Summary: You go to therapy due to issues (duh) and instead fuck your handsome therapist! This time Reader is the one in need of help and Naoya doesn't actually help, infact he somehow worsens you.
A/n: Pretty funny concept huh? A huge step in the wrong direction when you look at my last fic. Since this is handsome beautiful sexy amazing but toxic Naoya we're talking here, obviously his treatment is just about as shit as you can think. Will make a part two if requested. Also if you do have a therapist who behaves in this way towards you, you should immediately report them as that is abuse. Please stay safe.
Tags: Violation of the Hippocratic Oath, Some-what abuse of power, Recording (Consensual), Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Creampie, Touch-Starved/Sex Addict? Reader
You had been going to therapy for about the past three years. Different issues such as awful relationships, unhealthy habits and repetitive behaviours had ate away at you for as long as you could think so when you finally decided to do something about it, you thought it'd be absolutely life-changing.
Much to your disappointment, nothing came out of most of your mental health sessions, you either didn't click well enough with a person and their methods or schedule clashes would cause you to be either late or completely absent from the appointments booked.
That's how you met your current counsellor, a young man, no older than you, by the name of Mr Zenin, or Naoya as you insisted you call him, much to his displeasure.
To put it nicely, the man, was absolutely awful at his job, you treated him more as a blank space to vent to purely because of how horrible his advice truly was. He acted more like a judge than a supporter, most of the time, his face was always twisted in a disgusted manner anytime you had confessed any sort of secret to him and if it wasn't disgust polluting that handsome face, it was disappointment. He'd act almost ashamed on your behalf and that was more insulting than anything else you had ever heard. Honestly, you had no idea why you kept coming back, to an extent it worked. The more he aggravated you, the harder you would push yourself, or so he said.
You sighed, getting ready for another session as you sunk down on the couch, watching as he hurriedly set up the voice recorder. His head turned over to you, silently requesting for you to clarify consent. You gave him a nod.
''Verbal Consent.'' He clarified as if you were stupid and lord knows it took every bone in your body not to slap him stupid. You could swear you heard an idiot muttered under his breath, he took any chance he could to degrade people and it showed.
''I consent.'' Popping the last word out with an annoyed tone as you shot him a bitter look. He only seemed amused with it.
''Good.'' A large hand reached over, ruffling your hair in a way to annoy than be affectionate.
He finally sat down in his chair, not too far from you, his clipboard rested on his inner thigh as his leg crossed over the other. His piercings caught in the light, bleached blonde hair tousled with black tips, his face and hair were extremely unprofessional, screaming more concert than client ready. For all the dick-head was worth, he was an extremely good looking man. He sat there, clearly entertained by your staring but was irritated by the silence that followed after-wards.
''Well? Stop staring and start speaking, woman.'' The word sounded derogatory coming from him, said in such a passive manner, a voice clearly used to condescension in every letter pronounced. It was impressive how everything he ever uttered sounded so ill-willing.
Nonetheless, you began talking, far too much if you asked him, which thankfully you didn't. He had always found your problems to be minuscule and easily solvable if you just adopted his very correct and definitely not backwards way of thinking. He certainly didn't want to spend the next hour and a half of his precious life hearing you complain and bitch over every little detail, already eyeing the watch wrapped around his wrist as you rambled on in the background.
''My job sucks!'' He'd hear you whine. How any of this was a problem for him to deal with? He had no clue. But to him, the solution was simple. Quit and settle down. Women weren't made for the work-space anyways.
''My friends are giving me mixed signals!'' Ditch them. Find a husband to keep you company instead. Everyone knew a successful man was supported by a woman who knew how to listen, maybe it was time for you to take on such a role. That would fill the social void. Start a family or something.
''I can't find love!'' Well maybe it was because you were such a bitch, obviously men didn't want to approach a woman who thrust herself out there, dignified people preferred the company of other dignified humans. Maybe if you ditched the whore skirts and tried on something better, you'd be a woman worth taking out anyways. You certainly had the body and looks for it, he thought
''I can't seem to get laid!'' Stop chasing di-
Wait, What?
You continued, completely glossing over the topic that caught his attention, opting to pound his ear with useless information. His brows furrowed in annoyance and confusion.
''Hold on for a second, go back to what you just said.''
Your face grew hotter as your brain acknowledged what you just confessed to him. You were used to his judgement at this point and you were convinced the man could sniff out fear like a hound, no point in backing down.
He leaned back, an interested air which wasn't there a minute ago appeared around him.
''Well? Go on then.''
''I've been feeling lonely these past few days, it's been chipping at me and I feel like I'm lacking touch.'' You confessed, body slumping on the side of the sofa as you heaved yourself up to look at him.
You could vividly recall the ache deep within you, most nights you had spent wasting in your bed, trying your best to fix the issue yourself but your poor hand could only take you so far. Toys, nudes and other methods of pleasure were ones you ever barely found yourself resorting to but you slowly inched in it, careful not to lose yourself.
He moved himself other, positioning himself to sit knee-first in the spot right next to your couch, leaning over you.
''Keep talking.''
Slightly overwhelmed by his sudden closeness, you had to will yourself to not look away.
''Well...I've never really tried to entertain my thoughts of them.'' A lie and something about how he looked at you could probably tell you that he knew. He snickered to himself slightly, finding your attempt at saving face to be amusing.
''Like all people, I have needs of my own and I've quelled them, mostly. But it doesn't feel like it's enough anymore. I want...I want someone with me for once. I feel like I'm frustrating myself every-time i try to be alone.'' The words slipped out quietly, the sincerity of it surprised him. He never found you to be truthful, annoying and loud is the term he would use to describe you if he had the chance to. Seeing you so silent really did arouse him.
The smell of him filled your senses, pine-wood and other earthy tones made you almost melt into your seat. A soft finger, laced with that exact intoxicating sweet aroma traced a delicate, light path on your cheek. Soon enough, his entire hand came to cup the right side of your face.
''Keep talking.''
''What kind of help is this?'' You scoffed, betraying your own words as you leaned in.
''It's unconventional but I feel like an off-book treatment would help this issue no?'' He whispered. It wasn't a question, more so a promise that he was going to do what you think he was going to do.
He quietly rubbed his face back and forth, drawing circular motions on your cheek as he listened to the fast breathing slow down from you.
''Poor girl, you must be so pent-up, aren't you?'' He cooed at the very pathetic sight of you. It's no wonder a woman like you was so touch-starved, you just couldn't keep your mouth closed. After all, who'd want a snarky bitch like you?
He did. A lot more than he was willing to admit.
Your brows furrowed in frustration at his conceited expression. You pushed his hand far from your face, opting to keep your dignity than whatever lust you felt.
He didn't let up though.
''Can't you just see I'm trying to help?'' You tried your hardest not to snort at him. A man like that could never work for his own benefit.
But what was the harm in just doing this just one, right?
You pulled his hand back to you, leaning into him. Just this once.
''I'll cure your craving. I'll make sure my client gets the treatment she needs. What kind of person would I be if I didn't?'' It sounded like a mockery at an attempt for help, neither of you believed a single word that came out that man's mouth and you knew it.
His lips ghosted over yours.
''I'm gonna have to record this session, camera and audio. You'll let me right?''
You nodded, muttering out a single ''yes''.
''I'm glad you finally caught on with the verbal consent thing.''
He was on you in a minute, each knee digging into the side of the couch, straddling you as his hands quickly worked to tore off your shirt and ripped your bottoms, leaving you in just your underwear.
Black lace looked good on you, that's for sure.
He shoved a finger in your mouth, swirling the digit around in the warm wetness
''Suck.'' A single demand, one you immediately complied with. He tasted bitter and sweet at the same time, a finger stained with coffee and way too much cream and sweetener for it's own good.
''Good.'' He said. The praise sending an odd shiver through you. He slipped his finger out, a wet pop! echoing through the room. His other hand patted your left cheek, leaning down.
His lips smashed against you, nothing loving about the way he tried to practically eat you. A harsh nip to your bottom lip made you gasp, his tongue sliding in and tasting you, hurried like he would die if he didn't touch you this moment.
He unbuttoned his own shirt, watching how your eyes dipped below his pants, following his v-line with a hungry look in your eyes. He unbuckled it slowly, dragging it out to watch your impatient hands practically tug at him to get on with the show. He finally pulled his dick out, he was a bit above average, with a girth enough to fill you up to the brim. Your thighs felt damp and grinded together at the thought of it finally being in you.
''Get on your knees.''
''What..?'' You breathed out aimlessly, too concerned with his teasing to fully let his words sink in.
''You heard me, on your knees. Suck me off if you want me to fuck you.'' Your eyes widened at his crude wording.
''Could you seriously be any more perverted if you tried?!'' He shoved you onto your knees anyways. Shoving his cock into your mouth, you felt it hit the back of your throat. He sighed in bliss at the gagging noises, seeing the tears sting at the corner of your eyes with a twisted affection. You really were beautiful, you just needed someone to shut you up.
His thrusts grew lazy, grinding himself against his mouth as he finally finished, your jaw went slack at his audacity, his semen slipping from your mouth staining the carpet below. He tsked at you.
''Dumb girl, you ruined my carpets.'' He saw you spit it out into a tissue, sighing something about you being ungrateful for his seed. He shoved you back up onto the couch, spreading your legs.
Ripping off your underwear, he lined himself up.
''Ready, baby?'' He hummed out. You cringed at the name.
''Don't call me that.'' He scoffed.
''Okay, bitch.'' You frowned, much preferring the last one to the new one.
''Just do it already...''
He pushed himself in with one brutal thrust, the strike making your eyes roll back as he bottomed out, tip grinding just against your g-spot. He noticed how your toes curled in, the slight drool from your mouth as you struggled to hold your whine in.
''That's the spot, isn't it?'' He whispered, his breath hot on your ear as his tongue licked a slow line along it's ridges, your nails dug into his shoulders as you hung onto him, as if he were the only lifeline you'd ever know.
He moved again but much to your misery, he had chosen to purposefully avoid the one place that made you feel good, you were so so desperate, you could have cried.
''Come on Naoya!'' You whined out, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes threatened to spill, he could have laughed if he weren't so focused on how sweet your voice sounded.
He loved the way you seemed so angry and sad. This was your fault after all. If you shut up when he told you to, maybe he wouldn't be punishing you.
But some part of him knew that either way, he was always going to do this
The salty taste of your disappointment was the most delicious thing of all to him, his lips sealing to catch the taste running down your cheek, it felt like a kiss, one you knew you should push away. Get him off of you and maybe find someone who would treat you better.
He moved again, slower this time, each motion angled away from where he knew you'd feel good.
''Beg for it and I'll give it to you.'' He mocked, the thought of breaking down your pride, making you reliant on him made his ego thrive and his cock throb. He couldn't wait to see you give in.
''P-Please... Naoya'' That did it for him. His name was one he usually couldn't stand to hear uttered in such a lewd manner, but from you? No music could compare.
''Fine then.'' He pulled his hips back completely, leaving only the tip inside and watched as your hips desperately tried to ground back on him, he shifted in you, this time planning on aiming for the spongy spot, he really wanted to hear you scream now.
He went in, the thrust had you seeing stars, your body lurched forward as your nails dug crescent shaped marks into his open skin, his entire back now tainted with marks of purple and red, all from you.
His name fell from your lips, over and over, echoing in the room. The camera angled towards the both of you catching every single wet slap your slick and speed had made. The slap of skin on skin was an addicting one, you knew why you craved it so much now, this felt amazing!
He'd brought you to new highs you weren't even sure you'd ever be able to figure out with just yourself, now that you had a taste of him, some part of you began to wonder how you'd live without having it atleast once more?
He made you so greedy in such little time and by the grin plastered across his face, you felt as if he knew.
''You close?'' A hand snaked down, barely touching your clit.
You babbled incoherently, nodding eagerly as best you could, head thrown back and back arched.
He rubbed your clit, harshly. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, every inch of him going in and out drove you mad, saliva dripped from your mouth as your brain tried to handle the way he fried your nerves.
He sped up, close to the edge himself, trying to force himself as deep as he could, determined to bury himself in your guts and rearrange them.
''Fuck-! I'm gonna cum! Shit! Shit!'' He groaned out, grinding into you one final time before cumming deep inside you, painting your gooey walls a pretty white colour. He finally pulled out, the slit in his tip still connecting a bit of semen to your hole, he gave you a quick nip to the neck, suckling and kissing on the mark to soothe it.
''You did good this session.'' He muttered, saying quietly into your ear as he tucked a wrecked strand of hair behind your ear.
''I work off the clock too, call me if you need any help.'' He winked at you, clothing himself and grabbing his phone, stopping the recording.
He watched as you hurriedly put on your clothes, guiding you to the door by the small of your back. Before you left, you saw him mouth
''See you again.'' The flirty motion made you blush as you felt his warm cum move inside you.
You laid in bed, concerning yourself with your phone when a notification popped up.
It was Naoya and attached was a video. You clicked on it. The crazy bastard really did record everything, he even shot it like a porno. The message read:
''For when you get lonely/doubt my abilities to help my precious client ♡''
You could smell the sarcasm oozing from him, just from the message. And some part of you genuinely smiled. You found your thumb hovering over the call button.
What harm was one more time? You needed his expertise after all
Note: I'm thinking of making a Catboy!Naoya x Reader but I'm not certain if you guys would read it or if he should take on a more dominant or submissive role in that fic, I'll decide in time. Stay updated!
naoya praises himself while he's got you folded in half, your knees pressed to your chest, his cock slipping in and out of you at a rate that has your brain melting out of your ears.
"making a mess," he comments, not bothering to slow his pace as he leans into your space, lips turned up into a sly smirk and just centimeters from your ear to ask, "that 'cause of me?"
and when your walls start clamping down around him, "cumming again? who did that for you?" followed by a laugh.
but every once in a while, his confidence cracks. you don't even realize he's started to slip until his forehead presses to yours.
his pace starts to falter, collapsing into you. he supports his weight on one arm above your head, the other wrapped around your waist as your hips work together now. the angle is just right, the tip of his cock staying pressed into your sweet spot, every shift of your hips sending little shockwaves down your spine.
"tell me i'm doing a good job," his voice wavers when he asks, throat bobbing as he swallows down his fear of rejection. vulnerability is written all over him - eyes squeezed shut, his fingers playing with the loose ends of your hair. when you take too long to respond, he chokes out a, "please."
your hand comes up to his face, gently placing it against his cheek. you bring your lips together for a moment and then, "you're doing a good job," when you pull away, head falling back into the mattress.
your voice is soft and seemingly exactly what he needs. he lets out a low, lengthy moan, letting more of his weight settle on top of you as his thrusts pick up speed again.
synopsis . Thigh riding with your boyfriend. content . afab!reader, established relationship, teasing, he's kinda mean, slight size kink, degradation, praise, etc. (this is a repost from kamitv)
Your boyfriend makes you drag your drooling pussy all over the expanse of his thick thigh while he's leaning back—manspread like some slut—against the couch with hungry eyes and a mean grip on your hips, just for fun.
Groaning a teasing, "You look so fuckin' pretty on me like this," as if he wasn't using you like some sort of entertainment right now.
He loved watching the way your gorgeous face twisted up all needly and nothing satisfied him more than gifting your hand a rude smack when you tried to grab at his cock.
Some fuckin' nerve you had.
Here he was trying to be nice, complimenting you, and let you get off all prettily on his thigh but you wanted to be greedy and reach for his dick instead? Suguru scoffed at you and sliped one of his hands in between your lewdly parted legs just to pinch your clit and listen to the way you whine.
Scoffing at your whole dramatic display, "Aw, what's the matter now, you mad?" He'd go on and tease, just to earn that frustrated pout of yours and smile at the sight.
You'd frown at him fully and your nails would go digging into the skin of his arm where your hand was holding onto, "When I said I wanted to ride you... this isn't what I meant, Suguru."
Your boyfriend only makes the most delighted expression that manages to piss you off even more before he says, "You should've been more specific then, huuuh?" in that mocking tone he knows you hate love so much.
To which you groan and jerk your hips forward as if to make some kind of point. Not that it helps much with the way he steels that hand on your hip and forces your cunt to grind smoothly over the slick mess you've already made on his naked thigh.
And he'd start flexing the muscles of his leg, making sure you really feel the pressure in between your sloppy folds. The whole act makes his cock ache and throb beneath the confines of his boxers but for right now, he couldn't care less. Not when he's got you moaning from his leg alone and making the filthiest expressions even as you complained about how much you "hated" this.
"C'mon, admit it. You're just as into this as I am," Suguru purrs, as if he can't literally feel the way you're sobbing all over his leg—slick dripping down his skin and wetting up all of his thigh. You were literally leaving a trail of arousal on his leg right now so it's not like you could sit there and try to play it off like you didn't agree to do this in the first place. "You're glaring at me like your pussy's not leaking all over the place right now."
You grit your teeth and let your eyes shoot elsewhere. You so desperately wanted to argue him down and deny deny deny the fact that you were actually about to cum from this but, of course, you couldn't exactly do that. Especially not with the way Suguru presses his thumb against your clit just as you roll your hips forward.
"Fuck-," You gasped before your forehead was meeting his shoulder and you began grinding harder against him.
"Uhuh, thereee she is. There's my slutty girl," Suguru taunts—again, as if he didn't place you here himself—a lazy smirk drawing itself onto his flawless features. Then he's turning his lips to your ear and moving both of his hands back to your hips to drag you against him slower, "I missed you like this, baby. So fuckin' needy against me."
You can't help the way your cunt clenches against his thigh when he says that. Not to mention the way he angles your hips to slip backwards and how he motions his leg up and rubs against your clit again. "Goddamnit, Suguru. This.. ah-, this isn't what I w-wanted." You manage to complain as you fight the fluttering of your lashes.
"Yeahh? Poor girlll." Suguru chastises against the crown of your ear. You feel the way his warm breath tickles your skin and he decides to taunt you further with a mean smack to your ass, making you jump a bit in surprise. He scoffs, " You wanted to ride my cock sooo badly, didn't you?"
Groaning again, "You know I did," You whine as your back arches a bit.
Suguru merely cocks his head to the side and looks down at the way you're clinging to him.
He could feel every twitch and nasty trickle of arousal that poured out against his leg so, it's only natural that he flashes that sly knowing smile again, "Oh, is that why you're cumming on my leg right now?"
Sometimes you hated how well he knew your body.
The way he could feel you getting even messier against him was almost more annoying than the situation itself. So, you end up searing into his shoulder, "Shut up-"
"You don't want me to," Suguru cuts off rudely, and of course his smile widens when he hears the sloppy squelch your cunt makes in reaction. "Not with the way I can feel that pussy dripping allll over me. Fuuuck, lean back, pretty girl. I wanna see her."
Do you deny Suguru? Of course not. You don't think you've ever denied this man of anything in your entire life and you damn sure weren't about to start now.
Your upper half leans back oh-so-gorgeously and you catch the way his cock jumps in reaction. Now that makes you smile, hands going back to keep yourself propped up perfectly on his leg as your eyes lowered on the sight of your starved boyfriend and your hips picked up their pace.
Suguru tips his head to the side slowly and his hands dance up and down your body slowly, "So perfect f'me." He whispers, trailing those violet eyes down your figure and pressing his leg up again jsut to watch your folds part nastily, cunt aching against him. "God, maybe I should've put you on my cock instead..."
"Ya' think?" You huff, earning a telling look from him.
"Don't get smart with me, you'd need me to stretch you out on my fingers before that anyway." Suguru argues, scoffing at your confidence. He maneuvers a hand to your ass before lifting you up ever so slightly to catch sight of the sticky muddle of cum you've left there. "Mmh..." He hums deeply, "Can't think of a single time you've taken every inch of me without complaints."
Then he sets you back down and smacks your ass again. To which you're left gasping before a sneaky smile sparks across your lips, "Moaning isn't complaining by the way. Not my fault you're fuckin' huge."
Suguru knew what you were doing when you said that.
Hell, his cock was practically crying to feel you by this point, leaking whorishly against his sweats. He tries to play it off by clearing his throat and raising a brow, "Are you talking like that on purpose so you can get what you want outta' me?"
Your smile widens, "Maybe."
You knew you had him now.
Hence why he scoffs almost immediately and rolls his eyes all sassily before saying, "Well, it's working. Lift those fuckin' hips."
banner art from “Toile No Jimiko To Omukae No Gokusotsu” || perm suguru tags (1/2):
summary: the crew (plus todo) is on summer vacay for two weeks (funded by gojo) and yujis wingmen (megumi and todo) have to help him score not oblivious you while you and nobara are trying to do the exact same thing!
content warning : suggestive probably, aged up, first smau bear with me here,
i don’t own any of the pictures, all are from pinterest!
ꕤ summary: you’re a sharp-tongued hunter with a secret… one that makes you the monster’s perfect target. when things get tense, sam figures it out… and decides it’s time to solve the problem himself. very thoroughly.
♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, virgin! reader, soft dom! sam, p in v, oral sex (fem! receiving), emotional intimacy, consent focused, aftercare so sweet you’ll rot, mentions of fear/paranoia tied to virginity, dean walking in and mentally combusting, so slight voyeurism.
♯ notes: the bitch is back at it again!! also?? what the fuck is up with me writing so many virginity plots specifically for sam winchester. idk. guess.
you weren’t new to creepy towns, god knows you’d seen more than your share of cornfield nightmares and rusted playgrounds. but the second the impala rolled through the cracked welcome sign, something about the place just felt wrong. it wasn’t the broken sidewalks or the way the trees seemed too still, it was the air. stale. held breath kind of wrong.
“‘welcome to morrow creek. population 1,206.’” you squinted out the window, voice flat with disdain. “cute.”
dean snorted from the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel with a finger. he was already bored. “bet they sell nasty homemade jam.”
“three women,” sam muttered from the passenger seat, flipping through the thick folder of clippings in his lap. “all under twenty-five. found dead in bed, no forced entry, no signs of struggle, uh, local cops think it’s a carbon monoxide leak. but each of ‘em..” he paused, glancing back at you. “they were all virgins.”
the word dropped heavy between the seats, even though dean chuckled like it was just another day at the office. “so.. we’ve got a purity-sucking monster. awesome. what’s next, a ghost nun with mommy issues?”
you leaned your head against the cold window, lips quirking into a smirk that felt a little too tight. “well, good thing none of us fit the bill, right?..”
dean laughed under his breath, but you felt sam’s eyes flick back to you, too quick to mean nothing. you didn’t meet his gaze. instead, you stared hard at the road and let your smile fade.
the motel was standard horror-flick material, though. the three of you tossed your bags into one of the two-bed rooms and you immediately claimed the lumpy couch in the corner before the brothers could bicker about it.
“i’ll take the death trap,” you said, dropping your bag with a thud. “i’ve had worse.”
dean smirked, eyeing the couch like it owed him money. “suit yourself, sweetheart. hope you like springs in your spine.”
sam didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression he got when he was thinking too hard. “you sure?” he asked after a beat. his voice wasn’t pushy, it was gentle, as if he wasn’t asking about the couch at all.
you raised an eyebrow, already pulling out the iron blade you kept tucked beneath your jacket. “don’t worry about me, sammy. i’m not exactly delicate.”
that earned the tiniest smile from him, but his eyes didn’t let go of yours right away. you turned your back before it could linger.
the three of you spent the afternoon digging through the town’s pathetic excuse for a library. sam and dean did their usual tag-team, sam sweet-talking the clerk for access to records, dean bitching about how much dust was on the damn files. you tucked yourself into a quiet corner and started scribbling connections, your fingers stained with ink and that familiar buzz of adrenaline humming under your skin.
you were good at this. better than good. you’d learned from the best, but you had your own rhythm now, your own gut instincts that whispered before the lore caught up.
you leaned over the table and tapped your notebook with the back of your pen. “look at the dates. all three deaths were on the waxing crescent. always between midnight and 3 a.m., always in their homes. no signs of entry. that means it’s either incorporeal, or it’s being let in.”
dean leaned over your shoulder, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne. “damn,” he muttered, lips close enough to your ear to make your skin prickle. “you’re getting scary good at this.”
“i’ve been scary good,” you replied coolly, not looking at him.
you could feel sam watching you again, from behind the half-wall of old encyclopedias. you could feel he was trying to peel something back. you didn’t give him the chance.
by the time night crawled in, the motel felt colder than it should’ve. dean was lounging on his bed with a beer, flipping channels, while sam meticulously salted the windows and doors, making sure every corner was sealed. you added your own touch, drawing sigils on the mirror with charcoal, tucking your blade under your pillow, double checking the line of salt at the threshold until it looked right. you told yourself it was just muscle memory. that you weren’t nervous.
but you were. not because of the hunt.
because of you.
because the second Sam said the v-word earlier, your body went cold. not because you were ashamed, or insecure, or anything stupid like that. you just hadn’t wanted them to know. you hadn’t wanted them to realize you were the kind of girl this monster wanted. pure, untouched. you’d spent years building yourself into something sharp and untouchable. and now, something out there could sniff it out like blood in the water.
you cracked open a beer and forced yourself to take a long sip, masking the shake in your hands with practiced ease. then you stood. “i’m beat. gonna crash early.”
dean waved you off with a lazy salute. “sweet dreams, killer.”
sam said nothing. just watched you walk out like he already knew something you didn’t want him to.
your motel room was just a few doors down, but it felt like another planet once you locked yourself inside. you did what you always did. you locked the door, salted the windows, tested your knife grip, triple-checked the lines on the floor. but your chest still felt tight. your palms were damp. your skin felt… exposed.
you weren’t scared of dying. that had stopped being your biggest fear a long time ago. what made your stomach twist was the idea that you might get chosen. that this thing might sniff you out, and suddenly sam and dean would know. they’d look at you differently. pity you, protect you.
and you didn’t want to be protected. you wanted to be seen as dangerous.
but right now? sitting alone in a dark motel room, knees pulled up to your chest as you stared at the door like it might explode inward, you felt like prey.
a knock broke the silence. your head snapped up.
“hey… it’s me.” sam’s voice was low through the door, almost gentle. he already knew not to scare you more than you were.
you hesitated, heart hammering. “what the hell, sam?”
“i saw that expression when you left,” he said. “you okay?”
the words caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to lie to him right now. there was a long pause. thank fuck he didn’t push.
you stood slowly, crossed the room on quiet feet, and undid the lock. your hand trembled just slightly on the doorknob before you opened it.
“…come in.”
sam stepped inside slowly. honestly, he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him. his eyes scanned the room, your over-prepared salt lines, the open blade on the nightstand, the half-drunk beer. then they found you again. that same look.
and that, somehow, felt even worse.
he stood in the middle of your motel room like he didn’t want to make the first move.
“you gonna say something?” you asked, voice quiet but sharp. defensive. if he touched the wrong nerve, you might shatter or explode. you weren’t sure which.
sam’s gaze softened a little, but it didn’t lose focus. “did you really come in here just to sleep?”
you turned away, busying yourself by pretending to adjust the salt line by the window. “what the hell does that mean?”
“you’re scared,” he said, blunt now. “not of the hunt, or the monster. of being its target. and I think you already know why.”
you felt your pulse in your throat, your fingers twitching at your sides. “so what? you gonna tell dean? put me on some kinda leash? lock me in the car like a liability?”
he was behind you before you even heard his steps, his voice brushed close to your neck. “no. i’m not gonna tell him anything. i’m not here to judge you. i’m here because…” he paused, like he needed to find the exact words. “because if you are what this thing’s looking for, that means you’re in danger. and i’m not letting anything happen to you.”
you turned to face him, and suddenly he was close, his chest nearly brushing yours, his hand ghosting over the air between you. “you don’t get it,” you said quietly. “you don’t know what it’s like… walking around with this stupid secret. being the only one in the room who hasn’t-.. who is-..”
