#muriscenes

[muriscenes]

kissing rin after giving him head, even though he hates it!

inspired by — @itoshigaze :3

Rin's favorite thing to receive from you was your head skills. Every time he won a game, he wanted you on your knees. Every time he lost a game, he wanted you on your knees. You never minded at all. After all, you loved pleasuring your man in that way. But one thing you hated was how he always refused to kiss you afterward.

The idea of him tasting his own cum on your lips turned him off completely. You thought it was stupid. I mean, you always allowed him to kiss you right after he ate you out. So, why was that a huge deal?

Today, you decided that would change. He was coming home around six and he had already told you that he wanted you on your knees the moment he laid down on that bed.

Rin walked in, looking tired from his day but with that familiar spark in his eyes when he saw you waiting in the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his clothes quickly, and climbed onto the bed. Laying against the pillows, his cock already starting to harden as he spread his legs slightly. You moved toward him without a word, dropping to your knees between his thighs on the soft mattress.

You started with your usual routine. Licking the tip of his cock slowly, tasting the salty pre-cum that had gathered there. Your tongue circled the head, pressing flat against the sensitive underside. Rin let out a soft sigh, his hands resting on the sheets beside him. You wrapped your fingers around the base of his shaft and began rubbing up and down in firm strokes, feeling the veins pulse under your palm. You took more of him into my mouth, sliding your lips down the length until you reached halfway, then pulled back with a slight pop that echoed in the quiet room.

His groans grew louder as you repeated the motion, sucking harder each time. Bobbing your head steadily, hand twisting gently at the base to add extra friction.

Rin shifted his hips, thrusting upward into my mouth to push his cock deeper. The sudden movement made you gag a little, throat tightening around him involuntarily. He grabbed a handful of your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, and used that grip to guide me. He forced you down faster, making you take him deeper with each thrust.

The room filled with the wet sounds of your mouth working on him—slurps and pops mixing with his increasing moans. You could feel his cock throbbing against your tongue, growing even harder as you increased the suction. Rin bucked his hips again, driving into your throat.

Every time he was close to cumming, his right thigh would twitch slightly, the muscle contracting under his skin. So you quickened your pace right then, sucking vigorously and stroking the base with your hand in rapid motions. His groans turned into deeper, more urgent sounds. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling just enough to sting.

With a loud groan that filled the bedroom, Rin came with a loud groan. His cock pulsed hard in your mouth, shooting thick ropes of cum straight down your throat.

You kept your lips sealed around him, swallowing some but holding the rest in your mouth as he finished. His body relaxed, as he released my hair and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“You’re the best, baby,” he muttered, his voice husky and satisfied. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.

You kept the warm, salty pool of cum in your mouth, savoring the taste. Without wasting time, you climbed onto the bed and straddled his crotch, positioning your weight on his hips. His eyes opened, and he looked up at you with confusion creasing his brow. You leaned forward, face inches from his.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice uncertain. He placed his hands on your shoulders and tried to push you back gently.

You ignored him and closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a firm kiss. He turned his head slightly, trying to avoid it, but you held his face with one hand and captured his mouth anyway. His eyes widened in surprise. Releasing the cum into his, letting it mix with his saliva and tongues mixing.

Rin whimpered against your lips. “Baby, wait—” he protested, his words muffled. He used his hands to push at my chest, exerting all his strength to create space between us. His legs shifting as he tried to twist away.

You didn’t let him escape as you grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them above his head against the headboard. Your body weight kept him in place, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. You kissed him more aggressively, forcing your tongue past his lips and into his mouth. The cum transferred fully, coating his tongue and the inside of his cheeks. He squirmed beneath you, bucking his hips upward in an attempt to throw you off, but that only pressed his softening cock against your core.

He resisted hard, turning his head side to side, but you followed his movements, keeping both mouths locked. His breaths came in short gasps through his nose, and his tongue pushed back against yours, then more deliberately as the taste spread. You held him down completely, forcing the kiss until he had no choice but to accept it.

Finally, with a loud gasp, you pulled away, breaking the contact. Strings of saliva and cum connected your lips for a second before snapping. You smiled down at him, feeling triumphant. “See, Rinnie? Perfectly fine.”

Rin laid there, staring up at the ceiling with his mouth covered by one hand. His cheeks flushed a deep red, spreading to his neck. He looked shocked and embarrassed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn’t sure to feel turned on or scared. But his body betrayed him as his cock began to harden again beneath you, twitching against your thigh. The evidence of his arousal was clear, growing firmer with each passing second.

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝓢𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒.” — ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ

warnings: this includes somnophilia (engaging in sexual activity with a [un]suspecting sleeping person // dw this is technically consensual) read with caution

The dim glow of your TV screen flickers across the cluttered living room, casting shadows on the pile of empty snack bags and half-drunk soda cans scattered around the coffee table. It's one of those late-night sleepovers with Gojo that always stretch into the wee hours, the kind where time slips away unnoticed amid laughter and zero-filter banter. You're both sprawled on the oversized couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, dressed in those ridiculous matching Hello Kitty pajamas you picked up on a whim during a mall trip last month. The pink fabric is soft against your skin, dotted with cartoon cats that seem almost mocking in their innocence. On your faces, those silly pink sheet masks cling stubbornly, the kind that promise glowing skin but mostly just make you both look like deranged influencers.

