disease. He burst out laughing and continued to tease her.
Beside you, Suguru stared at you with his calm eyes. He studied your profile, the shape of your nose, and the length of your eyelashes. You tried to eat your donut, but his gaze burned you.
Utahime had the fabulous idea of trying to reconcile you with the basketball duo by having a snack at a cafe. The problem was that you had nothing against Satoru, but you had reservations about his best friend. You didn’t know if you wanted to do your research project with a man who could be so violent. The sight of his furious eyes and his hand tugging at the collar of his teammate lingered on your mind.
Suguru emanated a dominant energy that made your nervous system ring the alarm bell.
He tilted his head, staring at you. “I’m really sorry.” He shifted in his seat, his knee brushing yours. “The teammate you saw was making things difficult for my team. I’m not like that with everyone.”
The low octaves of his voice made your stomach do this little twist when you were intimidated or strangely attracted to something. It was becoming imperative to back away or else you would melt under the softness of his voice.
“Aren't you a captain? You should have more tact; they're not your dogs. You have to respect the rules of conduct and not snap at just anyone because you think they're slowing down the team.”
You were proud of yourself for managing to keep your voice steady and stern, and he couldn't notice the state he was putting you in.
“I get that a lot, I’m working on it.”
“Then you should change your tactics because it’s clearly not working.”
The corners of his mouth lifted to form a smile, amused by your attitude and the way your face stared at your plate. You acted as if he was the devil, and in a way, he was in your head.
“You’re a psych major, right? Utahime told me that. So you should have a lot of tactics to teach me to help me behave.”
His naturally sensual voice made it sound like he had basically invited you to sleep with him. You suddenly looked up at him, your eyes narrowed.
“No thanks. I’m serious about my major, so if you could avoid this kind of innuendo, thanks.” You glared at him.
His eyebrows furrowed.
“Innuendo? I didn’t-”
“That’s exactly why I get more girls than you, Suguru, you can’t flirt. Listen to me, pretty. Never, absolutely never trust this man, okay? I’m the one for you.” Satoru leaned over the table to whisper in front of you, but Suguru could totally hear what he said.
“You’re not the one who get the most of girls, Satoru. Most of girls don’t even take your passion for anime seriously.”
“Most of people don’t have taste, what can I say? But let’s get to the point.” Satoru pointed his finger at you and his eyes lit up with a warm glow. “My intuition tells me we’re going to get along. Let’s do your study, research paper or whatever together. Forget the captain, you’re getting the real deal with me.”
“Satoru,” Suguru warned him, his voice serious. He really wanted to apologize for scaring you, and Satoru was ruining his efforts. If apologizing meant doing your research project, he will do it. Suguru was a gentleman, and absolutely territorial, so Satoru had to go away for his plan.
“Okay, okay, can you let me think?” You let out a soft sign, and took out your phone.
You used to make a pros and cons table when you had choices to make. Suguru looked at you curiously as you wrote in your notes. Manwhore, talkative, unserious was in the cons section for Satoru, and violent, tactless, and triggering was in Suguru's section. In the pros section, you put funny and talented for Satoru, and dim the brightness on your phone to secretly write ‘sexy captain’ in Suguru's column.
Rereading your notes, you realized that both men had interesting profiles for your research project. Although Suguru intimidated you, researching a team captain could make a difference compared to other candidates for your master's degree. Satoru was a brilliant player who had made a name for himself in college basketball despite being born with a silver spoon thanks to his parents' business. His success was due to his hard work, not his wealth.
“Okay,” you put your phone away and cleared your throat.
“You realized I was a much better choice than the other guy next to you and realized my full potential. You can say it, pretty girl.” Satoru’s smirk full of confidence made Suguru roll his eyes.
“First rule for our project together : I have a name and will not be one of your future conquests, so you will avoid calling me by cheesy nicknames.” You glared at Satoru. “Second, Suguru, you will avoid speaking to me with such a… disturbing voice.”
“Disturbing… voice?” Suguru has a puzzled expression on his face.
“You’re making her panties wet-”
Utahime slammed her hand on Satoru’s mouth, the sharp “slap” echoed in the cafe.
“What the fuck?! You’re basically dislocated my jaw!”
“If only you had the looks and the brains, but you're a little fool!” Utahime bickered with Satoru, and you sighed and shook your head in exasperation. You turned your head toward Suguru, your eyes met.
“You said ‘project together’,” he remarked.
You stared at him for a few seconds, silent. You studied his face and how his dark eyes framed his handsome face, how his delicate features held a certain sensuality. You had to remember that that angelic face was capable of being distorted by anger and you looked away, as if disappointed.
“I’m making the research project on both of you.”
“Why? Isn't that more work for you?”
Your eyes wandered between the white-haired man and the black-haired man several times without saying anything.
“I’ll choose whoever is more interesting in the end. Don’t worry about me, I love to study people.”
───────────
SUGURU’s POV
You had decided to see Suguru every Wednesday and Satoru every Friday. It was easier for your organization to see them separately. You hadn't yet told the two men the subject of your research, preferring to see what the meeting with them would lead to. You had all year to choose anyway.
Suguru headed towards Study Room 202, in the back of the university library. His gray and black Asics Gel NYC sneakers left small wet spots with every step from the downpour that had fallen on him, it soaked the bottom of his dark baggy jeans and his long hair.
Opening the door to the room, he noticed your things on the table, but you were nowhere to be seen. He turned his head to inspect the library's surroundings. Sighing, he closed the door and went looking for you.
The university library had several floors, which made it a daunting task if you were on another floor. He strolled through the book shelves, running his hand through his wet hair as he detangled it. He used the scrunchie on his wrist to tie his hair back, it revealed his silvery white locks beneath the black ones.
In the philosophy section, he found you leaning against the bookshelf, engrossed in a book.
“Trying to embrace the absurdity of life?”
You jumped at his voice, looking alert, your heart racing every time you were surprised. Your post-traumatic stress disorder made you anxious at the slightest disruptions in your daily life. You hated how fragile it made you.
“No more of how many times Albert Camus will use the term ‘Arab’ to name people without giving them real names,” you said, frowning as you put your copy of ‘The Stranger’ back on the bookshelf.
“Ah, he’s always had a weird relationship with Algeria. A great writer, but didn’t fight for the liberation of his people,” Suguru nodded ad reached up to pick up a book from above you, but when he did so, you tensed and raised your hand to protect yourself.
Suguru’s eyes narrowed.
“You thought-”
“You're late, don't be late next time,” you changed the subject, walking away from him to go to the study room.
The way you changed the subject didn't go unnoticed by Suguru, and he stared at the floor for several seconds before joining you. You had clearly been abused in the past, and Suguru wondered if it was by an ex-boyfriend or a family member. Given your reluctance and your reaction to his outburst, he understood better where you came from, and thought that you must have a fear of men. He had noticed how you were impervious to Satoru's charm. You didn’t fall for his jokes and kept a serious and emotionless tone when you interacted with them. He didn't take it personally; if you had been traumatized enough to be afraid of every sudden movement, it was because your trauma was serious. He wasn't going to blame an innocent girl for being afraid of being abused again.
He sat down on the chair and took out his things. His eyes roamed over your curvy figure. You had your arms crossed over your chest, as if to say “don’t try to enter my heart.” He shook his head. Yeah, your trauma was serious.
“Are you rich?” you asked, the blunt question made the corners of his lips quirk up.
“Kinda. Why?”
You grabbed a pen and pointed at his backpack and Stüssy t-shirt.
“Both items would cost me 4 days of work at 7eleven.”
Suguru leaned back, his legs manspreading. His knees brushed your knees just like before in the cafe.
“You work at the 7eleven of the campus?”
You nodded, opening your laptop. You didn't say anything more so Suguru was trying to make the conversation go longer.
“My family made its fortune in agriculture. They own quite a few farms in the countryside.”
You nodded again, still silent, your eyes focused on your laptop. Suguru’s smile widened.
“You're supposed to tell me silly stories about your family.”
You lifted your eyes and met his purple piercing gaze.
“I’m doing a research project on you. You don’t need to know my family.”
“What if I want to make a research project on you?”
Again with his sensual voice of his. Your jaw tensed and your eyes fell back on your laptop.
“I told you to stop with the innuendo.”
“If you see innuendo in anything I say, it says more about you than it does about me.”
You rolled your eyes and Suguru chuckled, the deep sound making you feel weird in your stomach.
“Okay, now, real conversation,” you opened a Word document. “I’m going to ask you some general questions about your life, and then we’re going to focus on your relationship with sports. You’re allowed to lie to me, although I don’t see the point.”
Suguru nodded, his eyes focused on your nails as you typed on your keyboard. Your acrylics were sophisticated with 3D patterns and chrome.
“You did it yourself?”
“Hm?” you raised your head.
“Your nails. They are pretty.”
“Oh,” you glanced at your hands. “Thanks. Utahime did them.”
A flat, cold response, without a silly story. Suguru struggled to get you out of your comfort zone, but he was going to succeed, he was sure of it. He had to, he didn't want you to still be afraid of him after the incident.
“Let’s get started. First, what are your passions outside of sports? Your hobbies? And how much time do you devote to them compared to sports?”
Suguru’s expression faltered. He suspected your research questions would touch on some uncomfortable topics, but he didn't expect it to be so quickly. He scratched the back of his head and looked away.
“I used to have some, but not so much anymore.”
“Why?”
“Is this for your academic research or your personal research?”
“You don’t want to tell silly stories about your old hobbies?”
“I used to love art. I wanted to be tattoo artist before I discovered basketball in high school.”
You studied the tattoos that were visible on his neck and biceps.
“Did you design some of your tattoos?”
“All of them. I’m my own canva.”
Your eyes widened, impressed.
“And why did you stop? You don't have any more space on your body?”
“I wish it was that,” Suguru stretched his arms, a sad expression on his face.
You felt like it was a personal topic and didn't force the conversation to continue, which he appreciated. Suguru only talked about his depression to Satoru; he was uncomfortable talking about his loss of interest in his old hobbies to a girl he had met three days ago.
“Utahime told me you're pursuing a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Philosophy. Can I ask why? Everyone says that kind of degree leads nowhere.”
“There are opportunities, but overall, yeah, everyone thinks it’s a waste of time. I think one of the worst effects of capitalism is that we have to study to find a job and not just to learn. Even if my degree doesn’t do me much good, I’m happy to have critical thinking skills.”
“Sir I-wear-T-shirts-that-cost-a-week-of-groceries is talking to me about capitalism?”
“Hey, my parents were honest farmers, they exploited no one,” Suguru raised his arms to appear innocent.
You repressed a chuckle, not wanting to be friendly with him. You continued to ask him a few questions before moving on to the sports section.
“How many times a week do you work out?”
“Every day except Sunday.”
“Your coach makes you work out 6 days a week?” You frowned. It was almost dangerous to do that.
“No, he gives us two days off, I’m the one who works out every day in addition to training.”
“You… You do workouts 6 days a week in addition to your training 5 days a week?” Your voice had a hint of anxiety, as if just talking about it put you in an impossible state. You couldn’t survive with a schedule like that. You understood now why he had such dark circles under his eyes.
“Yeah…” Suguru fidgeted in his seat, playing with his industrial ear piercing.
“Do you realize I'm studying to be a sports psychologist? So what you're telling me shocks me a little. Two workouts a day, even the biggest NBA stars don't do that.”
His gaze darted on the wall and avoided looking at you.
“I just need it,” he whispered.
Your fingers froze on the keyboard, and you held your breath, his whisper making the atmosphere suddenly more personal, more intimate. For a few seconds, you said nothing and stared at him. His expression and shifty eyes made your heart tighten. You cleared your throat.
“I won’t judge you. You have the right to handle whatever you’re going through with sports. Just… be careful, you can get exhausted and injure your muscles if you do it too much. I can show you articles about that if you’re sceptical.”
Your words were like a warm blanket around his aching heart, you tried to be kind even though you didn’t know what is going on.
“It’s okay, I know. Continue your interrogation.”
You stood there looking at him, looking tense. He made a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
“It’s okay.”
You continued to ask questions, trying to not to make him uncomfortable again. Suguru had an uncanny ability to put on a social mask, pretending to smile or laugh to hide the inner emptiness that was eating away at what little vitality he had left. He knew you weren't fooled. Your expression was always focused and your eyes squinted when he made a chuckle that felt too fake to lighten the mood after a too personal question.
At the end of your session, Suguru yawned, tired even though it was early afternoon, which didn't help your worries.
“If you need anything, don't hesitate to talk to me. I don't know you, but in a year I will be able to help people like you,” you proposed as you walk towards the library exit with him. Your tone were serious, as if you were already talking to a patient. He chuckled softly, the sound seemed genuine. You were so cute and nerdy, he thought.
“Relax. I’m just an addict to sports. It’s not the end of the world. I’m addicted to something good for my health. It's better than cocaine, right?”
“You should always be moderate in life. It’s the excess that’s toxic, Suguru.”
His name seemed even more beautiful on your tongue and contemplated the idea of hearing you say it again.
“Right, right. I’m gonna take a tap before my class. Happy?”
“I’m very happy, yeah.”
He gave you a small wave before heading towards the dorm part of campus, his face losing its humor the closer he got to his dorm. He opened the door abruptly, tossing his backpack next to his desk and slumping onto his bed without taking off his shoes. He stared at the ceiling and sighed.
“I can’t even talk to my psychiatrist, do you think I’ll talk to you?” He let out a dry chuckle and rolled over to take his neuroleptic. He waited for the medication to take effect by staring at his music posters on the wall, then scrolled on his phone.
When the familiar lethargy washed over his body, he set an alarm for his next class and fell asleep, sinking into a world where he wasn't fucking hypocrite and actually liked living.
───────────
READER’s POV
Two weeks passed. During this time, you were busy with your classes, your part-time job at 7eleven, and meeting Satoru and Suguru twice a week for an hour. You were still in the personality discovery phase and hadn't given them any tests. You had more affinity with Suguru during your sessions, because Satoru was a talking machine, wasting your time with his anecdotes and loud jokes. Suguru wasn't your favorite human, but at least he was calm and serious about your research. You felt like you were losing brain cells with each session with Satoru.
Your school year was less hectic because it was the final year of your bachelor, but you studied extensively for your elective courses, not wanting to lower your 3.8 GPA from the beginning of the year. It was bound to drop, but it gave you extra motivation to study. Philosophy, in particular, was something you were passionate about but lacked the ability to articulate your ideas well, making your essays messy.
“Need help? You'll twist your face frowning like that.”
You jumped, alert, as usual but relaxed when you saw Suguru sitting next to you. He leaned over, removing his earphones from his ear to look at your copy; you could still hear the sound coming from the small object.
“What are you listening to?”
“Are you in a good mood? Since when do my musical tastes interest you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Please.”
“Saint by Blood Orange.” Seeing that you were looking at him without reaction, not knowing the artist, he chimed in. “It’s alternative R&B.”
Your eyes lit up.
“Oh my god, I love R&B. It’s like Frank Ocean?”
A smile danced across his face. You liked Frank Ocean? Oh, he will like you.
“Not really, but if you like Frank Ocean, you’ll like Blood Orange. He has very polished instrumentals like Frank, he has the same kind of emotion in the lyrics and the same kind of soaring music. Especially his album from 2018. But it’s also very indie rock. I might give you car rides by showing you my playlist one day, we seem to like the same things.”
“Um, no thanks.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“I knew you would say that,” his eyes focused on your essay. “Your structure is incorrectly done, and you lack evidence of your claims. I can help you, I study Kant every year.”
“I really don’t give two shit about duty and moral.” You ran your hands over your face with a deep sigh.
“Like everyone else. Kant had a lot of time to waste.”
Suguru taught you how to structure a philosophical essay, his voice gentle and calm. He was very educational, and didn't talk to you as if you were stupid even if you made beginner's mistakes. His voice soothed your afternoon, but your eyes were lost on his face, studying all his piercings. He had them in his eyebrows, his lips, on both corners, and had a septum. When he chuckled, you could see the metal on his tongue. Today he wore baggy jorts, revealing muscular legs and was fully tattooed too. You couldn't believe how tattooed he was at only 20 years old; he must have started getting tattoos when he was underage.
“When did you get your first tattoo?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his story about Kantian ethics.
He paused, tilting his head.
“Fifteen.”
“What ?” You widened your eyes.
“My uncle is a tattoo artist,” he explained in a soft voice, tainted by affection. “I’ve wanted to get tattoos since I was little. I used to do body painting and draw on myself at an age where I don’t even knew what a tattoo was. For my 15th birthday, he offered to tattoo one of my drawings on me.”
“That’s the cutest and most illegal thing I’ve heard today.”
“It’s just 3 year before the legal authorization, that’s fine.”
“Why didn’t you pursue your dreams? You look like you were born to be a tattoo artist.”
He let out a soft sigh, stretching his arms, his muscles always tense.
“I fell in love with basketball.” He shrugged.
“I wish you success then.”
“Thank you.” His heart warmed up.
He continued to help you for a good hour, giving you advice on how to present the best arguments and how to use the knowledge from your classes. By the end of the hour, your essay was more precise and better structured, and you felt more confident about your upcoming essays.
“Thank you so much, you could be a teacher,” you complimented him as you put your things away.
“Hell no. I’m just manipulating you into telling me your silly stories one day.”
“Of course, I should have known better,” you said in mock disappointment, knowing he was referring to your first session. He was obsessed with the possibility of you telling him personal things. Your lips curled into a playful smile before you froze.
Suguru was a smooth talker. Awfully skilled with women, because how come in three weeks you managed to joke with him when you were afraid of him at first? He was even more talented than Satoru, and this man was a playboy. You cleared your throat, rebuilding your fortress around your heart, creating a special “Suguru” offensive to avoid these kinds of smiles from you.
“I'll come see you at your training this afternoon, don't make me bored.” You walked away from him in a hurry but could still hear him behind you.
“Yes ma’am.”
───────────
Suguru was a point guard, which meant he was the leader on the court. He was in charge of passing and initiating offenses. He was kind of like the second coach. Satoru was the shooting guard, and as his name suggests, he was in charge of scoring as much as possible and was capable of making long shots or shots in the 3-point area.
Focused on your phone, sitting in the stands of the university gym, you were lulled by the sound of the ball bouncing on the court. You analyzed Suguru and Satoru's stats. And by looking at them, you understood why they were so popular. Suguru was a phenomenal point guard. His steals stats indicated that as soon as he was on the court, his team was sure to be the one with the most of the ball. His assists stats were particularly high, showing that the game was dominated by him. Satoru had nothing to envy him with his free throw attempts stats almost equal to his successful free throws, indicating that he rarely missed his shots. His 3-point field goal stats were very high, and it was surprising that these two men were Japanese university athletes and not NBA players.
But like all statistics, it wasn't the only facet of reality. You raised your head and analyzed their games.
Suguru had near-superhuman speed, blocking and stole the ball with near-piteful ease for the opposing team. However, he was too fast, which caused even simple offensive strategies like the pick and roll to fail. Satoru made all his shots and could make any layup, and was able to shoot far from the basket. But aside from his great skills, when his team was on defense, he committed stupid personal fouls that he could have easily avoided if he was careful not to touch his opponent.
At the end of their practice, you came down from the stands and walked towards them. They were wiping their foreheads with their jerseys, their chests rose and fell from their frantic breathing.
“Suguru, being an excellent point guard goes without saying with being able to control your speed. You're good at complex offenses, but you make simpler ones miss because of your lack of control. Satoru, there's no point in being a good shooter if you can get kicked out of the game because of your fouls,” you criticized them in a serious voice, pointing your finger at them every time you addressed them.
Satoru's handsome face morphed into a haughty expression, his eyebrows raised.
“And who are you to judge my performance? You’re not my coach, nor my captain. Remember, we’re just doing your research because you’re Utahime’s friend and-”
“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Suguru glared at him before turned his head toward you, his face softening. “Tell me more about my weakness.”
You took a deep breath, used to being underestimated just because you were a girl.
“I don't watch the NBA, but I'm interested in the WNBA, and pretty much most women's sports, so I know what I'm talking about.” You glanced at Satoru, your gaze piercing. “My mother made me watch basketball and baseball games since I was little.”
“Finally, a silly story,” Suguru’s mouth split into a soft grin.
You ignored Suguru and the warm feeling pooling in your stomach. You detailed your analysis of their games, Satoru's expression growing more and more impressed as you talked about statistics and game tactics. Suguru listened to you intently, drinking from his bottle while staring at you intensely.
“I swear I didn’t say that because you were a girl, I said that because, I mean, like, who can criticize my perfect game? I’m the star of the university. I’m just a pathetic egocentric man, I didn’t mean to offend you, I swear.”
Satoru ran after you as you said goodbye to Suguru and walked towards the exit. You shook your head.
“It’s okay. You may be dumb but I knew it wasn’t coming from misogyny. I’m just used to that treatment so I was kind of defensive.”
“Right, men are so mean, I wish I was a girl sometimes.”
You looked at him puzzled, and Suguru let out a deep sigh behind you.
“Have a good day, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
You waved your hand with a small laugh, and left the gym.
───────────
With blasting from the speakers in the dorm, you and Utahime got ready while moving your heads to the music and humming the songs. It looked like your dorm had been hit by a hurricane because of all the clothes and heels strewn all over the floor. But that was because today was a special day : Utahime was going to make the first move to get her crush!
“It’s truly a sign of friendship that you’re coming with me, I’ll forever be grateful.” Utahime was applying your mascara, still in her panties.
“I already told you to put on your outfit before doing your makeup.” You sighed, putting on a shirt, “But yeah, be happy the homebody came out to support you.”
Utahime said she needed you to be in the same room as her to give her courage. You weren't sure if her words were true, but if it made her feel better, you agreed to get out of bed. The truth was, you never went to parties except at the beginning of the year when you wanted to test your healing. It was too dangerous a place for you; there were too many men, too many opportunities to be taken advantage of, and on top of that, you hated drinking because you were afraid of losing control. Less control meant more possibilities of being abused, so you were a bit of a control freak. But just for Utahime, you made an exception.
“Be glad Suguru helped me with my essay. Thanks to him, I've made good progress and don't have anything to study tonight.”
“Talking about Suguru…”
Utahime raised her head, her playful smile conveyed her mischief.
“Why you don’t have sex with him? He’s your type.”
You froze.
“What the hell?!”
“What? All your crushes had long black hair and piercings.”
“Yeah, he’s my type, but that’s not the point!” You threw your makeup bag down on the bed. “Why would I sleep with a man I barely know?”
“Um… You did that exactly-”
“Okay, okay, forget that.” Your index and middle fingers rubbed your temples. “Why would I sleep with a man who can’t control his temper?”
“Pleaaaaaase,” she rolled her eyes. “He's only like this for sports because he is a captain. Suguru is an angel.”
“Absolutely no man is angelic, the devil hides behind them.”
Utahime’s laughter lit up the room.
“Maybe, but he’s a sexy devil.” She winked at you.
“You’re attracted to him?” You raised a eyebrow.
“I’m a lesbian, not blind. I can look even though I don’t eat this dish.”
“I also don’t want to eat this dish, especially this dish.”
“Why not though? You said yourself that you wanted to have a normal sex life one day. Suguru is gentle and good at bed. One of my friends have slept with him and told me he made her came five times and did multiple rounds.”
“I’m very happy about the sex life of your friend but you forget that I can’t even do a round, Hime. Suguru is good where he is, just my research partner.”
“Why do you like to sabotage yourself so much? You were giving your body to an asshole a few weeks ago and now you come across a kind guy who could make you feel safe and you refuse? I don’t even understand you sometimes?”
I don’t even understand me sometimes, you wanted to reply but you stayed silent, putting on your heels.
───────────
Leaning against the wall, you watched the people dance to Sexyy Red, the girls twerking on the guys, their asses shaking on their crotches. You wished you were as care-free as them, but the mere thought that a man would rub against you made you shudder. The frat party was filled with the ambient smell of marijuana and tobacco, and it was very hot inside, the windows steaming up from all the movement inside. You regretted wearing a sweater dress; although it was light, the wool fabric was still too heavy for a party.
Further away, to your right, Shoko was kissing Utahime on her lap, your mission accomplished.
You moved forward into the sea of people, wanting to find a corner to sit near the living room. You squeezed between the warm bodies and accidentally bumped into some. You apologized a few times, and when you reached the sofas, you held your breath.
Sitting on one of the couches, Suguru was leaning back against the backrest, a girl on his lap while kissing another girl who was standing next to him, bent over him. Even with the distance, you could see the movements of their tongues intertwining in their mouths. If it were a girl, you would have said “go girl,” but since it was a boy, you were overcome with disgust. It was misandrist, but it was more of a preventative measure. You found it hard to believe that a boy who had many sexual partners actually respected the women he slept with. To you, all playboys were a bit misogynistic deep down, so you were disgusted to see Suguru do this. And disappointed, as if you had started to get used to him and he had just ruined the small glimmer of appreciation you had for him. You swore to yourself that you would never be in his bed.
You turned around, trying to push the image out of your head.
SUGURU’s POV
“I’m in love with ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
Satoru's absurd sentence made him stop kissing the stranger on his lap and his hands under her skirt paused. He pulled his head back, his eyes narrowed.
“The fuck are you talking about?” He pushed the girl away with a quick, apologetic kiss on the temple, and she left, looking for another guy to have fun with tonight.
“I’m in love with her. I think about her all the time, I feel hot when I’m around her, my stomach does weird thinking when she talks to me-”
“That’s desire, not love. She barely talks about herself, how could you fall in love with her? You don’t know anything about her. You've known her for less than a month.”
“I know things about her!” Satoru raised his voice, leaned over on the couch. “I know she’s passionate about women’s sports and she… Likes psychology… And… Yeah…”
“Yeah.” Suguru’s gaze on Satoru hardened. “You need to stop doing that every time you’re interested about some girl.”
Satoru was a playboy, but a romantic playboy. He fell in love very quickly and left people just as quickly. Suguru had already taken a slap from one of his ex-girlfriends because Satoru had blocked him everywhere and refused to talk to her. She had begged Suguru to help her, but he had refused, not wanting to get involved in his best friend's love affairs. As a result, he had ended up with a hand mark all day.
