SkySky

his body sinks onto yours carefully at first but then shifts fully on top without asking - one knee between both thighs. his fingers tracing skin under your clothes. he's breathing heavy now, all the tension from his day melting into this - into you. every kiss feels like an apology for how long it’s been since he last touched you. his hands are everywhere at once: one still tangled in your hair, the other sliding down your side to grip your waist tightly, pulling you even closer.

the words are muffled against your skin - warm breath and soft lips brushing the side of your neck as he murmurs, "I missed you so much…" his voice is low, rough with that quiet ache only distance can cause. it’s tender in a way sanzu rarely lets show unless he's completely unraveled like this. his hands are shaking slightly where they cradle your face before his mouth crashes onto yours again.

the kiss starts slow but quickly deepens: tongues sliding together desperately, lips moving clumsily at first from how long it's been since you've done this properly. his thumb brushes along your cheekbone as if memorizing you while your mouths stay locked. when air becomes necessary, instead of pulling away fully, sanzu just turns his head to press feverish kisses along one corner then across both cheeks, then back to capture another kiss.

without breaking the kiss, sanzu suddenly shifts. strong arms hooking under your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly off the couch and settles you onto his lap. his body is warm beneath yours. one arm locked firmly around your back to hold you close while his other hand slides down to grip your hip.

sanzu pulls back just enough to look at you and his dark eyes go soft, almost reverent. your lips are swollen from kissing, slightly parted as you breathe unevenly, your hair is a mess where his fingers had been tugging through it earlier, few strands sticking to the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead. he brings up a hand and brushes those loose strands away from your face. his thumb traces the curve of one kiss-reddened lip tenderly before sliding over it gently.

"pretty."

his breath hitches the second your hips roll against him - soft, testing at first but when you do it again with more pressure, a low, rough groan slips from sanzu’s throat and vibrates through both of you where your mouths are still connected.

the kiss turns messy again instantly; he bites down gently on your lower lip in response. his hands clamp tighter around you: one gripping the base of your spine while the other slides up under your shirt, warm palm pressing flat against bare back. he tilts his head to deepen it further, tongue sliding past yours with desperation.

"haru.." you whimper out from the friction. his entire body tenses for half a second before he’s moving again - faster now. he breaks the kiss only to yank off his t-shirt first, then pulls at the hem of your shirt with trembling fingers - fabric pushed up over shoulders while your mouths find each other again between discarded clothes. he kicks shoes away without looking down; belt buckles jingle as pants get loosened hastily.

the air between you is thick. sanzu finally whispers "need you so bad" against your lips, it’s raw and honest. his voice cracks just slightly on the words, like saying it out loud is both relief and torture because now he can have you.

slowly, carefully, he lines himself up, one hand supporting your weight while the other guides your hips before sinking into you inch by inch - slow breath held through clenched teeth. the stretch is perfect. your body molds around him effortlessly like it was made for this, every curve of his cock fitting just right inside you and the sensation floods through your whole lower half: warmth spreading low in your belly.

you feel every ridge of his length as he stays buried completely - no movement yet but even stillness sends waves through you. it’s not about chasing friction or speed right now; it’s about being filled, so thoroughly and intimately by someone who knows exactly how to love every part of you without words.

sanzu’s restraint lasts only a few more seconds, just long enough to savor the feeling of being fully inside you, wrapped tight and warm. his hips start moving slowly at first: gentle pulls back almost all the way before sliding forward again in smooth thrusts. each motion is careful but growing bolder with every repetition - the rhythm building gradually.

"fuck..." sanzu groans.

soon he’s picking up speed: deeper strokes now, firmer pressure. friction lighting up every nerve ending where your bodies meet. skin slaps softly against skin; breath comes faster between parted lips as both of you get lost in it - the sensation of moving together after hours apart.

the pace quickens even more, sanzu’s breathing turns ragged, his muscles tensing with each powerful thrust as the pleasure builds. he’s not thinking anymore; just feeling every glide of your bodies together sending sparks through him.

his hands grip your hips tighter to guide you, helping set a steady rhythm, you meet every one of his upward drives with a roll of your own, matching him perfectly. the room fills with the sounds - skin on skin, hushed moans. saznu keeps hitting that one spot over and over until each thrust pulls another soft cry from your lips. he doesn’t slow down - all he wants is to chase this high.