Attack on Titan blares from the speakers, the epic clash of titans and scouts filling the air with tension. Eren's latest outburst has you both glued to the screen, though Gojo's commentary is nonstop. “Man, if I had those gears, I'd be zipping around like a pro. Bet I could take down a titan with one hand tied behind my back,” he boasts, his voice muffled slightly by the mask as he shoves another fry into his mouth.

You snort, pausing mid-bite of your In-N-Out burger—the Double-Double with extra cheese, just how you like it. The juicy patty drips a little onto the wrapper, and you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Yeah, right. You'd trip over your own ego before you even reached the wall.” “Pass me the ketchup?”

He tosses the packet your way without looking, his white hair peeking out messily from under the pajama hood. Gojo's always been like this—effortlessly cool. You've been best friends since high school, the kind of duo where personal space is a myth. Hugs linger too long, playful shoves turn into wrestling matches on the floor, and yeah, the occasional peck on the cheek or forehead when one of you is being an idiot. Boundaries? What boundaries?

The episode hits a lull, scouts regrouping after a brutal fight, and you both lean back, masks crinkling as you sigh in unison. “This show's got me thinking,” you say, licking sauce from your fingers. “All this talk about survival and what you'd do in a pinch. Like, if the world ended tomorrow, who'd you trust with your life?”

Gojo tilts his head, blue eyes glinting under the mask's edge. “You, obviously. You're the only one who'd save me.” He grins, that signature cocky smile that always makes your stomach flip just a little, even if you'd never admit it.

You laugh, setting your burger down to adjust the blanket over your lap. The room smells like fast food and the faint citrus scent of the face masks. Outside, rain patters against the window, a cozy backdrop to the chaos on screen. “Same. But seriously, do you ever think we should have boundaries…” “Like… remember that time at the beach when you just... stripped and jumped in the water?“

“Hey, it was hot! And you joined me five seconds later.” He pokes your side, making you squirm. The conversation drifts, as it always does with you two—from anime plot holes to hypothetical disasters. Titans lead to zombies.

“Okay, but real talk,” you say, voice dropping a notch as the show cuts to commercial. “If some creep tried something while I was out cold—like, passed out drunk or whatever—I wouldn't want it to be a big deal if it was you. Hypothetically.”

Gojo pauses, fry halfway to his mouth. He turns to you, eyebrow arched. “Me? As in, me doing what exactly?”

You shrug, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks but playing it cool. The mask hides some of it, thank god. “I don't know. Anything. We've got no lines, right? If you fucked me in my sleep, I wouldn’t even care—fuck that, I'd probably be grateful. At least it'd be you and not some random asshole.”

The words hang in the air, bold and unfiltered, just like everything between you. You take another bite of your burger to cover the sudden awkwardness, but Gojo doesn't laugh it off like you half-expect. His eyes narrow thoughtfully, chewing slowly as he watches you. The episode ends, and then resumes, but the vibe shifts. He was quiet for a little too long.

You steal glances at him, wondering if you pushed too far, but he just nods eventually, like he's filing it away. “Grateful, huh? That's a new one.” His tone is light, teasing, but there's an undercurrent, something electric that makes your pulse quicken.

The night wears on. You finish your food, the burgers leaving you both stuffed and lazy. Another episode rolls, then another, the plot twisting into heartbreak as always. Your eyelids grow heavy around 2 AM, the rain lulling you into a doze. “I'm tapping out,” you mumble, sliding down the couch until your head rests on a pillow. “Wake me if something happens to Eren.”

Gojo chuckles softly. “Sweet dreams I guess.” He dims the lights further, the TV's glow the only illumination now. You drift off to the sound of distant explosions and his steady breathing beside you.

Sleep claims you fully, deep and dreamless, your body lax under the blanket. The masks have slipped off sometime in your slumber, discarded on the floor amid crumbs. Hours pass—or maybe just one; time blurs in the quiet house. Gojo sits there, the show long paused, his gaze fixed on your peaceful form. Your words echo in his mind, that casual confession igniting something he's buried under layers of friendship. His heart races, a mix of curiosity and raw want surging through him.

He shifts closer, the couch dipping under his weight. You're out cold, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, lips parted slightly. The Hello Kitty pajama top has ridden up, exposing a strip of your stomach. His hand hovers, then gently traces the hem. Emboldened, he leans in, breath warm against your neck as he presses a soft kiss there—just like the casual ones you've shared awake. Still nothing.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, voice husky. His fingers trail lower, slipping under the elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms. The fabric is thin, easy to push aside. He reveals you slowly, heart pounding as he parts your thighs with careful hands. You're soft, warm, and completely unaware. His cock twitches in his own pants, hardening at the sight, the trust you've placed in him.

He starts slow, like he's savoring a secret. One finger slides along your folds, finding you dry at first. He pauses, then brings his thumb to his mouth, wetting it before circling your clit gently. Circles turn to light strokes, building friction until your body responds on instinct—a subtle slickness gathering. Gojo bites his lip, suppressing a groan as he dips a finger inside, feeling your walls clench faintly around the intrusion.