“But I feel she’s different this time. She resists my charm. It turn me on so much when she doesn’t get my jokes.”
Suguru's whole body tensed. Knowing how afraid you were of men, you'd be disgusted to know that Satoru fantasized about you. It wasn't polite or respectful to have that kind of thought for a girl you'd just met and who trusted him with her research project.
“I need you to listen to me, ‘toru. You’re not in love, you’re just… weirdly turned on by a girl who reacts differently than others. You’ve only known her for three weeks, she could be a serial killer.”
“It’s kind of sexy…”
Suguru face-palmed himself and Satoru chortled.
“What? You don’t know that kink? It’s called autoassassinophilia. It’s when you turned on by the fact you could be killed. I’m into that.” Satoru danced his eyebrows with a mischievous facial expression, but Suguru looked at him sternly.
“No, I don’t have these kinks.”
“Liar. I found handcuffs in your dorm.”
Suguru let out a low chuckle.
“I mean…”
“You’re so naughty like me.”
Satoru mock-punched Suguru, and Suguru dodged him with a smirk. He bickered with Satoru for a few minutes before spotting your braids in the crowd of people. You were the only girl with goddess braids with beads of all colors.
“I'll be back in a few moments.”
Suguru stood up, trying to find you among the many heads in front of him. He moved deeper into the group and found you, but this time not alone.
A drunk man was yelling at you, the people around you oblivious to the danger due to the loud music. Your eyes were wide, your hands shaking as you tried to back away but bumped into the wall. Having no time for this kind of nonsense, Suguru grabbed the man by the back of his neck.
“Get out of here,” he snapped, his voice cold as he pushed him away from you.
The drunk man, his head dizzy, staggered to collapse against a couch. Suguru turned to you and took in the sight of your anxious state. He took your trembling hands in his, his touch gentle.
“It’s okay, he’s not here anymore.”
His thumb traced circles on your palms as you regained control of your breathing, taking deep breaths. Your eyes watered, and his heart ached at your vulnerable silhouette. He continued to whisper, “It's okay, you're safe,” while you regained control of your breathing. He managed to calm your beginning panic attack with his voice and his gestures.
“You offered me help, but I feel like you're the one who needs it most. You're shaking like a leaf. Most people who are mentally healthy don't react this way.”
Suguru's caring voice and tender gestures soothed your fears. Despite the people dancing and laughing around you, it was as if you were alone in a little cocoon, the delicate walls enveloped you. For a few seconds, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort he brought you without turning your back on him. His gentleness made your eyes sting; it was nothing to him, but it was the kindest gesture a man had ever shown you. You didn't know if it was the hormones or if it was just that your period was approaching, but you were ready to burst into tears and let yourself be comforted by him in his arms.
You could smell the cologne emanating from him, the expensive, masculine scent, which made you want to nuzzle his chest to inhale better. Even though he was maybe a playboy, even though he had outbursts with his teammates, all his red flags were invisible now, you only saw the way he held your hands in his soft hands and his compassionate gaze towards you. In this moment of fragility that surpassed all reason, you understood Utahime when she said Suguru was an angel.
Suguru's eyes darted at your sweater dress, the dress loose and not hugging any part of your body, like a garbage bag placed over you. It wasn't the clothes he was used to seeing on girls who were partying. However, he quickly made the connection with your fear of men and your outfit. Perhaps it was a way for you to appear unnoticed. Perhaps you had come to accompany Utahime, since he had never seen you at a frat party before.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?”
“I'll say this in the nicest way possible, but I'd like to be alone. Thanks for the man,” you sniffled and tried not to sound too harsh. Your moment of comfort was coming to an end, and your barrier was beginning to rebuild at high speed. Suguru wasn't offended; you were used to withdrawing easily, and you always respected his privacy during your sessions; he owed you that.
“No problem. If another man tries to bother you, just scream loudly; maybe I'll hear you and save you.”
A ghost of a smile crossed your face. You nodded before walking away and out the front door, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your dress. Suguru watched you through the window as you walked to a bench near the frat party. He couldn't help but wonder what wounds you were hiding behind that fortress and if you'd ever be comfortable enough to show them one day to someone like him.
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READER’s POV
The incident at the party lingered in your mind for days afterward. Now in control of your emotions, you're a little ashamed of how vulnerable you let yourself be in front of him. But you couldn't have predicted that a drunk guy would yell at you and triggered you. Luckily, Suguru was there to ground you. You thanked him for handling the man, but he didn't know how much his gestures and voice had helped calm you down.
You had an hour before joining Suguru for your weekly sessions. Walking through the city of Tokyo, you looked for a vinyl and CD seller. The temperature was average, the sky gray, but it was nice outside, you could walk around in a t-shirt. You found the store you were looking for and entered. You knelt under the vinyls to find the boxes of CDs, and looked for section B. You were lucky, you only had one copy of Blood Orange's album 'Negro Swan' left, Suguru would be happy. Paying less than 2,000 yen (= 13 dollars), you put your gift in your bag, feeling lighter. Taking advantage of the lack of rain, you walked around listening to the album on Spotify, until it was time to see Suguru at the university library.
When Suguru entered Study Room 202, you jumped on him. Not literally but your voice was full of excitement.
“The Blood Orange album you told me about is just amazing! The metaphor about being the black sheep as a black man in America is just brilliant. It’s such a beautiful album about celebrating being yourself, without performing for others. It can be interpreted in many ways, like autistic people who feel different from society and their struggle with masking. The feats, oh my god, the feats are perfect! You weren’t lying when you said it was a mix of indie rock and alternative R&B, it’s one of the best albums I’ve ever heard!”
You had spoken in one go, panting a bit at the end of the monologue, and Suguru burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. You stared at him in amazement, his usually calm face distorted by the burst of sunshine.
“Sorry,” he held his sides, catching his breath. “I didn’t expect such a welcome.”
“Sorry,” you whispered and offered a sheepish smile.
“No, don't be sorry. It's cute, honestly.” This was the second time you'd done something that made him think to himself, ‘She's so cute.’
A wave of heat rose in your stomach, and you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. Suguru sat down in front of you.
“It's been a long time since I've laughed this hard, thanks.”
“You're welcome, I guess…”
“Don't be like that, I wasn't making fun of you. I'm just... surprised to see someone loving something as much as me. Most people, when they like something, are normal, whereas I'm unhinged about it.”
“Is that why you can't stand it when your teammates don't take basketball seriously?”
Suguru winced.
“I really need to work on that…”
You took your laptop out of your bag, dropping the CD on the table. Suguru's eyes lit up.
“Damn, you even bought the CD? What is next? The vinyl?”
“Um, it’s for you, Suguru.”
His small smile faded, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the CD.
“Why?”
“I… I sometimes have anxiety problems,” you tried to explain, without mentioning your C-PTSD. “I get triggered by sudden loud noises and yelling. When you held my hand this Friday… It felt good for me, it very helped me. I wanted to thank you, sincerely. It’s not a huge gift, it didn’t cost me much, it’s just to symbolize my gratitude. You must probably think it’s stupid, but it doesn’t matter. It makes sense to me.”
He hadn't even known you for a month, and you could make him burst out laughing like when he didn't have his depression. You made him want to break the barrier between you when he was the type to push away people who got too close to him, hating being vulnerable. And now you wanted to give him such a heartfelt gift? Even Satoru hadn't given him such a specific gift, and bought him expensive colored pencils for art. It was a good gift, but compared to yours, it was nothing. You had remembered a random piece of information he had given you, and wanted to give him a gift because he had held your hands? This was making him so vulnerable and weird in his stomach. He struggled to find the words. He cleared his throat and an almost shy smile flickered across his face as he took the CD in his hands.
“Thank you, I don’t know what to say. This is so cute.”
You were becoming incredibly flustered, feeling hot all over.
“It didn’t cost me much, it’s not very-”
“None of that,” he commanded, his voice dominant. “That’s the cutest thing someone did to me, and I want to remember it that way, so stop that bullshit.”
You flinched at his ‘captain voice,’ but it was necessary so you could relax and not feel embarrassed about your gift. A bit of tough love was crucial sometimes for stopping your toxic habits to feel bad about yourself.
For an hour, you would do your research project and have him complete specialized basketball tests. You had to find a topic for your research project, and you had an idea with Suguru. The problem was that Suguru wasn't comfortable talking to you about his personal problems. You had to create a sort of safe space during the sessions so he could open up. As long as you didn't have that safe space with Suguru, you kept Satoru as backup.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” Suguru asked softly, as you put your laptop back in your bag.
“Yeah?”
He pulled out some notebooks from his backpack.
“I have electives in psychology. I think it’s from your freshman syllabus, but I’m having a bit of trouble with the topic of “biological basis of behavior.” It’s the basis of my course, and I’m lost right now because I haven’t even memorized all the frontal lobe nonsense and all that.”
Your face softened.
“So I was thinking if a certain girl majoring in psychology could help me…”
Your face lit up with a smile. “Of course.”
You stood up to sit next to him, your thighs touching as you leaned over his notes.
“Actually, it’s very simple. You just need to work on your memorization so you don’t get lost during your current classes.”
You explained to him the different parts of the frontal lobe, the role of neurotransmitters, and the different nervous systems in the brain. In fact, it was all a lie. Suguru had understood his entire lesson; he simply wanted to be able to admire your face up close and study your lips, which moved as you spoke.
He was fascinated by the shape of your lips, his mouth half-open, as his eyes stared at your mouth like an archaeologist finding a relic. He wondered what they tasted and felt like, if you were the type to kiss by focusing on the twist of your tongue or more on nibbling. He licked his lips without realizing it, his gaze on you intense and dark. He didn't realize that his thoughts drifted towards forbidden zones because he was too absorbed by the movements of your lips. It was only when you cleared your throat, your face flustered, that he realized he had lost it.
“I’m so sorry, that’s so disrespectful. I swear I don’t see you that way, I was just-”
“I get that, I get that. I'm also fascinated by you when we study-”
You paused, realizing what you were saying.
“You what?”
His wide smile conveyed his confidence, while you were disintegrating in your chair.
“What do you find fascinating about me?”
“Since you don’t seem to need my explanations, I’m going to leave, my shift at 7eleven will start soon,” you hurriedly got up from your chair and literally ran out of the study room.
Suguru ran a hand over his face, his smile still apparent. He was starting to really like these sessions.
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SUGURU’s POV
As Suguru waited for his neuroleptic to take effect, he stared at the ceiling. He felt miserable having to use medications designed for schizophrenics and psychotic people. Not that psychotic people deserved to be ashamed, but more that he was ashamed that no sleeping pills worked for him. It was as if his body wanted to make things worse for him. His antidepressants weren't even working, and being tired was already bad, but being unable to sleep was worse. When he did sleep, it was never a comfortable, restful sleep; it was as if he had just closed his eyes at night and opened them the next second, and it was day. He wasn't even dreaming. He had followed all the stupid advice about exercising, turning off his phone, and not using screens an hour before bed, but nothing had changed.
His phone rang and he let out a groan, stretching his arm to pick up the phone. He sighed when he saw it was his parents. He loved them, but since he was depressed, they were a bit intrusive. They were playing their roles, so he didn't hold it against them.
“Yeah, mom?”
“I cleaned the whole house, I just finished, I meant to call you during the day but I forgot! How are you?”
The familiar high pitch of her voice made him smile.
“I’m okay. I'm helping a girl do her master’s application right now.”
“You have a girlfriend?!”
“Nah. We are just friends, I guess? She’s kinda cold, anyway. Couldn’t have her if I wanted too.”
“I’m happy you’re making new friends. Since the incident, I feel like you’ve withdrawn. You isolate yourself when you’re depressed, I hate that.”
Suguru's eyes darkened at the word 'incident,' and he didn't want to talk about the reason he was depressed.
“I'm fine. I'm continuing my training, forcing myself to eat, and taking medication to help me sleep. I don't smoke too much weed during the parties, what more do you want from me?” Suguru said, his voice tainted by defensiveness.
His mother's voice softened over the phone.
“I know you're doing your best. That wasn't a criticism, just an observation. You're my only child, I'm always worried about you.”
“As long as Satoru is still with me, everything will be fine, don’t worry.”
“It's true that charming boy is your anchor. You both suffered in high school, I'm glad the incident brought you closer together and did not separate you.”
Suguru’s heart tightened and his whole body tensed.
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I know, I know.”
His mother began talking about the drama in her job, and Suguru relaxed. His mother's voice soothed the remaining tension in his body, and his medicine began to take effect, making his body feel heavy and lethargic. His eyes began to close.
“Mom, I will go to sleep, I will call you tomorrow, okay?”
He said goodbye to his mother, and drifted off to sleep.
───────────
READER’s POV
Naturally, by spending time with Suguru and Satoru, you were entering Utahime's circle of friends. When she hosted drinks at her dorm and invited them over, you joined in their conversations, learning more about the basketball duo. The barriers you'd put up to conduct your research project as professionally as possible were crumbling. You could see that you were more comfortable with Suguru since he'd helped you at the party. You hadn't forgotten his basketball bully tendencies and his manwhore side, but let's just say you were more open to seeing who he was behind those two elements.
“You told me you liked Frank Ocean, but I never asked you what your favorite songs were.” Suguru asked, his mouth curving into a kind smile.
Suguru came to help you with your philosophy classes once a week in the library, taking the opportunity to get to know you and ask you questions. You weren't yet comfortable enough to talk about personal matters, but you were able to talk about music and debate philosophy with him.
“Released on Spotify or unreleased?”
His smile widened. Oh, he liked you.
“Wow, wow. Not the average fan, aren’t you? All kind of songs.”
“My favorite song is Strawberry Swing. It’s on his EP, ‘Nostalgia, Ultra’. I really like the melancholic and nostalgic vibe of the sound; it really goes well with the EP title. It feels like a dream, especially with the alarm at the end.”
He played with his industrial piercing, a mannerism he always had when he was nervous.
“I’ve never listened to his unreleased tracks. I’ll make a note of that, I’ll listen to it this afternoon during my workout.”
You chuckled, and his stomach warmed up at the sound. He loved seeing you smile and laugh, you were so cold with him usually.
“Frank Ocean isn’t really music for working out.”
“I agree. I listen to more rap when I work out.”
“What are your favorite artists?”
“Jhené Aiko, Cigarettes After Sex, Deftones, Blood Orange and JID. I also really like Japanese R&B like DOUBLE.”
“Wow, I love the variety. I love Jhené Aiko too. Is JID a R&B artist?”
“Nah, a rapper. He did a Color Show which was super popular. His flow is so fluid, it’s impressive, he’s so talented.”
Suguru took out his phone and connected his wired earphones to his phone. He played a YouTube video, the Color Show he was talking about, 'Working out by JID', the background of the room purple. He handed you an earbud and you leaned over to watch the video, putting the object in your ear. The action was kind of intimate, the two of you close to each other, focused on the same screen on a table in the university library.
“His voice is so soothing and calm when he raps, it’s pleasant,” you said when the video ended.
“Fluid like water I told you. But he can be hard and aggressive like his song ‘Stick’. Wait, look at that,” he changed the video, and an aggressive and dynamic sound came out of the earpiece as the music video continued. Suguru made a few comments during the video, and you found it cute to see him so passionate about something. In a way, he was like Satoru at that moment. In your sessions, Satoru always tried to convince you to watch shoujo animes with him and excitedly talked about the manga he was reading. It made you roll your eyes every time, but deep down, your heart melted to see that the two basketball players shared the same fervor of passion. It made sense that they were best friends.
Suguru's little demonstration turned into a little game where you introduced to each other music you loved. He showed you Japanese R&B, while you showed him British soul artists like Cleo Sol. He pressed the ‘like’ button to the music videos you showed him to add them to his Spotify playlist later. You commented on the making of the videos, sometimes laughing and exchanging knowing smiles when you realized you knew the same artists like Daniel Caesar. It was a complicit, oddly intimate moment that broke the barrier you put between the two of you.
“I’m curious about your sex playlist since you have such good taste in R&B.”
“Sex playlist?” The playful smile he gave you made your tummy flutters.
“Yeah? Isn’t that a thing for you?”
He didn't need a sex playlist, his partners were already loud with him, but he wasn't going to say that and come across as an arrogant playboy. He preferred teasing you.
“Am I to understand a hidden meaning in the fact that you want to know the contents of my sex playlist?”
Blood rushed through your ears, making the tips hot.
“No! I was just genuinely curious!”
He placed his hand on yours on the table.
“I’m just teasing you, it’s okay.”
The touch of his hand on yours made an electric feeling spark across your skin, and you quickly pulled your hand away, your heart racing. You looked around for a topic to avoid continuing this awkward conversation, and your eyes fell again on his tattooed hands.
“What kind of style is this?” You stared at the thin, abstract lines on his fingers.
He glanced at his hands.
“Sigilism. Hand tattoos age faster than the rest of the body, so I chose a thin style; it will fade anyway. The rest of my heart is blackwork with thicker lines to make the tattoo last longer.”
You gave him a soft nod.
“It’s impressive how you know how to do different styles of drawings on yourself. You’re so talented.”
“It’s not talent, it’s hard work. I spent all my free time improving my drawing technique in high school. Now, I tattoo myself with ease.”
“Have you ever tattooed someone else?”
“Nah. You have to pass a health exam to do it on someone else. But I could, I'm clean and know the health protocol. I just don't have any tattoo fans around me. Satoru's parents don't even want him to pierce his earlobe.”
“Satoru is 20 years old, he should be free to do what he wants. It's not parenting, it's controlling to act like that,” you frowned, your 'psychology major' mode activated. Suguru grinned at your reaction.
“Appearance is very important in his family. You always have to be proper and elegant for the family's reputation. He had to fight to get them to allow him to play basketball. It's kind of the only thing he confronted his parents about, I'm proud of him.”
Your heart warmed at the affection in Suguru's voice when he spoke of his best friend.
“You’re so cute with Satoru. If I didn’t know you were best friends I would think you were a little couple.”
Suguru shook his head.
“I would hate to be his boyfriend. He would force me to make pfps matchs of his fav shoujos.”
“I really need to see one of his shoujos, he talks about it every time, he’s so passionate about it.”
You got up, packed up your things, and headed towards the university library exit.
“You should come to our 'slumber parties' that we have twice a month. We order pizza, put on pajamas, and watch shoujos. You have to have funny pajamas, or Satoru won't accept you. He made me buy a panda onesie. You can bring Utahime with you if you're not comfortable being alone with two men,” he added the last sentence considerately.
“I'll think about it. I have to find pajamas that fit the criterias of Satoru.”
───────────
In your part-time job at 7eleven, you were responsible for stocking shelves with items and ingredients, and working the cash register. You did visual merchandising, arranging the shelves in the most inviting way possible for customers, and handled customer checkouts.
“Good afternoon,” you said to the new customer, not looking him in the eye, focused on beeping his items. You stopped when you saw condoms and looked up curiously. Your gaze met Suguru’s sly smile.
“Oh… You’re gonna use your sex playlist?” You dared to make a little joke, you weren't embarrassed to pay for condoms, you saw them every day.
A quiet laugh rumbled in his throat.
“You could say that.”
You told him the total amount for his groceries and condoms, and he took the money out of his pocket. Before leaving, he leaned over the cash register.
“I wanted to ask you two things before I go.”
You tilted your head, looking at the people waiting behind him but letting him speak.
“Yeah?”
“Can I message you on Instagram? I found your account in Utahime’s followers. It’s for when I want to send you music that it reminds me of you and I think you might like it.”
Your heart swelled in your chest, touched by his politeness.
“Of course.”
“Great, and also, are you free on Saturday? Satoru and I are going to see an art exhibition at Ripponji Hills. I thought… I thought you might be interested since you don't get out much. Utahime also comes. If you don't want to, that's okay of course. You have the right to want to keep our relationship professional.”
Your lips quirked up, glad Suguru had thought of you with his best friend.
“I'll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”
Suguru nodded and gave you a sweet smile before leaving the supermarket, making butterflies take flight in your belly.
───────────
Encouraged by Utahime, you end up accepting Suguru's proposal. Suguru and Satoru were waiting for you and Utahime at the bus stop next to campus.
His cheeks bloomed into a rosy hue when you approached him, and you didn't understand why he often blushed when he saw you. He couldn't be in love with you; you barely talked about yourself during all your sessions because he monopolized the conversation, and you were less comfortable with him than with Suguru.
“You’re so pretty,” Satoru complimented your figure. You were wearing a floral dress that hugged your ample curves, wanting to enjoy the good weather.
“Thank you.”
Suguru cleared his throat.
“The bus is here.”
On the bus, Suguru gestured to you to sit next to him while he remained standing in the crowded bus. You thanked him for his gentlemanly manner, and sat and chatted with Utahime during the ride.
“How many times do you have to have sex before you tell your sex friend that you’re in love with her?”
You shook your head and sighed.
“Why are you in a sex friends situation with a girl you plotted on months before?”
“She told me she wasn't ready to be in a relationship again since her ex-boyfriend died. I couldn't see myself confessing my feelings to her. She was going to pull away.”
You sympathize with your friend, your face softened.
“She lost a boyfriend?”
“Yeah, in high school. I was reassured that she was bisexual and that I had a chance with her, but now that I know she had such a serious relationship with a man, I… I don't know. I feel like I'll never be as good as her ex. We tend to romanticize everything in a relationship once it's over; she must see him as the lost love of her life.”
“You don't know, you're not in her head. You're just making assumptions because you're afraid. You're a psychology major, but you keep overthinking things that could be clarified with a conversation with the person in question?”
“You’re right…”
Utahime let out a heavy breath.
“I don’t know, I really like her. I really don’t want to mess up.”
“You’re human, it’s normal. Try talking to her about it, tell her how you feel, and emphasize the fact that you’re willing to wait so she doesn’t get scared of your feelings and decide to walk away.”
Utahime nodded, and her face calmed.
“You’re the best, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
You bumped your fist with hers.
“Always here for you, you know that.”
The ride to the Roppongi district was quick, and your small group got off the bus. In south-central Tokyo, the Ripponji district was vibrant and full of young people on the streets as it was a cultural center. There were fewer areas of vegetation because it was an urban district, but it was a nice place. As you walked with them, you received a notification on your phone from your school app. You made a loud exasperated noise, and Suguru turned to you.
“What’s wrong?”
“It's my political science and sociology class that's been postponed until next week. The men in charge of teaching these classes are often sick. Their classes are already super confusing, and it doesn't help that they're always absent.”
“I didn't know you had electives in those subjects too. You're doing a science bachelor's degree, right? You chose your electives well to have a wide range of knowledge.”
“I didn’t have much choice. I think it was more relevant to see psychology from a purely scientific perspective rather than doing a bachelor’s degree in art and having humanities or english courses take priority over the rest.”
“What’s confusing you about these classes?”
“We’re seeing anarchic and anti-prison thinking. I have a little trouble seeing a society functioning without prisons to punish criminals.”
Suguru’s eyes lit up, his mind always ready for a philosophical conversation.
“That’s the problem in our society. Justice is more punitive than rehabilitative. The anti-prison logic is more about humanizing criminals in prison and improving their quality of life to better integrate them afterward. It’s a process. Anarchists know very well that we can’t abolish the state now. I don’t even think that with our societies, we’ll ever be able to end up in anarchy.”
“Why?”
“Because humans need religion. Nietzsche said he didn't think humans would ever be able to cope with the meaninglessness of life and detach themselves from God. Whether God exists or not is beside the point. As long as there is suffering in our societies, humans will always turn to religious structures and will not be able to accept an ideology that rejects all religious dogma.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“I believe we are all looking for a god who can fulfill our emotional needs and the needs of a civilization, that's why there are a multitude of mythologies, spiritualities, and religions. I forget his name, but I remember someone who gave a 10-hour course explaining how religions were formed according to different types of civilizations. I haven't yet found a god who will fulfill my needs, so I'll say I'm an atheist, although I really like the Japanese myths of Shintoism or Buddhist philosophy. It's part of my culture. And you?”
“I think if there were a god, it would be a woman because we are the ones who create life.”
“You’re right. And do you think life is meaningless?”
“I think it’s up to us to give meaning to our lives. Life is like the canvas of an artist.”
Suguru nodded, walking beside you. The more you spoke, the closer you got, your shoulders touching as Utahime and Satoru bickered in front of you.
“I like your analogy. That’s a great way of explaining existentialism.”
The conversation took a deeper turn. You talked about life, your opinion on death, whether you believed in reincarnation, whether we had free will. Each time, Suguru let you speak and give your opinion, without imposing his own. It was a pleasure to talk with Suguru. He was intelligent and knew a lot about philosophy because of his major, which meant he had information on every question in life. He had an incredible ability to make you think and push you to your limits. He taught you a lot of things, and you realized how much you loved his mind and wanted to have these kinds of conversations with him more often. Your feminist brain liked that he was able to talk about a lot of female philosophers and was not neglecting them.
Arriving at the Ripponji Hills urban complex, Suguru paused in the conversation.
“Do you know which floor this is, 'toru?”
“Leave it to me, I'll manage our hangout. I'm your guide!” Satoru raised his arms theatrically, making you laugh with Utahime.
You go up to the floor where the exhibition Suguru wanted to see was taking place. It was an exhibition about the spring season with several artists who had come together for the common project. There were photographers, painters, graffiti artists, ect.
As you walked through the exhibition that had gathered a lot of people on that Saturday in March, you noticed that Suguru had a tense expression as he looked at the paintings. You approached him, stared at the painting of flowers and tried to understand what he saw in the painting that could put him in this state.
“I came to feel something but it failed as usual,” he muttered, as if his whisper was for himself, but you heard it. Your face softened.
“What do you mean by ‘feel something’? You feel empty?”
Suguru flinched. He forgot that you were here. He ran his hand through his hair.
“Nothing, I’m just being edgy,” he left you, continuing the exhibition, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
You suspected Suguru was suffering from moments of feeling empty. Maybe that was why he was so addicted to sports; it allowed him to feel things through his body. It must have been so important to him, like a way to keep him alive, that was probably why he was so uncompromising with his teammates. It made you want to base your research on the link between mental health and sports even more, but Suguru had to be able to open up to you. You also had to make an effort, remove your barriers and open up to him, so that he would feel confident enough to talk with you. You chewed your thumb nervously, thinking of ways to deepen your relationship so that he could open up to you as you continued to visit the exhibition.