the second you tip your head back - lips parted, eyes fluttering shut, rolling completely into that blissed-out haze where nothing exists except sensation, sanzu freezes for half a heartbeat. god, you look beautiful like this, he thinks. completely undone by him, face slack with pleasure, cheeks flushed deeper than before - every inch of your expression screaming how good he’s making you feel. and it wrecks him in the best way.

he doesn’t last much longer after that.

watching you come apart under his touch pushes sanzu right to the edge and with one final deep thrust, warmth floods through both of you at once: heat spreading low and intense as he comes inside you silently - mouth slightly open against your shoulder where he’d buried his face without realizing it.

the kiss he presses to your lips is different now - softer and slower. when your mouths part, sanzu rests his forehead against yours and whispers "you're perfect." his voice is quiet - rough but impossibly tender and there’s zero hesitation in it. one hand comes up to cradle your cheek gently while he studies your face, the calm aftermath of pleasure still painted across your features.

It was Mikami’s birthday, a day you’d been counting down to as if it was your own. However, Teru wasn’t one to celebrate his birthday, deeming it unnecessary and a bit over the top for someone like him, but you were determined to change his mind and make it one of the best most memorable birthdays he’d ever had!

“Vanilla cake with strawberry frosting. Anything else to add?”

“Oh yes, could you write “Happy Birthday Teru in pink icing? Lots and lots of hearts as well—with rainbow sprinkles.”

He nodded his head, “T-E-R-U? Correct?”

“Correct!”

“And when will you need this by?”

“Would I be able to get it by 7PM today?”

He looked back up at you through his lashes, an eyebrow raised. “You’re lucky your cake is small…” he sighed, scribbling down the timestamp onto the notepad.

“Anything else, ma’am?”

You took a small pause, eyes glancing over the array of pastries and cupcakes that beautifully decorated the displays—until you spotted them. The perfect little cakes.

“Could I get those two? The batman and princess cupcakes?” You smiled, pointing two fingers against the glass.

“…Sure.” He replied, opening the case as he slid out the tray that contained the cupcakes. Your eyes practically glittered as you watched him pack them up, the stark color contrast between the two making you smile even wider. It was basically another version of you and Mikami—as cupcakes!

“It’ll be $45.50 total.”

Ouch! Since when did cakes become so expensive…inflation sucks.

“Haha…right.” You murmured, fishing for your wallet before tapping your card against the tap to pay pad.

“Thank you, come again.”

You shoved your things back into your purse, waving goodbye as you walked out the door.

“Yeah right, this was total robbery..” you murmured beneath your breath—but in the end it was for Mikami, and anything that helped create the best birthday experience for him was worth it!

You skipped along the sidewalk, bag of cupcakes in hand as you made your way to your car. You were a girl on a mission—and you were almost complete! Decorations had finally arrived at the apartment this morning, cake and cupcakes have been ordered and mostly acquired, and Mikami said he’d be working a bit longer than usual today! Perfect amount of time to get ready and surprise him.

He’ll never expect it!

“Oh my beautiful girlfriend what could I do without you?” You chirped to yourself, sliding into the drivers seat before placing the bag of treats in the passenger’s. “Oh Teru, I…actually don’t know!” You giggled, speeding on home with a heart full of excitement and nerves.

Pulling into the parking lot you wasted no time rushing to your apartment unit as if you were about to get caught, immediately ripping into the foot tall box of balloons, banners, and fancy glasses you ordered for a little after-party champagne..

“Alright, time to get to work…” you whispered to yourself, plopping down onto the hardwood floor as you spread out the deflated balloons in front of you. Unfortunately, the only air pump you had was your mouth. Oh well. You could totally blow up 30 balloons!

45 minutes later…

“Auuhhhhgggg I can’t do itttt.” You groaned, about 7 inflated heart shaped balloons in your hands. Who knew your lungs were this weak? At least through the mini breaks you’d taken between each puff of air blown into a balloon you’d gotten the banners and streamers up.