He adds a second finger, pumping slowly, curling to brush that spot that makes your hips twitch unconsciously. His free hand frees his cock from his pajamas, thick and leaking pre-cum as he strokes himself in time with his fingers in you. “Can’t believe I’m doing this…” he murmurs, voice breaking into a whimper. He leans over, sliding two fingers from his other hand into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You suckle instinctively in sleep, and he nearly loses it right there.

He can't wait anymore. Withdrawing his fingers, he positions himself between your legs, the blanket kicked aside. Just skin on skin, the risk heightening everything. He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your growing wetness. Then, inch by inch, he pushes in. Slow, so slow, savoring the stretch, the way your pussy grips him like it was made for this.

Halfway in, he whimpers, a low, needy sound escaping his throat. “Shit... so tight. Can't... hold back.” His control snaps. Hips snap forward, burying himself fully in one thrust. The sensation overwhelms him. How hot, and wet you feel. He loses himself in your pussy, the rhythm turning frantic. Slow thrusts become pounding, his cock slamming deep, chasing that edge.

Whimpers spill from his lips with each drive, breathy and desperate. “Yes—“ He stuffs his fingers back into your mouth, watching your lips wrap around them as he fucks you harder, faster. The couch creaks under the force, his balls slapping against you. No protection means he's bare, feeling every ridge, every pulse. Breeding you floods his mind—filling you up, marking you as his in this hazy, forbidden moment.

Your body rocks with his, still unconscious but responding. Your walls began to clench, a soft sigh escaping around his fingers. He drives deeper, losing all restraint, hips pistoning until pleasure coils tight. With a choked whimper, he cums, spilling hot and thick inside you. He collapses forward, panting, cock still twitching as he stays buried, fingers slipping from your mouth.

The rain continues outside, the TV screen saver flickering. Gojo pulls out slowly, watching his cum leak from you, a satisfied haze settling in.

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ “𝓓𝐔𝐌𝐁 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋.” | ʜᴜɢᴏ ᴠɪᴠɪᴀɴ

Ive been wanting to right something with hugoooo ! I hope you guys love this—I’m also going to start making banners for my stories!! | CONTAINS FLUFF & SMUT

The shrill beep of your alarm clock pierced the quiet of your room, but in your groggy haze, you must have hit snooze one too many times. When your eyes finally snapped open to the harsh glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, panic hit you like a freight train. The digital clock on your nightstand which read 8:45 AM. School started at 8:00, and calculus was your first period. With a strangled yelp, you tumbled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your uniform lay crumpled on the chair from the night before—a white blouse with the school emblem embroidered on the collar, a pleated navy skirt that fell just above your knees, knee-high socks, and a red tie that you always struggled to knot properly. There was no time for ironing or precision, you yanked on the blouse, fumbling with the buttons until two were slightly askew, giving the fabric a rumpled look.

The skirt zipped up crookedly, and your hair was a disaster. You raked a brush through it hastily, settling for a loose hairstyle that left stray strands framing your face like a halo of chaos. Grabbing your backpack, you dashed out the door, the screen slamming behind you as you sprinted down the tree-lined street.

The three-block run to school felt eternal, your lungs burning with every gasp of crisp morning air. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk in the autumn breeze, and you dodged a group of early birds chatting by the gates. By the time you reached the calculus classroom door, sweat trickled down your back, and your face was flushed a deep red. Your hand trembled as you gripped the knob, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding. With a deep breath, you shoved the door open.

The bang reverberated through the room like a gunshot. Students jolted in their seats, pencils clattering to desks, and a chorus of whispers erupted. Mr. Hargrove, the stern calculus teacher with his wire-rimmed glasses and perpetual frown, froze mid-sentence, his marker hovering over the whiteboard where he'd been scribbling derivatives. The equation—a tangled mess of x's and integrals—stared back at you accusingly.

“I-I’m so sorry—for being late!” you stammered, bowing so deeply that your hair swung forward. Your voice cracked, already thick with the threat of tears.

Mr. Hargrove's face reddened, his mustache twitching with irritation. “Ms. Y/n! This is unacceptable. How many times must I remind you that punctuality is not optional in my class? You're disrupting everyone—again!” His voice rose, booming off the walls, and he slammed the marker down for emphasis. “No more excuses. Sit down and open your book to page 147. Try to keep up if you can.”

The class tittered—soft laughs from the back, where the popular kids sat, and sympathetic glances from a few kinder souls. But it was the stares that undid you. Twenty five pairs of eyes, judging, amused and pitying. Your chest tightened, a familiar lump forming in your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room.

You were too sensitive, always had been—a bad grade, a sharp word, even a misplaced comment could send you spiraling. Mumbling a final “Sorry, sir,” you hurried to your seat, head down, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Your desk mate, of course, was Hugo. The transfer student from France, with his striking red hair that caught the fluorescent lights like fire and long lashes. He'd arrived mid-semester, his presence turning heads with that effortless charisma and the thick accent that rolled off his tongue like music—or mockery, depending on the day. For you, it was always the latter. He lounged in his chair, uniform impeccable, tie straight, shirt untucked, a faint smirk playing on his lips as you slid into the seat beside him.

You kept your eyes glued to your notebook, scribbling nonsense to avoid looking at him, but his gaze burned into you. The scent of his cologne—something spicy and masculine, like cedar and smoke—invaded your space, making your stomach twist.

