dante

he/him | 18+

[webwanderer]

HELP

Can anyone open my profile and tell me if they can see a fic titled "This show is not enough"?

Because I poured my soul in writing my first smut fuc (with actual smut) and it received ZERO notes. I can't believe it sucks THAT MUCH.

I even tried to repost it THREE times, but I seem to have failed. I believe this app wants to boycott me.

[caenypoo]

forcemasc but it's roughhousing with your cis best friend after you come out. you have to deal with him teasing you with words like, "c'mon, this is just how boys mess around," and "is that all you've got? hit me like a the man you are," as he straddles your hips and holds your hands down.

he leans down and whispers, "we're just boys being boys. you can take it, right?" he asks, while he deliberately grinds his hips against yours as if trying to provoke you, and it works.

you struggle to escape his hold, but finally manage. you both toss and turn on the floor until you eventually end up on top. you attempt to restrict him in the same way he did to you, pushing your hips down onto his.

he looks up at you with a mischievous grin, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "there we go..." he mutters as he moves his hips upward slightly.

“that’s my boy.”

nine in the morning btw… what am i doing w my life 🧍🏽.

[totallynotxai]

𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐱 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Ride in Ecstasy | Chapter 7 Smut Excerpt

Full Plot in AO3: Link

TAGS: NSFW, Porn With Plot but the full plot is in AO3, Explicit M/M Smut, Bottom M!Reader, No Use of Y/N, 2nd Person Pov, No race or physical descriptions of reader ever mentioned, Nico being a tease and making you fall for him. Flirting, Very light dom/sub, Making Out, Fingering, Anal Sex, First-time bottoming implied, Creampie

SYNOPSIS: You wanted your own sports car to race and tune to your liking, and Nico (secretly super rich) bought you one, but in exchange for absolute loyalty to the crew and a portion of every win you'll have until you pay your debt. And a bonus of something more personal, hehe

A/N: The context is too juicy not to add to the smut. Straight to the point sex is boring, but too much plot is still missing, I only fit what I could. You wanna top? Only if you win against him someday, only then will Nico let you.

Word count: 6,682

“So,” he starts. “You want a car.”

You nod. “A real one. Something that can match up when the Avalon can’t.”

You don’t want to borrow a car for racing, you want your own. You’ll be too worried about breaking the car if it’s borrowed, you can’t push it to its max potential if it’s not tuned just for you.

Your mind keeps drifting to the number sitting in your bank account now, forty grand. For the first time in your life, money isn’t just for survival anymore, it’s opening up options. You can finally afford a real apartment with windows that don’t rattle when trucks pass. A place where you can actually sleep during the day without dumbass neighbors disturbing you. Maybe even give you time to stop worrying about bills all the time. But it’s not enough for what’s coming. Not if you’re serious about racing.

“I don’t want to burn through what I just made,” you continue. “That’s... life money. Rent. Stability. Stuff I never had.” You look up at him. “But if I’m going to keep running these races, the Avalon won’t survive forever. And I won’t either.”

“So you want a loan,” he concludes, crossing his arms, already knowing what you’re after.

“Yeah.” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “Whatever I win from here on out goes straight back to paying it off. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“And if you stop winning?” He speaks bluntly, just to see how you’ll react.

“Then I keep racing until I do.” You answer with conviction.

A faint smile touches his mouth, intrigued. “You’re staking your future on this,” he speaks seriously beneath the amusement.

“I already did,” you reply with determination. “The moment I decided to join this crew, I did.”

A short moment of silence stretches between you, thick and electric. Nico steps closer, not crowding you, but close enough that you feel the weight of his presence more. He smells faintly of nicotine and whatever masculine cologne he’s wearing.

“Just so you know,” he states, voice low and full of implications, “owing me isn’t just about money.”

You meet his gaze without flinching, even if your heart starts to beat faster. “I don’t mind... as long as you give me something insane like a GT3.” You speak half jokingly.

Nico doesn’t even blink. “If I bought you a Porsche GT3 RS, you’ll be in debt to me for the rest of your life.” Something in his voice makes your stomach flip, he’s not even joking, he’s just speaking the truth.

“Yeah?” you challenge almost breathlessly. “And what would that debt look like?”

His piercing gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before meeting your eyes again. Nico doesn’t answer right away as he shifts his weight, one hand resting on the edge of a crate beside you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him without actually being touched. From the outside perspective, this proximity would look very intimate, but neither of you acknowledges it. 

“You want me to back you,” he asserts, tone serious. “That means you’re not just another driver anymore.”

“I’m listening,” you reply.

He leans in a fraction, lowering his voice so it barely carries over the distant engines. “My terms are simple. You race for this crew. Not just on event nights but on my calls too. When I need you on a route, you show up. When I need a driver to test something, you’ll be there. No disappearing, no running off to some other crew chasing a better offer.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, but you don’t look away. “Exclusivity.” 

“Loyalty,” he corrects, gaze fixed on your face. “Those aren’t the same thing, but they look similar from the outside.”

Leaving this crew didn’t even cross your mind at all. They’re giving you an amazing opportunity, and you’ll probably be sticking around here for a long time, even without Nico telling you to. 

“And the car?” you ask after nodding that you understand the terms.

“I’ll front the money. We find something that fits you, fast enough to keep up, forgiving enough not to kill you while you’re still learning it. Every win you get goes toward paying it back.” His mouth curves faintly. “And you don’t get to argue when I tell you to push harder.”

You huff a breath. “Is that all?”

“For the business side.” His eyes roam, then back to your eyes like he’s memorizing your facial features. “The rest is... personal.”

The air feels more tense and electrified now, like the moment before a storm breaks. “You’re going to be around me a lot,” he continues. “Training. Late nights. Long drives. You’ll be an investment. If you’re in this, you’re in it with me.” His eyes narrow a fraction, “I don’t want someone who flinches when things get intense.”

You take a moment to think about your future. The Avalon. The way it felt watching Nico race, knowing you wanted to be on that level, not just chasing it from behind.

“Sounds fair,” you note, even though you know it isn’t. Not when you don’t even know what you’re feeling around him.

Nico straightens slightly, studying you, like he’s weighing something more than just risk. “Once you agree,” he warns, “there’s no pretending this is just about cars anymore.”

“Alright...” you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I agree to your terms completely, no backing out now.”

For a second, Nico just watches you like he’s making sure you understand what you just stepped into, and like he’s deciding what he’s allowed to want from you now that you’ve said yes.

Then he nods once. “Good.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your stomach coil, like a door just closed behind you with finality.

“So,” he starts, voice pitched just low enough that it feels like the rest of the world fades a step back. “You got a car in mind?”

You rock back on your heels, trying to appear casual. “You gonna let me say ‘GT3,’ or should I save us both the time?”

“Save us both the time,” he replies bluntly without missing a beat.

You let out a short laugh. “Tragic. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“I’m sure it ended with you not going broke,” he replies dryly, his gaze flicking over you.

“You really know how to crush a man’s dreams.” You sigh dramatically.

“Pick something you can grow into,” he continues, voice low and even. “Not a flex piece. Not an expensive coffin with wheels.”

“So what, you’re gonna tell me what I should drive?” You say slyly.

“I’m gonna stop you from doing something stupid.” He counters as he steps back.

“Heroic...” you grin, tilting your head. “But alright, I’ll take whatever’s available. I just need something that can keep up. Something that won’t get eaten alive once the real races start.”

“Great,” Nico agrees. “Then think about it. Really think about it. We’ll talk tomorrow afternoon.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and your phone buzzes in your pocket. He sent you an address.

You recognize the neighborhood instantly. Kingswell Terrace. A neighborhood with quiet, tree-lined streets, security gates, and houses that cost more than you’ll probably make in a decade. You don’t say anything. You just nod and pin the address. Nico watches your face, like he’s checking for a reaction. When you don’t give him one, a corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly.

“Tomorrow, 2 pm,” he repeats. “Come by my place before we go car shopping.”

Then he turns and walks away, already slipping back into the flow of the warehouse, heading toward someone important-looking on the far side of the warehouse.

You walk out after all is done. You’re standing by your new car, a Toyota GR86 that you’ll turn into a sleeper build. Nico joins you at your side, close enough that you can feel his warmth without touching. The keys are heavy in your hand, you’re still half-lost in the idea that this is real, then he breaks the silence.

“There’s something you need to understand,” he starts to explain, tone serious.

You look up at him. He’s speaking slowly, like he’s choosing each word instead of letting them spill.

“The car’s yours,” Nico continues. “You drive it. You race it. If you break it, you fix it. No one touches it without your say.”

Your grip on the keys tightens instinctively. “Okay...”

“But,” he adds, turning slightly so his shoulder brushes yours, casual to anyone watching but intentional to you, “it’s registered under my name.”

“What?” You blink. Is this a trap? Is this car even truly yours?  

He doesn’t look at the car. He looks at you with a serious expression. “Insurance. Registration. Taxes. Anything with a paper trail,” he says calmly. “It comes back to me.”

You frown, brain catching up. “Nico—”

“Listen,” he cuts in, not harsh, just firm. His voice drops a notch, meant only for you. “You make minimum wage on paper. You show up with a brand new sports car, and suddenly everyone wants to know how. Cops. Neighbors. People who don’t mind their own business.”

It hits you that you didn’t even think this far ahead. You were too focused on acquiring a car that you didn’t think of the technicalities of how you could afford it. Buying it was easy, but explaining how and why isn’t.

He watches your reaction closely, eyes sharp and firm. “We don’t need that attention on you.”

“So you’re... what,” you say, “covering for me?”

“I’m shielding you,” he corrects. “From questions you shouldn’t have to answer yet.”

You let out a breath, torn between gratitude and the weight settling in your chest. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

Nico’s mouth curves faintly. “I already have worse.”

You glance down at the keys, then back up at him. Your heart starts to beat faster. “And what’s the catch?”

For a second, something darker flickers in his eyes.

“You want a car,” he murmurs. He steps closer now, and you instinctively step away until your back presses against the GR86’s door.

“You want a future in this.” Your breath hitches as he leans down, caging you in with his arms on either side of you. 

“You just tied that future to me.” His breath feels hot against your ear.

He isn’t touching you, but he might as well be, as his chest is less than an inch away from yours. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that the scent of his cologne is intoxicating, close enough that the air between you feels fragile, like one wrong movement would snap it.

You swallow before asking. “And if I decide to walk away?” You actually don’t plan on ever walking away, you just want to know the consequences.

He leans back a fraction to look you in the eyes. His gaze doesn’t waver. “Then you hand me the keys. No debt. I own the car legally anyway.”

You study him, searching for the angle, the trap that could kill you. You don’t find one. Instead, you nod once. “Okay.”

“Good,” Nico says softly. His lips hover just shy of yours, not touching, but the proximity is intense, like he’s purposely holding the moment in suspension.

“Then we’re clear,” he finishes, voice low... teasing.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears. You’re painfully aware of how intimate this moment is, of how your breath has gone shallow without you noticing, of the faint heat creeping up your neck to your face. His gaze dips, just briefly, to your mouth before returning to your eyes, like a test you’re both pretending not to notice. For a split second, you’re convinced he’s going to close the distance.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he straightens up, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He takes just one step back, giving you space again, but his eyes stay locked on your face. On the color in your cheeks. On the way you swallow, trying to steady yourself against the car.

There’s something unmistakably satisfied in his expression. You have no rational explanation for the way your hands tremble at your sides, or for the way your body still leans forward even after he’s pulled away.

“Alright,” Nico says casually, like he didn’t just almost ruin you in the middle of a dealership lot. “Time to go.” The casualness in his voice is almost cruel.

You nod, a little dazed, and your eyes follow him when he turns towards where the GT3 is parked. Leaving you there, flustered. The sunlight feels too bright. The world is too normal. Your thoughts lag a second behind your body, replaying that moment over and over, the things that could have happened but didn’t, the way he lingered.

Such a tease.

He slips back into the Porsche, movements fluid and unhurried. You slide into the GR86, hands shaking just slightly as you start it up. The engine’s note grounds you, anchors you, but it doesn’t chase away the thrum under your skin.

You pull out of the lot behind him. The drive back is relatively quiet. The GT3 leads effortlessly, Nico is precise even when he’s not pushing, the car gliding through traffic like it belongs at the front of everything. You follow, matching his lines, keeping your distance consistent, your movements careful. The GR86 feels right beneath you, eager, balanced, alive, but every time you watch Nico take a corner, you’re reminded how far ahead he is.

You want that. And not just the car or the skill. 

You want to pull up next to him someday and really know that you belong there, that you’ve earned the space beside him instead of borrowing it. And when he looks over, it’s not with patience or amusement, but recognition.

You want to be his equal.

The thought settles deep within you, but something in your chest feels tight. Your mind keeps drifting back to the way he stood so close, the way he watched you afterwards, like he was cataloging every reaction you couldn’t hide. You wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you. Worse... you suspect he absolutely does.

And somewhere between the busy roads, the growl of engines, and the way his GT3 never quite leaves your sight, another realization creeps in, extremely dangerous.

This isn’t just admiration anymore. You’re falling for him.

For the control, the confidence, the way he challenges you without ever raising his voice. For the way he pulls you closer, then steps back just enough to make you chase him. It’s driving you mad.

By the time his house comes into view, your pulse hasn’t slowed at all. If anything, it’s only just getting started. The sky is already starting to change when you pull back onto the familiar road leading to Nico’s place. The sun hangs low on the horizon, bleeding gold and soft orange into the clouds, the light stretching long across the asphalt. Gold fades into amber, then into a soft purple that reflects off the GR86’s hood when you park it beside the Avalon.

Side by side, they look like two different lives, old and new, past and future, sitting shoulder to shoulder. The contrast is almost funny. The Avalon looks smaller somehow, like it already knows it’s about to be retired from front-line duty.

You cut the engine and just sit there for a second, hands resting on the wheel, watching the heat shimmer fade from the hood, committing the feeling to memory before getting out.

Meanwhile, Nico guides the GT3 into the garage with surgical precision you’ve come to expect. He backs it in smoothly, one hand loose on the wheel, mirrors folded in at the perfect moment, the other resting casually as he guides the car into its space like he’s done it a thousand times. The tires stop exactly where the floor markings end. No need for corrections or second adjustments.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him more than the car.

Nico kills the engine and steps out, glancing back at you, his voice carrying easily through the open space. “Rigo can start on the GR86 after tomorrow,” he says, tone easy. “Weekly event first.”

You nod as you walk towards him. “Yeah. I won’t be racing tomorrow anyway. Just want to watch. See who’s showing up.” You want to scope out the competition.

“You’re fine with sitting out?” He asks. They didn’t sign you up for the next one since you told them not to.

“Yep,” you reply. “I want to see who’s fast without trying. Who overdrives. Who panics when they get pressured.”

He nods as he closes the garage door. “Yes. A lot of guys show their whole hand when they think no one’s watching.”

You fall into step beside him as he heads inside to the living area. “Rigo’s gonna have opinions.”

“He always does,” Nico says. “He’ll want coilovers first. Proper alignment. Probably yell at you for tires.”

“Of course he will,” you sigh.

“You’re gonna have to help him tune it to your liking,” he says dryly. “But he’s right. Suspension before power. Always.”

You nod, mentally cataloging it all as you walk. “I don’t want it flashy. I want it unassuming. Low-key.”

“That’s already how you drive,” Nico replies. “Car should match.”

The door closes behind you, shutting out the last sliver of sunset. Inside, the house is warm, dimmer now, lights low and unobtrusive. You barely notice when the conversation carries you deeper inside.

“Tomorrow you watch,” Nico continues, heading toward the stairs. “You learn. You don’t let anyone rush you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, following him. “I’m not trying to make enemies before I’ve even raced.”

He huffs softly. “Too late for that. Being with me does that automatically.”

You glance at his back. “Worth it.”

He pauses at the foot of the stairs and looks over his shoulder at you. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something that lingers a second too long.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.” You don’t see him smirking as you follow him automatically.

You keep talking as you climb, still riding the ease of the discussion. Tuning. Tire temps. How some drivers bluff aggression early to scare newcomers. How others wait too long and miss their window. You follow him like a lost puppy, still nodding along, still distracted by the sound of his voice. You admire the way the light slants through the upper windows now, softer, more intimate.

It isn’t until he pushes open a door and steps inside that something finally clicks. You don’t even realize where you are until you’re here. You stop just inside the threshold.

The room is unmistakably his. Dark wood furniture against white walls, dim gold lighting that makes everything feel cozy. The gap in the heavy curtains shows the last remaining sunlight outside. If not for the random clutter on the shelves and small framed photos on the desk, you’d think this is an expensive hotel room. Immaculate but lived-in.

When the door closes behind you, the house seems to fall silent, like it knows better than to intrude. The mood shifts as the air feels denser here, electric, pressing in on your skin. Like this room has witnessed things, it keeps to itself.

And suddenly, standing this close to him in a space this personal, it feels different than the garage, different than the dealership. More intimate. More dangerous. Like you’ve crossed a line without realizing when you stepped over it. 

The conversation trails off. Nico turns, noticing your stillness. “What?”

You hesitate. “We’re... in your room.”

His gaze flicks to the door behind you, then back to you. He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks thoughtful. You’re suddenly hyperaware of how close he is again, of the way the last light of the sunset paints his features in warm gold. He just looks at you, eyes dark in the fading light. The moment stretches, thick with all the things neither of you said at the dealership.

“You followed,” he says gently.

Your pulse spikes. “You didn’t stop me.” You didn’t realize he would lead you here.

A slow smile curves his mouth, subtle but full of implications. “No. I didn’t.”

This feels like a continuation of something unfinished, like the moment back in the dealership finally caught up to you. You stand there, staring at him, his words hanging in the air between you. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thump echoing in the heavy silence. His presence alone is overwhelming, filling the space with an energy that coils around you like a tightrope stretched between two buildings, dangerous, but thrilling.

Then, Nico steps closer slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You can still leave, but you don’t want to.

The space between you shrinks. You can feel his warmth again, that gravity pulling you in. His hand lifts, hovering near your waist like a question without words. When you don’t stop him, his fingers settle there, warm.

It feels inevitable when he finally leans in, there’s no teasing this time, no hesitation.

The moment his lips touch yours, your body tenses, caught between a thousand impulses. His kiss is slow at first, testing, but then his fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you closer.

Your breath catches as the pressure deepens, his mouth sure and possessive. His other hand grabs the back of your head, preventing you from pulling away. Your hands find his chest instinctively, bracing against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound vibrates through you, down to your bones. It's enough to make your head spin.

Nico’s mouth stays pressed against yours, hot and commanding, as his fingers grip your hair tight, tilting your head back just slightly. The change in angle makes the kiss deeper, more intense, as if he’s trying to consume you entirely. Your pulse thunders in your ears, your grip on his shirt tightening as your tongues connect.

His hand slides down to the small of your back, pulling you firmly against him until you can feel every inch of his body through the thin fabric of your shirt. The heat between you builds up, making your skin prickle with awareness. He moves gingerly, taking his time as if savoring every second of the contact between you.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only to trace his teeth along your jaw, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. His breath ghosts over your ear as he whispers, “You taste exactly how I imagined.” The words vibrate through your skull, sending shivers down your spine.

You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, each breath calculated, controlled, like everything else about him. The air in the room feels thick with desire, tension, and the of danger neither of you is running from. His hand at your waist doesn’t loosen; if anything, it tightens as his mouth finds the curve of your neck, making you gasp.

Your pulse stutters as you lean back willingly. It’s not just the contact, it's the way he holds you, like he already knows you belong to him. The thought should scare you. You tied your future to him. But it doesn't. You let out a breath that trembles slightly, your fingers digging into his shoulder, pulling him closer.

Nico’s teeth graze your skin just below your ear, sending a jolt through your body that settles deep in your stomach. His other hand moves from your hair, tracing a slow path down your side before settling on your hip. The heat of his palm burns through your clothes, leaving an imprint like a brand. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he murmurs, the words rough at the edges. His eyes search yours, dark and intense in the dim light of the bedroom. The challenge is there, but there’s something else too, something vulnerable buried beneath the confident exterior. He needs to hear the words.

You swallow hard, throat dry. Your fingers roam against his chest, feeling the solid heat of him beneath the fabric. There's no hesitation when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. The way he looks at you, like he’s already claimed you, like he sees past every wall you've ever built, sends a rush of heat through your body. The words tumble out before you can stop them.

“I want you... So much,” Your admission comes out rough, shameless. “Please, take me.”

Nico’s pupils dilate at your plea, his breathing catching for just a fraction of a second before he moves. He pulls you towards his bed. The mattress dips beneath you as he pushes you onto it with a firm force. His body hovers above yours, one knee wedging between your thighs as he braces himself on either side of your head. The heat of him seeps through your clothes, through the air between you, suffocating yet intoxicating.

He moves a hand to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your pulse point. “Good,” he murmurs. The word rumbles through you, thick with promise. “Because I’ve been waiting.”

Your back arches instinctively as he speaks, as if your body knows what he means without needing clarification. His fingers trail down your throat, over your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing the bud until it hardens under his touch. Then lower until he reaches the hem of your shirt, yanking it off of you. Your breath hitches as he leans down, his lips following the same path his fingers had taken moments before. His teeth graze the skin of your chest, and a shudder runs through you.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, fingers curling into the sheets at your sides. His knee pushes between your thighs, applying just enough pressure to make you feel trapped—deliciously so. You tilt your hips up slightly, your body moving on instinct as it chases friction. You’re pretty sure he can feel your arousal building up.

“Get naked,” he casually commands as he leans back. His fingers move with practiced deft, the fabric of his shirt pulling away to reveal the hard lines of his chest and abdomen. He watches you as he moves, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. You sit up, hands already moving to your waistband. Your fingers fumble slightly as you unbuckle your belt, the metal clicking in the quiet room. You push the fabric over your hips, kicking them off the side of the bed in a single motion. Nico does the same, undressing with ease.

The truth is, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten intimate with another man, but the guy you hooked up with in the past isn’t as intriguing as Nico. And back then, you weren’t the one on the receiving end.

Now you’re both naked. His gaze flicks downward, and the way his eyes darken when they settle on your groin makes your pulse hammer in your throat. You stare up at him with just as much lust, gaze raking across his toned body. Your breath comes a little slower now, a little deeper.

He leans down again, looming over you, and lifts a hand to your jaw, caressing your face before he pushes his thumb between your lips. You part your lips without hesitation, letting him thrust the finger inside your mouth. The taste of his skin fills your senses as your tongue circles around the rough pad of his digit. His breathing deepens, the heat from his body enveloping you as he holds your face in place. The dominance in his grip, the way he controls even this small act, sends a thrill through your body.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his free hand moving to grip the base of your cock. His hand wraps around the shaft, giving it a slow, measured stroke. His thumb brushes over the tip, smearing the precum already gathering there. The touch is light but it sends a jolt through your body and makes you moan around his thumb.

You suck his thumb, the pressure building in your groin as his grip is firm, his palm rubbing against the underside of your length in just the right way to make your breath hitch. The friction is perfect, he’s feeling you out, learning exactly how you respond. You know he’s watching your face for reactions, but you can’t focus on anything except the heat of his hand moving along your shaft. He smirks, knowing exactly how he’s affecting you. You feel his prominent arousal against your thigh.

He moves the hand holding your jaw away, as he reaches over the nightstand to take a bottle of lube. You watch his movements, the casual ease when he stretches for the bottle, the controlled way his muscles shift. Your body hums with tension and anticipation. He pours a generous amount onto his fingers, then sets the bottle aside. His eyes lock onto yours, burning with intent as he presses a slick finger against your entrance. A deliberate push follows as he circles the rim, spreading the slickness.

“Strange, for all your confidence, I thought you’d fight me for control,” he smirks, voice rough yet teasing. The words roll off his tongue like a challenge, his fingers still teasing at your entrance. Your hips lift slightly of their own accord, seeking more friction, and you see the way his lips twitch in amusement at your body’s response.

“You’re... not giving me much chance to fight,” you say, your voice already thick with arousal. You reach up to grip his biceps, the muscles taut beneath your fingers.

Your breath shudders as his finger eases inside, pressing lightly as he watches your reaction. The sting isn’t much for now, only the slick stretch as he pushes further, curling the digit to rub against that deep spot inside you. You’re so down bad, you’ll probably let him do whatever he wants. A full-body tremor runs through you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

Nico hums in satisfaction, pleased by your response. His other hand grips your thigh, hiking your leg up higher, opening you more for him. He adds another finger without warning, the stretch sharper this time, his thrusts slow and deep. It burns, but the pain fades quickly under the rhythmic stimulation, replaced by something hotter, something desperate.

His fingers scissor inside you, widening you as his thumb strokes your taint. His breathing is heavier now, lips parted slightly as he watches the way your muscles clench around him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the angle of his fingers, the pace, the timing—he’s mastering your body as easily as he masters a track.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, rough with desire. His thumb brushes over the tip of your cock again, smearing another bead of precum. “Bet you want more.”

“Y-Yes... ahh,” you admit hoarsely, the words tearing from your throat before you can stop them. The dual stimulation is driving you mad. Your back arches slightly as his fingers sink deeper, the stretch making you groan as he adds a third finger. You can feel his own length pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy, and the knowledge that he’s this turned on by just touching you sends a fresh jolt of arousal through your body.

He chuckles, his hand leaves your cock so he can stroke his own as his fingers continue their relentless thrusts inside you. “You’re gonna feel even better when I’m inside you.”

“Nghh,” words are failing you as he curls his fingers again, dragging them across that sensitive spot inside you. He withdraws his fingers slowly, making you feel it all, then reaches for the lube again. This time, he pours it directly onto his shaft, spreading it over his length with firm strokes. The slick sounds fill the room as he prepares himself, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“Turn over,” he commands, voice rough with need.

You hesitate for only a second before obeying, rolling onto your stomach. His hands are immediately on you, one pressing between your shoulder blades to keep your head down while the other guides your hips up. The position exposes you completely to him, your ass presented high in the air. His breathing hitches at the sight, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. The mattress shifts as he moves behind you, his hands gripping your hips with rough ownership. He rubs the head of his length along your crease, teasing, not quite entering yet.

“You want this?” he asks, though the question sounds more like confirmation than doubt.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, pushing back slightly, seeking that first contact.

He doesn’t make you wait long. With a sharp exhale, he pushes forward slowly, breaching you. The stretch is intense, painful in the best possible way, and you bury your face in the sheets, fists clenched around the fabric. You’re trembling, biting the sheets hard to stop yourself from crying out.

Nico pushes inch after inch inside, your body’s natural resistance making it evident to him that you haven’t bottomed before. Internal muscles clenching instinctively like you’re trying to push him out. He doesn’t stop. His grip tightens on your hips as he pushes deeper, forcing you to take him until his thighs are flush against yours. The burn is intense, the fullness is overwhelming. You can feel him pulsing inside you, hot and heavy. You’re panting hard now.

He gives you a long moment to adjust before withdrawing halfway and pushing back in. “Fuuck,” he mutters, the word dragged out as if he’s savoring the tightness. His hand slides up your back, fingers digging into your tense muscles. He starts moving then, setting a slow and deep rhythm that makes you moan every time he bottoms out. His hand on your back keeps you down, limiting your movement to his pace. Your neglected cock leaks onto the sheets beneath you.

He groans, hips snapping forward with increased intensity. The sounds he’s making are raw, sending a thrill through you. He’s holding back, you can tell, keeping himself in check for your sake.

His thrusts gradually become harder, faster, each movement meant to drag against your prostate. You moan, your hips jerk involuntarily when he grinds particularly deep, and he chuckles darkly at your reaction.

"You like that?" he asks, though it's not really a question. His hand slides from your back to grip your throat without choking you, pulling your head up slightly so you’re forced to arch your back. The angle changes everything; the new depth makes you whimper.

Your body’s resistance fights him even as you arch your back to take him deeper. It only makes it feel even better for him. Every inch of you is hyperaware of his sweat-damp skin pressed against yours, the heavy slap of his hips meeting your ass, the thick stretch of him inside you.

“Ugh... nnghh...” You’re practically sobbing into the sheets now. His free hand slides around to your stomach, fingers splaying across your abdomen as he pulls you flush against him. His teeth graze your shoulder as he groans into your ear.

“Feel that?” he rasps, punctuating the words with a slow grind of his hips. “That’s how bad I want you.”

Your cock twitches visibly against the sheets, dripping now in a continuous stream of precum, even untouched. You whimper as he rolls his hips in a way that makes his tip drag across that perfect spot inside you again and again. His breathing is ragged, controlled yet uneven; he’s close, and so are you. The realization sends a fresh surge of heat through your body.

He suddenly shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your shoulder as he pulls you up onto your knees. The new position opens you wider, drives him impossibly deeper.

“Ahh...” You feel his toned chest press against your back, his breath coming in sharp bursts against your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you steady as he starts fucking you in earnest now, each thrust hitting deep.

And you realize with sudden clarity that he’s been holding back this entire time. “Ah—!! Hnngh! Mmmh!” You’re openly moaning, whole body trembling, and there isn’t a single thought behind your half-lidded eyes besides overwhelming pleasure. 

“You’re taking me so good,” he murmurs, voice raspy. His own breathing is heavy, barely keeping it together. His hand slides down to wrap around your length, rough fingers stroking in time with his thrusts. The sounds of skin meeting skin, wet and desperate, your own ragged breathing mixing with his low grunts fill the room.

It doesn’t take much to push you over the edge, and you come hard with the most scandalous moan that ever left your lips. His grip tightens around your length as he pumps faster, dragging out your release with relentless strokes. The pressure against your prostate doesn’t relent, each thrust timed to maximize your pleasure. Your body convulses in his arms, back arching as you ride out the waves of ecstasy that leave your entire body shaking and spent.