“Blooming flowers as a metaphor for love,” you read the title of a photography in front of you.
Suguru turned to you and was struck by your beauty. In profile, you stared at the photo in front of you, your eyes narrowed and your expression focused. He admired the appearance of your nose in profile, and a growing desire within him wanted to draw you. Your face called out to his pencils and his creativity, making his whole body shivering with excitement about tonight, when he could draw you.
“Has anyone ever told you that you deserved to be in a museum?” He approached you, couldn’t help but tell you, that he found you magnificent, your profile made him want to make a sculpture of it and have it by his bedside every morning when he woke up.
Your heart raced as you turned to him.
“Um, no?”
“We are a failed civilization then,” he simply said, walking away into the exhibition, leaving you confused by his compliment.
───────────
SUGURU’s POV
When he got back to his dorm room, he rushed to his desk, throwing all the notebooks onto his bed in his excitement. It was like a burst of creativity. He yanked out his drawers abruptly, his hands quickly searching for his sketchbook, which had gathered dust from disuse. He sat down, opened a page of his sketchbook, picked up a pencil, and before the pencil touched the paper, he held his breath. He had finally had the inspiration to draw three years after the incident because of a girl. He shook his head, not wanting to think about how worthy of a romantic comedy it was.
His hand ran over the paper, the sounds of paper and pencil filling the room. He took out his phone and put on his wired headphones. He played Strawberry Swing by Frank Ocean on repeat, your favorite song, to be lulled into your world and draw you as accurately as possible.
As he drew, he remembered the shape of your nose, the size of your eyes, the length of your eyelashes, whether your jaw was sharp or not. He had seen beautiful girls, he had seen them up close while sleeping with them, but you, you were from another universe. So drop-dead gorgeous that it was illegal. Exactly his type. He didn’t care if another boy didn’t find you pretty, you were beauty personified for him.
When he finished drawing, he was out of breath, as if he had run a marathon. He stared at your portrait with his heart pounding in his chest. Life had brighter colors with you, and he was frightened by the thought. But it felt so good, so good that he fell asleep listening to your favorite song, wanting to feel your presence with him in his sleep, like a divine angel.
───────────
READER’s POV
“This won’t do.”
You were standing in front of Satoru's dorm room, dressed in the most ridiculous pajamas you could find. Your pajamas consisted of a pink tank top and shorts with a watermelon pattern. Satoru shook his head at the sight of you and went back into his apartment, looking for better pajamas for the slumber party he and Suguru had invited you to.
You burst out laughing when you saw Satoru come back with a unicorn onesie, exactly like the one he was wearing.
“What? I always buy two sets of pajamas, imagine if they get stained?” Satoru looked at you with a seriousness that made you laugh even more.
“If the second one gets stained, will you buy a third? You're really rich.”
You walked into his dorm room. The walls of his room were decorated with anime and manga posters, mostly shoujo. He had a manga library filled with lookups figurines, nendoroids, artbooks, and shoujo magazines. He seemed like a collector. He had moved the bedside tables and put the two single beds side by side to make a large single bed. Suguru was munching on chips in his panda onesie, his eyes glued to his phone.
Utahime was with Shoko and couldn't come, so you were alone with them, your heart racing at the thought. You understood that Suguru wasn't the violent man you thought he was, that his relationship with sports was deeper than just an outburst, but you were still stressed to find yourself alone with two men. Even though Satoru was practically harmless, he was just a nerdy playboy, but your PTSD was stronger than your will to trust men.
You put on the unicorn onesie, Satoru behind you, and put on the hood with the unicorn horn, looking at you with a smirk, proud of his childish habits.
“What are we watching?” Suguru asked, yawning.
“We have to show him the best of shoujo for her first time, so Kamisama Kiss.”
Suguru let out a groan, the sound making your insides twist.
“The thing with the girl and the fox? We've seen that thing a thousand times.”
“And it never gets old!”
Satoru took the pizzas from his desk and placed them on his bed. He turned to look at your shy, intimidated figure, being alone with two boys in a bed, and gestured with his hand for you to stand between him and Suguru. You sat on the bed. Satoru opened his laptop, searched for his favorite illegal streaming site, and blushed when a pornographic image appeared on his screen.
“That wasn’t very shojoboy of me.”
Your laughter filled the room.
The anime started and Suguru turned off the lights.
“Oh, I know the opening!” Your eyes lit up.
“Yeah, Kamisama Kiss is very famous. The best shoujo opening for me. Kaichou wa Maid-sama is the second.”
“Tomoe is so sexy,” you said when the fox was introduced.
“I look a bit like him, I have the same hair.” Satoru said.
“Dude.” Suguru rolled his eyes.
The first season being 13 episodes, you watch it straight through in one night, spending four hours eating with them, laughing with Suguru, and screaming with Satoru when the main characters got close. At the end of the anime, Satoru had fallen asleep and could be heard snoring in the room.
Being practically alone with Suguru, you took the opportunity to talk to him about what you had been wanting to tell him for the past few days.
“Suguru, can I tell you something?”
He stretched his arms and legs and got out of bed to grab a pack of cigarettes. He jutted his chin toward the door to say, ‘Yes, but not here.’ You followed him out of the dorm, walking down the stairs together and out into the dormitory courtyard, sitting on a bench. You looked ridiculous in your unicorn onesie and his panda onesie, but it added to the intimacy of the moment.
“I'm trying to make an effort to get closer to you so you feel comfortable talking to me,” you told him honestly, not wanting to manipulate him.
He took out his lighter, lit his cigarette, and took a drag. Blowing the smoke out of his mouth, he remained silent for a few seconds before turning to you. With the night and the streetlights, his handsome face was more shadowy and intimidating under his hood. But he wasn't scary since he literally had panda ears.
“Why?”
“Because I'd like to do my research project on the role of exercise in mental health, especially for those with poor mental health like you. It's a fairly easy subject for me because it's the focus of my studies, so I'm not taking too many risks.”
Suguru's whole body tensed.
“I don't want to talk about this with you,” he turned his head to look at the trees swaying in the light breeze.
You moved closer to him on the bench.
“Why not? I'm a psychology major; I'm the best person to talk to when things are going badly. In addition to my studies, I'm learning a lot about psychology from books, and articles. In less than a year, I'll have the ability to work. I assure you, I have the skills to at least be an attentive listener.”
Suguru didn't doubt your abilities; he was mainly afraid of getting too attached and disappointing you later. Suguru wasn't cut out for serious relationships. He kept people away from his heart, yet he desperately wanted to be close to yours. It was as if he was running away from what he craved. He only stayed friends with Satoru because he was already his best friend before the incident, after the incident his new friend was Utahime, and even then, he wasn't very close to her intimately. His group consisted of Nanami, Shoko, Satoru, and Utahime. He had superficial relationships with everyone who wasn't Satoru.
“I trust you, it’s not that.”
“So why are you not letting me in?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, silent, his cigarette between his fingers.
“Suguru.”
“Listen…”
He sighed.
“I’m not a good friend, you shouldn’t get attached to me.”
“Why are you saying that? You've just shown me these last few weeks what kind of good man you are. This isn’t about being friends, this is about my research project.”
He winced at the compliment.
“Nah. You just don't know me intimately to say that. I'm a hypocrite. I put on a mask to function. I barely can… Live,” he said his last word in a whisper you didn't miss.
“If that's the case, you need help.”
“I have a psychiatrist. She gives me medication, but I can't talk to her.”
“That's because that's not her role. Psychiatrists don't have psychology studies, they have medical studies; they're doctors. They're not trained to interact with patients and provide therapy; they're there to address symptoms with medication. They follow the DSM and aren't educated on psychological structures. You should find a psychotherapist.”
“I… I don’t want anyone to confirm that I’m a bad person.”
“No psychotherapist would ever say that about a patient, and if it happens, let me know so I can go beat the shit out of them.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“Ohhhh, I’m so scared for them.”
You gave him a kind smile.
“You should be.”
A silence fell between them as he could be heard smoking his cigarette and exhaling the smoke, accompanied by the noise of the few cars passing by the campus.
“Not feeling like a good person isn’t an innate thought. It’s either someone who told you this several times in childhood that it became a solid belief, or it’s a change of belief that came after an event where you think you’re guilty. These kinds of dysfunctional thoughts and low self-esteem are present in many disorders like depression,” you recited your lessons in a serious tone.
“You’re awfully spot on.”
“Toxic parents or a traumatic event?”
“The latter,” he whispered.
That was all he was willing to tell you, but it was already a lot. Suguru had experienced a traumatic event that had led him to experience potential anhedonia, preventing him from feeling anything for the art he had previously been passionate about and making him addicted to sports. You summarized the situation in your head.
“I’m also traumatized. But unlike you, I can’t afford therapy. I have to pay off my student loan and pay my mother’s bills with my part-time job. But I’m researching books and the internet to heal myself while I wait to have the money. You can try to heal yourself before being ready to see someone. To help with trauma, you can do mediation, journaling, yoga and cognitive reframing. For anhedonia, improve your diet because the gut produces neurotransmitters like serotonin. Learn about activities that increase serotonin and dopamine, avoid isolating yourself, practice mindfulness, you can do lots of things to at least ease your pain. Also try to see with your psychiatrist if she doesn’t give you medications that make what you feel worse like anti-depressants.”
Suguru listened to you intently, continuing to smoke. He wore a shy smile when you finished.
“You’re so cute when you’re nerdy like that, you know that?”
Warmth pooled in your stomach.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You’re just so cute sometimes.”
“I’m not trying to be cute, I’m trying to help you…”
“I know, I know.” His smile faded, and he looked at you, testing the waters. “Why… Are you traumatized?”
Your jaw tensed.
“A secret for a secret?”
“A secret for a secret.” He nodded.
“My mother was abusive.”
He didn't expect that, because your fear of men was so obvious, he thought it was your father. But maybe you weren't telling him everything, so he remained silent, thoughtful. That explained why you were afraid he'd hit you in the library.
“Why are you still paying her bills if she was abusive?”
“She only have me and can’t work. I don’t know my father.”
He nodded, still thoughtful. Maybe it was another man in your life, an ex-boyfriend like he thought before.
“Why can’t she work?”
“We said a secret for a secret. My information is not free.”
“Fair enough.”
A second silence fell, this one more pleasant. Satoru burst out of campus in his unicorn onesie, making you laugh.
“I WOKE UP WITH A SPIDER ON MY THROAT! YOU HAVE TO FIND IT, SUGU’!” He shouted, running towards us as if the spider was chasing him.
Suguru chuckled and put out his cigarette against the asphalt.
“I have a case to handle, Miss psychologist.”
“No problem. Just know I’m here if you need to talk.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved your offer away as he walked towards Satoru with his hands in his panda onesie.
You take out your phone to take pictures of the basketball players in their onesies, the picture is funny with Satoru with a scared face and Suguru looking bored with a hood with panda ears.
───────────
The following days, you and Suguru talked regularly on Instagram. He always sent you songs that reminded him of you, or that he thought you'd like. It was mostly R&B songs about sex, so you weren't sure what to think, but you also responded with songs. You weren't sure if he was trying to send you a subliminal message; you had the impression that Suguru was a pretty honest person. If he wanted to sleep with you, he'd tell you.
You were listening to a song he'd just sent you while you were stocking the sanitary pads shelves. It was For However Long by Bryson Tiller.
“There's some bad bitches out there that I really wanna sex up
[...]
I don't wanna have to wait on you
These are things I gotta say to you
Make me feel irreplaceable, baby
'Cause I can't call it.
[...]
For as long as I'm here, baby that's okay with me, yeah
[...]
How does it sound? Sound? Fuck it girl
Come spend the night with me
Say whatever, just don't lie to me
Stepping out, know I want you on the side of me
Mama, you could come work, full-time with me.”
The lyrics made your stomach flip, blood rushing to your cheeks. You pulled out your phone and texted him.
‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
He responded almost instantly.
‘Only if you want it, baby.’
Your eyes widened, your hands almost dropping your phone. His ‘baby’ made a warmth spread through your whole body. You wanted to hear it in his deep voice.
‘Are you drunk or something?’
‘I might be high.’
You sighed with relief. Of course.
‘Don’t text any teacher you have a crush on.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I only have a crush on you tho.’
Your heart pounded in your chest.
‘Suguru, I will pretend that conversation never happened.’
‘Okay, baby. Sorry.’
As your heart settled into a manageable pace in your chest, you started working again before your phone vibrated again.
‘We're going to see a movie with Utahime, Nanami, Shoko and Satoru. Do you want to come?’
‘Why not? What time? I'm finishing my shift late today.’
‘We'll wait for you outside, don't worry.’
You continued working until 9 PM, and spotted your group of friends outside waiting for you. You wanted to have a professional relationship with the two basketball players, but you ended up joining Utahime's group, and it wasn't so bad.
Suguru stood against one of the lampposts, his hands in the pockets of his baggy black jeans. He was taller than everyone else, 6’6 feet tall, you'd seen that in his stats, Satoru was 6’4. He wore a baggy white long-sleeved T-shirt under a dark, rock band T-shirt. His hair was tied back, revealing his silvery-white dye beneath his black hair, with two strands that cascade over the face. His piercings glowed in the streetlight, and the tattoos on his neck looked even darker at night.
You didn't know how you managed to talk to him without stuttering, he was so sexy, but he was your friend, you didn't see him like that. Okay, maybe a bit like that. But could we blame you? Suguru looked like a snack.
“Has anyone seen ‘Will Hunting’?” Utahime asked as you walked toward the theater near campus. It was an old theater that showed older movies that had faded into regular theaters. Will Hunting was a movie from the 90s, exactly the type of movies this theater showed.
Everyone shook their heads. You arrived at the theater, and Satoru paid for everyone’s ticket, being the richest. He also bought you all a bag of popcorn. You sat in the theater, between Nanami and Suguru. You rarely saw Nanami, but whenever you did, he always had this serious and calm expression on his face. You understood why he was friends with Suguru, but less how he could get along with Satoru’s bubbly personality. However, opposites attracted, apparently, so you didn’t bother to think too much about it.
The film was about a young man who was acting out quite a bit and was threatened with jail if he didn't see a therapist. The film centers on a touching relationship between the therapist and the young man who had suffered abuse and was self-sabotaging because of it. You hadn't touched your popcorn the entire movie, completely absorbed. Tears flowed without you realizing it.
Suguru, alerted by your sniffles, turned to you, and his face softened at the sight of your state. Of course. You must relate to the main character. He placed his warm hand on yours in support. This time, unlike when he studied with you while teasing you, you didn't withdraw.
Leaving the theater, the whole group was excited to talk about the movie, but you walked at the back of the group, silent and thoughtful. The film had shaken you, revealing wounds that were still open within you. Suguru noticed you, and approached you, putting his arm around your shoulders.
“It was a bit triggering, right?”
“Really triggering. But the good kind.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“The 'it's not your fault' scene. I couldn't stop crying at that moment. It was such a necessary thing to say to the main character. I wish I had a psychologist who had told me that when I was little and didn't understand why the one who was supposed to love me was hitting me.”
Suguru rubbed his hands on the back of your neck, massaging it to soothe you.
“I may not be a psychologist, but I can tell you this. It wasn't your fault. You deserve to be treated with respect and love, not to be so abused that you cry when you see what you went through on a screen. No matter how she justified the violence, your mother had no right to do what she did to you all those years. She deserves to be condemned for it, but you have the right not to want harm to come to her. I read somewhere that abused children are still attached to their parents and protect them. It's not your fault if you feel this way either.”
You sniffed and wiped away a tear that was falling.
“You know a lot about someone who refuses therapy.”
Suguru's quiet laughter soothed your ache.
“I'm just chronically online.”
“So chronically online that you admit to me that you have a crush on me via message when you’re high?”
Suguru tensed.
“About that…”
“I forgot. What were we talking about?”
Suguru let a grateful smile play on his lips.
“Right, right.”
Satoru turned around and glared at Suguru who had his arm around your shoulders, and Suguru sighed and pulled away from you. You looked at him confused, but he gestured with his hand not to comment.
───────────
READER’s POV
Ever since you were little, you'd been in the habit of journaling. Writing in your journal at night allowed you to make peace with the day and express emotions you wouldn't have known how to name at the time. Since you met Suguru, you'd written even more. The pages of your journal were filled with lines and sentences about him. The writing was clumsier and less polished because you wrote quickly; as if you didn't want to be caught writing about how sexy your friend was and how much you loved his voice.
In the days following your little 'a secret for a secret' conversation, you had become more aware of him. His voice made the hairs on your back stand up, his chuckle made your spine tingle, and his groans when he was upset sent pulses through between your thighs. You were hypersensitive to his every noise, word, and gesture.
The worst part was that you'd started having erotic dreams about him. It was as if ever since he'd texted you to admit he had a crush on you, he'd awakened your desire. You dreamed of him between your thighs, beneath you, his beautiful face on display for you. When you woke up, you were hot and a wet spot was hiding on your panties.
You'd decided to distance yourself from him a bit to get your mind back in order. You'd used the excuse of having more hours at work to cancel your sessions for a while, but you couldn't avoid him forever since you were now in the same group of friends.
That's why you pushed the shopping cart, avoiding lingering on the muscles in his arms. He wore a black compression gym shirt that hugged his muscular frame, and gray sweatpants that accentuated his slim waist and broad shoulders.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked, putting food in the cart as you browsed the aisles. His deep, soft voice made your heart beat a little faster.
Utahime was having a small party in her room tonight, and she'd asked you and Suguru to go grocery shopping. She'd winked at you, as if she'd purposely left you alone with him.
“Something without alcohol.”
“You don’t drink alcohol?”
You shook your head, not wanting to explain why further. He didn't need to know you were a control freak afraid of being taken advantage of. He took you a soda, showing it to you before you nodded and put it in the shopping cart.
Your grocery shopping trip went well, though you were hypersensitive to his every move, your eyes wandering to the back of his tattooed neck, his veiny hands, and the slight patch of skin between his tight t-shirt and baggy pants that revealed a defined V-line. You were feeling hot, but it was manageable.
But everything changed when your eyes fell on a ghost from your past. The sight gripped your heart with terror and your stomach sank.
──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦
Pairing: Trevante Rhodes x Jamie Newberry ( Black female OC)
Summary: When a journalist scores an exclusive interview with a Hollywood star during Fashion Week, she expects to uncover his truths. Instead, she finds her own professionalism being stripped away, question by question, touch by touch, until the only story left to tell is the one written on her body.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, graphic language, dominance and submission, public sex, oral sex, praise, and power dynamic.
request from: @atasteofmir
The air in the private lounge at The Plaza Hotel hung thick with the remnants of champagne and expensive perfume. New York Fashion Week had drawn everyone who mattered to the city, and tonight, after the premiere of his latest indie drama, Trevante Rhodes had agreed to an exclusive with Culture & Style magazine. Jamie Newberry adjusted the strap of her sleek black dress, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her notebook felt heavy in her lap, not from its weight but from the significance of this interview.
She'd interviewed celebrities before—A-listers who'd perfected the art of saying nothing while making it sound profound. But Trevante Rhodes was different. Even from across the room, where he stood by the bar talking to a director, there was an undeniable stillness about him. The kind of quiet that made people lean in, hoping to catch whatever wisdom might be floating in his orbit.
He wore a simple black tee that stretched across broad shoulders and defined biceps, paired with dark jeans that hung just right on his athletic frame. No flashy jewelry, no designer labels screaming for attention. Just him, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but somehow owning the space completely.
Jamie crossed her legs, the slit in her dress revealing the smooth, milk chocolate skin of her thigh. She caught his eye as he turned, and for a moment, the room fell silent. His gaze was unhurried, like he was memorizing every detail of her face before deciding whether to approach.
When he finally made his way over, each step seemed purposeful. He moved with the grace of an athlete, all controlled power and restrained energy.
"Jamie Newberry," she said, standing to extend her hand. "Thank you for making time for me tonight."
"Trevante Rhodes," he replied, his voice deeper than she'd expected, a low rumble that vibrated through her hand as he shook it. His grip was firm but not crushing, lingering just a second too long. "The pleasure's all mine."
He settled into the armchair opposite her, sprawling with an ease that made the expensive furniture look like it had been designed specifically for him. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.
Jamie clicked her pen, ready to dive in. "I appreciate you sitting down with me, especially during Fashion Week. I know your schedule must be packed."
Trevante leaned forward, elbows on his knees, bringing them closer. "Fashion Week's just noise. This"—he gestured between them—"is more interesting."
She felt a flush creeping up her neck. "Well, let's talk about your new film then. You play a character who's quite different from your previous roles. What drew you to this part?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes roamed over her face, down to where her pen hovered above her notebook, then back up. "You always this nervous before you ask someone to undress for you?"
She laughed, a little too brightly. "I'm not nervous, just professional. And I wasn't aware I was asking you to undress."
"Weren't you?" His lips curved into a slow smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Every question's an invitation to strip something away. The persona, the performance, the armor." He paused, letting the words hang between them. "You're just trying to see what's underneath."
She swallowed hard, her pulse thumping in her throat. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. So what's underneath Trevante Rhodes?"
"Same thing that's underneath everybody." He leaned back, stretching an arm across the back of the chair. "Just trying to figure out how to be seen without being exposed."
Jamie scribbled notes, though her hands were suddenly unsteady. "That's poetic. Is that why you chose this role? For the vulnerability?"
"Maybe." He watched her pen move across the page. "Or maybe I just wanted to work with a director who understands that silence can be louder than dialogue."
"Speaking of dialogue," she said, trying to regain control of the interview, "your character has some powerful monologues. How do you prepare for those emotionally demanding scenes?"
Trevante shifted, bringing one leg up to rest on the opposite knee. The movement drew her attention to the powerful muscles of his thighs, visible even through the denim. "You prepare by living. By paying attention. By letting things in." His eyes met hers again, intense and unwavering. "You let yourself feel what most people run from."
Jamie cleared her throat. "That sounds intense."
"It is." He leaned forward again, closing the distance between them. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy with a hint of citrus—wrapped around her. "But you know about that, don't you? Asking questions that make people uncomfortable. Pushing until you get to something real."
"That's my job."
"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the public setting. "Or is it who you are?"
Jamie crossed her legs tighter, the fabric of her dress whispering against her skin. "I'd say they're intertwined."
"So what question are you really here to ask me?" His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. "What do you want to know that's not on your list?"
Her mind went blank. Every prepared question suddenly felt superficial, inadequate. "I want to know..." she started, then stopped. "I want to know what keeps you grounded when everything around you is chaos."
A smile spread across Trevante’s face, easing the hard lines of his features and drawing faint creases around his eyes. "Now that's a real question." He considered for a moment. "Discipline. And knowing when to say no to things that don't serve me."
"Like Fashion Week events?"
"Like interviews that are just rehearsed soundbites." He leaned closer still, until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "But this isn't one of those, is it?"
Her heart fluttered before taking off at a sprint. "I try to make my interviews authentic."
“Authentic.” He rolled the word slowly across his tongue. His gaze dropped to the notebook in her hands before returning to her face. “You know what’s authentic? The way you’re holding that thing like it can keep me out. The way your breath catches when I look at you. The way you want to ask me something personal but you’re afraid of what the answer might mean.”
She couldn’t deny it. He was reading her like she was an open book, and the worst part was that he seemed to be getting every page right.
“And what do you think I want to ask?”
"You want to know if I'm as intense in private as I seem on screen. You want to know if the control I project is real or just performance." He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You want to know what it would feel like to be the one person I don't have to perform for."
Jamie's fingers tightened on her pen. "Those are some assumptions."
“Do you really believe that?” He traced the line of her jaw, his touch sending a spark through her. “Or am I just saying what we both know is true?”
She should have pulled away. Should have reminded him this was a professional interview. But she didn't. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
"You're right," she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his. "I do want to know those things."
Trevante's smile returned. "Good. Because I want to show you."
The air between them crackled with possibility, with unspoken desires. Jamie knew she was standing at a precipice, and one step would take her into territory she'd only written about but never experienced.
"Let's finish this somewhere more private," he said, his voice certain.
She nodded, gathering her things with trembling fingers. When they stood to leave, Trevante’s hand settled at the small of her back, warm and reassuring. The touch sent a thrill through her, carrying with it the quiet promise of more time alone together.
They moved through the dwindling crowd, his presence beside her both a shield and a declaration. Jamie could feel eyes on them, whispers following in their wake, but all she could focus on was the warmth of his hand on her skin and the knowledge that this interview was about to become something entirely different.
As they stepped out into the cool New York night, Trevante guided her toward a waiting car, his body close enough that she could feel the rhythm of his breathing.
"You still nervous?" he asked, his lips close to her ear.
Jamie turned to face him, the city lights glittering behind him like a constellation. "No," she said, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice. "I'm exactly where I need to be."
Trevante's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good girl," he murmured, and the words settled deep inside her, a claim she hadn't known she wanted to make.
The car door opened, and he helped her in, his hand lingering on her thigh just a moment too long. As he slid in beside her, Jamie knew that this night would change everything. The interview was over, but the real story was just beginning.
The elevator ride to the rooftop lounge was silent, but charged with an energy that made the fine hairs on Jamie's arms stand at attention. Trevante stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed with the sway of the car. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the smell of his cologne made her mouth water.
When the doors opened, they stepped into a space that felt suspended between the city and the stars. The rooftop lounge was semi-private, with low-slung velvet couches, fire pits casting dancing shadows, and a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline that glittered like a field of fallen diamonds. A few patrons dotted the space, but it was quiet enough to feel intimate.
Trevante guided her toward a secluded corner, his hand never leaving the small of her back.
"Is this private enough for you?" he asked, his voice low as they settled onto a curved velvet sofa.
Jamie smoothed her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. "It's perfect. I have a few more questions about your film and your thoughts on fashion."
“Right. The interview.” He settled back into the sofa, one arm draped behind her while his legs opened into a relaxed, expansive stance. The movement was casual. The effect on her was anything but. “Ask away.”
She cleared her throat, trying to regain her professional footing. "Your character in the film deals with identity and belonging. How much of that resonates with your own experience as a Black man in Hollywood?"
