Cry

You don’t even have to look up at him to know he’s already sporting that damn grin on his stupidly handsome features. It’s enough to make your face burn brighter, and your mind spirals as you wonder what made you think asking him of all people was a sound decision.

You’re more Sendou’s friend than Aiku’s, so it’s probably why you thought asking him for help was a good idea. But–if you were being honest with yourself–the “totally minor” crush you have on him might have also swayed you in that direction. Where you got the confidence to ask him in the first place, you haven’t a clue. Still…

This was a bad idea.

“You know what,” you huff. “Forget I ever—”

“No, no,” Aiku chuckles. “I’m intrigued.”

You pick at the skin on your arms as you force yourself to meet his heterochromatic gaze, your focus switching between the abyss blue and succulent green as a poor distraction.

“It’s not, like, a romantic thing,” you suppress a cringe, “I’m asking you because, well… you have experience and whatnot.”

“I do.” It’s a statement sprinkled with amusement rather than arrogance, but it doesn’t make you any less irked.

You take a deep breath. “I have no experience in… sex, and if I keep worrying about having the perfect experience, I’m never going to be happy with whatever happens. I’m asking, since you’ve done this before, if you can… teach me? Yeah, teach me, guide me, whatever.”

The football captain is quiet for a few seconds too many for your liking, and your gaze trails elsewhere as you prepare yourself for rejection.

He rubs his stubble, then hums. “Yeah, sure.”

You blink, then snap your head back to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Aiku stuffs his hands in his pockets, his posture all too relaxed for such a request. “I’m just helping a friend out, right? Sounds like we’re doing each other a favour.”

You’re too relieved to care about his teasing wink, and instead, you bow.

“Thank you, thank you.” Apparently, you’re also too relieved to care how desperate you sound as well. “I owe you.”

“Hm, don’t sweat it.”

It’s when you straighten your back that your awkwardness returns, the athlete looking down at you with a bemused curl to his lips and a tilt to his head. 

You clear your throat, clinging to your tote bag.“Well, like, not now.”

“Right.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“And send me your availabilities.”

“You make it sound like a weekly doctor’s check-up.”

You huff, his baritone chuckle making your face warm as you start walking away.

“See you soon, sweets,” he calls out.

“Enough out of you!”

You seem to follow your own advice once you’re in Aiku’s apartment, the few times you’ve visited beforehand doing little to ease your nerves. Even when he’s offered you a glass of water, you have to refrain from chugging it all down (lest you want to choke—not very sexy of you).

“I don’t bite,” the athlete grins over his shoulder at you as he leads you to his room. “But I totally can if you’re into it.”

You huff a quiet retort as he closes the door behind you. His room is spacious, something a well-known football captain could afford. Surprisingly tidy, too, for a man in his twenties—not that you’re complaining. It doesn’t hurt that the bed’s plenty big, and you sit at the edge of it as if sinking into the mattress will drown your anxieties with it. (It does not.)

“So,” you clear your throat, “are there levels to this, some kind of tier list for what to do next?”

“Not that I know of,” Aiku muses, striding to tower over you. He leans forward while placing his hands on your thighs, his thumbs caressing the soft skin. “You ever touched yourself?”

You nearly sputter at the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just making sure I know what I’m working with,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant if it weren’t for that damn smirk on his face. 

You huff, your gaze trailing elsewhere. “Yeah, sure. Sometimes.”

The athlete nods, his gaze focusing on where your skirt’s hiked up past your mid-thighs, making your shift in your spot. “You trust me?”

You bite your lip, glancing back at him to find him kneeling before you, his expression serious yet calm as his hands remain on your legs.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

“Good,” he nods, pecking your knee, his stubble grazing your skin. “Spread your legs for me, pretty.”

Is it the way he said it, or are you really just that easy? Regardless, you find yourself complying, your skirt riding up even more until your panties are visible. He encourages you to open up more, separating your legs further by your knees as he gently pushes you to lie on the mattress. 

You yelp when you feel warm lips kissing up your inner thigh, his facial hair back to scratching at your skin until you feel his breath against your core.

“I don’t taste good,” you blurt out, making Aiku pause as you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “I mean, not like I ever tasted it, but like… I’m not fully shaved, and—”

He cuts you off with your name, and you tilt your head to peer down at him. 

“You think that’s gonna scare me?”

You don’t even get to think of a response before he’s latched onto your core, mouthing it through your panties. You gasp, legs twitching as he groans against you. 

“S-Shit…” you whimper, clinging to his sheets. 

Aiku’s hands slide to your hips, licking up your clothed slit while toying with the waistband of your panties. “Gonna be a good girl for me and let me in?”

He’s already shimmying the cotton garment down, only stopping as he waits for you to lift your hips. A soft praise leaves his lips when you do, and you squeeze your eyes shut again when you hear the material hit the ground.

“Look at that…” the athlete whispers to himself. You can feel his gaze on your pussy, and you have to force yourself not to snap your legs shut.

“Don’t go saying things like that,” is all you manage to retort, your face hot as you stare at the ceiling, like it’d make for a good distraction.

“Why not?” He hums, pressing a kiss to the apex of your thigh. “This is about to be just as enjoyable for me, too.”

With that, he flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking up and flicking at your clit near the end. You stifle a moan, accidentally closing your legs around his head. Before you can apologize, his hands pull your thighs apart like you weigh nothing, and he resumes his ministrations like the interruption never happened. 

His mouth is warm as it toys with your pussy, his tongue exploring every nook and cranny before circling your entrance. Your chest heaves, the feeling foreign and far different from your fingers. “Aiku—”

“Shh…” he mumbles against your core, his nose nudging at your clit. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Easier said than done when they keep fluttering, but you are still less than ready for the sight before you: Aiku Oliver kneeling between your legs, face buried into your pussy as his mismatched eyes gaze up intensely to meet yours. 

Your focus wavers, and you bite your lip before spreading your legs wider. You feel the football captain smirk against you before going back to teasing your entrance with his tongue, switching between tracing its edges and poking inside. 

You whimper, toes curling in your socks as he plays a lewd symphony between your thighs, clearly lacking any shame as he buries his face deeper against you.

Then you feel something else prod at your entrance: his finger. The athlete drags it along your folds, gathering your slick before teasing your entrance.

“Relax for me,” he mumbles, the vibrations from his baritone voice fueling the pleasure. His digit easily slides in thanks to your arousal, though the stretch makes you gasp as you squeeze around it. Only used to your own fingers, the sudden intrusion feels stronger as it reaches deeper than you ever could. You squirm, making him chuckle. “Trying to snap my finger off?”

“No,” you stammer, fluttering around him. He smirks again at the feeling, moving his lips to wrap around your clit. You moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and making him groan loudly. 

“That’s it,” he growls, picking up the pace. “Use me.”

You whimper as you rut against his face, uncaring of your lack of rhythm as you chase your pleasure. It isn’t long until you feel a second finger try to slide in, the stretch more than what you’re used to and making you hiss. He goes back to sucking your clit as a distraction, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this soaked in your life. 

“Gonna cum,” you slur, tugging at his hair. “Aiku—”

The athlete curls his fingers just right, spots growing in your vision as you cum with parted lips and a cry stuck in your throat. He groans against you, helping you ride out your orgasm as your legs tremble and head falls back.

You have to tug Aiku’s hair again to tell him it’s too much, the prodding of his fingers at your g-spot having grown past your limits. He pulls back, licking his lips as you both pant for air.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, trying to sit back up. The football captain joins your side to your aid, rubbing your back soothingly. “What the fuck was that?”