He slows his movements but doesn’t stop, drawing out your climax until you can’t take anymore. Your vision blurs from the intensity, muscles quivering as he holds you up with one strong arm. The heat of his body radiates against your back, his breathing still ragged with need.

“You look perfect like this,” he grunts, his free hand tracing the line of your jaw. As he looks at your flustered face over your shoulder. He keeps thrusting, chasing his own release despite your oversensitive body protesting. You gasp as each slow drag of his cock sends fresh jolts through your overstimulated nerves. His grip on you is ironclad, keeping you flushed against him as he rolls his hips in a way that has you seeing stars. The heat of his breath ghosts over your shoulder as he exhales shakily against your skin.

His teeth dig into your flesh as his orgasm finally hits, hips jerking as he spills deep. A guttural sound escapes his throat, vibrating against your back. You can feel every pulse of him inside you, every twitch of him as he fills you up with warmth. His grip on your chest tightens momentarily before he loosens his hold, letting his fingers trail lazily over your pecs.

“Fuck...” he exhales, pressing a wet kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder. His breath is hot, ragged, still carrying the weight of his release. His body remains against yours, holding you up as he catches his breath. After a long moment, he finally withdraws, pulling out slowly, leaving you feeling hollow and oversensitive, and you collapse forward, completely exhausted. You feel the slick heat of his release seeping out of you, the feeling sending aftershocks through your limbs.

You don’t even bother holding yourself up, your body is devastated. You sink into the pillows and close your eyes, losing consciousness soon after.

…

You blink sleep-heavy eyes open to find yourself still in Nico’s bedroom. The clock reads 11 pm, you’ve been out cold for hours. You realize that you’re still naked but surprisingly clean. The sheets beneath you are fresh and spotless where your skin meets them. Your body doesn’t feel sticky or messy in the way it absolutely should after everything that happened.

Heat rushes through you at the thought of Nico taking care of you like some prized possession while you were unconscious. You bring a hand up to your face, rubbing your eyes, then let it fall to your chest as a soft, disbelieving laugh escapes you.

This might actually be the best day of your life.

© TotallynotXai 2026

[33550336stories]

THE GOODEST BOY !

╰┈➤ summary ; Phainon doing his absolute best to make you feel better, even if it means looking desperate and whimpering like a mutt.

( ! ) Sub-ish phainon + dog hybrid, gn! reader + cat hybrid , heat cycles , knotting , breeding , mating press , doggy style , riding , marking , yandere behavior , reader gets called kitty , reader produces slick , dubcon , somnophilia , thigh humping , dirty talk , cockwarming , stockholm syndrome? , phainon is horny and needy as fuck , phainon is kinda feral in this , porn with little plot? , gender neutral reader , hybrid au , nasty dogs series , timeskip of your heat cycle , khaslana mentioned once

SERIES MASTERLISTS

( ✎ ) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE so please expect some grammar mistakes. hi guys let me know if I did the warnings correctly so I can change it. Also let me know in the comments if you like this fic! (also can take opinions/criticism hehe).

“[Name]...ah—!”

Your body stirs faintly under the weight of Phainon's trembling form, but sleep clings to you like a heavy fog, your heat-scented skin radiating waves of intoxicating warmth that drive him deeper into madness. His fluffy ears twitch with every ragged breath you take, his tail thumping erratically against the bed as he presses his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

The scent.

Your scent.

it floods his senses, sweet and musky, pulling at the primal instincts buried in his hybrid blood. He's supposed to wait, supposed to respect the boundaries Khaslana drilled into him, but how can he when you're like this? So vulnerable, so his to claim.

"P-please... wake up," Phainon whimpers again, his voice cracking with desperate need as his hips grind harder against your thigh. The fabric of your pants bunches under the friction, his hardening cock straining against his own shorts, leaking precum that soaks through and smears wetly onto you. He nuzzles closer, his sharp canines grazing your collarbone in a mix of apology and possession, a low growl mixed with a whimper rumbling in his chest—not aggressive, but possessive. 

No one else gets to smell you like this.

No one else gets to touch you. 

You're his precious kitty. His everything, and this heat of yours is a siren call he can't ignore.

His hands, rough from woodwork, clutch at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks—marks that scream 'mine mine mine' even if you don't see them yet. He shifts, straddling your leg more firmly, his body heat mingling with yours in the dim intimacy of the room. The air is thick, charged with the slick sounds of his humping, each thrust forward making his balls tighten with aching want. 

"I-I can't stop... it hurts so bad without you," he confesses in a broken sob, his tongue lolling out to lap at your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat mixed with that irresistible heat pheromones. Saliva trails down your neck as he licks broader strokes, cleaning and marking you all at once, his obsession bubbling up in the way he whispers against your ear.

"You're mine, right? Only mine... no one else can have you like this." His voice drops to a possessive hiss, even as his body submits to the rhythm, hips bucking faster, chasing friction that does nothing to sate the fire raging inside him. He wants to bury himself in you, to knot and fill you until you're bloated with his cum, until the everyone knows you belong to him.

But he waits—barely—for your eyes to flutter open, for you to acknowledge him, to let him help like he so desperately needs to. His free hand slips under your shirt, claws retracted but pads pressing warmly against your stomach, inching upward as if seeking permission in your awakening.

When your lashes finally part, hazy with sleep and the haze of heat, Phainon's pretty blue eyes lock onto yours, wide and pleading, pupils blown with lust and unhinged devotion.

"[Name]... you're awake. Let me— ahn!—let me make it better for you. P-please.." He doesn't stop his movements. He can't. His cock throbbing visibly through the damp fabric as he ruts against you, breath hot and panting over your lips. In this moment, submissive as he is, his heart coils tighter around you—refusing to let go, refusing to share.

Your eyes meet his, and in that hazy instant, the heat surging through your veins overrides any lingering drowsiness. You watch as phainon desperately rut into you, as lust began to cloud your mind.

Phainon's plea hangs in the air, his body trembling atop yours, cock twitching against your thigh with urgent need. You nod faintly and it's all the permission he needs. His ears perk up, tail wagging furiously as a broken whine spills from his throat.

"YES! Yes yes yes—thank yooouuu—!" he sobs, voice thick with relief and hunger. In a frenzy of motion, his hands fumble at your clothes, claws snagging fabric as he yanks your pants down your hips, exposing your slick hole to the cool air. The scent hits him harder now, unfiltered, and he groans, shoving his own shorts aside to free his throbbing cock. It's thick, veined, the tip already glistening with precum, knot swelling at the base in anticipation of locking inside you.

He doesn't waste time. Phainon grabs your thighs, spreading them wide as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your hole. "Gonna fill you up... make you mine forever," he pants, eyes glazed with devotion, before thrusting forward in one desperate shove. His length sinks deep into your heat, stretching you around him, the slick sounds of entry filling the room as your walls clench instinctively.

"F-fuck... so tight," he whimpers, hips snapping immediately into a brutal rhythm. He's submissive in his begging, but the way he fucks you is pure possession—each plunge burying him to the hilt, balls slapping against your ass with wet smacks. 

“Phai— wait!—” Your breath was taken away from you as you feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he grinds against that spot inside you, his knot bumping your entrance but not yet forcing in. His hands pin your hips down, keeping you open and vulnerable beneath him in this raw missionary hold, his chest pressing to yours as he licks and nips at your neck, marking you with saliva and light bites.

The pace builds fast, his whines turning to growls of obsession. "No one else... only me breeding you," he hisses between thrusts, cock pistoning relentlessly, churning your insides with slick friction. Precum mixes with your arousal, leaking out around his shaft as he chases release, but he holds back, wanting to drag this out, to claim every inch. Your body arches into him, heat demanding more, and he obliges, angling his hips to hit deeper, the tip kissing your g-spot with each forceful drive.

But Phainon isn't done with just this. His mind races with visions of locking you in place, ensuring his seed takes root. "Need... hahh—need to knot you properly," he gasps, pulling out suddenly with an obscene pop, your hole clenching around nothing. Before you can protest the emptiness, he flips you onto your stomach, hands gripping your waist to yank your ass up high. Doggy style suits him perfectly—his hybrid instincts kicking in as he mounts you from behind, tail curling over your own possessively.

"Like this... gonna breed you like this," he breathes hot against your ear, slamming back inside with a single, brutal thrust. The new angle lets him go even deeper, cock spearing you open as his hips piston wildly. His balls swing forward, smacking your inner thigh with every pound, while one hand reaches at the flat of your stomach to press on the bulge, heightening the burn. He leans over you, weight pinning you to the mattress, teeth grazing your shoulder as he bites down—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to stake his claim. "Gonna pump you full... watch it drip out, then plug you up again. You're staying bred, kitty. Mine."

The room echoes with the filthy symphony.

Skin slapping skin, your moans mingling with his desperate whines, the squelch of his cock plunging into your hole. Sweat slicks your bodies, his skin brushing your back as he ruts like a beast, knot swelling thicker now, teasing your hole with each withdrawal. He grinds it against you, stretching your rim wider, but pulls back just shy of locking, prolonging the torment. His free hand claws lightly at your sides, leaving red marks that scream ownership.

Not satisfied yet, Phainon's instinct demands more variety, more ways to bury himself and ensure you're overflowing. He withdraws again, cock bobbing slick and angry, strings of arousal connecting you. "Hold on... gotta make sure it sticks," he murmurs, voice laced with unhinged devotion. He rolls you onto your back once more, but this time hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half—the mating press, intimate and inescapable. Your knees nearly touch your chest, ass lifted off the bed as he looms over you, blue eyes boring into yours with manic intensity.

It feels so hot.

"Look at me... see how I claim you," he demands softly, submissive plea twisted with command, before driving back in. The position crushes you beneath him, his cock hitting impossibly deep, bullying your walls as gravity aids each downward thrust. His knot finally presses insistent now, the bulbous base grinding against your stretched entrance, demanding entry. You feel it pop past the ring with a lewd stretch on one particularly hard slam, locking him inside as his hips stutter.

"Ah—! Yes yes yesss—! More!—" he cries, though it's you he's begging through, body shuddering as his orgasm crashes. Hot ropes of cum flood your insides, pulsing thick and endless, his cock twitching with each spurt. He doesn't stop moving even knotted—shallow grinds, rocking to push it deeper, ensuring every drop coats your insides. His tongue lolls out, lapping at your face in sloppy affection, hands cradling your head as if you're precious, breakable—his to protect and possess.

But Phainon's fire isn't quenched. As the knot holds, he shifts you both, rolling so you're straddling his lap in a twisted reverse, his cock still buried deep. "Ride it... milk me more," he whines, hands on your hips guiding you up and down the locked length, the pressure building another load already. Cum squelches out around the seal, dripping down his balls, but he ignores it, focused on the nasty intimacy—your body impaled on him, forced to take every inch in this breeding perch.

He maneuvers again, easing you onto all fours while knotted, the tug pulling a gasp from both of you, then mounts you sideways, spooning tight as he resumes shallow thrusts. Each position milks him further, his seed overflowing, marking you inside and out. "All mine...," he whispers obsessively, nuzzling your hair, even as exhaustion tugs at him. 

Finally, spent and locked, he collapses around you, cock still pulsing faintly, ensuring his claim lingers long after the heat fades.

SEPERATE ENDINGS — REAVER | KHASLANA

SPECIAL CHAPTER — ❝AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!❞

wc— 1695. | edited.

( @ ) @foxystrangerx , @violetisreadinghush , @celestialzdiviner , @vanteabv , @berry3334 , @onlyafterrain , @lollipipz , @haein77 , @12sunarin , @nshasy , @emmonexx , @loreneky , @victoria1676 , @whateverthingsw , @lurulu-ru , @h1m3chan , @rhyzoma , @burningkittenprince , @julie0444 , @liliesclouds , @chaosoflune , @pinklemonadewithsugar , @smokycoffe , @markerelll , @furinalvr82 , @kalaiyasworld , @akaneballadeer , @rawcookiedough03 , @dawnonyou , @shiholyn , @derumu ,  @lovelydew , @candyqueen10 , @tamashithe2nd , @annorxina , @nevermoresworld , @fo-love , @kevinsdawn , @tea-mi , @hime44444 , @gaozorous-rex-blog , @dkgfjj , @1mlilith , @strayharmony943 , @qwkylj , @1mlilith

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Losing All My Innocence In The Backseat ❞

Connor x ftm!detective!reader | porn with some plot | reader has had top surgery and significant bottom growth | sub. bttm. reader (AFAB) | wc: 4.8K

Warnings: implied post-canon storyline, risky sex, car sex/semi-public sex, fingering, grumpy/bratty reader versus brat tamer Connor, navigating sexual dynamics, Ken Doll Connor,  AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock. terms like boypussy/pussy, boycunt/cunt, sex, hole, etc are used.)

authors note: Exams are over, and I went right to writing! Thank you for being so patient with me, and I hope you guys had a less hectic November/December compared to me (T. T)   summary: Connor knows you’re stressed. He just wants to help you.  listening to ▸Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae / Diet Pepsi - Live from 2025 by Ben Platt Patreon | Discord

Silence was a welcome blanket for both of you. With the line of work you both lead, these moments of reprieve and low stimulation were the closest thing to peace you’d know. Despite — or because of — the advancements in technology, crime evolved with the times. Regardless of the constant surveillance and androids that were able to access police databases with a blink, humans remained their ever so primitive selves in moments of distress. 

It would have been endearing if it didn’t involve so much paperwork and blood. 

You pressed your head to the window, watching lazily as the raindrops raced each other to the imaginary finish line. They dashed downwards, melding into a heavier raindrop while the one you cheered on meekly rolled itself down. Your disappointment was dulled by the radio playing a song from decades ago; something Hank surely would’ve rambled on about if he were present. You hoped he was enjoying his time away from the precinct and Detroit in general. He had earned it. 

“Are you feeling better now, detective?” he asked softly, his voice gentle as he leaned forward in the passenger seat. Akin to an inquisitive puppy with the way he was gauging your expression.

It left you with the task of “babysitting” his partner—the ever-famous and reliable Connor. 

You didn’t mind him. Truly, you had no qualms about working with an android. You’d much rather him than Detective Reed. He was a real piece of work. But, there were times when Connor could be a teensy bit unnerving, which was no fault of his. As far as you know, he’d only been made a few years ago.  

Hank had even invited you and a few other detectives and uniformed officers to watch a basketball game. Connor had told you he nudged him to be social, and you distinctly remembered snickering quietly as you stood next to him, bringing the plastic cup of alcohol to your lips as you told Connor he was performing miracles. 

So it wasn’t like you were unfamiliar with Connor. Neither of you had worked a case together. There was a difference between casually watching a game of basketball and working on an attempted homicide case.

“Yeah,” you slipped your eyes closed and peeled away from the window. “I’m just thinking. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”  Connor tilts his head. Looking all the more puppy-like. 

You hesitated to answer him as you turned to face him. Would an android be able to understand the inner turmoil in your head at the moment? You doubted that they even had brain fog, or that their ability to be happy sometimes partially relied on the weather. The thought of even confessing this to him caused heat to rise to your cheeks and you shrugged it off.  

“Taking my sweet ass time to think,” your muttering earns another head-tilt from the detective. “It is a tough case,” he responds neutrally, “the circumstances have me…bewildered.”

You scoff as your expression turns incredulous. Connor offers a gentle smile, his brown eyes as warm as ever as his knees shift to point your way in his seat. It escapes your mind that this man was capable of inhuman feats— vaulting between the gaps of buildings, tanking bullets to his torso with minimal issues, being a walking forensics lab to name a few— and you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. 

“The evidence left was nearly nonexistent thanks to the rain. The victim’s in a coma, and the perp was careful. It was a methodically planned out crime. I’m frustrated.” 

“You don’t show it,” your tone is lighthearted and Connor breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, is that offensive?” you grimace, shoulders lifting. 

”Because I’m an android?” Connor laughs again. He leans into the seat, posture still impeccable somehow, and shakes his head. “I’m not offended. It is something I have to work on. Hank says my dry humour isn’t always appreciated. He suggests I have a sunnier disposition.”

”What? Like his?” 

Connor coughs into his fist— you belatedly realise he had snickered and feel the brain fog slowly begin to fade away as you turn your car's ignition. The smooth rumbling and the radio announcer's voice blend seamlessly with Connor and your laughter. 

“You don’t have to apologise for being thorough, detective. It’s an admirable trait to have.” His reassurance should not have your heart picking up speed, but it does and you focus on the road before you instead. Your brain reminds you of every little road law that you had not thought about for years as the other vehicles on the road— including yours— fall into a monotonous routine. 

“So you admire me? I’m honoured,” you jest. Connor knows you’re joking. But his gaze lingers on you, the darkening bags under your eyes, the grip on your steering wheel, and the way your heart rates slightly elevated despite simply driving. Connor is perceptive, he was made to be. He noticed just how— for lack of a better word— funny your body acted when you were alone with him. At first, he assumed the rush of blood to your face and your slightly clammy palms indicated anxiety. All signs pointed that way. 

But you carried on conversations with him as smoothly as ever. He wondered if you had a knack for acting, most people do in their own ways, but you weren’t someone that was distrustful. He could hardly imagine you being deceitful. You were like he had said; admirable. Maybe a little clumsy at times, hard-headed too when you find a lead but Hank says that’s normal for younger detectives. 

‘The need to prove themselves, make a name in the precinct.’

Hank had told him. The human desire to leave a mark on the world, to be remembered. Connor could flood his entire brain with historical figures with a blink. Some more infamous than famous, some with their names used as a stand-in for another word even. So he knows that’s a fact.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as you stop at a red-light. The pitter-patter of rain makes you squint at the warbling sight past the windshield. You pinch your brows tight, and Connor says something funny. 

“I’m starving.” 

“…What?”

He points to a diner. The red and yellow colour scheme stands out brightly in the gloomy hues of the weather and Detroit smog. The place was less than desirable, and as Connor read through the reviews and health department ratings he found himself tightening his smile. Still, he urged you to park in the parking lot next to it because he was ‘starving.’

You didn’t want to offend him by asking what exactly he meant. Maybe he’d gotten a stomach upgrade or something to be able to fit in a bit better. Eating together was an important aspect in socializing after all. So you kept your questions to yourself, simply parking all the way in the back and unbuckling your seat belt. Only to stop when Connor places a hand on your shoulder. You stiffen, turning to face him with your eyes widened and your brows raised in question.

”How long have you been awake, detective?” 

You sputter, your words barely tangible as your mouth gapes. Connor’s head-tilt this time seemed more like a honed police dog than a puppy, and you pressed your lips together. 

“I don’t know. I don’t exactly count that down, ya’ know?” You motion your eyes between him and his hand. Connor reluctantly slips it away and folds them politely on his lap. You try to ignore the lingering feeling of his body warmth on you. Your brain was playing tricks on you, mocking you again for not having a supercomputer instead of a mass of flesh and short-circuiting neurons. 

“I estimate 16-hours.” 

‘Way to rub it in,’ you thought bitterly. More so to yourself than Connor. But he catches the twinge of displeasure in your eyes. 

“Maybe we should end our day early. Both of us are tired.”

”Jesus, Connor. First, you’re starving and now you’re tired? Are you trying to take pity on me, or something?”

The anger in your voice is beginning to make itself known. Your lips curl as you hastily unbuckle yourself and practically swing your door open. Cold air rushes in, and so does rain, but you stubbornly soldier through. 

“I’m a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself.”

The car shakes when you close your door and Connor’s reminded of Hank. Logically, there was no way every single detective he’d known could be such…hardasses, but yet here he was with his own sample size. The thought of you sharing similarities to Hank causes him to scrunch his nose, as if tasting something sour, and he sighs softly. Connor rushes towards your grumpy figure, entering into the restaurant just a few steps behind you. 

The servers glance Connor’s way, wary but trying their best not to show it. As long as they didn’t commit any crimes in front of him, Connor would stay out of their way. Besides that, he had more pressing things to attend to. You, in particular. You find a quiet corner to sit at and Connor sits across from you, watching as you rub your hands together. 

He wanted to ask if you were cold. But he shouldn’t push his luck. Maybe he should’ve been more tactful leading you here, but he wasn’t unhappy that you weren’t behind the wheel anymore. For a while, the ambience of the restaurant muffles the awkward silence. You reach for some of the tissues and wipe off as much water as you can from your jacket, and face. 

Then, you push the box to Connor. He nods, then methodically wipes off as much water as he can. The peace offering was taken, so the silence was less thick this time. 

“What can we get for you, man?” You give a tight smile to the waiter, telling him you’d like a warm cup of coffee. He tells you the coffee here is shit. Connor knows he isn’t lying— the reviews didn’t exactly hold back on them regarding that. 

“Shitty coffee is exactly what I need,” sarcasm drips from your words. You add on a sandwich with a side of fries and the waiter goes off to fulfill your order. Another bout of silence. 

“Is the case keeping you awake?” Connor takes in the micro-expressions on your face. The twitch in your cheek, the tension between your brows, and when you brush your tongue over your lips his eyelids flutter. 

“It’s frustrating. I know. But you’re one of the youngest detectives in our precinct for a reason, your record’s impeccable.” You know he’s telling the truth, and using it as a way to comfort you. It was sweet, and you resist the urge to grin his way and say ‘thanks’ like some bright-eyed idiot. 

“It’s not just that, Connor,” you knead at the nape of your neck. Barely straightening up when your shitty coffee arrives in a white mug. The smell and warmth loosens your shoulders, and even when you grimace as you take a gulp the comforting heat that travels through you further eases the tension from you. 

You dismiss his reassurance. He takes note of it, but doesn’t push. Connor slides the sugar your way and you squint your eyes up at him as your cheeks barely lift to give him a pursed-lip smile. You were exhausted. It’s like the walk from the car to the diner sapped everything out of you. 

“The victim’s mom…God, she was…”

Connor knows. He saw her rush to you with tears streaming down her face as she begged for answers that you didn’t have. Her daughter was in a coma from an attack, her stitches fresh and bruises discolouring her skin— it would cause any parent distress. 

“It’s been days of nothing. No trails, no motive, we have a shitty CCTV clip of him running out the door but then what? We owe it to her to find answers for her daughter.”

”I know, and we will bring him to justice. But, detective,” Connor’s voice turns severe as he searches for your gaze. “It does no one no good if you’re sleep deprived. I need my partner to solve this case, so I need you to be 100%”

You scoff, ignoring the clink of the plate of food being put down your table as your sandwich arrives. It’s suspiciously room temperature while the plate is warm, and the fries are a little limp but you just stare down at your coffee. 

“You don’t exactly need me. I can barely think.”

”Yes, that tends to happen when someone experiences sleep deprivation.” 

You curl your nose at him, and he just gestures to your plate of food. You take a few bites and with each of them your face twists into further confusion. Eventually, you settle on eating your fries, something Connor thought was the safest option. He tries not to stare at you too much, occasionally looking out the window and noticing the Raindrop Race as most people do during a storm. 

There that puppy is again. Your eyes soften, and you grumble with your mouth still full of food. ”Sorry for being a dick.” 

Connor just chuckles. 

“Sorry, but Detective Anderson’s got you beat there. I didn’t even notice you were being a dick.”

Connor can’t drive. Something they were still pending on regarding androids driving personal vehicles. It was dumb, if androids were allowed to commandeer buses and aeroplanes then why couldn’t they drive their own cars? 

He’s not happy with you buckling into the driver’s seat. But the shitty coffee wasn’t worth a refill and you were in no mood to order anything else. 

“You should rest before you get behind the wheel, detective.”

You look over your shoulder and sigh. “There’s a motel, but I’m not shelling out 40 bucks for a 3-hour nap. I’ll be—“ you yawn, and you try to speak through the yawn “—fineee. I just had a coffee anyway. It’ll kick in.”

When you reach for the gear, he places a hand over yours. You’re always a bit surprised at how skin-like his touch was. You’d seen him exchange information with other androids before, how the flesh just smooths away to reveal that pure-white shell. You didn’t hate it though. He felt nicer than the cup of coffee. The weight of him, the feeling of the lines on his palms. Artificial or not— it was still Connor.

He narrows his eyes. His head tilts. Connor leans in, and you don’t lean away. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, detective. Do I make you nervous?”

”E-excuse me?” Your grip loosens, but Connor keeps your hand pinned beneath his. It was effortless; naturally, what with him being made of some sort of metal. 

“Your heart rate rises, you get clammy palms, but your pupils they,” he trails off as he catches your gaze with his own. Curiosity was so clearly written across Connor’s face, you felt like he was attempting to read you— as though you were some case file that he wanted to pour hours of attentiveness into. A steel-trap resolve to understand you more, to know your motives and intentions and grasp you in his arms. 

If you were a criminal, maybe you’d feel much more frightened. 

You tried to mask your expression, twisting your mouth into a frown.

”My pupils…what?”

”They…expand.” Connor tilts his head, then his mouth parts like he came to a stunningly miraculous conclusion. 

“Detective, do you perhaps have an infatuation towards me?” 

The radio plays a jaunty tune from decades ago, and the rain doesn’t lighten up the slightest. You don’t say anything. Stunned at your own stupidity for thinking Connor out of all people wouldn’t have noticed— the guy read your heart rate for fucks sake!

You try to slip your hand away from him, but he carefully cinches his fingers around your wrist. 

“Connor,” you warn. Your voice coloured with embarrassment. 

“Please, I’d like to know,” he sounded sincere. You wondered if he was morbidly curious about it. It wasn’t that humans falling in love with androids were anything new, there were plenty of cases. 

“I…shit, maybe I do have an infatuation with you, okay? It’s not like there’s a lot of options at our precinct,” you grumble as you finally slip your hand away from him. You place your hands on the steering wheel, but make no move to actually drive. 

Connor’s lower lip almost juts out as he processes what you said. Then the corners of his mouth curl up, and he faces his knees your way again. 

“You had a process of elimination to determine who’d be your precinct eye candy, detective?”

Your ears nearly turned red at the teasing tone he takes. You narrow your eyes at him, cursing for him to shut up as you reach for the gear again. But again, Connor’s hand grasps yours. 

“Are you trying to fuck with me or something, Connor?” 

“…I could if it’d help you rest.”

”What?”

Connor offers that gentle smile again, then glances down at your hand in his. He smooths the pad of his thumb over your jutting knuckles, and he feels the rush of blood on the protruding vein. 

“Orgasms are known to help with sleep.”

Your jaw drops. 

“My model doesn’t have functioning genitalia, but I can still provide—“  He flutters his lashes when you slap a hand over his mouth. Your brows are furrowed as you try to find the words. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is the offer offensive to you, detective?” Connor’s voice is muffled from behind your hand but he continues.”I just assumed that it would…my apologies.”

”I didn’t even know you could talk about those sorts of things…” You said in a breathless voice, stuck between feeling appalled and amused at the absurdity of it all. He tilts his head and you unmask his mouth, retreating into your seat again as you try to process his words. 

“I am…” he searches for the word, and you watch as he thinks. “Fond of you, detective.” Fond wasn’t a common word in these modern scenarios, and you’re unsure what he means exactly by it but you allow him to continue. 

“And I would rather you be well-rested than not. I can help…if you’d like me to.” You try to find any trace of bullshit on his face. You find none.

”Christ, you do this for every partner you have?”  Connor’s face twists into genuine disgust at your lacklustre joke. “Please don’t even imply that with my relationship with Detective Anderson.” 

You grimace, and apologize as you knead at the back of your neck once again. 

“Do you even know how to—“ Connor smirks at you when you ask. You shut your mouth and scoff. Of course, even if he didn’t know now…he could learn how with a few blinks.

”Show off.”

”We all have our flaws.”

”Shit, am I really going to spend 40 bucks for a nap and a lay?” You reach again for the gear and Connor’s had it. He reaches for your chin, pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger and he forces you to look at him. 

“Visibility’s low with the rain, detective. This diner isn’t well-liked. Your window tint provides enough cover as is. You can rest in the backseat.”

“Holy shit,” you utter. A lazy roll of heat crawls down your spine at his assertiveness. You’d never seen it aimed your way before— maybe a few times towards Hank, and a few interrogations as well. But never at you. You gulped thickly, then nodded. 

“Okay.”

You’re both sitting side-by-side in the backseat. The rush of cold that flooded in from opening the car doors causes you to shiver, so Connor slides his hands into yours. He raise his body temperature and you sigh in relief. You turn when he gets closer and when your nose brushes against his own he pauses. 

You’re wide-eyed. So unlike the detective he’s known. It’s adorable. Connor reaches and cups your cheek in his warm palm. Your breath stutters when he ghosts his fingers over the curve of your cold ears. 

“May I kiss you, detective? Studies show that foreplay can lead to a more pleasurable—“ You press your lips together. His eyes widen a bit, but he then adjusts to accommodate. 

It’s unfair how good he is at kissing if this was his first kiss. You frown, and pull away as the thought crosses your mind. 

“Is this your first kiss?”

”Yes.” 

Connor pulls you in again and you gasp. He doesn’t slip his eyes closed. He didn’t want to— though he knows it's what was expected. Connor was curious, and he wanted to make sure you were enjoying yourself. His attentive, thorough, partner deserved the same dedication in the bedroom. Connor could keep watch while he read through the case files, it wouldn’t be any less productive. 

You made a sweet noise when he experimentally bit down on your lower lip. He slips his hands into your jacket and slips it off your shoulders. His warm touch causes goose flesh to ripple under your clothes. Your flesh is so soft— he’s always marvelling at how soft humans are. So plush, and so fragile. 

You flutter your eyes open when he trails his kisses down your chin, to your jaw, and after a sweet kiss under your jaw he descends to your neck. You crinkle his coat when he traces his tongue on your pulse. 

“Your neck is sensitive,” he notes in a whisper. You slip his coat off next, your fingers crawling up to his nape and feeling the scratchy texture of his ‘shaved’ hairs. He grasps at your waist and you groan his name.