Perhaps a quick trip to the dollar tree for a mini air pump to fill the rest? Would that take too long…? What time was it anyhow?—Knock Knock

The sound of your doorknob rattling along with a few knocks against the door caused your eyes to widen almost immediately. Shit. It was only 7PM!—Oh God, the cake…

That couldn’t be Mikami. It couldn’t! He wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about work! If he was working over time it meant he was working over time. He was devoted to his job and—

“Hello? Baby, I can’t get my keys right now could you open the door for me?”

No! You were not about to accept defeat on this!

“Ah—coming! One second! I’m…I’m shaving!”

“Shaving..?” He muttered to himself, patiently waiting behind the door—clueless.

You shoved the unused balloons to the side, yanking off the streamers from the ceiling as best as you could. If you couldn’t surprise him with a party environment, you still had the cupcakes and drinks as a backup! Still something he’d never expect.

“I’ll just look for my keys, don’t worry.” He spoke, instantly spiking your anxiety.

“NO!—nono, I’m coming! I nicked myself!”

“You hurt yourself? I’m coming, wait a moment.” He replied, dropping his briefcase and lunchbag to finally grab the key to your shared apartment from his pockets, sliding them into the lock…

“Shit, why’d I say that.” You groaned, yanking down another streamer just as the door opened.

Maybe if you closed your eyes hard enough he’d disappear.

“This is allllll a dreeeaaaammm, ooooo” You cooed, attempting to distract him just for your boyfriend to ignore your words. Damn it.

Mikami’s eyes drifted over the balloons on the floor, colorful streamers that were still stuck to the walls above you, and of course, the huge banner that had his name.

He left his bags by the door before walking towards you, arms encircling you like muscle memory.

“I thought you were working extra today.” You sighed, voice laced with defeat and disappointment.

He let out a small smile, his fingers gently trailing up your arm till he held your chin in between his pointer and thumb. “So you could have all this fun without me? You’re truly unfair.” But from the look on your face he quickly dropped his teasing.

“My phone buzzed with your cute little birthday messages, and a co-worker saw, and apparently took it upon himself of announcing that it was in fact the day I was born. I was practically ushered out, teased that I should get home to my pretty girlfriend.”

You let your head hit his body, melting into his embrace like ice cream on a hot sunny day. “Mmmghhh…at least they were right about the pretty part.”

“They were more than right.” He murmured, kissing your hair.

You pressed your chin against his chest, big eyes blinking up at him. “I had this big surprise planned, and it was gonna be really good! I had a cake..and champagne…and it was supposed to be until after you got home.” You couldn’t help but sound a teensy bit whiny, pouting your lips as he simply chuckled at your helpless state.

“It was gonna be the perfect birthday.”

“Everyday of my life is perfect…as long as i’m with you.”

“But I planned it. I put so much effort…”

At your words a deep frown settled onto his lips, his hand dragging up your spine before settling onto the back of your neck to provide some comfort. “Would you like me to leave? Wait outside until you’re ready?”

“No..it’s okay.” You sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed your cheek back against his chest.

“Well, we shouldn’t let the cake and drinks go to waste then, huh? Cake tastes bad if not enjoyed with the person you love most anyway.”

“Huh? Where’d you hear that from?”

“I’ve experienced it. From all the times I’ve eaten cake before you.”

You let out a small giggle, spirits already lifting. Mikami was your happy pill, your dopamine fuel. “Mm…fine. Just because you’re requesting it.”

“Consider it my birthday wish. To eat cake and get drunk on champagne on our apartment floor.”

“On the floor?—oh!” Mikami swiftly swept you off your feet, not allowing a word of protest from your lips. Your hands wrapped around his neck instantly, your head hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Mhm, your boyfriend demands it.”

“You’re bossy today.” You murmured, lips grazing his skin as be walked over to the bag of cupcakes on the floor, littered and discarded decorations surrounding it.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me.”

As he sat down he still kept you in his grasp, allowing you to get comfortable in his lap, sitting sideways across his thighs, hands on his neck.

“Very funny, Teru.” You whispered, planting your lips against the corner of his mouth. Teasing him.

He gave you a little look, attempting to achieve a full kiss only for you to dodge him. “On my birthday you torture me like this?”

“Guilt tripper…”

“Call it whatever you want.” He replied, not wasting a second to properly kiss you, melting into your mouth. He’d been waiting for this all day, being such a patient boy to have the taste of your lips on his tongue.