You catch the slight puff of his chest, him seemingly a little to proud of your discombobulation, though you don’t bother to roll your eyes.

“That,” he says, licking his fingers clean as he maintains eye contact with you, “is what a real man does.”

The erotic sight makes you exhale shakily, cheeks hot as that same hand goes to rest on your trembling thigh. You sigh, resting your forehead on his shoulder to hide your reaction. That is, until your chin is tilted upward to meet his lips, making you all the more breathless as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Still want my help?” He hums, his thumb tracing patterns on your skin. 

You don’t even bother to catch your breath or offer a verbal response—you just tug him by his shirt back into another kiss.

It’s been a little over three weeks since then, and the two of you have been meeting up here and there to continue “practicing,” if you can call it that.

“I wanna learn how to suck dick.”

Aiku’s barely closed the door to his home once those words left your mouth. “Hello to you, too.”

You distract yourself from your bluntness by taking your time to untie your shoelaces, your face growing warm. 

“That’s one of the main things couples do, right?” You blink, then quickly add, “or anyone who sleeps with someone, I mean. I just want to know what that’s like…”

You trail off before you can further embarrass yourself. The football captain hums in amusement at your poor attempt at convincing him, leading you to the living room couch.

“I can definitely confirm it feels good,” he chuckles, taking a seat before patting the spot next to him. Your brows furrow at the mention of his previous experiences as you sit at his side, your legs closed and uncrossed, and your back a little too straight to appear comfortable. The athlete seems to notice, and he gently takes your chin to make you look at him. “You sure you’re ready to give it a go?”

“If you’re worried about me using teeth, I already know not to do that,” is your response, hoping he doesn’t catch the way your eyes soften at his concern. Even when he teases you relentlessly, the moments when he checks up on you are enough to convince yourself that he’s looking for more beyond this arrangement. Reminding yourself not to fall further into that fantasy is a pill you force yourself to swallow.

If he did notice your moment of weakness, Aiku masks the knowledge with another chuckle. “Yes or no, sweetheart.”

He’s leaning in, his arm lying on the back of the couch around you to offer a safe opening and enough time for you to think. His patience doesn’t waver, not as you meet his gaze, and certainly not when yours flickers to his lips. 

You swallow thickly. “I want this.”

The last thing you catch is his lips curling upwards before they meet yours, a soft groan leaving his throat as his hand cups your cheek to pull you closer. “Good girl.”

You don’t mean to whimper at the praise, but with how the athlete smiles into the kiss and teases your bottom lip with his tongue, he’s just finding another way to let you know he heard you. And had that same muscle not snuck into your mouth to play with yours, you’d probably be lucid enough to think of a proper comeback. 

Unfortunately, Aiku only furthers the short-circuiting of your brain by taking your hand and placing it on his crotch. You gasp softly, feeling his cock twitch through his sweats and slowly growing harder. He groans from your touch, and you feel just enough encouragement to palm him more. 

The football captain exhales shakily, a teasing smile gracing his lips. “Getting the hang of it pretty quickly.”

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver, your fingers grazing the waistband of his sweats. “Can I…?”

“Go on, pretty thing,” he breathes, pulling back to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hand goes on to aid you in freeing his cock from its confines, your gaze nervous as it scans every detail. You curse under your breath, and he hums. “Never seen one in person?”

“That’s a damn baby’s arm,” you blurt out, your hand hovering over his shaft.

Aiku laughs. “You’re doing numbers on my ego, you know that?”

You huff at his amusement, hesitation in your eyes as your gaze remains on his cock. Slowly, you reach to wrap your fingers around it, brows furrowed at the warmth and texture.

“Is it supposed to feel heavy?” you mumble, his stubble tickling your neck.

“Depends on who you ask.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”

“Fair enough,” the athlete hums, pretending to ponder before taking your hand back. “Spit on it.”

You glance at him, then at his cock, gathering saliva to let it dribble into his tip. He lets out a soft hiss. Taking it as a good sign, you wrap your fingers around his shaft once more, slowly stroking him to smear your spit around it evenly.

“Am I doing okay?” Your voice is quiet when you ask, and your response comes with Aiku placing his hand around yours to guide your movements. 

“Don’t squeeze too tight,” he breathes, his voice dropping an octave. “And play with the tip.”

You comply, even with him controlling your movements, you manage to rub his slit with your thumb. This earns you a groan from the football captain, the sound going straight to your core. 

His hand is warm around yours, engulfing it as he slowly but surely loosens his grip once you grow more comfortable pleasuring him. It isn’t until he’s fully pulled back that you pout.

He seems to have noticed, because he’s quick to peck your lips. “Doing so good for me…”

His praise makes your cheeks flare with heat, your thighs pressed together as you suddenly decide to lean down and lick his slit. He curses silently under his breath, and you continue to focus on his tip with your mouth. His pre is salty on your taste buds, a slight bitterness that makes your nose scrunch as you force yourself to keep going. 

The occasional praise leaves Aiku’s lips, making you whimper until you’re sliding his tip past your lips. You try swirling your tongue around his head, feeling his thighs twitch before you try to go deeper. A soft gagging sound leaves your throat a few inches in, making the athlete’s eyes snap open.

“Hey, hey,” he pulls you back up, allowing you to breathe. “Don’t push yourself.”

You whine, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Please?”

You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you feel, your panties clinging to your pussy as you gaze up at him. 

Aiku sighs, pecking your cheek. “Just don’t take what you can’t.”

That’s plenty of confirmation as you go back down, keeping a bit past his tip to ease his mind; whatever you can’t fit, you jerk off. Your jaw already hurts thirty seconds in, but the occasional praise is enough to make you want to keep going. Hell, the kiss to the cheek alone lit something within you. 

“See?” he hums, petting your hair. “You’re a natural.”

You accidentally moan in response, earning you a soft groan from him. You try to maintain your rhythm as you go faster, eager to please him as the position and taste grow familiar.

“Breathe, baby,” he exhales shakily. “Through your nose.”

Easier said than done. Every inhale seems to make your pace stutter, and you pull back to pant for air and give your jaw a break.

“Are you sure I’m doing this right?” you croak, your hand still wrapped around his base. 

“You’re doing great,” Aiku insists, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You catch it between your lips, sucking on the digit before you even realize what you’re doing. He curses at the erotic action, and you pull back to suck him off again.

Maybe it was another random wave of boldness or his reaction, but you couldn’t help but try to take more of him again, opting to take as much of him as you can in one go. He barely gets to let out another warning, his tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag around him. You feel him twitch in your mouth before sudden spurts of stickiness glide down your throat. Your eyes roll back, and you can’t hold yourself in place anymore. You pull back, another rope of his cum landing on your cheek as you sputter and gasp.

“Hey—” the football captain’s voice is strained as he helps you sit back up, his hand on your back. “I told you to take it easy.”

He tells you this as if his chest isn’t heaving from the orgasm, his cheeks pink and eyelids heavy. 

You wipe your mouth, finally able to breathe again. “I thought athletes lasted longer.”

He blinks at you before his lips twitch into a smirk and he knits his brows together, pushing you to lie on your back while hovering over you. The sudden change in position makes you gasp, and you grunt when he swipes his thumb to clean your face of his mess.

“And I didn’t think you’d get so worked up from making me feel good,” he retorts, his eyes trailing down. You follow his gaze to find your skirt flipped up, your panties damp at the gusset and on full display. Your face grows hot, and Aiku drags one of his knuckles along your clothed slit. “We have lots of time to improve your skills,” he muses, your quiet gasp making his grin grow wider. “How about we test to see how long you last.”