“Ah, don’t cry now, ma chérie,” he drawled softly, his voice a low rumble with that French lilt that made every syllable dance. “It’s not your fault you’re such a dumb girl, running late like always, no?” The words dripped with tease, but to your ears, they were venomous, laced with condescension.

Dumb girl. It stung deeper than the teacher's yell. Why did he always target you? You'd never crossed him, never even initiated a conversation beyond polite nods. Tears welled up fully now, spilling over as you bit your lip to stifle a whimper. The classroom closed in—the whispers growing louder “She's crying already? Over being late?”, Mr. Hargrove's ongoing lecture a distant drone, Hugo's amused stare. It was unbearable. You surged to your feet, chair scraping shrilly against the tile, and fled the room, sobs bursting free as you ran down the echoing hallway.

Hugo watched you go, a soft scoff escaping his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms, that smirk deepening into something almost fond. “Can’t handle a joke? Quelle fille stupide,” he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk in idle rhythm.

To him, your sensitivity was adorable—a rare spark of genuine emotion in the monotonous grind of high school. The way your eyes shimmered with tears? It stirred something primal, a thrill that quickened his pulse. But you saw only rudeness, another reason to weave through crowds to avoid the red-haired guy who seemed to haunt your days.

Months had passed in this pattern, his teasing barbs flying your way no matter how you dodged. In the cafeteria, he'd slide into the seat across from you uninvited. “Hey dummy, that sandwich looks as sad as your grades.”

During group projects in history, he'd lean over. “Let me explain it simply, okay? For the sensitive one.”

Even in the library, burying yourself in books, he'd appear. “Hiding again? Afraid of a little chat?”

Each time, his accent softened the blow just enough to confuse you—was it malice or playfulness? But the tears came anyway, and you'd retreat, leaving him chuckling in your wake.

The breaking point, or turning point, came on a Thursday afternoon after school. The final bell had chimed like freedom, and the hallways buzzed with students eager for the weekend. You lingered at your locker, methodically stacking textbooks, your mind replaying the day's minor disasters. A skipped lunch, a confusing pop quiz in biology. In your distraction, you turned too sharply, your water bottle slipping from your grasp. It tumbled, cap loose, and splashed across Rei's pristine khaki pants—the star midfielder of the soccer team, surrounded by his rowdy crew.

The dark stain spread like ink, and Rei’s face contorted in fury. “What the hell? Are you blind or just stupid?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the chatter. His friends hooted, egging him on as he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I-I'm so sorry!” you gasped, dropping to your knees to blot at the mess with a napkin from your bag. Your hands shook, heart hammering. “It was an accident—I’ll pay for it, I swear!”

Rei wasn't having it. He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back sharply enough to make you yelp. The pain shot through your scalp, tears instant and flooding. “Do you know how much these cost? Fucking idiot—apologize like you mean it!” He raised his free hand, as if to strike, his buddies laughter turning darker.

You froze, puffy eyes streaming, accepting the humiliation because fighting back felt impossible. “Please, I'm sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking.

Then, a voice sliced through the chaos: “I think that’s enough. Are you really going to hit a girl over some water? Pathetic.” The accent was unmistakable and commanding.

You blinked through your tears to see Hugo materializing from the crowd, his hand clamped firmly on Rei’s wrist. His red hair was tousled from the day's wind, uniform jacket open to reveal the white shirt beneath, and his eyes narrowed in quiet threat.

Rei wrenched free, rubbing his arm with a scowl. “Mind your business, Frenchie. This doesn't concern you.” But his bravado faltered under Hugo's steady gaze—rumors of the transfer student's no-nonsense attitude had circulated, and Rei’s crew shifted uneasily.

“Fuck off,” Hugo said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rei muttered a curse, shoving past his friends as they dispersed, the hallway emptying around you.

You stayed kneeling, sniffling, mortified that Hugo out of all people had intervened. Wiping your face, you avoided his eyes, the embarrassment burning hotter than the scalp tug.

“Hey, dumb girl,” he said, crouching down, his voice gentler than usual. He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Tear tracks streaked your cheeks, and he studied them with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Stop the crying. Everyone’s staring now. Makes you look even more... pathetic.” Before you could respond, he pulled you up and into his chest, arms encircling you in a hug that was surprisingly tender. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, a contrast to your ragged sobs.

The embrace broke something in you. You clung to his shirt, crying harder, the rough afternoon pouring out in hiccuping waves. Rei’s anger, the stares, the constant feeling of being too much, it all crashed down.

Hugo sighed, his hand stroking your back in slow, awkward circles. “Quelle honte... Viens, on rentre chez toi.” The words rumbled softly, meaningless but comforting.

You lifted your head, confusion mingling with the tears. “...What?”

He exhaled sharply, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but his hold didn't loosen. “I said, let’s get you home, dumb girl. We can’t stay like this in the hall.”

Numbly, you nodded, letting him guide you out of the school. The twenty-minute walk to your house unfolded like a dream, the autumn sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the suburban streets. Hugo matched your pace, his presence a solid anchor beside you. At first, silence hung heavy, broken only by your occasional sniffles. Then he started talking, his teasing light but persistent.

“So, what happened there? You always finding trouble, huh? Dumb girl can’t even hold a bottle straight.” He nudged your elbow, a playful glint in his eye.