Trevante didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched her. "What do you think happens when a man spends his whole life being told he's not enough, then suddenly the world can't get enough of him?"
Jamie blinked, momentarily thrown. "I imagine it would be... disorienting."
"Disorienting." He rolled the word around his mouth like he was tasting it. "That's a good word. But it's not the whole story." He leaned closer. "It's also liberating. Realizing you don't have to perform for anyone anymore. That you can just... be."
She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her throat. "Is that what you're doing now? Just being?"
"What do you think?" His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Or am I still performing for you?"
Jamie's fingers tightened on her notebook. "I'd like to talk about Fashion Week. You've attended several shows this week. What's your take on the industry's attempts at diversity?"
“Diversity. Yeah.” Trevante’s mouth curved faintly. “They’re just now figuring out what we’ve always known.” His gaze moved over her face, thoughtful and unhurried. “Beauty doesn’t have one look. One shade. One shape. One texture.” His fingers traced the line of her cheek. “It looks like you.”
She managed a small smile. “That’s not very journalistic of you, Mr. Rhodes.”
"Call me Trevante." His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "And since when is journalism about ignoring the truth that's right in front of you?"
Her breath faltered beneath the weight of his attention. "I have a responsibility to my readers."
"And what about your responsibility to yourself?" His hand moved from her face to her knee, warm and heavy through the fabric of her dress. "To acknowledge when something feels right?"
She should have stopped him. Should have reminded him of boundaries, of professionalism. But her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch instead of away.
"Trevante," she whispered.
"Jamie," he whispered back.
The sound of her name in his voice did something to her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and more alive than she had in years.
"What do you know about Jamie?" she challenged, her voice softer than she intended.
"I know she works too hard. I know she's tired of asking questions that don't matter." His hand slid higher up her thigh, his touch light. "I know she wants to be asked questions for once."
"Like what?"
"Like what makes her pulse race. Like what she thinks about when she's alone at night." His eyes held hers, unwavering. "Like what it would take to make her forget all about her responsibilities and just... feel."
Jamie felt warmth gather beneath her skin, her body reacting before she could stop it. “You’re very confident.”
"Confidence comes from knowing what you want." His fingers traced her inner thigh, dangerously close to the heat between her legs. "And I know what I want right now."
She took a deep breath. "Which is?"
"To finish this interview somewhere even more private." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "To find out if this sweet little pussy tastes as good as I imagine. To spread you open and taste every inch until you're shaking."
Her eyes grew wide as a soft gasp escaped her lips. "We shouldn't."
"Shouldn't we?" His teeth nipped her earlobe, sending sparks through her. "Or is that just what you tell yourself to keep from getting what you really want?"
Jamie's mind raced, torn between the professional she was supposed to be and the woman she secretly was. "I don't even know you."
"Don't you?" His hand moved higher, and with his other hand, he hooked it around the back of her knee, tugging it and laying it on top of his knee. Her leg yielded easily, opening wider for him. The cool night air from the rooftop ghosted over the heated skin of her inner thighs, making her shiver.
The slit of her dress, once a tasteful accent, was now a frame for his exploration, falling open to reveal how high his hand had traveled, how his dark fingers pressed against the delicate, damp fabric of her panties. They were in their own corner, yes, but the lounge was not empty. A group of women laughed softly by the fire pit, their backs to them, but it would only take one turned head, one curious glance, to see everything. To see the powerful Trevante Rhodes with his hand buried deep under the hem of her dress.
The thought sent fear and excitement through her. "I think you know me better than most people," he continued, his thumb pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over her clit through the soaked cotton. "I think you see past the interviews, past the performances." His gaze was locked on hers. "I think you see the man who's been waiting for a woman like you to stop asking questions and start feeling answers."
She couldn't deny it. There was something about him that felt familiar, like recognizing a part of herself she'd kept hidden away.
"Tell me what you want, Jamie," he whispered, his voice a caress. "No scripts, no performance. Just truth."
Her throat was dry. "I want..." She started, then stopped, the words catching in her throat.
"Yes? Tell me."
"I want to know what it's like," she finally managed, her voice barely audible. "To not be in control every day."
Trevante's expression softened, a look that made him look vulnerable. "Then let me show you."
His fingers slipped deeper beneath the hem of her dress, causing her body to arch into his touch despite herself.
"Right here?" she whispered, her eyes darting around the rooftop.
"Here." His voice was firm, commanding. "Now."
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Good girl."
His fingers found the edge of her panties, toying with the lace before slipping beneath. Jamie's breath caught as he explored her inner softness, his touch knowing and confident.
"You're dripping for me," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against her shoulder as his fingers explored the slick heat between her thighs. "This little pussy is soaked. You can pretend this is just an interview, but your body knows the truth. It's begging for me, isn't it? Begging to be touched, to be tasted. To be fucked right here on this couch where anyone could see us."
She could only nod, words beyond her now as he stroked her clit with practiced ease.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
Jamie's eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there stole her breath, made her feel seen in a way she never had before.
"I want you to cum for me," he whispered, his fingers working her clit in tight circles. "Right here. Right now."
Her body locked around the sensation, tension building until she could barely stand it. The low murmur of conversation from across the rooftop, the clinking of glasses, the distant wail of a siren, it all sharpened into clarity. Anyone could turn their head. Anyone could see her dress bunched around her hips as Trevante's fingers worked her swollen clit.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a hypnotic rasp right against her ear. His eyes never left her face, watching her with focus as she came undone. "Let go. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers. Let everyone hear how good this pussy is."
The permission was a match to gasoline. Jamie came apart all at once, the sensation bursting through her in a powerful rush that left her gasping. Her back arched off the velvet couch, a silent scream caught in her throat as she bit down hard on her lip, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the overwhelming pleasure. Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, a rhythmic clenching that pulsed through her entire body, a wet grip he could feel from the inside out. She was shaking, trembling uncontrollably, her vision blurring into a kaleidoscope of city lights and shadows, all while his gaze held her captive, a silent witness to her unravelling.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, Trevante gathered her into his arms, holding her close as she struggled to catch her breath. The city lights blurred around them, the sounds of the rooftop fading into a distant hum.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle now.
Jamie nodded against his chest, inhaling his scent, his warmth. "More than okay."
He chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling through his chest. He stood, extending a hand to help her up.
Jamie took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs felt shaky, but his grip was steady, reassuring.
"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her toward the elevator.
"Somewhere we won't be interrupted," he said, "Somewhere I can take my time with you."
As they descended in the elevator, Jamie knew there was no turning back.
The elevator doors slid open onto the main floor, and for a moment, the cacophony of the lobby, clinking glasses, distant laughter, the murmur of conversations, felt like a bucket of ice water on Jamie's overheated skin. The reality of what had just happened on that rooftop crashed into her. Her legs still trembled, the phantom pulse of her orgasm a lingering echo. She was a journalist. A professional. And she had just come undone in public for a man she was supposed to be interviewing.
She pulled away slightly, trying to reclaim her space, her composure. "I—" she started, but her voice was a hoarse whisper, unfamiliar to her own ears. She cleared her throat. "I should probably get going. It's late."
Trevante didn't stop. He just tightened his grip on her hand, his stride unwavering as he led her not toward the main exit, but down a dimly lit corridor branching off the lobby. The air grew thicker, quieter, the sounds of the party fading into a muffled hum. The hallway was narrow, lined with dark wood paneling and illuminated only by recessed lights in the floor, casting long, dancing shadows.
"Going?" he asked. He stopped, turning to face her, and the size of him in the confined space stole her breath. He wasn't touching her yet, but his presence had pinned her against the wall. "We're not done with your interview, Jamie."
She tried to stand taller, to summon the sharp, no-nonsense reporter who had walked into The Plaza an hour ago. "I think we covered the important points."
A smile spread across his face. He leaned one hand against the wall beside her head, caging her in. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat from his body. "Baby, you think you're in control here?" he asked as his eyes swept over her face, her body, like he was assessing his property.
"I'm not trying to be in control," she lied, her voice barely audible. "I'm trying to be professional."
"Professional?" He chuckled. "Love, you came all over my fingers five minutes ago where anyone could have seen you. You passed professional about two floors ago." He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath from her ear. "Now you're just a woman who's about to do what she's told."
A shiver drizzled down to her dipping center. Her professional armor was already cracked and shattered. She couldn't find a single word to say.
"That's what I thought," he whispered. He finally touched her. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, which was still tender from where she'd bitten it. "You're a smart woman, Jamie. You know when to stop fighting it. When to let a real man take the lead."
His hand moved down, tracing the column of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, until it rested on the dip of her hip. His other hand came up to her throat, gripping it slightly. "Let me show you what an exclusive interview really feels like."
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply dropped his hand from her hip to her shoulders, his grip firm as he guided her down. The plush carpet of the hallway cushioned her knees as she sank to the floor before him. This was insane. They were in a public hallway. But looking up at him, at the hunger in his eyes, she knew there was no fighting it. She didn't want to.
He kept his eyes locked on hers as he unfastened his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet corridor. He freed himself, like a sculpted piece of dark wood, his dick curved prominently, its chocolate-colored thickness demanding both hands to appreciate its full weight. He didn't stroke himself. He just held it, presenting it to her like an offering.
"Open your mouth," he commanded. It wasn't a request. It was an order, delivered in the same low, hypnotic voice that had unraveled her on the rooftop.
Jamie's lips parted instantly, a reflex she couldn't have stopped if she'd tried.
"Good girl." He stepped forward, guiding the head of his dick to her lips. He didn't thrust into her. He made her come to him, made her lean forward and take him in. The taste of him flooded her senses.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, his grip tightening at the base of her skull. "Now," he said, his voice dropping even lower, a gravelly command that vibrated straight to her core. "You're going to show me how sorry you are for trying to leave. You're going to suck this dick like it's the last thing you'll ever taste. And if you do a good job, I might let you feel it inside that pretty little pussy. Do you understand me?"
She could only manage a muffled sound of agreement around his thickness.
"Answer me properly," he insisted, giving her hair a gentle but firm tug. "Yes, what?"
Jamie pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against his tip. "Yes, Sir," she whispered.
"Thatta girl," he groaned, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his entire body. He pushed his hips forward, the curve of his dick forcing her jaw open wider as he slid deeper. The blunt head nudged the back of her throat, and she gagged, a messy, wet sound that echoed in the narrow hallway. Saliva flooded her mouth, dripping from the corners of her lips and down her chin in thick, viscous ropes.
He pulled back just enough for her to gasp a breath before doing it again, harder this time. The wet, choking sounds grew louder as he established a rhythm. Gag. Gasp. Gag. Gasp. Each time he hit the back of her throat, she felt a surge of pride, of purpose. This was her place now. On her knees in a dimly lit hallway, worshipping this man with her mouth.
With his free hand, he hooked his thumb under the hem of his shirt and lifted it, exposing the hard planes of his stomach and the dark trail of hair that disappeared down to where his body was joined with hers. Her eyes, tearing up from the throat-fucking, flickered to the ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind him. In the reflection, she saw it all—her own ruined face, her lips stretched thin and swollen around the thick, dark shaft pumping between them.
She saw him, his head thrown back; she saw the powerful muscles of his ass clench and release with every forward motion, driving that heavy, curved dick deeper into her mouth. The mirror showed the beauty of his hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place for his pleasure. It was filthy, nasty, and the sight of their reflection made her pussy clench. The wet sounds of her mouth being fucked filled the hall, a symphony that was just for them.
He looked down at her. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth. Pretty sure I like you better this way."
She moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. He picked up the pace slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more forceful. The hallway, the possibility of being caught—it all faded away. There was only him, his voice, his commands, his dick filling her mouth, his taste, his smell. Her world had narrowed to this one perfect, shameful, glorious act of submission.
"Take it all," he commanded, his hips pistoning faster now. "Show me you can handle it."
She relaxed her throat, taking him as deep as she could, tears pricking the corners of her eyes from the effort. She could feel him swelling, pulsing.
"Fuck," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening painfully. "You're gonna make me nut. You want that? Want me to cum down your throat?"
She hummed her consent, eager for it, desperate for his release.
"Then say it," he demanded, his voice strained. "Beg for it."
She pulled back, gasping for air. "Please, Sir," she begged, looking up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Come in my mouth. Please let me taste you."
That was all it took. Trevante thrust deep one last time. The curved length of his dick forced past her gag reflex, burying itself in her throat. His heavy balls tightened against her chin, and he held her there, his hand fisted in her hair, preventing even the slightest retreat.
Then he was coming. His body went stiff, a deep shudder running through him as his dick pulsed against her tongue. She felt the first hot, thick spurt coat the back of her throat, followed by another, and another. He wasn't just cumming; he was pouring himself into her, his release a relentless flood that filled her mouth and spilled from the corners of her lips. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to breathe through it, to take everything he was giving her.
Her hands, which had been resting on his thighs, flew to his ass. Her fingers dug into the firm muscle, pulling him impossibly closer, holding him right where he was. She wanted it all. She wanted to feel him lose control. She swallowed around him, her throat working to milk him dry, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his shaft as he continued to pulse and empty himself into her.
When the tremors finally subsided, he remained buried in her mouth for a moment longer before slowly pulling back. She didn't let him go far. Her tongue worked feverishly, cleaning every inch of his softening dick, lapping up the mingled taste of his release and her own saliva. She was determined to draw out every last bit of his pleasure, to worship him until there was nothing left.
He slowly withdrew, tucking himself back into his jeans. He looked down at her, still on her knees, her lips swollen and glistening, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.
He reached down, helping her to her feet. "Now," he said, his voice back to that low, controlled rumble. "Are you ready to finish that interview?"
He didn't give her time to think. With a firm grip on her hand, he pulled her down the hallway, away from the faint light and distant noise of the party. The corridor grew darker, narrower, until they stopped at a plain, unmarked door.
The door swung open to reveal a janitor's closet. The air was thick with the clean, sharp scent of bleach and cleaning fluid, a stark contrast to the expensive perfume and champagne of the lounge. A single bare bulb cast a yellow, unforgiving light over a utility sink, shelves stacked with supplies, and a mop leaning against the far wall. It was cramped, dirty, and perfect.
Trevante stepped in first, pulling her behind him before locking the door.
He turned to her, and the man who had just fucked her mouth in the hallway was gone. In his place was someone calmer.
"You did so good out there," he said, his voice a low caress. "Took everything I gave you."
Jamie looked up at him. "Sir," she whispered.
A confident smile spread across his face. "That's my girl." He leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss. This was slow, deep, exploratory. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the remnants of his own release on her tongue. It was nasty, and it made her knees weak.
His hands moved to the zipper of her dress and slid the dress down her body. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in just her heels and the soaked panties he'd ruined earlier.
He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her naked body with an appreciation that was almost tangible.
He reached behind her, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside. Her breasts spilled free, the nipples already hard. He cupped them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, drawing a soft moan from her lips.
"Turn around," he commanded softly.
She obeyed instantly, turning to face the utility sink. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs. The fabric was still slick with her arousal, and he brought them to his face, inhaling deeply before shoving them into his pocket.
"Hands on the sink," he ordered.
Jamie placed her palms on the cool, worn porcelain of the sink, her body trembling with anticipation. She heard the rustle of his clothes, the sound of his zipper being lowered, and then the delicious, weighty heat of him pressing against her bare ass.
He didn't enter her right away. Instead, he ran the head of his dick along her slit, coating himself in her wetness. She pushed back against him, a plea for more, but he just chuckled.
"Not yet," he murmured. "First, it's my turn to conduct the interview."
He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his lips brushing her ear. "So," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We're here today to talk to this pretty little pussy." He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, making her jump. "She's been very vocal tonight. Very responsive. But I want to hear from her directly."
Jamie’s breath stuttered, a wave of humiliation and excitement washing over her.
"You think you're ready for this?" he asked, his fingers still working her clit in circles. "You think you can handle what I do?"
He pushed her over the sink and positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his dick pressing against her opening. "I have a few questions for you," he continued, his voice a low rumble. "First question: how does it feel to be this wet for me? To be this desperate to be filled?"
He pushed forward slightly, just enough to stretch her, to make her feel the size of him. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
"Answer me," he commanded, his voice firm. "Or I'll stop right now."
"It feels... good," she managed to gasp out. "It feels right."
"Good answer," he praised. "Second question: what do you want? Be specific."
"I want you," she breathed. "I want you deeper inside me. Please, Sir."
"Please, Sir," he repeated, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I like that. I like that a lot."
With one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself deeper. Jamie cried out, her hands slipping on the sink as he filled her, stretched her. He was big, and the sensation of being so full was overwhelming.
He gave her a moment to adjust, his hands gripping her hips, holding her steady. Then he started to move.
His strokes were slow at first, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, each thrust deeper than before. The sounds of their bodies coming together—the wet, rhythmic slap of his skin against hers, his low grunts of exertion, her soft whimpers of pleasure—filled the small space.
Her breasts swung with every thrust, the heavy globes slapping against each other, a lewd, percussive beat that matched the rhythm of his fucking. He reached around, cupping them in his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her harder, faster.
"Look at this little pussy," he snarled, his voice ragged. He drove into her, grinding his hips to make her feel every inch. "Clamping down on me like you're trying to keep me inside. This pussy was molded to my shape, wasn't it? Made to be ruined and fucked open."
She could only moan in response, her mind a haze.
"Answer me," he demanded, his hand coming down on her ass in a sharp, stinging slap. "Was this pussy made for me?"
"Yes," she cried out. "Yes, Sir. It was made for you."
"Thatta girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more erratic. He was chasing his own release now, and the thought of him coming inside her pushed her closer to the edge.
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice a harsh rasp against her ear, the smell of sweat and bleach filling the cramped janitor's closet. "Tell me you want me to cum in this pussy. Tell me you want to be mine."
"I want it," she sobbed, her body trembling against the cold porcelain of the sink. "I want you to cum in me. Please, Sir. I want to be yours."
With a savage grunt, he hammered home, his heavy balls slapping wetly against her sensitive clit. A deep groan tore from deep in his stomach as his dick kicked deep inside her, the first powerful pulse signaling he was about to lose all control. But just as the first hot spurt of his release painted her insides, he yanked his dick out with a curse. "Fuck!" His hand fisted around his dick, and he aimed it down, his cum spurting in thick, milky ropes all over her pussy lips and her already swollen clit. The hot, wet mess coated her, running down the inside of her thighs.
Before she could even process it, he was ramming back into her, his dick slick with his own cum. The lewd, wet squelch of him re-entering her cum-soaked pussy was the nastiest sound she'd ever heard. He used his own release as lubricant, fucking her with sloppy strokes. The feeling of his still-hard dick pushing his cum deeper inside her, coating every inch of her walls, was what sent her over the edge. Her own orgasm ripped through her, a clenching wave that made her knees buckle. Her pussy spasmed around him, milking him for every last drop as she collapsed against the sink, a shaking, whimpering mess.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the sink, his ragged breaths mingling with her own. For a long moment, they just stayed like that, their bodies still joined.
Finally, he pushed himself up, slowly withdrawing from her. He turned her around, his hands framing her face as he looked into her eyes.
"You wanted an exclusive?" he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "You got it. Now say it. Say it again."
Jamie looked up at him. "I'm yours," she whispered.
𝜗𝜚 you’re a nanny, forced to spend the night with the family you work for when a crazy storm hits
• keigo takami x f!reader
꒰꒰ cw ~ single dad!DILF!hawks, babysitter!reader, reader is scared of thunder, age gap, porn with too much plot i fear, so actually… slow burn, smut;; kissing, grinding, couch sex, fingering, praise, hold the moan(?), nipple play, pet names (gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, sweets, princess) ꒱꒱
wc 5.1k
The thunder in the night had you tucked into the corner of the couch, praying your boss would hurry his ass home so you could go home already.
Keke was fast asleep (somehow) and after every crash of lightning you checked the monitor to see her not even stir. Impressive, but more so embarrassing that a child can sleep through insanely loud thunder—and you’re here shaking.
Even worse, you damn near jumped off the couch when you heard the doorknob turning. Come on, who else would it be?
“Damn. It’s crazy out there,” Keigo huffed, coming inside drenched despite driving there. His eyes find yours immediately. “You’re still here, good,”
“Good?” You got up, walking past the couch toward him.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
“…I am?”
“Yeah,” he slipped his jacket off, hanging it up and taking his shoes off. “If I let you go home in that storm, I’d feel horrible.”
“Oh—Keigo, come on. I’ll be fine. I was just about to call a cab—” You were pulling your phone out of your pocket, before he quickly walked up and grabbed it from your hand.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he repeated, looking at your phone. “And this is dead.”
You scoffed, snatching it right back. “Come on. I’ll be fine. You act like I’ll be taken with the wind.”
“Yeah, you might,” he chuckled. “The guest room is yours. Or the couch. Anywhere, you know this is basically your home too.”
You groaned, knowing there was no arguing with him. You were a little nervous thinking about the trip back home… but you felt like a burden having to stay overnight. There were only two other instances where you had to do this, and they were pretty early into when you started working for him…
For the same reasons—the weather, bad snowstorms hit. It was harder then, he was insisting he was fine with you staying. After too long of a time arguing about it, you’d accept it, then lock yourself in the guest room to make it seem like you weren’t even there.
Keigo was fine, and it was like Christmas came early for his daughter when she saw you in the morning.
Whatever. It’s not a big deal. What’s the worst that could happen?
“I’m gonna shower,” Keigo said, looking back at you before he walked into the hallway. “You’ll be there?”
“Yeah.” You took back your spot on the couch. “Need to… charge this anyway,” you dragged your words, waving your phone at him. He chuckled, then walked off, and shortly after you heard the faint sound of the water running.
While he was gone, you tried to relax yourself. It’s normally hard to sleep somewhere other than home, but… you were especially nervous about this for some reason.
It was probably the rain and thunder. The fact that it was cold, and the windows making obnoxious sounds with every gust of wind. You just needed to relax.
Fifteen minutes of trying to relax later, Keigo was out the shower already.
“You cold?” He called out from the kitchen—you hadn't even realized he walked in.
“Hm?” You looked back. “…No? Not really.”
“You’re clinging to that corner like you are.”
You looked down at yourself, and, yeah… you were balled up at the side of the couch as if you were freezing. “It’s not that cold.” You adjusted your body, turning and leaning over the couch to look at him.
You heard him laugh, and watched him move around in the kitchen, his back facing you. He wore a white t-shirt, that—annoyingly—clung to his body, and grey sweatpants that may or may not have done the same. You watched as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Um? What are you doing?” you said, an almost motherly sort of tone in your voice.
He slowly turned to you, like he was caught. “Getting a drink.”
“Drinking at this time?”
“It’s a glass of wine,” he groaned, continuing to pour himself a cup. The deep red liquid swirled in the glass as he tilted the bottle. “Not like it’s… just straight alcohol, right?” He glanced at you.
“It’s close enough,” you grumbled.
“Yeah…” He closed the fridge after putting the wine away. “Which is why I’m drinking it.” As he turned with his glass, he revealed a second one in his hand. “And you are too.”
“Keigo,” you groaned.
“Or…” He takes a seat on the couch, near the middle, since you were so far in one corner. “I mean, I could drink both. Win win for me.”
You glared at him, before reaching and taking a glass. You glanced down at the baby monitor, saw Keke still out like a light, then took a sip.
“So…” you said, awkwardly.
He looked at you slowly. “So?”
“Uh… how was your day?”
He shrugged, looking forward. “Long,” he sighed. “The usual… suffocating things…” He looked at you again, with a small grin. “Nothing as fun as chasing my daughter around, I’m sure.”
“Oh, nothing is better than that.” You giggled. “She was actually pretty calm. Probably because it was so ugly all day…” You glared toward the windows, once again noticing the sound of rain hitting the glass after subconsciously ignoring it.
“Yeah,” he swallowed. “I don’t know how you do it. If it was just me and her, she would be fussy as hell—as if I control the weather.”
“Oh, of course you do. You’re her dad. You control everything, obviously.”
“Oh, of course,” he snorted.
Just a second after, another loud bang of thunder hit and made you flinch hard. You cursed to yourself, embarrassed, and looked at him looking at you.
“Y’know, I didn’t take you for someone who’s scared of thunderstorms.” He smirked, as he swished around the wine in his glass.
“I’m not scared of them,” you corrected.
“That… wasn’t… so you weren’t scared just now?”
“Nope. I was… startled.”
“Right.” He squinted at you.
You heard him chuckle, and the two of you simply sat in silence for a moment. The TV was on, but the volume was off. You both took a sip of wine at the same time, and in your peripheral you saw him turn his head to you again.
“I realize we don’t really have moments like this,” he said.
“Moments like this?” You echoed, looking at him.
“Where we just… sit and talk.”
“We do talk. We talk every day,” you smiled— confused—as you fixed your position on the couch, sort of getting out of the corner.
“Of course, but… it’s the same thing all the time, isn’t it?” He sipped his drink.
“Mmm.”
“We talk about work, then we talk about Keke, then… just… rinse and repeat.”
You tilted your head at him. “That’s normal, yeah?”
“Yeah…” He shrugged. “I feel like I should know more about you, though.”
“Oh, you know too much at this point—” you scoffed.
“I’m serious,” He leaned into you for a second. “We need to… I don’t know, ask icebreaker questions or something.”
“Icebreakers? I believe the… ice—melted a year ago.”
“Mm. It’s still cold over here…” he said, dramatically, as he rubbed his hand over his heart.
You blinked. “…Okay. Cornball.” You turned your body toward him, indulging in whatever he was up to. “Ask me whatever.”
It is true that you’ve known each other for a while, but you don’t… know each other.
It’s complicated. You know Keigo as much as a babysitter should know their dad-boss. He knows you just as much as a father should know about his babysitter. But how often is that… boundary really remembered? Especially after working for him for about two years…
It’s mainly you, anyway, keeping up the boundary. You almost subconsciously make sure to know your place at all times. You don’t ask him too many things, you don’t pry. You still learn a lot, though, because he opens up to you despite that.
Damn. You are a little cold. It’s not like you don’t want him to know more about you. You never thought about it, though…
“Favorite color?”
“Seriously?”
“You said whatever.”
You chuckled. “I dunno. I like… all of them. I’m inclusive.” You thought for a moment, before speaking again. “…You?”