“Haaah!? No way!” Hina gasps, shaking your arm. You sink into your seat, hoping none of the cafe’s other patrons turn to face you at her outburst.

“Keep it down, Hina,” chides Koharu, her expression stern but not harsh. Said friend blinks, her brows furrowing. 

“Oh, come on! You’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious about everything going on?”

You toy with the straw in your drink as a distraction.

Miori, who’s been silent since entering the cafe, chimes in. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want some details.”

You glare at your drink like you’re trying to make it explode with your mind. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you mumble. “Aiku agreed to my proposal and is just… I don’t know, showing me the ropes? He’s done plenty with others—I’m sure even he’s lost count.”

“Not nice to slut-shame someone doing you a favour,” Hina playfully scolds with a wink. 

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Still,” Miori speaks up again, almost pondering to herself. “It’s odd that he agreed in the first place. He usually rejects people who make advances toward him.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly ask him out, so it’s not really the same thing.” You purse your lips slightly as you swirl your straw, the ice clinking together in your cup. Your back is slouched and brows are furrowed, but your friends (thankfully) don’t bring it up. 

Miori hums. “He likes to go through a process of getting girls to fall for him.”

“Where do you get all of this information?” Koharu asks calmly. “Here I thought Hina was the nosey one.”

“Hina is nosey. I’m just a good listener.”

“Hey!” Hina butts in, tugging at Miori’s cheek. After a few seconds of her revenge, the energetic girl returns her focus to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you in like she’s about to share a secret. “Well, once your deal is done, think you can put in a good word for me? Heard he’s a lot hotter in person.”

Your lips press into a thin line as Hina’s voice becomes white noise, Miori’s words lingering in your thoughts. The information is at best circumstantial, but the real issue is why it’s considered evidence in the first place. 

And why does it make your stomach churn?

The first thing you see upon Aiku opening the door is his mismatched eyes slightly widening at the sight of your spontaneous presence. Still, an easygoing smirk–his usual–spreads across his lips.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, sweetheart.”

You’re grinding your teeth as you look up at him, your fingers tugging at your sleeves as your plan takes a detour with little to no convincing from the nervous drop in your belly.

Aiku’s expression falters. “Hey, you good—”

“I wanna do it.”

He blinks, then furrows his brows. Your gaze wavers as he leans against his doorframe. “You sure? I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“I don’t want to keep waiting.” You shake your head, body warm and cold at the same time. “I told you, if I keep dreaming about the perfect scenario, then I’ll never be happy with the real thing. I know you know what to do.”

Aiku hesitates, like his brain is calculating rather than taking its usual gamble. With a soft sigh, he steps aside for you to enter his apartment. You do so like the handful of times you did previously—and just like the previous times, your anxiety spikes once you pass the doorframe.

“Just… let me know when things get too much for you, okay?” He says as you remove your shoes. His concern makes your heart hug itself tighter. No matter his promiscuous past, his tone showed genuine concern, and you’re willing to allow yourself to believe it, no matter how upsetting the origins of your deal are.

“I will.” Your steps are careful as you approach him, less than a foot between you two. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, your grip loose enough to let your arm dangle as you look at each other, nothing but room tone filling the silence. There’s a careful protectiveness that gazes back at you that’s befitting of a leader; you can only hope he sees reassurance in yours and none of the yearning. “Thank you.”

At least one of you must have leaned in closer, because the distance is smaller, and his warm breath is tickling your skin.

“I’m not pushing you, am I?” Your tone is meek once time has finally slowed down, your hastiness upon heading to his place unannounced bleeding out of your system.

“I’m more than fine,” Aiku chuckles, a soft rasp in his voice. “You sure you don’t want some water first, or…?”

“You sure you’re not the one who’s nervous?” You laugh back silently, still toying with his shirt. 

His nose brushes against yours, and a small smile graces his lips as he nears to close the gap. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

The kiss rivals you two’s first in terms of gentleness, his large hand cupping your cheek to guide you like he’s done so many times in the past couple of months. You sigh softly, your grip going higher on his shirt as you subtly pull him closer. You’re already stumbling before he can move you anywhere, and his other arm is quick to wrap around your waist to offer stability while he deepens the kiss.

“You good?” The athlete pulls back momentarily to whisper. You only hum in confirmation, leaning in to continue your ministrations. He can only chuckle at your eagerness, effortlessly lifting you in his arms.

Your heart pounds hard with every step he takes, the sound of him opening his bedroom door making you cling to him tighter. As observant as you know he can be, you can only pray he doesn’t question how you try to further deepen the makeout session or caress any inch of skin you can reach without removing his clothes.

You also hope he doesn’t overthink how you whimper when he pulls away to plant you onto his mattress, his expression unfortunately not easygoing enough to assure you he’ll come back. 

Still, his gaze locks in with yours as he swiftly removes his shirt, his muscular frame on full display for you. You chew on your bottom lip to silence any more possible embarrassing sounds, though you allow yourself to crawl to him at the foot of the bed to paw at his torso clumsily and curiously. He kisses you again while petting your head, making you sigh softly.

Then his free hand slides down to your waist, his finger grazing your skin from under your shirt, and you freeze. So does he.

“Hey…” Aiku begins, but you’ve already pulled back with a warm face and gripping the hem of your shirt. Before he can say anything else, you copy him and remove your top, leaving you in your plain indigo bra. His lips part, and your gaze trails elsewhere. “Look at me.”

You aren’t fast enough to obey when his hand cups your cheek to redirect your attention to him, and he kisses you once more. You melt, his touch warm and comforting against your bare skin, contrasting the rough stubble grazing your fingertips.

You squeak when he lays you down onto the bed and crawls on top of you, then shiver when he trails his kisses down your jaw and neck. You’re certain he can feel your heartbeat against his lips when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and you feel him toy with the bow on your bra, silently asking for permission. Then, his eyes peer up at your face when you don’t respond.

“...Should I say something…?” You mumble, making him lean on his forearms to hover over you.

Aiku blinks, sitting up. “Like…?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, your voice shrinking again as you join him. “Is sex always this… quiet? I mean, I know sounds are involved, but do people talk? Should we talk? Or—”

The athlete shuts you up with a quick and chaste kiss, then grins after pulling back.

“Just tell me what feels good,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning your lips. His fingers graze up your back, hovering over the clasp of your bra. You shift to remove the undergarment yourself, holding your breath as it slides off your body. Aiku’s gaze drops to your chest, and you have to refrain from covering up again. “Look at you…”

He’s helping you lie back down, his gaze heavily focused on you in a way that makes your heart drop. It doesn’t help when he kisses down your jaw and neck, reaching your chest to graze your nipple with his tongue. You inhale sharply, and you can feel him smirk against your skin before latching onto the stiff bud.

“A-Aiku…” you sigh, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

He hums back, glancing up at you before pulling back with a soft pop. “Oliver.”

You frown at the loss of contact before blinking up at him. “That’s your name.”

“Yeah, use it,” he moves a strand of your hair out of your face, “we’re way past formalities, don’t you think?”

The teasing lilt in his tone makes your cheeks warm, and you sputter as you hug him back down to your chest. “Just get back to it, yeah?”

Squished between your breasts, the football captain turns his head to resume kissing down your body, his sharp gaze glued to you. He stops at your navel, and your muscle memory lifts your hips as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts. 

“Atta girl,” he purrs against your skin, swiftly sliding off your remaining clothes. 

The cool air makes you shudder, his touch sending goosebumps all over your legs as he separates them to settle between your thighs like he has several times before. You still shiver when his tongue meets your pussy and squirm when his fingers find your hole, both teasing you like it’s your first time all over again.

“Cut that out,” you whine.

