HUMP, LITTLE BUNNY!
feat. umemiya, endo, togame, chika
sum. what someone—you— would get if they are being a brat? a punishment? maybe. is it them refusing to give you want while you are desperate like a bunny in heat, humping on their tight is a part of a punishment? probably.
warning. dry-humping, brat-tamer wbk men, praise(s)/kink, overstim, nipsplay, petnames, slap, hair-pulling, dirty-talk(s), tied-up (just a wee), mean chikaaaa.
# UMEMIYA HAJIME
umemiya’s blue eyes are glued to the tv behind you, the flickering screen casting faint shadows across his sharp features. his expression is calm, unbothered—he’s clearly trying to make a point.
you, however, have other plans. seated on one of his thighs, you squirm slightly, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt as you try to draw his attention. but he doesn’t waver, ignoring your antics with the kind of patience that only makes your frustration grow.
“baby, please…” your voice comes out soft, almost breathless as you lean closer, resting your head against his neck. your lips graze his skin, warm and inviting, as you fan his collar with quiet desperation. a soft, desperate, whiney moan tear down from your lips the heartbeat your hips roll slowly on his thigh. your short jeans is long gone and the pink, lacy underwear visible to your boyfriend— the soft fabric of your panties leaving little to the imagination.
he only lets out a scoff, as if you are some kind of petulant child looking for attention and praise. he is far too used to these antics of yours by now, so he doesn’t give in, not even when you are this much of a needy, whiny mess. he acts as if he was deaf to how pleading, how desperate your voice sounds, as your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your lips grazing his skin.
the TV’s show is enough to keep him occupied, his fingers resting lazily on the couch.
the tip of your tongue brushes against his neck. he doesn’t move, doesn’t react, not even when your teeth dig into his skin. the only response you get from him is a low noise, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. he can feel your body pressing against his, the heat of your skin, the softness of your curves against his thigh.
but you are not giving up that easily. it is clear that you are determined to prove a point today, no matter what it takes. your hands are more insistent now, your fingers wandering across the expanse of his chest and abs, tracing lazy patterns across his clothes.
you make sure that you are straddling his thigh at the perfect angle, so that every rock of your hips is more calculated and needy than the last, the friction making you whimper softly, almost pitifully. “give me attention, pleaseee..” drawing out the edge of your whiney, drag another breathless moan.
he still doesn’t say anything, his eyes focusing on the TV even as he feels your body writhing against him, your hips rolling slowly against his thigh. your desperate little whimpers and moans are music to his ears, but he continues to keep his composure, acting like they mean nothing to him. he can hear the neediness in your voice loud and clear, but he doesn’t give in, pretending not to notice the effect he is having on you. “pay attention,” he finally says, his voice calm and firm. “the show is on.”
you pout at his dismissal, your frustration building as he continues to ignore you. you know that he is intentionally trying to make you beg and squirm, but you are not ready to give him that satisfaction so quickly. instead, you press closer to him, grinding your hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm.
you start to pepper kisses along his neck, your lips trailing across his skin, your tongue slowly teasing and exploring, as your hands continue their dance over his chest and abs. your body moves is more urgent now, your need to be touched, to be wanted, driving your every action. you whimper and whine in his ear, your words coming out in a jumbled, incoherent mess. “no, i don’t want to watch your stupid show, i want you to touch me,” you demand, getting more bratty than you should.
your bratty attitude and demands only serve to amuse him, his eyes flickering back to you for the first time since the start of this whole thing. he lets out a low chuckle, as his fingers move to your hips, holding them in place. his hands grip firmly, not letting you continue your movements with his thigh. “stop being a needy little brat.” he says, his voice authoritative and firm as he speaks. “you’re not going to get what you want by being like this, and you know it. stop pouting and behave. the show is on.”
you are clearly not pleased with his response, and you try to squirm away from his grip on your hips. but he holds you in place, his smirk widening as he watches your frustration growing. he knows that you are impatient and entitled, and he seems to relish at the sight of you being denied what you want.