“a fuckin’ virgin?” sam finished for you, gently but without hesitation. “yeah, i got that part.”
your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “…you think it makes me weak, don’t you?”
“no,” he said, voice low and certain. “i think it makes you brave as hell for coming out here and hunting with us anyway. for pretending like it doesn’t matter when i can tell it’s tearing you apart inside.”
you felt something split wide open in your chest. a dam cracking. you were so tired of holding it in. of hiding behind sharp jokes and harder walls.
“i didn’t plan on staying that way forever,” you murmured. “it just… didn’t happen. didn’t feel right. not yet.”
sam’s thumb brushed your jaw. “and now?”
you swallowed. looked up at him through your lashes. “now i feel like a goddamn target. like it’s this thing hanging over me and, sam, i hate it. i hate being afraid.”
his lips hovered close to yours, voice a whisper against your skin. “then let me help.”
you stared at him. “you don’t have to-”
“i want to.”
there was no hesitation in his eyes. no lust-fueled pressure. he leaned in, mouth catching yours in a kiss that was patient but deep, like he’d been holding it back for too long. you melted against him before you could even think, hands grabbing the front of his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you.
his tongue brushed yours and the groan he let out was filthy, like the taste of you knocked the breath out of him. “you taste so fucking sweet,” he muttered against your lips. “been wondering what it’d feel like to kiss that mouth since you first mouthed off at me.”
you pulled back slightly, breathless. “that was, like… day three.”
sam smiled, hand sliding down to the curve of your hip. “yeah. i’m patient.”
you tugged his shirt off, finally getting your hands on all that muscle he kept hidden under layers. his stomach taut under your fingers as he stepped you back toward the bed.
“you sure about this?” he asked one last time, voice rough but gentle.
you nodded. “i don’t want it to be fear that takes it away from me. i want you.”
that did something to him. suddenly he was all over you, mouth on your neck, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. he kissed down your body like a promise. every touch was careful and intentional, but so hungry. and when he finally pushed your thighs apart and knelt between them, he looked up at you like he was about to ruin you.
“i’m gonna make this good for you,” he murmured, voice so deep it made your toes curl. “so good you forget why you were scared at all. so good it won’t matter that you waited this long.”
you barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on you. hot, skilled, tongue licking long deliberate strokes on your pussy. he was memorizing every single sound you made. you clawed at the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer, and he just held you open with those strong hands, eating you out. he’d literally die if you pulled away.
and when you finally came, shaking and gasping, he kissed back up your body, slow and sweet. “i’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your jaw. “let me take care of the rest.”
sam moved over you like he’d been dreaming about it. until now, until your back was arched against the bed and his body was finally settled between your thighs, all warmth with pressure and want. the motel room around you felt like it didn’t matter. the only thing real was him.
“you good?” he asked again, voice wrecked and whisper-rough, his fingers brushing your cheek while his other hand slowly guided his cock along your folds, teasing. not out of cruelty, but to give you time to breathe.
you nodded, but your voice cracked a little when you said, “yeah. i want it.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to calm your heartbeat with his mouth. “gonna go real slow,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “you tell me if you want me to stop. you say the word, and i back off. no questions.”
“i won’t,” you whispered, hips already lifting to meet him. “i want you, sam. just you.”
the first push was gentle. he went slow, careful, watching your face the entire time, not even trying to hide how hard he was breathing. you were tight, hot, the stretch just on the edge of too much, and the feeling of him filling you had your eyes rolling back almost instantly.
“oh my god,” you gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders. “sam..”
“i know, baby. i know.” his voice was tight, controlled, but he was barely holding back a growl. “you feel-fuck-you feel perfect.”
he paused once he was buried inside, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and running one hand slowly up your thigh like it would help you relax. “breathe,” he whispered. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”
you were trembling, half from nerves, half from the feeling of him, all of him, seated so deep inside you, stretching you open in a way that felt devastating and intimate all at once. you didn’t even realize tears were brimming at your lashes until sam kissed one off your cheek. “you okay?” he murmured, thumb brushing under your eye again.
“i’m perfect,” you whispered. “just, holy fuck, don’t stop.”
his hips pulled back slowly, and when he pushed in again, it was smoother. still deliberate, but deeper, more rhythmic, trying to find his pace with you, tuning his body to yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist and let your head fall back, moaning shamelessly as he started fucking you in deep, slow strokes that made your breath hitch every time he bottomed out.
“that’s it,” he grunted, forehead still pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “taking me so fuckin’ well, baby… i’ve got you. just let go.”
you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak. the way he was moving slow, his name kept falling from your lips in a quiet chant, the only word you could seem to remember.
sam’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing soft circles into your clit. you gasped, body jolting, and he smiled against your neck. “that feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered. “you like when i touch you like this?”
“yesyes, please, don’t stop-” your voice broke again as pleasure started coiling hot and heavy in your belly. “i’m gonna, sam..”
“i’ve got you,” he said again, voice so loving it hurt. “you can let go. you’re safe.”
you came around him hard, clenching so tightly around his cock that he had to bite his lip to keep it together. your whole body tensed, then collapsed under him as you shook and gasped through it, and he held you like you were something precious, whispering through every twitch.
“that’s it, that’s my girl… fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful like this…”
he kept moving, chasing his own high now, breath stuttering as he fucked into you deeper, a little faster, but never rough. his face was buried in your neck, hand gripping your thigh, and when he came, it was with a full-body groan. he buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, panting like he’d just run a marathon.
and then… silence.
heavy breathing. the weight of him on top of you, solid and real and safe. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he let out the softest sound, content, like he didn’t want to move.
he stayed draped over you, his hand still curled around your waist like he needed to keep you close in case you disappeared. you felt wrecked, in the best way.
after a while, sam leaned up on his elbow, pushing the sweaty hair off your forehead, looking down at you like you were made of fucking starlight. “you still okay?” he whispered, and his voice was so gentle, so low and fond, it made your throat get tight.
“mhm,” you mumbled, already half-asleep, still spread out and naked beneath him. “i think you fixed me.”
sam chuckled, brushing his lips over your temple. “i’m a healer now?”
“literally,” you sighed. “virginity demon who?”
he kissed your jaw. “oh, the spirit is banished, alright. world saved.”
you rolled into him, lazy grin pulling at your lips. “one orgasm at a time.”
“…one?”
you blinked up at him, then immediately burst out laughing as he smirked like the smug bastard he was. “okay, chill, sam,” you groaned. “my body’s not even functioning yet.”
“i’ll give you thirty minutes,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest, tucking the blanket around both of you like you weren’t still sticky and sweaty and fucked dumb.
“i’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you whispered, fingers drawing little shapes on his bare chest.
“good. you should.” his voice was all honey again. “you’re safe with me.”
and that was the last thing you heard before you drifted off, wrapped in sam’s arms, thoroughly wrecked and absolutely ruined for anyone who wasn’t a 6’4” soft-spoken demon hunter who fucked like he was trying to put your soul back together.
it felt nice finally falling asleep. your legs were tangled with sam’s, your head tucked under his chin, and his hand was still splayed across your ass like it belonged there. which, to be fair, it did. the room was still warm with sex and body heat and whatever leftover cologne he wore that now lived in your hair.
until the door slammed open like it was kicked by a cop.
“you have got to be kidding me.”
you screamed. sam jolted awake with military precision, reaching for the knife on the nightstand in one motion while covering you with his body in the next.
and standing in the doorway, framed by shitty motel light and holding a crumpled paper bag full of snacks, was dean winchester.
mouth open. face full of regret.
you just stared at each other.
“…dude,” sam said groggily, arm still around you like he didn’t have his whole ass out under the sheet. “what the fuck.”
dean blinked again. “nah.”
he turned around immediately. stared at the wall. took a deep breath.
“oh, no, no no no, this is not happening. this is not how I start my fuckin’ morning. i got beef jerky and a coke and now I have to go pour bleach in my brain because my little brother decided to go all lust in the dust with you.”
you groaned, flopping onto your back and dragging the sheet over your head like a corpse. “please kill me. please kill me now.”
“don’t tempt me.” dean yelled, still facing the wall with his arms out like he was trying to keep a crime scene untouched. “i trusted you! you were the normal one! you sat next to me during stakeouts! you made fun of him with me! what the hell?!”
“i don’t think I’ve ever made fun of sam with you-” you started to say, but dean spun around dramatically, index finger raised like a furious little league coach.
“don’t lie to me now, sex goblin! i saw what i saw, and i can’t ever go back from that!”
sam had the audacity to rub his eyes and mumble, “you could’ve knocked, dude.”
“oh, don’t you start,” dean snapped, pacing now. “i’ve heard you. i knew you were in here. i was trying to be respectful. i thought, ‘hey, they probably just fell asleep watching TV, maybe they’re sharing the room, maybe sam’s just being weird and overprotective, maybe she had a nightmare..’ BUT NO.”
he spun to face you both again, looking personally betrayed.
“y’all were out here doing the monster mash and i walked in ten seconds too late to stop my retinas from dissolving.”
you peeked out from under the covers. “we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
“oh really?” dean scoffed. “how were you planning to tell me? group text? powerpoint? smoke signals from your fucking bedroom?!”
sam sighed. “dean-”
“no. no ‘dean.’ i need castiel to erase the last ten minutes of my life.”
he turned back toward the door, paused dramatically, and looked over his shoulder with the most betrayed face known to man.
“i hope you know,” he said solemnly, “that i will never sit on that bed again.”
GOT DROPPED INTO A DATING SIM RPG, still gotta work ☹
art cr @ Yaochii on pins
16+ NSFW, knight!yuji, mutual pining, dating sim AU, RPG domain, gamer!reader, rogue!reader, heavy makeout, dry humping / grinding. no further desc needed bc the title says it all— and yes this is heavily inspired by those manhwas out there esp the one with kim soleum in it ;)
The mission had been supposed to be a simple extraction. Track the Grade 1 curse, exorcise it, and make it back in time for Gojo-sensei’s obnoxious Friday night movie marathon.
You should have known better.
A flash of blinding, cotton-candy pink light erupted from the alleyway, swallowing both you and Yuji whole. When you blinked the spots from your eyes, the gritty Tokyo alleyway was gone.
Instead, you stood in the middle of a lush, hyper-saturated fantasy forest, complete with glowing fairies and comically large mushrooms. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part.
“Uh… Y/N?”
You turned at the sound of Yuji’s voice, and your jaw practically unhinged. Gone was his standard Jujutsu High uniform. He was now strapped into a set of gleaming, surprisingly tight medieval knight’s armor that left his incredibly toned arms entirely bare. A bright crimson cape billowed behind him, despite there being absolutely no wind.
You looked down at yourself. You were wearing what could only be described as the most stereotypical, impractical “rogue” adventurer gear imaginable—straps, buckles, and a cropped cloak that did absolutely nothing to hide your curves.
Suddenly, a booming, theatrical voice echoed from the sky.
“Welcome, brave heroes, to the Domain of the Star-Crossed! To escape this realm of fantasy, you must defeat the Demon Lord and seal your victory with an act of true, unbridled passion!”
You stared at the sky. You stared at Yuji. Yuji stared at you, a furious blush spreading from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears.
“Did that curse just trap us in a… a dating sim RPG?” you asked, deadpan.
Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, his armor clanking loudly. “Man, Fushiguro is never going to let us live this down if he finds out.” He met your eyes, his honey-brown gaze softening with a mix of embarrassment and determination. “But, uh, we better play along, right? I’ll keep you safe.”
And so the quest began.
The “Demon Lord” turned out to be the Grade 1 curse you were tracking, now wearing a comically small golden crown. It unleashed a horde of slime monsters that bounced toward you with malicious intent.
“Stand back!” Yuji yelled, fully leaning into the heroic knight persona. He leapt into the air, his fists crackling with cursed energy. “Divergent Fist!”
He punched a slime so hard it erupted into a shower of glitter rather than curse blood. You didn’t let him have all the fun, though. You drew the completely unnecessary pair of daggers strapped to your thighs, channeling your own cursed energy into the blades, and sliced through the remaining horde, perfectly syncing your movements with his.
It was an exhilarating, chaotic dance. He covered your blind spots; you cleared the path for his heavy hits. Even in this ridiculous fantasy setting, your teamwork was flawless.
When the Demon Lord finally lunged, aiming a lethal, spiked tentacle right for your chest, Yuji didn’t hesitate. He threw himself in front of you, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder to shield you, before delivering a devastating, Black Flash-infused roundhouse kick that shattered the curse’s mask.
The monster disintegrated into a cloud of pixels, and a loud, triumphant Victory! fanfare played from the sky.
But the forest didn’t fade away. Instead, a glowing blue holographic screen materialized in the air, looking suspiciously like the dialogue interfaces you used to click through during your daily commissions in games.
「 BOSS DEFEATED. REWARD: ONE NIGHT AT THE STAR-CROSSED INN. AFFECTION METER MUST REACH 100% TO EXIT DOMAIN. 」
Which was exactly how you and Yuji ended up locked inside a dimly lit, ridiculously lavish tavern room that smelled like roses and cheap wine. And, in true, agonizing RPG fashion, there was only one bed.
Yuji was currently standing on the opposite side of the room, rigidly inspecting a completely unremarkable wooden chair. His armor clanked with every agitated breath he took. A floating pink bar hovered above his head:
「 AFFECTION: 65% 」
“So,” you started, crossing your arms in a futile attempt to cover the exposed skin of your midriff. “An affection meter.”
Yuji cleared his throat, his honey-brown eyes darting everywhere except your face. “Yeah. Guess the curse really is a dating sim.”
You sighed, your fingers twitching by your side. You half-wished you were back at your desk, the familiar, heavy resistance of your mechanical keyboard under your hands instead of the cold metal of your daggers. At least grinding for primogems made sense. This was just cruel.
“Well, we aren’t going to get out of here by staring at the furniture,” you reasoned, taking a deliberate step toward him.
The moment you moved, another holographic window popped up between you two.
「 INTERACTION TRIGGERED. CHOOSE YOUR DIALOGUE:
✰ A: “You fought bravely today, Sir Knight.”
✰ B: “Is it hot in here, or is it just that armor?”
✰ C: “Kiss me until we forget what realm we’re in.” 」
You stared at the glowing text, a furious blush exploding across your cheeks. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Yuji asked, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder. He read the prompts, and you actually heard the sharp hitch in his breath. The pink bar over his head immediately ticked up to 〔70%〕.
“Don't look at it!” you hissed, trying to swat the floating screen away.
But as Yuji reached out to help you, his hand brushed against the interface. Instead of closing it, his armored gauntlet swiped open a new tab.
「 PARTY MEMBER STATUS: ITADORI YUJI ♡
HP: 98%
MP: 100%
ACTIVE DEBUFF: Severely distracted by Y/N’s rogue outfit. Struggling to maintain pure thoughts. 」
The room plunged into a deafening, agonizing silence.
You slowly looked up from the glowing blue text to look at Yuji. His face was entirely flushed, a deep, vibrant crimson spreading all the way down his neck and into the collar of his cape. He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“I—I didn’t write that!” Yuji stammered, frantically waving his hands to dismiss the screen. “The Domain is just—it’s messing with us! It’s making stuff up!”
“Is it?” you asked, your voice dropping an octave.
A sudden wave of boldness washed over you. For months, you two had danced around each other. The lingering glances, the unnecessary physical contact during training, the way he always made sure his shoulder was pressed against yours on the subway, and those late-night co-op sessions where you’d grind through your dailies together until 2 AM, his voice a sleepy, comforting hum in your headset. The tension had been a tightly coiled spring, and this ridiculous Domain had just snapped it.
You took another step closer, backing him up against the heavy oak door of the inn room.
“Because your affection meter just jumped to eighty percent, Yuji,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his wide, panicked eyes.
“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice coming out dangerously raspy. His back hit the wood with a dull thud. “You’re making this really difficult. I’m trying really, really hard to be a gentleman right now.”
“I don’t want a gentleman,” you replied softly, reaching out to trace the cold metal edge of his breastplate, feeling the frantic, heavy pounding of his heart beneath it. “I want to clear the quest.”
You didn’t even need to select Option C.
Yuji let out a deep, guttural groan that vibrated straight to your core. His restraint shattered completely. Large, calloused hands completely abandoned the clunky gauntlets, dropping them to the floor with a crash as he grabbed your waist, hoisting you up with superhuman ease.
You let out a startled gasp as your back hit the heavy oak door, your legs instinctively wrapping around his armored waist.
His mouth crashed down onto yours. It was nothing like the soft, hesitant first kisses from the movies. It was hungry, desperate, and completely consuming. His lips parted yours effortlessly, his tongue sweeping inside to taste you, mapping your mouth with a possessive heat that made your head spin.
You tangled your fingers into his thick, spiky pink hair, pulling him flush against you. The cold metal of his armor bit into your exposed thighs, but you didn’t care. The friction, the heat radiating from his skin, that uniquely warm scent of sunshine and boyish sweat, it was intoxicating.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he growled against your lips, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft skin of your hips. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, biting lightly at the sensitive column of your neck. You let out a breathless, needy sound, arching your spine to press closer to him.
His hips ground flush against yours, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He was rock hard, the heavy ridge of his arousal pressing intimately against you through the thin layers of your rogue skirt and his trousers.
You whimpered, a surge of pooling heat settling heavily between your thighs. You reached down, your hands desperately tugging at the straps of his breastplate, needing it gone, needing to feel his bare skin beneath your fingertips.
“Ngh, Yuji—” you gasped, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.
“Wait, no—!” Yuji shouted, his eyes snapping open.
CRACK.
The scent of roses and the soft velvet of the inn vanished, replaced instantly by the pungent smell of garbage and the humid night air of Tokyo. Gravity asserted itself, and you stumbled as the oak door behind you disappeared, turning back into the brick wall of a damp alleyway.
You were both back in your standard, dark Jujutsu High uniforms.
The Domain was broken. The mission was over.
You and Yuji stood perfectly still, chests heaving, clothes rumpled, your lips swollen and thoroughly kissed. The silence between you was deafening.
Then, the distant honk of a Tokyo taxi snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, the intoxicating haze of the fantasy world evaporating as reality abruptly crashed back down on you. You two were back, safe and sound. And more importantly, you had exactly two hours before Gojo-sensei’s movie night.
Two hours of glorious, uninterrupted ‘me time’. You could finally log in, run your genshin dailies and maybe do a few pulls before you had to be sociable again. Plus, you just really needed some excuse to run from whatever was going on right now.
“Well!” you clapped your hands together, stepping back and aggressively smoothing down your rumpled uniform jacket, actively avoiding Yuji’s gaze. “Mission accomplished! That was… definitely a weird curse. Anyway, I’m gonna head back to the dorms, take a shower, and grind some levels before movie night. See ya—”
Before you could even pivot on your heel, a large, warm hand clamped firmly around your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.
You slowly turned back to look at Yuji. His pupils were still blown wide, a deep flush coloring his cheeks, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. The golden-retriever energy was completely gone, replaced by something much hungrier, and significantly more indignant.
“Hold on,” Yuji breathed, his voice dropping to a delightfully raspy pitch. He tugged on your wrist, effortlessly pulling you right back into his personal space. “Are you kidding me right now, Y/N?”
“Uh… no?” you squeaked.
“You can’t just—” Yuji let out a frustrated, breathy laugh, his free hand raking through his messy pink hair. “You can’t just do that, drive me absolutely crazy, and then go ‘cool, see ya, I’m gonna go play games’! You have to take responsibility!”
“The Domain made us do it!” you argued weakly, your heart hammering against your ribs all over again as he stepped closer, backing you right up against the damp brick wall of the alley.
“The Domain made us kiss,” Yuji corrected, his golden-brown eyes darkening as he leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine. “But you were the one who pushed me against the door. So, your dailies are going to have to wait.”
[Series Summary] Campus golden boy Naoya Zenin, you stumble upon his humiliating secret. Giving you the perfect opportunity to finally get revenge on the arrogant frat boy who’s tormented you for years. But as blackmail, tension, and attraction collide, their rivalry becomes far more dangerous than either expected. [Frat Naoya! x Influencer Reader]
[TAGS] ~~ MDNI 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. dom!reader. angst. blackmail. toxic frat culture. fraternities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. dacryphilia. alcohol. family trauma. SLOW BURN. reader slightly oc. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
[SUMMARY] - A month ago, everything fell apart. Some wounds healed. Others lingered beneath the surface, refusing to be forgotten. But no matter how far you run from the past, there comes a moment when you have no choice but to face it and decide whether it's worth leaving behind.
When the summons came, Naoya should've ignored it. He almost did. The text had appeared while he was sitting in his apartment pretending to study for finals.
Your father wants to see you.
No explanation. No request. Just an order.
The same kind he'd received his entire life. For several moments, he simply stared at the screen. His jaw tightening. Something ugly was twisting in his chest. A month ago, he would've gone immediately.
Without question. Without hesitation. Because that's what he always did.
Obey.
He was tired.
Tired of pretending. Tired of being the perfect son. Tired of sacrificing pieces of himself for people who had never once cared about him. Still. He went. Because old habits die hard.
The Zenin estate looked exactly the same as it always had. Naoya hated it. The mansion was beautiful. Expensive. And yet somehow it had never felt like home.
Not once.
As he stepped through the front doors, servants immediately lowered their gazes. The familiar sight made his stomach churn. Nobody looked happy here. Nobody ever did. His father was waiting in his office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the estate grounds. A view worth millions. A view Naoya had spent years staring at while being told he wasn't good enough.
His father didn't look up when he entered. Instead, he continued reading whatever document sat on his desk. Another power play. Another reminder of who was in control. Naoya remained standing. Silently. Patiently.
"Sit."
Naoya lowered himself into the chair. The silence stretched.
"Your grades have dropped."
Naoya blinked. That was it? That was why he'd been summoned? Not because his son was struggling. Not because he hadn't been home in weeks. Not because his life had completely fallen apart.
Grades.
His father tossed a report onto the desk.
"You've become distracted again."
Naoya glanced at it. Then looked away. Couldn't bring himself to care.
"You've embarrassed this family enough recently."
Something flickered behind his eyes. Recently. Meaning the fight.
His father folded his hands together.
"You are supposed to represent this family."
There it was. The family. Always the family.
A tool. An investment. A legacy. His father continued speaking. Words blending together.
Disappointment. Responsibility. Expectations.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
The same speech. Over and over again. He was tired. Exhaustingly. Tired.
"...Are you even listening to me?"
The question pulled him from his thoughts.
Slowly, Naoya looked up.
His father frowned.
Something inside him snapped. More like a rope stretched too tightly, finally giving way.
A lifetime of pressure. A lifetime of disappointment. A lifetime of trying. Breaking.
"You know..."
His voice came out quieter than expected.
"What?"
Naoya laughed. A hollow sound.
"You've never once asked if I was happy."
His father stared. Clearly confused. As though the question itself was ridiculous.
Naoya laughed again. Of course he didn't understand.
"Not once."
His father set down his pen.
"What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about?"
Years of resentment surged forward.
"I've spent my entire life doing exactly what you wanted."
His voice rose. Despite himself.
"I got the grades."
"I played the part."
His hands trembled.
"I did everything."
His father stood. Immediately irritated.
"Watch your tone."
Naoya barked out another laugh.
"Naoya."
His father took a step forward. Warning flashing across his face. But for the first time in his life—
Naoya didn't care.
"You know what the funny part is?" His voice shook. Not with fear, with anger, Raw, Ugly anger.
Years of it.
"I kept thinking if I worked hard enough you'd finally care."
The room fell silent.
"You never did."
His father's expression hardened.
"You are acting like a child."
The words landed like gasoline on an open flame. A child.
Then slowly rose to his feet. For the first time in his life. He stood eye-to-eye with the man who had controlled him for decades. And he wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
"No."
His voice was steady now. Terrifyingly steady.
"I'm finally acting like myself."
His father's jaw tightened.
"You should leave before you say something you'll regret."
Naoya smiled.
"I regret almost everything about my life."
Silence, heavy silence. The oppressive type.
"I hate you."
The words hung in the air. Neither of them moved. Naoya felt something inside his chest crack open.
Years of pain spilling out.
"I hate this family."
"I hate what you've done to me."
His voice broke. Just slightly.
"I hate that you made me believe I wasn't worth anything unless I was useful."
His father finally found his voice.
"That's enough."
"No."
The word echoed through the room.
"You don't get to control me anymore."
"Naoya—"
"You can write me out of the will."
His father froze.
"You can disown me."
Another step backward.
The first sign of uncertainty.
"I don't care."
Naoya's eyes burned.
"I don't want any of it."
The estate. The money. The expectations. The legacy.
None of it.
"I'd rather have nothing."
His voice cracked.
"Then spend another day being your son."
Silence. Complete silence.
Then Naoya turned. And walked away. For the first time in his life, he didn't wait for permission.
Naoya didn't remember making it to his car. One second, he was storming through the mansion. The next thing he knew, he was outside. The massive front doors closed behind him with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell violently. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins. His hands were trembling. He kept walking. Until he reached his car.
The driver's side door opened. Then slammed shut behind him. Naoya gripped the steering wheel.
Hard.
So hard his knuckles turned white. His breathing came in short bursts. Fast. Uneven. His heart pounded against his ribs. The confrontation replayed in his head. It should've felt good. Shouldn't it? Shouldn't he feel relieved? Free? Victorious? Instead, he felt sick.
Because despite everything. Despite all the anger. Despite all the hatred. That had still been his father. The only father he'd ever known. And now it was over. Really over. His father would never forgive him for what he'd said. The realization hit him like a freight train. A strange laugh escaped him. He had spent his entire life chasing things he could never have. His father's approval. Vivienne. You.
The laugh dissolved into a choking sound.
Before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. Naoya squeezed his eyes shut.
"Fuck."
His voice cracked. The curse barely audible. Another tear followed. Then another. Then another. And suddenly he couldn't stop. All of it came rushing out at once. His shoulders shook. His forehead dropped against the steering wheel. For the first time in his life—
Naoya cried.
The kind of crying that left your chest aching. The kind that made breathing difficult. The kind that left you feeling hollow afterward.
And through it all—
He thought about you. Of course he did.
Because somehow every road led back to you. The image of your face appeared immediately. Your smile. Your laugh.
He missed you.
The realization hurt more than everything that had happened inside the mansion. Because unlike his family and everyone else—
You had cared about him. You had actually cared. Not because of his last name. Not because of his money. Not because of what he could provide. You had wanted to know him. The real him. And what had he done?
Destroyed it.
Ruined it with his own two hands. A bitter laugh escaped him.
"Idiot."
The word came out hoarse. Because that was exactly what he was.
An idiot.
You had been right there. Right in front of him. Offering him everything he'd spent his entire life searching for. And he'd pushed you away. He could still remember the look on your face. The devastation.
The memory made his stomach twist violently. You had loved him. Or at least been willing to. And he'd taken that gift and shattered it. His chest tightened. Another tear slipped free.
He missed talking to you. Missed seeing you. Missed hearing your voice. Missed all the little things he'd taken for granted.
He missed everything.
A month. It had only been a month. Yet somehow it felt like years. His phone sat in the passenger seat.
Naoya stared at it. Then looked away. Then looked back again. His jaw tightened.
No.
You didn't want to hear from him. Why would you?
He'd made sure of that. But slowly he reached over and grabbed the device anyway. Your contact appeared almost immediately. He stared at your name. At the picture attached to it. At the smiling girl who probably hated him now. A fresh wave of grief hit him. He wanted to hear your voice.