You shot him a watery glare, but it lacked heat. “It was an accident. And stop calling me that—I’m not dumb.” Your voice wobbled, but the walk's rhythm soothed you, the crisp air clearing your head.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the houses. “Not dumb? Thats debatable. But... it’s cute, how you react. Like a little kitten, all claws and no bite.” His accent wrapped the words in warmth. Making you wonder if there was affection beneath the jokes.

The conversation meandered from there. He shared snippets of France. The crowded Paris metros the smell of fresh corner bakeries, how he'd left behind a big family that argued loudly but loved fiercely. “My mother would say you need toughening up. But you’re lucky I like you soft.” He glanced at you sideways, his expression unreadable.

Emboldened, you opened up too. About your parents high expectations, how a single harsh word from a teacher could leave you reeling for hours. “I know it's silly, crying over everything. I just... can't help it.” You kicked at a fallen leaf, watching it skitter away.

Hugo's teasing paused, his voice turning serious. “Not silly. Rare, thats what. After all you’re human.” He bumped your shoulder again, lingering this time. “And maybe a bit adorable, even if you’re a dumb girl.”

By the time you reached your porch, the awkwardness had eased into something companionable. The house was quiet due to your parents at work—and you fumbled with your keys, hyper-aware of him behind you.

“Thanks for walking me,” you murmured, turning to face him. “And for... earlier. With Rei.”

He shrugged, but his eyes darkened, roaming over your tear-streaked face with new intensity. “If you’re still feeling horrible... I could make it better. Take your mind off it all.” His voice lowered, voice thickening like honey.

Unsure but trusting the odd comfort he'd shown, you nodded. “Okay.”

Time blurred in a haze until you found yourself on the bed, positioned on all fours, skirt hiked up around your waist, blouse clinging to your skin. Hugo knelt behind you, his pants shoved down just enough, his thick cock pressing insistently at your entrance. With a firm grip on your hips, he thrust in without warning—filling you completely in one deep push.

You cried out, the sudden stretch overwhelming, tears springing to your eyes as your body adjusted to his size. He was too big, the burn intense, but slickness eased the way as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward relentlessly. His hand fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the pillow to stifle your loud sobs, the fabric muffling your whimpers into desperate, choked sounds.

“Thaaats it,” Hugo groaned, his voice husky with pleasure, accent slurring as ecstasy twisted his features. Your tears soaked the pillowcase, and even without seeing, he knew the knowledge alone made his cock twitch inside you, arousal spiking at your vulnerability. He pounded harder, the bed frame creaking in protest, his uniform tie swinging like a pendulum with each brutal thrust. “Such a sensitive little thing, taking my cock like you were made for it. So tight, so wet... you love being my dumb girl, don’t you?”

The roughness bordered on pain, his girth stretching you to the brink, but pleasure coiled deep in your core, building with every drag and slam. You clawed at the sheets, body rocking forward, tears streaming freely now as sobs wracked you. He didn't relent, one hand pinning your hip while the other kept your head down, silencing the cries that fueled his desire. Him imagining your puffy, tear-filled eyes only drove him wilder, his pace erratic, breaths coming in harsh pants.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of sensation, the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your muffled pleas blending with his teasing growls. “Look at you, whimpering into the pillow. Can’t even handle a real man, huh? But you take it so well—” He shifted angles slightly, hitting deeper, grinding against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Sweat beaded on his forehead, red hair sticking to his skin, uniform shirt untucked and damp as he rutted into you.

Your body trembled, overwhelmed, the mix of hurt and bliss pushing you toward the edge. But Hugo wasn't done. With a low curse in French, he pulled out abruptly, the loss making you whine into the pillow. His hands flipped you onto your back, skirt splaying out, blouse riding up to expose your stomach. He loomed over you, eyes locking onto your face—sobbing, red-rimmed, and utterly wrecked. The sight hit him like lightning; tears tracked down your cheeks, lips parted in gasps, and it shattered his control.

“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he rasped, sliding back in with a single, forceful thrust that buried him to the hilt. You arched, fresh tears spilling as he resumed his brutal pace, now face-to-face. He watched every sob, every flutter of your lashes, the vulnerability amplifying his pleasure. “Thats why I call you dumb girl—look at you, falling apart on my cock. Makes me want to ruin you more.”

His thrusts grew frantic, hips pistoning as he chased release, the bed shaking violently. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, body coiling tighter under the onslaught. The friction built unbearably, his thickness dragging along your walls, hitting every sensitive point. “Please—Hugo—” you sobbed, the words garbled through tears.

Seeing your crying face up close undid him completely. With a guttural moan, he pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock to spill hot ropes of cum across your stomach, painting your exposed skin and the hem of your blouse in sticky white. His body shuddered, pleasure etching lines of bliss on his face as he milked every drop, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked one.

But he wasn't finished with you. Panting, he pushed back inside, the slick mix of your arousal and his cum easing the way. “Not yet, you still need to cum.” His fingers descended to your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles as he fucked you steadily, drawing out your peak. The overstimulation was intense. His cock still throbbing, filling you again and again, combined with the targeted pressure, it hurled you over the edge.