“Red, probably. It changes though.” He sipped his wine. “Okay—I’ve got something good. If you weren't a babysitter, what would you be doing instead?”
You pursed your lips in thought. “That is a good one...” You hummed. “I’ve always been good with kids, so… still something… with kids. I don’t know about being…like, a teacher, though.”
“Do you…” He hesitated, only for a split second—but enough for you to notice. “Do you want kids?”
You looked at him immediately, a little stunned. “Maybe. At some point.”
He squinted as he nodded. “Okay… Ask me something.” He spoke softly.
“Did you always see yourself having kids?”
“Oh, yeah. And a daughter most definitely.” He grinned. “Maybe… earlier, I’d want one a little later in my life—but… I’m fine with how things turned out.”
You nodded, and your mind drifted to… well, his past relationships. More so, the mother of his daughter. You never knew her. You never hear about her. Keke never mentions a mother, it’s all just dead silence. You actually only know there was ever somebody because of… obviously, Keke’s existence and the fact that she looks just like Keigo, along with some snooping in your early days. Finding a love note deep in Keigo’s drawers. Let it be known, that was the first and last time you got nosy.
“You said to ask you whatever, right?” He spoke suddenly.
“Yeah.”
“Right. Do the same for me then. I see you thinking.”
You bit your lip. “I’m… like, nervous.”
“For what? It’s just me.” He tilted his head. “Come on. What’s it gonna be? Am I dating?” He laughed.
You groaned, gulping down the rest of your wine quickly—placing the glass on the coffee table, then turning to him. “You know what... yeah, actually. Are you dating?”
He raised his brows, finishing his drink as well and placing it down before speaking. “Nope. I haven’t dated anyone in… damn. A long time.”
“Really?” you asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” he shook his head. “Since Keke was born, it just… I mean, I have other priorities. I’ve tried, sure, but… it doesn’t work out.”
“Ah. I mean, I get that.”
“You do?” he asked, now being the surprised one. “You haven’t been… out there?”
“Out there?” you repeated after him, giggling. “No, I haven’t. The last time I was ever talking to a guy was… mmm, probably right before I started working.”
“Damn,” he mumbled, brows slightly furrowed. “Damn. Really?”
“Yes,” you huffed. “Alright, let’s not… stick to this. I can’t get guys, whatever.” You brought your knees to your chest, hiding your face playfully.
“That… isn’t what I’m saying—at all.”
“Then what is it?” You looked up, moving your legs to the side and folding them. You noticed the change in his expression.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re a… looker.”
“Okay—” You couldn’t hold back your laughter. “A looker?”
“A fox.”
“You forget my age.”
He rolled his eyes at you, smirking. “You’re… attractive.” He deepened his voice, and got quieter.
You could only blink at him.
“I say that only to… add on, as in—it’s surprising you aren’t dating.” He fixed his posture.
“I mean… I could… say the same for you.”
He raised his brows. “Think so?”
“As in, I’m just surprised you aren’t… dating… either.” You explained quickly, swallowing. “I mean.. for me, I just don’t need a relationship. I’m fine, like, I’m happy. I have Keke, and… I mean, I have y—”
Just then, thunder struck hard—probably close to the house from how loud it was. You literally yelped, and jumped to get away from the window (as if you weren’t on the couch).
As you caught your breath, you turned to look at Keigo and see if that gave him a heart attack too, but then you realized just how close you’d gotten to him.
To be honest, the two of you had been getting slightly closer as the conversation went on. It would be weird to talk to someone across the room, nonetheless across the couch you’re both sitting on.
But this was real close. If you’d scooted a little closer, your legs would touch his. His eyes were wide for a second, probably from your scream, but then his expression changed.
“Sorry…” you murmured.
“For what?” he said, just as quietly.
You couldn’t tell if he cared about how close the two of you were.
You just shrugged at him, as you were embarrassed and had no idea what to say.
“What were you saying?” He spoke again, looking toward the silent tv.
“Just that…” You looked down at your fidgeting hands. “I’m happy with you. I’m happy with Keke. I don’t need anyone else.”
“Yeah?” His voice stayed low, almost lost under the rain. “I feel the same.” He looked at you. “I’m happy with Keke. I’m happy with you.”
You smiled, not expecting these words from him at all. He’s always, of course, very appreciative of you—but it feels a little different now.
“I don’t think I want anything else,” he said finally. His eyes didn’t leave you for even a second. They drifted from your eyes, and your nose, and a little lower…
Fuck. You’re probably the one staring. You blinked, turning toward the baby monitor. You grabbed it, seeing Keke still very much fast asleep. You flinched as another hand suddenly was in your view, his. He gently took the monitor.
“She’s fine,” he mumbled.
“…Yeah… I know.”
He took a second, placing the monitor somewhere behind him before he chuckled lazily. “You ever thinking about anything but her?”
You laughed a little too. “It’s instinct, at this point.”
“Mmm. And she’s my daughter, but…” He turned his head toward your legs, for whatever reason, then looked back at you. “I can focus on other things.”
Your heart was pounding for whatever reason, your entire body felt extra hot—anxious to say something stupid.
“Other things… like…” You breathed in, too deeply for your own liking. “Like… what?”
His face looked more serious than ever. You had to be dumb. You couldn’t admit to yourself what he was looking at. It wasn’t your eyes, that’s for sure.
Then, one of his hands moved. Slowly, like he was seeing if you’d react any certain way. It made its way toward your chin, lifting your head a little, as he leaned in but stopped himself. His hand drifted to the side of your face, cupping your jaw.
“…You okay?” he murmured, thumb rubbing your cheek.
“…Mhm.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
You shook your head no.
“…Okay,” he murmured. “I think about you.”
You blinked at him, only slightly nodding again so he knew to continue.
“I think about you a lot,” he huffed. “More than I should.”
“You… do?”
“Mm. I think you’re gorgeous. I’ve never met a woman like you.”
“Keigo…”
“It’s true,” he swallowed. “You’re… just different. The way you care for people… for my daughter, for me…”
You huffed, looking away from him—but he was quick to angle your face right back to his.
“I think about you, and I think about taking care of you.” His eyes drift down to your lips, down to your neck. “Taking my time with you… fuck.” He looked up at you again. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I… mean, I…” You bit your lip.
“I want you.” He said, plainly. Seriously. “Do you want me?”
You, again, could only nod your head—but that was more than enough for him. Slowly, he closed the space between you.
He kissed you. It was soft, and barely there, and you could hear as he breathed in shakily. You were frozen for a moment until you kissed him back, and felt that breath leave him. His lips were careful, like he was still giving you an out.
Your lips separated for a moment, and he breathed deeply again—before leaning in, this time with more intention.
He hummed into your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your head to pull you in closer. The kisses sped up, hungrier as you instinctively parted your lips for him.
He groaned, his tongue moving into your mouth as soon as you did. His free hand moved to your leg, sliding underneath your knee and slowly shifting it up toward him.
You followed, and let him move your body… on top of his. Straddling his legs. His hands moved down your back, and he would grip you a little and let go repeatedly.
After a moment, his kisses drifted across your face. The corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw—you couldn’t hold back a groan, which made him do the same in response.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, kissing down to your collarbone.
You hummed in response, your hands sliding up his thick arms and cupping both sides of his neck. You felt him swallow just as you did.
He nibbled your skin. “God, you’re perfect,” he mumbled.
“You don’t have to…” you breathed, cutting yourself off and pulling away to look at him.
“I want to, I need you to hear it,” he said, swiftly moving back up to your lips and kissing you again. “Can’t even believe… ’m even touching you like this right now…” he mumbled against your lips, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.
“I know,” you mumbled. “Can’t… can’t believe it either…” You practically panted against him, your hands running through his damp hair.
As you continued kissing, you’d notice Keigo had gotten a little more… vocal. He was pulling away more just to breathe against you. You don’t know how it didn’t process, but you were now grinding against him. His hands guiding your hips into him, arching your back.
You also suddenly realized the growing heat in your stomach, and the way you… hated how his warm hands stopped just above your hips—right at your ass. Maybe he was trying to be respectful, but he was literally moving your body—making you grind on him—while he lifted his hips into you.
You reached back for his wrists when he dragged his hands down to your lower back, moving them even lower and encouraging him to grip you. He adjusted quickly, squeezing your ass and using that hold to pull you into a deeper grind.
“Shit,” he moaned against you. “Is… Is this okay?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your hands back on his arms.
Now that he was rolling his hips into you more confidently, you were really starting to feel his growing hardness. From just the feeling of it through the fabric, you could imagine the thick bulge in his sweats. You felt your own cunt ache for him, you wanted to see him.
Your kisses were getting sloppier by the second, he sucked against your tongue like he was trying to remember the taste of you. But then he pulled away, just for a second. He eyed the bottom of your shirt, before looking up at you. “I wanna see you,” he muttered.
“…Here?” you whispered, looking toward the abandoned baby monitor.
“She’s sleeping,” he said, lightly tugging your shirt. “You and I both know she’s a deep sleeper.”
“Mm… but what if…”
“She’s sleeping through that storm—I mean…” he thought for a moment, squinting at you. “Do you get that loud?” He smirked playfully.
“Wh—” You huffed at him, holding back a giggle. “No. I’m being cautious, Keigo…”
“Come on, it’s okay. We’re fine,” he leaned into you, kissing your neck again. “Always worrying.”
“Mghh… It’s… valid here, though…” You tilted your head for him.
“We’re fine.” He insisted again. “Let me see you. Please?”
He had puppy eyes when you looked at him, and those kisses to your neck were enough to convince you. You hummed, and he slid his hands under your shirt, then tugged it up and off your body in a swift movement. He took the short moment to take his shirt off too, which was also convincing to stay right where you were.
His hands then hovered over your body as he admired you. “Look at you,” he mumbled.
He didn’t care to waste any time. He automatically reached for your bra, undoing the clip and placing it to the side. His hands held your back as he pulled you down, and he kissed against your nipple.
“Keigo…” you gasped.
“Fuck,” he groaned against you, kissing and licking and sucking all around your nipple, as his hand reached to cup the other. “Even better than I imagined.”
“…You’ve imagined?” you muttered, panting against him.
“Don’t get me started,” he said, very seriously as his mouth popped from your nipple to tend to the other, letting his fingers circle around your (now) neglected breast.
You continued grinding into him as the heat and ache got worse with his mouth on your tits. Small whines and whimpers came from you that you couldn’t keep quiet, and of course he noticed.
“Tell me what you want,” he looked up at you. “Let me take care of you.”
“I… want you.”
“You have me.”
You groaned. He was trying to make you say it. “I want you to touch me…”
He let his face drop in realization for only a split second before he smiled. “I’m touching you. Is there somewhere specific you want me to touch you?” he said, his tone painfully teasing.
“Keigo,” you huffed, squeezing his arms.
“What is it, gorgeous?” He leaned into your face. “You wet for me?”
“Yes.” You couldn’t have him keep playing stupid. Your pussy was now clenching around nothing, and you’re not sure if he can feel his own cock twitching against you—but it’s too much to deal with now.
His hands slide from your waist to your ass as he plays with the waistband of your pants. “Oh… you want me to take care of this pretty pussy?”
“Mhm…” You closed your eyes as you felt his hand slide underneath your pants and panties.
His fingers felt too good as they simply palmed your pussy, the both of you sighing at the same time.
“Fuck, you’re wet…” He said, letting his middle finger rub your folds slowly. “Shit.” his finger rubbed up and down, teasing your entrance before circling your clit.
He groaned low, pressing one finger inside you gently, then adding a second. “Mmm… is that what you want?” He breathed against your neck.
“Yes, fuck,” you moaned against him.
He hummed, satisfied, before curling his fingers while his thumb found your clit again, rubbing firmly. His free hand stayed on your ass, squeezing and helping you grind down onto his hand.
He kept a steady rhythm, watching every reaction to see what you liked. His eyes went back down to your breasts—looking a little lonely, apparently, since his mouth returned to your nipple, sucking against it in sync with his fingers pumping inside you.
You were panting, now riding his hand desperately. This ache and want for something else inside you was turning into a need. “Nngh, Keigo… fuck, I want more.”
He kissed your nipple as he let go. “More?” He tilted his head. “More like what?”
“You know what…” you whined.
He bit his lip. “Yeah. I want you to say it.”
You groaned, glancing at him—then that bulge you were just thinking about. You heard him chuckle a little as your hand hesitated, but reached down toward it, palming it. “I want you… your cock. Inside me, Keigo.”
“Yeah? You do?” he murmured, his hips twitching up into you.
“Please.” You let your fingers caress against his hardness through the fabric. You immediately noticed how far you were able to drag your fingers, over his entire length.
He hummed, watching your hand on him, then looking up at you. “Okay, sweets, I’ll give you what you want.” He slid his fingers out of you—and so casually licked them clean—before he grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a deep kiss.
Then, the both of you moved quickly to get your damn pants out of the way. Well, more so you, Keigo only pulled his pants and boxers down far enough to pull his dick out. Better for him that he gets your bare legs, though.
He tugged you back into his lap, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed.
“You’re…” You were almost shamelessly gawking at his cock. It wasn’t much of a shock, not only about everything that had just happened but he… always seemed like that sort of guy, but this was a sight. It twitched as he noticed your staring eyes. Fuck, you just knew you wanted it inside of you already.
“Mmm… do you wanna…” You looked toward the other side of the couch, wondering if he’d want to change positions.
“I’m fine with this.” He said, one of his hands reaching to push a hair behind your ear. “I wanna watch you take me like this.”
You hummed, shaking your head at him. “Mkay.”
He kept one hand on your thigh as you lifted yourself, his other hand wrapping around the base of his cock to guide it. His thick head rubbed against your slick entrance, and he gripped onto you when he slowly slid inside you.
“God, you’re tight—” he groaned, gripping your body.
You whimpered, holding onto his shoulders tightly. You sighed as the sort of uncomfortable full feeling turned to pleasure.
“Y-You can… control the pace,” he murmured, breathing deeply.
You nodded your head, and after a few moments, you started slow. Rolling your hips and sinking down onto him again and again. Keigo’s head fell back against the couch for a moment, a low groan leaving him. “Fuck… just like that. You feel so good.”
His hands slid to your hips, guiding you as you found a gentle rhythm. He thrust up to meet you on every downstroke, making sure he practically bottomed out inside you. Every drop back down onto his cock left a quiet, wet sound.
“Listen to you. Shit, you’re so perfect.” He whispered against you. Your moans sounded pathetic, coming out breathy and desperate. You knew you needed to be quiet, and there was a reason why he pulled you in closer to his ear.
“Mmggnh… so big, Keigo,” you breathed. “So full..”
“So full of me?” He nibbled against your ear. “I know, pretty. You’re squeezing me so fucking good.”
By this point, Keigo was practically… controlling the pace himself. His hands were almost holding onto your body and lifting you up and down.
“Fuck, can I… is it okay if I thrust?” He asked, his hands sliding up your back.
You nodded frantically, barely able to speak. “Yes—please, Keigo.”
That was all he needed. His hands slid to your hips again and his grip tightened as he started driving up into you, harder and faster, pulling you down to meet every thrust. The sloppy slap of skin on skin got louder as he fucked you deep.
“God, yes,” he groaned against your neck. “Taking me so fucking well.”
You could only moan—failing to keep yourself quiet—as you gripped onto his arms. The angle had him hitting that perfect spot over and over, making your eyes roll back.
One of his hands moved between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing torturous circles. “Come on, gorgeous. I feel you twitching. I know you’re close,” he cooed to you. “Let go, pretty. Let me make you feel good.”
The added stimulation was too much. Though, almost nothing compared to how he was speaking to you now—breathy, with almost a whine in his voice like he needed this from you. He needed you to cum.
“Keigo—fuck, I’m—” Your words broke into a moan too loud, one of your hands rushing to your mouth to shut yourself up as you nuzzled your face near his neck. Your orgasm hit hard, pussy clenching around him rhythmically.
“Fuck, princess, just like that…” He praised, thrusting through your orgasm. Though, his hips slowed the tiniest bit, like this was taking him to the edge.
He kept fucking into you for a few moments more, damn near overstimulating you, until he swiftly lifted you off to sit lower onto his thighs as he came. He grabbed his cock, but didn’t even need to stroke himself to it.
With a rough groan he came, his thick ropes shooting right at your lower belly. His eyes were closed, breathing heavy. He bit his lip, before opening his eyes, and simply blinking at the sight before acting.
“Oh—damn, fuck,”
“It’s… fine—” You rasped. “I mean, I’ll… shower anyway…” You looked away from him, shoving your (now sweaty) hair out of your face.
He sat up, taking you by the chin and kissing you. A soft kiss, a little heated with the way his tongue slid into your mouth.
“You okay?” He murmured when he pulled away.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “…I mean, more than okay.” You chuckled lazily.
“…Okay,” He smiled. “Good.”
He spent a long moment simply looking at your face.
“I… shit, I mean, I never—” You were cut off by, oh who would have thought, the damn thunder again. You flinched hard, getting closer to him. “Fuck!” you groaned. “I thought it calmed down. How the hell am I supposed to sleep through that…” you put your hands in your hair again, lightly pulling, annoyed.
Keigo hummed. “Maybe it’ll… be a bit better if you aren’t alone?”
“I mean, I’m not alone. You guys are here. I swear, I’m just—” You looked up at him mid sentence, but he had a weird amused look on his face.
“I’m asking you to sleep with me.”
“…Sorry?” You blinked at him. “I just did, I think.”
“Okay—” he snorted. “Come to bed with me, literally, to actually sleep.”
You were surprised again. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He said softly. “Use my shower and everything… I don’t mind at all. You should know this.”
“You know how it is for me,” you groaned, looking toward the baby monitor—Keke was sleeping in an absurd position—but still, sleeping.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, flipping it over so you’d look at him again. “But… I’m serious. Let me take care of you tonight.”
“You’ve taken care of more than you think.”
“I could say the exact same to you.”
꒰ঌ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა໒꒱ thank you for reading!!! a few people have sent in requests that sort of have that dilf!hawks concept in them.. so i hope thisss makes some people happy ??! i also hope we don’t hate the name keke too much. keke possibly short for kiara.. or.. i dunno, any other k name ever LMAOOO. i think if i write more fics w him and a child.. i’d keep keke for consistency… unless you hate it!! i originally thought to have her nameless, but continuously saying “my/his daughter” and “the baby” was getting annoying. OH and also for any love island fans, the entire inspiration for this came from this carniya kiss, and actually.. the makeout sesh in this fic… is literally just completely based off of this videoJSHDJDHDJ. it was too buzzy. okay, holy yap!!!! bye bye!!!
Pairing: Trevante Rhodes x Jamie Newberry ( Black female OC)
Summary: When a journalist scores an exclusive interview with a Hollywood star during Fashion Week, she expects to uncover his truths. Instead, she finds her own professionalism being stripped away, question by question, touch by touch, until the only story left to tell is the one written on her body.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, graphic language, dominance and submission, public sex, oral sex, praise, and power dynamic.
request from: @atasteofmir
The air in the private lounge at The Plaza Hotel hung thick with the remnants of champagne and expensive perfume. New York Fashion Week had drawn everyone who mattered to the city, and tonight, after the premiere of his latest indie drama, Trevante Rhodes had agreed to an exclusive with Culture & Style magazine. Jamie Newberry adjusted the strap of her sleek black dress, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her notebook felt heavy in her lap, not from its weight but from the significance of this interview.
She'd interviewed celebrities before—A-listers who'd perfected the art of saying nothing while making it sound profound. But Trevante Rhodes was different. Even from across the room, where he stood by the bar talking to a director, there was an undeniable stillness about him. The kind of quiet that made people lean in, hoping to catch whatever wisdom might be floating in his orbit.
He wore a simple black tee that stretched across broad shoulders and defined biceps, paired with dark jeans that hung just right on his athletic frame. No flashy jewelry, no designer labels screaming for attention. Just him, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but somehow owning the space completely.
Jamie crossed her legs, the slit in her dress revealing the smooth, milk chocolate skin of her thigh. She caught his eye as he turned, and for a moment, the room fell silent. His gaze was unhurried, like he was memorizing every detail of her face before deciding whether to approach.
When he finally made his way over, each step seemed purposeful. He moved with the grace of an athlete, all controlled power and restrained energy.
"Jamie Newberry," she said, standing to extend her hand. "Thank you for making time for me tonight."
"Trevante Rhodes," he replied, his voice deeper than she'd expected, a low rumble that vibrated through her hand as he shook it. His grip was firm but not crushing, lingering just a second too long. "The pleasure's all mine."
He settled into the armchair opposite her, sprawling with an ease that made the expensive furniture look like it had been designed specifically for him. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.
Jamie clicked her pen, ready to dive in. "I appreciate you sitting down with me, especially during Fashion Week. I know your schedule must be packed."
Trevante leaned forward, elbows on his knees, bringing them closer. "Fashion Week's just noise. This"—he gestured between them—"is more interesting."
She felt a flush creeping up her neck. "Well, let's talk about your new film then. You play a character who's quite different from your previous roles. What drew you to this part?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes roamed over her face, down to where her pen hovered above her notebook, then back up. "You always this nervous before you ask someone to undress for you?"
She laughed, a little too brightly. "I'm not nervous, just professional. And I wasn't aware I was asking you to undress."
"Weren't you?" His lips curved into a slow smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Every question's an invitation to strip something away. The persona, the performance, the armor." He paused, letting the words hang between them. "You're just trying to see what's underneath."
She swallowed hard, her pulse thumping in her throat. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. So what's underneath Trevante Rhodes?"
"Same thing that's underneath everybody." He leaned back, stretching an arm across the back of the chair. "Just trying to figure out how to be seen without being exposed."
Jamie scribbled notes, though her hands were suddenly unsteady. "That's poetic. Is that why you chose this role? For the vulnerability?"
"Maybe." He watched her pen move across the page. "Or maybe I just wanted to work with a director who understands that silence can be louder than dialogue."
"Speaking of dialogue," she said, trying to regain control of the interview, "your character has some powerful monologues. How do you prepare for those emotionally demanding scenes?"
Trevante shifted, bringing one leg up to rest on the opposite knee. The movement drew her attention to the powerful muscles of his thighs, visible even through the denim. "You prepare by living. By paying attention. By letting things in." His eyes met hers again, intense and unwavering. "You let yourself feel what most people run from."
Jamie cleared her throat. "That sounds intense."
"It is." He leaned forward again, closing the distance between them. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy with a hint of citrus—wrapped around her. "But you know about that, don't you? Asking questions that make people uncomfortable. Pushing until you get to something real."
"That's my job."
"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the public setting. "Or is it who you are?"
Jamie crossed her legs tighter, the fabric of her dress whispering against her skin. "I'd say they're intertwined."
"So what question are you really here to ask me?" His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. "What do you want to know that's not on your list?"
Her mind went blank. Every prepared question suddenly felt superficial, inadequate. "I want to know..." she started, then stopped. "I want to know what keeps you grounded when everything around you is chaos."
A smile spread across Trevante’s face, easing the hard lines of his features and drawing faint creases around his eyes. "Now that's a real question." He considered for a moment. "Discipline. And knowing when to say no to things that don't serve me."
"Like Fashion Week events?"
"Like interviews that are just rehearsed soundbites." He leaned closer still, until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "But this isn't one of those, is it?"
Her heart fluttered before taking off at a sprint. "I try to make my interviews authentic."
“Authentic.” He rolled the word slowly across his tongue. His gaze dropped to the notebook in her hands before returning to her face. “You know what’s authentic? The way you’re holding that thing like it can keep me out. The way your breath catches when I look at you. The way you want to ask me something personal but you’re afraid of what the answer might mean.”
She couldn’t deny it. He was reading her like she was an open book, and the worst part was that he seemed to be getting every page right.
“And what do you think I want to ask?”
"You want to know if I'm as intense in private as I seem on screen. You want to know if the control I project is real or just performance." He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You want to know what it would feel like to be the one person I don't have to perform for."
Jamie's fingers tightened on her pen. "Those are some assumptions."
“Do you really believe that?” He traced the line of her jaw, his touch sending a spark through her. “Or am I just saying what we both know is true?”
She should have pulled away. Should have reminded him this was a professional interview. But she didn't. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
"You're right," she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his. "I do want to know those things."
Trevante's smile returned. "Good. Because I want to show you."
The air between them crackled with possibility, with unspoken desires. Jamie knew she was standing at a precipice, and one step would take her into territory she'd only written about but never experienced.
"Let's finish this somewhere more private," he said, his voice certain.
She nodded, gathering her things with trembling fingers. When they stood to leave, Trevante’s hand settled at the small of her back, warm and reassuring. The touch sent a thrill through her, carrying with it the quiet promise of more time alone together.
They moved through the dwindling crowd, his presence beside her both a shield and a declaration. Jamie could feel eyes on them, whispers following in their wake, but all she could focus on was the warmth of his hand on her skin and the knowledge that this interview was about to become something entirely different.
As they stepped out into the cool New York night, Trevante guided her toward a waiting car, his body close enough that she could feel the rhythm of his breathing.
"You still nervous?" he asked, his lips close to her ear.
Jamie turned to face him, the city lights glittering behind him like a constellation. "No," she said, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice. "I'm exactly where I need to be."
Trevante's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good girl," he murmured, and the words settled deep inside her, a claim she hadn't known she wanted to make.
The car door opened, and he helped her in, his hand lingering on her thigh just a moment too long. As he slid in beside her, Jamie knew that this night would change everything. The interview was over, but the real story was just beginning.
The elevator ride to the rooftop lounge was silent, but charged with an energy that made the fine hairs on Jamie's arms stand at attention. Trevante stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed with the sway of the car. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the smell of his cologne made her mouth water.
When the doors opened, they stepped into a space that felt suspended between the city and the stars. The rooftop lounge was semi-private, with low-slung velvet couches, fire pits casting dancing shadows, and a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline that glittered like a field of fallen diamonds. A few patrons dotted the space, but it was quiet enough to feel intimate.
Trevante guided her toward a secluded corner, his hand never leaving the small of her back.
"Is this private enough for you?" he asked, his voice low as they settled onto a curved velvet sofa.
Jamie smoothed her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. "It's perfect. I have a few more questions about your film and your thoughts on fashion."