“don’t make this difficult, sweetie,” he says, his voice still calm and firm. “be a good girl and sit still, watch TV, and maybe, just maybe, i will consider giving you some attention later. but not if you continue to act like a spoiled little brat.”
the word “brat” only serves to rile you up more. it’s a word he has called you countless times before, and you know that he’s not entirely wrong. you pout, but you stop squirming, begrudgingly obeying his orders. you let out a huff, annoyed that he’s still not giving you what you want.
so you start to tease him instead, moving your lips back to his neck and trailing kisses along his skin. you press your body closer to his, feeling the heat radiating from his body. and when just a little bit his grip loosen up, your hips back on track, slowly dancing on his thigh while your arms find his neck, wrap securely.
this time, he doesn’t stop you. he lets you continue to kiss his neck and move your hips against his thigh, but his hands remain firmly on your hips, steadying your movements and keeping you from getting any more worked up than you already are. “such a needy, shameless little brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “you just can’t help yourself, can you? always so desperate for my attention.”
you know that you’ve gotten him to crack, and emboldened by his response, you increase the intensity of your movements, pressing your body closer and moving more urgently against him. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself tight against his body, as your lips continue to explore his skin.
your lips press near his ear, hot breath brushing against his skin while you shamelessly moan out his name, “haji...” your hips are rolling in a slow, torturous manner, just enough to make him feel each and every movement, but not enough to fully satisfy your needs.
your shameless display of neediness and desire is hard for him to ignore, and he can feel his resolve slipping with each and every one of your movements and moans. your body is flushed and warm against his, your breath hot on his ear, and the way you moan his name makes his pulse quicken.
he doesn’t say anything at first, his fingers digging into your hips harder, his grip keeping you steady while you grind against him. his eyes are locked on the TV, his expression trying to remain impassive, but you can feel the growing effect you are having on him. “do you really need attention that badly, hm?” his voice is husky, his fingers tightening on your hips as you move against him. “i’ve never seen you this needy before, baby. are you really that desperate for my touch?”
he can feel your body quivering against him, your moans and whimpers getting more intense with each movement of your hips. he can feel you getting desperate, and he is clearly enjoying teasing and drawing this out. he turns his head slightly, his lips grazing your earlobe as he speaks, the sound of his voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.
“i won’t give you what you want until you ask nicely, baby. you know that. so stop acting like a spoilt brat and use your manners.”
# YAMATO ENDO
endo sits on the couch, a cigarette lazily balanced between his fingers, the faint curl of smoke rising and lingering in the dim light. his usual smirk plays on his lips, lazy and almost mocking, as his sharp blue eyes stay locked on you—half-lidded, hooded with something unreadable, yet so intense it makes your breath hitch.
you’re perched on his lap, knees on either side of his hips, wearing nothing but your panties—soaked— that ride up scandalously as you shift. his free hand rests casually on your thigh, the warmth of his palm burning through your skin as if he’s daring you to break the tension. “please,” you whimper, voice shaky, your fingers curling into his shirt. your body trembles slightly, and you lean closer, the weight of his gaze alone enough to make you crumble.
endo tilts his head, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, the smell of nicotine lingering between you. his smirk deepens, his lips twitching with amusement at your desperation. “what’s the magic word, princess?” he murmurs, his tone light but teasing, his fingers brushing along your bare thigh in deliberate, slow strokes.