It stokes something within Connor. 

“Am I doing good, detective?” You nod wordlessly against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your body is louder than you are— rising heart rate, the flushed ears, the perspiration on your skin— and he finds himself a bit upset at it.

He calls out your name, and you turn your head to look at him questioningly. 

“I…” Connor pauses for a second. This word always felt foreign for Connor, but he should say what he means if he wanted this interaction to go well. Studies had shown open communication during intimate acts proved more positive results, and he didn’t want the foundation of trust and infatuation between you to become shaky. 

So he continues. 

“I need to know if I’m making you feel good.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips as you nod again. 

“You’re making me feel really nice, Connor. Your hands are so warm, and as annoying as it is you’re a real good kisser.”

Connor preens inwardly, and his grip on your waist turns more confident. 

“I’m sorry for being a good kisser,” he teases. You chuckle, brushing your teeth over his neck as you undo his tie. There was something fun about unwrapping Connor from his usually perfect shell. You can’t deny the rush it gave you, and he returns the eager sentiment as he unbuttons your top. 

You shoulder it off and he presses his kisses there too. His warm hands touch your bare torso and when it reaches your pebbling nipple, you bite down gently on his neck. Connor chuckles, tilting his head down at you as he nips at your collarbones. 

“You might break your teeth if you try any harder.” 

“Worth it.”

”Absolutely not.”

You feel his hands reach to unzip your jeans and when he does, he pats your outer thigh. You look at him, panting while he motions for you to lay down. The second you do, he descends onto you like a heated and weighted blanket. A very handsome one. 

Your eyelids go a bit heavy and Connor relishes at the signs of success. You shimmy out of your jeans, Connor helps. 

You’re now in your underwear and Connor zeroes in at the darkening spot on it. You curse, telling him not to stare but he remains fixated on it. 

“You’re aroused. Very aroused.” 

”I’m very aware, Connor,” you reply dryly. 

He braces himself on his elbows, kissing you again and you’re struggling to keep up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his loosened tie dragging across your torso as his tongue battles for dominance. He reaches to place a palm against the window when he feels the seat under him giving away under his hand. It leaves a print, thanks to the panting you’re doing and him raising his body temperature. 

You inhaled sharply when that same hand sneaks down your sides. Connor watches you as your brows furrow, your jaw loose as every little noise excites him more and more. 

“Does this feel good?”

He slips his hands in your underwear and you flutter your eyes open. 

Connor’s eyes are hungry for your praise. 

“Touch me more, Connor. Please.”

He finds your slicked hole. You moan as he presses his fingers on your cock, and begins to rub you off. You stretch your back, tossing your head back as your hips ground on the seats. He’s entranced by it— by you. 

“Fuuuck, that feels good.”

”Forgive me, I didn’t think to ask what terms you’d like to use for your—“ Connor is cut off by your wanton groan. “Dick, cock, cunt,” you mutter against his lips before sneaking your tongue into his mouth again. He finally slips his eyes closed this time, focusing on your cock as he swallows your moans. 

“You’re too tense,” Connor tells you as he grasps the back of your neck. The car’s swaying slightly with the movement, and you mewl when he slides two fingers down to your cunt. 

“I was going to cum,” you pant out. Connor narrows his eyes at you. 

“Liar.”

He slides his fingers into you and you cover your mouth, thighs trying to snap shut around his hand if it weren’t for him quickly slipping out again. 

“Hm,” Connor peels away from you and you’re left a bit confused until he’s maneuvering your body around like a puppet master. You find yourself on his lap and he’s gazing up at you as your underwear is looped around your left thigh. You looked like a desperate slut— your button up still sleeved on your arms, your badge swaying between your bodies as your underwear’s rolled down, while your boots are still on. 

But Connor? 

With his loose tie and tousled brown hair. Pants still intact, and despite the crumpled shirt; he looked much more composed.

He holds your police badge, and then pulls you down for a kiss. Your bare cunts on his lap and he spreads your ass apart causing you to lift up. 

“You need to relax,” he whispers to your skin. “I can assure you that there’s no one here, just us. No one can see us.”

”This…This is still illegal I think,” you laugh at it. Connor gives you a pointed look, groaning a bit as you giggle about it. 

“Must you remind me?” Connor nearly grumbles. You press another kiss to his cheek, then to the tail of his eyebrows. 

“My bad, Mr Goody Two Shoes— Ah! Fuh—Fuck!”

He’s slipped two fingers in again, and you barely give any resistance to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, glancing out the window to ensure no one else can this— see you. So exposed on his lap, dishevelled and shivering in pleasure.

He presses a hand to the small of your back and it forces you to arch it further. He pumps his digits in and out of you. A slow pace that has you bunching his shirt in your fists as you mewl on top of him. He curls his fingers and you moan out his name.

That lick of fire within him grows bigger. You’re sweating now, and he strokes up your spine to impede the race your droplets of sweat were in. Connor takes your nipple in his mouth and you brace a hand on the roof of your car. 

You tighten around him, hips jerking and brushing your dripping dick onto the front of his pants. Marking him with your slick. 

“You’re— You’re making me— I’m going to—“

Connor looks up at you through his lashes, his expression puppy-like and you cum around his fingers. 

He releases your nipple with a lewd ‘pwah’ and reluctantly snaps the string of saliva that connects him to you with a sweep of his tongue. You try to catch your breath, swaying slightly as the aftershocks of your orgasm lazily wash over you. 

You fall forward into him and Connor wraps his arms around you, smiling a bit as he feels your breathing slowing down until you’re limp across him. 

He darts his eyes to his fingers, spreading two of them apart and admiring the traces of you still there. Connor brings them to his lips and into his mouth. 

Then he decided at that moment, he wanted to taste more of you. 

[suunani]

dick.exe loading [ sim jaeyun ]

who knew your roommate had a genius mind and a mind-blowing dick?

❛ content 4.5k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom! male reader, big dick virgin! jake, nerdy dirty talk, pathetic nerd! jake, unprotected sex (p in a), fingering, blowjob (jake receiving), praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral fixation, size kink, jake talks a looot during it, begging, crying, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare.

your roommate is a mess.

a tall, broad-shouldered, bespectacled mess who tries so hard not to stare when you walk out of the shower with just a towel slung around your waist.

jake is in his usual corner — completely hunched over his desk, noise-canceling headphones pushed back, hoodie sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he types frantically on his laptop. glasses fogged slightly. cheeks red. you pretend not to notice how quickly he snaps his gaze back to the screen when he sees you.

but you do notice. you always do.

he’s been like this since the start of the semester. nerdy. awkward. painfully polite. so uptight you could probably bounce a coin off his clenched ass if you tried. he’s got this huge brain, top of every single class, straight-laced lab ta vibes… and zero experience with actual people. especially not when it comes to you.

and jake is obsessed with you. not in a creepy way. well, not really. but it’s there — the way his breath catches when your hands brush, how his gaze lingers on your mouth when you laugh, how he gets impossibly quiet whenever you’re shirtless. you could tease him about it. maybe you should’ve. but the thing is… it’s cute.

actually, he is cute.

even now, typing some ungodly long report, he’s chewing the inside of his cheek, one foot tapping nervously. his sweatpants are pulled tight over thick thighs, and the outline of his cock — long, half-hard, resting toward his left leg — is dangerously obvious. jake doesn’t even notice. or maybe he does.

you cross the room slowly, towel still low on your hips, hair damp, skin warm from the steam of the shower. jake stiffens when you approach, pretending to still focus on whatever he was doing on his laptop.

“hey, jakey,” you say, leaning over his chair just enough to let your voice graze his ear. “whatcha working on?”

jake visibly shivers.

he turns slightly, eyes wide behind thick glasses.

“o-oh. just a—uh—coding lab. neural network simulation. i’m, um, adjusting the weight—of—” his voice catches when your fingers brush his shoulder. “—of the bias layers to fit the parameters.”

you blink, then grin.

“i have no idea what any of that means.”

jake lets out a nervous laugh, way too quick and too high to hide his tension.

“y-yeah, i figured…”

he looks up at you. his lips part, like he wants to say something else. you watch his throat bob as he swallows.

you tilt your head, your smile softening. “you good?”

jake’s eyes drop to your chest, then quickly dips lower before snapping back to your face.

“yeah. i mean. y-yeah. totally good. fine. great.”

you raise a brow.

“you sure?” you lean in a little more. you can literally feel the heat coming off his face. “you’ve been acting kinda weird lately.”

jake bites his lip. then, all at once, he blurts it out.

“i think about you when i—when i touch myself.”

the silence in the room stretches for a second too long.

his eyes go round. “shit. i didn’t—i wasn’t—i didn’t mean to say that. forget it. forget i said anything, oh my god—”

but your hand closes gently over his shoulder, grounding him. your voice is low, even. “jake.”

he won’t look at you.

“jake,” you say again, firmer. “look at me.”

he does — slowly. his cheeks are blazing, lips trembling a little, but his eyes finally meet yours. and fuck. he looks so vulnerable. so desperate. so hot.

you step between his legs, and his breath hitches. jake sits completely still, as if paralyzed. you run a hand through your damp hair, then let the towel slip an inch lower, just to see what he’ll do.

jake’s pupils are blown wide.

“you think about me?” you ask. “when you’re alone?”

his voice is barely audible. “all the time.”

“yeah?” you glance down, and sure enough, the bulge in his sweatpants is fully hard now, pushing up toward his waistband. “you do more than think, huh?”

jake’s breath comes quick. “i—i’ve never…”

that makes you pause. “never?”

“i’m a virgin,” he says, voice cracking. “i’ve never done anything with anyone. i j-just… i always wanted it to be you. i know that sounds s-stupid—fuck—it’s so stupid—”

“it’s not stupid.”

he blinks. “it’s not?”

you lean down, whisper close to his ear. “no, jake. it’s so fucking hot.”

the sound he makes is somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. his hands curl into the sides of his chair, knuckles white. you place a hand on his knee and feel how tense he is — trembling, barely keeping it together.

“i’ve wanted to do this for a while,” you murmur. “but i didn’t want to push. didn’t know if you could handle it.”

jake lets out a shaky laugh. “i-i don’t think i can. i think i might cum if you just keep talking.”

you smirk. “that’s kinda the point.”

you slowly kneel between his legs, eyes locked on his, and rest your palms on his thighs. the heat coming off him is absolutely insane. his breath is ragged, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

“can i?” you ask, voice soft but deliberate. “touch you?”

jake nods so fast it’s almost funny.

“please. please touch me.”

you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants with deliberate slowness. he lifts his hips obediently, eager, desperate. and when you pull them down…

holy fucking hell.

he’s big. like, obscenely big. so long, so thick, so veiny, flushed red at the tip and already leaking.

no wonder he’s been so pent up. that thing must be a curse and a blessing all in one. and the way he looks down at you with his eyes wide open, lips parted, hair a little messy — it’s like he’s waiting for a miracle.

“oh my god, jake,” you mutter, wrapping your hand around the base. he shudders. “how do you even walk around with this thing?”

jake groans, head falling back slightly. “d-don’t—don’t say stuff like that.”

you stroke once, slowly, and jake’s hips jerk. his hands fly to grip the arms of his chair, and his mouth falls open with the prettiest little moan.

“f-fuck—your hand feels so good—oh my god—”

you lean in, licking a stripe from base to tip. his entire body jerks.

“gonna show you what it really feels like,” you murmur, voice low, just before your lips close around the head.

jake completely loses it.

“f-fuck—oh my god—”

the moan that rips out of him is completely unfiltered, like it tears straight from his chest. his hips try to buck up into your mouth, but your hands are already gripping his thighs, holding him down. his cock twitches against your tongue — thick, pulsing, leaking steadily.

you take him deeper, inch by inch, but there’s no way you’re fitting all of it. he’s just too big. your jaw is already straining, lips stretched wide around him, and you’ve barely taken half before your throat tightens.

jake looks down, panicked, breathless.

“wait—shit—are you okay? d-does it hurt? i didn’t mean—fuck—you don’t have to—”

you pull off just long enough to pant, “jake. shut up.”

and you swallow him again. just as much as you can take.

the sounds coming out of him are filthy — desperate little whimpers and stuttered gasps. one of his hands leaves the armrest and shakily touches your hair, like he’s afraid to grip too hard. you glance up, and the look on his face is wrecked — glasses slipping down, mouth open, pupils blown wide with awe.

“holy shit—you look so good—fuck, you’re perfect—your mouth is so warm—i c-can’t believe this is happening—”

you hum around him, and the vibration makes his thighs jerk under your hands. you start to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, twisting your wrist just right, and he chokes on another moan.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he babbles, voice cracking. “i’m—i’m so serious, i’ve imagined this so many times, but this is—this is better—s-so much better—fuck, your lips—your tongue—”

you swirl your tongue around the head again, tasting the salty smear of pre-cum. he’s leaking like crazy now, and you swallow greedily, giving him soft, wet, messy kisses along the underside.

“i’m not gonna last,” he gasps. “i’m—i can’t—i’m sorry—i c-can’t—”

his voice is pitched high, barely hanging on. you glance up again, letting saliva drip down your chin, and damn, he’s so close. his abs are trembling, cock twitching against your tongue, flushed all the way to his ears. you want to break him. you want to watch him fall apart.

you tighten your grip, suck hard around the head, and murmur, “do it. cum for me, jake.”

he makes a choked sound — somewhere between a sob and a scream — and then he’s spilling into your mouth with a full-body shudder.

“f-fuck—oh god—i’m cumming—i’m—fuck—”

it’s so much. hot, thick spurts fill your mouth before you can even register it. you moan around him, swallowing everything he gives you, and jake completely falls apart — trembling, panting, babbling nonsense.

“oh my god—you swallowed—you’re swallowing—fuck—i didn’t mean—i didn’t even warn you—i—”

you pull off with a wet pop, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then look him right in the eyes as you swallow the last of it. his pupils dilate like he’s never seen anything sexier in his life.

“i can’t believe you just did that,” he murmur, completely shell-shocked. “you’re insane. you’re—oh my god.”

you lean up, straddling his lap before he can fully catch his breath. his dick twitches against your stomach, still half-hard despite just blowing his load.

“you okay?” you ask, brushing sweaty strands from his forehead.

jake nods, lips parted. “y-yeah. i mean—no. i think i’m dead. this is heaven, right?”

you just grin and answer with a kiss.

it’s filthy.

his lips are hot and soft, pliant under yours. you press in, firm and hungry, and jake kisses back like he’s starving. his hands finally grip your waist, fingers trembling, and he moans into your mouth — low and needy.

he can taste himself on your tongue. you know he can. his whole body stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. no — if anything, he kisses you deeper, hungrier, desperate to keep feeling you, to stay in this moment.

you roll your hips against him gently, and he whines into your mouth.

“you taste so good,” you whisper against his lips. “so fucking good, jake.”

“i-i don’t deserve this,” he breathes. “you’re unreal. you’re like a—a dream. like a fantasy i made up in a lab. fuck. fuck. i—i wanna touch you. i wanna worship you—please, let me—”

you kiss him again, slower this time. letting him feel the weight of it. letting him breathe you in.

“you can,” you murmur. “you will. but not all at once.”

jake nods, dazed, lips kiss-swollen.

“y-yeah. i—i wanna make you feel good too. let me. please. i wanna—i wanna put my mouth on you. i wanna taste you like you tasted me. i’ll do anything—”

you chuckle softly, stroking his cheek. “we’ve got time. just relax. you’re not done yet.”

jake’s eyes go wide.

“oh,” he says faintly.

you glance down at his cock, already hardening again.

“yeah,” you say with a smirk. “oh.”

jake blinks up at you like you’ve rewritten the laws of physics in front of him. “i didn’t even know i could—fuck—how am i already hard again?”

you smirk, grinding down just enough to feel the heat of him against you. “maybe your stupidly huge cock has a mind of its own.”

he lets out a whine. an actual, honest-to-god whine.

“i—i want to be inside you,” he stammers, voice high and shaky. “i mean—only if you want that—i’ve never—i don’t know what i’m doing—but i want it. so bad. please.”

the desperation in his voice makes your chest throb.

you lean down, pressing your forehead to his. “i want it too. i want you, jake.”

he lets out a breathless little sound, like his brain short-circuited. “oh my god.”

you kiss him, slow and deep. then you’re standing up, tugging off your towel and walking backward toward the bed — eyes locked on his. he follows like he’s in a trance, sweatpants hanging low, hard cock bobbing heavy between his legs. he looks huge. almost too huge.

you crawl onto the bed, spreading your legs, resting back on your elbows.

jake stops at the edge of the mattress, frozen. his glasses are sliding down again, and he doesn’t even fix them.

“holy shit,” he whispers, staring. “you’re so perfect.”

you raise an eyebrow. “come here, jake.”

he climbs onto the bed — awkwardly at first, like he’s not sure where to put his hands — but when you guide him between your legs and pull him into another kiss, he melts instantly. moaning into your mouth, hips jerking forward just enough to make your breath hitch.

you reach between you, wrap a hand around his cock again, and fuck — he’s harder than before.

“you’re still gonna fit?” he asks breathlessly, as you swipe your thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum.

you grin. “you’re gonna make it fit.”

jake shudders.

“we need lube,” he blurts, suddenly panicked. “oh god—i didn’t think—we can’t do this dry—i-i’m not gonna hurt you, i swear—”

you reach into the drawer beside the bed and toss him a bottle. “chill. i’ve done this before, remember?”

jake’s hands shake as he uncaps the bottle. “i’ve read about prep. like—i studied diagrams. online. but i’ve never actually—fuck, i’m so nervous—”

“jake,” you cut in gently, grabbing his wrist. “it’s okay. i’ll talk you through it.”

his eyes soften. “you’re so calm. so fucking sexy. you don’t even understand what you’re doing to me—”

“you’re literally about to fuck me,” you laugh. “so yeah, i think i do.”

he blushes hard, but doesn’t argue.

you spread your legs wider, curling your knees up a bit, and nod toward the bottle in his hand.

“fingers first. two to start.”

jake gulps. “y-yes. okay. got it.”

he slicks his fingers with more than enough lube, then settles between your legs again, eyes flicking between your face and your hole like he’s trying to memorize the physics of it.

you exhale slowly. “go on.”

the first touch is tentative — barely there, almost sacred. then one thick, slightly shaky finger pushes in, and the sound jake makes is not normal. it’s like his entire soul just left his body.

“you’re so tight,” he breathes. “warm—oh my god—you’re gripping me so hard already.”

“you’ve barely even started,” you whisper, lip caught between your teeth. “keep going.”

he nods furiously, slips another finger in, and starts working you open in slow, steady strokes. every movement is careful but needy — like he’s caught between worship and instinct. his glasses fog up again, and he doesn’t care.

“feels so good,” you murmur. “you’re doing perfect.”

jake groans. “i can’t believe this. your body—your sounds—i don’t know how i’m supposed to—function—”

you chuckle, then moan softly when his fingers curl just right. “you’re doing so good, jake.”

that literally ruins him.

“you can’t—say things like that,” he pants, lips brushing your jaw. “i’ll cum again just from hearing you say my name—fuck. i’m already—i need you.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, lubes up his cock with a trembling hand, and lines himself up. the head of it is flushed dark, slick, huge, nudging against your hole.

you both go still.

“this might stretch,” you murmur, gripping the back of his neck, voice low and steady. “but i want it. i want you.”

jake’s eyes are locked on yours. “tell me if i go too fast.”

“just go slow. let me take you.”

he starts to push in.

the stretch is immediate. that wide head presses past your rim, thick and insistent, and your whole body tenses from the burn.

“f-fuck,” you groan slightly, head falling back. “god, you’re so big—jake—”

jake moans like he’s being electrocuted.

“you sound so hot. holy fuck—you’re taking me—you’re really—oh my god.”

he keeps pushing in, inch by inch, his jaw slack with awe.

“you feel—insane. so warm. so tight. you’re pulling me in like you were made just for me—”

your eyes flutter, breath catching with every slow, measured thrust deeper. “fuck. jake—feels so good—stretching me so wide—”

jake’s hips are trembling, his whole body braced as he finally bottoms out. fully inside you. deep and full.

you both stop.

“are you okay?” he whispers, staring at your face like you’re holy.

you nod, voice raw. “yeah. god, jake. you’re so big.”

jake lets out the prettiest, most pathetic moan you’ve ever heard — soft and high, like he’s trying not to cry from how overwhelmed he is.

“you look so good like this,” he pants. “you’re swallowing me—your hole is literally—fuck—i’m never gonna forget this. never.”

he pulls out halfway, then pushes back in slow. you gasp, nails dragging down his back. the friction, the pressure — it’s just so perfect.

and jake is completely gone.

“can’t believe i’m fucking you,” he babbles. “you’re so tight—so hot—i can feel your heartbeat around my cock—fuck. you’re clenching every time i talk—are you into this? are you into my voice? am i really doing it for you?”

“you’re doing so good,” you groan. “fucking me like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known—keep going—jake.”

he starts to thrust faster — not pounding, but with a rhythm that’s shockingly good for a first timer. deep, grinding, hitting the spot just right. your back arches, jaw dropping, and jake loses it.

“that sound—fuck, that sound you just made—do it again. please. please make that noise again—”

he buries his face against your neck, hips snapping harder now, cock dragging perfectly over your prostate with every stroke.

“your body’s unreal. you’re taking me so fucking well. you’re my dream. i could fuck you forever—oh my god—please let me.”

you kiss him, hard and open-mouthed, moaning into him as your legs lock around his waist and you grind up to meet his every thrust.

“harder,” you pant.

jake lets out a whimper — a genuine, needy sound — and does exactly what you ask.

he snaps his hips forward with a new kind of rhythm — rougher, deeper, completely fucking unhinged. his glasses are fogged, sliding halfway off his face, sweat clinging to his neck. he braces one hand next to your head, the other gripping your thigh as he drives into you like he’s trying to live inside your body.

“f-fuck, you feel so good,” jake pants, voice thin and wrecked. “taking me so well—how are you taking all of me—you’re fucking perfect—”

each thrust hits deep. you can feel the ridge of his cock drag over your prostate again and again, making your legs twitch uncontrollably around his waist.

and you can’t even talk. you can just moan — messy, choked sounds — and the second you do, jake nearly folds in half on top of you.

“those sounds—those fucking sounds,” he whines. “i c-can’t—i’m obsessed with them—please don’t stop—please keep making them—”

you claw at his back, eyes rolling, mouth open. “you’re so deep, jake—fuck—you’re splitting me open—”

he shudders. “say my name again. please. i’ll do anything. just—please—”

“jake,” you gasp. “jake, please, i’m gonna—fuck, i’m gonna cum—”

jake’s thrusts stutter.

“inside,” he begs suddenly, voice cracking, desperate. “let me—please, please let me cum inside—i need it—i need it, oh my god—please, you feel so good—i wanna fill you up—i’ll be good—i’ll be so good—please—”

you nod, barely able to speak. “do it—do it, cum inside me, jake—”

that’s all he needed.

with a broken moan, jake buries himself deep and cums, cock pulsing violently as he unloads inside you. the first spurt is hot and thick — then the second, and third — so much, it leaks out around him almost instantly.

your orgasm crashes into you a heartbeat later — explosive, blinding — you clamp around him and scream, your whole body shaking as you cum, crying out his name like it’s the only word you know.

“fuck—” jake cries, voice warping with the force of it. “you’re squeezing me—oh god—i can feel you—i felt your orgasm—you’re so fucking beautiful—holy shit—”

you’re both panting, soaked in sweat, bodies locked together. but jake doesn’t stop.

he keeps moving inside you with slow, shallow thrusts, overstimulated but helpless, still so hard inside you. his cock twitches again and again with every movement.

“i’m sorry—i can’t stop—i don’t wanna stop—you’re just—fuck, you’re milking me—i want to stay inside you forever—please—”

you’re crying. literally crying. you don’t even realize until jake kisses your cheek and tastes the salt.

“oh my god,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you. his voice is all tremble and panic. “did i hurt you? are you okay? shit—shit, did i—”

“no,” you breathe, shaking, eyes still fluttering. “i’m okay. i’m just—jake—it was too good—fuck—”

jake cups your face, fingers trembling. “you cried from pleasure? holy fuck. that was me? i did that to you?”

you nod, half-laughing, half-gasping. “yeah. you did.”

and he kisses you again — slow, reverent, lips trembling against yours as his cock finally starts to soften inside you. you’re still stretched, still full of him, his cum dripping from between your cheeks. but you don’t want him to move. no, not yet.

jake’s arms wrap around you, his whole body shaking with adrenaline.

“i love you,” he whispers before he can stop himself. “i mean—i know that’s insane—but i—i literally love everything about you—i think i’ve loved you for a while—i just—fuck—fuck.”

you kiss his jaw gently, even as your body trembles beneath his. “we’ll talk. in a minute. just… stay. stay in me a little longer.”

jake nods softly, voice small and wrecked. “okay. yeah. i can do that.”

he buries his face in your neck, still breathing like he just ran a marathon, still inside you, still holding you like you’re the most fragile, precious thing he’s ever touched.

he doesn’t move for a while. just breathes — deep, shaky, warm against your skin. you’re trembling a little underneath him, your muscles twitching from the overstimulation, the stretch, the sheer intensity of it all. you can still feel him inside you — not just the heat of his body, but the fullness, the weight, the mess.

jake finally lifts his head just enough to see your face. his glasses are still crooked. his hair’s a complete wreck. and his expression is the most adorably panicked thing you’ve ever seen.

“oh my god,” he says in a hushed, horrified voice. “i broke you.”

you blink at him, dazed. “what?”

he sits up a little, still buried inside, and gestures at your whole body. “you’re shaking. like—full-body tremors. that’s not normal, right? did i damage your spine? are you having a seizure? oh god, did i hit something important?”

you start laughing — weak, breathless, but real.

“jake.”

“what?!” his voice is rising. “you’re literally crying two minutes ago and now you’re vibrating like a haunted vending machine—that’s not okay!”

you reach up and tug him down by the collar.

“jake. babe. i’m fine.”

he blinks hard. “you’re… sure? because i swear to god, i’ll study anatomy until i pass out—i’ll get a certification, i’ll call a nurse hotline—”

you kiss his chin. “you just fucked me senseless. i think i’m allowed to tremble a little.”

he blushes all the way down his chest. “oh. right. that.”

then he looks down, suddenly remembering he’s still inside you, and his entire face combusts.

“oh my god i’m still in you.”

“yeah,” you murmur, lips curving. “kinda like it, actually.”

jake stares at you with wide, stunned eyes. “you’re teasing me. after what i just did to you?”

you grin. “especially after what you just did to me.”

he makes a strangled sound, then slowly — carefully — pulls out. you both groan, the sensation too much, too raw, and the moment he slips free, the mess starts dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.

jake gapes. “oh. my. god.”

you raise an eyebrow. “wanna grab a towel, professor?”

“i think we need six towels. maybe even a mop. possibly a hazmat suit—”

he scrambles out of bed — pantsless, still a little dazed — and returns with a warm, wet cloth. he kneels between your legs and gently starts cleaning you up with a level of concentration usually reserved for defusing bombs.

“you’re being very… precise,” you tease.

“i’m documenting,” he mutters. “i mean—not in a weird way—just mentally. so i never forget how perfect your body is. ever.”

you snort. “you’re such a nerd.”

jake pauses. “but i’m your nerd, right?”

you look at him — jake is completely flushed, sweaty, wiping your inner thighs with shaking hands — and feel your chest squeeze.

“yeah,” you say softly. “you are.”

he exhales shakily, like that meant more to him than the sex. “okay. good. cool. i’m gonna pass out.”

you laugh as he finishes cleaning you, tosses the towel somewhere vaguely off the bed, and crawls back in beside you. you expect him to just collapse, but instead, he pulls you close, wraps both arms around your waist, and starts kissing every inch of your body within reach.

your collarbones. your chest. your jaw. even your shoulder blade, like he just wants his mouth on your skin, somewhere.

“i really love you,” he murmurs between kisses. “i know i said that too soon. and weirdly. and i literally begged to cum inside you while saying it, which is, like… not ideal timing. but i mean it. i’ve never wanted anyone the way i want you.”

you’re quiet for a second, fingertips tracing the curve of his back. finally, “i love you too.”

jake freezes. then pulls back to look you in the eyes, stunned.

“you do?”

you nod. “kinda been driving myself insane wanting you. watching you walk around in those stupid cardigans and jeans and glasses like you’re not the hottest loser i’ve ever seen.”

jake’s face goes red. he buries his head in your chest immediately. “shut up. you’re lying.”

you kiss the top of his head. “i’m not.”

he’s quiet for a second. then, muffled against your chest :

“so… does this mean we’re boyfriends now?”

“do you want to be?”

jake looks up. eyes wide. lips pink and swollen.

“i’ve wanted to be since week one of living with you.”

you grin. “then yeah. we are.”

jake beams. “best. experiment. ever.”

you both dissolve into laughter, tangled in each other, exhausted and blissed out.

[suunani]

sensory overload [ jeong yunho ]

yunho gets all clingy and desperate for you and end up fucking you slow and soft.