“Right. The interview.” He settled back into the sofa, one arm draped behind her while his legs opened into a relaxed, expansive stance. The movement was casual. The effect on her was anything but. “Ask away.”
She cleared her throat, trying to regain her professional footing. "Your character in the film deals with identity and belonging. How much of that resonates with your own experience as a Black man in Hollywood?"
Trevante didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched her. "What do you think happens when a man spends his whole life being told he's not enough, then suddenly the world can't get enough of him?"
Jamie blinked, momentarily thrown. "I imagine it would be... disorienting."
"Disorienting." He rolled the word around his mouth like he was tasting it. "That's a good word. But it's not the whole story." He leaned closer. "It's also liberating. Realizing you don't have to perform for anyone anymore. That you can just... be."
She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her throat. "Is that what you're doing now? Just being?"
"What do you think?" His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Or am I still performing for you?"
Jamie's fingers tightened on her notebook. "I'd like to talk about Fashion Week. You've attended several shows this week. What's your take on the industry's attempts at diversity?"
“Diversity. Yeah.” Trevante’s mouth curved faintly. “They’re just now figuring out what we’ve always known.” His gaze moved over her face, thoughtful and unhurried. “Beauty doesn’t have one look. One shade. One shape. One texture.” His fingers traced the line of her cheek. “It looks like you.”
She managed a small smile. “That’s not very journalistic of you, Mr. Rhodes.”
"Call me Trevante." His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "And since when is journalism about ignoring the truth that's right in front of you?"
Her breath faltered beneath the weight of his attention. "I have a responsibility to my readers."
"And what about your responsibility to yourself?" His hand moved from her face to her knee, warm and heavy through the fabric of her dress. "To acknowledge when something feels right?"
She should have stopped him. Should have reminded him of boundaries, of professionalism. But her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch instead of away.
"Trevante," she whispered.
"Jamie," he whispered back.
The sound of her name in his voice did something to her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and more alive than she had in years.
"What do you know about Jamie?" she challenged, her voice softer than she intended.
"I know she works too hard. I know she's tired of asking questions that don't matter." His hand slid higher up her thigh, his touch light. "I know she wants to be asked questions for once."
"Like what?"
"Like what makes her pulse race. Like what she thinks about when she's alone at night." His eyes held hers, unwavering. "Like what it would take to make her forget all about her responsibilities and just... feel."
Jamie felt warmth gather beneath her skin, her body reacting before she could stop it. “You’re very confident.”
"Confidence comes from knowing what you want." His fingers traced her inner thigh, dangerously close to the heat between her legs. "And I know what I want right now."
She took a deep breath. "Which is?"
"To finish this interview somewhere even more private." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "To find out if this sweet little pussy tastes as good as I imagine. To spread you open and taste every inch until you're shaking."
Her eyes grew wide as a soft gasp escaped her lips. "We shouldn't."
"Shouldn't we?" His teeth nipped her earlobe, sending sparks through her. "Or is that just what you tell yourself to keep from getting what you really want?"
Jamie's mind raced, torn between the professional she was supposed to be and the woman she secretly was. "I don't even know you."
"Don't you?" His hand moved higher, and with his other hand, he hooked it around the back of her knee, tugging it and laying it on top of his knee. Her leg yielded easily, opening wider for him. The cool night air from the rooftop ghosted over the heated skin of her inner thighs, making her shiver.
The slit of her dress, once a tasteful accent, was now a frame for his exploration, falling open to reveal how high his hand had traveled, how his dark fingers pressed against the delicate, damp fabric of her panties. They were in their own corner, yes, but the lounge was not empty. A group of women laughed softly by the fire pit, their backs to them, but it would only take one turned head, one curious glance, to see everything. To see the powerful Trevante Rhodes with his hand buried deep under the hem of her dress.
The thought sent fear and excitement through her. "I think you know me better than most people," he continued, his thumb pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over her clit through the soaked cotton. "I think you see past the interviews, past the performances." His gaze was locked on hers. "I think you see the man who's been waiting for a woman like you to stop asking questions and start feeling answers."
She couldn't deny it. There was something about him that felt familiar, like recognizing a part of herself she'd kept hidden away.
"Tell me what you want, Jamie," he whispered, his voice a caress. "No scripts, no performance. Just truth."
Her throat was dry. "I want..." She started, then stopped, the words catching in her throat.
"Yes? Tell me."
"I want to know what it's like," she finally managed, her voice barely audible. "To not be in control every day."
Trevante's expression softened, a look that made him look vulnerable. "Then let me show you."
His fingers slipped deeper beneath the hem of her dress, causing her body to arch into his touch despite herself.
"Right here?" she whispered, her eyes darting around the rooftop.
"Here." His voice was firm, commanding. "Now."
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Good girl."
His fingers found the edge of her panties, toying with the lace before slipping beneath. Jamie's breath caught as he explored her inner softness, his touch knowing and confident.
"You're dripping for me," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against her shoulder as his fingers explored the slick heat between her thighs. "This little pussy is soaked. You can pretend this is just an interview, but your body knows the truth. It's begging for me, isn't it? Begging to be touched, to be tasted. To be fucked right here on this couch where anyone could see us."
She could only nod, words beyond her now as he stroked her clit with practiced ease.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
Jamie's eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there stole her breath, made her feel seen in a way she never had before.
"I want you to cum for me," he whispered, his fingers working her clit in tight circles. "Right here. Right now."
Her body locked around the sensation, tension building until she could barely stand it. The low murmur of conversation from across the rooftop, the clinking of glasses, the distant wail of a siren, it all sharpened into clarity. Anyone could turn their head. Anyone could see her dress bunched around her hips as Trevante's fingers worked her swollen clit.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a hypnotic rasp right against her ear. His eyes never left her face, watching her with focus as she came undone. "Let go. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers. Let everyone hear how good this pussy is."
The permission was a match to gasoline. Jamie came apart all at once, the sensation bursting through her in a powerful rush that left her gasping. Her back arched off the velvet couch, a silent scream caught in her throat as she bit down hard on her lip, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the overwhelming pleasure. Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, a rhythmic clenching that pulsed through her entire body, a wet grip he could feel from the inside out. She was shaking, trembling uncontrollably, her vision blurring into a kaleidoscope of city lights and shadows, all while his gaze held her captive, a silent witness to her unravelling.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, Trevante gathered her into his arms, holding her close as she struggled to catch her breath. The city lights blurred around them, the sounds of the rooftop fading into a distant hum.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle now.
Jamie nodded against his chest, inhaling his scent, his warmth. "More than okay."
He chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling through his chest. He stood, extending a hand to help her up.
Jamie took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs felt shaky, but his grip was steady, reassuring.
"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her toward the elevator.
"Somewhere we won't be interrupted," he said, "Somewhere I can take my time with you."
As they descended in the elevator, Jamie knew there was no turning back.
The elevator doors slid open onto the main floor, and for a moment, the cacophony of the lobby, clinking glasses, distant laughter, the murmur of conversations, felt like a bucket of ice water on Jamie's overheated skin. The reality of what had just happened on that rooftop crashed into her. Her legs still trembled, the phantom pulse of her orgasm a lingering echo. She was a journalist. A professional. And she had just come undone in public for a man she was supposed to be interviewing.
She pulled away slightly, trying to reclaim her space, her composure. "I—" she started, but her voice was a hoarse whisper, unfamiliar to her own ears. She cleared her throat. "I should probably get going. It's late."
Trevante didn't stop. He just tightened his grip on her hand, his stride unwavering as he led her not toward the main exit, but down a dimly lit corridor branching off the lobby. The air grew thicker, quieter, the sounds of the party fading into a muffled hum. The hallway was narrow, lined with dark wood paneling and illuminated only by recessed lights in the floor, casting long, dancing shadows.
"Going?" he asked. He stopped, turning to face her, and the size of him in the confined space stole her breath. He wasn't touching her yet, but his presence had pinned her against the wall. "We're not done with your interview, Jamie."
She tried to stand taller, to summon the sharp, no-nonsense reporter who had walked into The Plaza an hour ago. "I think we covered the important points."
A smile spread across his face. He leaned one hand against the wall beside her head, caging her in. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat from his body. "Baby, you think you're in control here?" he asked as his eyes swept over her face, her body, like he was assessing his property.
"I'm not trying to be in control," she lied, her voice barely audible. "I'm trying to be professional."
"Professional?" He chuckled. "Love, you came all over my fingers five minutes ago where anyone could have seen you. You passed professional about two floors ago." He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath from her ear. "Now you're just a woman who's about to do what she's told."
A shiver drizzled down to her dipping center. Her professional armor was already cracked and shattered. She couldn't find a single word to say.
"That's what I thought," he whispered. He finally touched her. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, which was still tender from where she'd bitten it. "You're a smart woman, Jamie. You know when to stop fighting it. When to let a real man take the lead."
His hand moved down, tracing the column of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, until it rested on the dip of her hip. His other hand came up to her throat, gripping it slightly. "Let me show you what an exclusive interview really feels like."
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply dropped his hand from her hip to her shoulders, his grip firm as he guided her down. The plush carpet of the hallway cushioned her knees as she sank to the floor before him. This was insane. They were in a public hallway. But looking up at him, at the hunger in his eyes, she knew there was no fighting it. She didn't want to.
He kept his eyes locked on hers as he unfastened his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet corridor. He freed himself, like a sculpted piece of dark wood, his dick curved prominently, its chocolate-colored thickness demanding both hands to appreciate its full weight. He didn't stroke himself. He just held it, presenting it to her like an offering.
"Open your mouth," he commanded. It wasn't a request. It was an order, delivered in the same low, hypnotic voice that had unraveled her on the rooftop.
Jamie's lips parted instantly, a reflex she couldn't have stopped if she'd tried.
"Good girl." He stepped forward, guiding the head of his dick to her lips. He didn't thrust into her. He made her come to him, made her lean forward and take him in. The taste of him flooded her senses.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, his grip tightening at the base of her skull. "Now," he said, his voice dropping even lower, a gravelly command that vibrated straight to her core. "You're going to show me how sorry you are for trying to leave. You're going to suck this dick like it's the last thing you'll ever taste. And if you do a good job, I might let you feel it inside that pretty little pussy. Do you understand me?"
She could only manage a muffled sound of agreement around his thickness.
"Answer me properly," he insisted, giving her hair a gentle but firm tug. "Yes, what?"
Jamie pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against his tip. "Yes, Sir," she whispered.
"Thatta girl," he groaned, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his entire body. He pushed his hips forward, the curve of his dick forcing her jaw open wider as he slid deeper. The blunt head nudged the back of her throat, and she gagged, a messy, wet sound that echoed in the narrow hallway. Saliva flooded her mouth, dripping from the corners of her lips and down her chin in thick, viscous ropes.
He pulled back just enough for her to gasp a breath before doing it again, harder this time. The wet, choking sounds grew louder as he established a rhythm. Gag. Gasp. Gag. Gasp. Each time he hit the back of her throat, she felt a surge of pride, of purpose. This was her place now. On her knees in a dimly lit hallway, worshipping this man with her mouth.
With his free hand, he hooked his thumb under the hem of his shirt and lifted it, exposing the hard planes of his stomach and the dark trail of hair that disappeared down to where his body was joined with hers. Her eyes, tearing up from the throat-fucking, flickered to the ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind him. In the reflection, she saw it all—her own ruined face, her lips stretched thin and swollen around the thick, dark shaft pumping between them.
She saw him, his head thrown back; she saw the powerful muscles of his ass clench and release with every forward motion, driving that heavy, curved dick deeper into her mouth. The mirror showed the beauty of his hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place for his pleasure. It was filthy, nasty, and the sight of their reflection made her pussy clench. The wet sounds of her mouth being fucked filled the hall, a symphony that was just for them.
He looked down at her. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth. Pretty sure I like you better this way."
She moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length, earning a sharp intake of breath from him. He picked up the pace slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more forceful. The hallway, the possibility of being caught—it all faded away. There was only him, his voice, his commands, his dick filling her mouth, his taste, his smell. Her world had narrowed to this one perfect, shameful, glorious act of submission.
"Take it all," he commanded, his hips pistoning faster now. "Show me you can handle it."
She relaxed her throat, taking him as deep as she could, tears pricking the corners of her eyes from the effort. She could feel him swelling, pulsing.
"Fuck," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening painfully. "You're gonna make me nut. You want that? Want me to cum down your throat?"
She hummed her consent, eager for it, desperate for his release.
"Then say it," he demanded, his voice strained. "Beg for it."
She pulled back, gasping for air. "Please, Sir," she begged, looking up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Come in my mouth. Please let me taste you."
That was all it took. Trevante thrust deep one last time. The curved length of his dick forced past her gag reflex, burying itself in her throat. His heavy balls tightened against her chin, and he held her there, his hand fisted in her hair, preventing even the slightest retreat.
Then he was coming. His body went stiff, a deep shudder running through him as his dick pulsed against her tongue. She felt the first hot, thick spurt coat the back of her throat, followed by another, and another. He wasn't just cumming; he was pouring himself into her, his release a relentless flood that filled her mouth and spilled from the corners of her lips. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to breathe through it, to take everything he was giving her.
Her hands, which had been resting on his thighs, flew to his ass. Her fingers dug into the firm muscle, pulling him impossibly closer, holding him right where he was. She wanted it all. She wanted to feel him lose control. She swallowed around him, her throat working to milk him dry, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his shaft as he continued to pulse and empty himself into her.
When the tremors finally subsided, he remained buried in her mouth for a moment longer before slowly pulling back. She didn't let him go far. Her tongue worked feverishly, cleaning every inch of his softening dick, lapping up the mingled taste of his release and her own saliva. She was determined to draw out every last bit of his pleasure, to worship him until there was nothing left.
He slowly withdrew, tucking himself back into his jeans. He looked down at her, still on her knees, her lips swollen and glistening, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.
He reached down, helping her to her feet. "Now," he said, his voice back to that low, controlled rumble. "Are you ready to finish that interview?"
He didn't give her time to think. With a firm grip on her hand, he pulled her down the hallway, away from the faint light and distant noise of the party. The corridor grew darker, narrower, until they stopped at a plain, unmarked door.
The door swung open to reveal a janitor's closet. The air was thick with the clean, sharp scent of bleach and cleaning fluid, a stark contrast to the expensive perfume and champagne of the lounge. A single bare bulb cast a yellow, unforgiving light over a utility sink, shelves stacked with supplies, and a mop leaning against the far wall. It was cramped, dirty, and perfect.
Trevante stepped in first, pulling her behind him before locking the door.
He turned to her, and the man who had just fucked her mouth in the hallway was gone. In his place was someone calmer.
"You did so good out there," he said, his voice a low caress. "Took everything I gave you."
Jamie looked up at him. "Sir," she whispered.
A confident smile spread across his face. "That's my girl." He leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss. This was slow, deep, exploratory. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the remnants of his own release on her tongue. It was nasty, and it made her knees weak.
His hands moved to the zipper of her dress and slid the dress down her body. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in just her heels and the soaked panties he'd ruined earlier.
He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her naked body with an appreciation that was almost tangible.
He reached behind her, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside. Her breasts spilled free, the nipples already hard. He cupped them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, drawing a soft moan from her lips.
"Turn around," he commanded softly.
She obeyed instantly, turning to face the utility sink. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs. The fabric was still slick with her arousal, and he brought them to his face, inhaling deeply before shoving them into his pocket.
"Hands on the sink," he ordered.
Jamie placed her palms on the cool, worn porcelain of the sink, her body trembling with anticipation. She heard the rustle of his clothes, the sound of his zipper being lowered, and then the delicious, weighty heat of him pressing against her bare ass.
He didn't enter her right away. Instead, he ran the head of his dick along her slit, coating himself in her wetness. She pushed back against him, a plea for more, but he just chuckled.
"Not yet," he murmured. "First, it's my turn to conduct the interview."
He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his lips brushing her ear. "So," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We're here today to talk to this pretty little pussy." He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, making her jump. "She's been very vocal tonight. Very responsive. But I want to hear from her directly."
Jamie’s breath stuttered, a wave of humiliation and excitement washing over her.
"You think you're ready for this?" he asked, his fingers still working her clit in circles. "You think you can handle what I do?"
He pushed her over the sink and positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his dick pressing against her opening. "I have a few questions for you," he continued, his voice a low rumble. "First question: how does it feel to be this wet for me? To be this desperate to be filled?"
He pushed forward slightly, just enough to stretch her, to make her feel the size of him. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
"Answer me," he commanded, his voice firm. "Or I'll stop right now."
"It feels... good," she managed to gasp out. "It feels right."
"Good answer," he praised. "Second question: what do you want? Be specific."
"I want you," she breathed. "I want you deeper inside me. Please, Sir."
"Please, Sir," he repeated, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I like that. I like that a lot."
With one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself deeper. Jamie cried out, her hands slipping on the sink as he filled her, stretched her. He was big, and the sensation of being so full was overwhelming.
He gave her a moment to adjust, his hands gripping her hips, holding her steady. Then he started to move.
His strokes were slow at first, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, each thrust deeper than before. The sounds of their bodies coming together—the wet, rhythmic slap of his skin against hers, his low grunts of exertion, her soft whimpers of pleasure—filled the small space.
Her breasts swung with every thrust, the heavy globes slapping against each other, a lewd, percussive beat that matched the rhythm of his fucking. He reached around, cupping them in his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her harder, faster.
"Look at this little pussy," he snarled, his voice ragged. He drove into her, grinding his hips to make her feel every inch. "Clamping down on me like you're trying to keep me inside. This pussy was molded to my shape, wasn't it? Made to be ruined and fucked open."
She could only moan in response, her mind a haze.
"Answer me," he demanded, his hand coming down on her ass in a sharp, stinging slap. "Was this pussy made for me?"
"Yes," she cried out. "Yes, Sir. It was made for you."
"Thatta girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more erratic. He was chasing his own release now, and the thought of him coming inside her pushed her closer to the edge.
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice a harsh rasp against her ear, the smell of sweat and bleach filling the cramped janitor's closet. "Tell me you want me to cum in this pussy. Tell me you want to be mine."
"I want it," she sobbed, her body trembling against the cold porcelain of the sink. "I want you to cum in me. Please, Sir. I want to be yours."
With a savage grunt, he hammered home, his heavy balls slapping wetly against her sensitive clit. A deep groan tore from deep in his stomach as his dick kicked deep inside her, the first powerful pulse signaling he was about to lose all control. But just as the first hot spurt of his release painted her insides, he yanked his dick out with a curse. "Fuck!" His hand fisted around his dick, and he aimed it down, his cum spurting in thick, milky ropes all over her pussy lips and her already swollen clit. The hot, wet mess coated her, running down the inside of her thighs.
Before she could even process it, he was ramming back into her, his dick slick with his own cum. The lewd, wet squelch of him re-entering her cum-soaked pussy was the nastiest sound she'd ever heard. He used his own release as lubricant, fucking her with sloppy strokes. The feeling of his still-hard dick pushing his cum deeper inside her, coating every inch of her walls, was what sent her over the edge. Her own orgasm ripped through her, a clenching wave that made her knees buckle. Her pussy spasmed around him, milking him for every last drop as she collapsed against the sink, a shaking, whimpering mess.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the sink, his ragged breaths mingling with her own. For a long moment, they just stayed like that, their bodies still joined.
Finally, he pushed himself up, slowly withdrawing from her. He turned her around, his hands framing her face as he looked into her eyes.
"You wanted an exclusive?" he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "You got it. Now say it. Say it again."
Jamie looked up at him. "I'm yours," she whispered.
tags: mdni, nsfw, established relationship, piv, fingering, pinning wrist above the head, 1.0k words
You've been together with Suguru for a year already and he still likes to take things slow. It's understandable, really. He loves you and cares for you. He just didn't want to rush you into things you aren't ready yet.
Every time when you went out with him on dates, he'd always ask if he could hold your hand or kiss you. Even through the long months you've been with him, he still asks for your permission and you find that cute. You told him he can hold your hand or kiss you without asking, but he insists.
He wants to make sure you're comfortable around him.
A year has passed and you want to do more than just holding hands. You're more than ready—you desperately need him and you don't know how to ask for it. So, you figure asking him directly would help.
“Suguru?” you called out his name softly from his bed. You were staying at his place for the night so you were wearing a black shirt of his that looked way too big on you. The shirt is slowly slipping off your shoulder but you didn't mind. You wanted to get his attention.
“Hm?” he makes his way to you, removing the bun from his hair. He sat next to you on the bed. “You have something in mind?” he caresses your cheeks and gives you a soft smile.
“We’ve been together for a year now.” you started, scared of your own voice. Asking suguru for sex is something you're always embarrassed about. Not that he would shame you if you asked him, it's just, you're shy about it. “I was thinking if we can…” you struggle to find the right words. “If you want to be intimate with me.”
You could feel your face heat up. You looked in all directions of the room. Suguru was silent for a moment, contemplating something. He called out your name and you snapped back to reality. “Look at me.” his hands found yours.
“Are you sure about this?” If Suguru were to have sex with you, he wanted to make sure you're more than ready. He needs to make sure you're comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him.
You nodded. “I'm ready.”
Your confirmation was all that Suguru needed to hear. He gave you a kiss on the lips. It felt soft and passionate as always.
His hand reached out for the remote on the nightstand to dim the lights. Suguru kissed your hand while he looked into your eyes. “If this ever gets uncomfortable for you, just tell me.”
“Yeah,” you gave him a smile. Suguru cups your face and kisses you. He gently lays you down on his bed with his hand covering your head, careful not to throw you down too fast.
He lifts up your shirt and unclasps your bra from you carefully and you do the same for him. This was something you dreamed of doing with him. You trusted him enough for this.
You've seen Suguru shirtless before, but this time it just hits differently.
His hands slip down slowly from your chest to your waist, then he slowly yanks off your shorts and panties at the same time.
Suguru takes his time to memorize you. He took note of which makes you shiver, which place you like it most when he kisses you. After a few kisses here and there, he learns that you have a weak spot on your neck.
Every time he kisses you there, you'd make a soft whimpering sound he'll never get tired of hearing. He eventually left a mark there.
His hands trails down to your wet slit and circles around it. You're already wet enough for Suguru to fuck you, he didn't fuck you just yet. Instead, he pushed one finger in you, then another one, stretching you out before the real game.
You feel your muscles in your contract as Suguru continues to stretch you out before placing his dick in you.
“You like that, huh?” his fingers thrusts in you slowly with a rhythmic pattern. You nodded, playing with his long hair underneath him.
Suguru pulls out his fingers and pushes it inside his mouth, tasting you. He looks so hot you blushed at his sight.
“Mhm.” you muffled a moan.
“Look at me, love.” he kissed your ear as he placed his cock on your entrance. He fucks into you in the slowest pace possible. Each slow thrust just makes you even more hornier.
The dimly lit light shined underneath the both of you. It's just the two of your naked bodies and legs tangled together.
You're aching so bad for him and his performance isn't satisfying you. You wanted him to lose control—to fuck you like how he wants to. You don't want him to hold back.
“Suguru,” you locked your legs to his hips. “Don't hold back.”
“I like it nice and slow.” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. He lifted your chin again and kissed you. “You look cute squirming under me, love.”
“Please, Suguru.” you begged. “I'm all yours—”
Suguru pins your hands on top of you with his right hand and grabs your jaw using his left.
“Atta girl.”
He increased his speed, each thrust hit your sweet spot and you cried out loud, unable to cover your moans with your hand.
You couldn't imagine what kind of lewd expressions you were making but Suguru couldn't stop smirking at you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
“‘m gonna cum.” you barely utter out those words with your moans. “hmgh, Suguru. please.” your hands grips his wrist pinning you down for support.
Your legs start to shake uncontrollably when suguru picks up the pace, thrusting even faster. The clapping sounds of him thrusting started to make squelching sounds.
“Cum for me.”
You arched your back, feeling the orgasm washed through you. Suguru collapses his weight on you and pulls out before he releases his fluid on your stomach.
Your chest is rising up and down, exhausted from what just happened.
Suguru then cleaned you up and helped you put on your clothes back after fucking you. He did apologize for getting carried away when he saw you struggling to walk.
“Like your anniversary gift, my love?” he wraps his arms around you and cuddles with you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You did well.”
“Of course.” you kissed him back.
@/pixopix and @/penissekai for the divider
a/n: i love suguru sm. ty for reading this annnnnd, tysm for 1k likes on my gojo one shot <33
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: a heat advisory is issued as temperatures in japan near triple digits this week. residents are urged to stay out of the sun, wear light-colored clothing, drink plenty of water, never leave pets inside a hot car, or engage in extremely strenuous activity. guys—guys, i said no strenuous activity, why are you fucking?!
❤︎ CONTENT: eijirō kirishima, best friends to lovers, roommates, blowjobs, ice, katsuki bakugō, the boyfriend experience, hear me out—popsicle blowjobs, HEAR ME OUT, slut!calling, denki kaminari, pool parties, mutual friends, water balloon fights, making out, izuku midoriya,husband!izuku, stargazing fluff, l-bombs, penetrative sex, crying, idek what got into me fr, hanta sero, childhood friends to lovers, weed, confessions, no porn just yearning … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i’m just a girl with a dream…A FEVER DREAM H A (i’m not funny.)
♫ NOW PLAYING: midnight sun, zara larsson.
read on ao3 | 6.4k words | masterlist.
EIJIRŌ KIRISHIMA.
The AC broke last night.
Eijirō knows, because he woke up swimming in a pool of his own sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest and hair plastered to his neck. The current heatwave is killing everything, braincells and split ends included.
The heat might’ve fried his brain—and he tries to regain some semblance of thought as he lays on the cool hardwood floor, below the ceiling fan, spread out like a starfish—but, that’s not the issue, if he’s being honest. The issue is how you deal with said heat.
At this point, you might as well just walk around naked.
(Don’t do that. Please, please don’t do that.)
You lounge beside him in the shortest shorts and tightest tank top Eijirō’s ever seen in his twenty six years of living, holding a small hand fan to your face like it’s not just recycling hot air. A thin film of sweat sticks to your skin and builds a sheen he’s sure should be reserved for the bedroom, oiled up like some pornstar, and, as stated, he quite literally has two braincells left. He counted.