Just once.
He wanted to tell you everything.
About how sorry he was. About how much he missed you. About how every day without you felt wrong. His thumb hovered over the call button. Hesitating. Fear gripping his chest.
Because what if you didn't answer?
Worse.
What if you did? What could he possibly say?
Sorry?
The word felt too small. Meaningless. How could one word fix everything he'd broken? It couldn't. And yet...
He couldn't keep living like this. Something had to change. His eyes drifted toward the windshield. Dark clouds had begun gathering overhead. Heavy. Threatening. A storm was coming.
Naoya wiped at his face. Then finally made a decision. A reckless one. The kind of decision that would either save him or destroy him.
He pressed call.
And listened to the phone ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
His stomach sank.
Eventually he dropped the phone into the passenger seat. Defeated. Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windshield.
Within minutes the sky opened completely. Sheets of rain hammered against the glass. The rhythmic sound filled the car. Naoya stared through it. Watching the world blur.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel. Go home. That would be the smart thing.
Go home.
Take a shower. Sleep. Pretend today never happened. Pretend he hadn't just destroyed the last bridge connecting him to his family. Pretend he wasn't completely falling apart.
Instead—
He started the car. The engine roared to life. And before he could talk himself out of it, he was driving.
Straight toward you.
°❀.ೃ࿔*
Meanwhile, you were completely unaware of the emotional crisis currently taking place across town.
You sat cross-legged on the couch. Laptop balanced on your thighs. Several notebooks spread across the coffee table. A half-finished energy drink sat forgotten beside you. Your entire life seemed to revolve around finals lately.
The loft was unusually quiet. Vicki had gone out with friends. For once, you had the apartment completely to yourself. It was peaceful. At least until your phone buzzed. You glanced down absentmindedly.
Then froze.
Naoya.
Your stomach immediately tightened.
One missed call.
Then another. Then another. Then another. Five total.
You stared at the screen. The familiar name seemed to burn itself into your vision. For several moments, you simply looked at it. Unable to move. Unable to think. Your heart beat a little faster.
Annoying.
Because you had been doing so well.
A month. An entire month. And now, suddenly, here he was again. Disrupting everything. You pressed your lips together. Then locked your phone.
No. Absolutely not. Not tonight.
Buzz.
A text message.
Your stomach dropped. Against your better judgment, you opened it.
Naoya: Please. Just one conversation.
You immediately locked the screen again. You tossed the phone onto the couch beside you. Determined to ignore it. Then spent the next ten minutes thinking about it.
Wonderful.
You hated him. You really did. At least you thought you did. Because if you truly hated him—
Why hadn't you blocked his number yet? The realization irritated you. Your eyes drifted toward the phone again. Block him. The option sat right there. One tap. Done. Problem solved. Instead, your thumb hovered uselessly over the screen.
You couldn't do it. You were pathetic.
A sudden knock echoed through the apartment. You jumped. Immediately looking toward the front door.
Who the hell—
Another knock. Louder this time.
Your brows furrowed. Vicki had a key. She wouldn’t knock. Slowly, you stood. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.
Another knock.
Carefully you approached the door. Then peered through the peephole. And froze.
Naoya.
Standing outside your apartment. Completely drenched. Rainwater soaked through the white t-shirt clinging to his body. His bleached hair hung messily across his forehead. Drops of water rolled down his face. His expression looked exhausted. Nothing like the arrogant asshole you'd spent months arguing with.
For a moment you forgot how to breathe.
Another knock. Gentler this time.
"Please."
His voice was muffled through the door. You remained completely still.
"Please."
The word cracked. Your chest tightened. Naoya rested his forehead against the wood.
"I know you're in there."
A thousand emotions crashed together at once. Anger, hurt, confusion, relief, longing, everything.
On the other side of the door, Naoya closed his eyes.
"Just hear me out."
His voice sounded small. Fragile.
"I won't ask for anything else."
Your eyes burned. Damn it. You hated this. Hated how much hearing him hurt. Hated how much it still affected you. Minutes passed. Neither of you moved.
Eventually Naoya laughed. A hollow sound. The kind that broke your heart a little.
"Yeah. I deserve that."
Your hand tightened against the wall.
"Sorry for bothering you."
The words were quiet. Defeated. And somehow that hurt more than anything else. Slowly, you heard footsteps retreating down the hallway. Then nothing.
You remained frozen beside the door. Eventually, you forced yourself to move. Your feet carried you toward the window. Almost against your own will. The storm outside had only gotten worse. Rain pounded against the glass. Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance.
Then you spotted him. And your heart shattered. Because he hadn't left. Naoya sat alone outside the apartment building. Slumped against the brick wall. Completely exposed to the storm. Rain soaked every inch of him.
His head hung low. His shoulders slumped. He looked utterly defeated. Like a man who had finally run out of fight.
You didn't feel angry anymore.
Only sad.
For several moments, you simply stood there. Staring. Watching rain pour from the sky in relentless sheets. Watching water run down the sidewalk. Watching Naoya sit completely motionless beneath the storm.
He looked miserable.
Absolutely miserable.
The sight should've satisfied you. A month ago, you would've wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to understand even a fraction of what he'd put you through.
But now?
Now all you felt was tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of being hurt. Tired of pretending you didn't still care.
Lightning flashed across the sky. For a brief moment, the entire street was illuminated. And you caught a glimpse of his face. Your breath caught.
He was crying.
The realization hit harder than you expected. Naoya Zenin didn't cry. Not the Naoya you knew.
Not the arrogant, insufferable, impossible man who always acted like he was above everything and everyone.
Yet there he was.
Crying in the rain like a sad puppy dog.
Your chest tightened painfully.
"Damn it."
The curse slipped from your lips. You already knew you were going downstairs. The moment you'd seen him sitting there, you'd lost the battle.
Slowly, you walked toward the front closet. Grabbed an umbrella. Slipped on a pair of sandals. Then headed for the elevator before you could change your mind.
The ride down felt agonizing. Your pulse thundered inside your ears. The doors finally opened. Cool air immediately greeted you. Your tank top hung dangerously low. Rain battered the pavement outside.
You stepped into the storm. The umbrella shielded you from most of it. The closer you got, the more nervous you became.
What exactly were you supposed to say?
Hi?
Why are you crying outside my apartment?
You looked ridiculous?
None of those seemed appropriate. Naoya still hadn't noticed you. His head remained lowered. Lost somewhere inside his own thoughts. Your footsteps slowed. Then stopped directly beside him. Carefully, you tilted the umbrella. Sheltering him from the rain.
For several seconds nothing happened.
Then slowly—
His head lifted. His eyes met yours. And the look on his face nearly destroyed you. Relief. Like a drowning man finally reaching air.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Neither of you seemed capable. The storm filled the silence instead.
Rain.
Thunder.
The distant hum of traffic. Everything except the words lodged in both of your throats. Finally you cleared yours.
"You're an idiot."
His lips twitched.
Just barely.
"Yeah."
Your throat tightened. Because he sounded awful. His voice was rough. Like he'd spent hours screaming.
You swallowed.
Then sighed.
"Come upstairs."
The words left your mouth before you could overthink them.
Naoya blinked.
As if he hadn't expected that answer. As if he couldn't quite believe it.
"Come on."
You shifted the umbrella slightly.
"It's freezing."
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. Water dripped from his clothes. His white shirt clung completely to his body. Soaked through.
Pathetic.
You hated how your heart ached looking at him. The two of you rode the elevator in silence. You could feel him staring. Feel the weight of his gaze.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
When the doors opened, you led him into the apartment. The loft felt strangely intimate now.
Just the two of you.
You disappeared briefly into the hallway. Returning with a towel.
"Here."
Naoya accepted it immediately.
"Thanks."
You nodded.
Then turned away. Needing a second. Needing space. Needing to breathe. Because having him here felt dangerous.
You barely made it two steps before fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
You froze.
Slowly looking back. Naoya sat on the edge of the couch. Still dripping water everywhere. Still looking absolutely wrecked.
His grip wasn't demanding. Wasn't forceful.
If anything—
It felt hesitant. Like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
Your chest tightened.
"Naoya—"
The words died instantly.
Because suddenly he leaned forward. Resting his forehead against your stomach.
Your heart shattered.
The arrogant boy you'd spent months hating was gone.
All that remained was someone hurting. Someone exhausted. Someone who looked like he was hanging together by a thread.
You slowly lowered your hand. Your fingers slipping into his damp hair. And for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence said enough.
A shaky breath escaped him. And when he finally spoke—
His voice cracked.
"I messed everything up."
The confession came out barely above a whisper.
"I know."
Another painful laugh.
"I really did."
You closed your eyes.
Because hearing him admit it somehow hurt more than hearing him deny it ever could.
Naoya tightened his grip on your wrist. Not enough to stop you. Just enough to keep you there.
"I don't expect you to forgive me."
His voice trembled.
"I don't."
Another breath. Another crack in his composure.
"But I needed to tell you I'm sorry."
The words hung between you.
And for the first time since you'd met him—
Naoya Zenin sounded completely sincere.
"I am so fucking sorry."
Your fingers continued moving through his damp hair. Slowly. Absent-mindedly. Naoya closed his eyes. The simple touch seemed to undo him.
A shaky breath left his lungs. His grip around your wrist loosened slightly. As though he was finally allowing himself to breathe.
The rain continued tapping softly against the loft windows. The storm still raging outside. Inside, everything felt still. Suspended. Like the world itself was waiting.
Eventually you broke the silence.
"What happened?"
Naoya didn't answer immediately. His forehead remained pressed against your stomach. Like he couldn't bear to look at you yet.
"I saw my father today."
The words came out quiet.
Your brows furrowed.
You knew enough about Naoya's family to understand that wasn't a good thing.
"You fought?"
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"Yeah."
Silence.
"I told him I hated him."
Your eyes widened slightly. That got your attention. Because of all his complaints about his father—
Naoya had never actually stood up to him. Not really. He'd complain. Talk shit behind closed doors. But confront him directly? Never.
Naoya finally lifted his head.
Slowly.
His eyes found yours.
God.
You nearly stopped breathing.
They were red. Bloodshot. Filled with exhaustion. You'd never seen him look so vulnerable before.
"I told him I didn't want anything to do with him anymore."
His voice cracked.
"I told him he could disown me."
Your stomach dropped.
"Naoya..."
A humorless laugh escaped him.
"Pretty dramatic, huh?"
No.
Not dramatic.
Heartbreaking.
Because suddenly everything made sense. The desperate look in his eyes. And somehow that hurt.
Naoya looked away. Unable to hold your gaze for long.
"I spent my entire life trying to make him proud."
You remained silent. Listening.
"It's stupid."
The bitterness in his voice made your chest ache.
"I got the grades."
His gaze dropped toward the floor.
"I played sports."
Another bitter smile.
"I did everything."
You could hear the years of disappointment woven through every word. The years of trying. The years of failing. The years of never being enough. And suddenly you understood something.
Naoya wasn't arrogant because he thought he was perfect. Naoya was arrogant because he was terrified he wasn't.
The realization settled heavily in your chest.
He swallowed hard.
Then finally looked at you again.
"Do you know what the worst part is?"
You shook your head.
His eyes glistened.
"I kept thinking if I worked harder he'd finally love me."
Your heart shattered.
Because beneath everything he was still just a little boy desperately trying to earn affection. The kind he'd never received.
As if crying in front of you was somehow worse than everything else.
You reached forward without thinking. Your hand cupping his face. Turning him back toward you.
His breath caught.
The contact seemed to completely stun him. For a moment, he simply stared. Like, he couldn't believe you were touching him. That you were still here. You wiped away the tear with your thumb.
The gesture nearly undid him. You watched his composure crack. Piece by piece.
Until finally he whispered:
"I'm so tired."
Your throat tightened. Because you believed him.
Naoya closed his eyes briefly. Then opened them again. Determination settling behind them. Like he'd finally decided there was no point hiding anymore.
Not from you.
"I need you to understand something."
His voice was shaking.
"But I need you to hear me."
You nodded. Slowly.
Naoya drew in a shaky breath. Then finally said the thing he'd spent months avoiding. The thing that had destroyed both of you.
"I didn't say those things because I didn't care about you."
His gaze never left yours.
"I said them because I cared too much."
Your breath caught.
Naoya laughed bitterly. Immediately hating how pathetic it sounded.
"I know."
His eyes closed briefly.
"I know how insane that sounds."
"You hurt me."
The words slipped out quietly.
Naoya visibly flinched. Like you'd struck him.
"I know."
Pain crossed his features.
"I know."
His voice broke.
"I think about it every day."
The room fell silent. The rain continuing outside.
Naoya swallowed hard. Then finally forced himself to continue.
"I was scared."
The admission seemed to physically pain him.
"I've spent my entire life chasing people."
His eyes dropped.
"my mother never cared."
Another breath.
"My father never cared."
You didn't interrupt. Didn't judge. Didn't move. You simply listened. The way you'd always listened. And maybe that was why he finally found the courage to say it.
"Then I met you."
Naoya's chest rose and fell unevenly. Like every word was being dragged from somewhere deep inside him. Somewhere he'd spent years trying to keep buried. His eyes never left yours.
Not once.
Because if he looked away now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to finish.
"I spent an entire month trying to convince myself not to come here."
A shaky laugh escaped him.
"I told myself you hated me."
You didn't respond.
Because part of you had.
Naoya seemed to understand that.
"I told myself you were better off without me."
A bitter smile crossed his face.
"You probably are."
"Naoya—"
"No."
He shook his head.
"Please."
His voice softened.
"Just let me say it."
You fell silent.
Naoya took a breath. Then another. Like he was preparing himself for impact.
"I know I don't deserve another chance."
His eyes glistened.
"I know that."
A painful laugh.
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness either."
Your chest tightened. Because you could see how much this was costing him. Every crack in the walls he'd spent years building.
"But I needed you to know."
His voice dropped lower.
"I needed you to know that none of it was real."
The rain continued tapping against the windows. Soft now. Gentle. Almost peaceful.
"The things I said."
His face twisted with regret.
"The way I treated you."
Another shake of his head.
"It wasn't because I thought you weren't enough."
His voice broke.
"It was because I was terrified that you were."
Naoya looked down at his hands. Then back up.
"I knew if I let myself have you..."
His throat worked.
"...I'd lose you."
A tear slipped free.
"I know how stupid that sounds."
"It does."
A watery laugh escaped him.
"Yeah."
For the first time that evening, the corner of your mouth twitched. Just slightly. Naoya noticed. His expression softened immediately. Like seeing even the smallest hint of your smile was enough to keep him going.
"I've never been good at this."
"No kidding."
That earned an actual laugh.
Small.
Then his expression became serious again. More serious than you'd ever seen. The kind of seriousness that made your pulse quicken.
Naoya swallowed hard.
Then finally said it.
"I love you."
The room went completely still. Even the rain seemed quieter. Your breath caught. His eyes never left yours. Not for a second.
"I love you."
The words sounded steadier this time. Certain. Like he'd finally stopped running from them.
"I think I've loved you for a long time."
Your heart pounded. Hard. Painfully hard.
Naoya laughed weakly.
"You have no idea how hard it was to admit that to myself."
You almost rolled your eyes.
Almost.
"But it's true."
His gaze softened. Leaving behind something terrifyingly honest.
"I love you when you're angry."
A faint smile appeared.
"I love you when you're being stubborn."
Your cheeks warmed.
"I love how smart you are."
Another smile.
"I love how you challenge me."
His voice grew quieter.
"I love how you care about people."
The smile disappeared. Replaced by something raw. Something vulnerable.
"I love the way you looked at me before I ruined everything."
Naoya's eyes shimmered.
"I know I can't take back what I did."
His voice trembled.
"I know I can't erase any of it."
Another breath.
"But if you give me a chance..."
His hand slowly found yours. Not forcing. Not demanding. Just asking.
"If you give me a chance, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."
Your throat tightened. The sincerity in his voice was almost unbearable. Because this wasn't the Naoya you'd known.
Not really.
This was the boy underneath all the damage. The boy who'd spent years begging to be loved. The boy who'd finally stopped pretending he didn't need anyone.
You could see it in his eyes.
The desperation.
He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. Waiting to see whether he'd fall. Slowly, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushing against his cheek.
Naoya froze.
His breath catching immediately.
"You are such an idiot."
The words came out soft. Almost fond.
A shaky laugh escaped him.
"Yeah."
Your thumb brushed beneath his eye. Wiping away the remnants of a tear.
"You hurt me."
His face crumpled.
"I know."
"You broke my heart."
His eyes closed. Pain flashing across his features.
"I know."
You swallowed. Trying to steady the emotions rising inside your chest. For a month, you'd told yourself you were over him. That you didn't need him. That you'd moved on.
And maybe part of that was true.
But another part?
Had never stopped loving him.
You sighed. Then gently forced him to look at you.
Really look at you.
"You're lucky I love you too."
For a second Naoya just stared. Like he genuinely couldn't process the words. Couldn't believe they'd come from your mouth.
Then his eyes widened. Hope flooding his expression so quickly it nearly broke your heart.
"You—"
"Don't make me repeat it."
His laugh cracked in the middle. Half laugh. Half sob. You'd never seen anyone look so relieved. So overwhelmed. So grateful.
And suddenly, all the distance between you didn't seem so impossible anymore.
Your hands cupped his face, leaning down to kiss his nervous lips, soothing him.
The sound that filled your mouth from him made your lower tummy feel like it was burning and filling with butterflies.
His hands found your ass this time, clumsily dragging you forward, pulling you deeper into the kiss.
He's shy about it. At first, his kisses come tentative, like he's still learning where to place his hands, still unsure how close he's allowed to be.
But the moment he realizes you're staying right there with him? he just folds into you.
His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. He holds you like he's scared you might slip away if he isn't gentle enough.
His kisses stay soft. slow. a little unsteady— yet so full of feeling it tugs at something deep in your chest.
And when he finally pulls back, he barely moves, breath brushing your lips, eyes flicking to your mouth like he's already missing the contact.
“I missed you so much you have no idea.”
“I know.” You grab his hand, pulling him upward.
You lead him to your bedroom slowly but surely. Shutting the door behind the two of you.
“Undress.”
He follows your command without hesitation, and you follow along. For a moment, you both just stand there admiring each other’s bodies. Studying every detail, memorizing every crevice.
The tension was so thick the cold weather seemed to lose its effect.
Then your bodies collided in a blur, hands roaming everywhere, sloppy open-mouth kisses, the feeling was euphoric.
Your hands find their way down to his pre-slicked cock, gripping and jerking him off.
His hips stuttered, as if trying to fuck up into your fist from the new sensation, whimpering your name softly.
Being too distracted by the lovely sounds he was making and the heated make-out, you hadn’t even noticed that one of his hands had found its way between your own thighs, not until you felt warm, unsure fingers sliding and parting your slick folds, cupping your cunt with his palm.
“Fuck- Naoya.” You moaned against his mouth, already shifting your knees to part your thighs for him.
A finger found your entrance, prodding at the first ring of muscle before sliding inside, your velvety walls gladly taking it inside.
Another long finger joined, making you arch your back, rolling your hips down against his hand. His other one joined, thumb finding your pulsing clit, rubbing it and the rest of the digits pressing into your lower tummy.
“You’re doing so good- agnh-” You groan, nibbling at his ear.
Meanwhile, you hadn’t stopped gripping and pulling up and down at his cock, thumb swiping across the slit at the pinkish head, making Naoya shudder and shove his fingers deeper inside of you.
But you could hear him breathing harder, trying to thrust up into your hands faster. You could sense that he was about to cum.
But Naoya abruptly pulled his hands out from you and tugged your hand off of him too. His chest heaving underneath his shirt, bringing the fingers that had been inside of you to have a little taste.
“I want my cock inside of your pretty pussy- please let me fuck you.” he palms at your breasts, thumb flicking over your nipple.
“Let me make you feel good” he bites at your lower lip guiding you to your bed.
As he reaches for his discarded pants to pull out a condom, you stop him by grabbing his wrist.
“I want to feel you, all of you.”
You shifted, pushing him deeper down into the pillows while sitting down on his pelvis, a hand reaching back to grab the base of his cock, guiding it to your slit, slowly gliding the squishy tip up and down to get it covered in your clear mess.
You arched your back, a soft sigh and a small whine leaving you both at the same time once it passed the rim, your hands held on to his shoulders.
One of Naoya’s hands was on your lower back, close to gripping the top of your cheek, the other was on your hip, trying to ground himself.
Once it was fully in, it fitting so perfectly inside, like it had been made for just you, he couldn’t help himself, his hips trying to roll, trying to thrust up in shallow movements.
“Please can I move I- I’ll be good please, baby, I just…” Naoya babbled.
You just nodded, leaning back to start rocking your hips, helping him find a rhythm.
And before you knew it, he was thrusting up into you with a bit too much force, gasping for air from the sweet pleasure of your walls clenching and squeezing him.
It didn’t take much time for him to look like he was seeing heaven, eyes focused on where your bodies connected.
The sounds of skin meeting skin, his whines and your sounds filled the empty loft.
Every roll of your hips makes his thick length slide perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that makes you moan softly. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging in like he needs something to hold onto.
“Baby—” he stammers, voice cracking. His cheeks are flushed, his hair messy, his lips parted as he tries to keep his breathing steady. You smile down at him, grinding your hips in a slow circle.
“You look so cute like this,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him. You ride him faster now, taking him deeper. He moans into your mouth, hips jerking up to meet yours. One of his hands slides up your back, the other stays on your hip, guiding you as you bounce up and down on him.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice shaky. “I can’t- I’m gonna—”. His eyes, those pretty, unfocused eyes, lock onto yours, wide and desperate.
You ride him harder, chasing your own pleasure while watching him fall apart underneath you. When you come, clenching tight around him, he follows right after with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
He slumped down on the bed. But before he could catch his breath, your grip on him tightened, stroking it up and down hard. His eyes shot up, looking down at you. His thighs started trembling uncontrollably.
"Wait- hah- fuck! I already came! Baby, I can't!—" his hands came up to stop your hand from moving it, wrapping around your wrist. "Please!- mmn!" His hips jerked up when you suddenly went down on him, swirling your tongue around, bobbing up and down.
You could feel yourself getting even more wet at the loud whimper he let out. When you looked up at him, tears pricked his eyes, pouring down his cheeks.
While the tears were still dripping down his face. His teary eyes met yours as he leaned in for a kiss, capturing your lips as he moaned into your mouth, "fuck-" he muttered. "I'm cummin again, baby," he erupted, painting your face with his cum, as it dripped down to your mouth, lapping up the liquids with a satisfying slurp.
Afterward, he lies there panting, looking completely wrecked and blissed out. You lean down and kiss him softly, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. He laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to his chest.
“You were so amazing.” he places a soft kiss against your cheek.
You both lay like that for a while, enjoying the warmth of each other's embrace. Just the two of you.
Naoya's fingers lazily traced circles against your arm. A small smile tugged at your lips.
"What?"
You laughed softly.
The sound vibrated against his chest. Naoya immediately tightened his arms around you. As if he was afraid you'd disappear.
You tilted your head back slightly. His eyes were already on you. The intensity of his gaze hadn't changed. If anything, it had gotten worse.
"What?" you asked.
A strange expression crossed his face. Nervous.
You laughed.
"Just say it."
Naoya sighed dramatically. Then sat up slightly. His hand finding yours beneath the blanket. For a moment, he simply stared at your intertwined fingers. His thumb brushing across your knuckles.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
"Can I ask you something?"
You immediately narrowed your eyes.
"That sounds suspicious."
"I'm serious."
That got your attention. Your teasing smile softened.
"Okay."
He swallowed.
And for a second, you thought he looked terrified. Actually terrified.
He squeezed your hand. Then finally blurted it out.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
For one horrifying second, Naoya looked like he regretted asking. His ears immediately turned red.
"No."
You stared.
Then stared some more.
Before finally bursting into laughter.
"Oh my God."
His face dropped.
"Don’t play with me, I’m serious!"
"I know."
You laughed harder.
Because somehow this was the most nervous you'd ever seen him. Naoya Zenin looked ready to crawl under the couch.
You smiled. The kind of smile reserved only for him. The kind he'd spent months missing.
"Yes."
Naoya blinked.
"What?"
"Yes."
The hope exploded across his face so quickly it almost made you emotional.
"Really?"
You rolled your eyes.
"No, I just enjoy torturing you."
His grin appeared instantly. Before you could react, he pulled you directly into his lap.
You laughed.
"Naoya—"
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"I have a girlfriend."
You laughed again.
"Yes, you do."
His smile softened. The excitement slowly fading into something warmer. Something quieter.
His forehead rested against yours.
Finally, after everything. You had somehow found your way back to each other.
And neither of you planned on letting go again.
Previous Chapter Series Masterlist PART ONE
[A/N] Wow i finally finished this😭 I had to split the last chapter into two parts because tumblr was being a weirdo, maybe because it's too many words but idk, just click part two/or one? above. Anyways hope yall enjoyed this series. im excited to start my next one so go vote on my poll😏
pairing: isaacwhy x reader
summary: after breaking up with your ex, you're ready to get out there with the help of a dating app & match with an online content creator.
genre: fluff
You sit cross-legged on the couch with a glass of cheap red wine balanced in your hand, clicking through shows and movies on the TV.
Your roommate left an hour ago, high heels clicking down the hallway while she checked her reflection in her phone camera. She smiled at you from the doorway.
“Don’t wait up,” she said. “And try not to spiral tonight.”
You laughed then, and you waved her off dramatically while she disappeared down the hallway.
The breakup happened three weeks ago. Long enough that everyone assumes you are fine. Long enough that you should be fine.
The TV plays some random Netflix reality show you’re not actually watching. The light from the screen reflects across the glass coffee table, and the empty side of the couch where your ex used to sit when he stayed over feels huge without him on it.
Your ex still appears in your life in small ways. A song that plays at the grocery store that reminds you of your playlist with him. Sweatshirts and pants you keep meaning to throw out. The extra toothbrush that’s still there in the cup next to yours.
You take another slow sip of wine and stare at your phone.
Everyone says the solution is getting back out there. Dating apps. Meeting new people.
Your thumb hovers for a second before opening the app store. The “Get” button next to the Tinder app glows bright on the screen while you swirl the wine in your glass.
An embarrassingly long time later, your profile exists. You spent too long to even acknowledge on choosing the right pictures, writing the right answers to prompts. But by the end, you’re pleased with the way your Tinder persona looks.
You take another sip and start swiping.
A guy whose all five photos are him holding different fish.
Left.
A guy with only group photos.
Left.
A guy whose bio says “Looking for some short term fun ;)”
You laugh and swipe left again. It’s fun, the way you can judge these men and get a laugh or two out of it.
You’re halfway through your second glass of wine when a profile appears that makes you pause.
His name reads Isaac, 25.
The first picture shows him standing outside somewhere sunny. Tall frame, broad shoulders filling out a black T-shirt, brown hair falling over his forehead. His smile looks relaxed, the big and wide kind that reaches his eyes. He's cute.
You tap. The second photo is him with a white wife beater, a black face mask and black sunglasses on. You raise a brow at the fact that he’s faceless in this one, but you assume it’s probably a photo from the Covid days. You don’t think too hard as you look at how his arms are huge as he crosses them. Huge.
The third, lord, the third photo is a mirror selfie of just his body at the gym. Your jaw drops a bit at the sight.
You keep tapping through his photos, seeing images of him with friends and a cute photo with him and a silly looking cat. He’s handsome, strong, and tall. He’s everything you want.