❛ content 2.7k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, male reader, soft dom!yunho, established relationship, yunho is incredibly soft & clingy, unprotected sex (p in a), fingering, so much praise, pet names, creampie, loving sex, handjob, size & praise kink implied, yunho talks a looot, begging, lots of kisses, edging, crying, overstimulation, aftercare.

the evening had bled into a soft, velvety night, the only light in the living room coming from a single salt lamp that cast a warm, amber glow.

you were curled against the corner of the sofa, a book resting in your lap, but you hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. your attention was entirely consumed by the weight and warmth of the man whose head was comfortably nestled in your lap.

jeong yunho — your sweet boyfriend.

he was tall, all long limbs and lean muscle, yet he folded himself up to fit against you with a proficient ease. his head was heavy on your thigh, his face turned into your stomach. one of his arms was wrapped possessively around your hips, his fingers splayed wide against the small of your back, as if even in this state of utter relaxation, he needed to anchor himself to you.

you carded your fingers through his hair — soft, obsidian strands that slipped through your digits like silk. each stroke earned a soft, contented sigh from yunho, a vibration you felt through the fabric of your sweatpants.

he'd been clingy all day, more so than usual. a lingering hand on your waist while you made coffee, his chin hooked over your shoulder as you scrolled on your phone, his large frame crowding you gently against the kitchen counter just to steal a kiss.

"you're quiet tonight," you murmured, your voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

yunho nuzzled deeper into your stomach, his breath warm through your shirt.

"just thinking," he mumbled, his voice husky with impending sleep.

"about?"

"you," the answer was immediate, as if it were the only thought that ever occupied his mind.

yunho tilted his head back, and in the dim light, you saw his eyes. they were his most disarming feature : large, doe-like, and the color of rich, dark honey.

right now, they were wide, earnest, and swimming with a devotion so profound it sometimes stole your breath.

"always about you."

you smiled, tracing the elegant line of his brow.

"what about me?"

"how you feel. how you smell. the little sound you make in the back of your throat when i kiss you right here—"

yunho shifted slightly, pressing his lips to the soft spot just below your navel, making you jolt. his arm tightened ever so around you.

"—how lucky i am."

his words, so raw and sincere, sent a familiar heat curling low in your belly.

you tugged gently on his hair, guiding his face up to yours. yunho came willingly, his body unfolding from yours until he was hovering over you, caging you against the sofa cushions. the size difference was never more apparent than in moments like this — he was a canopy, blocking out the rest of the world, his broad shoulders casting you in a private shadow.

"you're being pathetic," you whispered, the term of endearment falling easily from your lips.

it was your secret code for this — for when his love for you became so overwhelming it turned him into a desperate, clinging mess.

a slow, beautiful blush crept up his neck.

"i know," he breathed, his dark eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "you make me that way. you have no idea what you do to me."

yunho dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but pathetic — it was deep, and languid, and tasting of the shared red wine from dinner. his tongue swept into your mouth, not with aggression, but with a reverent curiosity, as if mapping a familiar territory he never tired of exploring.

one of his soft hands came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a tenderness that contrasted the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your hip. when he broke the kiss, you were both breathless. a string of saliva connected your lips for a second before breaking.

his eyes were glazed, his lips swollen and wet.

"i need you," yunho whispered softly, the words a broken plea. "please. can i have you? i'II be so good for you. i'll make you feel so good."

the directness, the raw need in his voice, made your head spin. you nodded, your own voice failing you.

"yeah. yes, yunho."

that was all the permission he needed.

in one fluid, startlingly strong movement, your boyfriend scooped you up from the sofa, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. you yelped, clinging to his neck, burying your face in the column of his throat as he carried you effortlessly to the bedroom.

yunho smelled like clean linen, his own unique scent, and pure, absolute want.

he laid you down on the cool duvet as if you were something infinitely fragile and precious. the bedroom was dark, but the city lights from the window painted silver lines across his form.

yunho stood by the bed, just looking at you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. his gaze was a physical caress, trailing from your flushed face, down your chest, to the obvious tent in your sweatpants.

"so beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "my beautiful boy."

he then joined you on the bed, not looming over you, but lying on his side, propped up on an elbow.

his free hand came up and began to undress you with a painstaking slowness that was its own form of torture. yunho peeled your shirt off, his knuckles slowly brushing against your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. when your chest was bare, yunho leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

"your heart is beating so fast," he whispered against your skin, his breath a cool contrast. "is that for me?"

"only for you," you gasped, arching into his touch.

yunho hummed in approval, his hands moving to the waistband of your sweatpants and underwear. he dragged them down your legs, his eyes darkening to near black as you were revealed to him, fully hard and already leaking against your stomach.

"look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with awe.

he wrapped a large, warm hand around your length, not yet moving, but just holding you. the sheer size of his hand, the way his fingers almost met his thumb, made you feel incredibly delicate.

"perfect. so perfect for me."

yunho began to stroke you, a slow, maddening rhythm. his eyes were locked on yours, watching every single micro-expression that flitted across your face.

his thumb swiped over your cockhead, smearing the precum, making the glide slick and effortless.

"you like that, baby?" he cooed, his voice a soft, hypnotic melody. "you like how my hand feels on you? tell me."

"y-yes," you moaned sweetly, your hips bucking into his fist. "yunho—please…"

"please what, my love? use your words for me."

his pace increased slightly, his grip firm and perfect.

"more... i need more."

yunho smiled, a soft, adoring thing.

"you'll have everything. i promise."

he released you, ignoring your whimper of protest, and quickly shed his own clothes.

the sight of him always stole the air from your lungs. yunho was all smooth, pale skin and elegant lines, and he was overwhelmingly, magnificently hard. his erection stood thick and heavy against his stomach, and a fresh wave of heat and anticipation pooled in your gut.

he didn't immediately cover you.

instead, he reached over to the nightstand, retrieving the lube. the click of the cap was obscenely loud in the quiet room. he poured a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it between them, his eyes never leaving yours.

"i'm going to open you up now, okay?" he said, his voice gentle but firm — it wasn't a question of if, but more a statement of care. "i'm going to make you ready for me. i want to feel every part of you."

you nodded, spreading your legs in a silent invitation.

yunho shifted down the bed, settling between your thighs. the first touch of his slick fingers against your entrance made you jolt. he shushed you gently, his other hand splaying across your lower belly, holding you down with a comforting weight.

"just relax, sweetheart. give it to me. you just need to let me take care of you."

he pressed one finger inside, slow and inexorable. the stretch was familiar, a welcome burn. he watched your face intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"there," he whispered, curling his finger just so, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. "that's it. that's my boy. so responsive for me."

yunho began a slow, scissoring movement, working you open with a devotion that was almost religious. when he added a second finger in you, the stretch intensified, a delicious, full feeling that had you panting.

"you're taking me so well, baby," he praised, his voice husky. "so good. always so good for me."

he crooked his fingers again, brushing relentlessly against that bundle of nerves that made you see stars. your moans became higher pitched, your legs trembling around his body.

"yunho... i'm close—just from this," you moaned, your orgasm building alarmingly fast.

"not yet, baby," he cooed, immediately stilling his hand, letting you come down from the edge.

he was a master of your pleasure, knowing just how to push and when to pull back.

"you don't come until i'm inside you. until i'm filling you up. understand?"

the command, delivered in that soft, loving tone, was the most potent aphrodisiac.

you nodded frantically, desperate for him. yunho added a third finger, stretching you thoroughly, preparing you for the big main event. the sounds were wet and lewd, and his dark eyes were drunk on the sight of his fingers moving in and out of your body.

"i think you're ready," he finally said, his voice rough with his own need.

yunho withdrew his fingers, and you felt empty, bereft.

he moved over you, his body aligning with yours, the head of his cock nudging against your stretched, slick entrance. he braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours. his black hair fell into his eyes, and his lips were parted, his breath coming in ragged puffs.

"look at me," he pleaded softly.

you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. the love and raw hunger you saw there was staggering.

"i love you," he whispered, and as he spoke the words, he began to push inside.

the feeling of him entering you was an experience you could never, ever completely get used to, no matter how many times you did this. it was always a revelation — the initial, breathtaking stretch, the slow, burning fullness as he slowly sheathed himself inside you, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

yunho moved with an excruciating slowness, his eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of discomfort. a low, broken groan tore from the deep of his throat.

"oh, god... you feel—you're so tight. so perfect. you're hugging me so perfectly."

when he was fully inside you, hips flush against your ass, you both stilled, panting.

the feeling of being so completely filled, so utterly possessed by him, was overwhelming. you could feel every inch of him, the subtle throb of his pulse deep inside you. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"you okay?" yunho asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. he leaned down and kissed the tears away. "my sweet boy. you take me so well."

"i'm okay," you managed to choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper. "move, yunho. please—move."

he needed no further encouragement.

he began to move, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in with that same devastating slowness. it wasn't a frantic, pounding rhythm; it was a deep, rolling, sensual grind. every single thrust was a deliberate act of worship, designed to drag against every single nerve ending inside you.

the room filled with the sounds of your joined bodies : skin slapping softly against skin, your ragged moans, and his constant, breathless stream of praise.

"that's it," yunho moaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "take me, baby. just like that. you feel so good. you're my heaven—my everything."

his thrusts began to gain a little more force, a little more speed, but the underlying tenderness never faded. he was making love to you, with his entire body and soul.

yunho shifted his position slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit your prostate dead-on. a sharp, electric pleasure shot up your spine, and you screamed his name, your nails digging into his back.

"there?" he gasped, a wicked, loving smile gracing his lips. "you like it when i touch you right there?"

he adjusted his hips, ensuring that every subsequent thrust battered that same sweet little spot relentlessly, again and again. you were babbling, a mess of 'yes' and 'more' and 'please, yunho, don't stop'.

the pleasure was building to an unbearable peak, coiling tight in your gut.

"y-yunho, i'm gonna—i’m gonna cum," you sobbed, the overstimulation from his earlier fingering making you impossibly sensitive.

the orgasm was rushing towards you, inevitable and terrifying in its intensity.

"come for me, baby," he commanded, his voice guttural and raw. "come for me. let me see you. i want to feel you come all over yourself while i'm inside you."

yunho’s words, his touch, the feel of him filling you oh so completely — it was all too much. your world shattered into a supernova of pure, white-hot pleasure.

your back arched violently off the bed as you came, stripes of hot release painting your stomach and chest. your hole clenched and fluttered around yunho’s cock, milking him rhythmically through your climax. the sensations were so intense they bordered on painful, a relentless wave of ecstasy that seemed to have no end.

through the haze, you heard yunho's broken cry.

the feeling of you pulsing around him was his undoing. his thrusts became erratic, desperate.

"oh, fuck... i can feel you... i'm—!"

with a deep, guttural groan, yunho buried himself to the hilt and came. you felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release deep inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.

he then collapsed on top of you, his full weight a comforting, grounding pressure, his face buried in your neck as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm with soft, helpless whimpers.

for a long time, the only sound in the room was your shared, ragged breathing, slowly returning to normal. he was still inside you, softening, but he made no move to pull out. instead, he rolled you both onto your sides, keeping you locked in that intimate embrace, his arms wrapped around you like vines.

yunho nuzzled into your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin.

"you.." he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse. "you are... incredible."

you could only hum in response, your body feeling boneless and utterly spent, humming with a deep, resonant satisfaction.

yunho finally, reluctantly, pulled out, a soft gasp escaping you at the sensation.

he immediately reached for a towel from the nightstand, and with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he cleaned you up. he wiped the cum from your stomach and the sticky evidence of your union from between your thighs. his touch was reverent and caring.

once you were clean, he pulled the duvet over you both and gathered you back into his arms, your back to his chest. yunho was the big spoon, his larger frame enveloping you completely — one arm was a tight band across your chest, his hand splayed over your heart. his lips were pressed to the back of your neck.

"i love you," he murmured into your skin, the words a familiar, sacred melody. "i love you so much it physically hurts sometimes."

you slowly placed your hand over his, lacing your fingers together. "i love you too, you pathetic mess."

you felt his smile against your neck. he held you tighter, if that was even possible.

"i mean it," he said, his voice soft but serious. "i'd do anything for you. anything. you own me, completely."

you knew he wasn't just talking about the sex. he was talking about his life, his heart, his soul.

and as you gradually drifted off to sleep, safe and cherished in the cage of yunho’s arms, you knew you felt exactly the same way.

🍵 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 <𝟯 !!

[izaarcc]

Loyalty Has Teeth

Pairing: Yukio Takeda (oc) x omega subordinate male reader 

He thought he would never have to see you again. He thought the bond was dormant because you had spent too long apart from each other. He thought having you back in his life wouldn’t change a thing. But oh, surprise! Turns out alphas are not the only ones who can reject their mate, and you seem to be repulsed by the idea of taking him back. Yet, how far are you willing to go to erase him from your life?

Tags: English is not my first language. A/B/O. Curses. Blood. Heat. Smut. Illegal procedures. Angst no comfort. Yukio’s memories/dreams are in italic. [name]’s memories/dreams are in italic and red. Words to remember are red. Minor character dead(s). Childhood friends to strangers. Reader’s last name is Murakami.

Words to remember: 

Oyabun (親分) - Head of the mafia, “father”

Oyaji (親父) - “Father,” often used by young subordinates

Kobun (子分) - Subordinates, “children”

Wakagashira (若頭) - “Young head” or Underboss. Second in command

W.C. 11.6k

Lately, the nights in Tokyo are hot and humid, a reminder that summer is just around the corner. The air solidifies and lies low, making the blankets feel heavy and uncomfortable, damp and sticky. Yukio doesn’t know if it’s because of the temperature or just that time of the year getting closer, the anniversary of your departure five years ago, but insomnia always seems to haunt him around this season. He rolls around a few times, uncomfortable and sweaty, and throws the blanket to the floor with more force than necessary. Nothing works. So he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling as if his body is not begging him to rest a little.

Crack.

The sound of footsteps rings all the alarms in his head, body going tense and senses hyperfocusing. There’s someone outside his room, someone whose scent is covered and should not be here. He closes his eyes just in time to hear the door creaking softly open. And the steps get closer and closer to his bed. 

So he attacks before the other person can get a chance to, jumping off his bed and rolling on the floor with the stranger. His hands go for the neck, wrapping around with force. The body squirms and struggles under him, gloved hands trying to push him away. Then one hand gets lost, and the next thing Yukio feels is a piercing pain in one of his sides. Warm blood pours out at an alarming rate, staining the already damp clothes red. Yukio doesn’t let go, applying more force in his grip instead and biting his lip to stay focused when the knife is twisted deeper into his gut. Then the stranger’s hand stutters, losing force while terrified eyes begin to cloud. Then the struggling stops.

It doesn’t take long for Yukio to lose consciousness, too.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

“I don’t want a bodyguard.” Yukio spits, more a demand than a request. His father looks at him for a second, his son’s frame spread in a medical bed, surrounded by the family doctor and a nurse who is trying to patch him up without raising her gaze.

“Good thing you don’t have a choice, then.” Shinpei, the head of the family, the Oyabun, declares. His presence alone is enough to intimidate the subordinates in the room, emitting an air of both nobility and contained violence. His pheromones, watered down by the years, still smell like the calm before the storm. Yukio takes after him in that sense. “The man who tried to kill you was part of our close circle: one of my counselors. How can I be sure it won’t happen again?”

“I don’t need extra protection.” But Yukio takes after his father in more than one way, including stubbornness and pride. “I dealt with him, didn’t I?”

Shinpei’s gaze scans the bandage around Yukio’s torso and then stops on the bloody sheets. His eyes find Yukio’s again, narrowing; it was both an accusation and a reprimand.

“Barely.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to form an alliance? If I marry, we can strengthen the central family without having to resort to a bodyguard.”

“You know it’s not simple. No clan wants an alpha who’s already bonded.” His words are neither accusatory nor soft. They just are, like a mark formed five years ago, shared by two people who haven’t seen each other since.

“The bond has been unresponsive for nearly four years. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Still a bond nonetheless.”

“Father, I—”

“It’s already decided.” The head interrupts, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes is thrown as a warning. “Your bodyguard will be here in three days. He’s part of the group assigned to take care of the frontier and has repeatedly shown his skills and loyalty throughout the years. I expect you to behave like the Wakagashira you are supposed to be once he arrives.”

“I want to see his information file.”

“You will. In three days, when you meet him.”

“Since you are forcing me to have a bodyguard, it’s the least you can do.”

“I said, in three days.” Shinpei’s form is firm, his posture straight as pheromones begin to spill in a display of authority.

A low growl resonates from Yukio’s throat, making the air around them heavy. He ignores the squeak of the beta nurse next to him and stares at his father, eyes declaring a silent challenge that Shinpei doesn’t back down from. Both leader and successor flood the room with pheromones, time stopping as their subordinates step back, uneasy. Yukio’s growl grows louder. Shinpei is still silent. The pheromones thicken, turning the atmosphere oppressive—the air heavy and difficult to take in.

And, finally, Yukio retreats, eyes falling to the floor and baring his neck despite the low growl still stuck between his ribs.

His father gave him a last look before stepping out.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Child-like giggles and “shushs” resonated in Yukio’s ears, your tiny hand holding onto his while he guided you through the maze of a residence you both grew up in. He stopped on his tracks, causing you to bump against his back and cover your mouth to suppress a laugh. He leaned into the wall and pulled you with him, hiding from one of the guards who was more asleep than awake, before he looked at you with that mischievous smile so characteristic of him. Then he started running, his hand squeezing yours while you tried to match his pace. The closer you got to the gate, the louder his laugh got. You laughed with him, mesmerized by the thrill just a kid carrying a secret could have, disappearing into the night—one of the many secret night trips of your childhood.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Yukio’s eyes open slowly, his head turning to the red numbers in his alarm clock: 3:47 am. If the insomnia wasn’t enough, now he’s getting useless dreams of his past, too. He can’t remember the last time he dreamed about you. He doesn’t want to remember, either. Some things are better off buried.

He starts to get ready for the day, certain he won’t get more sleep tonight. The meeting with his so-called bodyguard will be in a few hours, and no matter how much he hated being assigned extra protection—one that solely follows his father’s command, since the man declared that this subordinate and this subordinate alone could ignore Yukio’s orders—his father was still Oyabun.

So he swallows his pride and walks into his father’s office with his head held high and a suit perfectly ironed, determined to show his father this doesn’t affect him.

Shinpei is already there, sitting at his desk. Murakami Tetsuo, his father’s closest subordinate since before Yukio was born, stands behind him, as stoic as always. The beta, almost as tall as his father, looks as sturdy as Yukio remembers, the scar over his eyebrow adding to the intimidating image of loyal guard dog the Kobun never forgets to wear. Tetsuo barely bows his head as a greeting. His father doesn’t bother, analyzing the many documents lying in front of him.

All Yukio does is sit on one of the couches in the office and tries to hide his disdain. His father looks at him for less than a second: a warning. Yukio suppresses the need to roll his eyes. The head gives Tetsuo a folder and keeps working. Tetsuo nods and walks to Yukio, passing the documents before going back to his spot behind the Oyabun.

The folder is heavier than what Yukio expected, probably an analysis of every single one of this man's missions. Which means he is in the field a lot. Maybe too much. But he wasn’t surprised; for his father to choose someone who would have to be so close to do his job, this was the minimum requirement. He opens the folder lazily, and the first thing his gaze falls on is a picture of you.

His heart stops for a moment.

“What’s this?” He scans the paper with a desperation unfamiliar to him. You don’t have the same baby face you used to have five years ago; time has sharpened every feature and made your eyes colder. But it’s still you. He knows it’s you. Regardless of whether five or fifty years have passed, he would recognize your face anywhere. The name displayed at the top confirms it, mucking him—Murakami [name]. Yukio turns to his father, who still doesn’t have the decency to look him in the eye. “What the hell is this supposed to—”

The door opens. 

You stand behind it.

It is as if Yukio’s words were stolen from his lips; a mute astonishment keeps him petrified. The folder slips from his hands and makes a hollow sound when it crashes against the floor, documents spilling around it. You don’t look at him, walking straight to Shinpei’s desk and greeting him with a full bow. Then you step beside your father, imitating the same posture.

Yukio feels as if his heart is going to explode in his chest. Not in a good way. His eyes explore your face almost desperately, landing on the lips that smiled at him in his dream just last night, in the softness of your eyes and admiration in your voice. 

Except nothing remains of those memories.

Your face is not the same. Your body looks sturdier, scarred knuckles that have been used too many times. The mask of neutrality you wear mimicked your father’s almost perfectly, adorned by the simple collar around your neck—why would you use something like that? You have no need. You are already marked.

He can picture the way you used to look at him, as if there was no other place you would rather be than by his side.

Yet you haven’t looked in his direction once.

Shinpei lifts his gaze from the papers, focusing on Yukio. “He will be your bodyguard from now on.”

Then you talk, and you finally look at him. But you aren’t really looking. “My name is Murakami [name]. I’ll be at your service.”

Yukio tries to regain his composure, clearing his throat and hiding his hands in his pockets. It doesn’t help much, but he manages to talk. “Yes.” The clumsy delivery makes Yukio bite his tongue in annoyance. “Step outside for a moment, please.”

But you don’t move. You turn your face to his father and wait for orders, and just after Shinpei nods, you bow and leave the room, following Tetsuo. Your dismissal did nothing but add to Yukio’s frustration.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“What’s the meaning of what?”

Yukio feels the growl building up in his throat. He doesn’t bother to hide it. “Out of everyone, you had to assign him as my bodyguard?”

“He was the best option out of all the subordinates in the frontier. And I am certain of his loyalty, too. At least towards me.”

“Towards you.” Yukio mocks. It sounds like he’s choking. “What about me?”

“He won’t touch a single hair of your head because I ordered him not to.”

Yukio laughs. It’s bitter and hollow. “All that talk about my bond for what? Did you think it would be funny to bring back the omega I marked in the blindness of a rut? Didn’t you send him to the frontier to keep us apart? So he wouldn’t interfere with the clan’s businesses?”

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“I needed someone with the skills and the loyalty, and [name], besides being the son of Tetsuo, has proven these last five years that he is perfect for such an important role, regardless of his special condition.”

“His what?”

“Finish reading the file first.” Shinpei stands up, walking towards the door in a way that declares the conversation is over. “Oh, and Yukio.” He stops before opening the door. “I didn’t send [name] away because I wanted to keep you apart. I sent him away because he asked me to.”

The declaration shuts Yukio up. Shinpei doesn’t wait for him to recover and leaves the room. Yukio falls to the sofa once again, the words a blur in his mind. He picks up the first page of the file, leaving the rest spread on the floor around the folder, and his eyes find what his father meant by “special condition.”

subgender: recessive omega

It’s in that moment—sitting alone in an empty office with the first page of a scattered file in an unsteady hand—that he notices he can’t feel the bond even when standing next to you.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Yukio’s body felt as if he were burning alive. His lungs seemed to be inhaling fire instead of oxygen. His fangs, growing, felt as if they were being drilled into his gums, but his jaw still ached to bite something. Anything. He was alone in his room, suffocated by his own pheromones and the unbearable heat, the compulsion to find you and bite you and ruin you and make you his.

He was presenting as an alpha.

The implication was nothing but an extra weight on his shoulders, another reason to keep the facade of the perfect heir he had been hiding behind since the first time he heard the olders talk about him. When his rut was over, when he was allowed to go out and see you again, all he told you was to stay away. It was better for the clan to keep their Wakagashira from distractions. He didn’t care about the way your lip trembled or how your eyes watered, but didn’t spill any tears. He didn’t care about the way you clung to his jacket and pleaded to tell you what was wrong. He didn’t care about the way your voice was breaking or why it felt like his throat was closing and he couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t. He really didn’t.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

When Yukio steps out of his room, you are already there—suit perfectly worn, the mask of neutrality he always sees on your father now on your face. He feels a migraine coming. He’d woken before his alarm, chest heavy, a hollowness he can’t quite explain. Seeing you only makes it worse.

Yukio doesn’t greet you. You don’t, either, walking behind him like a shadow. And even having you so close, he still can’t sense the bond. Hell, he can’t even feel your scent. He supposes it must be pheromone patches; even recessive omegas leave a trace of scent when one stands this close. He pushes deep into his mind the instinctive part of him, the one who mourns not being able to smell his ‘mate.’ He pretends it was never there to begin with.

Today, there is an important event that the council of the clan must attend, which, as an heir, includes him. Another party that, on the outside, seems to be all fun and alcohol, but is actually the biggest spider web of connections if you know how to navigate people. It’s not the first one Yukio has attended, and it certainly won’t be the last, but your sole presence has him on edge. Something will happen, he knows. Something will happen, and all eyes will be on him. Something will happen, and the careful image he’s been building for more than a decade as the perfect Wakagashira will collapse over him. Something will happen if you are there.

So he gives it a shot, heading to the reception with you still glued to his back, the sound of your footsteps echoing behind him. “Do you really want to do this?”

“Do what?”

“All the ‘bodyguard’ thing, isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“They are the Oyabun’s orders.”

“You can take a break.” He tries again. “At least during this party.”

But you don’t stop walking behind him, and the fact that you are allowed to ignore his direct orders rubs him the wrong way. So he bites his tongue and keeps walking, ignoring you, too. The you of five years ago wouldn’t have been like this; you would’ve done anything he asked if it meant he’d stop pushing you away.

But the you of five years ago was gone.

He blocks the memory before opening the imposing and heavy doors, wood creaking under the force. The dim lights hanging from the ceiling and the soft melody played by the orchestra gave the place an intimate undertone. Small, circular tables with fancy foods were ranged near the walls. In the middle of everything, a huge bar table filled with the most expensive alcohol seems to be the main attraction. People huddle in groups; some at tables, some standing near the bar, all laughing with too many teeth and voices too stiff in that way people do when they want to get something out of a conversation. 

Yukio fixes the jacket of his suit and brushes his hair with his hand again, making sure every strand is in place, before walking to the table that greeted him as soon as he opened the door; “businessmen” and their companions, all reeking a little too much of alcohol.

“Mr. Takeda!” A man starts, the many cups of wine spread over the table explain his cheerful tone. He grabs Yukio’s hand and shakes it enthusiastically, the others at the table matching his excitement. Yukio spends barely a few seconds giving names to their faces: most of them work in the entertainment industry, in rather high positions. Yukio forces a smile. “You finally show your face.”

“Yes, you never come to these parties!”

“What makes you so busy you can’t even come say hi?”

Yet Yukio doesn’t let his annoyance show on his face or in his pheromones, keeping the polite facade until the end, relying on his well-practiced charisma. “Just things with the clan, the same as always.”

“And what about him?” A woman talks this time, a beta actor with a rocketing career who doesn’t seem to know her place. She points at your collar. “He’s an omega, right?”

Suddenly, all the attention is set on you. The people who hadn’t noticed your presence are now finding you the strangest attraction, the circus clown. You don’t bother to answer, face impassive, hands held tightly behind your back.

The first man bursts into laughter, too drunk to measure his words. “So you finally settled down? That’s why you were hiding your face?”

“So why haven’t you marked him yet?” A third person joins the conversation, the only alpha in the table who operated in gambling organizations instead of entertainment. His eyes lay on you, running up and down your form in a not-so-subtle way—slowly, deliberatively. His smile widens, just a little. “Such a pretty little thing. If you don’t hurry up, someone might steal him away.”

Yukio’s scent turns bitter, the smile in his face quivering for just a moment. But you talk before he has the chance to. “You are mistaken. I am merely his bodyguard.” And you look at Yukio, as if the words that follow were intended to pierce through him and leave him bleeding, add salt to the wound he opened years ago and hasn’t quite closed. “Someone with an origin as humble as mine could have never dreamed about such an honor.”

The laughter dies. Someone coughs. Yukio seems as if he's about to pop a vein.

“I’m sorry, my bodyguard has quite the strange humor.” He chuckles, uncomfortable. “I’ll excuse myself for a moment.”

Yukio grabs your wrist. Hard. And before you notice, he’s dragging you out of the reception. You don’t struggle as he takes you into one of the private meeting rooms in the hotel. You don’t mention how the force of his grip has your hand going numb, or how his pheromones seem to be spilling, barely under control. He lets go of you as soon as the door closes, running a hand through his hair and breathing a few times as if he’s trying to keep his composure. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You don’t answer him. It pisses him off even more.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“Did I say something wrong?” Your voice is cold, calculated. “I thought you believed the same.”

Yukio’s head snaps in your direction, enraged pheromones blending with something new. Not quite guilt, but close. He opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. He tries again before he gives up. He sighs and looks away. He always looks away. 

“Stop being careless.” He mutters, walking towards the door. He knows the way you’re staring at him; he can feel the mix of nostalgia and resentment that sometimes spills from the cracks of your mask. “I need to use the toilet. Don’t follow me.”

And, for the first time after your reunion, you actually listen.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Yukio kneeled on the floor, his father’s gaze sharp over his frame. He didn’t break eye contact, not even when you stepped into the room and kneeled beside him. His instincts were screaming, impatient to touch you, to hold you, enraged for being separated from his omega during your first heat, the mark of teeth on your nape red and swollen. He forced the instinct down his throat, ignoring it even when it felt like swallowing nails. 

“What are you planning to do now?” Shinpei spoke, his voice too stoic to guess what he was thinking.

So Yukio took the word first, before you could even open your mouth. “I refuse to acknowledge this bond.” The words pull at his lungs, making it painful to breathe. He pushed them out anyway. “As the heir, I need a strong mate backed up by a strong family. I refuse to tie myself to an omega, much less one of our subordinates.”

And if someone ever told Yukio that feeling your partner’s emotions through the bond was just a myth, they were lying. He experienced it in his own chest, how your heart burst into tiny pieces and pierced his flesh from the inside. It made him want to throw up. To tear himself apart so he could remove the glass-like parts that stabbed everything inside his ribcage.

But you didn’t say a word.

You smiled, bowed to the Oyabun, and left the room.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

The water feels cold against his face. Yukio doesn’t mind. He needs a distraction, so he leans over the sink and splashes his face with gelid water again. His reflection looks back at him; the bags under his eyes mocking his pitiful form. They are the only thing he’s gotten since you became his bodyguard. Since he started dreaming of you.