Braincells that will expose him if he says so much as a word.
So, naturally, you start talking.
“God, it’s so hot, I can’t even watch the TV,” you lament, lifting a limp hand to gesture, before it lands heavy on your thigh with a slap. Fat jiggles in its wake, and Eijirō watches. Licks his lips.
He should go to his room, or something.
But it’s hot in there—hotter than it is out here, full of cloth and carpet and blankets, and Eijirō is already melting. He’s still deciding whether he feels like the Wicked Witch of the West, or Olaf. Wicked Witch…Olaf. Wicked Witch…Let it Go…
“—ello, hello? Eiji?”
It’s the hand waving in his face that jolts him out of his heat-induced stupor.
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you wanted me to grab the ice from the freezer,” you snort at his vegetative state. Eijirō nods once, then looks back to the ceiling.
You get up and head into the kitchen. He watches you walk away, watches your ass peek out from your insanely short shorts. (Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.) Then, he feels guilty. That wasn’t manly at all.
Becoming roommates with his childhood best friend sucks. Why did nobody tell him that it sucks?
You return with a full bowl, and a new lease on life. Taking two ice crescents, you hold them to both sides of your cheeks. They start to melt on impact. Eijirō wants to lick it up.
He takes a cube, and shoves it down his shorts.
“Eijirō, what the fuck.”
He gets caught. Of course, he gets caught.
“It’s hot,” he whines, accompanied by a soft laugh to let you know, no, he’s not getting hard or anything, it’s just hot. He swears.
“You’re so stupid,” you snort, like you’re not the one holding melting ice to your face. “It’s gonna look like you pissed yourself.”
“I don’t care,” Eijirō whimpers. His spot on the floor is getting warm under his back. He’ll need to move, soon.
“Oh, I have an idea!” Your eyes light up, but then you think about it, and they dull. “Never mind.”
Eijirō blinks at you, slow and sticky, and keeps his eyes on yours and definitely nowhere else.
“…What is it?”
“Oh shit—”
Okay. Okay, okay. When you said you had an idea, Eijirō didn’t think this was it.
But, here you sit, mouth on his dick and ice in your cheeks. Eijirō isn’t even sure it’s helping. He just knows that he’s hard, and sweaty, and it feels really, really good.
Just to cool down, you said. Don’t cum in my mouth, or else.
And he—he is trying. The ice is almost a biting temperature, the sting immediately soothed by the warmth of your lips. His body rotates from hot to cold on a loop. He’s holding onto the couch cushion behind him for dear life, propped against the base of it, while you give him the best head of his life. In your shared living room. What the fuck.
There were a million ways Eijirō thought this would go down—a drunk evening, a poorly timed confession, a thinly veiled attempt at getting over someone else, when really, there was no one to get over in the first place. Definitely not at your recommendation to combat the heat.
Your mouth pulls of his cock with a pop, and Eijirō whimpers. The sight will never leave his mind, he’ll make sure of it—your lips, swollen and glistening with spit, water dripping down the corners of your cheeks from melting ice like you’re drooling. You reach over to the defrosting bowl and pull out another small piece. Pop it in your mouth. Then, your mouth is back on his cock.
Eijirō shivers.
“We might ne—we might need to take a break,” Eijirō swallows, staring at the TV—which isn’t even playing anymore, Netflix taunting him with those four words, are you still watching?—because if he looks at you, he’s going to blow his load. And, he damn sure doesn’t want you to stop.
But, if you don’t give him a breather, he’s going to cum regardless. Because, yes, there’s a mouth on dick but it’s your mouth, and holy shit, he knows what the inside of your mouth feels like on his dick—
Eijirō pulls you off with a little too much force, a solid grip on your chin, and wheezes. Apparently, it goes against every natural urge imaginable to do that.
“Why,” you ask, simply, wiping at your jaw with the inside of your wrist. Eijirō tries to laugh, but it falls flat.
“Because,” he whines, watching at the ceiling. “I was about to cum, what do you mean, ‘why.’”
You giggle, resting your hands on either side of his body to prop yourself up. Except, it squishes your breasts, which sit right under your mouth, and Eijirō can’t stop staring. The world could be on fire, and he’d still be here. Staring.
“Oh! Cool,” you hum and nod, clacking the rest of the ice between your teeth. Eijirō watches your tongue roll every time your jaw drops. You start talking about something else, something mundane, while his dick is just…out, twitching when you say a word a little funny, or something that could be taken as an innuendo. And, it’s not—an innuendo—just casual banter between best friends who grew up together, but now, Eijirō can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee.
He’s fucked. Fuck.
KATSUKI BAKUGŌ.
What. The fuck. Are you doing.
“Wha’” You ask around the popsicle. A popsicle you’re currently treating as if it belongs to someone else—someone’s dick—swirling your tongue and popping your lips and dropping your jaw like it can feel it.
You are absolutely working that thing—and yeah, Katsuki gets it. It’s a hot day. The AC is on blast, and somehow, he’s still sweaty behind the creases of his knees and in the crooks of his elbows. He’s returning from his third shower of the day with a towel around his neck, walking back into the living room to find an image most offensive.
You, laying on the couch, with a popsicle in your mouth, moving it so thorough it might as well be fucking your face.
What. The fuck.
“Babe,” Katsuki sniffles, because, for some reason, the heat makes his nose run. “Fuckin’ quit it.”
“Qui’ wha’?”
You don’t quit it. Instead, you pull the popsicle out to talk, tongue darting out to lick the melting edge like it’s... Is Katsuki losing his mind? He might be losing his mind.
Great. Everyone said it would happen one day, and he laughed in their faces. Now, look at him.
“Fuckin’—the popsicle,” Katsuki huffs in irritation (sexual) as he walks to the bookshelf and finds something to distract himself with. He’s not fucking you—refuses, actually, in this temperature, and he’s already wasted enough water as is. You suck the popsicle back into your mouth, with puckered lips and hollowed cheeks, and Katsuki points like it’s personally offended him. (It has.) “Quit that.”
“Stop…fucking the popsicle,” you giggle, and while that’s not what Katsuki said—
“Yes. Stop treatin’ that goddamn thing like it’s my dick.”
“Mm, Katsuki!” You force a moan around the stupid thing, giggling again when he scowls over his shoulder with pinked cheeks. He can’t even focus—just picks a random book and returns to the couch. It’s not until he sits down that he realizes that it’s War and Peace. Fuck, he’s not reading Tolstoy in this fucking weather. Not when you’re slurping right next to him.
Katsuki opens the book, regardless. Reads the first few sentences of part two. Closes it again.
“Why are you like this,” he grunts, watching you in his peripheral. By now, the popsicle isn’t almost gone, but at that point of consumption where it’s in a weird shape. Katsuki counts down the minutes until there’s no shape, just stick.
You pull it from your mouth, slow and languid, gathering juice in the corners of your lips with a tongue. “Can I not enjoy my popsicle in peace?”
“Not like that.”
You roll your eyes, and go back to what you were doing. This time, you build a steady pace—in and out, in and out—holding eye contact with Katsuki like you know it’ll kill him. And, it does.
You play Katsuki Bakugō like a fiddle, and he hates every fucking second of it.
Reaching over, he takes the stick of the popsicle, and shoves it down your throat. You choke. It sounds more like a gargle.
“Wha’ tha fu’h,” You scrunch your nose in distaste, but Katsuki keeps the pace you built, albeit a little heavy handed.
“No, if you wanna fuck the popsicle, then fuck the popsicle,” Katsuki says behind a glare, like his breathing isn’t belated. You hum and lean right into it, suppressing a smile around the frozen juice. Fucking brat.
This was not the reaction you were supposed to have—you were supposed to splutter off, glare at him, and learn your lesson. Give up. Suck the popsicle like a normal human being, Katsuki doesn’t fucking know.
You aren’t supposed to enjoy it, though.
Your eyes aren’t supposed to flutter shut like the popsicle is Katsuki himself, like you’re sucking to get a sound out. You blink up at him, and he…can’t breathe. He snatches the popsicle out, only for a string of artificially colored spit to stick, then drop on your lips.
“What the fuck,” he finally vocalizes, too out of breath for having done nothing but jerk a popsicle around for a bit, “is wrong with you?”
“So many things,” you answer without hesitation, swallowing, and cleaning up the corners of your mouth. “Now, give it back. It’s hot.”
Katsuki doesn’t know why he listens.
(He’s stupid, that’s why. Stupid and weak and horny—)
With a sigh, Katsuki pokes the pointed top of the popsicle at your lips. You open them, but he runs it across the seam and around until it coats your mouth like gloss. Then, he pushes it in, slow but sure. Your eyes close, and Katsuki’s dick jumps.
Katsuki can feel the weight of your mouth through the stick, how tight your lips sit around the popsicle, and hums to himself. God, you look so pretty like this—weirdly peaceful—with nothing to do but suck while he does the work for you. When he gets closer, you don’t notice.
Not until you blink your eyes open, and they crinkle on the sides with silent entertainment. You reflect nothing that alludes to what you’re actually doing, slobbering over a popsicle until it drips along Katsuki’s knuckles and forearm. Messy, just how he likes it.
Your hand comes to Katsuki’s thigh for balance. He’s so close he can count the eyelashes dusting your cheeks if he wants, can hear your little exhales and feel your swallows. His mouth moves faster than his mind, voice breathless and a little aloof.
“You’re a fuckin’ slut, y’know that?”
It has no bite behind it—if anything, it’s a protection, a barrier against Katsuki’s own arousal, thin and pointless. Pointless, when he’s clearly rock hard in his shorts, dick standing straight to the sky and pitching a tent so narrow it’s structurally unsound. You smile because you know he’s panicking, and open your eyes to get a view out of his misery.
“What,” he bites, and pulls the popsicle out from your lips. You catch your breath, swallow, and then:
“You seem to be enjoying this.”
Katsuki huffs, and chokes you with the popsicle again. That’s what he gets for letting talk. You quirk an eyebrow but take it like a champ, as if to show he’s proving your point, but he’s not, shut up.
Your hand finds his dick with ease—it’s right there, loud and screaming to be touched, leaking through the fabric—and wrap around the shaft, polyester cloth sticking to his cock. Whether its sweat or pre-cum, Katsuki really doesn’t know.
All he knows is that a jolt of electricity runs down his spine, something sharp and hot and devastating, and Katsuki’s making a sound before he can stop it. Not a curse, not a moan, but a goddamn whimper.
Now, Katsuki has a point to prove.
Now, he has to prove that it was, in fact, not him that made that sound—it was some chink in the matrix, a glitch in your hearing. Katsuki pulls the popsicle out—its not much but stick at this point—and nods at the space on the floor between his legs. He relieves the building pressure with a squeeze or two. You scramble to your knees in a heartbeat.
So much for not fucking you.
DENKI KAMINARI.
“Hey. Denki, right?”
The water ballon jumps out his hands and goes rolling into the oversized bucket. Denki looks back to see you, smile wide and unwarranted, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.
Denki Kaminari isn’t…good, when it comes to pretty girls. He gets nervous, and tongue-tied, and can’t even make fun of himself right, which is his definitive hat trick, the one thing he knows can get a room rolling and girls swooning at his witty brilliance. (He thinks—the second one has yet to be tested.) His hands get clammy, the only noise he can make with his mouth is an embarrassing ‘buh,’ and the most he can do with his feet is storm off. Luckily, pretty girls don’t talk to him like that, so it’s not an really issue he felt the need to address. Until now.
Who you are and why you’re here, though, at Hanta’s pool party, is beyond him. Denki thinks you two are coworkers, but he wasn’t really listening—you walked through the door, and poof, his historically rapid train of thought was no more. Not silence, either. Just a buzz in the back of his head. A buuuuuh.
You asked him a question. Right.
“Buh-uh—,” Denki fumbles, like, so bad, and has to shake his head to start over. “Yeah, yes. I am him.”
“Okay, cool,” you giggle, seemingly not off put by his inelegance or drooling. Denki doesn’t know what to do with this information—it’s so hot outside it feels like his brain is melting from his ears. (And you—you’re very, very, very hot, hotter than it is outside, hotter than the sun, and Denki sweats a little harder when you get closer. When you lean over his shoulder as he crouches by the hose.) “What’cha doin’?”
You say that with all the mischief of a kid with a Nerf Gun, or a little devil, a woman after his own heart. Denki snorts, and grabs another deflated water balloon, hooks it up to the hose, and watches it swell.
“Giving everyone a way to cool off,” he shrugs, completely talking around the real reason: to harass Katsuki because he can, until he gets strong armed into submission. Then, he looks up at you, and tries avoid blindness when the sun halo’s your head like a God. “Want one?”
You tap your lip with a nail. “Sure.”
He passes over the one freshly filled, and you take it with a glowing smile. He sees your lips twist in his peripheral as he grabs another to stock—and tries not to publicly freak out at the fact that you’re still talking to him. Literally, why.
Denki tries to reach deep into the recesses of his soul. Charm, where is his charm? Hanta said he was charming, once, when he was really sad.
(Apparently, it jumped ship at the first ‘buh.’ Either that, or it was never there in the first place. Hanta Sero, you filthy fucking liar—)
A pop, then water comes running over his head.
Denki looks up to see you fisting around a busted balloon, hand still dripping wet with evidence. His jaw drops as water spills off the ends of his hair, and into the bucket full of balloons below him.
“You did not…”
You giggle, reaching into the bucket—between his legs, mind you—to grab another balloon and slap it against his back. It pops on impact. (Damn, Denki’s really good at filling water balloons. A perfected art, if he says so himself.)
“What if I did,” you quirk an eyebrow, and Denki wants to kiss you. So, so bad.
Grabbing three water balloons from the bucket, two in one hand and one in the other, Denki mimics your smile.
“Oh, it’s on.”
By the end, water balloon carcasses lay everywhere. Everyone else went inside to protect themselves from the chaos, unwilling to get wet before the food is ready—leaving you and Denki to chase each other around like children, ducking behind bushes and walls, water balloons ricocheting off every corner of the backyard.
Eventually, you two run out of full balloons. There’s still half the pack left, so it becomes a game of keep away—who can get ahold of the hose and fill their water balloon, throw said water balloon, all while never losing control of the hose. And, Denki is losing. Badly.
You’re tits are on him, it’s not his fault.
“Gotcha again!”
You’re both throwing water balloons at point blank, hard enough to leave soft red circles on his skin. Denki doesn’t mind, though—instead, he chucks another at your face, only to miss. This is why he’s losing.
“Well, fucking—let go of it!”
Denki reaches over your lap in hopes he can grab ahold of the hose—and fails when you tug it out of his reach, putting your chest in the way like you know he’ll do anything to avoid touching it. He ends up falling into your lap, anyways, and scrambles his way out before you can blink.
“You’re not playing fair,” he heaves, a little out of breath from all the running, and rushing, and gets on his knees to get a better reach. You just lean back, about to stand up to dart away with the thing, so Denki grabs your wrist and yanks it around, using your hand to fill the last water balloon left.
“I’m not playing fair?” You squeal behind a series of laughs, trying to tug your hand away and barely managing. Sticking his tongue out in focus, Denki holds your wrist as still as he can. The balloon only fills halfway in the time it takes to fill three, water spilling over the edges because you refuse to sit still. Luckily, Denki is a man of many ideas.
He turns your wrist, snatches off the nozzle attachment, and hangs the hose above your head.
You gasp, then choke a little when you inhale water along with air. You try to turn your wrist, and get his ankles wet a little, but that’s about it. Denki cackles.
“I win.”
“No, you—”
You struggle again, but to no avail. Denki moves the hose once the wet spot on concrete widens, starting to feel a little bad. A little—he still won, shit aim and all.
“Keep struggling, Cutie, you’re not gonna get it,” Denki smiles. You fight so hard your shoulder rams into his, but Denki finally manages to snatch the hose back. He debates on the closet location to buy more water balloons, but gets a little distracted, first by your smile, and then by the rest of you.
He didn’t realize how much closer you’ve gotten during the scuffle, shoulders touching and knees bumping. He watches you swim in the afternoon sun, glowing and soaking wet, and when you turn your head, you’re close enough to—
You kiss him?
Denki doesn’t know why. All he knows is, suddenly, your lips are on his when they don’t have to be. You kiss him, you keep kissing him, and when he finally gathers himself enough to kiss back, the hose is forgotten at his side and still running.
His hands do what they’ve wanted to all afternoon and grab your waist, tug you closer. You sigh into his mouth and relax, tilting your head to the side for better access. Denki licks the seam of your lips, earns himself a whine, and melts.
You taste like strawberries from the kitchen counter, something natural and light and perfect for the summer. His fingers fiddle with the edges of your bathing suit, but don’t push further than that, can’t, or he’s sure to get a nosebleed or say something stupid like mmm you smell like the tech section in Target. Something that, honestly, has very little bearing on the current moment.
As he presses forward, Denki doesn’t notice your hand snaking behind him. Not until there’s ice cold water running down his back.
Denki hisses, then groans, then bites your lip in retaliation because he can, because they’re right fucking there. Then, he can act like a normal human being again.
“Kissing to get me back is a dirty trick,” he narrows his eyes in a pout. You smile, pulling the hose overhead so every inch of him gets wet. It’s only fair.
“It worked, though,” you say behind a self-satisfied grin. Your lips are spit slick and a little swollen, so Denki finds that he doesn’t care about getting soaked all that much, after all.
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, snatching the hose back. You’re so close he doesn’t even have to tilt it that far forward.
It earns him a water balloon to the chest. Where the hell you were hiding that, Denki will never know.
IZUKU MIDORIYA.
The sun has long passed, but a cloying heat sticks to the walls of your home like honey. So, you and your husband head outside.
Light pollution isn’t horrible at your house in the mountains. When you and Izuku first moved in together, his one and only wish was to see the stars from his backyard. That narrowed the options down tremendously. Wiped Tokyo and Osaka off the map.
It was a hot day, and somehow, an even hotter night—so, of course he hosts a fucking pop quiz.
“Can you tell me which one is Ursa Major?”
It’s a basic question, with one of the most popular constellations. You scan the sky on your back, grass tickling your knees and thighs, eyes in search for something that could vaguely represent a saucepan. You can’t.
“Izuku,” you whine, rolling into his shoulder. “You can’t point to a splatter of stars and ask me to find a pattern.”
Izuku giggles and pokes your cheek. “Fine, fine. It’s in this general area.”
The finger that was harassing your face points to the sky and makes a big, broad, woefully unhelpful, circle.
“Izuku,” you deadpan. He sighs.
“Okay, it’s over there,” he points, giving up with an amused huff. Even then, it takes you a good minute to line up your sight with the tip of his finger. “See? Polaris over there? It’s the end of the Big Dipper. And the little one, but.”
You squint, and finally, make out something akin to a ladle. “How does that even turn into a bear? God, our ancestors must’ve been so bored.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, gently jostling your head in the process. You grunt, and he lets out a small ‘sorry’ before continuing his train of thought while wiggling a pair of eyebrows. “Or, maybe they were just creative.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huff, but Izuku just smiles like he loves you, and tugs you closer. It’s probably a little too hot to be this close, the world cooling down slow but sure, but you nuzzle your sweaty joints into his skin regardless. Your head rests on his chest. “You calling me uncreative?”
“No,” he snorts, and soothes you with a kiss to the forehead. “I’m saying they didn’t have a 9-5.”
Your bristles relax and smooth over. “Just checking.”
Izuku scrunches his nose with something fond. “You’re so defensive.”
“And you need to stop treating me like one of your students,” you add, poking at his nose until it relaxes. “I hate pop quizzes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You don’t, Dork.”
You get up on your elbows to get a better look at him, to brush a stray tuft of his hair back in place.
“What does that make you?” Izuku asks, raising an eyebrow. “Princess Dork?”
“Queen Dork,” you nod, humming when the thought hits just right. You scoot up higher, closer to his face. “And you can be my jester.”
Izuku gapes, chokes out a laugh in the process, and the way it makes the corners of his eyes screw into nothing is so sweet. “That’s all I am to you, huh? A little funny man?”
You nod, hum, and knock your forehead against his. “With little funny facts.”
Izuku just laughs quietly, smiles, and pulls you close—like you aren’t already close enough, like you can’t feel his breath on your face when he speaks, like you could phase into his body like Kitty Pryde from that X-Men documentary he made you watch. (It would’ve been fascinating if you understood any of it, you’re sure.)
“I love you,” he murmurs, nudging his nose into yours. You return the favor, then kiss him on the lips.
“I love you, too.”
There are a lot of things you love about your husband.
You love that he always wakes up first—impossibly, at the ass-crack of dawn—and you love that his brain is chalk full of a million random truths. You love that he has a fact of the day, you love that he has very specific special interests that he gets overexcited to share. You love that he comes home from work with a smile on his face, and you love that despite that smile, he lights up when he sees you in the living room regardless, that he immediately rushes to kiss you like he’s been away for months.
You also love his dick. Honestly, that’s probably further up the list than it should be.
“Fuck, Izuku—”
He’s not even going that fast. It’s slow and sensual and perfect for stargazing, if his eyes are stars and stars come in the shape of hearts. Grass tickles the arch in your back, while Izuku pounds steady but heavy, refusing to let you look away with a hand on your jaw. You’re fraying at the edges, regardless.
“I love you, Baby,” he huffs above you. His other hand is plastered beside your head, and grass peeks through his knuckles, wrought tight and torn. “I—I love you, so much—”
“’Zuku, I’m close,” you whimper, pawing at his chest. Izuku lets go of your jaw to grab your hand before it falls, tangling your fingers together with a polish that shouldn’t belong to a man who runs into a pole at least once a week. “Baby, I need—”
Izuku cuts your words short with a kiss, chaste but weighted, settling something deep in your bones that you didn’t know was there. When he pulls back, lips pink and swollen from the nights activities, “I know what you need, Baby. I got you.”
The hand beside your head drifts to where you’re connected, and starts rubbing your clit in tight, slow circles. They follow the pattern of his hips, and Izuku coos when you keen, stomach flexing as you cave in on yourself. It’s just along the line of too much, edging slightly past that border—it’s perfect.
“You look so pretty like this,” Izuku pants into your mouth, and squeezes your palm to stave off his own orgasm with a groan. “So pretty, all mine.”
The wedding rings on your clasped hands glint in your peripheral, bouncing the moonlight in reminder. A reminder that, yes, you’re all his—but also, he’s all yours. You choke on a whimper, biting your lip.
“I love you,” you breathe, your proud reservations stripped by intimacy and leaving you bare. Bare and bleeding, heart open and chest out, as you pass it to him for the thousandth time. When Izuku sniffles, you lift a weak hand to thumb a tear from rolling down his cheek. His eyes widen a little, when he realizes he’s crying.
“Sorry,” he huffs a wet laugh, tucking his head into your shoulder to keep him from further embarrassment. You let him, uncaring to how he soaks your top in the process. “S-Sorry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” you manage past a moan, a hand coming up the nape of his neck and tangling until it fits. Luckily, the lump in your throat is easier to swallow the longer you teeter on the edge. “I get it.”
“I just—” Izuku shudders a breath, but his hips never stop moving. It’s a weird combination of feelings—elation for two very different reasons—and it softens everything at the edges, blurs it all just enough to feel safe. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved something like this. I love you so much, it hurts.”
His voice cracks, and you, along with it—a hairline fracture shattering into the vague shape of your husband, ensuring that he fits, that he stays.
And, when you both cum at the same time, a cosmic alignment of two souls so perfectly intertwined that they become one, the cicadas sing along with you.
HANTA SERO
You haven’t seen Hanta Sero in years.
Not since high school graduation, you think. Not since you two went your separate ways for college, not since your families stopped hanging out so much, because people grow and change and most friendships are situational at that age.
The backyard to your family’s lake house is quiet now, save for cicadas, and the sound of a flicking lighter, still in the stiff humid air.
“So,” Hanta asks, lifting the joint to his lips. He’s sat comfortably—in a chair with his feet propped on the wrought iron table like he never left. And, in some ways, he didn’t. “How’ve you been?”
You still have the sweatshirt he let you borrow at that one football game, the socks he left at your place once because he ‘needed to let his feet breathe,’ whatever that means. You still have the memories, of him as your prom date (important note: as friends), of him sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of him getting caught sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of your first kiss in middle school.
No matter what, no matter how many of his things you throw away or give back, Hanta Sero sticks to you like the scent of weed after smoking in a circle—unavoidable, all consuming. Seemingly permanent, even when he’s no longer there.
This, though. This feels awkward. This feels like you two are still trying to get back to who you used to be—like you haven’t changed as people, completely.
Like it hasn’t been five years since you’ve seen him last.
“I’ve been good,” you nod, voice a little hopeful and a lot exhausted. “Work, friends…it’s all chill. You?”
He passes the joint. You take it graciously, and try to forget that his lips have been all over it.
“Decent,” he shrugs, teetering his head before he fully reclines in the chair and rests big hands behind his head. “Internships done, so, ‘m coming back home. Can’t tell whether it feels good yet, though.”
You scoff, nodding in agreement. “Moving back in with your parents is a…conflicting experience.”
“Right?” He almost says with relief, like he’s happy to not be the only one feeling it. That pressure. “Like, I don’t have to pay for laundry anymore—”
“Which is amazing,” you add, nodding, and pass the joint back.
“—or like, food, for the most part, but also, I’m back to living with my parents, so. You win some, you lose some.”
He weighs the options in both hands, smoke curling from the sudden movement. You smile, and maybe, possibly, say something slightly out of pocket. You mimic his gesture.
“You get to hang out with me again, but you get to live with your parents.”
“Exactly,” Hanta snaps and points without hesitation—the lack of it takes you by surprise. You think there’s more to that sentence, but there isn’t.
You two fall into a comfortable silence, watching the sun set on the horizon and douse everything orange, listening to cicadas chirp and leaves rustle, the chatter of your families inside the house filling the gaps. Someone must’ve said something really funny, probably at someone else’s expense, because the living room erupts on the other side of the wall. Even though you can’t see it, you smile at the wooden slats.
“I missed you.”
You look up—Hanta’s staring with something that’s not quite a smile, but not quite nothing, either—it’s a smile in his eyes, maybe, a glint of relative, peaceful amusement, and you falter. The setting sun emphasizes the soft edges, you think. It’s just a trick on the eyes.