You scroll to his bio.
6'3.
white claw surge connoisseur
my mom calls me handsome
You snort into your wine. The concept of a guy who looks like this loving a White Claw surge? You’re intrigued.
Swipe right.
The screen flashes. It’s a match!
Your stomach flips. You stare at the chat screen for a second, wondering if you should message first.
Your fingers move before you can overthink it.
You: what are your mom's professional credentials for proving that you're handsome?
Three minutes pass before the typing bubble appears.
Isaac: she’s known me my whole life so i trust her opinion
You smile.
You: this sounds extremely biased
Isaac: wow, attacking my mother already?
You: im just questioning her objectivity
Isaac: she will be absolutely devastated
You lean back against the couch cushion while typing your reply.
You: so how many white claw surges does it take to become a connoisseur
Isaac: enough that the cashier at the gas station recognizes you
You: admirable dedication
Isaac: thank you, i work hard
A few seconds pass as you think of ways to keep the conversation going.
Isaac: what are you doing tonight
You scoff and narrow your eyes. Can't have anything, you think as you pray he's not just some guy looking for quick action. The minute he tries anything with you, you’ll unmatch immediately. You reply anyways, hoping he’ll prove you wrong.
You: drinking wine and pretending that im having a productive sunday night
Isaac: sounds classy if i do say so myself
You: agreed
You: my roommate went on a date so im stuck here alone
Isaac: tragic situation
You: what about you?
The typing bubble appears again.
Isaac: editing a video and avoiding responsibilities
You: ooo what kind of video?
Isaac: dumb internet content
You: that feels like a very vague description… do you do OF bychance
You giggle at your own joke, though he does look like he’d do very well on that platform.
Isaac: haha no not that low on funds just yet, maybe later down the line
Isaac: i make videos on youtube and people watch them somehow
You tilt your head while reading the message.
You: like an influencer? almost?
A moment passes before his reply appears.
Isaac: kind of?
You: mysterious
Isaac: i prefer the word enigmatic
You laugh while continuing the conversation.
You: well i work a very boring corporate job so your life already sounds more interesting than mine
Isaac: what do you do?
You: corporate analyst which means i stare at spreadsheets and attend meetings that definitely could have been emails
Isaac: that sounds painful
You: it funds my wine habit
The conversation keeps going.
You talk about moving to Texas and how you’re not used to how the heat refuses to leave even when summer ends. He relates to you as he tells you about living in Pennsylvania and spending most of his time indoors recording videos with friends before moving south.
You spend the rest of the night chatting with people on Tinder. Out of the handful of matches, though, speaking with Isaac is your favorite. He’s funny, knows how to keep the conversation alive, and seems actually interested in getting to know you.
Isaac: i like talking to you :)
You stare at the message for a moment before replying.
You: thanks, i like talkin to you too :)
Isaac: we should keep talking, wanna give me your number?
You: i would like that very much
And so, you give him your number. You wait anxiously for him to text. Your phone buzzes.
He sent a selfie from his desk where he wears a headset slightly crooked on his head while messy brown hair falls into his eyes.
Your heart does a strange little flip when you see it.
You: what happened to… hello? how are you?
Isaac: hi how are you
You: bruh
Isaac: bruh
Isaac: look at us using real phone numbers now
You: yeah, you’re stuck with me now basically
Isaac: sounds good with me
You keep chatting, but as your fingers tap quickly across your phone screen, you let out a big yawn. You realize you’ve been texting for hours with Isaac.
You: it’s getting late, but talk to you tomorrow?
Isaac: of course! good night, sweet dreams :)
You smiled softly before you hearted the message and put down the phone.
The next morning, you wake up expecting the conversation to fade the way most dating app matches do. Instead, your phone buzzes while you’re making coffee.
Isaac: good morning corporate employee
You laugh while typing back. The conversation continues through the day.
Messages appear during your lunch break. They appear during long meetings when you discreetly glance down at your phone under the conference table.
Your roommate notices immediately.
One evening, she walks into the living room while you sit on the couch staring down at your phone with an obvious smile spreading across your face.
She drops her purse on the table.
“You have been glued to that phone for days,” she says suspiciously.
You look up like a kid getting caught stealing cookies from the jar. “It is not that serious,” you reply.
“Who is it?”
“It is just a guy.”
Her eyes widen as she drops onto the couch beside you.
“A guy,” she repeats dramatically. “Show. Now.”
You pull up Isaac’s profile before quickly pulling the phone back. She studies the photos for a second before grinning.
“He is hot.”
“Stop.” You whine, but the heat rising to your cheeks gives it all away.
“You're smiling at your phone like a middle schooler.”
Right on cue, your phone buzzes again.
Her grin grows wider.
“Oh my god, you like him.” She teases you, getting back up from the couch.
“Shut up.” You throw a couch cushion at her as she tries to avoid it. You grin to yourself though, knowing that she was onto something.
Later that night, you lie in bed scrolling through your messages with Isaac.
You hesitate before typing.
You: random question
His reply comes almost instantly.
Isaac: those are dangerous
You roll your eyes.
You: would you want to call?
A few minutes pass. You feel a little stupid for asking. Maybe it was too soon?
But then, your phone rings. Your heart jumps as you answer.
“Hello?”
His voice fills your ear and you immediately sit up slightly in bed. His voice sounds warm and relaxed with a hint of amusement woven through it.
“Hi.” You smile into the darkness of your room. “You sound exactly how I imagined.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You pull your blanket closer around your shoulders.
“What did you imagine?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you blush, knowing you don’t know how to really explain it without sounding weird.
The conversation flows easily from there, as always.
You talk about your boring office job and the endless spreadsheets that fill your weekdays. He tells you stories about recording videos with friends and staying up late editing.
You laugh at his chaotic stories about failed recordings and ridiculous moments that end up in videos.
Eventually you glance at the clock beside your bed.
12:23 AM.
“You should probably sleep,” he says.
“You first.”
“That would be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because, I really enjoy talking to you.”
Your face grows warm as you sink deeper into your pillow.
“You're smooth.”
“I try.”
The conversation slows down as the night stretches longer. Your voice grows heavier as sleep creeps in while his voice continues drifting through the phone speaker.
Eventually, the pauses between sentences grow longer. At some point, you just hear him say random words, not hearing the whole sentences.
“Are you still awake?” he asks quietly.
Your soft snores answer his question for him.
On the other end of the call, Isaac lets out a small laugh.
“Yeah… that answers that,” he murmurs.
He lowers his phone onto his desk but doesn’t hang up. Your breathing continues through the speaker, soft and uneven, acting as background noise for him. He leans back in his chair for a moment, listening to it.
Somewhere in the same exact state as him, you’re curled up under your blankets with your phone resting beside your pillow, completely unaware that a stranger you met on a dating app is smiling like an idiot at his computer screen.
Isaac glances at the mess of an editing timeline on his monitor. The video still needs a few cuts and captions before it is finished, so he drags the clip bar back and presses play. The room fills with the sound of chaotic voices from the recording while he works.
Every once in a while, he glances down at his phone.
He hears you shift slightly in your sleep. The blanket rustles and your breathing changes for a moment before settling again.
“Corporate employee knocked the fuck out,” he mutters under his breath.
An hour passes while he edits. Maybe two. The call timer continues counting upward in the corner of his screen.
Eventually, he finishes the video and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. His room is dim now except for the glow of the monitors. Outside his window, the sky is dark with only the stars illuminating bright.
Your breathing still drifts through the speaker.
He picks up the phone again.
“Hey,” he whispers, knowing you cannot hear him. “You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and be very confused about why we were on the phone for five hours.”
You shift again in your sleep, mumbling something completely unintelligible.
He laughs. “Yeah, that too.”
Isaac hesitates for a moment before lowering his voice, soft and tender.
“Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”
He finally ends the call and places the phone on his desk before shutting off his monitor. He heads to bed himself.
A few miles away, you remain fast asleep with your phone still beside your pillow.
Morning sunlight slips through the blinds and lands across your face. You groan softly and bury your head deeper into the pillow before reaching for your phone out of habit.
Your screen lights up. Recognizing your face, your phone opens to the phone app. Seeing the call log makes your eyes widen.
Call duration: 5 hours 48 minutes.
You sit up in bed, hair messy and blanket falling into your lap as you stare at the screen.
“Five hours?” you whisper. “Five fucking hours?!?”
You open your chat with Isaac, contemplating what the hell to even say. “Sorry, I fell asleep on the phone with you,” “Sorry, that was really intimate,” “Sorry, your voice is so soothing and calms me down, I literally passed out.” You groan as you run your hands across your face.
Your phone buzzes again almost immediately. A new message appears. It’s like he can read your mind.
Isaac: good morning overworked corporate employee
You laugh, rubbing sleep from your eyes.
You: did we really fall asleep on the phone
Three dots appear instantly.
Isaac: yes
Isaac: you also started snoring
You gasp.
You: i do NOT snore
Isaac: i have evidence
You groan and flop backward onto your pillow, pressing your phone against your forehead.
You: this is so embarrassing
Isaac: dont worry it was cute
Your heart does that strange little flip again. You stare at the message for a moment before typing back.
You: you’re lucky i like talking to you
His reply appears almost immediately.
Isaac: good
Isaac: because, like i said before, i like talking to you too
You sit there for a second, sunlight filling the room while the city slowly wakes around you.
Three weeks ago, you felt like your world had shrunk after the breakup. Now, you’re smiling at your phone before you have even gotten out of bed.
You: hey, you free this week?
Isaac: anything for you
HELLOOOO ISAACWHY LOVER IS BACKKKK
sorry for the kind of abrupt ending? i didnt want to do a repeat of a first date AU (since i already have one... here... check it out... :P)
but omg i missed writing for isaac... he's everything
hope you enjoyed!
content: (2.4k words), isaacwhy x f!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, during discord vc in group house, oral (m recieving), exhibitionism, praise kink, manhandling, hair pulling, size difference, fingering, soft dom!isaac.
⸻ Dating Isaacwhy is like dating a golden retriever on steroids.
He's everything you could ever dream of; funny, caring, handsome, smart, et cetera, et cetera. But when he's with his chaotic group of friends? He becomes even more of a menace than he usually is.
Of course, you have no issues with that — in fact, you actually really like his friends and get along with them all pretty well. However, once he gets absorbed into something like recording a new video or playing some game with them, it has his entire attention.
And you? His poor, sweet, loving girlfriend? You're left unattended, staring at the back of his head as he concentrates on trying to kill another player, shouting at Nick for dying.
He's been playing for hours now, despite promising he wouldn't be on for too long so you could spend some quality time together. Clearly, time had gotten away from him.
You've been waiting so patiently, lazily sprawled out on his bed and scrolling mindlessly through your phone this entire time. Totally not fair!
That's it. You have had enough.
You huff, dropping your phone onto his nightstand and finally getting up, stretching your aching muscles.
He laughs, the sound loud and contagious, adding on to some bit that you weren't privy to. It makes you smile despite yourself, crossing the short distance towards his setup.
Your hand meets his big bicep, giving it a light squeeze and feeling the muscles twitch beneath your fingers. He turns, eyes meeting yours and bringing that ever so pretty smile to his lips — totally oblivious to the dull ache pooling in your gut.
He raises a brow, moving the side of his headphones off of one ear in silent question. You almost laugh, almost. Instead, you frown, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.
His smile falters, brows furrowing in confusion as he mouths 'are you okay?'. Oblivious.
You hum, fingers dancing across his skin before pulling away. You nudge his foot with your own and he shifts his chair back, legs spreading as he assumes you want to sit in his lap. You do, of course, but a different idea suddenly comes to mind.
You drop to your knees between his legs, shuffling backwards a little and planting your hands onto his thick, muscular thighs.
He pauses, eyes tracking your movements as he blinks down at you, mouth opening and closing before pressing into a thin line. There we go.
You watch the bob of his adam's apple as he undoubtedly swallows back a protest with rapt fascination, his eyes flitting between you underneath his desk, smiling up at him so sweetly, and the screen currently highlighting his sculptured features with a plethora of colours — the game still ongoing as his friend's call his name in confusion.
If you aren't careful, then they could figure out what's actually happening; just the thought of it sends a jolt straight to your core.
"My bad, got distracted." he says, sending you a look of faux annoyance, yet tucking his chair back in anyway.
Your smile only widens, delighted at the response you already knew he'd give. So very predictable. You could already see the outline of his half hard dick beneath his sweatpants.
He shifts his attention back to the game, though he isn't half as focused as he was before. How could he be when you were knelt between his thighs and trailing your hands up, fingers toying with the waistband of his pants? It's hardly his own fault that his hips twitch forward in barely concealed anticipation.
You dip your fingers beneath the fabric, bottom lip catching between your teeth as you trace the hard line of him through his boxers, pulling a huff of breath from him. He's big, not that you don't already know that, but the reminder always makes you a little flustered. He is a big man, after all.
"Yeah, I got one of 'em. Larry where are—" he grits his teeth, forcing himself not to groan as you palm him, a sly smirk crossing your tempting lips, "—you?"
The sight alone is enough to have your heart racing, heat coiling low in your abdomen.
You shift your hand to get a better angle, tracing the heat of his length through the fabric separating you with a torturous slowness, just to get him shifting on the spot and resisting the urge to buck into your touch.
Pulling your hand back, you instead grip the waistband of both his sweatpants and boxers, tugging the fabric down just enough so that his dick springs free, achingly hard, tip flushed and beading with precum.
His eyes briefly dart down, dick twitching at the sight of you practically ogling him — it's incredibly hard not to when he looks so god damn ethereal.
Tongue out, you kitten-lick at his tip, tasting the salty precum before licking a stripe down to the base and wringing a low grumble from his chest. A warning.
You do not heed it.
You press your lips to the hot, sensitive skin and kiss your way back up to the tip, taking it into your mouth and running your tongue over the slit.
"Jesus." he curses under his breath, eyes closing for a moment before snapping back open and shifting to his computer screen.
A grin tugs at your lips, parting them wider as you slowly take him further into the wet heat of your mouth. He shudders, exhaling shakily through his nose, hips twitching forwards unbridled.
"Two on me." he manages, a hand dropping to bundle up your hair and rest on the back of your head — encouraging.
You hum around him, hollowing out your cheeks as you take as much of him as you can until he's hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. You retreat back to just the tip, sucking at the head before sliding him back into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue.
He jolts, hand tightening on your hair and letting slip a too-loud grunt, forcing his hips to stay still.
"I hit my knee." he explains rather weakly when questioned, eyes dropping every few seconds to admire you slowly bobbing up and down on his dick, your hands coming up to wrap around the rest of him that you couldn't fit.
It was clear that your mouth was entirely too distracting, his gameplay suffering because of it and earning himself several annoyed shouts from his friends. You could hear Tanner on the floor above, complaining that he'd died because of Isaac.
"Don't blame me for your—shit—aim." he clears his throat, managing to play off the curse as you squeeze and tug your hands in time with your mouth.
You release him with a soft pop, catching your breath and flashing him a bright, teasing grin.
He doesn't grant you a reply. Instead, his hand presses more insistently against your head, urging you take his dick into your mouth again and pushing himself further inside than before, almost making you gag and him huff out another muttered curse.
You're struggling to take him, but he doesn't let up, no longer so passive as his hips buck up to chase the addictive wet heat of your oh, so willing mouth.
He grasps at your hair for something to cling to and tugs, pulling a muffled moan from your throat, the sound vibrating around him and making him groan.
"Hold— Hold on. Fuck. I spilt my drink all over my desk." he grits out, not waiting for an answer before muting his mic and carelessly tugging off his headphones.
"Needy fucking girl." he mutters, thrusting into your mouth and making you gag. "You just couldn't wait, could you? Needed my dick this bad, huh?"
You moan around him, throat stretching to accommodate all of him as he keeps your head in place, fisting your locks and rutting into your mouth.
"That’s it." he all but purrs, licking his lips. "C'mon, you can take it. I know you can— shit."
Tears prick at your glossy eyes, threatening to fall as your nose nudges the pubic hair at the base of his dick, jaw working to keep your mouth nice and wide for him.
"Attagirl. Taking me so well." he praises, "Fuck, so well."
His rhythm falters, thrusts growing sloppy and sounds growing louder as he approaches his release, murmuring your name like a prayer.
"Just like that, sweetheart. yeah— shit, so good."
Your core aches, throbbing at the erotic scene playing out, shuffling forwards to grind your clothed heat against his shoe in a lazy attempt at alleviating the hot, incessant need coiling tight inside you.
"Fuck!" he curses, head tilting back as he shoves his dick down your throat once more before coming undone.
His dick twitches on your tongue, once and then twice, cum coating the gummy walls of your mouth. You swallow his hot load, milking him dry as his grip slackens on your hair, running his fingers through the locks soothingly.
You pull back, releasing him from your mouth and coughing as you catch your breath, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip.
"God." he mumbles, shoulders slumping as he moves his hand from your hair to your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen. "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, nothing that I didn't like." You shake your head, a smile gracing your lips.
"'Course." he huffs a laugh, tucking himself back into his pants, his big hands coming down to grip your waist as he leans forward and carefully hoists you up, situating you atop his lap.
"Pretty." he hums, thumbs caressing your waist in slow circles. "My pretty girl."
A lazy grin crosses his lips as your cheeks heat up, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Your thighs are pressed either side his own, straddling his hips and making it frustratingly hard to get any real friction.
"Isaac..." You pout, glancing between his eyes and shuddering beneath the intensity behind them.
"So needy." he replies, "Patience." pressing his lips to your own and tasting himself on your tongue.
You sigh into the kiss, hands slipping into his curls as your lips slot together again and again, hot breaths shared between kisses. He hums against your mouth as you toy with his hair, trailing a hand down, over your navel, and dipping beneath the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
His fingers skim across the edge of your underwear, teasing as he smirks against your lips before cupping your heat through the fabric and making you jolt.
"Please, Isaac." You murmur, breaking the kiss.
He raises a brow. "Please, what?"
A groan of annoyance makes it way out of your throat, pressing your forehead to his and staring into his hypnotising eyes.
"Please touch me."
He hooks a finger beneath the fabric and tugs it to the side, running it through your slick with a satisfied hum.
"Isaac!" You gasp.
"Already so wet for me." he observes, spreading your folds with two fingers before thumbing at your clit in slow, punishing circles. "This what you wanted?"
"Yeah— yes." Your grip tightens on his locks, nodding quickly and profusely as you press down against him, seeking out his touch.
He marvels at the sight of you squirming on his lap, his fingers teasing at your entrance and slipping his middle finger inside, feeling your walls greedily clench around him.
"Oh— Fuck, Isaac." you whimper, tilting your head back as his lips press against your throat, kissing and sucking at the skin whilst slowly sliding his finger in and out, curling deliciously inside you.
"There she is." he murmurs, teeth grazing your neck and nipping at the flesh.
Your back arches as he adds another finger, stretching you out with practised precision, matching the pace with his thumb. His free hand slides up your spine, shirt riding up and splaying wide across your back.
"Faster, please." you whine, giving his curls a tug and pulling a groan from his throat.
He grins against your neck, "Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" murmuring between open-mouthed kisses before pulling back to watch your expression twist in pleasure, his fingers gradually speeding up.
A moan tumbles from your lips, nodding at the words spoken so sweetly despite being downright sinful. "Uh-huh, so s'bad."
He adds a third finger, the stretch leaving you gasping for breath as one hand falls back to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His thick fingers work you expertly, sliding in and out of your cunt, curling knuckle-deep inside you and rubbing your clit faster in tight circles.
Your hips twitch and buck against him, brows pulling taut and cursing his name, the familiar knot in your abdomen tightening and tightening.
"Anything for you, sweetheart." he smiles, shutting you up with his lips and swallowing the pretty sounds you're making.
The kiss is messy, hot and desperate as you whine into his mouth and arch into his touch, his fingers fucking up into you just like he'd promised. It feels so inexplicably good that you can't even form a single coherent thought.
"C'mon, angel." he says against your lips, "You're close, aren't you? Fuck— Come all over my fingers for me." panting into your mouth as you nod dumbly in turn.
"Isaac—" you gasp, foreheads pressing together as your back arches and you clench around him, your orgasm wracking through your entire being.
"There we go." he hums, working you through your release until you're shaking from overstimulation, and he slides his fingers out of you. "You did s'good f'me."
Your chest rises and falls with shaky, uneven breaths, eyes zeroing in on his fingers coated in your juices. He stares right at you as he slides them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you and licking his fingers clean like a man starved.
Some kind of sound escapes you, pulse jumping at the sight and your cheeks feeling far too warm. Jesus.
"Sweet." he says with a lopsided grin, breathing out a laugh when you lazily smack his chest.
"Isaiah! What is taking you so long?"
Tanner’s voice echoes through the house, shouting from the stairs, probably. You both freeze, looking between each other and then to his computer screen reading 'game over'.
"Give me a minute!" he shouts back, turning his head towards the door.
You smile despite yourself, slumping against him and resting your head on his shoulder with a non-commital hum. His hand slides further up your back to slip into your mussed up hair, smoothing over the strands and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
a/n: first post on this account kinda nervous... i had a dream about this and i just KNEW that i had to write it.. so. here it is!! i hope you liked it :,) — crossposted on ao3
✧Synopsis: The hot single dad, Toji Fushiguro, needs someone to watch his baby while he goes out on missions. You, the college student down on her luck, needs some extra cash. What was meant to be a strictly mutually beneficial arrangement, quickly gets complicated when the older man can’t keep his dirty thoughts and wandering eyes in check.
✧Content Warnings: age gap, baby megumi, daddy kink (sorry), oral (f rec), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink (if you squint), rough sex, running from it, multiple orgasms, squirting, pet names, lowkey abuse of power, dacryphilia (if you squint), masturbation, folding under no pressure, slight canon divergence, Toji is a bum (duh)
✧Word Count: 6.1k (sorry)
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The loud bell rings as you walk into the run-down ramen restaurant. You’re already annoyed, getting ready to spend your last bit of money just to eat for the day. You shuffle up to the counter, quietly counting out your spare change when a string of soft babbles catches your attention.
Glancing around, you search for its source—your heart warms when you lock eyes with the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. He beams at you, all gummy smiles and bright eyes, perched on the shoulders of who you assume is his father. His chubby hand reaches out to you with a wave. You can’t help but smile back at the little munchkin before turning back to the counter to place your order.
“Oh shit- I’m sorry-“ you’re recounting your change over and over only to find out that you’re short a couple hundred yen. “Don’t worry about it- I’ll just go.” you flash the worker an apologetic smile before turning to leave—you bump into a solid chest, letting out a quiet squeal before looking up to excuse your clumsiness.
“Too broke for food?” the man asks, who you quickly realize is the father of the baby who had been ogling you earlier. The child is perched on his hip giggling at you.
“Uhm- yeah, college tuition, y’know-“ you laugh off your own awkwardness before moving to leave, but a harsh tug on your hair pulls you right back.
“Heh- sorry about him, just misses his mom I guess-“ the man mumbles, before unlatching his son’s hand from your hair. “Sit down, I’ll get you something.” he says firmly, leaving you no room to protest.
You reluctantly move to the man’s table and take a seat, mouth watering as you await his return with your precious meal. You haphazardly glance around the run-down restaurant before you settle for watching the horse race on the box TV. You jolt when a bowl of ramen is placed in front of you, your savior moving to sit down next to you.
“Thank you-“ you hesitate, waiting for him to give you a name.
“Toji.”
“Toji, you really didn’t have to do this.” you say gratefully before digging in, your growling stomach becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry about it, It’ll all come back to me soon enough.” Toji says, his eyes locked on the horse race, a ticket in between his fingers.
A gambler, then.
“What’s his name?” you ask, referring to the smiley baby that’s still reaching for you, wriggling in his dad’s arms.
“Megumi.” Toji answers, still watching the race before his phone rings. “Sorry, I gotta take this, could you hold him for me?” He quickly hands Megumi over to you before you can even answer, standing up and walking out the building.
What the hell?
You huff, accepting your fate as you rest the baby on your lap—you practically inhale the rest of your meal while fighting off grubby hands.
“Your dad is a pretty weird guy, huh?” you ask the baby, not expecting an answer but what else can you do to pass the time? Megumi just babbles in response, bouncing happily on your lap. His black, spiky hair tickles your neck as he pushes off your shoulder to stand wobbly on your knees, looking behind you in search of his dad.
“Sorry about that, work was calling.” Toji strides back in, sitting next to you again. He rests his face in his palm as he looks between you and his son. Megumi is nuzzling against your shirt, yawning tiredly. “He likes you.” he says simply, gaze never wavering.
You can only nod as you take in Toji’s striking looks—tired eyes, silky black hair that falls over his forehead, and the scar across his lip. He looks dangerous- hot, but dangerous nonetheless.
“What do you do for work?” you ask, trying to strike conversation. Toji doesn’t answer right away, clearly thinking before he speaks.
“Odd jobs.”
“Hmm- so mysterious for what?” you laugh it off, slightly skeptical about whether or not you should be talking to the guy.
“What do you do for work?” he counters, voice slightly bored.
“I was fired. Too busy with school to make it on time for every shift.” you answer, slightly embarrassed but he doesn’t look like the most successful guy either.
Toji just looks at you, deep in thought as you gently bounce the now sleeping baby in your lap.
“You need another job?” he starts, like he’s about to offer you something.
“What kind of question is that-“ you choke on a loud laugh when you remember the sleeping baby on your lap. “I can’t even afford food right now.” your voice back down to a quiet mumble.
“You wanna watch Megumi for me?” he offers sincerely before elaborating. “I’ll pay you for it—the kid likes you anyways and I have nowhere else to take him, I’ve got a big job coming up.”
“I’m sorry- but, I don’t even know you. And why would you trust me with your kid?” you’re in disbelief at his bold proposition.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, I’m sure you know that too.” Toji just huffs, you can tell he’s getting impatient.
You pause to think for a moment. He is right, you won’t be able to eat at this rate, never mind affording student housing. If Toji pays you enough, assuming you’re watching Megumi for him for a large majority of the time, you could have enough money to get back on your feet—at least until the semester is over and you can work again. But what kind of lousy dad does he have to be to even consider this?
“Fine. Where would I be watching him, and for how long?” you ask, trying to gauge how much work this is going to be.
“You can stay at mine or yours, doesn’t really matter to me, just keep the kid alive and well.” He's got a subtle smirk on his face now, looking you up and down. “You’ll have to stop by and get his bottles, diapers, and whatnot anyhow, might be easier to stay at mine but up to you. This job could take a few days.”
You don’t really want a crying baby in the dorms, the thought of dealing with the complaints and questions is already stressing you out.
“I guess yours is fine. I’ll need the address though-“
“Give me your phone.”
You sigh before reaching into your pocket, pulling out your shitty flip phone and handing it over. Toji snatches it and saves his number to it, texting the address and handing it back to you—your hands brushing for a moment before you grab it from him.
“Come over tomorrow night, I’m leaving early the next morning.” he grumbles, reaching out to grab his sleeping son from you.
“Okay, but I have a lecture the morning you leave-“ you start, gently transferring Megumi back into his father’s arms. “I don’t know what I should do with him.”
“Skip it, or take him with you-“ he pauses to look at his son, a small smile flits across his lips—its barely there, but you catch it. “If he’s tired enough, he’ll sleep through the whole thing. Do what you will with that.” he says, standing up to leave.
Talk about a crazy job interview.
The following day, you find yourself outside Toji’s sketchy apartment building—trying to convince yourself that this is a perfectly safe and sane thing to do. But in Toji’s words- "beggars can’t be choosers.” you suppose.