Aiku chuckles. “It’s called prep, sweet girl.”

You don’t even get to groan at his answer, instead gasping as his finger slides in and already curls just right. His tongue only adds fuel to the fire, going to town on your clit with rapid flicks and occasional suckling.

“Fuck, Ai– Oli…!” You whimper, grabbing onto his hair like it’s second nature. He moans lowly, sliding another finger inside you before picking up the pace.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he rasps, his momentum never faltering as you roll your hips. Lava pools in your lower belly every second, your thighs closing around his head in a strange act of possession while your heels dig into his back. Then he slides in a third finger, and you cum with a cry. “That’s it, pretty thing…”

Your back arches off the bed as you tremble through your orgasm, his name stuck on your lips until you finally come down from the high. 

“Just…” you pant, chest heaving as he stands to crawl over you, “Just put it in already…”

“So eager,” he chuckles, reaching over to his nightstand drawer. “What’s the rush?”

You catch sight of him grabbing a pack of condoms, taking one out as you press your lips into a thin line. An ugly feeling makes its way into your stomach, your hands laying on top of your belly as if to soothe the ache you don’t wish to name.

A large hand cups your cheek, turning it to face the football captain above you. His question wasn’t rhetorical, as his expression carries a mix of seriousness and softness as he gazes into your eyes. You can’t help but nuzzle into his touch, heart calming down a bit when he doesn’t pull back.

“I trust you, Oli.”

He exhales through his nose before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Tell me when to stop.”

You nod, and he spreads your legs wider before sliding the condom on, aiming his tip at your entrance. He’s still got you facing him, your gazes locked onto each other as he slowly pushes in. 

You gasp shakily, eyes watering as you grab onto his bicep. “Oli—”

“I got you,” he responds firmly yet soothingly.

No matter how many times Aiku’s been careful with you, his surprising gentleness always does something to your heart. You look away, closing your eyes like the feeling will disappear along with everything else. 

“Hey, quit it.” Even when he’s telling you to stop, he doesn’t raise his voice. You hesitantly open your eyes, finding him looking down at you with a soft grin. “Am I really that bad to look at?”

You press your lips into a thin line as you wipe your eyes, hoping he dismisses it as nothing more than the unfamiliar stretch.

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “You’ve got the face only a mother can love.”

He laughs, his warm breath fanning against your face. The sound makes your chest tighten, but you want to keep hearing it.

“Maybe I can at least get you to tolerate it, then,” he quips softly, his voice low as he pushes in a little more. You grunt, holding onto him a little tighter before confirming he can keep going. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like hours until he finally bottomed out, though. Whether it’s a compliment to his size or a testament to your evergrowing anxiety, you’d rather not say. 

“You can move now,” you say meekly, your gaze shy as you glance up at him. Aiku offers a small smile in return before reeling his hips back to thrust in slowly. You gasp, hiding your face in the pillow.

“Hey, none of that.” His voice playfully stern before his lips meet yours, muffling your whimpers as he goes back to shallowly thrusting into you. 

This is way more intimate than you ever thought it’d be. Your heart rate picks up out of panic, your breath trapped in your lungs as times slows for you in this moment. Still, you find your arms wrapped around his neck and fingers raked through his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. And when he hugs you closer, moaning softly into your mouth? You could just about cry.

“Doing so good for me,” he whispers against your lips.

“Told you I could handle it,” you joke, your tone a little dry to mask your nervousness. “I’m stealing your title as casanova.”

The athlete chuckles. “Should I be worried?”

“Very,” you can’t help but giggle back, the coil in your belly close to snapping. “On another note, I think I’m already at my limit.”

You feel him grin against your lips as he moves a bit faster, sliding a hand down to thumb at your clit and earn him a moan out of you. 

“Let go for me, yeah?” He grunts, his pace stuttering so subtly you almost miss it. “I’ve got you.”

Your breathing picks up, legs tensing as your hips stammer from his touch. You move to kiss him without thinking, clinging to him tightly as your orgasm sneaks up on you. Aiku groans into your mouth, your pussy fluttering around his cock that he cums not long after, your name tumbling out of his lips.

It’s so overwhelming: the heat, his massive body caging you in, the stretch of his cock inside you. You don’t ever want this to end.

And yet, you feel lightheaded as you come down from your high, the football captain joining you on the bed next to you. 

Neither of you say anything as you catch your breath. He sits up, sliding the condom off and tying it up before throwing it in the bin nearby.

He turns back to grin at you before returning to bed, and you join him as you both lay in silence for a bit longer. 

“I should go.”

The athlete hums, snapping to face you. “Leaving so soon?”

“I mean,” you sit up, hugging the sheets closer to you chest. “This is like a pseudo-hookup, right? People typically leave afterwards?”

Aiku huffs a laugh before ruffling your hair. “Wait here for a minute.”

He slides out of bed to exit the bedroom, your gaze glued to his back before sinking down the headboard, a knot growing in your belly that you want to claw out. 

The feeling doesn’t go away when he returns, a washcloth in hand. 

“Open up for me.” His voice is soft as he sits on your side of the bed, gently tugging the sheets off you. His carefulness doesn’t falter as he cleans between your thighs, offering a small apology when you hiss upon first contact with the cloth. “I’ve got a game next week. You should come see it.”

You blink out the exhaustion from not even a few minutes prior while turning to face him. “You sure?”

“What? You don’t want to watch a bunch of sweaty meatheads chase a ball for a few hours?” He chuckles, placing the cloth elsewhere to deal with later.

“I just don’t know much about the sports.”

“Sendou didn’t teach you anything?”

“Sendou can’t teach, period.”

Aiku laughs at that. “As long as you know that we’re supposed to kick a ball into the net, you have nothing to worry about.”

You roll your eyes, a soft smile making its way to your lips. “Is that your soccer for dummies lesson for me?”

“You’re still not saying no.”

You pause as he climbs back into bed with you, kissing your shoulder before pulling you into his side. Glancing up at him, you find him already looking at you. If you look close enough, you can find hope swimming in his irises, both colours speaking a truth you can’t deny no matter how much you want to protect yourself. 

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper, and his grin widens as you lay back on his shoulder. 

And you do think about it. 

Even when you end up staying the night. 

Even when he keeps you for breakfast. 

Even when you’re watching him play, wearing the spare jersey he gave you and meeting his proud gaze after his team scored a point.

You think about it.

Every pose is effortless, keeping all eyes on him. You’re in awe—even during outfit changes, you’re mindlessly fiddling with the camera lens, face warm and thoughts floating aimlessly. Should your teammates notice (they do), they keep it to themselves.

Aside from your emotional fumbles, the shoot went smoothly. While everyone else puts equipment away, you’re checking the photos, zeroed in on each one.

“You’re very talented,” Yukimiya’s voice appears by your ear, making you jump. You whip your head to find him next to you, leaning to peek over your shoulder. He grins sheepishly. “Ah, sorry. Just wanted to see the results.”

You were hugging the camera, you realize. Relaxing your shoulders, you hold the device between you, showing him the photos.

“The photographer did most of the work,” you comment shyly, mentally praying he can’t feel the heat radiating off your face. 

The model hums, carrying his gaze to you with a soft smile. “Give yourself some credit. You and the others were on top of everything.”

When you turn to look up, Yukimiya’s already looking at you, his expression kind. 

“You’re the assistant photographer, yes?” he asks. 

You shake your head, face hot. “I just help with adjusting the lens. I’d like to move up soon, though I’m still working on my credentials and getting my portfolio ready—I don’t even know if I have the right to fully call myself an assistant, let alone photographer…”

It isn’t until your glance in his direction that you realize that you’ve been babbling, and you immediately cut yourself off. Your panic remains internal, as he stops you from apologizing with a simple chuckle. 