You shattered, back bowing off the bed, a wail tearing from your throat as orgasm crashed through you. Waves of ecstasy pulsed around him, tears flooding anew as your body clenched and released in rhythmic spasms. Hugo groaned, riding it out, his movements slowing to gentle rocks until you went limp, spent and sobbing softly.

“See? Feel better now?” His voice was soft and teasing as it faded to tenderness. He wiped away the last of your tears, smiling.

[muriscenes]

·˚ ༘ 𝒮𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 — ʜɪʀᴏᴍɪ ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ

just higuruma eating you out like a starved man. (oh what men with big noses do to me).

The door to your shared apartment clicked shut behind Higuruma, the sound heavy with the weight of his exhaustion. His hair was disheveled, strands sticking up from where he'd run his hands through it too many times during the day. He shrugged off his suit jacket, letting it drop onto the couch without a care, his tie already loosened around his neck. You could see the tension etched into every line of his face, his eyes shadowed by the relentless pressure of back-to-back court cases. Tomorrow's retrial loomed like a storm cloud, he had to prove his client's innocence, and the stakes felt impossibly high after today's grilling in the courtroom.

He spotted you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book, and something in his expression softened just a fraction. “Hey,” he muttered, voice rough from hours of arguing. You set the book aside and stood, crossing to him. His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you close, his face burying into your shoulder. He inhaled deeply, like your scent was the only thing grounding him. “Rough day,” he admitted, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, running your fingers through his hair. “I can tell. You need to unwind.” His grip tightened, hands sliding down to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. The air between you shifted, charged with the unspoken need for release. He kissed your neck, slow at first, then harder, teeth grazing your skin. “I need you,” he whispered, the words laced with desperation.

Before you could respond, he was guiding you toward the bedroom, his steps urgent. Clothes came off in a hurried tangle. Your shirt tugged over your head, his buttons popped open as you worked his shirt free. His pants hit the floor, revealing the bulge straining against his boxers, but he ignored it, focused entirely on you. He pushed you back onto the bed, but then paused, eyes locking onto yours with that intense, lawyer's gaze. “Sit on my face,” he said, voice low and commanding, the stress making him direct, unfiltered.

Your heart raced at the request, heat pooling between your legs. You loved this—loved how his big nose fit perfectly against you, how it added that extra pressure that made everything sharper. He lay back on the pillows, pulling you up his body until you straddled his chest. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in with a firmness that bordered on bruising, holding you steady as you shifted forward. The emotional undercurrent hummed between you.

You positioned yourself over his mouth, knees on either side of his head, your pussy hovering just above his lips. He didn't wait—his tongue flicked out, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your slit. The sensation hit you immediately, wet and insistent, making your breath hitch. “Higuruma...'”you whimpered, hands bracing on the headboard for balance. He groaned into you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. His nose brushed your clit as you lowered yourself further, the prominent bridge pressing right against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It was perfect, the size of it allowing you to grind down just right, the tip nudging your clit with every subtle rock of your hips.

His grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into the skin as he pulled you closer, urging you to ride him harder. He ate you out like a man starved, tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your entrance before sucking your inner lips into his mouth. The sounds were obscene—wet smacks and your soft gasps filling the room. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his shoulders tensed beneath you, channeling all that pent-up frustration into devouring you.

You started moving, rolling your hips in a rhythm that had his nose rubbing circles over your clit. It was overly sensitive already, swollen from the building arousal, each press sending sparks up your spine. “I caaant” you moaned, the words tumbling out unbidden. He hummed in response, the sound buzzing against your skin, encouraging you. His tongue thrust inside you now, fucking in and out with deliberate strokes, while his upper lip sealed around your clit, sucking lightly. The dual sensation was overwhelming, his nose grinding against the hood, tongue filling you, hands kneading your thighs like he was anchoring himself to reality through your body.

Sweat beaded on your skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. You were a whimpering mess, trying to hold back the orgasm threatening to crash over you. Your clit throbbed under the relentless pressure of his nose, every grind making it pulse harder. “Not yet,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. But he didn't let up, if anything, he ate you more fiercely, tongue swirling inside you, tasting every inch. His big hands slid up, one thumb parting your folds wider for better access, the other holding your ass, guiding your movements.

The emotional tension coiled tighter, his stress manifesting in the way he gripped you, like letting go of you would bring the world crashing back. You felt it in the quiver of his fingers, the low growls vibrating from his throat. “Come on,” he murmured against your pussy, lips brushing your clit. “Let me taste it.” His words pushed you closer, the realism of his need making your resolve crack. You rocked faster, chasing the edge while fighting it, your thighs trembling in his hold. His nose pressed deeper, the bridge flattening your clit just right, friction building to an unbearable peak.

Tears pricked your eyes from the intensity, your whimpers turning to cries as you teetered on the brink. He sucked harder, tongue flicking your entrance, nose bumping rhythmically. Finally, you couldn't hold it, your body seized, pussy clenching around his tongue as you came, flooding his mouth with your release. He drank it down greedily, hands locking you in place, nose still grinding to draw out every shudder.

As you collapsed forward, panting, he licked you clean with gentle swipes, his grip loosening but not releasing. The stress in his eyes had eased, replaced by a sated gleam. “Better,” he rasped, voice muffled.

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 3

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

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

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

prev — next

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

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

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

Apparently, you had guessed right.