You’re buzzing with anxiety the whole ride up the shaky elevator, clutching on your overnight bag every time it rocks. You make your way down the smoke stained hallways until you’re face to face with Toji’s front door. Bracing yourself to be murdered, you raise your hand to the door and knock.
The door doesn’t open, only a fleeting shout of “it’s unlocked!” reaches your ears. When you push the door open, you gape at the state of the place.
It’s cluttered, to put it lightly—dirty dishes are stacked on the counter, tracks of mud on the floor, baby toys scattered across the living room carpet, and loud rock music is blaring from a fuzzy radio. Toji and Megumi are nowhere in sight so you gently close the door behind you, take your shoes off and move further into the apartment in search of your new employer.
“Toji?”
You round the corner to the hallway, passing by a couple closed doors until you reach the bathroom—the door is wide open and the lights are on, small splashing sounds and babbles can be heard from inside.
Toji is bathing the chubby baby with a scowl etched on his face—his sweater is soaked with water and the floor is wet. You can’t help but laugh at the sight until you realize that this is exactly what you’ll be dealing with over the weekend.
Megumi’s devious behavior is halted the second he sees you in the doorway, that same gummy smile washing over his features. Toji sighs in relief once his son finally stops squirming and splashing—he turns his head to look at you like you were an angel that came to save him from the pits of hell.
“Thank fuck-“ he groans before lifting Megumi from the water and wrapping him in a towel. “Little miss babysitter is here to take you from me.” he jokes, planting a kiss on his son's wet forehead.
You hardly get the chance to set your bags down before Megumi is shoved into your arms, Toji already bending to grab your luggage and carrying it off into one of the rooms down the hall.
“Hey gumi-“ you coo, brushing his wet hair from his forehead. “your dad is leaving you for a while, I guess you’re probably used to that though?” you giggle at your own joke.
“The kid is fine.” Toji grumbles from behind you, not amused by your comment. “Your shit is in Megumi’s room, there’s an air mattress on the floor for you.” His hand grazes your back, guiding you down the hall.
The room is expectedly small—Megumi’s crib pushed against the far wall, your mattress clearly cramped inside the tight space. There’s a basket on the floor with the baby’s clothes in it, and beside that is a large stuffed bunny.
“Awww- you want the bun-bun, Gumi?” the baby in your arms is reaching for the stuffed toy like it’s life or death. “Let’s get you dressed first, okay?” You kneel to set Megumi on the floor before picking a onesie from the basket.
“I’m going to bed, gotta leave early-“ Toji says from the doorway, eyes trained on your maternal display. “There’s some cash on the counter, should last you for the days I’m gone-“ he pauses again, holding his breath, shocked by the unforeseen tightening of his pants. “Megumi’s formula is somewhere in the cupboards- I’m sure you’ll find it-“ you’re still occupied with his son, giving light nods of your head to let him know that you’re listening. “Make sure to lock the doors and whatnot-“ he trails off, lips parted when you pick up the now clothed baby moving to sit next to the bunny in the corner.
“Cool, thanks-“ you pause to set down his son next to the plush. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” you’re looking at Toji now, a reassuring smile on your face. “As long as you pay me, I’ll make sure Megumi doesn’t die.” you joke, warm giggles radiating throughout the small room.
Toji can’t breathe.
“You okay, old man?”
“Shut up- I’m only twenty-eight.” he grumbles, quickly recovering from his stupor to defend himself.
“Older than me- heh- you probably wish you were nineteen again.” you’re still giggling, unaware that Toji is trying to shoot his own dick off for having the hots for a damn teenager.
“Yeah, no- I’m going to bed-“ he rolls his eyes, turning around to leave before saying one last thing. “Thanks for your help, doll.” he says, leaving the doorway and walking down the hall.
“Goodnight, Toji.” you call before he closes his bedroom door.
You nearly have to slap away the heat rising to your cheeks—the pet name caught you seriously off guard. But luckily for you there is a distraction in the form of a babbling baby right next to you.
“I think it’s time to put you down, Gumi.” you sigh, easily catching on to Megumi’s drowsiness. He’s yawning, cuddling up to the stuffed rabbit, eyelids heavy.
You pick the baby up, laying him on your chest and start rubbing his back to soothe him. After a few minutes, soft snores reach your ears and drool stains your shirt. You carefully stand up, moving over to his crib and gently lay him down. You let out a breath of relief when Megumi doesn’t stir. You guess Toji’s bit about his son being a heavy sleeper is true.
A room over, Toji is standing under ice cold water—becoming increasingly annoyed when his erection doesn’t calm down like he had hoped. He groans before reluctantly reaching down to fist his strained dick. For some unknown reason, the nineteen year old babysitter he met yesterday being all motherly to his kid was really reminding him of his year long celibacy.
Toji would have preferred not to jerk off to a random girl who’s putting his son to bed next door, but beggars can’t be choosers.
This bounty better get his head on straight before he comes back.
You groan when you awake to loud cries right next to you—Megumi is holding on to the bars of his crib and wailing. You look to the alarm clock on the windowsill-
4am
“What’s wrong, Gumi?” you’re quick to stand up and hover over the baby’s crib. “Are you hungry or something?” you reach in to grab him, placing the crying child on your hip before walking outside to the kitchen.
You scour through the cabinets until you find the formula—it’s then that you realize that you have no idea how to make a bottle. You’re gonna have to wake Toji, if he’s still even here? Just as you’re about to make your way over to his bedroom door, Toji walks out and you swear your jaw hits the damn floor.
That ratty sweater of his must be deceiving because what you’re looking at right now is not what you expected. His tight black compression shirt does little to hide his built frame—highlighting his biceps the size of your head, and the faint outline of his defined abs show through the fabric. You must have been staring for a beat too long because the crying baby breaks the silence with a loud shriek.
“Uhm- I’m sorry I-“ you’re shameless gawking had wiped all thoughts from your head it seemed. “I don’t know how to warm Megumi’s bottle-“ you’re rambling, tripping over your words. “If he’s even hungry-“
“Relax.”
Toji is making his way to the kitchen before you can even blink—you watch intently as he measures some of the formula before mixing it with warm water in the bottle, he shakes it with his finger blocking the nipple. Then he turns on the tap to the hottest it will go and lets the bottle sit under the steaming water for about thirty seconds.
“Thank you. I should’ve asked you to show me earlier.” you apologize before taking the bottle from his extended hand.
“Don’t worry about it.” he says, gaze lingering as you cradle Megumi and bring the nipple of the bottle to his mouth. The baby’s wailing is silenced the second he takes his first big gulp.
“Isn’t he a little old for bottles though?” you ask sincerely, considering you assume Megumi to be about a year old.
“I’ve been meaning to wean him off of them but it’s just more convenient and less messy.” he answers simply, eyes still trained on you. You hum, moving to sit down on the squeaky bar stool by the counter.
“Don’t you have an odd job to get to?” you giggle, raising your gaze to look at him, locking eyes.
“Shit- yea I do-“ your comment snapping him out of his trance. “I should be back in a couple days-“ he turns to look at the time before groaning. “Lock the-“
“Lock the doors, yea, yea.” you finish his sentence for him, prying the bottle from Megumi’s lips and sitting him up in your lap. “Wave bye, bye to daddy.” you take his son’s hand in your own and raise it in a mock wave.
Daddy.
Hearing that word from your lips has his pants tightening all over again. You’re trouble. This bounty needs to knock some sense into him. Toji basically sprints out the door without looking back.
“Damn, guess daddy didn’t wanna wave back.” You joke, looking down at the hiccupping baby on your knee.
You had managed to sleep for the remaining hours before your morning lecture, believe it or not. And just like Toji said, Megumi dozed for the whole duration of it. You got the odd compliment on his chubby cheeks and a fair amount of questions but it went smoothly for the most part.
You half expected Toji to be texting you about his son’s well being, but got nothing but radio silence. Not that you’re surprised, although you tried to be optimistic about his parenting.
Once you get back to Toji’s apartment, you’re relieved by the fact that it’s now officially the weekend. Not that you could party or anything—you’ll be playing housewife, but you find yourself being okay with that considering that you’re warming up to baby Megumi.
You’re starting to hope that this won’t be a one-time thing, especially if Toji ends up paying you well. You like your little role as babysitter, and the fact that Megumi’s dad is nearly as cute as he is has nothing to do with it, you swear!
The weekend rolls by with very few hitches. Sure, Megumi had his moments—there were a few diaper mishaps and some dramatic crying but he was well behaved, for a baby at least.
It wasn’t until “mama” slipped into Megumi’s vocabulary that you started to worry. That was a serious problem—you dreaded the moment he might say it in front of his father when he returned to release you from your duties. You weren’t his mother, and you weren’t involved with his dad either.
You had tried to get Megumi to start saying “dada” instead, but he would always respond with the dreadful “mama”—pointing to you every time. You were just a broke college student filling in as a babysitter for the weekend, but apparently to Megumi you were his long lost mommy.
By the time Sunday rolled around, you were awaiting Toji’s return. Not that he had given a specific day or time he’d be back, but you had assumed that the approximate time was coming to an end. You had waited all day, tending to Megumi’s needs and playing with him until the both of you were exhausted.
You had passed out on the couch with Megumi asleep on your chest when Toji finally made it back. You didn’t hear the door open or feel Megumi being lifted off of you. It wasn’t until you heard a small cry of “mama” coming from the hallway that you stirred.
“Gumi?” you call, voice slightly hoarse. You rub the sleep from your eyes, jolting when the couch dips from the weight of Toji sitting by your feet.
“He’s in his room. He’s fine.” his gruff voice assuring you of the baby’s safety.
“What time is it?” you ask, moving to sit up.
“Midnight.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll get going.” you try to stand up but Toji grabs your hips and sits you back down—with a little more force than you would have liked.
“Don’t bother, it’s too late. You can go in the morning.” he’s looking at you now, holding you in place with his intense gaze.
Now that you’re really looking at him, you notice a small gash on his forehead—blood drips from the wound, soaking his brow in red. Your face contorts with concern and your hand reaches out before you can stop yourself.
“What happened?” you ask. You knew that Toji probably had a dangerous job but this is physical proof.
“Nothing.” he grunts, leaning further back into the couch.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. But you still need to clean it.” you say, rising to your feet and striding to the kitchen to wet a cloth.
“M’fine, doll.” he’s insistent as you stand in front of him with the fabric in hand.
“Don’t care.” you lean down to tilt his head towards you. He scowls as you wipe the blood from his forehead—he lets you fuss over him with a strange willingness despite his earlier dismissal.
His head still isn’t on straight, evidently.
But how could it be when you’re leaning over him— soft tits spilling from your tank top, cleaning his wound with a dedicated focus only a mother could have.
“Mama, huh?”
You freeze. Instant embarrassment washing over your body as your face goes blank. You forgot that Megumi had called you that when he was taken from you. This is bad.
“I- I’m sorry-“ your gentle rubbing on his forehead stops as you stutter out an apology. “I tried to get him to stop saying it-“ you’re buzzing with nervousness, your heart beating far too fast.
“Don’t blame him-“ his hands raise to rub invasive but comforting circles on the sides of your thighs. “I’d do the same if I had a pretty girl taking care of me-“ he huffs a low laugh. “Gets it from his dad.” his suggestive joke shocks both you and himself.
If you thought your heart was beating out of your chest before, then you’d be mistaken.
“Oh, so I’m pretty?” you tease, a small smile flitting across your lips. You continue cleaning his gash with a newfound confidence.
“Something like that.” he smirks in return, his hands on your thighs moving up to your hips.
“Watch it, old man-“ you grip his jaw, turning his head to get a closer look at his wound. “I’m just a babysitter y’know-“ you brush some hair away from his forehead. “And you’re a daddy.” you whisper, slightly unaware of the effects resulting from your choice of words.
“Christ- you can’t say shit like that, doll.” Toji groans, his grip on your hips nearly bruising.
“Huh? Why not? It’s true, you have a kid.” you giggle, still choosing to play innocent.
“You get a kick out of teasing men a decade older than you or something?” he winces slightly when you pull the rag away from his wound and set it down on the coffee table.
“Not particularly, but I suppose you’re good looking enough to warrant it.” your heart hammers in your chest as you dare to settle on Toji’s lap.
Any ounce left of Toji’s self control flies out the window.
“That desperate for me, doll?” he lets you climb on his lap, his hands move from your hips to your waist and squeezes. He has to bite back a groan when your core presses flush to the bulge in his pants.
“Maybe-“ you throw your arms around his neck, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “But you still haven’t paid me for childcare yet.” you giggle, a nervous smile on your face from your bold musings.
“You’ll be paid, it just depends on what you’ll take as payment.” Toji’s voice drops an octave with his suggestive comment, looking right into your eyes as he experiments with a slow grind up against your clothed cunt.
“Mfm- I thought I was getting cash.” you fake pout, leaning your head into the crook of his neck to break the intense eye contact—you didn’t want him to see your flustered face turn red.
“Mhm- I did say that, but think of this as a tip for your great service.” Toji sinks his fingers into the base of your scalp, pulling you from his shoulder and towards his mouth with a harsh tug.
Your mouths clash, he wastes no time before he’s shoving his wet tongue down your throat—it’s invasive, it’s dirty. All you can do is yelp in surprise against his mouth, nails running through the sweat slicked hair at the back of his neck.
Toji’s grip on your waist loosens before he’s moving down to palm your ass, squeezing the fat in handfuls—he’s moving your hips in slow grinds against his painfully hard dick. He pulls away from your lips, a filthy string of saliva connecting your mouths—he’s kissing down your neck, making sure to leave purple bruises in his wake.
“Shit- I knew having a pretty little thing like you around would be a bad idea-“ he’s breathing against your neck, pausing briefly before licking a filthy stripe up to your jaw. “loving up on my son like he was your own-“ he leaves kisses along your cheeks before pecking your lips.
“Why’d a broke bastard like you buy me food and offer me a job in the same breath-“ you're cut off by your own moan when Toji reaches down to cup your cunt in his large palm. “What was your- mfm- motive, Toji?”
“Let’s just say I enjoy a good gamble-“ he groans when he feels your slick seep through your pajama pants. “And I knew it was all gonna come back to me-“ his free hand sneaks under your shirt to tease one of your nipples—pinching and squeezing. “In one way or another- heh.”
You just hum, raising your arms so Toji could take your shirt off—far too horny to dwell on his childish gag and vague motivations. He takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth, suckling on it before biting down lightly.
“Shit-“ you groan, running your nails through his hair.
You reach into Toji’s pants to free his aching cock, but immediate need washes over you when you see the sheer size of him. Hesitantly, you wrap your hand around his girth (barely encompassing the whole thing) and run your thumb over his glossy tip.
“Damn, doll-“ his breath hitching as he watched your smaller hand stroke him.
“Why are you so b-big?” you stutter much to your dismay, Toji’s hand on your cunt suddenly massaging your clit through your pants.
“S’cause I’m a big man, baby.” he says like it’s obvious—which it is, you asked a stupid question.
He kisses down your sternum, his hands tugging on the waistband of your pajamas—he looks up at you, awaiting permission. You nod, releasing his cock to stand and let him pull your pants and underwear down.
“Sooo wet, doll-“ he groans as he sucks bruises into your lower tummy, making his way down to your visibly dripping pussy.
“Fuck-“ you cry out as quiet as possible once Toji takes your swollen clit into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, creating an intense suction that has you weak in the knees. His large hands keep your hips still as you stand in front of him, clawing at his black compression shirt that’s clinging to his sweaty shoulders.
Loud slurps can be heard coming from between your legs as Toji tortures your poor clit. He grabs the back of one of your knees, pulling it up until your foot rests on the couch cushion next to him—this position reveals the rest of your cunt to the open air, allowing Toji to sink a thick digit inside of you.
“Oh- what the fuck-“ you whine a little too loud—you’re concerned about waking Megumi until you remember he slept through an entire college lecture. Toji is pumping his finger inside of you at a nearly cruel pace, the suction around your clit never letting up.
“Keep doing that s-shit and I’ll cum too- ngh- fast!” you feel your tummy tightening with every pound to the spongy spot inside and suckle on your sensitive bud.
“No such thing as too fast, baby-“ he replaces his mouth with fast flicks of his thumb while he speaks. “And I told you to consider this a tip, remember?” he laughs before diving right back into the mess between your legs.
“Oh my- god- cumming!” you cry out, hips stuttering, jaw unhinged, and warmth spreading throughout your lower body.
Toji just groans, slipping a second finger inside of you and nearly doubling in speed. He milks every last second of your orgasm with his superhuman dexterity, catching all of your juices in his greedy mouth. He slaps your ass before pulling away when you start tugging on his hair, urging him to stop.
“So good for me, doll-“ he places sweet kisses on your raised thigh, rubbing your hips with soothing circles as your lower body jerks a few final times. “pussy tastes so damn sweet.”
“Please- please fuck me.” you’re panting, but insatiable—desperate to be filled up by the man sitting in front of you.
“You’re so cute when you ask nicely, baby.” his hand runs back up your thigh, thumb brushing your clit once he reaches the apex. “I wanna hear you ask again.”
“Please- need to be f-full- please fuck me!” the tight circles on your overstimulated clit abruptly stop, making you whine at the loss. You pout, looking at Toji with confusion.
“I think you’re missing something, doll.” he urges you to try again, you’re already thoroughly embarrassed at this point, so what’s the point in being shy now?
“Please…daddy?”
“Ding, ding, ding.” a shit-eating grin overtakes his face—the next thing you know, you’re being thrown over Toji’s massive shoulder and taken to his bedroom down the hall.
He throws you down, not very gently, on his bed before spreading your legs to look at your sloppy cunt. He admires the view for a few seconds before stripping himself of his blood-stained shirt and pants.
Your cheeks flush red as you watch him strip—sure, his tight shirt did little to hide his physique but seeing it in the flesh had your poor cunt clenching around nothing. His muscular pecs, sweat glazed abs, and a scruffy black happy trail highlighting his v-line were just appetizers to the main course—the dick nearly the size of your forearm.
“What if it doesn’t fit?” your horny ignorance from earlier is long gone once he’s on top of you. His cock resting on your tummy, spanning all the way up past your belly button.
“What happened to all that begging, doll?” he mocks you, gathering slick from your hole and dragging it up to lubricate his dick. “Did the little girl finally realize she should be fucking boys her age and size?” Toji laughs, lining himself up to your cunt and awaiting your verdict.
“No- no I can take it-“ you cup his face in your hands, bringing him down for a chaste kiss. “Just go slow, please-“ you whisper, hands bracing on his shoulders.
You wince when Toji sinks the first inch inside your tight rings of muscle—the stretch is brutal but you have a point to prove. He spreads your legs further, pushing your knees up to the sides of your tits so he can thrust deeper.
“So tight, baby-“ he lets out a breath before continuing to plunge in more of his dick. “You gotta let me in, relax.” he lets go of one of your legs to rub at your clit.
“Mfmm- I’m trying-“ you whimper, grip on his shoulders tightening when he pushes in another brutal inch. He’s so close to bottoming out, he just needs you to go slack.
“You can do it, doll.” he reassures you, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss, circles on your clit doubling in speed. He bottoms out with a loud groan into your now slack-jawed mouth.
“Fuck-“ you can feel Toji nudging your cervix with unrelenting pressure, your walls stretched thin to accommodate him.
You swear you can feel him in your damn lungs.
“There you go-“ he grunts, rolling his hips into yours with a deep grind that makes you mewl. “Taking daddy’s cock so well.” you nearly swat at him for his use of the title but you don’t get the chance—he suddenly pulls all the way out to the tip and slams back in with a single thrust.
“Oh- fuck!” you nearly scream, a single glossy tear falls down your cheek when he hits the back of your cunt with inexplicable force. You’re clawing for purchase on his back, legs closing around his hips—not entirely sure if you want him to leave or stay.
“So pretty like this, doll-“ Toji’s eyebrows furrow in pleasure, the scar on his lip quirks to the side in a subtle smile. “Almost as pretty as when you’re taking care of my- ngh- baby-“ the pace of his deep, long thrusts pick up every time he feels you clench around him.
“You’re s-so deep, Toji- shit!” you don’t think you’re able to breathe anymore, the constant thuds against your g-spot and cervix are quickly becoming too much. You plant your palms on his hard abs, trying to push him away.
“Nuh uh, none of that-“ he pulls out and flips you flat on your tummy before you can even protest—he forces himself back inside with a single languid thrust. “You wanted it, so you’re taking it, baby.”
Your cries of pleasure are muffled by the pillow that you’re being shoved into—you’re stuck in a mean prone bone, stuffed to the brim. Toji’s entire body is splayed on top of yours, pinning you down and leaving you nowhere to run.
“Take it for me, doll.” his hips slap against your ass with every pound to your deepest and most hidden spots inside of you. “You can do that, right?” he asks, kissing the top of your head tenderly.
“Mhmm! Mhmm- I can, daddy!” you’re cock drunk beyond belief, willing to say anything and everything as long as the coil in your belly releases.
“Can feel you- ngh- squeezing me, baby-“ Toji knows you’re about to cum and he’s not far behind—he sneaks one of his strong arms underneath your to rub your neglected clit in rapid side to side motions.
“Oh- fuck! M’cumming!” you squeal, hips fucking back to meet Toji’s rough pounds. You shake underneath him like you’re being exorcised, your hand reaching behind you to claw at Toji’s thigh to ground yourself.
Your juices spray the sheets wet—Toji’s pelvis isn’t safe from your geyser either. All he can do is groan at how hard you’re clamping down on his cock, whispering sweet-nothings in your ear as you come down from your high. Toji rolls his hips in a few more deep grinds before overfilling your pussy with his sticky cum, staining your insides white.
“God damn, doll-“ he’s panting against the top of your head, hands rubbing up and down the sides of your waist to help you relax. “you okay?” he whispers, in an effort to be considerate.
“Mhmm-“ you whisper back, nodding your head against the pillow.
Toji pulls out slowly, eyes locked in a trance as he watches his cum leak out of you in creamy dollops.
“So pretty-“ he groans, spreading your pussy lips apart to see your hole flutter as more and more of his cum drips down your cunt. He brings two fingers up to your pussy, gathering some of his lost seed and pushing it right back in.
“Ah- M’sensitive-“ you yelp meekly, propping up your upper body to your elbows.
“Sorry, baby.” he stands from the bed, leaving the room before he returns with a wet cloth to clean you up. It’s the least he could do after you tended to his wound earlier.
Toji grabs your hips and flips you over on your back—he spreads your legs and wipes away the mess. He throws the rag away behind his back with a dramatic flair that makes you giggle, leaning down to press one last kiss to your lips.
Wailing.
“Shit- Gumi woke up-“ you move to stand but Toji pushes you right back down, not very gently—as per usual.
“Daddy’s got it-“ he huffs a knowing laugh and winks at you. He pulls on some stray sweats from the floor before he stops in the doorway. “Would the little miss babysitter stay around for a while?” he asks, looking at you from over his broad shoulder.
“I don’t know, are you gonna pay me?” you giggle.
“I can’t afford that shit-“ he chuckles in return. “free housing and infinite orgasms should be payment enough, doll.”
bf!light yagami who knows exactly how to cheer you up during a depressive episode
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for this.”
“…I’m still sorry.” You whispered, curling your legs to your chest, causing the water in the bathtub surrounding you and Light to ripple.
If you were to be brutally honest with yourself, you’d say that this was up there on the Top 10 most embarrassing moments of your life. To anyone else—this would’ve been nothing to be so bashful about, in fact they’d call it “romantic”, but to you? Your boyfriend bathing you felt more excruciatingly shameful than anything else.
“You say sorry too much, it’s annoying.” Light commented, gently running his fingers through your hair as he sat behind you—a stark contrast to his tone of voice. “I wanted to do this, y’know that? If I didn’t bother keeping up with your self-care, what kind of boyfriend would I be?”
You stayed silent in response, gradually allowing yourself to melt into his back and lean into his hands that massaged your scalp. “I just…It’s—I didn’t want you to think of me as someone dirty. I know I haven’t been myself lately, but—“
“Be quiet.” Light mumbled, suddenly pecking your soapy cheek. “Just stay silent, hm? Can you do that?”
You swallowed hard, biting your tongue as you nodded your head.
“Good.” He sighed, washing off his sudsy hands in the water before grabbing a handful, slowly dropping it onto your hair, and washing out the shampoo.
“Drop your legs, baby.”
Hesitantly, you let your knees fall flat, biting your lips as the cool air hit the parts of your skin not submerged beneath the warm water.
Only the sound of water running through your hair and then falling back into the tub echoed through the bathroom, the feeling of Light’s chest rising and then falling against your back grounding you. He didn’t care if you hadn’t kept up with your grooming, albeit his own cleanly image—what Light truly cared about in that moment was you. How you felt, why you felt the need to isolate yourself from him, as well as your daily routine. He wanted to ensure your happiness. Good, innocent people like you didn’t deserve to suffer.
Suddenly, Light’s lithe fingers wrapped around your wrists, bringing your hands to your chest. He debated upon bringing up your struggles, why you didn’t feel the need to get up out of bed, why you shut him out—but he decided against it.
“You’re so pretty like this. Bare. When I can see all of you.”
The compliment made you want to curl back up on instinct, but Light beat you to it. He ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, dropping your wrists so he could engulf your waist with his arms instead.
“You can speak now.” He grumbled, pressing a hard kiss just below your ear.
“Light—“ You turned your head slightly, but you were unexpectedly, instantly shut down—Light’s mouth on top of yours.
What a liar he was, immediately kissing you the moment you uttered his name. He loved to hear it fall from your lips, but now he just wanted to keep you occupied with his own.
“Mhm? Go on.” He smiled against your lips, watching you struggle to get out anything but tiny, little whimpers.
“Light..” You gasped, moaning into his mouth as his tongue prodded at your lower lip. The water moved along side you, thrashing against the walls of the tub.
“C’mon…why wash up now when we’re just gonna get dirty again?” He laughed, finally pulling away when you began to claw at his chest, desperate—and slightly frantic.
Your skin was warm to the touch, heart hammering against your chest as if you were a teenage girl and not a grown woman.
You wish you could’ve just been normal, submitting to your desires without consequence, but insecurity seemed to be rooted too deep within you. Corrupting everything.
Light saw your expression fall, his arms slowly retracting from your waist. One of his hands took your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to his own.
“You don’t want to?”
“I don’t…know.” You whispered, observing how his eyes never looked away from your own. It was scary in a way, gazing into Light’s eyes—someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.
“We don’t have to.” He replied, his own expression resorting back into its neutral state. You couldn’t help but feel as if you’d ruined the mood, shattering the moment.
“I’m sorry—“
“What did I say about apologizing?” Light placed another gentle kiss to your skin, his lips brushing just below your eye.
“I…I do it too much.”
“Mhm..” he hummed, letting go of your chin so he could pet your damp hair, pushing it away from your forehead.
“We can get dry and hop in bed. Watch a movie…I’ll even braid your hair.”
A slow smile curled the corners of your lips, your cheeks warming at the sound of his voice. Light always knew how to get to you.
“Since when did you know how to braid hair..?”
“Sayu would always beg me when I was in middle school when she was going over to her friends for sleepovers. Claimed I “did them the best way.”
You let out a small laugh, slowly resting your cheek against his wet chest. “Then…who am I to doubt your skills?”
A moment of brief silence passed before you heard Light smile, his hand not resting on your head grabbing the nearest bottle of soap.
“Come on. Before we prune our skin.”
And when the two of you were tucked in, cuddled in each other’s body heat below the blankets, and your hair braided…you were glad you hadn’t picked one of the rotten ones. Light was a good guy, a great boyfriend…maybe even husband..