The joint is more of a roach, at this point, and it nearly burns your fingertips as you pass it back.
“I missed you, too,” you cough, words a little rushed. Hanta’s full smile breaks across his face, finally escaping through the tight iron bars of it’s imprisonment.
“I can’t tell,” he says just before biting on the joint, and you huff.
“What do you want me to do?” You roll your eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Worship the ground you walk on?”
Hanta shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Mm, I feel like it should be the other way around,” you argue, gesturing until it vaguely represents a switch. “I feel like you should worship the ground I walk on, y’know?”
Hanta lifts an eyebrow, and moves to snuff the last glowing embers in the ash tray. They look like tiny flecks of sunset, flickering in just as bright of an orange. “What if I do?”
You choke.
On air, on smoke, on…something, but you choke. Hanta chuckles from his chest at the sight, licking his lips and finally, looking back to witness your aggressively flustered state.
“What if…I told you that I every time I saw your Instagram story, I’d get a little bitter.”
You swallow. You don’t know what you’d do if he told you that—but, he kind of already has, so. Cue the panic.
“I’d tell you that, uh, it’s good that you’re back, because now you can be in them,” you exhale. Great cover. Magnificent.
When Hanta flirts, it’s not a light joke. It’s…it’s batten down the hatches, lock the doors, and lock the locks on top of the locked door. He speaks with a smoothness that makes Katsuki’s knees weak, and he doesn’t like anyone save for Eijirō and himself. (Platonically—but also, romantically.)
You’ve been on the receiving end, occasionally. It’s a natural thing for him—just something Hanta does, who he is, whether he’s interested in a person or not. That’s not exactly what this feels like, though. It doesn’t feel hypothetical.
Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like you already hold his world on his shoulders, and he’s forever indebted to you for it. With intention.
“And, what if I told you I didn’t just want to be in them, but I want to be with you in them.”
Now. Do you understand what he’s getting at? Maybe. Possibly.
But—
“You’re saying the same thing twice,” you deadpan, resting your chin on a hand. Hopefully, the hot metal grating into your elbow is grounding. It is—but not enough. “I don’t want your riddles, Hanta, I’m high.”
He chuckles, looking off into the sunset with a tongue poking his cheek so hard it bends under the pressure. Then, he looks back, with something new in his eyes—a fire. A determination. Like it was grabbed from the sun itself.
“What if I told you to be my girlfriend.”
You make a small, pathetic noise—one akin to a small bird’s squawk, and Hanta snorts as your eyes go round. You swallow, again—because of cotton mouth, obviously. Not because he makes you nervous.
“I’d…” you gulp, damn you cotton mouth, “I’d tell you to take me on a date, first.”
His grin slips into something mischievous, something plotting. Something you know that you’ll regret, later. (What type of regret, though, and how much—that’s the question.)
“I can do that,” he shrugs, reaching into his pocket for another joint. You know he’ll have to face that one alone—you know he knows—because your eyes are already red and dry, and your tolerance is much lower than when you saw him last. His, seemingly, is just the same, and how someone smokes that much without getting a headache is beyond you.
“Can you?” You challenge, even if you know he can, better than most, because it’s Hanta. Hanta, who you met the first day of kindergarten, missing both front teeth with a Spiderman band-aid over his cheek. Hanta, who got into a fight in middle school because someone called you ugly. Hanta, who’s been as permanent of a fixture in your life as the stars, constantly revolving around you like you’ve got your own gravity. Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—
Hanta chuckles at the slight, lighting the new joint between his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow. “Find out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.”
He doesn’t give you much room to protest, so you just nod.
And, when he offers the joint, despite your earlier lamentations, you take it with shaking hands, because holy shit, holy shit—
TW/CW: 18+, smut, p in v, creampie, dumbification, bimbo! reader technically not really bc she smart, older! bf! Katsuki, established relationship, early relationship—still finding things out about each other, manhandling, fingering, petnames, condescension (?), longggg intro sorry
A/N: grad gift to myself i guess… dumbification make me go brrrrr. I must remind everyone that YES bakugo smart, but he did not go to university
With dinner finished, the rest of the evening fell into a familiar rhythm. The television played some late-night programme Katsuki had inevitably become invested in, though you couldn’t have said what it was about. Tonight was your study night, which meant your textbook captured your attention while you occupied his lap instead of the cushion beside him.
It was a common arrangement the two of you had settled into over the past couple of months without ever really discussing it. You studied. He watched television. Somewhere along the way, one of his hands always found your thighs.
Only tonight, his attention drifts from the screen. His eyes catch the pages spread open across your lap; paragraphs packed with diagrams, strange bold terminology, and long strips of letters that looked more like a cypher than writing.
He frowns at the pages; come to think of it, he had absolutely no idea what you were studying, not even a little. His thumb traces absent circles against your skin as he rests his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“So,” he murmurs, voice warm with curiosity, “what’re you actually studying, sweetheart?”
“Oh! Genetics.” You brighten immediately, clearly passionate.
Tilting the textbook towards him, you proudly show off the page. Dense paragraphs. Colourful chromosome diagrams. Words that made his eyes glaze over before he’d even finished reading the first sentence.
Katsuki stares. “Genetics?”
“Mhm.” You nod happily.
“It’s one of my modules this semester. At the moment I’ve got genetics, bioinformatics and genomics,” You pause, counting on your fingers. “and soil ecology.”
Katsuki responds with silence for a moment, blinking once, then twice. You wait patiently.
“You lost me after genetics.”
A quiet laugh escapes you. “I know.”
“No, seriously.”
He glances back down at the textbook as though it might suddenly become more comprehensible.
“What the hell’s bio… bioinfo…”
“Bioinformatics.”
“That.”
“It’s using computers to analyse biological data.”
“Right.”
He nods with complete confidence. He understood absolutely none of that.
“You know,” he admits after a moment, “I just realised I’ve never actually asked what you’re studying.”
“I never really talked about it.”
“I kinda just,” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “figured university was where you disappeared to during the day while I’m at work.”
“It kinda is.” You giggle.
Another silence settles between you. His eyes wander back to the textbook. Then to you. Then back again.
“You’re really studying all this?”
“Mhm.”
“And you understand it?”
You look at him with complete innocence. “Yeah?”
It was the confusion in your expression that finally made it click. You weren’t pretending. This wasn’t difficult for you; it was normal. Katsuki felt like someone had quietly rewritten everything he’d assumed. His girlfriend—who collected plushies, wore everything in shades of pink, talked to animals like they were people and had meltdowns over getting her outfit just right—was frighteningly intelligent.
“You’re scary.”
“I am?” You ask with a little frown.
“A little.”
“I don’t think genetics is scary.”
“No, sweetheart.”
He laughs, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your waist. “I mean you.”
“I thought you were just,” He hesitatingly continues, “Cute?”
“Can’t I be cute and smart?”
He laughs again, “Yeah.”
You smile, pleased with yourself, “Mmh.”
After another comfortable silence, you add almost absent-mindedly, “I’m one of the highest-performing students in biosciences at Musutafu Central.”
Katsuki's hand tracing your thigh froze. “Come again?”
You look back at him. “I’m one of the highest-performing students.”
“At Musutafu Central?”
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for several seconds.
“Angel.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s one of the best universities in the country.”
“I know.”
“You said that like you were telling me the weather.”
“I didn’t think it was important.” You shrug.
He barks out a disbelieving laugh before pressing a kiss against your temple.
“I’ve been spoiling you, kissing you, had your cute ass sitting in my lap for months, and only now I find out you’re secretly a genius.”
“I’m not secretly a genius.”
“No?”
“I’m openly a genius.”
The answer came so earnestly that he burst into laughter.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“My weird little girlfriend.”
Your face lit up. “Oh!” You immediately reach for your phone. “Do you wanna see the bee fridge?”
Katsuki blinks.
“The what?”
“The bee fridge.”
“The bee fridge.”
“Mhm.”
You unlock your bright pink phone, covered in stickers, tiny charms dangling from the case, and proudly hold up the screen.
He looks. Then blinks. Then he looks again.
“Are those…?”
“They’re my bees.”
“In takeout sauce tubs?”
“Mhm.”
“Inside a fridge.”
“The bee fridge.”
He looks at the phone. Then at you. Then back at the phone.
“Sweetheart. What exactly am I looking at?”
“The bees are sleeping.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You have to chill them before handling them.” You explain it with the same casual tone someone might use to explain how to boil pasta: “They slow down when they’re cold, so they don’t sting you.”
“Right.”
“So they have naps.”
He rubs his free hand over his face.
“You call temporary cold-induced stupor-”
“A nap.”
“A nap.”
“Mhm.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “You are the cutest nerd I’ve ever met.”
You beam at the compliment.
“I was testing the LD₅₀ of a new pesticide.”
His smile disappears.
“You were doing what?”
“It’s the lethal dose.”
“The lethal-”
“Fifty.”
“Angel.”
“Mhm?”
“I understood exactly three words in that sentence.”
You laugh, leaning back against him. “It’s basically figuring out how much pesticide it takes before fifty per cent of the bees die.”
“Right...”
“It helps determine toxicity.”
He stares at the phone again.
“So, you bought bees. Put them in little tubs. Made a bee fridge. Then scientifically poisoned them.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds mean.”
He looks at you with complete disbelief before laughing so hard he nearly missed the television entirely. “I’ve been dating an adorable little scientist this whole time.”
You nod proudly, “They let me be a scientist.”
“They really do.”
“And I’m good at it.”
“Yeah,” he mutters softly, kissing your hair, “I can see that.”
For a moment, he let you continue, trying to focus his attention back on the late-night rerun of a film he liked. It took him less than five seconds for his rough hand to continue its pattern up your thigh, tracing shapes into your skin with his thumb. You shiver lightly as he massaged the soft flesh of your inner thigh, instantly making his attention snap back to you.
“Easily distracted, aren’t you?” Katsuki smirks against your shoulder. “Find out you’re the smartest girl I know, yet here you are, pausing everything because I touched you.”
He tugs you closer, getting you settled as close as possible between his thighs, your back pressed to his chest. “Can’t help yourself, hm? Getting all needy on me?”
You shudder as his touch draws closer, the heat suddenly pooling between your thighs; you quickly shut the textbook, discarding it with ease.
“Don’t be mean-“ You whine, throwing the book to the side to hold onto his strong arm instead.
“Not being mean,” Katsuki corrects, his voice low as he noses against the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing soft kisses there, “Just think it’s cute how easy it is to fluster you. Find out you’re some little nerd and you still turn to putty if my hands are on you.”
His hand slides higher, tracing the fabric of your tiny sleep shorts, “You’re just too cute not to.”
It had become commonplace for Katsuki to place his hand over the plush of your mound, his middle finger pushing against the damp spot of your sleep shorts, already soaking through your panties at just a hint of his touch.
“Keep talking, sweetheart,” he murmured against your shoulder, pressing a little harder against your needy cunt, “tell me more about how smart you are. Don’t get distracted by me.”
You can only shudder, like your brain immediately shuts offline the second he wraps around you.
“Can’t think about stuff when you’re playing with me,” you barely manage to stutter out, gasping when he pulls your shorts and panties to the side, dragging his calloused fingers through the arousal soaking from your cunt.
“Baby,” he pouts, patronising and mean, “you say that like it’s a bad thing. Such a smart girl n’ your pretty little head goes empty when I touch you here.”
You whimper pathetically, hips arching and chasing into his touch as he skillfully circles your throbbing clit.
“You gonna be a good girl? Keep talking about your studies f’me while I play with this pretty pussy?”
You can only shake your head, thighs already trembling as he keeps you spread wide, biting your lip to muffle mortifying little moans.
“No? So smart n’ yet so dumb by my fingers,” Katsuki chuckles gruffly, teasing at your hole before finally filling you with his fingers, making you arch your back and let out a sweet little gasp that went straight to his spine, “gonna let me break that pretty little brain? Fuck you stupid?”
You nod, your gasps mixing with the lewd sounds of his fingers scissoring your gummy walls. Your toes curl as he curls against the spot that makes your tummy tighten.
“That’s my girl,” he mutters, stroking just right, making you see white, studying now firmly the furthest thing from your mind, “you gonna cum around my fingers, n’ then I’ll really fuck all the thought outta you.”
His thumb joins his fingers, circling against your sensitive nerves, quickly pushing you to the edge and over with a wanton, broken cry of his name, gushing over his digits, thighs clamping around his wrist.
He doesn’t give you time to rest, hands slotting under your knees as he lifts you, still keeping his chest to your back. He’s fast, with one arm joining under both your legs, freeing himself in one rough motion, his cock heavy; already flush and leaking.
The slide of his aching tip between your folds makes you spasm, jolts going down your spine, unable to move much in the way he has you held.
He sinks you roughly, settling to the hilt, stretching your snug cunt around him. “Katsuki-!” You whine high in your throat, the sudden fullness knocking the air from your lungs.
He keeps his arm under your knees, spread open and helpless, shuddering as he thrusts his hips up slowly, grinding against every spot that makes your legs jolt.
Your nails scramble across his bicep, looking for purchase; he gives you no time to adjust as slow rolls turn to a punishing, mean pace. He fucks up into you, snapping his hips against yours, groaning deeply every time your walls clench and flutter around his length.
“Yeah, baby, I know,” Katsuki grunts, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl, “gonna get that pretty brain melted, hm?”
His free hand, the one not holding you, reaches down, drawing mean hearts against your clit. Your back bows, cunt clenching around him, coming undone without room to move. Katsuki groans, nearly pained at the sudden tightness, the sound of skin on skin thumping in the quiet living room of his apartment.
He follows soon after, biting his lip to muffle his moans, cursing under his breath as he spills inside of you, filling up your tummy with white warmth. He doesn’t let you go as he grinds up into you, rolling you both through the aftershocks.
♯ looks like someone made the mistake of flirting with you today.. not that they could've known you were already dating suguru geto! keeping your relationship under wraps has its downsides, though, and judging by the displeased look on your boyfriend's face, he's not taking it very well. twt link
"you seemed so friendly today," he whispered, "so open. i wonder if you were thinking about how much you wanted this while you were flirting with him."
“i wasn't flirting, suguru— please," you whined, your voice muffled by the pillow.
"i don't care what you call it. you still let him get too close." he pressed the head of his dick firmly against your entrance, but made no effort to slide in. "now, fuck yourself. move back onto it on your own. i want to see you take it."
you hesitated, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the slight furrow of his brows and the subtle narrowing of his eyes. he groaned a little at the sight. god, you looked like such a mess. "it huuurts! you're too big, just push it in—"
the sound of his palm connecting with your ass echoed through the room, making you gasp and arch your back instinctively.
"did i ask for your opinion?" suguru hissed, his voice devoid of its usual calm. "i told you to move. do it, or i'll give you something real to complain about."
tears pricked your eyes, but the sting of the slap had awakened a desperate need in you. shaking, you shifted your weight, sliding your hips backward. you felt him slide in slowly, the girth stretching you wide, filling you completely. you then let out a choked moan, your fingers clutching the pillowcase.
"thaaat’s it," he murmured, the anger in his voice giving way to quiet satisfaction. "that’s my girl."
as you continued to move, backing up onto him in slow, tentative rhythms, suguru began to meet you. every time you retreated, he gave a gentle, shallow thrust, teasing you, making you crave the depth he was withholding.
eventually, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a rhythmic, wet thud that drowned out everything else. the long-haired man had you pinned face down, your tits crushed into the pillows and your hips hoisted high in the air, leaving you completely exposed to his wrath.
he was pounding into you with a relentless, punishing pace. each thrust was deep and hard, bottoming out against your cervix and sending waves of pleasure and pressure through your entire body. you were whimpering now, loud, uncontrolled moans escaping you as you shook under the force of his assault.
his fingers were dug deep into the soft flesh of your hips, bruising your skin as he anchored you in place, ensuring you felt every single inch of his girth bottoming out against your cervix.
"still thinking about him?" suguru groaned, his voice a low, dangerous rasp against the shell of your ear. he slammed into you again, the impact jarring your entire frame.
"tell me— while i’m fucking you like this, are you still thinking about how close he was to you?"
"no— god— suguru, please!" you cried into the pillow, your voice muffled and desperate. your body was shaking, your internal muscles clamping tight around him with every heavy thrust.
“i— it was never like that!”
“yeah?”
“uh huh!”
"just answer me," he commanded, his tone cold despite the heat of their bodies. he pulled back nearly all the way, teasing your entrance, before driving himself back in with a violent surge that made you squeal. "who do you belong to?"
"shit!— you— i'm yours, sugu— only yours!" you yelped out, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets.
"uh huh, that's right baby."
he shifted his grip, moving one hand from your hip to the small of your back. suguru pressed his palm firmly against your spine, forcing you to arch your back even further, tilting your pelvis up to create an even steeper, more vulnerable angle. the change in position allowed him to hit that sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
"oh god— r— right there!— suguru!" you gasped, your hips instinctively bucking back against him, trying to swallow him whole.
the sound of you pleading only seemed to fuel him. suguru let out a grunt, pounding into you now, his movements much more primal and possessive. the wet, slapping sound of his balls hitting your ass echoed through the room, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he was dominating you.
as he leaned closer, his long hair slipped over his shoulders, feathering gently against your spine.
"you love it when i’m like this, don't you?" he panted, his breath hot and ragged. "you loooove knowing that i can do whatever i want to you."
"yes— yes, i do! pleeease— you’re so big!" you whimpered out, your face sinking into the pillow as he reached down, his fingers briefly threading through your hair, gently urging you to stay where you were.
“you can take it, baby.”
“f— faster! mmmh— i’m sososo close! don’t stop!”
he didn't need to be told twice. suguru gripped your waist with bruising force, pulling you flush against him as he delivered a series of rapid, shallow thrusts that built the tension to a breaking point, before slamming deep one last time.
he held you there, pinned and trembling, as he felt your walls begin to spasm in a violent orgasm.
"thereee we go" he hissed, pressing a sloppy kiss to the back of your neck, "lemme feel your pretty cunt squeeze me while you remember exactly who you belong to."
as you came, suguru let out a loud, guttural groan. he drove himself in as deep as possible, his dick pulsing as he filled you deep inside with hot, thick cum.
"is this what you wanted?" he asked moments later, letting out a quiet scoff as his palms moved slowly along your sides in an attempt to soothe you, his eyes glued to your figure that stayed motionless on the bed, "to be used like this? to have me remind you who you actually belong to?"
“i missed your dick,” you murmured, squirming around a bit.
“you are so stupid.”
okay now omw to respond to the megumi stuff in my inbox because ik some of u don’t play abt this man 😭😭😭😭
🍫Summary: Cameron Cade has been exhausted with the pressures of his football career and as his doting girlfriend, you want to help him out!
Cameron sat on the couch, leg bouncing, and his head in his hands. He looked like the epitome of tired. You couldn’t bear to see your boyfriend like this.
Cameron has a bit of an aggressive streak, especially after he had to get stitches on the side of his head. A small resemblance of what he lived and breathed for.
Football.
Being number one was no walk in the park. Everyone was constantly on his ass. Practices had to be perfect, answers had to be perfect. His image had to be perfect.
He was tired. So overwhelmed, he couldn’t even look at you once he got home. The room felt heavy as his large stature rested on the couch. You watched him, a soft empathy in your eyes.
You were the sweetest girl on campus, always wearing light colors, smiling at everyone, never saying no. Who would’ve thought you would end up with Cameron Cade of all people?
Once he asked you to help him pass a test, he was head over heels. It took him a while to win you over, with you knowing his reputation. But you saw a side others didn’t tend to see, allowing him to take hold of your heart.
He was careful with it, treating you like fragile glass. Whenever he was in a mood, he made it his mission to not be around you, in an attempt to not dampen yours.
Tonight, you wanted to help.
Your sock-covered feet made their way over to him, fingers twitching, debating on touching the clearly drained man.
“Cam?” Your soft voice whispered, and he looked up at you. His eyes drooped, frown etched into his face. “You should go, ma. I’m just a bit tired right now.” He explained.
He planted a small kiss on your waist, as a small show of affection even while he was down in the dumps.
“I’m not going anywhere.” You placed one hand on his buzz cut, running your fingers through his hair. You made sure to avoid the stitches, not wanting to hurt him.
“Ma—” “I’m serious Cam, let me be here for you.” You sat down next to him, hand trailing to his defined back and you rubbed it in comforting circles.
He let out a sigh, too tired to fight against his clearly concerned girlfriend. “I’m so tired.” He mumbled, head resting on your shoulder.
You kissed his forehead, allowing him to let out his frustration. “I’m so frustrated, all this bullshit everybody keep putting on my shoulders.”
You nodded even though you didn’t understand. You racked your brain on ways to help.
Play football with him? Absolutely not. Cook for him? He already ate. Make him feel good? Now that’s something you can do.
“Let me take care of you, baby.” You told him, fingers gently tugging at his belt. “I can’t let you do that, ma.” He rested his heavy hand on yours.
You were his princess, he couldn’t put you in that much trouble. He’s always been gentle with you, not wanting to accidentally hurt you.
Cameron understands he’s bigger than you and his sport gives him a natural aggression.
“Please, Cam!” You pouted, it didn’t take him much convincing. “Just be gentle, okay?” you suggested.
The suggestion must’ve been optional.
•••
Plap. Plap. Plap.
Tears streamed down your face as you felt Cameron’s heavy dick drop inside of you. “Fuckkk, this my pussy, hm?” he teased. “Y-yes, daddy,” you whimpered.
The way he has you bent over the arm of the couch has you losing your mind. He’s been digging in you for the past, you couldn’t even count.
Your ass bounced against his hips as your eyes rolled back. Your legs shook, struggling to hold yourself up. The only thing keeping you slightly balanced was the hand of Cameron pressing down on you.
“I love you, ma,” He grunted, pounding into you. “Lo—ughhh—fuck.” Your nails dug into the couch while you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath.
He was so deep, you didn’t know if you could continue to take it any longer. You already came on him multiple times, building the white frothy ring around his dick.
Your head dropped to the couch, brain melting with every thrust of his dick. You knew he was getting all his stress out but my goodness how much was in there?
You felt a striking smack on your ass making you gasp, clenching around him. “Get a lil farther up there,” Cam said, he lifted your hips, guiding you farther across the arm of the couch.
Once he saw your hips angled up, just enough to see your swollen pussy, he let you go. Your legs dangling in the air, toes just barely brushing against the floor.
“Shit, wait,” your hand flew out, pressing against his abs. “nah, you wanted to help,” he grasped your hand, bending it to rest on your back. “Take that shit.” He mumbled.
His hips snapped into you, jolting your body forward. Drool fell from your mouth as you took every inch. The soft squelch of your soaking pussy made him groan. Your eyes were struggling to flick back to reality, hoping he would ease up on you.
At this rate you were about to squirt all over the floor, and the many times he had made you squirt, it was everywhere. “P-please.” Your voice cracked.
“Daddy ain’t done, baby.” He grunted. The name use made you clench around him. Your whimpers grew louder as you felt the familiar thump against your entrance.
“I-I’m bout to-,” you were cut off by a loud moan, feeling the release of pressure from your stomach. Usually Cameron would have let up but he only sped up, forcing more fluid out.
“Squirting all over the place, mhm.” He landed one sharp smack on your butt making you moan. He was obsessed with the feeling of you clenching around him, and the ripple of your ass.
Cameron loved the sight of you losing it, only feeling the desire to feed you more strokes. Just as you said, him using you took stress off his shoulders.
He was finally able to take control and have something for himself. You spread out for him, taking everything he was giving you.
His balls slapped against your clit, wet and heavy only causing waves of sensitivity. He pulled out quickly, replacing his dick with his fingers in no time.
His middle and ring finger thrusted inside of you, biting his lower lip causing his dimples to pop out. Your free hand shot out, catching his wrist but not doing much to stop his movement.
“Gimme some more, ma.” He demanded, fingers curling inside of you, rubbing your gummy walls. Your legs shivered as you cried out, other hand smacking against the couch.
His fingers were relentless, sending you through another wave of sensitivity which led to another orgasm. “Oh my—nnghhh,” you tried to crawl forward on the couch in the midst of your orgasm.
Cameron’s hand held you down, “Stay right fuckin’ there. This my pussy so let me have it,” he said. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss on your ass.
He watched as your body shook coming down from your second orgasm. You let out a sigh feeling Cameron removed his fingers with a small light smack against your clit. The impact made you jolt along with a gasp of surprise.
Cameron grabbed your waist, turning you to lay flat on your back. Your eyes found his and his shirt up his torso, showcasing his abs that he spent so long in the gym for. His eyes were low lidded with a hungry gaze.
His hands rubbed against your thighs that were trembling from the harsh pounding. “My poor baby,” he mocked, his bottom lip poking out.
“You think you can take some more?” He asked. You nodded, barely able to form words. “Y-yes, daddy.” He didn’t have to hear anything else, and slid inside of you.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping at the friction. “Mhm, my baby can take it.” He placed his hand on your lower tummy. The soft pudge was pliable underneath his hand.
You nodded your head with a whimper, and he mocked you, head following yours. “‘Bout to make me nut, fuck.” He mumbled. He leaned down, large body towering over you.
He was huge, you could barely see past his shoulders. His weight pressed against you, only elevating the pleasure. His body was warm, and solid. He shuddered as you continued to moan and whimper directly in his ears. “I’m gonna—,”
“Give it to me daddy, please—I got you.” You whispered while panting softly in his ear. Hearing your sweet voice beg and comfort him immediately made his eyes roll back.
He released inside of you, hips stuttering with a deep groan in your ear. His palm rested on the side of your ass, gripping it from the overwhelming sensation.
“I love you, ma,” he said before kissing the shell of your ear. “I love you too.” You mumbled catching your breath.
He slowly pulled out of you, rubbing his hands all over your body. “You’re so pretty.” He smiled, giving you a peck on your lips.
He helped you sit up, legs shaking and body sore. “I’m sorry, ma.” He said noticing the slight wince. He hates to see his baby in pain, “no, it’s okay, I loved it. Do you feel better?”
He didn’t hesitate to nod, he actually did.
But if this is what happens when you sees he’s stressed, he’s about to start faking a lil bit.
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