He sighs, trying to look as decent as possible before heading back to the reception. His eyes look for you as soon as he’s back inside. You stand in one of the corners of the room, analyzing the room in the way a proper Kobun should. But you are not alone. The man who basically devoured you with his eyes half an hour ago stands next to you, too close to be considered polite. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, his hand holding a glass with champagne that he swirls in a fluid movement. Your posture doesn’t change, your eyes never stop scanning the room. It’s as if he’s completely irrelevant—invisible, even.

Yukio has to bite his lip to keep his scent in check—calm, confident pheromones hiding an ocean of newly found sensations. He feels himself frown, his feet taking him to the scene out of pure instinct. ‘Instinct,’ he repeats, trying to push away the itching under his skin. ‘It’s all instinct. It’s just because of the mark.’

When Yukio is close enough to make sense of the mumbles rolled into your ear, what remains of his self-control vanishes. Something about your “talent” and “having enough to pay,” words muttered closer as the man’s free hand slides over your low back, his thumb pressing into your hip, rubbing up and down. 

Yukio’s fists close tightly, the pressure in his jaw making his teeth hurt. Infuriated pheromones explode around him; the nearest people step back in bewilderment. But everything happens before Yukio can intervene, so fast that his eyes are barely able to follow.

A loud thud pulls everyone’s attention to the commotion, whispers and noisy stares land on your frame. The man is pinned to the floor, bruised cheek against the cold surface. His arm, the one that previously touched you, is being held against his back in a rather uncomfortable position, legs struggling to get free while you sit on his back, using your weight to keep him down.

“What’s the meaning of this!?” He yells, staring daggers at you from his position to the best of his ability. You, on the other hand, remain silent, your face showing an expression for the first time since you entered the ball—rage. “How dare a filthy, worthless omega with no rank higher than a servant treat me like this!?” He spits your gender as if it’s an insult, something you should be ashamed of. But his tone slips over your head, your rage redirecting to a different matter.

“Are you suggesting I betray my Oyabun over a few extra yen?”

The man’s face goes pale. The squirming stops. “What?”

“You are asking me to leave my Oyabun and come with you instead.” You repeat, louder this time, making sure everyone around hears you. “So I assume that’s what you’re asking me—to betray Takeda Shinpei’s trust. Am I wrong?”

The whispers become louder. The man’s eyes fill with horror. There’s no worse offence than treason in the Yakuza—that is common knowledge, something even the dumbest of the subordinates would know. Something most people wouldn’t risk being accused of.

“No, I—”

“Is it true?” Yukio closes the remaining distance, standing tall in front of the two men on the floor. The reason behind his bitter scent is hidden under others’ assumptions; people shudder because “treason” caused such aggressive pheromones in the usually composed Wakagashira. “Are you asking one of my men to betray my father?”

The man squirms again, trying uselessly to release himself before turning to look at Yukio. “It’s not true! He is lying! He is a liar! He set me up!”

Yukio looks at you, but you don’t move from your position. You don’t try to deny anything, either. You stay on the floor, pinning the man down as if it were the only relevant thing you needed to do, anger still spilling from your pupils, but professional enough to keep your scent at bay—as always, not a single trace of your pheromones was released.

Yukio turns to the men in suits near the door, guards who have remained in their positions throughout the whole party, and nods. That’s enough for them to start approaching. You finally stand up, releasing the man just when the other men are close enough to drag him away. He keeps struggling and yelling that you are lying until the heavy doors close on him, the wood drowning his desperate pleas. The room remains quiet, the atmosphere too tense to even breathe. Guests look at each other with caution, unsure of what to do in such a situation. 

Then Yukio speaks, his pheromones going back to a calm scent now that the other alpha is not here. “I apologize for the interruption.” A smile adorns his face, one too polished to be genuine. He claps his hands and turns to the bar. “Please, dear guests, don’t let this unfortunate event ruin your night.” He makes a small pause. The air turns stiff, but his smile never leaves his face. “I do hope this serves as a lesson for everybody, though. I’ll be retiring for the night.” He looks at you, just for a moment, and heads towards the exit.

You follow.

You always follow.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

The road is empty, likely because of the hour. You don’t mind; it makes driving easier. Yukio sits in the passenger seat, looking out the window, nothing but the soft hum of the motor filling the space. Again, you don’t mind. You’re used to silence.

Then Yukio growls, a sound so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. “You reek of him.”

“I do?” His voice takes you aback. You sniff at your clothes, genuinely confused. “I apologize. I’ll take care of it as soon as we arrive.”

He looks at you, almost amazed, and snorts. “Yeah, right, you can’t even smell pheromones.” His gaze returns to the window, his body language so obvious you don’t even need to smell him to tell he’s pissed. 

The rest of the trip is silent.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Everything is dark. So dark he can’t make out the shape of his hands in front of his face. The air is heavy, bitter, as if it were resisting entering his lungs. It feels as if his feet are under water, the dense liquid trapping him in place. And then, a single light appears.

You stand in front of it. Younger, way younger. Tiny hands pulling at your sweater and big, round eyes looking up at him. You are crying. Heavy tears spill down your face and crash into the black water beneath your feet, pained hiccups stopping you from speaking coherently. You still do, voice a broken mess, and lips that won’t stop trembling.

“M’sorry.” You keep repeating. “I am, I really am. I don’t—I don’t want us to stop being friends.” You step closer, tugging at his shirt. “Can you stop ignoring me now? Can you tell me what I did wrong?” Eyes red and swollen from crying so much, but the tears just won’t stop. “I said sorry. You said it’s my fault, but I’ve already said sorry. Please.” 

You stop for a second, as if you’re ready to beg. “I still wanna be your best friend.”

Yukio tries to answer. He really tries. But there’s no sound to come out, no voice to beg it to stop. The pressure in his throat builds up until he can feel it burning, his lungs on fire. Trying to push the words out doesn’t work. It never works.

It’s just a second, nothing more than a blink, but the tiny child is gone. You stand in his place now, tall and stiff. Your face doesn’t reveal anything but professionalism, that stoic expression you always carry. But your eyes—oh, your eyes—they’re so full of resentment it physically hurts.

You hate him.

This time, the one who doesn’t speak is you. You turn around and walk away, taking the light with you. Yukio struggles, the water around his feet trapping him there. A chorus of laughs explodes around him, making his ears ring and his head pound; the eyes of the clan dig on him like daggers, sharp and mocking, and he can’t do anything but watch the water rise, restricting his movements more and more. A hand grabs his shoulder, as black as the liquid under him. It’s gripping so hard he feels as if it’s about to tear his flesh. Another one just like the first attaches to his forearm, and suddenly, there are hands everywhere, pulling him back, pulling him deeper. He sinks, the pressure condensing around his chest like it wants him to drown. His lungs close, his chest aches, his consciousness spills around him in waves.

The last thought in his mind is you.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

The night is fresher than the day, but the heat and humidity of Tokyo still cling to your clothes. The city is loud in a way only the underworld can be after it gets dark enough; the smell of alcohol and nicotine permeates the air as if it has always been part of it.

Tokyo is similar to the frontier in that matter, but again, the underworld tends to be similar everywhere. You scan the surroundings once again: the alley behind the club and the loud music that spills under the door. You know Yukio dislikes this kind of place—of course, you know—but it’s not like he has much of a choice, you think, stealing a glance at him; Wakagashiras always do what they must. You know that pretty well, too.

He proved it to you five years ago.

“What?” Yukio’s voice is heavy, rough around the edges. He’s been on edge this past few days, the bags under his eyes a sign that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours. “If you have something to say, spit it out.”

You shake your head and look away. He frowns and lights a cigarette. Your gaze retraces the alley, trying to redirect your thoughts. Hollow eyes scanning the dirty concrete and the outline of a brown stain near a wall; you guess it was red at some point. The only light near the back door is dim, a sickly yellow tone that attracts the insects roaming around it. 

Still, it is enough to distinguish the wobbly figure approaching. You tense up, fists closing in a calculated manner, instincts sharpening your senses—a skill your body has mastered these last years to survive.

You shot a glance at Yukio, his eyes lost somewhere in the cityscape as the smoke fills his lungs. He hasn’t perceived the threat yet. A somewhat disappointed grunt escapes your lips before you can stop it, finally catching his attention. You don’t let him ask, stepping in front of him as the man gets closer.

“What the hell?” He mutters when he spots the man, not even bothering to put his cigarette away.

“He’s probably drunk. Or high. Or both.” Still, your position doesn’t relax. It tenses even more as you start to identify the factions on the man’s face. “Fuck.”

The asshole of the party.

Yukio barely looks over your shoulder, scent souring when he recognizes the unsteady alpha. He is in rough shape: a black eye, a split lip, his nose is probably broken. The rest of his body is probably as beaten as his face; his reputation, perhaps worse. “The guards had their fun with him,” you think to yourself.

And then he’s close enough to understand his slurring babbles. “Your fault. All your fault. Your fault. Damn omega. Damn Wakagashira. Damn Takedas.” His scent mixes with the stench of alcohol. Pheromones so sharp, acidic to a point it bordered rotten, so strong it’s affecting even you, forcing you to scrunch your nose in disgust.

You hear the growl that rolls from Yukio’s chest behind you. You push down the part of yourself that finds the sound comforting and take a step forward. Yukio almost reached for your hand to pull you behind him. Almost.

“Stay back. This should be easy to handle.” You order.

And it should. It really should. You’ve managed more than this in basic training. But the low growl behind you is distracting, and the stench threatens to give you a headache. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood and step forward again, forcing your mind into all the programming of the clan for pawns like you. The way he moves indicates he should be easy to immobilize, too wasted to hold his ground, but if his scent is so strong, it’s clear he’s leaning more into his instincts than his logical mind, which might be a problem. No weapons on sight, that’s good. You’re not dumb enough to discard the possibility, though. 

When he’s at arm's length, his hand shoots for your throat. Yukio jumps forward, teeth bared, but you catch the alpha’s wrist before it can even touch you. Your eyes meet his—cold, too cold to look alive. Panic flickers in his pupils for a mere moment, and then he tries to pull his arm back. You don’t yield; instead, you keep the limb in place and increase the strength of your grip. A sound shatters from the throat of the alpha, something similar to the barking of a scared animal, and Yukio steps beside you with a grimace that looks too much like pride.

Pride. After all this time, now he wants to be proud. 

Your grip wavers, for just a fragment of a second. A phantom sensation in your nape sends a painful sting through your column. And that’s enough for the alpha to snatch his arm back, immediately reaching for something hidden in his clothes. You panic, the motions of the man display before you in slow motion. 

He has a knife. 

He has a knife, and he’s aiming for Yukio, directly to his chest.

Something in your head burns, the weight of failing a mission for the first time. The weight of disappointing your Oyabun. The weight of losing something you lost long ago, for the second time.

Your feet moved before you to shield the alpha, eyes connecting with Yukio’s for what felt like a lifetime before a sharp pain exploded in the back of your shoulder, close, too close to your nape. Your shoulder blade burned, your whole arm spasmed, your perfectly white shirt tainted red. You collapsed on Yukio’s chest, mind too focused on the pain to figure out what he was yelling in your ear. Why was he so goddamn loud?

His arms envelop you. His scent spikes with such rage that it’s hard to ignore, even for you. But it’s comforting. Somehow. You don’t want to think about why. You let it soothe you enough to regain control of your own body, focusing on your surroundings to block the pain, focusing on the retreating pheromones and the sound of hurried steps growing quieter and…

This man is fucking running away.

The realization gives you enough force to focus; you can’t let him run away. You can’t fail Shinpei like this, not after all he’s done for you. So you reach into Yukio’s pocket with your good hand, where you know his gun is, and push him away, turning on your heels and ignoring the way your head spins. You center all your focus on aiming, letting the wounded arm hang limp before pulling the trigger.

One, two, three times.

Thud.

The body falls at the third. The gun follows, sliding from your hand with the rest of your strength, and suddenly, you’re on the floor.

A new brown stain will soon adorn the concrete, not far from the first one.

The thought makes you smile.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

“What the hell were you thinking?” Yukio curses, basically dragging you through the hallways of the base. Most of your weight rests on him; your mind too foggy to walk straight after all the blood you’ve been losing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Not foggy enough to shut up, though, it seems. “I said I had it. Why didn’t you stay behind me?”

“Yeah, you sure had it.” He growls. Your sleeve is practically red; the growing stain in the back of your shirt has him panicking more than he would ever admit out loud.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had fucking listened.” You spit, hostility dripping through your words like the warm liquid on your back. “Do you think I’m not good enough to be your bodyguard? I’m here because I earned it.” The next sentence comes out slurred, quiet, as if you didn’t intend to say it out loud, but it slipped anyway. “You’re not the… only one with something to prove.”

Yukio ignores it. It’s easier to ignore it. He focuses on opening the door, dragging you to one of the medical beds as some nurses rush to your side. You sit, and Yukio stands in front of you to make sure you don’t faceplant onto the floor. Your head is still spinning. You let it fall against Yukio’s chest—you don’t really care about anything right now. The doctors say something about a transfusion and stitches that you don’t comprehend completely; your heartbeat is too loud in your ears to think of anything else.

“Hey.” Yukio grabs your face roughly, keeping his eyes on yours. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” Your breathing is ragged. You try to focus on evening it out.

“Piss off. I… won’t.” You slur. You don’t sound convincing. You are also cursing a lot more than usual. He doesn’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost to forget you were supposed to be professional. You don’t usually mess up like this.

He takes the bloody shirt off you, hands brushing against your cold torso. You let him. The nurse applies pressure to the wound and asks him to remove your collar as well. So he does, pulling the leather he thought useless and letting it fall near your ragged shirt. He wonders, just for a moment, why the skin of your nape feels so smooth—like a scar. He leans closer to inspect; the scarred tissue is all over your nape, completely covering where your scent gland is supposed to be.

Completely covering where his mark was supposed to be.

“[name]?” He tries to regulate his voice. He really does. It doesn’t work. “What happened here?” His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, shivering fingers tracing the skin. You spasm, body relaxing and leaning into the touch before your good hand tightens around Yukio’s shirt when the nurse starts suturing the muscle of your trapezius. His mind jumps to the many times you did the same thing when you were little. His throat suddenly feels dry. His own nape hurts. “[name].”

Your answer is not even a word, just a sound to let him know you were listening. His fingers trace over your nape once again, over the place he left his mark long ago. “Here. What happened here?”

“The… mark.” You slur, trying to make sense of what leaves your mouth while there’s a needle piercing your skin. You’ve always hated the feeling of being sutured—that’s why you avoided being stabbed over everything else, goddamnit. “Tried to break it.”

There’s panic in Yukio's eyes. His pheromones start to spill. “Did you break the bond?”

You shake your head. The nurse is pulling too hard, and the nylon feels like it's tearing the tissue. “Couldn't.”

“What did you do?” Yukio's voice grows desperate, but you don’t seem to notice. Your eyes are shut, brows furrowed painfully. “[name], what did you do?”

“I got… rid of it.” You barely register your own answer, your body finally relaxing when you feel the nurse tie the final knot. “The gland.”

But you're too tired to notice the way Yukio's hands start to tremble before he removes them from your neck, or how his scent spills in sour waves of grief, or how his mind seems to short-circuit and he stops talking completely. 

You don't notice when he leaves the room. Even when the place feels too empty and the silence too loud, you keep telling yourself you don't notice. You don’t care.

You stare at the blood transfusion connected to your arm, to the red liquid draining slowly into your system, and repeat the thought over and over again.

Maybe, if you say it enough, you'll start to believe it. 

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

Trembling hands hold onto a set of documents, wrinkling them in their urgency. The office is a mess; files and folders are spread carelessly on the floor. One with your name lies on the desk, open.

Yukio knows he’ll be in trouble when his father finds out. Shinpei hates having people in his office, much less roaming through his stuff. Yukio doesn’t care, not now. Not when his father kept hidden a report as crucial as the one in his hands. How could he omit telling him something like this? How could he give permission for something like this?

He lets his weight fall on the chair behind the desk, eyes roaming the document dated four years ago with increasing panic.

CONFIDENTIAL MEDICAL REPORT — OMEGA SECONDARY SYSTEM EXTRACTION

Issued by: National Institute of Endocrine and Pheromonal Health

Document Type: Post-operative assessment summary

Procedure Code: OSG-RMV-12 (“Scent Gland Excision/Ablation”)

Classification: Restricted—Non-authorized medical intervention

OVERVIEW

Surgical removal of the cervical and sub-clavicular scent glands is an unapproved and highly invasive procedure intended to suppress or disable secondary-sex pheromone activity. The glands’ neural and hormonal connections regulate Omega endocrine stability, emotional-pheromonal feedback, and bond reception/transmission.

IMMEDIATE PHYSIOLOGICAL CONSEQUENCES

• Hormonal Shock: Severe destabilization of the hypothalamic–pheromonal axis within 24–48 hours post-operation.

• Pheromone Loss: Basal emission rate decreases by 90–98%. Trace emissions may occur under acute hormonal stress (i.e., heat).

• Sensory Dissonance: Patients often report dullness in scent perception and impaired recognition of bond-linked individuals.

LONG-TERM COMPLICATIONS

• Cycle Irregularity: Heat onset unpredictable; durations shortened but accompanied by intense pain, cramping, and febrile symptoms.

• Inhibitor Resistance: Conventional hormonal suppressants exhibit markedly reduced efficacy; dosage escalation is not recommended.

• Psychological Effects: Detachment, loss of instinctual response, and identity dissociation noted in extended follow-ups.

• Bond Attenuation: Neural half of any pre-existing mark remains detectable to the bonded Alpha; however, reciprocal emotional and pheromonal feedback ceases on the Omega’s end (muted, but still existing connection). Bond integrity cannot be re-established post-excision.

LEGAL AND ETHICAL ADVISORY

Due to the irreversible endocrine damage and high morbidity risk, scent-gland excision is prohibited under Article 14 of the Secondary Dynamics Health Regulation Act. Performance of or consent to the procedure without governmental sanction constitutes a felony offense.

PROGNOSIS

Survival rate: 94% (with intensive post-operative care)

Restoration of pheromonal function: 3%

Recommended management: palliative hormone regulation, periodic monitoring, and psychological support.

— END OF REPORT —

At the end of the last page, a symbol drawn in red catches his attention; his father’s stamp. His father’s approval.

And all Yukio can do is let the new information settle, filling his throat and his lungs and threatening to make him choke, pulling him deeper into the pit of dark, dirty water in his head that always seems to be waiting for him to drown.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

“Can we talk?” You finally reached Yukio, who had been ignoring everyone and everything since he left the test room. He looked at you, annoyed, for barely a second, and kept walking. You tried to keep up with his pace with long, hurried strides. “Please.”

“We already talked.”

“I don’t want that.” He stopped, finally, but didn't turn around to look at you. “I don’t want us to stop being friends.”

“I told you—”

“What does being friends have to do with you being Wakagashira? Or an alpha?” You stepped closer. “Why do you insist so much on pushing me away? Is it because you are scared?”

Yukio’s fists closed tightly, his whole body tensing before he started moving again, walking away from you, as he’d always done since he presented.

“Yukio, wait!” You sprinted, grabbing his arm to stop him. This was your last chance, your final attempt to mend your relationship with your childhood friend. “Why do you always—”

“Back off.”

The command hit you like a truck. It crashed against your ears and exploded somewhere in your chest, making it hard to breathe. The air suddenly felt too hot, too heavy, not enough. Your whole body burned, a pull near your belly made your legs tremble, and then all your muscles felt as if they were spasming. Your breathing turned heavy, still holding Yukio’s arm to try to ground yourself when the sweet scent started to envelop everything around you. Why did it smell so sweet? Why did you feel wet between your legs?

A noise surges directly from your throat, one you didn’t know you were able to make—like a hurt animal. The next thing you knew was that you were on the floor. Yukio towered over you, a different scent making your head go dizzy. He put his arms around you, and the pain in your lower belly almost stopped. Your arms instinctively hugged his neck, nuzzling where the scent was strongest as you breathed in his aroma. A purring sound vibrated from your chest, affecting Yukio’s instincts. One of his hands held the back of your head, the touch making you expose your neck eagerly, mind a mush of smells and heat. The way he licked the zone of your gland sent goosebumps all over your body, slow, caring even. Then a pair of fangs sank into your neck, breaking the skin and locking there. It felt like a new heat wave washing over you, bliss blurring your logical thoughts to incomprehensible whispers at the back of your mind. 

But then Yukio’s arms were not around you anymore. Your eyes opened, watching how two subordinates with blurred out faces were trying to keep Yukio away from you. His growls were feral, bloodied canines trying to bite at the two men restricting them like a beast. The same pained noise you released before surged from your lips, louder this time, and Yukio’s head snapped towards you before he struggled with more force. An arm wraps around your torso, and you feel the panic building up, a painful keen tearing from your throat as you struggle to release yourself. More men work on keeping Yukio restrained while you are dragged away, locked in a room with too many pillows and blankets.

The next three days felt like hell. It was too hot, too suffocating, too lonely, and no matter what you did or where you touched, the pressure in your lower belly never went away. You would roll around all day, scared and in pain, keening for your alpha until your voice went hoarse and your throat burned.

Did he abandon you? Did he not want you? Was that why he was not coming?

His absence caused a different kind of pain, one that started in your nape and tangled around your ribs as if trying to break them. It didn’t matter how many clothes that smelled like Yukio they gave you, how many times you cried out for him, how sour your scent turned; no one came.

You were alone.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

When you wake up, your body feels hot. Too hot. A familiar ache tugs at your core, making you curl up in pain. You can smell your own pheromones starting to rise and the slick running down your thighs. You curse; a heat is the last thing you need now.

You look around. You were moved to an individual room near the medical area, now that your wound was healing, because the doctors insisted on giving you a little more privacy. Yukio hasn't shown his face since the day you were stabbed, and you suppose he was assigned a provisional bodyguard while you were incapacitated.

It's okay. You don't mind. It's better this way.

Actually, it's great. Now you have free rein to find someone willing to help you spend the painful next hours that await you. You stand up from the bed and walk to the door, ignoring your feverish form and the wetness between your legs; you need to find an alpha. Fast. If you don't have someone between your legs before your pre-heat is over, the combination of insufferable cramps and the stab on your shoulder blade will not let you move out of the room.

But then Yukio storms in with a document you dismiss in his hand and a desperate expression, panting as if he had been running. His pheromones spill in heavy, distraught waves around you, the strong scent making your legs weak.

You removed your gland, yes, but that didn't break the bond; it just muted it. The reminder is like a slap. Your nape stings, the few instincts still connected to the bond purring under Yukio's pheromones. Your pre-heat is cut early, reason collapsing under the fever of your heat. It hurts. It hurts so much that you don't know if you can handle it. It hurts more than any heat you've had before. Your body, barely able to produce pheromones, is overworking itself to make your scent stronger, desperate for attention. It's tearing itself apart, wounded under the negligence of the alpha it considers your "mate." It waits for an answer, a signal coming from the bond, but with no gland to receive it, your instincts can't do anything but mourn, pressing further.

Yukio covers his nose, startled and ready to back off. He didn't expect you to be in heat. He didn't want to see you in heat. It would crumble the illusion of disdain he so strongly put up, faster than he can build it up again. But his scent grows stronger, his pants start to feel too tight around his crotch, and that's all you need to lose all your sense of restriction: the smell of his arousal.

You close the space between your bodies eagerly, mouth crashing against his. Hard. Lips pressing with urgency, teeth clashing and biting. You start pulling him deeper into the room, closer to the bed. Yukio tries pushing you away, using all his resolve to resist your pheromones—fuck, your pheromones—but his hand lands on your wounded shoulder, and you whine. He freezes, not sure where it’s safe to touch, and you use the opportunity to push him into the mattress.

You kiss him again. Desperate, hungry, the ache in your insides craving for him. He doesn't have time to react when you're on his lap, straddling him, hips grinding against his hardness. Your teeth pull at his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Yukio winces, pulling back from the kiss with a hiss.

"[name], for fuck's sake, stop." His voice is rough. His chest rises heavily. "You are gonna regret this when your heat is over."

But you don't listen. Instead, your hands hold his face and pull him to you again. Again and again and again. Your skin burns, your heart pounds against your ribs as if it's trying to break free. Your tongue drags against his chin, cleaning the trace of blood before sucking on his lower lip. Then you pull back, barely, whispering against his lips with a mix of desire and hatred. "Shut up and help me before I find someone else to finish the job."

You can see the shift in Yukio after your words. You feel it in the aggression in his pheromones, in the way he looks at you. In how his fists clench as if he's trying not to hit something. Suddenly, it's him who's trying to devour you, bruising kisses steal your breath away, the metallic flavor of his blood mixing with spit. His hands roam over your back, sending shivers down your spine. Your hips roll against his, pushing a grunt from Yukio's throat.

Your head feels dizzy, as if the heat in your lower belly has taken over. Yukio's tongue is suddenly on your neck, licking in a way that makes you shudder. Your hands jump to his pants, fingers battling against the belt in a desperate frenzy.

But Yukio stops your hands. You are about to complain before your back hits the mattress, Yukio's form trapping you as he kicks his pants off. His erection presses against the stain of slick in your pants, your ragged breaths landing near his ear. You open your legs wider, pulling him by his shirt into another ruthless kiss.

You feel his hands everywhere: on your back, on your hips, on your stomach. Clothes are being tugged and discarded somewhere on the floor, the air is too hot in your lungs. Yukio's lips trace your chest hungrily, marks flourishing like flowers, teeth grazing against your collarbone. There's no warning when three fingers probe at your rim, the intrusion making you hiss in pain. Yukio's digits curl against your walls, slick coating his hand and running down your inner thighs. Your hips buck up, nails digging at his back in an attempt to ground yourself.

It hurts. It hurts, and still, the throbbing in your core soothes, if just a little.

Still, you were not going to let him have this. Not after the last five years. Not after everything. In a swift movement, you place yourself on top of Yukio again; the position gives you back the illusion of control. You lower your hips around him, slow, biting your lip while forcing yourself open. The head breaches inside, tearing a groan out of you. In a sudden moment of clarity, you pause, staring at Yukio's panting form. An urge to piss him off surges from deep inside your chest, the words slipping from your mouth on their own.

"Fuck, you're bad at this."

Yukio's head snaps up, eyes open in disbelief, before his jaw clenches. He grabs your hips, hard enough to leave a mark, and slams you down on his cock. You choke, collapsing on his chest. The stretch burns, agony mixing with some kind of euphoria, while tears threaten to spill down.

"You seem to be enjoying it anyway." Yukio rumbles.

His pace is cruel, bruising thrusts not giving you the time to get used to the intrusion before forcing you to accommodate to his shape. You don't know if the sounds you are making are coming from pain or pleasure. Your nails grip his shoulders, raking red lines each time he drags you up and down his form, every thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.

Yukio's lips go back to you, mouthing at your good shoulder before sinking his fangs in your flesh, skin yielding under his teeth. Your vision blurs as the pressure coils tighter in your core, tearing a keen out of you. Your body tenses up, your breathing stutters. Your orgasm shatters you, pain spikes through every nerve and collides in a phantom sting where your gland is supposed to be before it melts into bliss, fogging every thought from your mind. Your thighs tremble, slick floods in waves to soak the sheets beneath you when you spill over Yukio's abdomen. The aftershock makes stars burst behind your eyelids, enough to ease the aching throb in your stomach, even if shortly, walls clenching around the alpha's length so hard you almost drove him over the edge with you.

Almost.

Yukio doesn't even let you ride your high before he changes positions, the hands on your hips turn you over so he can be on top again, pushing your legs against your chest and over his shoulders in a way that makes you feel completely exposed, rim clenching against nothing. Your mind is fuzzy, a pulp of heat and sensations that doesn't let you think clearly.

"Already tired?" Yukio mocks you, the head of his cock nudging against your warmth. "Remember you wanted this." He rams inside in a harsh motion. A broken sob rips from your throat, head slamming against the mattress while your hands clutch the sheets. It's like electricity running through your body, setting all your nerves on fire and making every muscle spasm alive again.

Your mind gets lost in the mush of pheromones, instincts taking over when a chorus of "alpha" spills from your lips, tears running down your face.

The name seems to catch Yukio's attention, slowing down to take your form in. Your eyes, clouded with the effects of your heat, are focused on Yukio and Yukio only. Swollen lips pant heavily, chest rising and falling, splashed in red all the way up to your face. Purple marks bloom across your skin as proof of something you will regret tomorrow, but are too far gone to think about right now. One of your hands unclutches from the sheets to tangle in Yukio's hair, pulling him closer with a yearning you never show. It's as if you wanted him close, even more than he already is; fused into your skin so he can't ever walk away again. A needy whimper breaks your voice, begging him to move, to do something, to show you he was still there.

He stops at the sight, arousal and nostalgia staining his pheromones. He frowns, his gaze tracing your body with something close to mourning.

So he lets his hand roam around your body. Slow to the point it feels like fondness. Slow to the point it hurts. His lips land on your calf, leaving a tentative nip before he pulls your legs off his shoulders. They immediately wrap around his hips, his pace restarts. Measured thrusts hit deeper; the newly added pressure makes it hard to breathe.

His touch is warm, so warm it burns your skin. His mouth traces every mark, his hands massage circles on your hips. He kisses the bite mark on your good shoulder, around the already dried blood. Then he's on your nape, the feeling of his tongue sending shivers down your spine. There's something inside your head, a voice you thought you buried long ago, that rejoices in the thought, the dopamine running to your head like a drug. Then teeth press into the scarred tissue, where the mark was long ago, and suddenly everything is too much. Touches, kisses, scents, they all rush through every nerve and explode in a sob. Your back arches, your nails dig at Yukio's back like a lifeline, your trembling legs close around him, bringing him closer. Everything is white and hot and too much.