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

That was when you actually started paying attention.

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

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

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

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

You froze for a second, then immediately grabbed your phone and pulled up the deleted messages from yesterday. You scrolled back to the photo, then searched his name online and compared his unfiltered face to the one from the picture.

A groan left you as the realization hit.

You had somehow fumbled be-friending a pro soccer player.

For the rest of the night, you kept thinking about whether you should text him. It would be embarrassing, though. You had left him on delivered, after all. Still, it was not like anything could get worse.

So you opened the message, your finger hovering over the keyboard, and typed something small and simple.

You stared at the blank screen for a long moment before groaning and tossing your phone to the other side of the bed.

This was embarrassing.

You could not believe you were even doing this, all for the slight chance of talking to someone with a bit of fame. It felt desperate, and you hated that you cared enough to try anyway. It wasn’t as if you wanted to date him.

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall, trying to ignore it. It was almost midnight. There was a good chance he would not even see it, let alone respond.

Then your phone lit up. A small chat bubble appeared. He was typing.

You squinted at the message, reading it over once, then again. A scoff slipped out before you could stop it.

“Oh? He wants to play that game?” you muttered, a small smirk pulling at your lips as you reached for your phone again.

You didn’t want to admit you seen him on TV. Thay would’ve been extremely rude of you, I mean. Plus, you also didn’t want to boost his ego even more.

It had been a while since you had a new guy friend. Most of the time, whenever you tried, things got weird. They would take your friendliness as something more, and it always ended the same way. You hated that. You hated how quickly things shifted, how it never just stayed simple.

Dating wasn’t something you wanted to deal with anymore. The thought alone made your stomach tighten. Your last relationship had done more damage than you liked to admit. Even now, thinking about it left a bitter feeling sitting heavy in your chest. He hadn’t cared about you. He cheated more than once, and somehow you kept convincing yourself to stay. You told yourself it would get better, that he would change, that what you had meant something. But it didn’t.

Looking back, it was exhausting. Draining in ways you didn’t even realize at the time. But you stayed because you didn’t want to be alone. In the end, he was the one who walked away, which made you look pathetic.

And for a while, that completely wrecked you. It took months to pull yourself out of that place, to finally understand that you deserved better than what he gave you.

Since then, you made a decision to not be in a relationship. No more getting pulled into something that would leave you feeling like that again. Anything more than that wasn’t worth the risk.

You set your phone down beside you, deciding to wait for him to reply instead of sending anything else.

Otoya stared at his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Yeah… he still had it.

Even after that whole mess yesterday, he could still pull someone back in. That alone boosted his mood more than he wanted to admit. Still, he frowned slightly at your message.

Friends?

He leaned back against his pillow, thinking it over. He didn’t love that idea. If anything, he was already aiming for more than that—or at least something a little more interesting. In his head, though, it made sense. You were probably just being careful, not trying to rush anything. At least, that was what he told himself.

Otoya had always been quick to jump to conclusions, and this was no different. It didn’t even cross his mind that you genuinely meant only friends.

With that settled in his head, he sat up and grabbed his phone again, already opening the group chat with Karasu, Yukimiya, and Hiori. No way he was keeping this to himself.

Realizing he didn’t want to make you wait any longer, he came up with an excuse.

A smile spread across your face before you even realized it. You stared at your phone, rereading the messages, the warmth in your chest catching you off guard. It had been a while since you had talked to someone new like this—especially a guy.

For a second, maybe he was different?

The thought slipped in quietly, settling somewhere you couldn’t ignore. Maybe this wouldn’t end the same way the others did. Maybe this time, it would actually last.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb brushing against the edge of your phone.

Then you forced yourself to exhale, the smile softening. It was too early to think like that.

Otoya wasn’t going to sleep. He had said that just to buy himself time. In reality, he was wide awake, staring at his phone. He hadn’t expected you to look like that. And he definitely hadn’t expected the conversation to go this smoothly.

If anything, it felt like things were lining up a little too perfectly.

He leaned back against his headboard, running a hand through his hair as a smirk pulled at his lips. In his head, this was already going exactly how he wanted it to.

“Is this messed up?” he muttered to himself.

He paused for half a second—then shrugged it off. “Nah,” he said under his breath. “She’s probably into me the same way.”

It didn’t even occur to him to question that assumption any further.

With that, he picked his phone back up and opened the group chat again, fingers already moving as he started typing.

Otoya stared at the messages, his expression tightening with irritation. He couldn’t believe they were lecturing him. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

He scoffed under his breath, tossing his phone onto the bed for a second before dragging a hand down his face. In his mind, this was simple. He had done this before. He knew how these things went. He knew what he wanted—and he was convinced he knew what you wanted too.

He didn’t stop to think about where this could go or how it might end. He wasn’t thinking about you as a person with your own expectations—just the situation in front of him, the thrill of it, the way it was already playing out in his favor. No way was he backing off now.

@blu3-l0v3r @tecchouss

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 2

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

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

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

prev — next

The next morning, Otoya and Karasu went to get breakfast. Otoya was in a terrible mood and made no effort to hide it. He still couldn’t believe he got shut down that hard by some girl he didn’t even know.

“Otoya, stop pouting. You look stupid,” Karasu said, casually eating his rice.