One day.
illi’s notez; playing roblox death note right afta i post dis 🤤
Huh? Yuuta freezes, forcing himself still, even if the tip is already pulling a slow trickle of blood, ready to thrust inside of Yuuji's body in one merciful push. “Itadori-kun… You know it'll hurt more.”
“I know.”
“But–”
“I want to feel it.”
The carnage, the blood, the ruins of Shibuya, if he can't atone for it, at least he wants to feel some of it. And maybe, maybe, someone like Yuuta gets it. Someone with his past, with the same destructive power in his hands.
The pause lasts too long for comfort till Yuuta agrees. “Okay,” His voice low, hand on Yuuji's shoulder, in case he struggles, in case the pain gets too much when he's not even halfway in. “It's okay, Itadori-kun… Just hold on to me,
"I'll go as slow as you like.”
(“That’s the plan? The whole plan is just my death?” Apparently, it was, and Yuuji had agreed to it quite easily. Offering himself, as if a sacrifice has a say in its own ritual.)
-
Yuuji can also see full well the whole length of the tanto, its sides glimmering with every crackle of the nearby fire. And Yuuta’s wrist, curiously delicate even after all the gruelling training to expertly handle a katana, lifts. Just as he promised, Yuuta lines up his hand, eyes focused on a particular spot on Yuuji’s chest. The grip on the knife handle tightened, the muscle in his forearm tensing up; it took more power to keep your hand steady than it is to let the force of a push finish the job in seconds.
No…
Can you do it slow?
The grip on Yuuji’s shoulder tightens, his thumb tracing the collarbone before settling on the base of Yuuji’s neck for a steadier grip.
It’s… Yuuta closes his eyes, breathing through the seconds that’s moving in a snail's pace, the tension thick as honey. Then… He pressed. Rather than jerking his elbow to maximise the damage, Yuuta keeps his hand steady, using his own weight as the center of motion. Keeping it slow… using a steady force, the knife creates the slightest tension against the thin layer of skin, the glimmering tip pressing down until he finally breaks through the taut skin. And as if a dam breaking, the slide that comes after becomes painfully facile, wet and slick from the blood that seeps out as the natural reaction of blood vessels bursting from being torn apart.
In the dead silence of ruined Tokyo night, the act itself feels audible, as if Yuuta can hear the slightest stretch of Yuuji’s skin before it inevitably snaps under the force of a sharp, unforgiving steel, as if he could hear the settling of the seeping blood on cotton that comes after.
He… isn’t quite sure why he did it. Maybe because Yuuji’s shaky breath broke the aforementioned silence, but Yuuta’s eyes wandered up despite avoiding all eye contact a minute ago. He sees Itadori Yuuji’s face, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as the blade slowly sinks in, moving with a lazy speed that can only be achieved by purposeful control.
Slow, remember, slow.
…
When Yuuta feels an expected bit of resistance as the blade hits muscle, he pushes in with a slightest bit more force. That, that little change in pace made Yuuji moan in pain.
Yuuji’s previously closed eyes part open, twitching, giving Yuuta full view of those clouded brown irises, the eye contact he was so earnestly avoiding now settled in place. From the edge of his vision, Yuuta sees a drop of sweat, bouncing the light from the campfire, descending and then disappearing into the collar of Yuuji’s shirt.
That moan turns into a hiss when Yuuta starts moving again. This time, when Yuuta pushes, Yuuji’s hand instinctively grips Yuuta’s wrist, a moment of primal weakness before he rips his hand off with a tired grunt. God, he looks so exhausted. See, Yuuta can do it, he can just thrust the rest of the knife in, plunge the length down to the hilt, ignoring Yuuji’s wishes, but… But he asked for it, he asked for this, this slowness and… And Yuuta is actively killing him, the least he can do is honour his wishes, no matter how painful it is to hear and to witness.
“Ugh…”
“Shh, I know…” I have to respect his wishes. Yuuji’s audible grunt made Yuuta hiss, his left hand trailing from his shoulder to his neck, his fingers rubbing the back of Yuuji’s cold nape in a hopeless attempt to comfort. Another grunt, quieter this time. “I know,” His voice nothing but a whisper, low, comforting. “I know it hurts… I know it’s excruciating, but… just a little more… Just a little deeper, okay? Ah…” Yuuta sighs out, guilt seizing his stomach when he sees the way Yuuji's face scrunches, teeth biting on his lower lip so hard that red trickles from the split skin.
He wants it slow.
And Yuuji hasn’t changed his tune; he didn’t ask Yuuta to go faster, deeper, to get it over with. No… No, he just takes it, he takes it so well even though Yuuta knows, he can see the pain clear in Yuuji’s eyes, how his breath staggers, hitches. His body twitching, his spine, ever so lightly curved back to get away from the penetration that keeps happening, as if unending.
Yuuta's lips, a breath away from Yuuji's ear, as if asking, he wants to ask him… Is this too much? Can you handle it? But instead, he asks,
“Am I going slow enough for you…?”
…
Yuuji’s fingers twitch, his hand lifts just the slightest bit, but then it falls back down, plopping next to him like a doll string being cut.
Yuuta is already going so slow, but then…
A breath, his pink, dying lips, one with the slightest brush of blood on the top parts and says…
“Slow…er.”
Slow– Slower…?
Yuuta actually gasps, his voice shudders, again, his breath puffing just an inch from Yuuji’s ear as if to ask him if he’s sure? If he really wants to feel this so badly… This knife, this pain, every, single, inch of it… ?
Okay, Yuuta wants to say, but the only voice that comes out is two cut-up noises. Unable to trust himself, Yuuta presses his forehead to Yuuji's side, nodding once before pulling back, hand still caressing Yuuji's nape.
The resistance comes again, Yuuta can feel the knife throbbing as Yuuji’s muscles twitch, feeling the painful, cold intruder in its folds. But Yuuta can feel it, he can see it, the length of his knife is halfway inside. In just an inch, maybe even half, he’s going to hit his heart.
Yuuji’s head lolls down, hanging by the neck, his ears dampening from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, something so clearly ignored. So, Yuuta leans closer, his fingers steady, holding to handle tighter, as if to prepare himself… “I’m so close, Itadori-kun…” It’s going to be over soon. “Just hold on a little longer, okay? Hold still for me…”
Then… He feels it, with another, featherlight push, the tip of his knife pressed on the violently beating heart which has been pumping so hard that it was the only noise Yuuji could hear.
Yuuta thrust the knife all the way inside, piercing through the pulsing organ.
…
The tsuba is pressed flush against Itadori's chest. He's in… he's really all the way in.
Yuuta never felt anything like this before. All the time, it was about ripping his katana out of his opponent's body, as fast and as hard as he could, inflicting as much damage as he pulled out, ripping apart the flesh around it, but this? This…
Feels… It feels so… raw. This deep and this still, Yuuta can feel the heavy drag of Yuuji's heart still beating, the blade ever so slightly, very, very lightly, nudges the blade up and down with every breath.
His eyes closed, this is it. Yuuta can’t think of anything else. Because he just pierced his heart, the moment he pulls this knife out, blood is going to pour out of him, and it will all be over.
Yuuji is turning pale, his head thumping against the concrete, rolling back against the crackling surface.
“Itadori-kun…?” No, he's not responding anymore. Yuuta's hand moves back to Yuuji’s shoulder to once again steady him as he grips the handle tighter, feeling his fingers turning clammy. “I'll pull it out now…”
And he pulls it out just as slowly as he thrust it in, it feels only right to do so. Yuuji’s body twitches for a while, his flesh tugging around the knife, pulling away the only thing stopping Yuuji’s blood from pouring out.
…And maybe it’s because Yuuta is just so close, but he feels Yuuji’s nose pressed on his neck, a last human act, the last of Yuuji’s breaths filled with his scent.
Yuuta’s eyes widen, his pupils trembling as Yuuji’s fingers, weak and cold, try and fail to hold onto his hand, dropping to his lap, tracing the side of his white shirt before turning still.
The knife finally slips out of Yuuji’s body, and Yuuta feels cold. The knife drops from his hand like it just turned to ash, clattering to the dusty floor.
He feels Yuuji’s body slumping, twitching, his mouth opening and closing, trying to draw breath from an organ that no longer works. The sound is haunting.
Yuuta’s hands, now hot compared to Yuuji’s pale skin, are holding his face, their eyes locked on each other for a fleeting second. Yuuta’s thumbs caress Yuuji’s cheeks as the stray tears that have been pooling on the sides finally drip down.
…
“Shh… Just close your eyes, Itadori-kun.” Because Yuuji is fighting it, as if asking for permission to let his pain, and his life, go. “Close your eyes… Yes, just like that. You’re doing good, you’re doing so good…” Even through the pain, Yuuta knows it will only take seconds now. Ten… Nine… “The hard part is over now. Shh… I got you, I got you…”
He can feel it, see it, anyone who has taken a life can. The way Yuuji's eyes still and the body turns to dead weight in Yuuta’s hand. And Yuuta? He holds Yuuji’s body steady, presses him back against the wall, and slowly, with hesitance that only lasts a second, steals a kiss from Yuuji’s still-warm lips, so softly, soft… It feels like he could’ve kissed the last of his breath away.
summary. what did he get after coming back from Africa? a fucking huge ego and the nerve to make you fall in love more. which, isss so fucking unfair not that you have to make him ask you to be his girlfriend.
triggers/warnings. fluff, emotionally constipated yuuta, dumbass to lover pipeline, soft virgin $ex (implied), first time, mutual pining explosion, goofy flirting to full-on intimacy, extremely affectionate makeout session, long slow kiss descriptions, teasing turned sincere, gentle undressing, consent check (verbal), heavy petting, reader-on-top position, soft dom yuuta, praise kink (gentle), internal ejaculation (mentioned), implied aftercare, lots of “i love you” mid-thrust energy, dumb relationship talk, boyfriend reveal post-orgasm, soft but emotionally unhinged dialogue, swearing / explicit language.
it was that kind of twilight where the sky went lilac, like it couldn’t decide whether to die down or scream one last color into the day, and the courtyard between dorms hummed with the lazy static of summer insects drunk off heat. your legs stuck a little with every step, your thighs brushing as your too-short cotton strawberry-print sleep shorts rode up—not because you’d rolled them, but because they were honest-to-god tragic at staying down where they were supposed to. the white t-shirt hung shapeless and limp, just long enough to look like you weren’t trying to be indecent, just short enough to flash a whisper of lower belly if the breeze kicked up. your hair was a half-washed mess. no bra. no socks. this was war.
plastic bag of snacks swinging off your wrist, crinkling loud enough to announce you two corners away, you clutched it like a peace offering, or a bribe, or a confession. everything in it had a story: the milk soda gummies he’d once nearly cried over. that dumb pink shrimp chip brand you always fought over because the flavor was “emotionally damaging” (his words). a tiny green tea cake with icing you’d pressed your thumb into by accident. the whole bag smelled like saccharine surrender. you hadn’t seen him in months.
yuuta had been sent to africa—yes, the continent, not the band—because gojo had gotten it into his hollow skull that yuuta needed “recalibration,” like he was a satellite that went a little too sharp after the shibuya aftermath. the accident—those cursed children, that nightmarish tangle of residuals, the stupid thing with the shrine and the way his voice cracked saying “i didn’t mean to—” right before gojo shoved him on a plane—had left him looped up in his own head. not dangerous, not even spiraling. just… too tuned in. too raw. so gojo, in his infinite “big brother but worse” wisdom, had sent him away. not to punish, not to exile. just to breathe somewhere far enough that even his regrets would echo slower.
you had hated him for it. not yuuta. gojo. because you missed him. and because you didn’t know how to say it.
he had texted, of course. photos of monkeys stealing his food. long meandering voice notes about heatstroke and rogue cursed spirits in old mining towns. one audio message that was just six minutes of wind and then “...it smells like burnt cinnamon here, isn’t that weird?” and then more wind. you’d replayed that one until the file started glitching.
now he was back.
you walked up the stairs with knees that didn’t work right, heartbeat like a stray drumroll in your chest. the hallway smelled like that vaguely bleachy institution-funk, overlaid with someone cooking too much garlic too late. but his door was the one with the taped-up polaroid of a lizard on the peephole—he’d named it jerry and claimed it once saved his life in botswana by pointing at a cursed talisman with its tail (you didn’t believe a word but loved him for trying)—and it stood exactly as you remembered. slightly misaligned. always looked like it wanted to be a secret.
you stood there too long. shifted the snack bag from left to right. considered fleeing. considered kicking the door down. did neither.
instead, you knocked. once. twice. then a little impatient third one that said “hey, i’m still me.”
the hallway was quiet.
your hand still hovered, a little curl of fingers like maybe you'd knock again but also maybe you'd just rest it there and feel how solid the door was between you. it didn’t matter. the moment had already bent in that soft surreal way, like a movie scene that couldn’t decide if it was a comedy or a tragic romance. behind that door was him. your friend. the dumbass with the soft hands and the eyes like old moonlight and a voice that didn’t realize it made you ache.
you licked your lips, wiped your palm on your thigh. you told yourself you were ready.
the plastic bag rustled. it sounded like a heartbeat.
the door opened with a click that sounded way too loud for the sleepy summer hallway and maybe also a little like the climax of a drama scene about to spiral into something stupid and irreversible, and there he was—yuuta okkotsu, fucking alive, standing barefoot in the doorway like he’d just walked off a fever dream you had eight weeks ago, except realer and worse, because reality had done something to him that memory never could: it made him taller.
not metaphorically taller, not emotionally expanded, not some symbolic “he grew while he was away” bullshit—no. he was literally, absolutely taller, which was rude as hell because you were already tragically average and now standing in front of him, your face came up to his stupid newly-broadened neck and you had to tilt your head back to look at his face and that made your neck hurt and now everything was his fault. again.
“whoa,” he said, voice a little low and scratchy like he hadn’t talked much today, maybe a little sleepstill lingering at the edges, but then he smirked, and it was the kind of slow curling thing that should’ve come with a health warning. “what the hell are you wearing?”
you didn’t answer. couldn’t, really. because your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes tracked the line of his collarbone visible through that worn white t-shirt—the one clinging just enough to expose the ghost of his abs underneath, because apparently he had those now, just a casual six-pack sculpted out of trauma and climate change and moral injury—and then lower, to where the hem of the shirt barely brushed the waistband of those indecently low athletic shorts. shorts that screamed “i don’t own dignity” but in a confident way. and legs. endless, lean, travel-worn legs like he’d gone on a side quest for new muscles.
his hair was parted to the side, a little messy but shaped like it meant to be, probably from running his fingers through it a hundred times, and his eyes were brighter than you remembered—not in that overworked, glassy way he used to have, but something steadier, like he’d seen some shit and come back joking about it. and his smile was sharp now. not mean. just sharper. more boyish menace than anxious darling.
“you okay?” he asked, still holding the door open, leaning one shoulder against the frame like he’d taken a class in posing over there. “you’ve been standing there like i’m a ghost. is this the part where you tell me i’ve been dead the whole time?”
“no,” you blurted, then immediately hated how your voice cracked like a teenage boy about to confess his love to the back of a girl’s head in a shoujo anime. “no, you’re just—i didn’t realize you’d... grow vertically.”
he raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down, dramatically, then back up. “you’re just short.”
“liar. you’re taller than before.”
“am i?” he tilted his head. “i thought you just shrank. maybe that’s what all the strawberry-print shorts are doing to your brain. estrogen shrinkage. is that a thing?”
“you look like a backup dancer for a washed-up j-pop group,” you fired back, finally stepping past him into the dorm, brushing his shoulder on the way, pretending it didn’t buzz like an electric fence when you touched him. “no right looking like that at home. i almost dropped the snacks.”
“the what now?” he snatched the bag from your wrist with a dramatic flourish and held it up like it was the holy grail, peering inside. “is this—are these shrimp chips? you do love me.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“your shorts said it for you.”
“fuck you.”
he shut the door behind you with a little too much smugness in the click, dropped the snack bag onto his desk like it was a reward for something he didn’t work for, and turned to look at you fully. “okay, but seriously. hi. you look... like you lost a fight with a dryer, and then won the war of being adorable.”
“you’ve been back for five minutes and i already regret everything.”
“but you missed me.” his voice dropped just half a note, not sultry, not teasing—just confident, and you hated that it made your stomach go soft and fluttery like a tragic anime side character about to say something embarrassing and get hit by a car. “you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”
“i missed you like a hole in the head.”
“that’s still a kind of love,” he grinned, stepping closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down so his forehead almost bumped yours. “cursed and irreversible.”
you tried to back up, hit his desk instead. fuck.
“you’re an idiot.”
“you look like you wanna cry.”
“i do. because of your face.”
“because you love my face.”
“yuuta.”
he laughed, that soft exhale kind of laugh, warm and real and too close. his fingers grazed the snack bag again. your heart forgot how to perform basic rhythm.
you hated him. you hated how he looked better than before. more whole. more like himself. and that he wasn’t scared anymore. and that now you didn’t know if you were allowed to want him without breaking something.
“so,” he said, turning to open the mini fridge, crouching slightly, letting his shirt ride up so you could see the shadow of his lower back and the waistband of his shorts pulling low, “what’s the plan, captain? movie night? tears? declaration of undying devotion? all of the above?”
you hated him. you hated that he knew. that he was waiting.
but you were here now. no takebacks. and your knees had already lost the ability to lock.
you said, “movie night.”
he grinned again, not looking back. “mmhm. coward.”
you stared at him for a second too long, a long dumb second where he was still bent over with the fridge door hanging open and the lamplight just so, highlighting the curve of his spine and the soft dip of muscle above his waistband, and he was rattling a soda can around like it owed him something, humming some godawful off-key jingle under his breath while absolutely oblivious to the fact that you were contemplating both murder and marriage at the same time. and that was dangerous. because the moment you started thinking thoughts like his back looks like a religious experience and i want to punch him in the throat, you were in too deep.
so you did the only thing your tragically flustered nervous system allowed: you walked up and kicked him square in the shin.
“ow—fuck, what the hell,” he yelped, straightening with the drama of a man shot in war, dropping the soda in the process which landed with a thud and rolled under the desk like it knew what was good for it. “was that necessary?”
“yes,” you said, stepping around him like he was debris, heading straight for the tiny kitchenette shoved into the corner of the dorm like an afterthought. the popcorn bag was already in your hand, pre-buttered and microwavable and honestly the only real symbol of stability in your life at the moment. you yanked open his one cabinet, found a bowl shaped like it had been purchased in a panic, and set it down with the finality of someone trying very hard not to scream. “i am asserting dominance.”
“by kicking me like a rabid toddler?” he called from behind you, and you heard the stupid amusement in his voice, the I’m-smiling-but-I’m-also-plotting kind of grin that made you want to wrap your legs around his head and drown him in it. “wow. you really did miss me.”
you ignored him, shoved the bag into the microwave and typed in numbers that weren’t the time but felt emotionally correct. then you heard it—that sound. the soft, quiet approach. sockless feet brushing linoleum. and then—
his fingers in your hair.
it started small. just a gentle flick, like he was testing the texture, maybe reminding himself what it felt like to touch you. and you told yourself you weren’t going to react. you were strong. you were composed. you had kicked him in the shin, for god’s sake.
then he twirled a strand, slow and deliberate, looping it once, twice around his index finger like he was braiding the concept of being insufferable. and he was close. not body-pressed-close, not oh-no-we’re-about-to-kiss close—worse. emotionally close. best-friend-who-knows-what-makes-you-crack close. and that was the real danger zone.
“i don’t remember giving you permission,” you mumbled, not looking back, hands busy pretending to rearrange popcorn bags that didn’t need rearranging.
“you didn’t,” he said, twirling harder, tugging it gently like he was testing how far he could go before you screamed. “but it’s not like you’re gonna stop me.”
“you’re violating the geneva convention right now.”
“it’s hair. not nuclear arms.”
“i will scalp you.”
“hot.”
you froze for a half-second, horrified by the small laugh that slipped out of your own throat, because how dare he be funny and disgusting and weirdly charming all at once. and the worst part? the actual worst part? his fingers were still in your hair. just resting there now, tangled lazy, like he belonged. like you were a thing he was allowed to touch. and your whole body was doing that thing again—heat in the gut, soft static under your skin, a flush crawling its way up your neck like shame dressed as desire.
“i hate you.”
“you keep saying that but you’re not convincing,” he said, voice close to your ear now, low and amused and awful and warm. “you didn’t even flinch.”
“i’m biding my time. waiting for the perfect moment to shiv you with a butter knife.”
“you are so bad at pretending you don’t love me,” he whispered, fingers giving your hair one last tug, then releasing like he hadn’t just incinerated every single one of your higher brain functions.
you whipped around, popcorn forgotten, bowl cradled in your hands like a weapon. “you’re the most annoying man i’ve ever met.”
“you’ve only met like four men.”
“and three of them were fictional.”
“and you still picked me.” he grinned, then leaned in so close you could count every unfair eyelash, all fluttery and boyish and violent. “tragic.”
you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the microwave dinged, loud and shrill like an alarm you didn’t set, and both of you jumped. he stepped back, smirking like the devil in gym shorts.
you hated him.
you also loved him.
but that wasn’t the point.
you reached past him to yank open the microwave, your arm brushing his chest on the way, and you could feel the heat of him, the bare skin under that translucent white shirt, like he’d been designed in a lab to make you clinically insane.
he didn’t move.
you didn’t either.
not yet.
fast forward past the microwave war crimes and the traumatic realization that the strawberry-print shorts rode up every time you bent even slightly, past the part where he insisted on filling a second bowl “for tactical snack separation” and then immediately kept both within his reach like a possessive gremlin, past the flickering mental images of throttling him versus maybe gently kissing him just to shut him up—it was later now, and you were on his bed, which felt like a decision made under spiritual duress.
you were laying on your stomach like a lazy sea creature, arms folded under the ridiculous puff of one of his old pillows, probably the one he drooled on based on how aggressively it smelled like shampoo and existentialism. the tv on his desk across the room played soft flickers of color over your bare legs, the blue hue of a night scene washing over your skin like cinematic bathwater. the pillow squished your ribs uncomfortably but you refused to move because you were locked in a delicate standoff between comfort and pride. your shirt had ridden up, naturally. you ignored it. you were committed to the bit.
he was leaned back against the headboard beside you, long legs stretched out like a relaxed golden retriever who knew he owned the whole damn room, the popcorn bowl balanced delicately between the two of you, technically for sharing but realistically under his complete jurisdiction. every now and then, when you reached for some, he’d shift the bowl slightly like a petty little landlord, then smirk when you glared without heat.
“this is a hate crime,” you muttered, palm in the bowl fishing blindly for something that wasn’t just kernels and betrayal.
“this is a romantic crime,” yuuta corrected, chewing obnoxiously loud next to your ear. “we’re bonding. we’re creating memories. you’re gonna look back at this one day and cry.”
“i’m gonna look back and sue.”
“i’m gonna bring this up in my vows.”
“what vows—are you marrying my corpse?”
“god, you’re so dramatic,” he said, nudging the bowl toward your face just as you gave up. “here. have a sympathy handful, you absolute victim.”
you grumbled something incoherent but shoved your hand in before he changed his mind. your fingers touched his for a second and he didn’t flinch, just looked down at you with that dumb fondness in his eyes like he’d won a prize at the fair and couldn’t decide whether to eat it or keep it on his shelf forever.
on screen, ana steel was currently having her lip bitten by christian grey for the twelfth time in twenty minutes.
“i can’t believe you made me watch this,” you groaned, mouth full of popcorn, turning your face into the pillow like it might drown out the secondhand embarrassment.
“excuse me?” he gasped, mock horror fully engaged. “i am blessing you with culture.”
“you made me watch a billionaire man-child stalk a woman into a bdsm contract.”
“and he bought her a car,” yuuta pointed out, as if that somehow absolved the war crimes happening on screen.
“he sold her car without asking.”
“okay, that part was unhinged,” he admitted, stuffing another handful into his mouth. “but also kind of hot, like in a ‘don’t do this but also do this if you’re rich and emotionally damaged’ way.”
you turned your head to look up at him, chin digging into the pillow, eyebrows furrowed. “so you identify with him?”
he didn’t miss a beat. “i identify with ana.”
you snorted so hard you nearly inhaled a kernel.
“what, like you want someone to rescue you with their trauma and a playroom full of sex toys?” you asked, half choking on laughter.
“no,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head with criminal smugness, “i want someone to look at me like that and let me sign a contract that outlines exactly how often i’m allowed to be annoying.”
you rolled your eyes so hard you almost left your body.
“god, you’re insufferable.”
“but lovable,” he added, nudging your shoulder with his knee. “admit it. you like watching horny garbage with me.”
you didn’t answer right away, just flopped your face sideways into the pillow again, watching the screen, because the thing was—this was maybe the dumbest and coziest version of hell you’d ever experienced. the soft weight of his blanket tangled over both your legs. the occasional crunch as he kept eating your popcorn with the rhythm of a man chewing through existential dread. the quiet hum of the fan above you both. his presence looming, always just close enough to lean into. or over. or on.
“you’re the garbage,” you finally said, voice muffled. “the movie is fine.”
“awww,” he cooed, leaning down, voice dripping with weaponized smugness. “is that your love language? bullying me into intimacy?”
“don’t flatter yourself, grey.”
he reached over and tugged at your shirt gently, pulling the hem down over the small of your back, only to immediately pull it back up again like he was testing how much he could get away with. you smacked his hand blindly, but it made you laugh anyway, because this was him—yuuta fucking okkotsu, sweet and mean and flirty and dumb as a brick in love’s stupidest architecture. and you hated how soft it made you feel, how completely unguarded and ridiculous and… happy.
“we should recreate the elevator scene,” he whispered suddenly, like a war criminal.
“i will push you down the stairs.”
“you’re no fun. i could be your emotionally stunted dom.”
“you literally cry at those dog rescue videos.”
“emotional depth isn’t a crime.”
“you own one pair of handcuffs and they’re for cosplay.”
he gasped like you’d just ruined his career. “you promised never to bring that up.”
“you wore them to the school halloween party and said you were ‘sexy rehabilitation.’”
“and it worked! i won second place! gojo voted for me!”
you couldn’t breathe. your face was buried in the pillow again but this time from hysterics, your body shaking against the mattress while the movie’s dramatic music swelled in the background, completely ignored. he reached down and started playing with your hair again, soft and absentminded, fingers running over strands and occasionally tugging just to make you twitch.
“you’re the worst,” you muttered into the fabric.
“i’m your worst,” he said, and it was so quiet, so offhand, so horribly gentle that you had to close your eyes for a second and hold your breath just to survive it.
the tv glowed soft and blue. the popcorn was half gone. and yuuta’s fingers were still tangled in your hair like they’d never stopped.
you don’t remember when the popcorn bowl was exiled to the floor like a fallen soldier, when his knees bent to cage your hips in place, one on either side like he wasn’t subtly climbing you like a tree, like he didn’t just decide that personal space was a capitalist lie invented to keep you from enjoying the sheer horror of his presence, but suddenly there he was—perched over you like a smug gargoyle with perfect posture and absolutely no sense of shame, one hand tangled in your hair again, the other casually draped over the small of your back like he was claiming territory or maybe measuring how far he could push you before you screamed into his pillow.
you were still lying on your stomach, still pinned to his stupid bed with your stupid dignity melting through the mattress like slow death, still pretending you were unaffected by the fact that he was now fully lounging on top of you like a sunbathing menace, his weight gentle but inevitable, like gravity got a personality disorder and started flirting.