And Yukio watches the way you undo under him, how every coherent thought seems to be replaced by incomprehensible stutters and a low purring sound. You feel his lips on your face, kissing the tears away in a gesture that feels so loving it must be a lie. You swear you can hear him whisper an "I'm sorry" into your ear before the heat of his release fills your stomach.

You wonder if that's a lie, too.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

You stared at your clothes, perfectly folded on top of the medical bed. Then at yourself. The hospital gown hung loose around you like a penalty, weighing more than polyester was supposed to. There was a knock on the door before you heard it crack open. 

“[name].” Shinpei stepped in. Tetsuo waited by the door.

“Oyaji.” You greeted, head bowed. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I don’t think such an operation is something to brush over.” He answered. His eyes were as firm as always, but there was a kind of softness to his tone. “Are you sure about this?”

You stared at him. You didn’t answer.

“I know I gave you my permission, but after this, there’s no going back. If you decide you don’t want to do it last-minute, you don’t have to. I can cancel the surgery.”

Your hand landed on your nape, tracing the scar of Yukio’s mark with your finger. It hurt. The mark never healed properly. The doctors mentioned something about your omega feeling neglected by its alpha. 

Its alpha? The title made you want to laugh. Yukio didn’t want to be anything yours, not now, not before the mark. Why would that ever change?

No, you didn’t have an alpha. Not after spending so many heats alone and in pain because your body refused to accept any pheromones besides Yukio’s, not after being discarded like nothing but a defective asset at the first chance.

It was funny. Fucking hilarious. So much you wanted to cry. So much you didn’t realize you were until your father’s face twisted in worry.

You let your hand fall from your nape. “I’ll do it.”

Shinpei didn’t say anything else; he didn’t argue or try to change your mind. He nodded and stepped outside, leaving you with your father. You felt his arms around you as soon as you were alone. You tried to look strong, you really tried, but you crumbled somewhere in between his “you’ve grown so much,” and his “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

The knot in your throat didn’t let you speak, drowning your words between sobs and nausea. So you scent him, for the very last time, just hoping he’s there when you wake up.

You don’t know what you would have done if, after opening your eyes, you were alone again.

⍅ ⭒ ⇌ ⭒ ⍆

The room reeks of pheromones and sex, the sun filtering through the curtains a witness to the mess around you. You’ve been awake for a while, just lying in bed next to the man who threw you away five years ago, staring at the ceiling as if the chaos inside your head is its fault. Your legs are sore, your waist is killing you, and you are pretty sure there’s dry blood on your shoulder, around a not-so-subtle bite mark that you’ll have to disinfect once you get to your room. You don’t want to think about how many more are spread around your body; a reminder of last night’s mistake.

At least your heat is over, the painful burn in your lower belly gone.

You sit up with a grunt and scan the room, looking for your pants in the mess of clothes spread on the floor. They sit near the small table near the door, carelessly discarded between kisses, bites, and insults. They are not the only thing there, though; the document Yukio brought with him last night is left on top of the table. You approach, putting on your shirt that was tossed next to the bed, and take a look. The file has your name, basic information about you, and then a report.

Your post-operation medical report.

A sneer on your lips before you drop the papers, focusing on putting your pants on and getting out of there before Yukio wakes up.

“Are you really going to leave? Just like that?” But you’re not fast enough.

You roll your eyes, starting to button your shirt.

“What, am I supposed to stay? Were you expecting cuddles and breakfast?” Your voice is mocking, sarcastic. Yukio’s scent grows bitter. You turn around and look at him, a humorless smile plastered on your face when you point at the report. “I see you went around prying at things you were not supposed to, so you know how painful a heat without an alpha is for me.” You run your hands over the fabric, smoothing the wrinkles on your shirt and talking again, the resentment you’ve been keeping at bay leaking from every syllable. “It didn’t have to be you. You just happened to be around.”

Yukio sits up, a frown and an instinctive growl radiating from his chest. “So what then? You just act like a whore, taking in any alpha available as soon as you are in heat?”

Yukio didn’t expect the growl coming from you, challenging him, or the brief outburst of enraged pheromones. “Was I supposed to spend my heats alone and save myself for the alpha that rejected me a week after marking me? Did you think I was saving myself for you? For you?” Something tugs at Yukio’s chest, his scent stained with something other than rage. But it disappears fast when his jaw clenches, pheromones shooting a warning to shut up. “There were many before you. And there will be many more after. So fuck off.” You ignore it.

“You know it’s different.” Yukio sputters. “The clan—”

“Liar.” You interrupt him. “You are just scared. You are a fucking coward.”

Your tone hits something; a nerve, perhaps. Maybe his pride, maybe his instinct. His scent grows sharper, a vein popping in his neck. “That’s no way to talk to your Wakagashira.”

But you laugh. Loud. Cracking up. It only enrages him more. “My Wakagashira? Yukio, you’re nothing to me. The only man I’m loyal to is your father. My Oyabun.”

“But I will be Oyabun.” Yukio reminds you, a proud smirk threatening to slip on his lips. "Really soon."

“I’m retiring.” You spit, disgusted by his arrogance. “I’ll leave the Yakuza before you take over. Oyaji already accepted my request.”

Yukio’s confidence shatters, his face melting in a startled grimace. “You can’t.”

“I already have.” You reach for the door, ignoring the sound of Yukio demanding you to wait while he struggles to put his pants on. The handle twists under your hand. He calls again, louder, angrier. You ignore him.

“I said, wait!” He shouts, the command freezing you in place for a second, a cold shiver running down your back. Then you turn your head to look at him, a satisfied smile adorning your lips while one of your hands reaches for the scar on your nape.

“That doesn’t work on me anymore.”

And, slamming the door on your way out, you are glad you can finally put that damn surgery to use.

Tag list: @dgftygc @atlasbatman05 @someoneyoudontknow-12 @xtsamuki @anchoredphoenix @s1llygo0s3 @nsfwinami @kuroba-shirooshiroo @idkwhatto-namethis @citrusvoid @yaoisang @ramble-writes @dark-night-hero @poptrim @hirosh1stuff @thestartitaness @angelkazusstuff @hikaurbae @ally674 @chikai-k @sooniebby @shrimp138 @kolcavix @timaas-blog @mondyed @rarealienbutt @b0orf @oreoqueen @bentleybearsister @ramble-writes @kuchi-sabi-shii @cozmie @alxxei @kaixaii @0ffmil0 @hyperrnovva @kai-0oh @mef0rg0r @dean-winchesters-things @whatinth3wor1d @bentleybearsister @zaynesyumei @celestealudenburned @beanstalk-soup @sidewalkenforcer @idksyyss @enchantingkitty @bitchybelieverreview @an-onyx-void @dalszy @spuder-man @favoritebimbo @thomasdiscostick @patronizingbitch @gayaristocrat @kiiyoooo @star-star56 @prettorett @nuggettsandfries

[kentocentric-deactivated2025121]

I can barely ever find people who are willing to write for ftm reader and accept requests ;( you can't believe how excited I am when I find new blogs.

If I may, can I request Nanami x Ftm reader who's recently started HRT and has gotten very horny because of it lately? Maybe he keeps throwing himself at Kento every chance he gets but he's also gotten really sensitive emotionally so he just wants his boyfriend to praise him and call him a good boy while taking care of his needs? Nsfw with praise and overstimulation (on both parts) maybe? :3

No pressure ofc! I'm happy to read anything else that you offer! Take care of yourself and stay hydrated and safe! ^___^

꒰ content warnings ꒱ ❤︎ ftm! reader ˖᯽ ݁˖ reader is implied to be at least 4 months on HRT. overstim + praise. anal toys. handcuffs. dacryphilia. rough sex. double penetration (two holes). cervix kissing. masculine pet names. multiple orgasms. 3.2k wc

⟢ note ╱ ahh.. this was honestly so so SO healing to write nd i got a bit carried away here... i hope you'll enjoy reading as much as i enjoying writing it ❤︎ thank you SO SO much for requesting this idea !!! your brain is so big and sexy MWAH bc i will not stop thinking about this EVER actually. i have decided it is now my official love letter to him hehe

kento has been edging you for hours — you’re not exactly sure how long, but it’s been long. painfully long, your body threatening to give out at any minute now.

he’s never usually the type to deny you your release; quite the opposite, really. he gets off on pleasuring you, on watching you unravel because of him, even when he hasn’t properly touched you yet.

but maybe… just maybe… he’s enjoying this a little too much.

maybe he’s addicted to the sound of your sobs begging him to “do something about it.” maybe he’s addicted to the way your boy cunt dribbles with arousal, your asshole plugged full with a buzzing vibrator that makes your toes curl. maybe he’s addicted to the way you’ve been all over him recently, without a hint of control left in your body.

it’s your fourth month on hrt. you’re horny — painfully and embarrassingly horny — and that’s been fucking obvious for weeks now.

touching yourself was never enough; your fingers weren’t long or thick enough to reach that delicious spot inside you, and you only had two hands — you could only do so much with that. your highs never felt properly satisfying without him.

but kento couldn’t be around you 24/7, not with his work schedule.

you hated it. you felt like a fucking animal sometimes — shame curling tight in your gut at the realisation… but kento’s constant, unwavering support made it impossible for that feeling to linger.

he was the one who always helped with your injections, taking care of you with such deliberate softness it nearly made you cry when you finally told him the big news (you were finally starting hrt!!).

he was just as excited for you as you were for yourself.

maybe that’s why darker thoughts start creeping into his head tonight because he’s finally witnessing just how much the hormones have changed you. kento’s always had the stronger sex drive between you both, but he never imposed it. he learnt patience early on, kept himself in check for your sake.

but tonight… maybe he wants to test your limits. see how much you can take when you're this sensitive, this desperate — how far he can push you before you completely fall apart for him.

you’re a fucking mess for him, and he’s living for it right now.

“k-kennn…” a shaky mewl slips from your lips, a desperate attempt to get some kind of reaction from the blond watching you like a predator from behind.

you’re in facedown doggy — exactly where he wants you. he hasn’t touched you, not really. the only thing he’s doing is watching, waiting.

his hands haven’t so much as brushed your skin, but his gaze is searingly hot, heavy, locked onto the mess situated between your legs.

you’re leaking so much arousal it’s ridiculously obscene, dripping steadily down your thigh, pooling beneath you. when you squirm and your body clenches up with need, a wet spurt escapes you, staining the sheets — and that finally makes something twitch in him.

a visible shiver runs down his spine as he watches, mesmerised, the muscles in his jaw taut.

he hates how easily you get to him — how quickly you manage to light his fuse. he was already hard long before you stripped off your clothes.

it was your attitude that did it. that cheeky, cocky little temper you get when you know he’s watching. the way you push at him, grind on him, pout when he doesn’t immediately give you what you want. god, it gets under his skin in the worst way possible. but he doesn’t deny how flushed it makes him.

“looks like you’re struggling a bit, sweetheart. but you’re doing so well for me. can you hold on a little longer, hmm?”

and that tone — why is it always so soft? even now, when he’s got you strung up like this, aching and drooling and shaking, he still speaks to you like you’re fragile, like he’s not taunting you. and you know he’s doing it on purpose, pressing your buttons just to watch you twitch.

it works. of course it fucking does.

your back arches involuntarily, the motion clumsy with how tightly you're bound.

leather cuffs pull your wrists back, connected to your ankles in a cruel loop that forces your body into a trembling bow, your ass in the air and your face smooshed into the mattress.

the pressure is intense. it hurts a little too. your muscles are burning. but the worst part? every tiny breath you take shifts the vibrating plug deeper into your hole, the dull buzz a constant, maddening pulse inside of you.

you let out an ugly sort of sound and kento finally moves. he leans forward on his knees, the bed dipping beneath him, his hands hovering before settling gently on your hips. then he spreads your cheeks wider, feather-light touches over your hot skin, inspecting you like something precious and lewd all at once.

he drags his index finger slowly up your slit, deliberately avoiding your swollen nub. you don’t deserve that yet, not yet, he thinks to himself, watching how you twitch from the absence of touch alone.

then, without warning, he presses straight into your boy pussy — three fingers at once — and your cunt stretches wide to take him. slick squelches between you, crude and wet as your body trembles from the sudden fullness. you fall apart almost instantly, back arching, hole spasming around his fingers though he hasn’t even gone knuckle-deep yet.

he doesn’t need to. he knows exactly where to find it.

your clit throbs in perfect sync with the fluttering of your asshole, the plug jolting as your orgasm hits so hard it nearly pops the toy free.

“ughhh… mmm—”

you can’t focus. can’t breathe properly. your chest stutters and your legs try to close, but the restraints hold you open wide while kento starts to properly finger fuck you now — index and ring finger curling up, steady and precise, while his middle finger bears down on that sweet spot with no mercy.

the rhythm is almmossttt perfect. something felt missing.

your hands instinctively stretch in the cuffs, splaying wide like a starfish, searching for anything to hold onto, but there’s nothing. just air. just pressure. and just the sheer weight of his attacks on your body.

“you look so stunning.”

you can’t see kento’s face from the angle you’re in, and it’s starting to unsettle you. something about not being able to read him, not being able to see his expression while you’re like this — spread out and vulnerable — makes your stomach twist. it sparks a whimper in your throat, a small, wounded cry you didn’t mean to let out.

his movements don’t stop, but they slow, just a fraction.

he hears the change in your voice, picks up on the shift immediately. and unfortunately, your emotions catch up all at once — no warning, no time to reel them in. your chest clenches, and suddenly you’re sobbing, tears spilling down your cheeks in hot, helpless waves.

kento sighs. not angry — more like a deep, knowing breath. half frustration, but mostly regret. he knew this might happen. knew it was probably too much for you yet he still pushed it, and now he’s kicking himself for not pulling back sooner.

he thought this was what you wanted.

he lifts you gently, careful not to startle you, unbuckles the cuffs from your wrists and ankles, and guides you into his lap, sitting you upright with your chest against his.

you meet his gaze through watery eyes, but you don’t speak. just reach up to swipe at your face, pout trembling, sniffling. his eyes follow every movement, soft and concerned, lingering on the wobble of your lip.

“is this what you wanted?” he asks softly out of reassurance, watching you closely.

you nod, snivelling. “it just hurts…”

“your ass?”

you shake your head like a confused, overwhelmed pup.

“n-no… everything… i just feel so… itchy and hot and and—”

kento lets out a quiet laugh that rumbles through his chest, a nervous sort of sound, trying to soothe, but uncertain.

“i’ve never seen you like this before,” he admits. “it’s new to me. so… teach me. tell me how you want to be touched then.”

his voice is gentle. open. raw. honest. not demanding. and that makes it worse, somehow — he’s always so fucking understanding, makes the tears spill harder, your chest hitching with a fresh sob. not arousal either. you’re crying properly now, curled in his lap, a shaking little mess.

kento’s hands hover, unsure now, concern tightening every muscle in his body. this wasn’t what he meant to do. this wasn’t what he wanted to happen.

“shhh… stop. it’s okay.”

“it’s not okay,” you choke, voice cracking as you hide your face against his shoulder.

but he smiles, even through your tears, even with your voice cracking and your body trembling — he smiles, soft and steady. because everything’s going to be alright. he’s taking care of you. and as long as kento’s holding you like this, guiding you through this feeling, it will be alright.

he tilts your chin up gently with two fingers, coaxing your eyes back to meet his.

“tell me what you want. use your words, pup. i can’t give you that if you don’t tell me.”

his voice is low, kind, but firm with that same gentle insistence he always uses when he knows you’re floundering. and it’s overwhelming. your body’s still humming, overworked, too hot, and the lump in your throat swells again, another sniffle pushing its way up, but you bite it back.

you don’t know exactly what you want.

your body’s betrayed you in every possible way tonight — too sensitive, too reactive, melting under the pressure of his voice and his hands and the way he gave you exactly what you wanted but not… at the same time too.

what he was doing to you earlier felt good — so good that it made you cry, and now you’re stuck in this aching place where pleasure and emotion are all tangled together and your mouth can’t keep up with what you feel.

you want to tell him. you really do. but the words aren’t coming, and your hands shake where they clutch at his skin. you just look up at him, wide-eyed and helpless, still trying to find the right way to say, it felt so good it scared me.

and those words ground you — pull you back in, like a tether to the surface.

“i love you. a lot. do you understand?”

you nod, the firmness in his voice steadying something in your chest. the soft caress of his hands on your back, your arms, your thighs… it’s all so soothing. just being held by him is enough to quiet the storm in your head, even if your mind still drifts, still wanders, still buzzes in the aftershocks.

“i—”

you trip over the words, hesitant. “i felt good earlier… god… i probably look so fucking stupid right now.”

“no.”

it cuts through everything, firm and immediate.

“don’t talk about yourself like that,” he says gently, but there’s weight behind it. “i didn’t take into account how you’d feel, and i am sorry. you’re the one actually going through this physically. all i can do is be your emotional anchor.”

you nod again, slowly, rubbing at your nose with your arm like a kid wiping booger.

“yeah… it’s just strange. is this what it feels like to be a man? god.”

the joke slips out, half-sincere, half-deflecting — and kento chuckles whole-heartedly, the sound vibrating warmly in his chest.

“well… kind of,” he admits, grinning. “but no. not really.”

his hand moves up your spine, fingers slipping into your hair, curling gently through the strands, and it makes you shiver. you lean into it instinctively, soaking up every bit of that touch.

“everyone’s different,” he murmurs, eyes soft. “and that doesn’t make your experience any less.”

he smiles down at you, stroking a thumb under your eye where the tears have dried.

“but pup…” he tilts his head slightly. “can you not feel how hard i am for you right now?”

he shifts beneath you, pressing you firmly down against the bulge in his slacks — and instantly your hand flies up to cover your mouth, giggling behind your fingers, eyes wide.

and kento pouts at you — this blond-fucking-haired man pouts at you.

he’s not disgusted by what just happened. he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. he doesn’t hate you. he doesn’t resent the way you broke down in his lap, or the way your vulnerability clung to every breath. he doesn’t turn cold. he holds you. he wants to understand you — he wants to understand how important this is to you.

he’s a man in love.

you shift, grinding down against him, and a moan tumbles from his throat — raw and breathy, catching in the middle as it falls into a needy whimper. it pulls your gaze back up from where you’d been eyeing the outline of him straining against his pants, and you find his face — flushed, panting, eyes low and heavy-lidded, lips parted. just watching you. drinking in every shudder, every movement.

you lean in and kiss him — hot at first, almost clumsy in your desperation, but then it slows. becomes deliberate and passionate. you steal every breath from his mouth with your own, tongues sloppy with need, and he melts into it, hips starting to rut up into you from below.

your wetness has already soaked through the fabric, sticky and hot where your bodies meet. you need him inside you. now.

neither of you says it before it happens.

you lift yourself quickly, knees wobbling slightly as you brace, and kento fumbles to unzip his slacks, freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers. it’s thick, flushed, and heavy, already leaking, and he wastes no time lining himself up to your boy cunt and sinking in with one fluid stroke.

he bottoms out completely.

your body clenches tight around him, already stretched and wet. the vibrator is still lodged in your ass, now switched off but still snug, and as kento starts bouncing you on his lap, he tugs on the base of the toy gently, just enough to jolt your nerves with every movement.

his hands grip your waist with a firm, grounding and almost reverent touch as he fucks up into you, voice caught in his throat, expression torn between awe and hunger.

he’s the first to cum, and it catches you completely off guard — the sudden rush of warmth spreading deep inside you as his hips stutter, cock twitching with every pulse of release.

but he doesn’t stop. he keeps fucking up into you, every thrust sloppy and wet, his body jolting with the sting of overstimulation that lances through his nervous system — but he bears through it. he welcomes it, just to keep you on the edge with him.

his thumb flicks the toy still lodged in your ass, pressing a button at the base. it starts to vibrate again, low and slow at first… until he nudges it up a notch.

your thighs twitch violently in response, muscles tightening around him, and that’s when his hand slips between your bodies.

he fumbles for a moment, fingers brushing through the slick between your thighs before pushing back the hood of your clit to find the swollen bundle of nerves. then, he pinches. gentle at first, then rolling it between his index finger and thumb with just enough pressure to make your head snap back.

you cum instantly.

the orgasm barrels through you without warning, loud and seizing, your boy pussy clenching so hard around him that he lets out a rough grunt, air punched out of his lungs.

your whole body trembles, spasming in his lap, and kento groans — relishing it, lost in the way you break apart for him.

“that’s it, baby… come for me. mmh, so fucking good.”

“o-oh my god—ken!! it… ahhh!!!”

your voice cracks as you cry out, and kento shifts suddenly, pushing you back, guiding you down onto the mattress.

he hooks your legs up and over his shoulders, bending you into a tight, overwhelming mating press. the angle makes his cock drag impossibly deep inside you, every thrust pounding against the spongiest, most vulnerable part of you, overstimulated and helpless as you’re forced to take the sheer size of him.

he fucks you through it with a relentless and unyielding attitude as your orgasm ripples and crashes over itself, leaving you wrecked and sobbing beneath him.

his hand never leaves your clit. he keeps it right there, pressed firmly, rubbing tight, steady circles even as it throbs under his touch. even as you shake and buck and gasp through the stars bursting behind your eyelids.

you reach down blindly, fingers locking around his wrist, trying to stop him — anything to catch your breath, to steady yourself — but he growls low in your ear, voice thick and breathless, “you like this, don’t you?” like the composure he’d held earlier has cracked wide open, all that tightly coiled restraint now spilling out as he uses your body with a hunger that makes you ache.

you take it. there’s no other option. no strength left to fight it, and even if there was, your body wouldn't let you — it sings under him, shakes with it, thanks him in the most perverted way, wetness pouring down his cock with every thrust.

when you cum again — violent and all-consuming — he doesn’t let you escape. he presses in, hard, until he’s fully sheathed inside your cunt, the fat head of his cock grinding up against your cervix in a sharp, overwhelming sting that borders on pain. he holds you there, buried deep, like he wants to stay inside you forever.

and he watches as you come undone beneath him. you’re wrecked, and he leans down to kiss up the side of your neck, slow and warm, trailing along your jaw to your cheek. his voice is low, nearly whispering now, praise spilling against your skin.

“that’s it… so perfect… just like that… i’ve got you… my pretty boy.”

and his words go straight to your clit, to your cunt, to your ass, where the plug still rests snug and pulsing, where every muscle twitches beneath the aftermath of what he’s done to you.

you’re vibrating, barely there, body still quaking with the overstimulation as he wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you with no mercy, no pause.

when your body finally begins to settle, he collapses slowly over you, not pulling out, his cock still buried to the hilt, heavy and warm inside you, his cum leaking out around at where you’re both connected.

his weight presses down on you in full like a blanket, grounding you, comforting in the way only he can be.

then, quietly, into the curve of your neck he hums an, “i’ll always love you.”

[oneluckyjelly]

HAI. apologies in advance i will be talking a LOT. so glad i stumbled across your work looking for shitty code geass memes bc i have been rewatching code geass and thank GOD someone recognized the crazy yan potential lelouch and suzaku have. i literally made a tierlist yesterday about the likeliness of each code geass character being yandere and those two freaks (affectionate <3) were at the top. they were one bad day away from being platonic yans with nunnally them actually being full blown yan for reader??? it’s over for you.

tbis being said lelouch and suzaku are so drop dead gorgeous (literally if lulu commands it /silly) and possessive i would readily be sandwiched between them. possibilities are ENDLESS. suzaku has already pulled on lulu’s hair and pushed him down to the ground in the show i so believe reader could join in and toy with lulu a bit,, or suzaku could spread your legs and lelouch could do what he wants with you,, or you and lelouch can overstim suzaku until he can’t think everyone knows he needs a break from his brain,,, endlesssss

anywyahs can i be 🐇 anon :3c

Ha! Guess this’ll be my first spicy post.

Though just so you know I’m going to focus on having the reader physically and metaphorically sandwiched between them since those are the dynamics that interest me the most.

Why? Cause I’m greedy that’s why! But the fact that you could easily split the focus and have these two men simultaneously into each other while also yandere for you if you wanted to is another reason why they’re peak.

And they are peak, never before in my life have I seen two characters with such strong potential for a yandere love triangle. You’re absolutely correct for having these two be at the top of your tier list because that have such strong yandere potential.

I think the reason why is because of a few factors that overlap. As individuals, both young men are deep in the morally grey spectrum with grand ideals but methods that leave a sour taste on the tongue. There’s also an argument to be made that neither of them are all that mentally stable to begin with, and that mental stability only becomes more and more fractured as the series progresses.

And that’s just them as individuals, together they’re far more intriguing. I’ve made a post about it here though so I won’t bore anyone by repeating myself.

You can read the spicier stuff under the cut.

cw. dom/sub dynamics, punishments, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, vaginal fingering, oral sex(receiving), overstimulation, bondage, degradation, praise

A threesome between Suzaku and Lelouch is a dream come true! I want to make a fully realized one shot about them, but here’s a few ideas I’ve had for a while.

I’m open to different interpretations, but personally I’ve always seen both men as dominant in the bedroom. Including Lelouch, even if he’s not as physically strong as Suzaku. I just can’t see him readily filling a submissive roll, unless you asked him to that is.

The way I see it, both of them dominate you in ways that reflect how they’d dominate the battlefield.

Lelouch is a strategist and commander, he dominates with his brilliant mind. Control is the field in which he thrives. He doesn’t just want to have his way with you, he wants you to obey him while he does it. Come sit at his feet and let him put a lovely collar around your neck, suck him off while he holds the leash. That kind of obedience is rewarded, while disrespect is punished.

Most of Lelouch’s punishments involve things like spanking or edging. He’ll take you over his knee and make you count each strike across your behind, lose count and he’ll sigh and insist that he has to start over now.

Or he’ll finger you till your knees feel weak, but neglect to finish you off, leaving you dripping and wanting while he finishes some paperwork. All the while you’re not allowed to whine or touch yourself, forced to sit still and quiet while he busies himself.

But where Lelouch dominates with his mind, Suzaku dominates with his body.

Suzaku’s physically prowess is unquestionable, who else can outrun a turret or pull off a physics defying spin kick at a moments notice? That’s why when he has you in his bed, he won’t hesitate to use that body in order to make you submit.

It’s not a stretch to say Suzaku would manhandle you. You’re not hard for him to pick up or toss around, no matter what your size is, so he often ends up pulling you into whatever position he’s decided you’ll take it best. However, his absolute favorites are a mating press and prone bone.

The former because he likes being able to look into your eyes and kiss you breathless while he plows into you, and the latter cause he likes being able to put you in a headlock while he pins you to the mattress with his entire weight.

When Suzaku decides you need punishing, instead of driving you mad with too little stimulation, he’ll overstimulate the hell out of you. Suzaku has a hell of a lot of stamina, so he’ll drive you to orgasm after orgasm until you can barely think. And when you can’t walk the next morning, he’ll just say that you should’ve been a good girl for him.

The two young men also have some kinks that go hand in hand with each other.

For example, both of them like to tie you up or restrain you in some way. Lelouch defaults to using hand cuffs while Suzaku prefers red shibari ropes. The former will handcuff your hands above your head while making you ride him, while the latter will tie your thighs together and leaving you wide open for his tongue and fingers.

When they start ruining you together, they enjoy mixing and matching what kinds of restraints they use to keep you still and in place.

They also balance each other out with their praise and degradation kinks respectively. Suzaku is quick to pour on the praise, calling you beautiful and perfect and moaning about how good you’re making him feel. While Lelouch is more about degrading you, breaking you down so he can build you back up.

Together, they complement each other stunningly and even begin to run off on one another. Without even realizing it, Suzaku starts teasing you about how much you can take while Lelouch’s usual barbs start getting interrupted tender praises that make you feel worshipped.

Above all else they make you reaffirm who you belong to. They already know it’s them, but they want to hear you say it too.

Of course, once it’s all over and you’re throughly fucked out of your mind, they’ll wrap you in a blanket and shower you with praises and kisses and cuddle you between them deep into the night. Because they’re obsessed with you and there’s no greater pleasure than getting to become one with you.

[kuzoowl]

What do you really want? 🥀🖤 [IVTI JOCKEMO AU PART 12]

+ Extra!

I think it would have been too convenient for the bottle to land on Till...their relationship is complicated so them getting back together should be too lololol

other parts here!

[chertilaaa]

-❤️

[alexilexiexixii]

The tragedy of Ivantill Weige where ivan sounds exactly like he did while singing it solo (signifying maybe he never sang this again at all) and Till's voice being all soft and understanding making me picture till finding an old ivan recording and singing a duet to it

[sooniebby]

I was thinking about a fanfic plot, the reader is the popular guy in the class who wants to make fun of the nerd, he creates a fake account and pretends to be a woman and creates a relationship with the nerd until they decide to meet, the reader laughs and makes fun of the nerd, and with that happens hate sex, I don't know if I managed to write the plot well, but you just need to see if you find it interesting, it's just an idea

ఌ 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑

w.c › 8.8k

warnings › bottom male reader. Reader last name is Shen. Reader is not a native Japanese speaker, so there will be purposeful grammar mistakes when you speak. Blue is mandarin. (G.Name) is Girl Name.

kinks › hate sex, dacryphilia, spanking, lite feminization, praise kink, lite dubcon

words to know › 先生 (Xian Sheng) in Chinese means Mister, but 先生 (Sensei) in Japanese means teacher. 小姐 (Xiao Jie) means Miss in Chinese.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“So? Are you gonna do it?”

You glanced over at the supposed target of your friend’s prank. Haruki Kenji? You couldn’t remember his name well enough. Japanese was still a little hard for you after only moving here three years ago. While your mother’s grandma was from Japan, you lived in China for most of your life due to your father’s job.

It took a second for you to think, mentally translating what your friend had just said. Slang was always the hardest part for you.

“Sure,” you answered. “How much you pay me?”

Your friend, Hitoshi, the little leader of this college group of popular kids leaned in closer. “How ever much you want.”