“Shut it, Karasu,” Otoya muttered, taking a bite of his toast.

A few footsteps sounded behind them. Karasu turned to see Yukimiya walking over, with Hiori right beside him.

“What’s up, guys!” Yukimiya greeted in a cheerful tone, setting his tray down in front of them. Hiori followed and sat down quietly.

“What’s up, Yuki. Hiori,” Karasu nodded.

Hiori only managed a small “hi” before dropping his head onto the table, clearly exhausted.

“Woah whats up with him?” Karasu mumbled.

Yukimiya sighed, “His stupid ass greened out earlier and now hes feeling like shit.” “Not only that, Ego found out and confiscated his blinker.” He shook his head in disappointment.

Hiori let out a quiet whine, his voice muffled against the table. “That was my last one… It was supposed to last until we got to break…”

He forced himself to sit up just enough to take a small bite of his pancake, absentmindedly poking at the rest with his fork.

Yukimiya and Karasu exchanged a glance, both of them clearly realizing they were dealing with moody teammates this morning.

“Otoya’s pissed too,” Karasu added. “He texted some girl yesterday, and apparently she completely wrecked his ego.”

Yukimiya nearly choked on his food, his face scrunching up before he burst out laughing. “No fucking way. How did he even manage to get in contact with a girl?”

Karasu sighed, shaking his head. “He mistyped your number and ended up texting some random person instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Otoya muttered, glaring down at his plate. “You’re acting like it’s a big deal.”

Hiori lifted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “If you’re that desperate, just date Chigiri. He’s close enough.”

Otoya slowly looked up at him, unimpressed. “No offense, but I don’t swing that way.” He paused, frowning. “And isn’t he dating Kunigami?”

“Oooh… not gonna lie, I think they broke up,” Yukimiya said, scratching the back of his head. “Remember? He got locked off.”

“Actually! They’re just friends!” A bright voice cut in from the side. Bachira had somehow inserted himself into the conversation.

“Bachira… let’s stay out of other people’s business…!” Isagi whispered urgently, giving the group a quick apologetic smile as he dragged Bachira away.

The four of them sat there in silence for a moment, exchanging confused looks.

“Well, that settles it,” Hiori muttered, resting his chin back on the table. Then he glanced at Otoya. “Why don’t you just try texting her again?”

Otoya shook his head. “I think she blocked me.” He leaned back slightly, trying to sound unfazed. “Besides, I could do way better than some random number.”

The other three just stared at him, unconvinced, but chose not to argue.

“Yeah, alright,” Karasu said after a moment, pushing his tray aside as he stood. “Come on. Don’t forget we’re playing against the U-20 team today.”

The others got up as well, tossing their trash before heading out to get ready.

After the game, everyone split off to celebrate in their own way. Otoya didn’t bother with any of it. He headed straight back to Blue Lock, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed.

He knocked out almost immediately. At some point later, he woke up to the sound of his phone going off nonstop.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“What the fuck…?” he groaned, barely conscious as he reached for it. His eyes were still half-closed, and the brightness of the screen hit him hard, making him squint.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, deciding he might as well stay up for a bit and scroll through his phone.

A couple of hours passed just like that.

It was almost eleven now, and Otoya lay flat on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram reels. The day felt a lot better compared to that morning. Not only had they won, but he had also managed to get a few numbers from girls who were watching the game.

Who knew he was this popular.

Just as he was about to swipe to the next video, a text notification popped up.

His eyes narrowed at the contact name. “Future girl ong 🤣”

“…What?”

He sat up slightly, curiosity instantly kicking in. He tapped the message open—then immediately backed out of it, like he had just realized something.

Without wasting a second, he switched over to his group chat with Karasu, Yukimiya, and Hiori and started typing.

Realizing he took a bit to answer, he quickly thought on how to respond back.

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 4

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

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

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

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

prev — next

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n, but—” Shut the fuck up!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without really thinking, you walked up to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Itoshi. Itoshi Sae.”

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

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

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

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

“@toyaeita liked your story.”

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

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

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

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

“Is it okay if I tag you?” you asked.

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

You laughed and posted the photo to your story.

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

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

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

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

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

You burst out laughing. “He’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that would get you to text him first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Itoshi Sae.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hated yourself for how easily you forgave him.

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

[muriscenes]

: ๑ : “SHE WANTS ME SO BAD!” CH. 6

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

characters : otoya , karasu , yukimiya , hiori , others

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

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

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

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

A few seconds later, the alarm went off again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, good morning, beautiful—”

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait—”

You hung up before he could finish.

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

You had completely forgotten about your hangout with him.

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

Now there was no time to think about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A car honked from down the street.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Sure.”

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

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

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

You turned your head toward him. “What?”

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

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

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

“Don’t start crying now,” you teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked. “What about me?”

“Don’t you have a partner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey." "Hey, fucker!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took him twenty minutes to find a parking spot.

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me, are you Itoshi Sae?"

"Can I get a picture?"

"Your last match was incredible—"

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

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

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

"Can we get a picture with you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Already? But we haven't finished—"

"We need to go back to the car."

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

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

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

"Just one more store!"

"You said that three stores ago."

"Please!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's acceptable."

"Wowie!!" You said excitedly.

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't have to."

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh? Otoya posted?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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