“you know,” he drawled, voice sliding right beside your ear like a heat rash in audio form, “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you planned this.”
you tried to lift your head but his palm gently but very firmly pressed it back into the pillow with the same exact energy as someone telling a golden retriever to “stay.” your voice came out muffled, somewhere between indignation and a breakdown. “planned what? the fucking suffocation?”
“you brought snacks,” he said with a completely unserious shrug you could feel vibrate through your entire spine. “you wore the shorts. you’re lying on my bed like a sacrificial offering. i’m just connecting the dots.”
“you’re connecting shit. you’re a conspiracy theorist with a god complex.”
“mmm,” he hummed, tracing a lazy circle between your shoulder blades with one finger. “god’s out of office. i’m your problem now.”
you flailed halfheartedly, kicked one heel back into his thigh. “i’m filing a complaint.”
“please do,” he said brightly. “i love getting fan mail.”
“you’re so—so annoying.”
“you’re blushing,” he said.
“i’m overheating under your weird emotionally co-dependent weight.”
he bent low enough that his breath tickled the back of your neck and you wanted to slap him and kiss him and throw yourself out the window in equal measure. “you like it. just admit it. you like when i’m all clingy and dramatic and a little mean. you missed me. so bad. like it hurt.”
you choked on a noise that wasn’t a denial. it might’ve been a dying bird. maybe a baby crying. the tv was still playing in the background, some intense jazz instrumental under a scene where christian grey was earnestly making eye contact while unzipping something. you hated this. you loved this. you wanted to throw the remote at his head and then press your mouth to his collarbone like you could bite the word finally into his skin.
“you’re getting cocky,” you whispered, tilting your chin just enough to glance up at him, your face twisted in dramatic pain. “something happened to you out there. in africa. the mosquitoes gave you a superiority complex.”
he laughed, short and loud and delighted, collapsing just slightly more against you, his chest brushing your back in a way that felt like someone turning a page too slowly. “nah. you just forgot i was a menace before i left. it’s all coming back now, isn’t it?”
“i blocked it out for my mental health.”
“you missed me so much you forgot your own coping strategies.”
“you’re projecting.”
“you cried when i posted that video of the meerkat hugging the baby goat.”
“because i have empathy.”
“you sent it to me with ‘this is us.’”
“because you’re the goat and i’m the burdened soul holding on for dear life.”
he snorted, finally rolling just enough to the side so his weight settled against your hip instead of directly on your back, one leg still draped over yours like he was trying to win a game of human jenga. “you love me.”
you groaned, pulling the pillow over your face. “stop saying that.”
“say it back, coward.”
“no.”
“say it.”
“absolutely not.”
“say you love me or i’ll quote the contract scene verbatim.”
“i dare you.”
he took a deep breath.
you shrieked, flung the pillow directly into his face, which he caught with both hands while wheezing with laughter. “you fucking menace. you—how do you still know the words? do you memorize garbage?”
“yes. and you. same folder. same cherished label.”
you glared at him. he was laughing so hard his cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess again from rolling over too much, one curl sticking to his temple with sweat and popcorn grease, and the sight of him—real and here and loud and breathing all over bed space—hit you so hard you went still for a second, like your body realized before your brain did that this was the moment, the moment, the breath before you said something you couldn’t walk back.
his eyes caught yours. quiet for once. sincere. amused, yes, always, but... waiting.
“you are so fucking annoying,” you whispered.
“you’re stalling,” he whispered back.
“you smell like corn butter and laundry detergent.”
“say it.”
“you’re ugly.”
“say it.”
“you’re literally the worst person—”
he grabbed your jaw. not hard, not rough—just enough to tilt your chin up and look you in the eye, eyes glinting with something unbearable and infuriating and stupidly, ridiculously beautiful. “say it, or i’m gonna say it first and you’ll be mad about it for the next thirty years.”
your chest hurt.
your legs tingled.
your mouth was dry and also stupid.
“i love you,” you said, like it was a dare.
he blinked.
paused.
then, grinning like a man who just pulled off the greatest heist of his life, he leaned down, brushed your nose with his, and whispered—
“took you fucking long enough.”
you wanted to hit him. not with your fist. with a book, probably, or maybe a bag of frozen peas, or something heavy and full of metaphor like the complete works of shakespeare annotated by someone with too much time and a vendetta. because he was smiling now, but it wasn’t even a normal person’s smile—it was a stupid, slow, predatory, cat-that-ate-the-whole-zoo grin, the kind of smile that said “i’ve already won and now i’m just here to gloat about it while reclining dramatically on your grave.”
he was leaning in, still half-laughing, half-devastating, his forehead brushing yours again like he couldn’t quite resist the gravitational pull of your face and the disaster inside it. your breath hitched and your brain short-circuited and all your blood decided to throw a rave in your ears. you couldn’t look at him. so, obviously, you did.
“say it again,” he whispered, and the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to be hot. he was just obnoxious and needy and chronically underloved in the most annoying way possible, which made it ten thousand times worse, because now he’d tasted victory and he wanted seconds.
“you didn’t even say it back,” you said, mouth dry, fingers curling into the pillow like it owed you emotional support. “why should i go again if you’re gonna keep holding your words hostage?”
“oh,” he said, tilting his head dramatically like a villain who just heard a plot twist. “do you think this is transactional?”
“everything’s transactional when your heart is on fire,” you snapped, voice high and stupid and a little wobbly.
“jesus christ,” he breathed, grinning wider, “you are in love with me.”
“no, i’m just suffering.”
“same thing.”
you made a sound. an actual sound, like a dying kettle or a kettle that’s just learned about taxes, and buried your face in the pillow again, except this time he didn’t let you escape. he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, just enough to keep you looking at him, just enough to make you feel every inch of him, the soft weight of his thigh over yours, the heat of his hand wrapped around your arm, his breath a lazy ghost near your cheek.
“okay,” he said, voice lower now, still soft but stupidly smug, “you ready?”
“for what,” you mumbled.
he raised a single, unnecessary eyebrow. “i’m gonna say it back. you better not cry. or kiss me. or cry while kissing me.”
“i am deeply unattracted to you right now.”
“shut up.”
you did.
he took a breath. unnecessarily long. dramatic as hell. he looked like he was about to deliver a monologue on a stage with a spotlight, except instead it was just you and him and the flickering tv in the background showing a guy tying a tie around someone’s wrists, and the half-empty popcorn bowl on the floor like the saddest metaphor for your relationship.
“i love you,” he said, finally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it wasn’t news, like he hadn’t already been living it out loud every day since you met.
you blinked.
he blinked back.
then: “there. now we’re even. now it’s not weird anymore.”
“it’s still weird.”
“you’re weird.”
“you love someone who’s weird.”
“you’re right,” he said. “i’ve got horrible taste.”
you tried to shove him off the bed. he caught you by the waist and laughed so loud you swore someone in the next room probably heard, and you didn’t even care anymore because it was so easy now—laughing with him, being angry with him, being alive with him—it all made the same kind of impossible sense.
you fell back against the mattress, still tangled in him, still dumbfounded by how something so long-simmering could feel so sudden, so now. and he was staring at you again with that specific kind of expression that should be illegal—soft and knowing and just a little too satisfied with himself, like he’d cracked the code to life and it was just your name on repeat.
“you’re gonna marry me one day,” he said casually, like he was mentioning the weather.
“oh my god,” you groaned. “please shut the fuck up.”
“you are,” he insisted, lying flat beside you now, one arm under his head, the other tracing the hem of your shirt with a pinky like he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “we’re gonna fight over dishes and have a weird little dog named knife and every time we argue i’ll remind you that you confessed first.”
“you’re a walking restraining order.”
“and you fell in love with me. tragic.”
you turned your head to glare at him. he was so close his breath hit your cheek every time he exhaled. his eyes were stars and graveyards. his mouth was curled in that same stupid smile that made your stomach try to escape out your knees.
“yuuta.”
“yes, my beloved nemesis.”
“if you don’t shut up in the next five seconds i’m going to kiss you so hard it’ll reset your nervous system.”
“that’s the opposite of a threat.”
you lunged.
and he caught you.
and he kissed you like he’d already been kissing you for years. not perfect. not polished. just yours. messy, crooked, smiling into your mouth kind of kissing, hands in your hair, your fingers twisting in his shirt, legs tangled and breathless and stupid. kissing like a fight and a promise and an inside joke all at once.
when you pulled back, he was already laughing.
“told you you’d cry while kissing me,” he said, wiping under your eye with his thumb like the smug idiot he was.
you slapped his hand away.
and then you kissed him again.
it was deranged, truly, how fast the air changed—one second you were sprawled like a corpse of sarcasm and poor life choices on your stomach, cheeks warm, laughing against his mouth, his fingers still in your hair like they’d grown roots there, like they were meant to stay, the whole room vibrating with that ridiculous bubble of mutual idiocy and love and “did that really just happen?”—and the next thing you knew, he was shifting, moving with that new, awful confidence like he’d been holding back for years and the dam finally cracked. your brain barely registered the shift in weight before he sat up fully, legs folding beneath him, his hands sliding down your sides with terrifying purpose, and you were the one who ended up on his lap, straddling him like you’d been doing it since the dawn of time and the world just hadn’t caught on yet.
the tv was off. when had the tv turned off? it didn’t matter. the screen was black now, and you could see your own reflection in it behind his shoulder—wide eyes, wild hair, expression like someone who’d just been told the apocalypse was romantic—and the room was dim, barely lit by the single desk lamp glowing soft yellow, its bulb on its last legs, everything cloaked in that kind of warmth that made skin look flushed and intentions look softer than they really were.
you didn’t remember putting your hands on his shoulders. you didn’t remember him pulling you closer. but there you were, knees pressed against the outsides of his thighs, his palms anchored at your waist like you were something solid, something worth holding onto even now, especially now, and his thumbs were rubbing gentle circles through the hem of your stupid strawberry-print shorts and you could feel the electricity behind his breathing, tight and shallow and not teasing anymore.
no more games. no more sharp-edged banter. just this.
“you’re quiet,” he whispered, voice the softest it had been all night, reverent almost, like he was afraid if he said it too loud the moment would fold in on itself.
“i’m overwhelmed,” you answered, honestly, stupidly, because you couldn’t lie to him anymore, not now, not when his mouth was this close and his hands felt like home. “you’re being—serious.”
he blinked, slow and soft, then smiled—not the usual grin, not the toothy, boyish mischief. this one was small. sad in the corners. sweet in a way that hurt.
“i’m always serious with you,” he said, brushing his nose against yours like punctuation.
“no, you’re not,” you laughed, even as your voice trembled. “you’re a menace.”
“a menace who’s in love with you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the edge of your jaw, a soft thing that made your entire ribcage vibrate. “deeply. irrevocably. stupidly.”
“you forgot ‘violently’,” you whispered.
he kissed the corner of your mouth. “violently,” he echoed.
then he kissed you. properly. finally. again.
but this time it was different—no more smirking into the press of lips, no more tongue-in-cheek or cocky little nips meant to drive you crazy. this was slower. deeper. like something he’d been holding in his lungs for a decade and now he could finally let it out. he kissed you like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every shift in breath, every way your hands trembled slightly against the curve of his neck when he tilted his head just right and exhaled into you like a confession he couldn’t quite say out loud yet.
his mouth moved against yours with that awful sweetness that made your knees weak even though you weren’t standing, the kind of kiss that said stay. the kind of kiss that didn’t have to ask.
your hands slid into his hair before you even thought about it, fingers tangling in those soft strands, pulling him closer like it wasn’t enough, like it would never be enough. and he let you, of course he did, tilting into your grip, mouth parting just enough for your teeth to catch his bottom lip and make him sigh—a sound so soft and desperate it knocked every thought straight out of your head.
his arms wrapped around you tighter, one slipping under your shirt like he needed proof you were really there, fingertips ghosting up your spine, warm and shaking and tender. he kissed you again, and again, in between breaths like he was scared the distance might kill him.
“fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, his voice breaking around the edges now, none of that performative sass left, just raw affection and nerves and that unbearable sincerity that always lived under the mess. “i missed you so much it made me fucking sick.”
you closed your eyes. rested your forehead against his. let your nose bump his cheek. let your entire body lean into him like the safest place in the world.
“i thought about you every day,” you whispered. “like a freak. like some pathetic little lovesick idiot.”
he kissed your cheek. your temple. your chin. “yeah,” he said, “same. we’re freaks together.”
“soulmates in idiocy.”
“co-presidents of the tragic dumbass society.”
“yuuta.”
he looked up at you again, eyes wide and stupid and full of too much feeling.
“yeah?”
“don’t stop,” you whispered.
so he didn’t. he kissed you again. again. again. slower now. messier. the kind of kiss you fell into and never came back from. the kind that changed your blood type.
you didn’t know where this was going. you didn’t care. all you knew was this—his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his mouth against yours like he was trying to rewrite your entire existence one breath at a time.
and god, it worked.
he kissed you like he was running out of time and breath and restraint, like every press of his mouth against yours was both apology and reward, thank you and finally, and it didn’t feel like escalation, didn’t feel like foreplay or some slippery slope into the inevitable—it felt like something older than either of you, something pulled up from under your skin and cracked open between your teeth. you could barely think. you were breathing through him, your whole world tilted on its axis and centered now around the place where your hips were pressed against his, knees bracketing his thighs, your hands still tight in his hair because if you let go you might float straight out of your body and never come back.
his palms splayed across your back like he was trying to memorize the exact pressure needed to keep you tethered, moving in soft little circles that made you shiver even though the room was hot, and his tongue flicked against your lower lip again and again, coaxing little sighs out of your throat that made him groan like he was the one unraveling. and maybe he was. maybe you both were. maybe this was the only way either of you knew how to be real—half-laughing, half-crying, wrapped around each other like idiots in love and out of options.
you dragged your mouth away long enough to gasp, “we’re so dumb.”
and he, breathless and flushed and grinning like the devil had just offered him a promotion, replied, “yeah, but we’re hot.”
you snorted, chest heaving, and dipped your head into the crook of his neck, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you laughed directly against his pulse. “you’re ridiculous.”
“you’re hesitating,” he shot back, and it took you a second to realize what he meant, to follow the trail of thought through the haze of heat and affection and general hormonal disaster. your hands had shifted, were now fisted lightly in the hem of his shirt, that worn, thin white thing clinging to his chest in soft folds, semi-transparent under the lamplight. you’d tugged it up just a little—just high enough to expose the first dangerous inch of his stomach—but then stopped. froze. like a coward.
“i’m not hesitating,” you muttered, because lying was easier than having a panic attack mid-makeout.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and amused and way too full of affection for someone being slandered. “you’re totally hesitating. you’re scared of my abs.”
“i’m not scared of your abs.”
“you’re scared of my hot, missionary-sent-me abs. you’re intimidated.”
“you’re literally the most annoying man alive.”
“you love my annoying abs.”
“yuuta,” you said, trying to be serious, trying to slow the momentum of the joke before it took over everything again. “i just—i don’t know.”
he went quiet. not in a bad way. not in a oh no now he’s overthinking way. just soft. aware. like he’d felt the shift in your hands, your posture, the way you were still touching him but also thinking too much.
he brought his hand up to your cheek, tilted your face back toward his with two fingers under your chin, and whispered, “hey. look at me.”
you did. of course you did.
his eyes were stupidly gentle, like a blanket you didn’t ask for but needed anyway.
“we don’t have to do anything. we don’t have to do anything,” he said, clear and calm and slow like he wanted to make sure every word landed in the right place. “i just wanna kiss you. i could kiss you for, like, seven years. we can pause for snacks. maybe a nap.”
you blinked, suddenly a little breathless again but for a different reason.
“you’re so dumb,” you whispered, but it cracked halfway out.
“and you’re still holding my shirt like it personally offended you.”
you looked down at your hands, still clenched in the hem like it owed you rent. the skin under your fingers was warm, soft, the faintest hint of tremble under his calm like he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be.
slowly, carefully, you moved your fingers again. just a bit. tugged the fabric higher.
yuuta didn’t move. didn’t help. just watched you. patient. still.
you pushed it up over his stomach, revealing more—soft skin, lean lines, that ridiculous little dip under his ribs that was definitely not helping your composure, and finally, the undeniable definition of his abs. stupid. taut. completely unnecessary. like someone designed him with the express purpose of making you go into cardiac arrest.
“jesus,” you mumbled. “i thought this was just the lighting earlier.”
he smirked, tilting his head. “you can say it. you’re turned on.”
“i’m not gonna feed your ego.”
“baby, you’re literally in my lap.”
“on accident.”
“sure.”
your hands slid higher, just a little more, and he leaned back slightly to help you, finally, tugging the shirt off the rest of the way and over his head, tossing it to the side with a casual flick that really shouldn’t have been so hot but unfortunately was. his chest was bare now, lit golden in the low light, the shadows making every line look sharper than necessary. he sat there, proud and obnoxious and gorgeous, arms resting loosely around your waist, eyes half-lidded and waiting.
“so?” he said. “what’s the verdict?”
you stared for a beat too long, then shook your head. “i hate you so much.”
he leaned forward, mouth brushing yours, and whispered, “you’re drooling.”
you kissed him before he could finish laughing, kissed him hard and hungry and full of frustration and gratitude and longing that had nowhere else to go. his hands slid back up your spine again, then down, slow and warm and steady, and you pressed your chest against his, skin to skin now, breath tangled and mouths moving in sync like it was muscle memory.
this was different now. not just soft. not just playful. it was still dumb, still full of laughter and half-whispers and too many feelings, but it was honest. real. the kind of closeness you only earned after months of pretending not to want it.
his mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve until you shivered, his hands holding you like you were fragile and indestructible at the same time.
“okay,” you breathed, fingers threading through his hair again. “okay. maybe i am turned on.”
he laughed against your skin, a low hum that made your whole body vibrate.
“yeah,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “me too.”
you felt it before you saw it—his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, slow and reverent, like he was approaching a religious artifact and not your tragically old white cotton tee that probably still had mystery stains from dorm laundry hell and smelled vaguely like microwaved snacks and anxiety. his hands were warm, thumbs dragging along your ribs, and your breath caught halfway out of your throat because he wasn’t being cocky now, wasn’t making jokes or weird noises or doing that thing where he said something infuriating just to watch your face implode—no, he was focused. soft. maddeningly gentle. like he was scared of spooking you. like he was trying to do this right.
he looked at you the entire time, didn’t glance down once, even as the shirt bunched under your arms, his fingers pushing it up your back and then over your head in one smooth motion that felt too intimate to be legal, too slow to be real, and the way his eyes locked on yours as the fabric peeled away? criminal. unhinged. deeply dangerous. you could feel your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest cavity and throw itself out the window.
and then, like an idiot, like a grinning stupid horrible soft idiot, he said:
“whoa.”
“if you make a single joke,” you warned, voice threatening but also fragile, the kind of tone that cracked around the edges like old ceramic.
“no jokes,” he said immediately, holding up both hands like he was surrendering to the law but still resting them dangerously close to your spine. “i swear on gojo’s dumb designer sunglasses. you’re—shit. you’re so pretty. it’s actually rude.”
you didn’t know what to do with that. so you stared at him, blinking like someone who just got told they won a sweepstakes they didn’t enter, and tried not to melt into a puddle of hormonal regret.
you were still in your bra, obviously. thin-strapped, slightly crooked from his earlier manhandling, one cup sitting a little askew like you’d been in a romantic fender-bender. you felt like a hot mess. he looked like he wanted to write poetry about it.
“yuuta,” you murmured, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
he leaned in, kissed your collarbone with a soft press of lips that made your head tilt back instinctively, then trailed down—slow, slow, like a river taking its time to flood. and then his hands moved again, sliding up your back, thumbs brushing your shoulder blades, one finger hooking under the band of your bra in that way that made your stomach absolutely plummet.
his mouth was still on your skin when he said, half-muffled and far too casual:
“can i?”
the bastard had already found the clasp. one hand resting over it like it was a button to a secret door. your entire body was stiff and molten at once.
you breathed. shallow. shaky. said, “you’re asking now?”
he had the decency to chuckle into your shoulder, the vibration making your skin break out in chills.
“consent is hot,” he whispered, “even if i’m already halfway there.”
“yuuta,” you said again, but softer this time, more like a prayer than a warning.
he pulled back to look at you, and fuck—his face. flushed. open. stupidly beautiful. eyes wide and waiting, not pushing. not assuming. just there.
you nodded. slow. a little dizzy.
“yeah,” you whispered. “you can.”
his fingers moved without hesitation now—not rough, not rushed—just sure. the clasp gave way with a quiet click, the tension in the band loosening, and he slid his hands under the straps as if to say, i got you, even though he didn’t say anything at all. the fabric slipped down your arms like surrender. you let it. let him.
his eyes dropped, finally, but the look wasn’t hungry. it wasn’t some cliché moment of ogling. it was worse. it was tender. reverent. like you were something to be memorized, not devoured. like he was seeing you for the first time and the only thing in his brain was thank you.
his voice cracked a little when he said, “holy shit.”
you wanted to laugh. or cry. or combust. maybe all three.
so you did the only thing you could: you grabbed his face, held it in both hands like you were trying to mold it into something you could survive, and kissed him again. desperate. grateful. a little shaky. and he kissed you back like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.
he didn’t touch your chest—not yet, not even a hint of suggestion. he just wrapped his arms around you, full body, buried his face in your neck and whispered, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
and you whispered back, “good.”
and meant every word.
the air in the room shifted like it had caught on fire, not the loud kind, not the dramatic blaze that engulfed buildings and screamed for attention—no, this was the slow, creeping kind, the burn that started in your chest and worked its way outward, cell by cell, inch by inch, until even the dim, flickering lamplight felt like it was watching you both a little too closely. and there you were, bare from the waist up now, still straddling his lap like a disaster waiting to happen, like a headline, like a statistic in a very affectionate cautionary tale, his arms around your ribs so gently it felt like gravity was being polite about it, and his face buried in the crook of your neck like he was hiding from his own goddamn feelings.
he hadn’t moved since you said it—good—hadn’t laughed or made some snarky little comeback, which was alarming in itself because that was his whole brand, wasn’t it? being a menace in the shape of a boy you stupidly trusted with your life and now your shirt. but instead, he just exhaled. slow. hot. reverent. like that single word did something to him he wasn’t ready to admit.
and then, of course, because he couldn’t help himself—because silence was a threat to his personality—he whispered, voice muffled into your throat, “you’re evil.”
“you’re clingy,” you muttered, even as your arms looped around his shoulders like anchors, like reflex.
“you just said you wanted to ruin me. do you hear yourself?”
“i said good, which was not a threat.”
“oh no, it was,” he said, finally pulling back to look at you, and he looked wrecked already, hair a mess, lips bitten pink, cheeks flushed, pupils blown out like he’d seen some divine truth in the curve of your collarbone. “you’re saying things like that while sitting on my lap and half-naked and then acting surprised when i combust.”
“you haven’t combusted yet,” you said, tilting your head, “do i need to try harder?”
his jaw dropped. his hands—those goddamn hands, all heat and reverence and menace—gripped your hips a little tighter, not rough but anchoring, like he needed to confirm you were real and also possibly prevent you from flying off the rails, which was ironic because you were the one currently holding yourself together with a thread and a half.
“okay,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes narrowing like he was processing a new kind of threat. “okay. so this is what we’re doing.”
“what are we doing?”
“you’re playing innocent while literally breaking me.”
“i’m not innocent,” you said, inching forward just slightly, just enough to make his breath hitch in a way that made you feel like you’d grown wings, like maybe you could ruin him if you tried. “i’m just not doing anything.”
“that’s the problem,” he said, and then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in again, lips brushing against your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, soft kisses dropped like punctuation marks in a letter he hadn’t finished writing. “you’re not doing anything and i’m still losing my fucking mind.”
you reached up, brushed his hair back from his forehead, your fingers sliding into the mess like they belonged there, like they’d always been there. he looked up at you from under his lashes, and it hit you all over again—how stupidly pretty he was, how unfair his face was in this lighting, how every expression on him looked like a confession.
“yuuta,” you whispered, and it wasn’t a warning this time. it wasn’t even a question. it was just his name, soft and unsteady and full of every terrible, wonderful thing you hadn’t had the guts to say before.
“yeah?” he breathed, hands still on your waist, fingers twitching like he was trying so hard not to move.
you kissed him again. because what else could you do? his mouth opened under yours like it had been waiting, like it knew how to respond to your rhythm, your breath, your hunger before you even gave it a name. this kiss was slower, but not gentler. it was deep, exploratory, a little unhinged, teeth catching his lip, your hips shifting against his thighs without permission, and he groaned into your mouth like it surprised him, like the noise escaped before he could trap it.
“fuck,” he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, forehead pressed to yours. “you kiss like you’re trying to make me pass out.”
“good,” you said again, and he made a sound, something between a growl and a laugh and a strangled plea.
“you keep saying that,” he muttered, hands sliding up your sides now, not pushing, not groping, just holding, like he needed the contact, needed the skin-on-skin like it was a lifeline. “and it keeps getting hotter.”
you shivered, not because of the cold—there was none, not here, not with him breathing like that, not with your skin pressed against his, not with your heart trying to climb out of your mouth and build a shrine to his name in the back of your throat—but because of the weight of it. all of it. everything you’d kept hidden between laughter and fake arguments and eye-rolls. it was all out now. and he was still looking at you like you were the best decision he’d ever made.
“what happens now?” you asked, not quite trusting your voice.
he smiled, slow and devastating, one thumb rubbing a line across your waist like he was signing something unspoken.
“whatever you want,” he said. “this—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “—is yours.” he kissed your jaw, “you call the shots.” kissed the dip under your ear, “you tell me when to stop.”
you leaned into him, breathing fast, laughing a little even though it felt like you were about to cry.
“god, you’re such a dumbass romantic.”
“only for you,” he whispered, and meant it so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
and you believed him. like a fool. like someone ready to fall and call it flying.
you kissed him again. and this time, you didn’t hesitate.
the words slipped out like a crime, like you hadn’t meant to say them but also had meant to say them every second since you walked through his door with that bag of snacks swinging from your wrist like a peace offering and a loaded weapon—your lips grazed his, your mouth half-open from breathless kissing, brain so loud and full of him it almost cracked, and then there it was, out in the air between you, all soft and stupid and sharp at the edges:
“i want to do it.”
it wasn’t seductive. it wasn’t breathy or pornographic or dripping with confidence. it was shy and shaken and maybe even a little too high-pitched, like your body knew what it wanted before your voice had a chance to rehearse. but the second you said it, you felt it click. like the moment when you find a light switch in the dark and flip it without knowing what room you’re in.
he stilled. for once, yuuta didn’t grin. didn’t make a joke. didn’t even blink for a second. his hands were still on your waist, bare skin under his fingers, and his forehead was still against yours, but something in his eyes shifted—some soft, wide-eyed mix of holy-shit and are-you-sure and oh-god-oh-god-oh-fuck.
he swallowed. slow. shallow. said, barely above a whisper, “are you sure?”
you nodded. once. twice. then whispered it too, because it was true now, every part of you humming like a live wire, “yeah. i’m sure.”
and then he kissed you like it was his last chance to memorize the shape of your mouth, slow and deep and gentle in a way that was almost reverent, like you’d said something sacred instead of something horny. his hands moved with the kind of patience that should’ve been illegal, every touch featherlight but confident, and when he finally laid you back onto the bed, his fingers never left your skin—not once. it was less like he was trying to get you naked and more like he was trying to hold you steady while the world spun off its axis.
he made you laugh in the middle of it, too. of course he did. you’d accidentally kneed him in the thigh while trying to scoot back and he made a whole dramatic performance out of it—groaning, falling onto the bed beside you like you’d mortally wounded him, then catching you with one arm and dragging you down with him, both of you breathless and flushed and laughing like the dumbass soulmates you were. he kissed you through it, kissed your laughter, kissed the corners of your mouth like they were the most important coordinates he’d ever mapped.
and when the laughing stopped—when the air got heavy and quiet and full of warmth instead of nerves—it was slow. careful. so gentle you almost cried. hands and mouths and breath, the soft sounds of skin finding skin and hearts beating too fast. nothing about it was polished or poetic. it was awkward and intimate and full of stupid sweetness, little whispered “is this okay?” and “does that feel good?” and “i think i’m dying but in a good way,” and god, it was so real. when it finally happened—when he was inside you, when his breath hitched in your ear and his hand squeezed yours like a lifeline—you realized it wasn’t about perfect. it was about him. about you. about finally getting to say i love you in a language you didn’t know you spoke.
and then, silence.
warm, golden, soft-edged silence, the kind that only came when everything was said and nothing had to be explained.
the room was still. the sheets a little twisted. your legs tangled with his under the blanket he must’ve pulled over you at some point, and your head resting on his chest like it had always meant to live there. you were both still naked, but the air didn’t feel cold—it felt right. safe. like you were inside a bubble that nothing outside the dorm could touch.
his hand was on your back. slow circles. absentminded. your name humming under his breath like a song he didn’t want to forget. you could hear his heart, steady now. solid.