“Oooh, Toshi is rolling in money, huh?” Maya, his girlfriend, laughed.

Siyi, a foreign exchange student from Taiwan glanced over at you, inching closer. “Did you really comprehend what they just asked you to do?” She whispered in mandarin.

“Of course!” You pouted. “I just text him as a girl. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Yeah… then you’ll laugh in his face when he finally meets you in person, isn’t that a little cruel?”

“Oi, stop whispering amongst yourselves.” Hitoshi kicked at your chair, glaring slightly. “Speak Japanese, we don’t speak Chinese.”

Siyi glared at him. You had a feeling Hitoshi and Siyi could never really get along. In all honesty, she only hung out with him because you did. You didn’t even remember how you started hanging out with him.

He was the first person to talk to you and didn’t make fun of your accent. So you just attached yourself to him.

“Anyway,” Hitoshi smirked, clapping his hands together. “You gonna do it? Me and my other friends are gonna bet on whether that nerd is smart enough to figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you answered, nodding your head. “I can do it. How will I get his number?”

“Leave that to me.” Maya smirked. “I have a girl friend who owes me a little favor.”

Maya and Hitoshi began talking about the plan while you tuned them out.

Siyi grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to face her. Her grip was harsh as she glared at you. “Don’t come crying to me when you get caught.”

You scoffed. She was acting like this wouldn’t be a quick and done little prank. Though you wouldn’t know that it would end up lasting almost two full months.

With you falling in love with said nerd.

蓮見 啓司

Hasumi Keiji. That was his name. You were recently given his LINE ID, having created a side account to pretend to be Maya’s friend. The girl was half Chinese so luckily you’d be able to get away with not sounding like a full native while texting.

Maya had said it was such a hassle to even get Keiji to pay her any attention. It took two full weeks until he finally allowed her to get his LINE ID.

He didn’t seem to care at all that a pretty girl was into him. Didn’t even ask for her name.

So you were lying in bed, dressed in a fluffy cat onesie, wondering what to say. He probably wouldn’t like small talk. But what would a guy like him like?

You didn’t even remember what he looked like. It didn’t seem like he liked having fun.

His username was just his full government name!

You sat up and huffed. This wasn’t supposed to be stressful. Maybe you could just talk about stars. His profile picture looked to be of a shooting star. He must be obsessed with them.

Your profile picture was of a cat. Even your username meant kitten. Girls liked cats.

子猫

Hi, it’s me ^^

Shen (Name)

You panicked and quickly deleted the last message.

子猫

Haha typo sorry, Shen (G.Name) (^з^)-☆

蓮見 啓司

Do I know you?

子猫

Ouch, hhhhhh

Maya gave me your LINE ID

I thought you were cute and wanted to get to know you

蓮見 啓司

“Hhhh?” What does that mean?

子猫

( ；´Д｀)

I forgot… Japanese don’t use that.. you use wwww? Or lol? Aaaaah

I’m laughing! It’s haha, Chinese text slang! I’m not making fun of you

蓮見 啓司

I wasn’t upset, don’t over explain yourself

I didn’t think someone like Maya would make friends with someone like you

Ok, is there something you wanted? I was doing something

子猫

Oh! Were you looking at the sky?

Stars must be your favorite, right? (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

蓮見 啓司

Why would I be looking at the sky? You can hardly see stars here

If I wanted to I would go to the countryside

子猫

Oh

蓮見 啓司

I was preparing my tsunami simulator for the science fair

It’s supposed to be a realistic depiction. I created a whole toy town that will die out due to a tsunami. Showing how it wipes out different types of buildings, as well as how to see it from afar while on the beach

Anyway. Bye

You stared at your phone in confusion. That was terrible. There was no way he’d answer you if you texted him again. How could you even get a guy like to like you?

You weren’t going to see a cent from Hitoshi and friends at this point.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

A full week passed and you weren’t sure what to do. After his very blunt “bye” you were scared to even text him back. That felt a little too final. Maybe he was a nerd that focused solely on schoolwork and never ever wanted a girlfriend.

Fuck.

“I take it you haven’t gotten anywhere with him?” Siyi poked your face with a pencil, causing you to look over at her. “Take it as a sign and leave it alone. There’s no need for you to continue.”

“Why? Only a quitter would give up so easily! And I’m no quitter!” You answered with a wide grin, suddenly feeling energized.

Siyi only sighed in disbelief. “Do you even know what he looks like?”

Your brain short circuited for a second at her sudden switch back to Japanese. “Oh, uh, I guess I don’t. You have a painting of him?”

“Picture.” She corrected you, shaking her head. “No I don’t. But I have a class with him. We’re both competing in the science fair next month. I heard he was making a realistic tsunami simulator.”

“He must be really smart,” you sighed, frowning slightly. “Then.. he’s probably really busy with the project. That’s why he hasn’t texted me again!”

“Maybe. You could always text him first. He could also, rightfully, think you were just pranking him about being into him.”

You hummed, nodding to yourself. Well, there was only way to know for sure. You’d have to text him first again.

子猫

Hi ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

It’s been a while~

How’s the project coming along?

蓮見 啓司

Oh

You actually came back

So you weren’t joking

The project is going okay, my dog, little brother, and his friend ruined half of my town so I’m rebuilding it right now

Of course, I mean they are rebuilding it while I supervise

A picture was sent right after his last message. Your eyes widen at the sight of him. It was a selfie that showed a small dog sitting with its head down beside a younger boy dressed in a high school uniform, having his head down as he glued back a miniature house.

The guy holding the camera, Keiji, wearing a white sleeveless shirt. He had on rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. Black hair messy, a large and prominent nose with plump lips. His gaze was lazy as he stared up at the camera with little to no expression.

He sent a video next.

You quickly pressed play.

Keiji hummed at the camera before flipping it to show his little brother and dog. “Say hello, guess who would’ve been able to play LOL if he hadn’t decided it would be smart to start throwing the family dog like a football with his friend? Right, Ken?”

Ken, his younger brother, sighed and shook his head. He continued gluing a house together. The dog laid beside him, as if it was time out. Keiji only chuckled before turning the camera over and showing another boy continuously wincing as he used a hot glue gun.

“His little boyfriend,” Keiji said just as he turned camera over to face himself. A slight smirk pulled on his lips as Ken began yelling that his friend wasn’t his boyfriend. Keiji simply ended the video.

蓮見 啓司

So I can talk to you properly today

What are you doing?

子猫

Nothing really, hehe

I was really nervous texting you… that last text was really blunt

Didn’t think you’d wished to speak to me anymore

蓮見 啓司

You have a habit of putting words into my mouth

I never said that I didn’t want to talk to you

I’m just busy—you can always text me throughout the day

I’ll answer when I can

I still don’t understand why you’d want to suddenly speak to me

子猫

Well! You’re handsome (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵)

蓮見 啓司

That’s it?

子猫

Uh

Well I also want to learn more about you! You seem cool

I think we can, y’know, get really close

先生～

蓮見 啓司

Sensei? We’re both students

子猫

Oh! I mean 先生 in Chinese~

Xiansheng ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

蓮見 啓司

I just searched it

Mister? Why are you so formal?

You’re already pretty formal even while texting

子猫

Xiansheng! I’m flirting~

Don’t some guys like being called sir or mister?

蓮見 啓司

I don’t care for that stuff

子猫

Oh

I won’t call you that anymore

蓮見 啓司

No need

I’ll just call you 小姐

You blinked. Did he search for how to say miss in Chinese? You couldn’t help but grin slightly. Though you thought you’d have more of a problem being called that. You glanced around your bedroom, taking note of the traditionally girly stuff decorated around.

All the plushies and teddy bears you’ve had since infancy. The big pink fluffy feather lamp you had. Only Siyi had been in your bedroom. No way were you going to allow Hitoshi and his “bros” ever visit your house.

You shivered at the thought.

For the rest of the night, you and Keiji talked about random things. He blabbered on about his tsunami simulator. He even sent his first ever voice note that was around four minutes long to better explain the mechanics to you.

Did you care? Not really. But if this was going to get him to let his guard down with you then so be it.

“So, first I had to calculate how much water I was going to use and the mass of each building I created. In a real tsunami, the amount of water that comes in is more than a hurricane. It’s said to be…”

You fell asleep while listening to his voice note. His voice was surprisingly calming.

蓮見 啓司

?

Xiaojie?

Night

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

8月10日 8 A.M.

子猫

Today I ended up tripping into a wall

Hhhhhhhhh

It doesn’t hurt as much

Kinda

Xiansheng, what should I do?

子猫

If I suddenly started typing to you Chinese, would you be able to understand it?

Japanese has borrowed characters

And you’re smart

Oh I just dropped my bagel

You snapped a picture of your fallen bagel. It fell right on your sneakers. The only pictures you really sent Keiji made sure to show any of your body parts. You were even hesitant to show your hands.

8月11日 12 A.M.

蓮見 啓司

You had an eventful day

Maybe if you didn’t text and walk you wouldn’t have tripping into a wall

Be more careful

I might be able to understand some of it, I’ll spend some more time learning Chinese for you

Also isn’t this the fifth time you’ve texted me a dropped bagel?

Night, Xiaojie, sleep well

8月13日 2 P.M.

子猫

I passed my biology exam ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

I was so scared, but the notes you sent me really helped

Is science your favorite?

I remember you mentioned if you wanted to see stars, you go countryside

Are there many stars there?

8月14日 3 A.M.

蓮見 啓司

Good job

Science is my favorite, if I had to have one

There’s little to no light population in the countryside You’d have an easier time seeing the stars out Have you ever tried it?

Xiaojie, I’ll take you to a good spot to see them. Would you like to go?

8月17日 12 P.M.

子猫

Xiansheng

you always reply so late at night (｡ ́︿ ̀｡)

Are you overworking? How many classes do you have?

Should I stop texting you so much? It’s probably bothering you… right?

8月17日 12:04 P.M.

蓮見 啓司

Don’t stop

I told you already

I’ll respond when I can

Xiaojie,

Can you wait for me?

8月20日 10 A.M.

子猫

Xiansheng, look, isn’t it pretty?

You sent a picture of a small round strawberry cake.

子猫

Pretty, right? Maybe I can send you one?

I overheard that you stay really late in the science lab

Maybe some sugar can keep you energized!!

8月20日 10 P.M.

蓮見 啓司 sent a voice note.

“Cake to keep me energized?” He let out an amused sigh. “Sugar is not what I need. Drinking a protein shake would be healthier for me. In any case, I already have my daily dose of sugar. You’re quite sweet each day you send a message. Even if it’s about mundane things.

I’d like to hear your voice sometime. Hearing you talk about your day would be better than reading it. Hm, anyway, the simulator is almost complete. I brought it to the science lab so my brother won’t destroy it again by accident. I can… show you it if you come to the fair. Yeah, only if you want. Night.”

8月31日 12 P.M.

子猫

Today’s the fair right?

You’ll do great, Xiansheng

I believe in you~

I’d go but I have class during the time!

Keiji stared at your message, sighing to himself. He placed his phone on his desk. The fair ended an hour or two ago. He hadn’t found it in himself to respond to your text yet.

Because he wasn’t stupid.

You weren’t who you said you were.

You’ve been texting him for almost a month and yet you haven’t sent him a single selfie or voice note. He had been constantly sending you voice notes because you had offhandedly mentioned that you fell asleep quick listening to his voice.

He only had one working theory at the time. You certainly weren’t a friend of Maya—or at least not the friend she was trying to set him up with.

It was a prank. Must’ve been.

The thought angered him to no end. He should’ve trusted his guts the first time he talked to you.

“Bro,” Ken poked his head into Keiji’s bedroom, a grin on his lips. “How are you and that girl doing?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I think I’m being pranked.” Keiji said bluntly. He glanced over at Ken. “If someone you’ve been chatting with for over a full month now hasn't so much as sent you a voice note or picture, then it’s obviously not a good sign.”

Ken joined Keiji on his bed. “Hah? What would someone gain for faking a relationship with you? Are they bullying you?”

“It’s more than likely Hitoshi.”

“Yamada Hitoshi?! Is he still mad about that thing in high school?”

“Must be. But whoever’s texting me must be a lackey of his I don’t know. Their Japanese isn’t native and they managed to keep up this facade for a month.”

“You think it’s not even a girl?!”

“Probably.”

Ken cursed, biting his lip. “What are you gonna do?”

“What is there to do?” Keiji raised an eyebrow. “I’ll just block them. I’m not in high school anymore—I don’t have time for these childish jokes.”

“Aren’t you a little upset? I’ve seen you while texting them, you smiled a lot.”

Keiji scoffed. “Obviously whatever I was feeling for them was fake. I’ll be fine. It wasn’t like we were actually dating.”

Ken shrugged as he got up. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say… if you need help beating them up, I have some friends who are bored.”

Keiji only waved his brother off. Once Ken left the room, he grabbed his phone and clicked on your contact.

He was upset. Really upset at the thought that everything he had was fake. Sure, it was just a month. But he enjoyed looking at his phone at the end of the day and seeing the random bullshit you sent him.

He didn’t mind creating the voice notes for you to sleep with.

Did he like you? He wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter now. He wasn’t going to let you continue to string him on. You probably sent pictures of your texts to your friends, laughing at him.

The thought pissed him off.

子猫 is video calling you

Keiji stared at his phone even as the call went to voicemail. He blinked multiple times. He even took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It must’ve been a hallucination.

But no, you called him again.

He was confused. Was this your attempt at keeping him reeled in? Maybe you noticed he was pulling away nowadays.

He answered right on the last ring, ready to see who was behind this childish prank.

In the camera, it was a man—something he expected. But he didn’t expect a man… this cute?

You grinned at the camera, letting out a surprised burp. Oh, you were drunk. Your moves were sluggish as you fixed the camera to show more of yourself.

And you were only in a pink bathrobe. Your hand seemed to have trouble holding up the phone as you yawned before leaning in close to the camera.

“Xiansheng,” you whispered out, your voice light and coquettish. “Are you.. happy to finally see me? It’s (G.Name).. no.. (Name)~ hehehe.”

Keiji could only stare. You were easily embarrassing yourself in front of him just because you were drunk. He almost laughed. The sight was a joke.

He thought back to what Ken said. Maybe… he could level the plane field. He turned on his screen recording. Then he just waited, wanting to see how far you would go.

“Xiansheng,” you whined out, “you didn’t answer me? Are you not there?” You brought the phone further from your face, showing your lower body. The bathrobe was slipping down. Your bare chest was now showing.

Keiji huffed. “You were finally brave enough to call me, huh?” He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped him.

“I’ve always wanted to call you!” You giggled. “But if I did… you’d get mad at me.. cuz I only started talking to you cuzzz of a pet.. prank..”

“Huh, so it was a prank? Hitoshi put you up to it?”

“Mhm.”

“What did he want?”

“I dunno.” You sighed. “I don’t care about himmmm. I want.. you… only you. Talking to you everyday.. so fun.. I only have you and Siyi really!” You plopped down on your bed, staring straight at the camera.

You’re so blunt.. and maybe a little mean.. but I like talking to you. Even hearing you talk about that tsu..Tsuki? Hm, yeah, that thingie was nice.”

“Really?” Keiji questioned. “If you’ve been lying to me the entire time, how can I really believe that you like me now? What if you are acting right now?”

You pouted. “Uuuuh, Xiansheng.. I’m sorry, a relationship built on lies… it’s bound to break!”

“What? What did you say?”

“Didn’t you say you’d learn Chinese for me? How can you not understand me? You didn’t keep your promise… guess we both lied, hehe.”

“(Name).” Keiji sighed. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oooh, you learned how to say something? So handsome.. you’re so sexy when speaking… and the way you’re glaring at me.. hmmm. Keiji.. can I call you Keiji?”

“Can you call me that?” Keiji shook his head. “No. It’s Hasumi to you. Why would I give you the privilege of saying my first name when you’ve been lying to me this entire time?”

“It wasn’t the entire time.” You replied, the drunkish grin on your lips long gone. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never agreed, but then I would have never met you.”

The phone suddenly jolted as you sat up, pulling up your robe to properly cover yourself. “I should… go.” You whispered, not looking at the camera.

Keiji raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going? It's around 2 am. Hey. Shen (Name).”

You weren't responding anymore. Keiji could only see that you were walking somewhere. The sound of a door closing and slippers against concrete told him that you were now somehow outside. He sat up and tried to see where you were going.

“(Name)? Where are you going? Answer me. Hey, hold up the phone. I can’t see anything.” Keiji stood up, grabbing a jacket.

His Chinese, even if it was a bit clunky, seemed to catch your attention. You lifted your phone, showing your face as if you had forgotten you were talking to him just a minute ago. A slight grin pulled on your lips as you hummed.

“You can’t see? Ai ya, it's so hard to maneuver a phone. Can you see now, Xiansheng? Xiansheng, you can actually see a bit of the stars, even if it's not that many.” A little laugh left you right before the phone skid across the concrete.

Keiji stopped right by his front door at the sound. He had rushed to get dressed and run out the front door to hopefully try to reach you. “(Name)? What was that?”

“Hurts.” You sighed out. The phone was facing the dark sky as you moved to lean over it. “Xiansheng, I tripped. What should I do? Uhhhh, ooooh, you can’t understand chinese.” You whispered, “sorry, it's just.. Easier,” a wince left you as you moved to sit against a railing, holding the phone across from you.

Your eyes were red and puffy. Were you crying earlier? Keiji didn't think to ask you that right now. He took note of the background and knew immediately what bridge you were at. The one only five minutes away from the university. Did you live that close to school?

“Don’t move.” Keiji said just as he booked it on his bike out of his house. He lived at his family house, since it was only a twenty minute walk from campus. But he could easily make it in under ten if he biked fast enough.

“Hasumi,” you giggled, “your tones.. They’re so cute. You sound like my baby cousin. He also struggles with tones right now. But, context clues, help!” You shivered and glanced down at your clothing, taking note of the bathrobe and pajama pants you were wearing. “Why did I come out with no shirt?” You murmured to yourself.

“What was I doing?” Your voice low as you tried to think but it was hard with the brain fog you were experiencing with all the alcohol you drank just two hours ago. Hitoshi and his friends were really pushing you to drink. Soon you started drinking of your own accord. Right after coming from the bathroom, you overheard Hitoshi and his friends.

“His Japanese is ridiculous. Do you even understand him half the time?”

It’s not easy learning a new language.

“Now you’re exaggerating. What really bothers me is how cutesy he tries to sound!”

But that’s just how I speak.

“Yeah, did he learn Japanese from those porn videos? Why does he sound like that?”

It’s not an act.

“Maybe that's how he's been able to fool Hasumi for a month straight.”

Fool? But…

“Is he even a boy?”

“Careful, Hitoshi, he might be gay! He might've even fallen in love with Hasumi.”

In love with Hasumi?

“Heh, serves that glasses wearing freak right, can’t wait to see the look on his face when he says he was texting a guy this entire time. He might even fight Shen.”

“Now that's something I'd pay to see! Nerd versus a homo. Who are you betting on?”

You leaned against the wall, staring straight ahead as each person began to say who they were betting on. Hasumi got the most bets. You tried thinking maybe you were misinterpreting what they were saying. Maybe your Japanese really was that bed.

But you caught sight of Siyi as she left the table, almost walking right past you. She was holding her and your bag. Her face was screwed in anger before she caught sight of you. Any anger in her fizzled out. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a look of pure devastation on your face in the two years she got to know you.

Just by the look on your face, she knew what you were thinking.

What you were pleading for.

She could only frown, breaking eye contact with you.

Siyi had brought you home but you couldn’t remember what else happened after.

All you knew was that you wanted to talk to Keiji to feel better. Maybe you drank a couple of your dad’s beers as you psyched yourself into calling him. But he wasn’t responding anymore. You sniffled, letting out a stuttered sigh. Your throat burned and your face felt wet. You reached up and rubbed at your face. When did you start crying again?

“Did you leave too?”

You placed your shattered phone on the ground as you curled into yourself. He didn’t want to see it after all. And you could only blame yourself.

“(Name)!”

Your body froze, your eyes widening as you glanced up. You looked to your right to see Keiji. He was biking down towards you with insane speed. His eyes narrowed just as he was reaching close to you. That’s when you realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

And that he wasn’t slowing down despite being only a few feet away from you.

Even being drunk, you had enough sense to sluggishly sit up just as he skidded past you. Keiji’s bike went flying as he hit a curve, tumbling off his bike. You gasped in shock, watching the scene in horror.

Keiji, despite practically face planting into the concrete, sat up quickly. There was a cut on his right cheek as he abandoned his bike and immediately rushed over to you. He squinted his eyes and grabbed at your face, leaning close enough to where your noses touched.

“Why do you not have your glasses?” You whispered, surprised he even had the time to put on a helmet. Your hands reached up and touched the top of the helmet, noticing a small chunk of it had broken off.

“What?” Keiji questioned, “what did you say?” He was rubbing your face before his hands trailed down to your robe, pulling it up and properly covering you up.

“Glasses.”

“I forgot them. Why would you walk out here so late at night? And the bridge no less? Are you crazy? Were you planning on jumping?”

You blinked, trying to understand what he just yelled at you a mile a minute. “Jump?! What are you talking about?! I wanted to…” you look up at the sky and point at the moon. “It's a full moon today. I wanted to show you the full moon… Siyi and I walked past here earlier and I thought you could really see the moon from this spot. I thought if I showed you, you’d be less mad at me.”

Keiji looked to where you were pointing. He glanced back down at you. “You should've just said that.” He pulled away from you. You tried not to frown. Right, he had every right to still be angry at you.

You watched as he walked back over to his bike and made it stand back up.

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“But you hit your head.”

“I’m fine. You shouldn’t walk with your injury.”

Injury? You glanced down to see the right leg of your pajama pants was ripped, your knee scraped and bloody. “I’m bleeding… how–?”

“Hurry up. It’s almost 3 am.” Keiji yelled out, getting on his bike. You hesitantly walked over to him, sitting right behind him. Your hands laid at your sides until he reached back and pulled your arms to wrap around his waist. “I don’t want to deal with you suddenly flying off.”

You simply hummed. “Uhm, I’ll give you the directions.”

The bike ride was awkward. Keiji was obviously still angry and possibly seething at the fact he had to take care of you. You knew that as soon as he dropped you home, you'd never see him again. The thought was already making your eyes water. You didn’t even notice that you leaned into Keiji, resting your head on his back. If this might be the only chance you get, you wanted to enjoy the short ride.

But it seemed the bike ride was longer than it should be.

It felt like Keiji was going in circles.

“Hasumi?” You whispered, pulling back a little as he suddenly slowed down.

Keiji reached up and unclipped his helmet, tossing it off. You flinched at the loud clatter on the ground.

“(Name)... I’m going to need you to call an ambulance.”

“Huh?!”

You watched in fear as Kenji began to go limp in your arms.

“Hasumi?!”

“It’s only a minor concussion. The helmet protected his head. He just needs to rest for a couple of weeks. No bicycling or any exercise in the meantime. If he starts to feel dizzy for multiple days, come back. Luckily we found no internal bleeding. He can go home in an hour or so after we finalize the paperwork.”

You nodded at the doctor, sighing in relief that she mostly spoke words that were easy to understand. Though you had to translate concussion. Keiji was sitting on the hospital bed, holding an ice pack to his head. He looked pissed to say the least.

“Keiji!” A voice yelled, the room door opening to show a teenage boy and an adult woman. The older woman quickly rushed over and grabbed Keiji’s shoulders, maneuvering him around as if he was a doll. “Are you okay?! What were you doing out so late at night? Do you know how worried I was about getting a call at 4 in the morning?!”

The teenage boy, while worried, strolled in slowly. He raised an eyebrow at you before focusing solely on Keiji. “That was gnarly. Were you speeding or something? You usually ride a bike like a sloth.” He laughed.

“Imagine my shock when the hospital called and said that you were emitted into the emergency room with a concussion!” The older woman, who you assumed was his mother, cried out.

“Yeah.. and that your partner was the one that called the ambulance for you.” The teenager said, causing Keiji’s and Ms. Hasumi’s gaze to finally turn over to you.

You immediately sat up straight at their gaze. Keiji huffed. You expected him to quickly deny that and maybe drag you through the mud a little when Ms. Hasumi grinned.

“So both of my sons are gay!” Ms. Hasumi laughed, clapping her hands together as if it was the funniest news she could ever learn. “I’m so sorry that this is how we first met. I’m Hasumi Nana.” She walked over and easily pulled you over into a hug.

You awkwardly hugged her back, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not gay!” The teenager cried out, a look of embarrassment on his face.

“Sure, Ken. Haruto is just a really good friend of yours.” Ms. Hasumi shook her head. “Anyway, your name isn’t Japanese, are you a foreigner?”

“Obviously he is.” Ken muttered, crossing his arms.

“Ken, I don’t think I asked you to speak. I’m sorry, he gets cranky if he doesn’t get his eight hours of sleep.” She gave you a wide grin.

“Oh, uhm, yes.” You answered, glancing over at Keiji. You were waiting for him to say something but he only looked at you with an amused smirk. Was he finding this funny?

“This is good news, I was worried my Keiji wouldn’t find anyone in this life.” She nodded solemnly to herself. “Then you can take care of him for this week.”

“Pardon?”

“P–? Haha, was that Chinese?” Ms. Hasumi seemed to never stop grinning. “I have a girls trip to Thailand already planned, we leave tomorrow. Ken was going to spend this week with Haruto so Keiji is going to be all alone. It’s perfect if you can take care of him. Then you both don’t have to… sneak out at 3 am to hang out.” She laughed.

“Uhm, Hasumi wouldn't want that..” You whispered.

“Hasumi? You guys aren’t even on a first name basis yet?” Ken raised an eyebrow.

“Ken.” His mother warned, a harsh glare in her eyes.

Keiji hummed. “Who said I wouldn't want that?” You looked over at him as a wide grin pulled on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I want my sweet boyfriend taking care of me?”

Oh.

You were screwed.

“Oh and I know it’s none of my business..” Ms. Hasumi pursed her lips. “But why are you only in a bathrobe and pajama pants?”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I think this punishment isn’t all that bad.” Siyi said on the phone. She was clearly not surprised that Keiji got back at you. “If I was him, I would’ve embarrassed you in public. Embarrassing you in private is quite nice of him.”

You whined, scrubbing at the toilet Keiji told you to clean. “But…”

“There is no but. You essentially led him on for a full month. A week doing his bidding is nothing in comparison to what you did. Besides, he did get the concussion because he was worried for you.”

You stopped. “Huh? Worried for me?”

“Uh, yeah. Why else would he have biked to you in under five minutes, moving so fast that he couldn't stop himself in time. At 3 am in the morning. He cared a little bit.”

You’ve only been at Keiji’s house for two days so far. He had made you clean the house spotless while he just did school work or laze around. You basically did anything he didn’t want to do. Doing so many chores right after classes was tiring but you didn’t think about what Siyi said until now.

She was right.

Even if right now, every gaze he gave you was of contempt. He cared enough that night to rush to you.

He cared for you that much in just a month.

“Anyway, stop complaining to me and clean that toilet. I told you to not come crying to me once you get caught.” She quickly hung up the phone.

In all honesty, he could have been meaner. He was really just ignoring your existence half the time or telling you to do something for him. But somehow, you wished he was still paying attention to you. Even if it was to yell at you.

The next two days flew by quickly.

And by now, he didn’t ask you to do anything.

You sat on the couch, basically twiddling with your fingers as Keiji did his homework. He was sitting on the ground, his homework sprawled all over the coffee table. The air felt tense. Only the sound of pencil meeting paper was heard. You were too nervous to turn on the TV.

Your gaze was on him, watching his every move. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose. He made no attempt to fix them as he focused solely on his homework. It looked to be something advanced. Nothing you could understand with a simple glance over.

“Cursing me out in your head?” He suddenly asked, not even looking up at you.

“What? No! Sorry, I was…” You clamped your mouth shut. It took a full minute before you decided to get the courage to say something. “Why are you ignoring me?”

The sound of something snapping caused you to flinch. His pencil’s tip was completely broken. Keiji didn’t say anything for a moment. Your stomach began to tighten as you silently cursed yourself out. Why did you even ask him that?

Wasn’t being ignored better than anger?

“Why? I’m sorry,” Keiji placed his pencil down. “I didn’t know I owed you anything.”

“I didn’t–I mean, I expected you to be more angry… maybe do more stuff?”

“I did for the first few days but then I got tired of it. Because that’s the difference between you and me,” he looked back at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “I don’t gain any satisfaction from hurting someone.” He gathered his papers and stood up, walking away to his room.

You stared at his retreating back. No, you couldn’t let it stay like this. You wanted to at least try… if he pushed you away again, then you’d listen.

You quickly rushed after him, holding the door before he could close it. Keiji stared back at you with wide eyes, probably wondering where you had gained the audacity.

“Hasumi, I know I hurt you but I did really start to enjoy talking to you.”

“So? Was it funny when I called you Xiaojie? Did it hurt you to call me Xiansheng? You seemed to say it with ease. Did you do this to other poor “nerds” to make fun of them with Hitoshi and his friends?

“No!” You frowned. “I never did this to anyone else but you.”

Keiji scoffed. “I guess that makes me special.”

“Hasumi.” Your voice was shaky. “I know why it's hard to believe me. I know you should hurt me back and I can handle it but don’t ignore me. I can’t handle that.”

“What? You want me to hurt you like you hurt me?” Keiji got into your space, cornering you until you pressed against the now closed bedroom door. “I bet thats what that little fucker wants. To see me lose my cool and beat you up in front of them. They’d bet on it.”

Your eyes widen. Just how well did Keiji know Hitoshi? However, Keiji took your silence as confirmation. He rolled his eyes and moved to pull away but you quickly wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your body against his. Keiji grabbed at your shoulders and began pushing you away.