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he adjusts his glasses, “I don’t mind helping out if you need more photos, even outside of this shoot.”

He speaks with such ease that you almost don’t realize what he’s talking about, like he isn’t offering you a door that’ll lead to better opportunities.

“A-Are you sure?” You stammer, clinging to the camera tighter. How it remains intact, no one knows, but your head department is giving you that look that tells you to get ready to get back to packing.

A slight shift in position and an easy smile from the model are all it takes for you to relax your shoulders and take his outstretched hand.

“I’d be happy to.”

Does this count as getting a cute boy’s number if it’s technically work-related? You’d like to think so. Especially since Yukimiya asked for yours in return, “in case he needs you first.” Think any deeper into it, and steam will float from your ears from your brain melting. 

Still, while you were mentally battling with yourself over whether you should text first, your phone decided for you by notifying you of a text you received from a new number. 

You’re already lying on your stomach on your bed to read the message, giddy over a mere reintroduction to the handsome model you got paid to ogle the other day. And to think he already wanted to make plans for a shoot with you without you responding with something cringe-worthy!

Well, you’re still working in a team—which is fine! Being alone with someone you shouldn’t have developed such an easy crush on may not be the best of plans. You’re just grateful for the opportunities.

Still, your stomach can’t help itself from dancing whenever Yukimiya would make small talk with you during breaks or compliment you after a long day. He’s polite, professional—you remind yourself that as not to get your hopes up. He knows how to play the game, and you’re honestly surprised an agency hasn’t snagged him yet. 

“I know a place.”

You jolt at the sound, whipping your head to find the man who’s consumed your thoughts for the past few months. He offers you one of the coffee cups in his hold and you thank him, blinking in surprise upon the taste reaching your tongue. Either he got lucky, or he’s witnessed you putting too much sugar in your drink.

You hum at his words, peering up at him from the cup’s rim. 

“I know an area for another shoot for us to do,” he says, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s quiet and small, but a good start if you wanna take charge.” He returns your gaze with his gentle one, his wavy hair framing his face in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through the strands (though the hair and makeup department would hate you for that). “I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.”

You turn your body to better face him, the icy breeze for an otherwise muddy autumn biting at your cheeks.

“It’s really fine—”

“I insist,” he copies your movements, his body turned to yours. 

You look down at your cup, chest tightening as your thumb grazes the rim. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your confession is quiet, and you don’t dare look at him. The pavement is a sad, mucky colour, freckled with dead leaves and a couple of cigarette butts. You count all of them, repeating the cycle until your eyes don’t burn with the promise of crying in front of someone you don’t want to let down.

“Let me show you that you do.”

You blink at him, your lips parting as if looking for a rebuttal. Yukimiya’s expression is serious, but not stern. He speaks like a wall refusing to be broken down, and the faith he has in you makes your eyes water. No, you won’t cry to him on your break, but you’ll try to believe him when he’s lending a hand to someone he’s only worked with. 

You wipe your eyes with a sniffle before looking back at him, holding your cup out for him. His expression softens with a hint of pride, and he knocks his cup with yours in a silent agreement.

It’s only an hour after that day’s shoot that Yukimiya sends you the who, what, when, where, why, and how. It takes even less time for you two to schedule a time for you two to go along with the plan, your heart steadying for the night as you lie in bed. 

It’s only for some headshots, but it’s a start. Yukimiya seems to have a friend of a friend who rents out studios for these kinds of things and managed to snatch a room for free. The time was less than ideal, but you were in no position to complain. 

The model lets you in, already in attire plain enough for the focus to be on his face while still doing plenty to make your eyes shine as they follow him. You even brought some makeup for him, biting your lip when he praises you for coming prepared.

The studio is relatively smaller than the ones you’ve worked in with teams, though it seems fitting with tonight’s plans. With a white cloth for the background already set up, your main focus is getting the camera ready while Yukimiya patiently sits a few metres away on a stool, watching you. As much as you enjoy his attention, it does little to help you complete your tasks without looking like a fool.

You almost forget about the makeup application by the time the camera’s ready, and you hastily make your way to him with the products in hand. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, you realize. Applying the powder is simple enough, and you’re grateful that you aren’t doing anything editorial for tonight—with how he’s watching you trying not to mess up his perfect skin, perfect cheekbones, perfect smile, you doubt you’d have the focus to do anything properly. 

You manage not to fuck up applying gloss to his lips before hastily putting everything away to return to the camera. If he notices your frantic behaviour, he keeps it to himself.

Taking the photos has been the easiest part of this entire process, not only because you get to hide behind the device, but also because your model has the experience to know what to do next. The few times you’d offer directions, you’d force yourself to project your voice, cringing when your voice wavered or cracked.

“Ever thought of being a model?”

You stop with your touch-ups, holding back the brush as you process Yukimiya’s question. His face is only a few inches away from yours, and you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. 

He continues, seemingly unbothered by the proximity. “I just think you’d be fun to take photos of, is all.”

You blink, your heart doing the same as you force yourself to take a step back in embarrassment. 

“You’ve been plenty kind to me already,” you mumble, cupping your cheek to cool it down. “You don’t have to keep going.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, his gaze still on you. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how much he can actually see. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “...It’s crossed my mind, sure.”

“You’re very cute.”

Oh, now you’re about to erupt. You’re hastily put the products away before returning to the camera. 

The rest of the session is fairly quiet, and neither of you speak again until it’s time to pack up. 

“I mean what I said.” Yukimiya’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. You shyly peer over your shoulder to face him. “I admire what you do, even if you don’t see it yourself.” After a few more moments of silence, the model’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

“No!” You blurt out, fully turning to face him. The outburst catches him off-guard, and you clear your throat before stepping back for a moment. “Um, no. Sorry. I meant, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Your eyes are about to gaze elsewhere before you force them to meet his. Whether or not you get lost in them is not within your power. “It meant a lot. Thank you.”

Yukimiya’s shoulders relax, and that same kind smile that has your knees buckling returns to his handsome features. 

He’s still close, even with your previous step back. You hope the studio’s room tone is loud enough to mask your hammering heart, but with how the model is slowly leaning in, you highly doubt it. 

The kiss was soft enough to barely feel it and long enough for you to process it happening. Whether or not you kissed back, you aren’t sure, but your lips definitely followed his once he pulled back.

Your eyes flutter open–when they closed, you don’t recall–and you’re greeted by sunset eyes and curled lips. 

“I’m glad.”

It’s been like this for a few more months, where Yukimiya would help you with your portfolio while occasionally stealing a kiss or two per session. You’re giddy, more confident in your skills, and even offering to teach him how to work your camera. (Whether or not it’s an excuse to have him near again, you won’t say.)

You figured it–whatever “it” was–would remain stagnant until he invited you over to his place for dinner. 

You spent more time trying to figure out what to wear than the actual commute to his place. Not that it matters, since the sight before you after knocking on his door already made you feel underdressed. 

Yukimiya's still sporting his usual smile when greeting you, a simple button-up and slacks doing plenty to accentuate his beauty. He even takes your coat for you, ever the gentleman. This is normal, right?

Of course, it is. You have to remind yourself to relax as you sit at the dinner table, twiddling your thumbs on your lap as he makes tea for you both. But that's easier said than done.

Not even five minutes in his home and you're meekly asking for directions to the bathroom, trying not to stumble down the hallway he kindly directed you to.

A mental pep talk did little to calm you down, but the cool water seemed to stop your hands from shaking. That's something, you guess.