“baby, please touch me,” you plead again, your voice cracking with need as your covered-cunt meet with his thigh in slow motion. you feel his chest rumble with a low chuckle, his amusement only fueling your frustration.
he takes another long drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray beside him. his thumb continues its maddeningly slow caress along your inner thigh, barely grazing the damp fabric of your panties. “i’m not sure i can be persuaded to indulge such rude behavior,” endo says dryly, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “you’ve been testing my patience all day.”
he leans back against the couch, effortlessly holding your writhing form against his muscular chest. one large hand splayed across your lower back, keeping you pinned to him as you squirm restlessly. “tell me, princess, what exactly do you think you deserve after acting like a spoiled little brat?” endo asks, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine despite his stern words.
your breath catches in your throat as endo’s words wash over you, each syllable dripping with restrained authority. his hand on your back feels like a brand, searing your skin. you’re acutely aware of every point of contact— the press of his chest against your front, his thigh beneath your hip, his thumb skating along your inner thigh...
a thrill of fear and excitement courses through you at his question, making your heart race. you know you should be contrite, apologize for your behavior... but the desire coursing through your veins drowns out any semblance of remorse. “i think i deserve a good fuck,” you admit in a small, shaky voice, the words feeling both terrifying and exhilarating on your tongue— persistent with your bratty behavior.
a low growl rumbles in endo’s chest as you confess your desire, his grip on your back tightening ever so slightly. the sound vibrates against your ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. “you really are a shameless little minx, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he speaks. “so desperate for cock that you’ll beg for it like a common whore?”
despite his harsh words, endo’s free hand reaches up to cup one of your bouncing breasts, his calloused fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive nipple. the sensation makes you gasp, arching into his touch as pleasure sparks through you. his fingers earning a strangled moan, escapes your lips the way his rough fingers sending shockwaves of pleasure through your breast. despite his words, he still hasn’t touched your aching cunt, leaving you to grind wantonly against his thigh in search of friction. you writhe against him, seeking more contact, more pressure, anything to ease the throbbing ache between your thighs.
“mmm,” you pant, your hips bucking wildly against his leg as you chase the elusive relief. the wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, mingling with your ragged breathing and endo’s low groans of approval. despite his cruel words, you don’t care. you’re too far gone, lost in the haze of lust and desperation. all that matters is the pleasure building inside you, the need for release growing with each passing second.
with a wicked grin, endo slowly withdraws his hand from your breast, trailing his fingers down your quivering stomach until they dip beneath the waistband of your soaked panties. he teases your clit with a single digit, circling the swollen nub in maddeningly light strokes that barely register against the intensity of your desire.
“so close, aren’t you, baby?” he purrs, his voice laced with sadistic delight. “just a little more friction, a few more thrusts, and you’d be coming all over my leg like the needy little slut you are.” endo punctuates his words with a firm pinch to your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through you. but rather than increasing the pressure, he abruptly pulls away, leaving you bereft and craving more. a strangled moan and cry run past you lips, a wordless complaints of the missing contact.
“no, no, we can’t have that just yet,” endo says with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “not until you learn some manners, after all.” he shifts his position, standing up from the couch with you still clinging to him. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you towards the bedroom, his strong arms supporting your weight easily.
once inside, endo tosses you onto the bed, watching with a smug smile as you scramble to sit up, panting and flushed with arousal. he begins unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos that cover his chiseled torso inch by delicious inch. “now then, let’s see how well you can behave when ’m done with you,” endo says, his voice low and husky with promise. “get on your hands and knees, princess. it’s time for your punishment.”
# TOGAME JO
togame lies sprawled out on his bed, the definition of lazy defiance. his arm is draped over his eyes, a deliberate barrier against the soft light streaming through the curtains and you—the center of the storm brewing in the room. his lips are pulled into the faintest smirk, one that he’s not even bothering to hide. it’s the kind of smirk that says he’s enjoying this little game far too much.
he’s bare from the waist up, the planes of his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you. his hair is slightly messy, sticking out in places from where he’s likely been lying there all morning, unmoving and unbothered. the shirt he was wearing? gone, and now hanging loose over your frame, its fabric soft and oversized, barely skimming the tops of your thighs. he’s left with nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts, and the smug air of someone who knows he’s in control.
you sit perched on his chest, straddling his waist, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. your hands are flat against his firm chest, fingers curling slightly in frustration as you lean forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“togame,” you whine, your voice edging on a plea. “look at me!”