“you’re weirdly quiet,” he murmured eventually, voice low and raspy like he’d been yelling all day when really he’d only been falling in love out loud.
you nuzzled into his collarbone, lips brushing warm skin. “i’m trying to preserve brain cells.”
“did i ruin you that bad?”
“yuuta.”
“don’t lie. i felt your soul leave your body halfway through.”
“i tripped over the blanket and headbutted your chin.”
“exactly. transcendent.”
you laughed. he kissed your temple.
and in the quiet that followed, he whispered, softer this time, “i love you.”
you smiled, eyes closed, body sore in the best way possible.
“i know,” you whispered back. “i felt it.”
and you did.
everywhere. still do.
you laid there in that post-apocalyptic emotional soup of skin-on-skin warmth and sex-brain fog, limbs tangled like a pair of cats that fell asleep mid-fight, the blanket half slipping off one side of the bed like even gravity was too blissed out to care anymore. yuuta’s arm was still looped around your back like a seatbelt he refused to unbuckle, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy, reverent little lines up and down your spine like he was trying to learn braille from your vertebrae. your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, because of course it was—because it was safe there, stupidly comfortable there, smelled like him there: warm skin and detergent and sweat and something sweet, like caramelized embarrassment. and for a while you just laid there, breathing slow, matching each other’s exhales, letting your pulse learn how to stop breakdancing.
and then your dumbass brain did what it always did in quiet moments.
it started thinking.
you didn’t mean to speak. not really. it started as a thought, then became a hypothetical, then suddenly it was a sound pushing its way out of your mouth without warning, wobbling on the edge of hesitation and a laugh and full-on dread.
“so, um,” you mumbled against his collarbone, lips barely moving, “does this mean you’re, like… my boyfriend?”
he stilled. dramatically. completely. like a lizard who sensed danger. you felt every muscle in his chest lock up under your cheek like you’d just asked him if he believed in god and monogamy in the same breath.
and then: “wait,” he said slowly, blinking up at the ceiling like he’d been personally betrayed by the sudden emergence of consequences. “we didn’t define the relationship before having sex? we’re heathens. we’re criminals. we’re going to moral jail.”
you groaned immediately. “never mind. cancel the question. take it off the table.”
“no, no, you brought the table out. now we’re gonna eat off it. we’re gonna have a whole discourse. with sides.”
“shut up—”
“you shut up,” he shot back, turning to face you properly now, rolling you a little so your leg slid higher over his hip, his hand gripping your thigh like punctuation. “you asked. so let’s unpack. do you want me to be your boyfriend? is this an exclusive, high-stakes, one-man show?”
“you literally said you loved me like five minutes ago.”
“people say crazy things during sex,” he said, eyes wide, clearly holding back a laugh. “i once said ‘let’s go’ in the middle of sex in my dream like i was about to ascend. anything’s possible.”
you slapped his chest. “yuuta. focus.”
he caught your hand before it retreated, laced his fingers through yours, and looked at you with that annoying mix of mockery and affection that made your heart feel like it was doing cartwheels in a minefield.
“you want me to be your boyfriend?” he asked again, quieter now, like maybe he wasn’t entirely joking anymore. “is that what this is?”
you swallowed, suddenly shy again, the post-sex high replaced with an equally stupid rush of panic and oh fuck this is real. “i mean… if you want to. if you don’t already have, like, a girl in every jujutsu region.”
“first of all,” he said, gently squeezing your hand, “you are the only dumbass i’ve ever stripped for. and second, of course i want to. i already am. i’ve been your boyfriend in spirit since the moment you called me a ‘walking restraining order’ and then gave me your last shrimp chip.”
you blinked. “you really consider that the turning point?”
“i fell in love right then,” he said seriously. “i knew you were the one.”
“you’re so full of shit.”
“your boyfriend is full of shit,” he corrected smugly. “say it. call me your boyfriend. do it. you started this, coward.”
you groaned again, burying your face in his neck, which was a mistake because now he was laughing and smug and warm and his stupid heartbeat was right under your ear, reminding you that yes, you loved this idiot. and yes, apparently, he was yours now.
“yuuta,” you muttered.
“say it.”
“you’re my boyfriend,” you grumbled, barely audible.
“louder, babe.”
“you’re my fucking boyfriend,” you said, half-snarling, half-laughing.
he grinned so hard you thought his face might crack. “fuck yeah i am. lock me in. relationship status: unhinged and fully committed.”
“i hate you.”
“you love me.”
“shut up.”
he rolled you both over until he was on top again, elbows on either side of your head, his hair flopping down into your face, and he kissed you quick and messy and happy, like he couldn’t help it, like he didn’t care about breath or rules or what happened next.
when he pulled back, his eyes were shining.
“girlfriend,” he said.
you rolled your eyes. “boyfriend.”
he smirked. “horny and in love. what a time to be alive.”
and then he kissed you again, just to seal the deal, because apparently, that’s what boyfriends do.
Modulo Yuji who tries to numb his loneliness with intimacy. He automatically visits you whenever he feels that dull ache in his heart, seeking the comfort in your arms.
Modulo Yuji who's experience far exceeds yours. He knows exactly where and how to touch you. After all, he's 83 year old despite his appearance. And he has all the time in the world.
Modulo Yuji who loves eating you out. It's his favorite thing to do. He takes his time. Unhurried, his tongue laps at your folds. He slowly unravels you, his hands that are able to dismantle thousands of curses in a second hold your thighs apart, gentle yet firm. Those eyes are fully focused on you as his mouth sucks on your clit, taking his sweet time with you.
Modulo Yuji who makes you cry from how good it feels. He relishes in your taste, wanting this moment to last forever. He doesn't want to be anywhere else but with his head between your legs. His long fingers pump in and out, knowing just where to curl to make you gasp.
Modulo Yuji who knows how to make you squirt. He loves doing it. The first time you started apologizing, he couldn't help but smile. It was a first time he smiled in a long, long time. At his old age, did you really thought he wouldn't find it the most appealing thing ever? How adorable.
Modulo Yuji who's obsessed with making you cum. He drawls your orgasms, feeling you fall apart so beautifully. He can't get enough. He wants more. How greedy of him. He doesn't think he deserves it anymore, yet you indulge him. So he gladly dives back in.
Modulo Yuji who wants more even after you came. Your pussy is still sensitive from your last orgasm when his tongue licks a long stripe against your slick skin. You try to push his head away with a whine. You look at him and see that his tired and detached expression is nowhere to be seen. He looks content. Happy, even. There is a hunger in his eyes that gives you goosebumps. So how could you not let him? This man has been through hell. Perhaps one more wouldn't hurt, would it.
Modulo Yuji who smiles, praise coming from his lips that get busy with you once again. You both know it won't be just one more. You have the strongest completely and utterly addicted. Itadori Yuji is forever grateful for such an angel you are. And as you shake and cry, for the first time he thinks that maybe the immortality isn't so bad.
your ex that’s been stuck in your head randomly shows up at your local grocery store- after being away for nearly two years. should you let him stay or should you let him go?
warnings- pwp, possessive yuji, perv! yuji, lowk toxic yuji (he’s an ASS but still rlly sweet :) ooc yuji, age gap! reader is mentioned to be 22, girly! reader, mentions of pregnancy, p in v unprotected, creampie, f.oral, soft dom! yuji, slight spanking, slight size kink, fluff and angst, lowk bad writing… ☹︎
grocery shopping. your least favorite thing. but unfortunately you were out of eggs - you can’t exactly bake much without eggs. you were snooping around each isle with big eyes, hips swaying, heels patting the marble tile with each step. humming softly, you reach out for a box of variety oatmeal. manicured nails tapping against the box, you place them gently in your cart, next to your greek yogurt.
you head to the produce section. fresh fruits and veggies all around. you immediately take eyes on your favorite.
cotten candy grapes
you reach out, placing them in your half- full cart
“you still eat those?” a deep voice spoke out. a voice you’ve heard before.
it can’t be?
you’d never forget that voice. even if you tried.
in the middle of the produce section, there he was. standing right beside you.
your ex.
big dark brown eyes, started into yours. with so much emotion, he stared at you with passion,with guilt, and part of him felt ashamed, for leaving you for two whole years.
just looking at him made your heart ache.
how could he just show up randomly? not a word you heard from him after he left you. lying there all alone. no letter, no note, not even a text. he just left. woke up and he was gone
he’d always come back- but this time he didn’t.
you never saw his face again.
you felt used, pathetic even, because a part of you wanted him to come back.
he spoke out again. “are you okay? y’look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he chuckled awkwardly.
he hadn’t changed one bit.
you sighed, facing him directly, “yeah i’m staring at one right now.” you muttered, you wanted to sound mad, but instead you sounded pathetic. why does he have such effect on you? even after being away for so long.
his very large hands land gently on your shoulders. “very funny sweets. aren’t you happy to see me- i came back for you.”
you feel your heart sink even deeper. he came back for you?
…you couldn’t possibly believe that right? i mean, after everything he put you through.?
unfortunately. you do believe him. you somehow believe he still loves you, and maybe you still love him too. whether you decide to admit it or not.
you do love him. very much
so much in-fact if you weren’t fighting it. you’d jump right into those strong arms that once held you.
you swat his arms away. “do you hear yourself? you left me there.” your voice breaks “without a single word. you disappeared. for two years yuji, and you think i’m happy to see you?”
“sweets, cmon don’t-“ you cut him off. “no you don’t get to call me that, i don’t belong to you anymore. i moved on- you don’t get to just show up and act like everything’s okay.” you don’t even realize you’ve raised your voice.
he felt his heart drop. he really made you feel this way?
“if you aren’t mine” he walks closer to you “anymore. why are you still wearing this.?” his long finger trails up to you neck, talking hold of the thin gold chain, tracing all way down to the small cupcake pendent you had sitting on your chest, inches away from your cleavage.
your breath hitched, you open your mouth to say something. but nothing comes out.
“i haven’t stopped thinking about you. from the moment i wake up, to the moment i shut my eyes, you don’t think it hurts me. to know i left you there lying all alone- after i took advantage of you, it kills me. eats me alive every single day, hurts me just as much as it hurts you.” he sighs. his hands trailing down to your waist.
“i regret ever leaving you sweets, it haunts me.” he buries his head into your neck, inhaling your scent, “god, baby i missed you” he murmurs into your neck, squeezing your hips. “please forgive me. i beg, you’re stuck in my head”
tears fall down your face, your arms wrap around him, clutching onto his jacket, salty tears soaking it. “i really missed you yu, i really did. i waited for you. and you just-“ you cry out.
“i know baby, i know, but im here now. and ‘m not going anywhere” he coos, pulling you closer,
“let’s go home yeah?” he says kissing atop of your head
you forgive him.
i mean how can you not?
and by ‘home’ he meant yours
your tangled in his arms, resting your head on his bare chest. the first night he slept there- you immediately fell asleep, the warmth and comfort you’d been yearning for finally returned.
not for long, yuji would sleep with you every night.- yes, but then he’d disappear for most of the day, only being able to see him late at night.
he needed a place to lay low for awhile. since they found his apartment.
though there is a big problem
he’s not the only one who’s missed you.
his dick missed you more than anything. he hasn’t even looked at another woman-let alone been with one since.
he didn’t want to make it seem like he just came to take advantage of you- and then just live under your walls that is not the case,
but….yuji might not last, i don’t think he can take another day waking up-going to bed rock hard
god, he couldn’t get you out of his head. your voice your scent, your hair, your face, your body. the way you swayed your hips, you were making him lose his mind with every little thing you did. at the end of the day he was human, well partly
little did he know…
you felt the exact same way. he was driving you crazy.
he’d always sleep shirtless. it was just something he’s just always done.
but this time if felt different. like the other night. yuji was brushing his teeth in your bathroom.
shirtless, back muscles flexing in the moonlight, his pretty pecs on display. his pants hung low on his hips, showing a very defined v line. god, your were practically foaming at the mouth,.
you were laying in bed, thighs pressed together, yuji had you all hot and bothered just from simply brushing his teeth.
wow? since when were you so worked up like this?
well in the last year and a half, you haven’t exactly gotten laid.
yuji was always very possessive over you. making sure no one else but him, kept eyes on you. and i guess you still felt owned by him,
no…it’s because part of you knew he was going to come back to you. he was right, deep in your heart you know,
you do belong to him. you even kept this necklace,
for some odd reason, you couldn’t sleep tonight
your mind won’t turn off.
your fingers fiddled with the little pendant dangling from your neck, you were laying beside him, his strong arms wrapped around you, caging you in.
you shift, the warmth from yuji’s body making you hot, you gently lift the blankets from your body. you take sight of yuji beside you-
he looked beautiful. pretty tanned skin glowing within the moonlight. you placed a soft peck on his cheek.
he shifts in his sleep, eyes opening gently “hey” he says softly, a smile perking on his lips, “hi” you whisper, caressing his cheek. “c’mere.” he says, sitting up against the-headboard. you also sit upright, straddling his thighs, his large hands rest on your lower back, pulling you in for a kiss.
“missed this.” he murmurs against your lips, tongue exploring your mouth, “missed you” he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck. your hands find his hair. tugging him closer. “woke up wanting you sweets” he nearly whined.
“you’re okay with this right?” he reassured, making sure you’re okay, you blurt out a whiny ‘yes’
all he needed to hear.
his mouth trails lower. stopping right at the lace outline of your thin tank top, dragging it down, exposing your right breast, his mouth latches on, his tongue circles around it, his other hand squeezing your left breast roughly, twisting it with his thumb, “mmmh” he groans into your chest “i missed-these tits baby.” a wave of pleasure shoots through your body, the overwhelming pleasure spreading right to your core. “please yuji! i need you” growing impatient, you grind against him “want you inside”
no matter how hard he was, he’d never put his needs over yours “not yet sweetheart, gotta stretch you out first.” he says, flipping you over, now you were beneath him, his big tall body hovering over you. his hands grab your hips, he tugs your pj shorts off- exposing your pretty lace panties. “fuck you’re soaked baby.” he traces the outline of your lips, your underwear was drenched. to point you could see the outline of your anatomy, leaving little to the imagination, he gently tugged down your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in your bedroom,
“you’re so pretty” he licks a stripe up your slit, making you moan. “ahh!” you pull on his pink locks. “sensitive baby?” he mumbled against your cunt, mouth latching on your clit, sucking roughly, he shoves his middle finger into your hole, curling it just right, your pussy squelched around his finger. his cock twitched at the sight.
change of thought, he actually cannot wait
he needs to be inside of you now. “fuck this” he whispers, roughly grabbing your thighs, pulling you right against him.
manhandling you.
“yuji? what are you doing- ah!” his cock slides in you, stretching you out whole, cock twitching inside you, “sorry sweets ‘couldn’t wait any longer.” he turns you around- your ass now facing him. he slams his cock into your cunt, balls slapping against your ass. “aw! yuji be gentle” you whined. “f-fuck. can’t you feel too good” he slams your hips roughly against him, his grip was ruthless. “missed this perfect pussy” he slaps your ass, the sting going straight to your core.
you were definitely going to bruise
he kept slamming into you relentlessly, pulling on your hair, his rhythm was devastating, tip brushing your cervix with each thrust. hitting your g-spot. making you scream out his name. your nails dug into the sheets, knuckles white. you clenched around him, your tight gummy walls sucking him right in, you’re close.
he grunts, cock twitching inside of you, jesus. you’re squeezing him. he grunts in your ear. “you’re so tight- fuck” his hips stutter, by his movements you could tell he’s also close. “I’m gonna cum-“ he rasped,
“come inside me yu!”
thick ropes of cum spill into you, coating your insides white, you moan at the feeling, clenching around him as you reach own peak.
yuji’s grip finally loosens, he picks you up, your tired legs lazily wrap around his toned waist. “shall we take a bath?” he suggests. “yes!” you kiss his cheek. he gently carried to the bathroom,
setting you on the counter. he spoke out. “ ‘m gonna go get us some clothes” he mumbled, disappearing into the dark bedroom lighting.
you swung your dangling feet, hitting the lower cabinets.
for some reason….you felt ashamed. you had this weird feeling sitting atop of your chest, like something was weighing it down. it’s not like you did anything wrong to feel this way?
or did you? was letting him in like this a mistake? letting him stay in your home, letting him eat your food, letting him in.
you let him in. again,
letting him bathe you.
“hey? baby? is everything alright?” yuji says softly, gently lifting you from the counter, “you know you can tell me anything sweetie” he coos
you hesitate for a second, trying to come up with some kind of lie- “it’s nothing yu! i’m fine. just a little tired” you reassured him. your voice was light and calm, he nods, placing you down in the bath. “okay baby. just know i’m here now, i can listen.”
your heart flutters, you know he’s trying to be better, trying to be there for you. a part of you feels that maybe it was the right decision to let him in again?
he kisses the top of your hair, “i love you.”
that’s the first time he’s said it since then.
“i-i love you too.” you stammer, pulling him into a hug, he immediately melts, pulling you flush against his broad chest. “let me take care of you sweetheart. you need me, i wanna be there for you this time” he pulled away to look at you, his eyes glisten with love and care, he made you feel like you were the most precious thing, he knew you were insecure about your looks,- but everyone else saw your beauty, you just couldn’t see it, but he could.
his hand cupped your cheek, “you’re so beautiful. y’know that?” tears drop down your face, “don’t cry honey.” he wipes away all your tears, thumb caressing your face.
“yuji” you murmur softly, “can we talk…about us?” he nods, his face softening, “yeah. there’s a lot we need to talk about.”
“there’s a lot of things i need to explain to you.”
❥
yuji spends the whole night explaining to you why he had to leave you, he tells you about the aliens- telling you he can’t age, which made him stay away.
it all makes sense now. why he had to do what he did, he’s trying to save the world, even if that meant leaving you
all alone. without a word.
yuji wasn’t a selfish person, not in anyway. but this time he decided it was time to stop being selfless- and he came back-for you.
you wake up, your body’s sore,- from last night. what a great reminder. you immediately realize yuji isn’t lying beside you,
your heart sinks.
did he leave you again.?
you sit upright, you quickly peeled the blankets off, hurriedly walking out your bedroom.
your heart drops again.
but this time in relief. you spot yuji in your kitchen, cooking breakfast for the both of you. you nearly break down in tears.
he really is changing.
you walk up to him, your feet patting against the cool wood tiles, you wrap your arms around his waist. the smell of bacon filling your nostrils, back facing you, he side eyes you “good mornin’” he smiles, plating your eggs and bacon.
you were somewhat happy, you could get used to this.
weeks go by, you got used to the routine, you either saw all of him, or you saw nothing, no in between.
most days, yuji left very early in the morning, pecking your forehead right before he left, sometimes he’d make the time to have breakfast- or lay in bed an extra 5 minutes. just to feel your soft plush body against his hard one,
and today was one of those days.
yuji was here. shaving cream sprawled all over his pretty face, he gently gilded the razor against his skin, guiding it throughout his lower jaw, getting every little stray hair.
though there is something off.
you’re late.
your period is two weeks late?
well you and yuji have been having sex….unprotected
there’s no other explanation.
yuji finishs up in the bathroom, washing the last of the shaving cream of his face, he walks out with one of your pink micro fiber towels slung over his shoulder.
you enter the bathroom. shutting the door, hurriedly opening the cabinet- you were looking for the test your mother had gave you.
you know… in case of emergencies. and right now was an emergency, you rip the test out of the package, sitting on the toilet seat, you pee on the test, your body trembled with fear and anxiety, after five minutes the results came.
“hey baby? you okay in there i’m about to head ou-“
the test read positive. two pink lines.
your hand trembles. the test falls from your grasp.
yuji immediately opens the door, popping the screws out of there sockets. “baby?” he calls out.
18+ mdni. modulo yuji itadori finger fucks you at family dinner
c.w. dubcon, unaware exhibitionism, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, oblivious parents, age gap, yuji is 80+, reader is 20.
read disclaimer before interacting.
"So, how old are you again, son?" your father asked, his voice warm and casual as he took another bite of the meal your parents had so lovingly prepared.
"25, sir," Yuji lied. His voice was calm and steady, completely betraying the predatory rhythm he was maintaining beneath the table.
"Oh...five years older than our little girl?" your mother chimed in, her eyes crinkling with a maternal, teasing warmth.
"Can't say it doesn't bother me, but she seems to like you very much! HAHAHA!"
"Dad!" you gasped, the protest catching in your throat as a strangled, desperate moan nearly tore itself from your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut, your face flushing a violent crimson, your eyes watering from the unadulterated ecstasy of him.
Yuji offered a faint, polite smirk, passing it off as a charming, modest smile to your parents. But his eyes, those heavy, ancient eyes, remained dark.
This dinner to meet your parents had been proceeding with the exact kind of suffocating boredom he had expected. Your parents were loud, bright, and vibrantly alive, a painful reminder of the version of himself he had buried decades ago.
But unlike them, they were blissfully ignorant.
They didn't know about the existence of curses.
They didn't know that the man sitting at their table was older than the two of them combined.
And they certainly didn't know that their precious, well-behaved daughter had her pussy stuffed full of his thick scarred fingers, being ruthlessly fucked right under their noses.
The clink of your father’s fork against his plate sounded like a gunshot in your ears.
Every time the metal hit the ceramic, a jolt of electricity shot straight from your core to your brain.
You were hyper aware of everything.
The warmth of the dining room, the smell of the roasted meat, and the terrifying squelch! of his fingers working inside you.
Yuji wasn't playing around. He had already abandoned the slow ministrations. His hand was heavy, a punishing weight between your thighs, his thick fingers buried deep, stretching you until you felt like you might split open.
He was curling his knuckles upward, hooking into your most sensitive depths with a brutal, repetitive motion that made your hips twitch involuntarily.
"Pass the salt, would you, honey?" your mother asked.
You froze.
You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating his hand, the hot, messy, filthy lubricant that made every thrust feel even more intense.
You reached for the shaker, your hand trembling so violently the salt rattled against the glass. You were terrified that if you moved too fast, the sound of your wet pussy would be the only thing they heard.
Under the table, Yuji’s thumb found your clit, pinning it down and grinding in a merciless circle.
The sensation was so sudden and so sharp that you had to bite your lip hard enough to draw blood just to keep from screaming.
He leaned forward, ostensibly to reach for his water, and used the movement to drive his fingers even deeper, stretching you wider.
You could feel the heat of his palm against your clit, the sheer size of his hand making you feel small and utterly conquered.
You sat there, forced to smile and nod at your mother’s mindless chatter, while your body was being filthily unraveled right in front of them.
As the last of the food was cleared, you tried to stand, your legs feeling unnervingly heavy.
"Let me help with the dishes," you managed to say, though your voice sounded far too breathless to be normal.
"Oh, don't be silly, sweetheart!" your mother insisted, giving you a bright smile. "Your father and I can handle it. You just sit and relax."
You watched them stand and exit the dining room, the sound of their footsteps retreating down the hallway.
The second they were out of earshot, the tension in your chest snapped. A quiet, desperate moan slipped past your lips, and you reached out to grab his forearm, your voice a frantic, trembling whisper.
"Yuji... please, not here...not yet..."
But Yuji didn't pull back. He just hummed, a low, vibrating sound that seemed to settle deep in your bones.
"C'mon, don't be like that," he murmured, his voice dropping into a casual rasp.
He gripped the sides of your chair and dragged it flush against his. The sudden closeness made your heart hammer against your ribs.
Without warning, his hand surged back between your thighs, his fingers accelerating into a frantic rhythm.
He was definitely not just teasing you anymore. You felt the heavy friction of his knuckles while his fingers buried themselves deep inside you, stretching you wide with every loud thrust.
The sound was unmistakable, the rhythmic squelch! squelch! squelch! of his hand sliding in and out of your soaking heat.
He leaned down, his face hovering just inches from yours, his eyes dark and predatory.
"Look at you," he hissed, the words dripping with a dark, teasing filth.
"Acting all innocent for 'em, but you're such a filthy little slut, y'know? So young to be a little whore, creaming my fingers in front of 'em."
He didn't stop the movement for a second. Instead, he hooked his fingers even deeper, curling them upward to find that maddening, sensitive spot inside you mercilessly now, his palm grinding hard against your swollen nub.
Your head was thrown back, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension rose in your cunt.
He didn't give you a second to breathe. His mouth descended on the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he began to suck hard, marking you with bruising intensity.
The sensation was so sharp it made your toes curl against the floor, but his voice that whispered against your skin was what truly sent you over the edge.
"Shh, c'mon, keep it down," he murmured, his tone dropping low.
"I can hear 'em. They're comin' back. You better come now, or I'm not touchin' you for a whole month."
The ultimatum hit you like a physical blow. The desperation to please him, combined with the sheer, terrifying proximity of your parents, pushed you into a panicked state of arousal.
You felt your muscles coil, tightening around his fingers as the pressure built to an unbearable, screaming peak.
You let out a sharp, high pitched cry of release, but before the sound could echo through the house, Yuji’s massive, scarred hand clamped over your mouth, swallowing your scream whole.
As you hit the peak, your body buckled.
You felt your release as you squirted, your juices spraying hot and heavy against his palm and the underside of the table.
Just as the waves of pleasure peaked, he started delivering harsh, stinging slaps to your swollen pussy, your juices only spraying harder at the impact.
It was brutal, a sharp shock of pain that collided with the overwhelming sensation of your climax, making your vision go white as you shuddered violently in his grip.
He was efficient, almost terrifyingly so.
While you were still gasping for air, your body twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, he grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the table.
With a steady hand, he wiped his fingers clean of your slick and then without a hint of hesitation used the same, stained napkin to dab the sweat and tears from your flushed face.
The sound of footsteps returned. The dining room door swung open, and your parents walked back in, their voices bright and oblivious.
"Everything alright, honey? You look a little flushed," your mother remarked, setting a fresh pitcher of water on the table.
You couldn't answer.
You sat there in a daze, your insides feeling heavy and hollow, your skin still tingling from the slap and the heat.
You could feel the lingering sting between your legs, feeling utterly pathetic and exposed.
You kept your head bowed, staring intensely at the tablecloth, too ashamed to meet their eyes, terrified they might see the filth written all over your face.