He really has the patience of a saint, doesn't he? Months of knowing him and you still can't seem to behave like a functioning adult. He smiles through it all—it's like the ones customer service workers offer when they want nothing more than to clock out. He's just a hundred times prettier.

Your thoughts are still spiraling when you exit the bathroom and make the wrong turn. Had you been more aware, you would have continued your internal anxiety monologue back at the dinner table while drinking tea and not knowing what to say to him.

Instead, you find yourself in a bedroom far too tidy to belong to a young man. Though you suppose Yukimiya’s the exception once more as the freshness of a recently-opened window purifies the room, the sheets neatly made and the closest thing to a mess being an open journal on his desk.

The proximity to him just by being at his door seems to lure you in, your feet moving on their own as you relish in a room even cleaner than yours. Your guilt seems to take its time approaching your conscious as your gaze brushes the journal, his handwriting clear and his. Perfect. Precise. Practiced.

She'll be over tonight. Poor thing couldn't even look me in the eye when she said yes—it makes my heart soar every time.

Your fingers graze the page as you bite your bottom lip, your stomach doing somersaults for different reasons now.

I wished she’d let me pick her up, but she seemed insistent that she came here herself. I'm thinking of making her favourite as an apology. It's the least I can do to make an even better impression. I'm sure lighting a candle or two will set the mood, but I just want a better look at her pretty face.

You should stop. It’s doing wonders to your confidence, but you’re still going through something that doesn’t belong to you. 

She’s too cute for her own good. I could feel her lips quiver every time I’d kiss her—it only made me want to kiss her more. Hold her closer, though I wouldn’t want to scare her away. She’d probably be just as cute like that, too, like a little deer taking her first steps.

I can’t stop staring at her lips. I’m lucky enough that she can barely look me in the eye. I can wait, but I can’t stop myself from just imagining. She makes the cutest sounds when I get near. 

I need to taste her. 

Your gaze remains on those five words, as if refraining themselves from going any further. 

In every sense. I need to know what sounds she makes so I can swallow it all up or make them even louder. I need to feel her skin on mine, see with my own two eyes what she’d look like beneath me, panting and crying. I need her to see me the way I see her until she refuses to look anywhere else. 

Despite the churn in your chest and stomach, your eyes don’t stop.

I can’t stop touching myself. I used to have better self-control, and maybe it’s still there and I’m just refusing to try anymore. A whiff of her perfume when she walks by is enough for my pants to grow tighter. I feel like some pathetic teenager. The worst part is, I don’t hate it. I chase it, chase her. And I don’t even know if I’d be able to do anything besides that tonight.

“Never took you for someone so nosy.”

You whip your head around to find Yukimiya standing at his dressing room door, two mugs in his hand. Despite his words, his tone carries no disappointment, nor does his expression. If anything, he appears pleased, and he walks in to place the cups down on his desk. You freeze, stumbling back when his shoulder brushes yours. Words fail you, your body shrinking in shame of being caught, while your brain almost forgets everything it saw. 

Even with your eyes on him, you don’t fully register him stepping towards you, his aura eerily calm. The back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, forcing you to a halt as you scramble to find something to say.

The model beats you to it. “I can’t say I wasn’t completely counting on it, though.”

You don’t process him having thrown you over his lap until he flips your skirt up to reveal your sage green panties. But you finally react when his hand swings down to smack the apex of your thigh.

“I can’t just let you get away with this, you know,” Yukimiya chides, rubbing at the stinging area. “You understand, don’t you, dear?”

Your eyes burn as tears peek from your waterline, and you sniffle. The athlete hums, then grabs the back of your underwear and tugs. You cry out, the cotton pressing between your folds and brushing your clit.

You whimper. “Yes… I’m sorry.”

He coos, letting go of the garment. It snaps back onto your behind, and he resumes massaging the area he previously hit.

“I know you are,” he comforts. You sniffle again, the tears finally falling as you struggle to press your thighs together. It doesn’t take long for Yukimiya to notice the wet patch on the crotch of your underwear, and his voice remains gentle as he smiles thoughtfully. His fingers reach to graze against the area, and you suck in a large breath. “Look at you…”

SMACK!

Another slap against your skin, this time on your rear. You shriek, your body jolting against his lap. More follow seconds after, alternating between each cheek while occasionally rubbing the raw flesh.

“As much as it pains me to do this,” the model sighs, though you don’t hear any remorse in his tone, “I can’t have you just doing whatever you want. Where did my good girl go?”

You can’t respond, the sobs and hiccups clawing out from your sore throat. Your grip on the sheets tightens as he gives you the final few strikes, and you can finally exhale properly. Yukimiya palms the stinging areas, shushing you like he was putting a child to sleep.

“You did so well for me, angel,” he coos before leaning closer to your ear. “Next time, I’ll make you count each hit.”

You flinch, whimpering as he helps you sit up, but it hurts too much to do so. Still, not wanting to upset him any further, you ignore the throbbing that bleeds throughout your rear.

Yukimiya’s hands are warm against your cheeks as he cups your face, his thumbs lightly wiping away any stray tears. Your vision is glassy enough not to recognize him.

“You’re so cute,” he sighs, kissing the tip of your nose. Then your temple, down your cheek and to your jaw. He starts unbuttoning your blouse when his lips meet your neck, and he continues his journey down your body as he shrugs the article of clothing off your shoulders. His teeth gently graze your collarbone, and you shiver when you feel his warm breath on your skin. You almost miss his hands when they reach your thighs, caressing them through your skirt before reaching for its hem. “Take these off for me, will you, angel?”

You almost don’t hear him, a light ringing in your left ear as you feel him rise from the bed, taking your hands and pulling you up to do the same. Your tears are long gone, their dried paths across your face the only evidence of their existence. When you look up at the model, he’s already got his gaze on you, soft and adoring.

You finally speak. “Yukki…”

“Kenyu,” he corrects, his smile growing wider. “No need to be so formal.”

He trails off, taking your hands and leading them to the waistband of your skirt. And with how he’s looking at you–like he’s witnessing sakura petals raining from their trees–your hands move on their own. The article of clothing drops at your feet, leaving you in a cotton matching set. You try to refrain from hugging your waist and curling into yourself, but your gaze can’t help but trail elsewhere, anywhere.

“There she is,” he croons, stepping closer to cup your face. His eyelids droop, pensive, and the sunset you’d admire in his irises has passed the horizon—it makes you want to cry again. “There’s so much I want to do with you.”

Despite the warmth from his hands, his gaze makes you shudder. Yukimiya lightly presses his lips against yours before leading you back onto the bed, with him leaning against the headboard and you, with your back to his chest. His body heat makes you shiver again, goosebumps decorating your arms.

“Just follow my lead,” he instructs softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You subconsciously suck in a large breath when his arms slither around your waist, but it doesn’t stop the athlete from pulling you even closer.

Plump lips shadow above your skin, and you can feel his warm breath tickling your neck. A quiet mewl squeaks from your throat, your eyes screwed shut as Yukimiya’s hands explore your torso.

“Such a pretty colour,” he mumbles against your shoulder before kissing back up your neck. You feel his fingertips ghost over the cup of your bra while his other hand swirls the waistband of your panties around his index finger. “Did you wear this knowing what would happen?”

You can only whine in response, and he takes it as a sign to slip his hand into your underwear, his digits brushing against short, coarse hair before he feels the stickiness he got a peek of earlier. He hums; a discovery.