but he doesn’t move. the arm over his eyes stays stubbornly in place, his tone infuriatingly casual as he mutters, “you’re in the way of my nap.” your pout deepens, your frustration bubbling over as you shift in his lap, trying to coax a reaction out of him by grinding on his hip. he has to bite back a groan as you grind against him, his smirk growing just a little bit wider.
the fabric of his stolen shirt slides against your skin, teasingly brushing his chest as you press your weight down just a little more. he knows how good you look right now; hair tousled, skin flushed, wearing nothing but his shirt. it takes every ounce of his self-control not to throw you down right then and there.
“you’re ignoring me on purpose,” you accuse, your voice rising slightly as you narrow your eyes at him. “pleaseee, need you.”
he takes a deep breath, his arm still covering his eyes as he responds in a low, playful tone. “you’re interrupting my nap, sweetheart.” he says, a hint of a challenge in his voice. “what could you possibly need so badly that you’d bother me?” his teasing words hang in the air, but they barely register in your mind as you move, slow and deliberate, grinding your hips against him. your breath catches in your throat, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips at the friction. the heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, making your skin feel flushed and electrified.
your hands press harder against his chest, fingers splaying across the toned muscles as if trying to ground yourself, though it does little to steady the storm brewing inside you. every subtle movement of your hips sends sparks shooting up your spine, and the way his fingers tighten on your waist only spurs you on, igniting something reckless.
“i... i need you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s laced with desperation, your lips brushing against the corner of his smirk. it feels like he’s consuming you, even as he lies there pretending to be indifferent.
your hips move again, slower this time, dragging out the sensation as your head falls forward, your forehead brushing his collarbone. “jooo…” his name comes out in a breathy plea, and you feel your cheeks burn hotter. a low rumble rises in his chest as you murmur his name, the sound a contradiction to the smirk on his lips. his fingers tighten around your waist, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he resists the urge to take control.
his eyes are still covered by his arm, but the tension in his body is palpable. he can feel the heat radiating from you, and it takes everything he has not to react to the way your hips move against him.
it’s embarrassing, how easily he can reduce you to this—how the lazy smirk on his face, the way his chest rises and falls beneath your hands, and the heat in his half-lidded gaze make you unravel. but you can’t stop. you don’t want to stop.
your fingers curl against his skin, nails dragging lightly as your movements become more insistent. your thighs tremble slightly, and a soft whimper escapes you. “i’m horny,” you confess, your voice cracking as the words spill out unbidden, raw and unfiltered, earning a chuckle from him, almost a mockery.
togame’s breath hitches as your movements grow more insistent, his smirk faltering slightly. your confession only makes his heart beat even faster, and he can feel himself straining against the loose shorts he’s wearing. he lets out a low guttural growl as your nails rake across his skin.
he can’t pretend it doesn’t affect him—he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him. but there’s something thrilling about letting you squirm and beg for him. “oh really?” he says, his voice low and rough. “is that why you’re grinding against me like a needy little thing? because you’re just sooo horny?”
your face flushes at his words, but you can’t deny the truth. you can feel how wet you are, pressing against the fabric of his shorts, rubbing against his hip in a way that’s driving you insane. his hand tightens on your waist, nails digging faintly into your skin as he keeps his other arm firmly covering his face still. “do you need me to take care of you, sweetheart?”
your cheeks burn at his words, the shameless tease in his tone making your stomach twist with both embarrassment and desire. you’re already too far gone to care about how desperate you look, your hips moving instinctively, chasing the friction that makes your head spin. you whimper softly, your hands trembling as they slide up to his arm, gripping it with a mix of need and frustration. “please…” you murmur, your voice cracking, your breath hitching with every movement of your hips. “baby, i need you.”