“Let go of me. You have a fucking death wish or something?!”

“No!” You cried out. “This past month, it was so easy to talk to you. I started waking up and wanting to text you immediately to tell you anything that popped in my head. Anything mundane or exciting that happened those days, you were the first person I thought of. I stayed up late to see your response when you could finally answer. I loved your voice notes, even if I sometimes struggled to understand you because you talk so fast whenever you get excited about all that science talk.”

These past few days without you, I can’t go back. I… I…”

Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ.

You shuddered, your hands gripping at his back. You hadn't even realized he had stopped trying to push you away. Just as you were about to speak, his hand grabbed your chin, pushing your face back. His gaze was filled with anger but also something else deep down.

“You can’t go without me?” He laughed cruelly, “did Hitoshi prepare this script for you? You can handle my anger? Do you know what you’re wishing for, Xiaojie?” he spat out the title as if it was venomous. “Because if I start, I’m not stopping.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you only nodded. “I can. I can. I want your anger, please.”

Keiji’s features softened, just for a tiny moment before he glared at you. He pushed you away and grabbed your arm, shoving you onto his bed. You fell down with a cry, staring up at him as he stood at the edge of the bed, right between your legs.

As you stared up at him, you wondered if you could truly handle whatever he was holding deep inside.

You cried out, fingers digging into the bedsheets beneath you. Your teeth were biting into the pillow as your body shot forward once more. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Keiji didn’t wait a second as he spanked you once more. He didn’t count or keep a steady rhythm. It was all done so you couldn’t get too comfortable.

At this point you didn't know how long he had been spanking you. Your ass felt sore and sensitive to touch. Keiji stopped again for a second. You waited for a moment, waiting for whenever he’d finally spank you again.

But he didn’t as something wet and slimy was suddenly touching your lower back. The cool liquid burned against your sensitive skin as you let out a muffled cry. His long fingers rubbed the lube across your skin before sliding down to your ass. He didn’t wait a second as he slipped in his middle finger.

The stretch caused you to gasp, leaning down further into the bed. Keiji’s free hand grabbed your hip and pulled it up more. His refusal to talk was both hot and terrifying. Each touch was a shock.

“Xiansheng…” You pitifully whined out, a stray tear sliding down your cheek. Would he even listen if you asked him to be gentle? You decided to bite back into the pillow, shutting yourself up.

Keiji didn’t respond and continued to rub at your warm walls. He slipped in another finger, stretching you out. His fingers reached in deep until it rubbed against a certain spot inside you. Your eyes widen as you let out a miffed cry. Keiji stilled for a moment.

He experimentally pressed down on the spot. The two fingers gently massaged and rubbed around the edge. Your legs twitched as you struggled to keep your moans down. Each touch earned a gasp. Your hands were practically tearing at the bedsheets now as your cock was leaking precum.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you grunted, cum coating the bedsheets beneath you.

Keiji let out an amused huff. A spank to your right cheek caused you to gasp. Your body immediately collapsed, your legs giving out. You whined into the pillow as Keiji delivered another harsh spank to your left cheek. Despite the pain, your cock was already twitching alive beneath your stomach.

“You look pathetic.” Keiji finally spoke, pulling his fingers out of you. You whined at the loss. “This isn’t really a punishment since you’re enjoying it so much. Maybe you wanted this type of punishment all along.” he leaned over you, his lips teasing the tip of your ear.

“Such a slut. You only wanted sex in the end.”

“No…” A choked sob left you as you felt his cock slowly push inside of you.

“No? But look at you, so tight, I can’t even fit.” He pressed down on the curve of your back as he continued to thrust his cock’s full length inside. “You could’ve just asked if all you wanted was a quick fuck.”

You whimpered, burying your face into the pillow at his words.

“But,” he laughed into your ear. “I would’ve never said yes to someone like you. You disgust me.”

Your eyes widen. His words were ringing in your ears as he began to slowly thrust in and out. He gripped your waist, lifting your lower body up so he could keep you still. But even as your body shook with each thrust–you couldn’t feel it.

It was as if you were frozen in time. Just hearing his words over and over again.

You hadn’t even realized you were wailing until he pulled out. Your body shook with your heavy cries as he flipped you over to lay on your body. Much to your shock he pulled you onto his lap and made you rest your head on his shoulder. You eagerly clung to his warmth, nails digging into his skin as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was too much.” He whispered, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your back.

“Xiansheng… do I…?” You couldn’t even finish your sentence.

“No. You don’t. I’m sorry, I got too angry.” Keiji sighed, gently pushing you up from his chest. You fought against that, using all your strength but he won in the end. He stared up at you as you looked away, knowing that you must've looked like a mess.

“(Name).” He said, his voice soft. You finally looked down at him, surprised to see him gazing up at you with a fond expression. “I’m angry. I’m hurt. I hated finding out that this past month was a prank to you.”

“It wasn’t–!”

“But I also liked reading your messages. I liked reading through the nonsense you sent me after a long day. I liked seeing the rare pictures you sent me, hoping you’d hopefully send me one of yourself. Sending those voice notes to help you sleep was fun. You’re the only notification I'd get on some days. These few days without it, I realized I didn’t want everything to go back to how it was before. So, yes, I’m hurt, and it may take me a while to truly forgive you… but I don’t want you gone from my life.”

He patted you on the back, his expression suddenly neutral. You blinked, shocked at how fast he could change expressions. But when you stared at him a little longer, you could see the slight embarrassment in his eyes.

“Hasumi,” you whispered, “really?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? Because I won’t.” He said, his softness all gone within seconds.

But you didn’t care. You grinned despite the tears staining your face as you leaned down and pulled him into a kiss. Keiji’s eyes widened before he easily returned it. The kiss started out as a simple peck, slowly turning into a hungry kiss as Keiji’s hands gripped your waist. He guided you to lay back down on the bed, hands sliding down to grab your legs and push them up.

You moaned into the kiss, gripping at his hair as he tilted your head back, sucking on your tongue.

He struggled to find your hole without pulling away from the kiss before, thrusting back inside you, the now dried lube no longer offering an easy thrust. You groaned, pulling away from the kiss as you moved to grip at the bedsheets.

Keiji watched you as he leaned back, moving one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. He gripped the other leg tightly as he slowly began to thrust inside of you. Now you could truly pay attention to the stretch. His cock stretching you full as he teased the same spot from earlier.

“Hasumi,” you sighed out. 

“Keiji.” He responded, pressing a kiss to your calf, biting at the skin. He smirked as your leg jerked at the bite. “If you’re going to be screaming my name out, it needs to be my name… or Xiansheng.” 

Your face felt hot as you stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Keiji…” The name felt a little foreign on your tongue. 

Keiji tightened his grip on your thigh as he began to keep a steady rhythm, thrusting into you. You whimpered and gasped at each thrust–the slight burn from earlier no longer affecting you. Your ass stung whenever his hips slapped into you. Somehow the pain only made you cry louder. 

“Keiji, Keiji,” you uttered his name like a prayer, reaching down to grip his hand. Keiji released your legs, moving them to wrap around his waist as he grabbed both of your wrists. One of his hands easily engulfed them both. You whimpered, flinching as his thrusts slowed, purposely pushing them in deep. 

At this pace, his cock was stuck at rubbing that spot. You weren’t even sure what that spot was but it had to be something sensitive. The constant teasing sent you into a frenzy as you arched your back, crying out. You needed to cum at this point, your cock leaking dejectedly on your stomach. 

“Xiaojie?” Keiji questioned, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leaned in close. 

You tried to glare at him but he only hummed. 

“Scream as loud as you want,” he said, a serious look in his eyes as he leaned back. His grip suddenly tightened as you tried to comprehend what he could be doing. 

The sudden force caused you to gasp, your body shaking as he slammed into you. Then, he began to fuck into you with a sudden rise in stamina. 

Loud, choked moans left your throat as you watched his hips slam into you with no hesitation. He was silent with a hungry glint in his eyes as he kept a tight grip on you. 

He kept you close to him even as you tried to pull away for just a second. Your moans being punched out as your back arches up from the bed. 

You couldn’t even say a word. 

It didn’t take long for you to cum, an almost pained cry leaving you at the pleasure. But he didn’t slow down even as you whined at the overstimulation. 

Your sensitive cock bounced against your stomach as your body shook with each harsh thrust. It was almost hard to breathe at this point. 

This had to have been a punishment. 

“Stop squirming.” Keiji grunted out, using his free hand to push down on your chest, keeping you still. He pulled all the way out before slamming right back inside. 

You shrieked as warm cum began to coat your sensitive insides. Your body went limp once he finally slowed down. It was a struggle to breathe. 

“You think I’m done?” Keiji suddenly said, taking off his glasses. He placed them on the nightstand. You watched with weary eyes as he slowly slipped off his shirt, his gaze filled with hunger. 

“I still have a lot of pent up anger, Xiaojie. Didn’t you say you could handle it?” 

You gulped.  ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Ken asked, watching as you and his mother began talking outside of the hospital room. 

“Mhm.” Keiji simply hummed. 

“You’re really gonna allow him in the house? Why didn’t you beat him up?” 

Keiji rolled his eyes. “Not everything needs to end in a fist fight.” 

“Hmph. So you’re just gonna use him like a slave for the week? I guess that’s something…” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

Keiji looked over at his brother. “That wouldn’t hurt him.” 

“What will?” 

“Ignoring him. Making him feel like I’ll leave him. That’ll make him understand the hurt he has caused me.” 

Ken shook his head. “Oof. Psychological. You’re scary, bro.” 

Keiji simply smirked. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”  ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

You winced, burying your face into the pillow. Keiji muttered an apology as he continued rubbing your sore ass with numbing cream. 

“What you said earlier,” Keiji said, looking down at you. “Wǒ? Wǒ shī?” 

“Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ.” You corrected, looking over at him. “You learned some of the basics but not that?” 

“What does it mean?” 

You smirked. “Xiansheng, are you stupid?” 

“Did you just ask if I’m stupid?” 

“So you know that but not xǐhuān?!” 

“Tell me.” 

You pointed at his phone. “Use the translator.” 

Keiji rolled his eyes but grabbed his phone, putting on a translator. He moved to hand it over to you but you grabbed his wrist instead of the phone, bringing it close to your lips. 

You gazed up at him as you pressed the mic. Your eyes focused solely on him. 

Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ 

I like you

The translator repeated after you in Japanese. Keiji blinked as he stared down at you. You briefly wondered if he was angry when he dropped his phone and surged forward, pulling you into a kiss. 

You grinned into the kiss, giggling. A sudden moan left you as his hand trailed down your back to your ass, squeezing the sore muscles. You winced and pulled back to stare at him in shock. 

“One more round.” He simply said, already leaning forward. 

He easily flipped you to lay on your back as he moved to straddle you, folding your legs upward. 

You didn’t put up much of a fight as he claimed you again… and again for the rest of the night. 

Ken closed the house front door, holding the house dog, Kokoko, in his arms. He looked back at Haruto—his not-boyfriend—and sighed. 

“Can I stay over… for a few more days? Please?” 

“Uh, yeah… it doesn’t sound like they’re stopping any time soon.” 

I wrote so many notes on what was gonna happen and then end up not using any of it lol 

@the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler @ofclyde @mello-life25 @cherry-blossoms-187 @rhetorical-conscience @smellwell @mooncarvers-world @lu-dao-writes @secretivemessenger @ning1e @yuzuukix @axetivev @anchoredphoenix @remdayz @love-kha1 @iwishtobeacrow @tomoeroi @star-3214

[webwanderer]

I NEED SAJA BOYS X MALE READER FICS PLS

[carnalcrows]

The one with the Scandal

pariring: rockstar! male OC x male reader [profile]

summary: You’re not dating him. You don’t even like him like that. He’s younger. He’s your job. He’s also apparently into fixing your collar, looking at you like you’re his, and letting the entire fanbase run with it. You’re just trying to not get fired. He’s making it really hard.

content warnings: 18+, idol/manager dynamic, bottom male reader, Jiho is younger but he is in control, reader is spiraling professionally but holding it together (barely), scandal via leaked video, yandere tendencies if you squint, oral (reader receiving), Jiho calls the reader Hyung someone is watching. also: subtle HR violations and bad decisions made in very quiet hallways.

word count: 3.1k

White Eclipse’s manager's job description didn’t include “babysit rockstars,” but here you were at 6:47 a.m., standing outside the dorm in socks, trying to get a key card to work while someone inside was blasting what could only be described as sad trap piano.

You didn’t bother knocking. They never heard it anyway.

The door opened a beat later—Jiho, hoodie half-on, eyes still sleepy, holding a toothbrush like it was a weapon.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough. “Thought you were food.”

You blinked. “It’s me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

Then he just… stepped aside to let you in.

No apology. No explanation.

You used to be surprised by things like that. Not anymore. It’d been seven months since you took over as White Eclipse’s full-time manager. Seven months of group chats at 2 a.m., misplaced earrings, broken in-rooms, passive-aggressive silence in makeup chairs. You were barely keeping the group running. You didn’t have energy left for things like normal boundaries.

Jiho wandered back down the hall. You followed, because your job required it. Not to hover, just to check the morning schedule—radio taping, press call, one-on-one interview for Juhwan. Makeup in twenty.

“You slept?” you asked, mostly to check.

Jiho shrugged. “Eventually.”

“Eat something before we go.”

He didn’t answer, which usually meant no.

You sighed, already noting it down in the log.

⋆｡°✩  

The van ride was quiet, except for Doyun humming aggressively off-key to a song no one else liked. You were seated up front, checking your tablet, trying to remember if anyone had confirmed Jiho’s brand outfit for the shoot. You didn’t hear him move until he leaned forward between the seats.

“Hyung,” he said. His breath ghosted the side of your neck, too close.

You didn’t flinch, but your fingers stilled.

“Yes?”

“You left your charger last time.”

He held it out—your USB-C cable, neatly wrapped.

You blinked. “You… kept it?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Figured you’d come back for it eventually.”

Then sat back like nothing happened.

You turned toward the window. The city rolled by in silence. You didn’t say thank you.

You weren’t sure you wanted to know what else he was keeping track of.

⋆｡°✩  

The radio taping was delayed by forty minutes. Not that anyone told you until you were already standing in the green room, watching the stylist re-iron Taeyang’s shirt while Juhwan paced like he was on trial.

You were half-listening to a PD explain the new segment structure when Jiho appeared beside you again—like he always did, like gravity.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed you a bottle of water.

You took it automatically.

A few seconds passed before you glanced over.

“…This isn’t mine,” you said.

“It’s cold,” he replied. “You like it that way.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

He didn’t stick around for a reaction—just walked back to the couch and sat, legs crossed, earbuds in, expression unreadable as ever. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just said something small and specific enough to stick in your brain like a splinter.

You told yourself it was normal. He probably remembered from a post-schedule snack run. He was observant. That was all.

It didn’t mean anything.

But when the boys were being ushered into the booth, he lingered again.

Waited until the others were out of earshot.

Then said, “You looked tired yesterday.”

Your hand paused on the equipment list.

“…That’s not part of your job description.”

Jiho gave a half-smile. Small. Secret.

“Neither’s remembering your charger.”

You didn’t smile back.

You wanted to.

You didn’t.

⋆｡°✩  

That night, you stayed at the company building longer than you meant to. Not unusual—schedules had to be reshuffled, the stylists were panicking about a delivery delay, and someone had somehow misplaced two of Doyun’s in-ear backups despite the fact that you’d personally labelled them in obnoxiously bold font last week.

By the time you packed your bag, the halls were half-dark and the lights in the vocal practice room were still on.

You almost didn’t look.

You almost walked straight past.

But you didn’t.

Jiho was there. Again.

Seated on the floor, guitar in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up. His face was lit only by the screen of his phone, and he looked so relaxed—so out of uniform—that it threw you off for a second.

He didn’t see you right away. But the second you stepped into the room; his fingers stilled on the frets.

He looked up. And didn’t look away.

“…You live here now?” you asked dryly, trying not to let your voice give anything away.

“Only if you do,” he said, which wasn’t funny, but it made your mouth twitch anyway.

You sat on the bench near the wall, just to rest for a minute. Just to breathe.

Jiho shifted slightly, setting his guitar down.

“They let you have solo schedules today?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Temporary probation.”

He hummed. “For what?”

You gave him a look. “You really want me to spell it out?”

“I want to know what they think happened.”

His tone wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t particularly curious, either. Just steady. Like he was testing something.

You didn’t answer.

He stood slowly and crossed the room, not close, not quite, but just enough that the air changed.

“I know what I felt Hyung,” he said.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your manager.”

He smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not lately.”

That sat in the space between you, heavy and uncomfortable and true.

You stood up, suddenly. Bag over your shoulder. Shoes already pointed toward the door.

Jiho didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. Just said, quiet and sure,

“Then what are you still doing here?”

⋆｡°✩  

You’re already at the studio before the sun finishes rising, two iced Americanos in hand, and neither of them are for you.

The schedule’s stacked—two back-to-back interviews, followed by a commercial shoot, and then a fitting for a brand collab you only got confirmation for at midnight. You don’t even realise you’ve been typing out emails with your neck tilted and your jaw clenched until someone passes behind you and mutters, “Hyung, you’re gonna shatter your teeth.”

It’s Doyun.

You don’t respond. Just hand him one of the coffees and tell him to finish it before makeup.

Jiho’s the last one out of the van when you arrive at the venue. Hoodie up, expression blank, one earbud in. He doesn’t speak until the others have wandered off in different directions. You’re halfway to the front doors, double-checking a logistics note, when he suddenly says behind you, “You forgot your charger... again.”

You stop walking.

“I didn’t.”

He holds it up anyway. Neatly wrapped. Slightly warm, like he kept it in his pocket.

“Don’t leave your stuff around if you don’t want me touching it,” he adds.

It’s not flirtatious. Not playful.

Just a little… too direct.

You take it from him without meeting his eyes.

By the time the day wraps, you’ve been on your feet for nearly eleven hours, you’re starving, and you’ve answered the same three questions from the same sponsor rep three separate times.

You’re in the back hallway finishing a call when the door beside you creaks open.

Jiho again.

Of course.

He doesn’t say anything. Just leans against the wall next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me around like a ghost today?” you ask, keeping your voice flat.

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

There’s a beat of silence between you.

“You know they’re already watching,” you say quietly. “Even if nothing happens.”

He shrugs. “Then let them.”

You stare straight ahead. If you look at him now, you might say something you can’t take back.

He leaves without another word.

⋆｡°✩  

It starts the next morning, before you’re even fully awake.

Your phone lights up with a buzz sharp enough to break through sleep, and the notification preview makes your blood run cold.

You don’t open it at first. You already know what it is.

You sit up in bed, screen half-lit, and there it is: A video.

Low-res, muted, zoomed in from somewhere behind the practice room window. You, standing in front of Jiho. Him, fixing your collar like he’s done it a hundred times before. You, frozen. Him, looking at you like no one else exists.

It’s only ten seconds. But that’s all it takes.

WHO is that? he looks like STAFF??? That’s the manager hyung. I’ve seen him in airport vids. They’re so domestic, what the hell 😭😭 The way he looks at him, oh my god, he’s SO GONE idc if it’s fake, this is the best ship in K-pop rn

You can’t breathe.

The DMs are already coming in. Three calls from PR. One from someone in legal. Your group chat with the other managers is blowing up, and your name is already trending.

You close the app. Open your notes app. Start typing an apology that no one’s asked for yet.

Then you stop. Because your phone buzzes again.

Jiho.

A single text.

[ come up to the roof.]

You stare at it.

Ignore it.

Then, against your better judgment, you go.

⋆｡°✩  

The rooftop is quieter than you remember.

It’s probably not even technically accessible—some intern left the door propped open during a late-night smoke break once, and now everyone pretends it’s still locked. You used to come up here alone. That was before. Before the video. Before the call from PR. Before your name started appearing in the trending bar.

Now Jiho’s already here, hoodie sleeves bunched up to his elbows, fingers curled around a can of grape soda that’s starting to sweat through the aluminium. He looks like he hasn’t moved in an hour. Like this isn’t the first time he’s sat here, waiting for you.

You shut the door behind you.

He doesn’t turn to look at you immediately. Just nods toward the railing beside him.

You don’t sit.

“You saw it?” you ask.

He hums in response. You’re not sure if that’s a yes or a who hasn’t?

“You’re not panicking.”

He finally turns. There’s no smile. No bite. Just his usual unreadable calm.

“Should I be?”

You almost laugh, sharp and humourless. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know.”

He tosses the soda can into the nearby bin without looking. Deadcentrer.

You cross your arms. “They’re going to kill this. Quietly. I’m already off the schedule for next week.”

“I noticed.”

You expect a flicker of regret. Frustration. Some trace of guilt.

You get none.

Instead, Jiho steps closer—not aggressive, just deliberate. There’s no camera up here. No PR team. No lighting cues or stylists, or handlers. Just him. Just you.

“They think we’re together,” he says, voice low.

You don’t answer.

“Maybe we should be.”

You look away. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what, Hyung?”

“Say things you can’t take back.”

He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth from his body—his chest rising slowly, steadily. He doesn’t try to touch you. That would be too easy. Too obvious. Instead, he just stands there like gravity, like inevitability.

“I’ve been waiting for something to break,” he says, quieter now. “I just didn’t think it’d be a ten-second clip.”

You inhale through your nose. Try to stay steady.

“I’m older than you,” you say.

“So?”

“I’m your manager.”

He leans in—not touching, not yet.

“Not today.”

The silence between you hangs, taut and electric.

Then you walk away.

You don’t run.

But you don’t look back.

⋆｡°✩  

You don’t answer his messages after that.

Not because you don’t want to. You just don’t trust yourself to say something that won’t get screenshotted and sent to HR. You spend the rest of the day buried in logistics—flipping through updated schedules, emailing photographers, pretending your phone isn’t buzzing every hour with a new article, a new fan edit, a new speculative thread. You don’t see Jiho for the rest of the day, and you let yourself believe maybe that rooftop conversation didn’t mean anything.

Then he shows up at your apartment.

It’s late—past midnight. You’re wearing an old shirt and mismatched socks, half-asleep, when the intercom buzzes. You think it’s a food delivery at first. You didn’t order anything. But when you answer, all you hear is—

“Hyung— It’s me.”

You don’t open the door right away. You hesitate. Long enough to consider what this will mean if you do.

But when you finally unlock it, he’s standing there. Hoodie off. Cap gone. Just Jiho—his real face, glasses slightly fogged from the night air. He looks calm. Like he’s been here before.

You don’t ask him why he came. You don’t need to.

He steps inside like he’s done it before, like this is normal— hoodie slung over one shoulder, hair pushed back messily from his face. He looks like he belongs here, even though you’ve never invited him in, not really. You tell yourself you’re only letting this happen because you’re exhausted. Because there’s no one else around. Because you’ve already been dragged into the narrative, so what’s one more mistake?

But you know better.

You always have.

You lock the door behind him and turn to find him watching you like he’s memorising something.

“You always leave it open when you’re nervous,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“The collar. You don’t button the top one. You fidget with it when you’re trying not to look at me.”

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Jiho walks past you—through the short hallway, into the living room, casual like he’s heading for the kitchen. He doesn’t. He stops at the edge of the couch and looks back.

“You gonna keep pretending?”

You cross your arms defensively. “Pretending what?”

“That you don’t want me to stay.”

That lands harder than you expect. Not because he’s wrong. But because you’ve been trying so hard to keep that exact thing from showing on your face for weeks.

And maybe you haven’t been as successful as you thought.

When you don’t answer, he turns fully. Walks up to you slowly, deliberately, until the heat from his body reaches your chest and you have nowhere else to go.

He touches the collar of your shirt. Just the fabric. No skin. Yet.

“You should stop wearing this,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

“Because I want to take it off.”

Your breath catches. He hears it. You know he does.

Then, carefully, he undoes the top button. Then the next. You don’t stop him.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

You didn’t even realize.

“I—Jiho, this is—”

“Too late.”

He steps forward. Presses his mouth to yours—once, slow and sure. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t push. But there’s heat behind it. Control. Like he’s waited long enough, and he’s not going to let you talk your way out of it now.

You kiss him back.

⋆｡°✩  

He leads you to the bedroom without speaking, only touching you where he needs to—your wrist, your hip, the small of your back. You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels without hesitation, hands sliding up your thighs, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you. “But you don’t get to lie to me either.”

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Jiho peels your pants down with practised fingers, pushing them past your hips, then your briefs. You’re already half-hard, pulse thudding like your body’s already a step ahead of your thoughts.

He leans in. Licks a slow stripe up the underside of your cock.

Your hands twitch at your sides. You don’t touch him. Not yet.

He doesn’t look up when he takes you into his mouth. Just sinks down, slow and steady, jaw relaxed like he’s done this a dozen times—maybe not for anyone else, but in his head, you’re sure he’s thought about it. Over and over.

His tongue presses firmly along the base. His lips seal around you, and he moans—soft, like it’s for him, not you. The vibration makes your knees buckle.

He takes his time. Pulls off to suck at the head, just enough to make you gasp. Then down again—deeper, sloppier now, until your cock hits the back of his throat and he still doesn’t stop.

You manage his name. Once. Barely.

His hands grip your thighs, firm and steady, keeping you in place. He sucks you down again and again, never breaking eye contact, never faltering. He wants you to watch. To know exactly how far he’s willing to go.

When you start to lose control—hips stuttering, breath slipping—he only tightens his hold and hums around you again. That pushes you over.

You come with a choked breath, your hand in his hair, every nerve lit up. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t spill a drop.

When it’s done, when your heart’s still racing and your fingers are trembling, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s nothing.

Then he leans in again, not to kiss you, but just to speak.

Voice low. Calm. Possessive.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “you’re going to beg for it.”

⋆｡°✩  

You wake up before your alarm.

The light in your bedroom is pale, soft, barely filtered through your blinds. The air is cool against your skin, your sheets kicked halfway off the bed, your body still aching in that strange, satisfying way. Not sore. Just… used. Thoroughly.

Jiho is still asleep beside you.

His hand is curled against the pillow, palm up, fingers relaxed like he has nothing left to chase. His mouth is parted slightly. His hair’s a mess. One leg is tangled with yours beneath the blanket.

You lie there for a moment, still and quiet.

You don’t know what time he fell asleep. You don’t know if he meant to stay. You don’t even know if he thinks this was a one-time thing or the start of something. You should care.

You do care.

You just don’t know what to do with it yet.

Eventually, you get up. Carefully. Quietly.

You don’t leave the room, just stand near the doorway, shirt half-on, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to feel. It doesn’t feel like a victory. Or relief. It just feels inevitable.

You reach for your phone out of habit. You’ve got two unread messages.

One from your replacement manager, asking if you’re available for a rescheduled meeting later in the week.

And one from an unknown number.

[hope you enjoyed last night. This is just the beginning.]

No context. No name. But your stomach drops anyway.

You read it again.

And again.

Behind you, Jiho shifts in the sheets.

You don’t turn around.

Not yet.

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© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[sooniebby]

Boxer OC idea… yall should watch Knockout the series immediately. Anyway, bottom male reader obvi. Just a little stream of consciousness on how the character works/story. LI means love interest

A popular boxer who known for being a little cocky, telling his opponents that they have to offer something if they lose. He always offers 35,000 dollars, an extra 20,000 if they deliver a knockout in or before the third round if he loses. No one’s been able to get it. While the LI always asks for something he notices the opponent cherishes. Like jewelry, a date with their partner, their car. Anything really.

He never usually keeps them. Uses it for like a week or two and then returns it, not without flaunting it on his Instagram to show it in their faces.

Your older brother is an up and coming boxer who hasn’t lost a fight so far—and has been dreaming (obsessing) over managing to knockout LI. So when at the press conference, a month or so before their scheduled fight, LI asks what your brother will offer when he loses.

Theres tension at the word “when” while your brother is about to offer up his car, not wanting his boyfriend to go on a date with him.

“That’s boring… obviously, that boyfriend of yours is more important.” LI said. The coaches immediately have to hold your brother back just as you manage to slip near your brother’s boyfriend and friend.

LI is about to call on the boyfriend when he notices you. You’re confused as it looks as if he’s recognizing you from somewhere but you’ve never seen him before. He takes in your clothes, noticing the scrubs you’re wearing, similar to the boyfriend.

“I know,” he suddenly said, catching your brother off guard, “he has to be my nurse for six months.”

Your brother hummed, “that’s.. better. Okay. He can do that.”

LI smirked. “You probably should’ve double checked on who I was asking for.” He said, nodding his head towards you. Your brother glanced back and immediately panicked at seeing you.

“Hey—you can’t—!”

“—too late~ you already agreed. Aim for a knockout, buddy.” LI pats your brother on the back before leaving the small stage. He walks over to you and leans down so only you could hear him.

“Can’t wait for our six months, babe~”

Smut ideas: heavily into manhandling you into any position. Constantly touching you and riding up your shirt, even if other people are around.

Semi-blood play, definitely would purposely spread his blood over your face with kisses. Sometimes even biting your lip so you could bleed… blood mixing, he nasty like that.

Pictures. Definitely takes pictures after or during sex, sometimes videos so he can watch them back later for masturbation. Would ask for audios of you masturbating.

Constantly tearing your scrubs open. He starts paying for your scrubs since it’s gotten to a point. The store clerks know you by name now.

First few times he’ll use condoms but quickly wants to do it bare. Into covering you in his cum.

While he’d love claiming and leaving marks on you, he’d encourage you to mark him up to. Most certainly going to show it off in front of your brother to piss him off.

Primal play, degradation. Little bit of feminization, gotta have a scene of reader having to wear a Halloween nurse costume, just gotta. Yall see the vision right?

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