“You’re like a little doll,” Yukimiya continues, brushing against your clit while sneaking the other hand under your bra. “I get a lot of clothes from modelling gigs—I can get you some of the prettiest outfits.” Your breathing stutters when his middle finger drags across your slit, and you feel his smile on your neck. “Anything you want; you’d always look amazing, anyway. It’s like playing dress-up—oh! And we can match, too! Wouldn’t you like that?”

He plunges his finger into your hole before you can even think of a response. You gasp, head thrown back onto his shoulder.

“Yu—Ken…” you finally try to speak, and the model rewards you by flicking your nipple from under your bra, his hand sinking into your breast.

“There she is,” he praises, taking his time pumping his digit inside you; memorizing you from the inside out. “You’re so,” he pauses, then chuckles to himself, “Sorry, I keep calling you cute. I can’t help it if it’s true. I just want to squeeze you tight and never let you go. Though I’m sure you know that by now.”

A second finger joins the middle one, stretching you out in a way foreign to you. It stings, and you hiss. Yukimiya whispers sweet nothings in your ear, easing you into the unfamiliar.

“I can’t move if you keep squeezing me like that, darling,” he chides jokingly while shimmying your bra above your breasts. He’s quick to knead them, easier for him to alternate between the two and grip them tighter. You yelp, and he snickers at your reaction before his voice drops to a more serious tone. “You’ve never done this to yourself before?” 

Too flustered to respond, you can only offer a pathetic whine while digging your nails into his forearms. Yukimiya chuckles upon seeing your hips buck involuntarily and rewards you by picking up the pace, curling his fingers just right. You throw your head back onto his shoulder with a cry, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply. He’s everywhere: his warm chest against your back, his fingers squeezing your breasts and caressing your walls, his erection poking at your lower back through his slacks, his tongue swirling around yours—he’s even found his way into your lungs, bleeding into your insides and becoming your oxygen.

The athlete eventually pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you two by your lips. Your panting synchronizes, his warm breath tickling your skin as your eyes grow glassy. Yet, even through your hazy vision, you can’t miss the pure adoration as he looks at you. A look so soft, you almost forget his touch’s juxtaposition.

“K-Kenyu…” you say his name like you had something to say—what it is, you aren’t sure. He supposedly did, though, and he peppers light kisses along your jaw.

“Are you close, beautiful?” he hums, his voice buzzing against your skin. You nod rapidly, and that was more than enough for him to reach deeper, his palm hitting your clit. The heat pooling in your belly spreads, your legs instinctively snapping closed. Yukimiya tuts, his voice gentle yet scolding. “No, no. None of that, now.”

With how he carries himself–all gentle smiles and a graceful posture–you forget the absolute strength that comes with him. You forget until he hooks his legs over yours, separating them and keeping you open for him. 

“I’m sorry…” You hiccup, bottom lip wobbling. What you’re apologizing for, you can’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I know, angel,” Yukimiya sighs, slipping his fingers out of your pussy momentarily to spank your inner thigh a few times, making you jolt with a squeak. His digits return inside you as fast as they left, and his pace and force increase tenfold. Your shallow breaths quicken, chest heaving and hammering heart beats that you’re certain he can feel through his rough grip on your breast. 

And just when that coil is about to snap, he pulls out again.

The sob you let out even surprised you, his hand leaving your chest being replaced with heaviness in your diaphragm and ribs that are just barely holding on.

The model’s hold on you loosens ever so slightly, if not to let you catch your breath. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your taste with a satisfied hum. You witness this with a tearful gaze, and the act only fuels the emptiness he’s left behind.

“Y-You,” you croak, inhaling sharply while gripping onto his forearms, “w-why did—”

“I couldn’t let you think you were completely off the hook,” is Yukimiya’s answer, his clean hand rubbing soothing circles on your stomach. “Consider it a warning for the next time you decide to misbehave, yeah? You’ve been so good to me before.”

He speaks like he’s discussing the weather, and he finally lets you go, carefully laying you before dismounting the bed. Your legs immediately go to press together, desperate to soothe the ache he caused. The sound of faint ruffling reaches your ears through your pathetic sobs, but it isn’t until you feel the mattress dip next to you that you see the brunet left in nothing but his boxers. He smiles, slowly crawling between your legs.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, spreading your legs before shifting closer, “if I didn’t stop now, I probably never would.” He tugs his waistband low enough to reveal his cock; hard, pale, and pretty. You catch sight of a beauty mark near the apex of his thigh before he starts stroking himself, his expression relaxing. “But that’s okay,” he aims his pink tip at your entrance, brushing against your clit, “we have all the time in the world to try everything we want to.”

The initial stretch makes you choke, his tip barely passing through before you clench tightly at the foreign feeling.

“I can’t,” you shake your head frantically, your nails digging into his biceps. “I-I can’t I can’t—”

Yukimiya’s lips silence your cries, his tongue practically licking the inside of your mouth and making your eyes roll back. He only pulls back once your cries retreat to whimpers, and you find yourself subconsciously chasing after his kiss.

“Sure, you can,” he responds, adoration glimmering in his gaze. “You just need to relax for me. You can do that, can’t you?”

His soothing words act as a lullaby, your mind following wherever he leads it. You take a few deep breaths, trying not to be so stiff. The athlete above you rubs your thighs, cooing as he eventually slips in more easily. Every inch makes your grip on his arms tighter, and you wonder if he feels any pain, what with his loving expression piercing your very being.

“That’s my good girl,” he hums, his hips soon meeting your own. You shift in discomfort, your insides feeling like they’re being torn apart. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you feel your eyes burn from upcoming tears. Yukimiya shushes you, kissing up your torso, past the valley of your breasts, and your neck, welcoming your lips with a gentle kiss. “I’m going to start moving now.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs like an alarm, your eyes begging for mercy. Your legs are unable to stay still, desperate to find a position that’ll make the pain more bearable.

“Kenyu,” you whisper against his lips. “Just gimme a minu—”

“I’ll go slow,” he insists, his nose gently nudging yours as a silent agreement. And when his hips reel back ever so slightly, you gasp. He’s mostly grinding against you, offering some mercy as you adapt to the new feeling. The model only decides to pick up the pace once your laboured breathing sounds less painful. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

With everything happening right now, your stomach can’t help but churn upon hearing him curse, clashing with the warmth seeping into your lower belly. 

But then his careful movements pick up momentum. No longer are his hips grazing yours, but are now pulling all the way back until it’s only his tip inside you, and he reenters while reaching even deeper than before.

“W-Wait,” you pant, your hand weakly pawing at his chest.

The sunset in his eyes has long set as Yukimiya wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

“You take me so well, angel,” he groans, his head momentarily thrown back in pleasure. “I knew you would, ever since I saw you.” The way his cock grazes against the area that has your toes curling distracts you from fully listening. The athlete laughs breathily, pressing his forehead against yours. The new angle makes your eyes roll back, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Slow down,” you whimper.

“I get a lot of free clothing thanks to my gigs,” he continues as if you never spoke, “think of all the matching outfits we can wear out together, dressing up for dates.”

He ruts into you faster, moaning as he sits up again. You gasp at the change of pace, reaching out for him like you were expecting comfort. Instead, you hiss as his hold on your legs tightens. 

The athlete continues, vermillion dusting his cheeks. “In fact, you could model with me, too.”

His grip on you disappears for a moment as his strokes fall softer, making your eyes flutter. When your vision clears, you find him aiming his phone at you.

“What are you doing?” you panic, quick to cover yourself to the best of your abilities.

“Don’t be like that,” he chides, momentarily lowering the device to gently yet firmly move your arms. “I just want you to see what I see.” His thrusts return in strength before he aims the lens at you once more. “Let’s switch our roles for once.”