you tug at his arm, trying to pull it away from his face, but he resists, his smirk evident even without you seeing it. “hmm? need me that badly, huh?” he taunts, his voice low and rough, laced with a wicked amusement that only makes you more desperate. “yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly, almost frantically. “i need you—please, jo.”
your grip on his arm tightens as you finally succeed in pulling it away, revealing his face. his blue eyes are darkened, heavy with lust, and the sight alone sends a shiver down your spine. his lips are parted slightly, and his breath comes quicker now, matching your own while you guide his hand to your breast.
his smirk turns feral as he feels the heat of your skin, his hand moving to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt. he lets out a low growl, his hand squeezing gently. “you’re so needy,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “it’s sexy, how much you want me, how much you need me.”
his hand slides down your stomach, his fingers tracing a feather-light path until they reach the hem of his shorts, which you’re still grinding against. “but are you going to beg for it, like a good little thing?” his eyes meet yours, darkened and intense, waiting for your response. he knows he’s winding you up, but he just can’t help himself, he loves dragging it out, loves watching you come undone.
he sits up abruptly, his hand still on your waist, and pulls you closer, your body now pressed against his. the proximity is dizzying, and his breath is hot against your ear. “go on,” he whispers, his voice a low, sinful melody. “beg me for it.”
his words make your stomach tighten, but instead of giving him what he wants, you let out a soft, frustrated whine, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if trying to fuse yourself to him. “jooo…” you murmur, your voice trembling with need, but there’s no begging in your tone—only a petulant pout that’s clear in the way you press your forehead against his neck, your hot breath ghosting over his skin.
your hips keep moving, the friction driving you wild, and if anything, your movements become even more desperate. your thighs tremble slightly as you grind against him, your nails digging into his back through his skin. you let out another soft whimper, your lips brushing his neck again, this time with more pressure, leaving faint kisses that are more a distraction for yourself than anything else. “please,” you whine, your voice muffled against his skin. “please fuck me.”
his breath hitches as you kiss his neck. your words are like a dagger to his control, and he can feel himself crumbling just a little bit more with every needy whine that falls from your lips. he grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t stop your movements. in fact, he helps you grind against him, guiding you, his own hips rising to meet yours. he lets out a low rumbling growl, the sound like gravel in his throat.
he can feel every shiver, every pant, and every whine, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from grabbing you and throwing you down onto the mattress. but he waits, enjoying the small game of resistance, watching to see how far you’ll go before you finally break. “not what i asked for,” he replies huskily. “again. beg me for it.”
# CHIKA TAKIISHI
chika’s sharp eyes flicker down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches you squirm. his expression is as infuriating as it is intoxicating—calm, collected, and entirely unaffected by your pleas.
you pout, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you shift on his lap, tugging uselessly at the binds that keep your wrists secured behind you. “baby, please…” you whimper, your voice soft, a little shaky. you lean forward, trying to get closer, your face brushing against his neck in a desperate attempt to break through his cold demeanor.
but he doesn’t budge. instead, he leans back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’s completely unbothered. “oh, now you want my attention?” he muses, his tone cutting and laced with mockery. “funny. weren’t you the one acting like a spoiled brat all day?”
your cheeks burn at his words, shame and frustration bubbling up inside you. “i said i’m sorry,” you moan, voice barely above a whisper between your desperate attempt for a friction while grinding your hip on bulge. you try to nuzzle closer, but he tilts his head, just enough to keep you from pressing your face against his neck.
chika’s smirk grows wider as he notices your futile attempts to get closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “apologies don’t fix this, doll,” he drawls, his free hand coming up to toy with a strand of your hair. “and i’m not sure why you think rubbing yourself against me will change my mind.” you let out a soft gasp as his fingers continue their teasing caress along your hairline, the sensation both soothing and maddening. “baby..” you manage to stammer, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your pulse.