You barely register the clicks as his hips continue their abuse, tears brimming on your waterline as he bullies your g-spot. Your moans sync with your whimpers and hiccups, and while you want to look away, you find your head turning back to the model above you.

Meanwhile, Yukimiya murmurs praise as he captures your vulnerability; from “beautiful” to “perfection,” his focus never leaves your trembling form. He only pauses to remove his glasses, his ministrations causing them to fog. You catch your breath in the few seconds he places his eyewear on the nightstand before he resumes.

“I may not have your eye,” he grunts, slamming his hips against yours, “but it shouldn’t be hard with you beneath me.”

The clicking continues as you feel that honeyed fire in the pit of your belly, the one he snatched away from you earlier. Your grip on the sheets tightens as you look up at him pleadingly.

“Kenyu,” you babble. “P-Please, I’m gonna—”

“I know, angel,” he exhales. “Go on, let go for me.”

Mere seconds later, and hot white pleasure soars through your body, a strained cry leaving your lips. Your cunt squeezes as your back arches off the mattress, your toes curling from the intensity. You might have said his name; you might have thanked him.

Yukimiya follows soon after, pulling out last second to finish on your chest and stomach. Even through his soft groans, you hear faint clicking, though you can’t find it in you to care anymore. You can only shudder at the stickiness clinging to your skin, your lungs greedily taking in air as you feel his weight disappear.

Soft lips press against your temple as your eyes flutter shut, and your first instinct is to curl into yourself. The mattress dips beside you, followed by a hand gently stroking your cheek.

“There you go,” the model whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. You shudder despite welcoming his affection.

Your eyes reopen once his touch disappears, and you find him going through his phone next to you. His glasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, fog lingering on the edge of his lenses. 

Yukimiya catches your gaze and smiles. “Hey, you.”

You groan softly, sluggishly lifting yourself to sit up beside him awkwardly. Your muscles are sore, and you feel like you can only fix what little clothing you’re wearing and twiddle your thumbs. Anything but look at him any longer.

“I didn’t mean to read your journal,” you manage to say, your voice somewhat hoarse. Your brows furrow as you curse yourself for not being able to say anything else.

The athlete wraps an arm around your waist, not minding the mess he made on your skin as he pulls you closer to his side. Your posture stiffens, yet the warmth of his body raises goosebumps along your arms. You only fully come to when you catch what he’s looking at.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” he hums thoughtfully, going through his camera roll to show each photo he snapped, each one more lewd than the last. Your eyes widen, something he notices. “No need to worry. I plan on keeping these for myself.” He kisses your temple reassuringly. “Though I wasn’t kidding about you making a perfect model.”

You don’t look away from the photos until Yukimiya gently holds your chin to kiss you, a soft sigh leaving his body as he physically relaxes. 

You flinch, pulling back abruptly. “Ken—”

He kisses you again, hugging you closer as he licks your bottom lip. You’re lulled back into a false sense of comfort, closing your eyes as he completely takes over.

CLICK

You blink, pulling back to find him holding his phone a foot away from you two, a photo of your shared kiss captured on the screen. He smiles like he’s guilty, but not sorry.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, tapping at his device. “I figured this would make a great lock screen.” He leans in to whisper, like he’s sharing a secret. “One of the other ones can be my home screen.” 

You look at him in awe, in terror, you don’t know. 

But that damn smile returns.

“Something to remember this moment by.”

Your muscles burn as your legs are held in place by Shidou’s strong hands; he won’t let you budge, keeping your limbs folded over your body and preventing you from squirming. The only movement he seems to accept from the waist down is the curl of your toes as he plows into you. If it weren’t for the sappy fluids clinging to the back of your thighs, you’re sure your skin would sting from how intense the striker’s thrusts are. 

“R-Ryu,” you gasp, clutching the sheets. “Slow down—!”

The man in question offers maniacal laughter in return, drilling into you harder. 

“Sorry, babes,” he shudders happily, his pace never faltering. “It’s my time to shine.”

You whine, eyes rolling back as your thighs burn from the position. You’ve been like this for who knows how long, already having experienced a couple of orgasms beforehand. But Shidou’s not done. 

“Our star striker’s got hold of the ball,” he rasps to himself, smirking widely. “The opposing team’s defence is on their A-game, but will that be enough to stop this forward?”

Your boyfriend’s narration makes your face burn from embarrassment, though this is hardly unlike him. From finding cuteness in how velociraptors eat people to shouting whatever he wants at the morning sky in his birthday suit, turning into a sports commentator during sex seems natural for the eccentric football player.

Though with how your juices seem to further stain his cock, you suppose you’re no better than him.

“My shooting range’s expanded by several meters,” he mumbles, eyes wide and ravenous. You can’t tell if he’s informing you or further hyping himself up. It’s tough to focus with his constant attacks on your sweet spot, your previous orgasms making you all the more sensitive. 

“Babe,” you stammer, gripping the sheets for balance. Shidou doesn’t seem to catch your warning, his rhythm growing somewhat sloppy and tilting your body to the side. His hold on you never falters, no.

You call his name again, but the striker only picks up the pace, his voice hoarse.

“He shoots…”

A whorish grin stretches onto his face, raising prominent cheekbones highlighted with sweat as magenta eyes roll back while long, blonde lashes flutter in ecstasy. Toned back arched plus stiff muscles, and the striker shoots heavy spurts of creamy white into your weeping cunt. It’s more than enough to trigger your body to spray its own fluids, making a mess of his pelvis and the sheets below. And while you shriek from the overstimulating intensity, Shidou lets his final comment be known:

“HE SCORES!”

And here you thought leaving the bedroom window open for fresh air was a good idea. Should any poor soul outside hear his perverted commentary, you’d surely die from embarrassment. Was the cool breeze worth it?

The striker’s lean yet muscular body shudders before plopping onto you. The impact makes you groan weakly, though the weight is strangely grounding as you pant for air. 

Shidou smothers his warm face into your breasts, sighing happily. His words are muffled against your skin, though you barely have the energy to roll your eyes when you think you hear him mumble, “and the crowd goes wild.”

You place your hand on the nape of his neck, scratching lightly at the area and making your lover purr. The vibrations tickle, and you feel the corners of your lips tug upwards ever-so-slightly. 

“I think you broke my vagina.”

Shidou giggles. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Your eyes never leave the ceiling, and they form a glare at his continued misplaced glee. “You’re so lucky I’m in love with you.”

The athlete moans almost girlishly, arching his back as he props himself onto his forearms. The Cheshire grin he offers you makes your body shiver and your cunt throb. 

“You know just what to say,” he sighs dreamily, kicking his feet before leaning in. “Wanna go for some additional time? Little striker’s ready for another hat trick~” 

You groan at his antics, clarity slowly returning to your brain after the fog that had consumed it only moments ago. “Do I need to pull a red card on you—?”

You cut yourself off, pressing your lips into a thin line. Shidou bites your cheek affectionately before rolling off your body. You wince slightly, but embrace the affection regardless, running your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax under your touch, a low, satisfied hum buzzing from his chest. His expression softens, eyes fluttering closed.

“We’re gonna celebrate every one of my victories like this, ya hear?” he purrs, a half-smirk slowly forming on his face. 

You hum, scratching behind his ear. He mewls, peppering kisses all over your collarbone.

“How about you clean me up first?” It was more of an order than a suggestion. Shidou grins wolfishly, scooping you in his arms without warning. You yelp at the sudden manhandling, and he laughs as he carries you to the bathroom.

“Shower sex, I like how you think.” He exclaims, kicking the door open. “Oh, let’s pretend it’s the locker room. It’ll be so hot~”