his fingers tighten around your hip, applying gentle pressure to still your movements. “you’re not getting out of these restraints until i say so. and even then, there won’t be any more cuddles or sweet talks. just consequences for your behavior.” chika leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “i warned you what would happen if you kept pushing my limits. now look at you— helpless, bound, and begging for mercy. it’s almost... cute.”
a shiver runs down your spine at the husky timbre of chika’s voice, his words sending a thrill of both fear and arousal through you. despite the mocking tone, there’s an undercurrent of dark desire that makes your heart race and your pussy clench against his bulge— hard and hot.
the realization only fuels your desperation, and you strain against the bonds once more, a whine escaping your throat. “please, i promise i'll behave, just... touch me.” chika chuckles low in his throat, clearly entertained by your plight. he tilts his head, considering your plea for a moment before responding in a silky smooth tone. “touch you? where’s the fun in that?”
his hand slides up your side from your hip, fingertips dancing across your ribcage before dipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “you see, when you misbehave, you lose the privilege of my affection,” he explains, his fingers splaying wide across your stomach. “instead, you get to experience the consequences.”
chika’s thumb brushes over your nipple, giving it a light pinch that has you arching into his touch with a startled cry. “but since you’re being so... persistent, i suppose i can grant you a small reward.” his hand trails lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts to cup your ass possessively.
chika gives your ass a firm squeeze, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls you harder against him. “that’s it, baby, grind on my cock like the needy little slut you are,” he growls, his grip tightening as he feels your heat radiating against him.
one hand leaves your ass to trail up your spine, his nails scratching lightly before he grips your hair and yanks your head back. chika claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to stake his claim— choking off your moans, he devours you, claiming every inch of your mouth as his own. he bites at your lower lip, tugging it free before groan in your lips.
breaking the kiss, chika rests his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “you taste so fucking good when you’re desperate,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with lust.
your body trembles under the onslaught of sensations, overwhelmed by the mix of pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. chika’s harsh treatment only serves to heighten your arousal, the sting of his bite on your lip mingling with the tender ache of his fingers on your skin. you moan brokenly, your hips bucking wildly against his as you seek relief from the intense need building within you. “baby. . pleaseee,” you gasp and moan, voice strained and breathless.
but before you can finish your plea, chika’s grip on your hair tightens, forcing your head back further as he captures your mouth again in a searing kiss. swallowing your whimper into his mouth, tongue tangling desperately with his as you cling to the fabric he used to tied your wrist behind, your nails raking down the fabric in a frenzy of need.
chika breaks the kiss with a snarl, his chest heaving as he glares down at you with a mixture of lust and annoyance. “still talking, huh?” he spits, his hand leaving your hair to slap across your cheek with a resounding crack. the blow sends you reeling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“i told you to shut up and take your punishment like a good girl,” he sneers, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts. with a brutal yank, he rips them away, exposing your soaked panties to his hungry gaze. “look at this mess you’ve made,” he taunts, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric. “all because you couldn't control your filthy desires. my, my, what a naughty girl.”
chika’s other hand releases its hold on your hair, instead sliding down to grasp your chin roughly. chika’s eyes blaze with a dark intensity as he stares down at you, his grip on your chin unyielding. “open your mouth,” he commands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. he brings his thumb to your lips, painting them with the slickness of your own desire. “taste how wet you are for me,” he hisses, his free hand reaching between your legs to tear away your panties. "now, suck."
chika presses his thumb against your mouth, forcing it past your lips as he holds your head steady. his other hand begins to stroke your bare cunt, fingers circling your clit with deliberate slowness, denying you any actual contact or relief.
chika smirks as he watches you react to the taste of your own essence, his thumb slowly withdrawing from your mouth with a lewd pop. “good girl,” he purrs, his praise dripping with sarcasm. “now, spread those pretty legs for me.”
he pushes your knees apart roughly, exposing your glistening folds to his ravenous gaze. chika’s fingers trace the delicate skin of your inner thighs, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. “so wet and ready,” he croons, his voice low and approving. “just for me, isn’t it?“