“Mmph—“ You whimpered, his mouth swallowing your noises whole, his hands greedily yet tentatively pulling you impossibly closer. Suddenly, he was craving something else. Something so much sweeter than strawberry frosting—something only you could provide.

He shifted quickly, leaning back against the wall before grabbing onto your hips, positioning you so your knees bracketed his waist—not once breaking away from your mouth. “You d-don’t wanna eat?” You gasped, arching into his touch as his cool palms slid beneath your shirt, sending goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. “Oh my god…”

“I’m hungry for something else.” He groaned, his eyes barely attempting to stay open the second you slid your manicured nails against his scalp. “It feels nice…don’t stop.”

“Mika—we’re on the living room floor.. are you sure?”

“Don’t worry about that. I thought your only concern was about making your birthday boy happy?”

“It is—“

You bit your lip, eyes wide, blood rushing down your spine. The sound was unmistakable now. Wet, rhythmic, desperate. You could hear the slick motion of his hand stroking his cock—fast, tight, messy. The slight creak of his bed as his hips bucked up into nothing.

And then— “Shit—shit—I need—please—”

You pressed your thighs together without meaning to. He whimpered. A choked, broken sound, almost feminine with how high and wrecked it was. And then another. And another.

Your breath shook. You could barely believe this was Mikami. You’d never even seen him flinch. He barely smiled. Always so rigid. Cold. Controlled. But now?

He was falling apart on the other side of that door. Making the kinds of sounds you didn’t think a man like him could make.

“Fuuuuck—so fucking close—hah—ah—ahhh—”

You leaned in a little closer. The way he moaned. The way his voice dropped into something raw and wrecked. There was no name. No dirty talk. Just a stream of curses, soft cries, and short, gasping moans that told you everything.

He was close. You could hear it. Feel it in the rhythm of his breathing, the slap of skin, the tremble in his throat.

And then— “Ahhh—shit—fuck, fuck, fuck—ahh—”

Your mouth parted. You could practically hear the moment he spilled over, the sound of it—wet, ruined, a drawn-out cry muffled into his own wrist. Silence followed. Heavy, shaky.

You stood there, aroused out of your mind, dizzy from the heat pooling between your thighs.

Then, without a word, you turned. Not into your bedroom.

But toward the kitchen slowly, deliberately, just loud enough that the sound of your footsteps would carry down the hallway.

You made sure he’d hear the faucet. The fridge opening. The clink of a glass. Let him know you were home.

Let him sit in it. Let him wonder how long you’d been standing there. But the kitchen was quiet. You were sitting at the table, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a glass of water, heart still pounding from earlier, from what you’d heard. Your skin buzzed with heat, your lips twisted into something smug, and your patience? Barely hanging by a thread.

You heard the soft pad of footsteps before you saw him.

And then, there he was. Teru. Fresh from his room, completely unaware. Still flushed. Still breathing just a little too hard. Still wearing that black pullover that looked just slightly rumpled now. There was a faint, barely-there stain on the hem—right above the waistband of his grey boxers.

Boxers that did nothing to hide the fact that he was still half-hard.

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. You just sat there in your seat, elbow resting lazily on the table, your expression a little too calm for someone who’d just heard their roommate whimpering into his sheets.

He didn’t see you at first. He moved to the sink, ran the tap, reached for a glass—and then he looked up. And froze.

The glass slipped slightly in his hand. His eyes locked on you—wide, stunned, guilty. “…You’re home,” he said, voice rough.

You took a sip of your water, cocking your head. “Mmhm.”

He blinked. His jaw tensed. He looked down at himself like he only just realized he wasn’t decent. His hands twitched—unsure whether to shield himself, turn around, or evaporate entirely.

Your gaze dragged lazily down his body. From his still-flushed face… to the tent in his boxers. You smiled. Sweet. Sinister.

“Didn’t know you were this hot.”

He flinched. Like the words physically hit him. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His throat bobbed. You let the silence sit. Let it stretch until it was so thick you could cut it. He looked wrecked. A man who thought he was alone and now realized he wasn’t. Not then. Not now.

You leaned forward, voice like honey laced with fire. “I mean—quiet, polite, the whole righteous act. But you in there? On your knees for your own hand like that? Moaning like a good little sinner?”

His breath hitched. Color bloomed in his cheeks. He looked like he was about to fold in on himself and like he couldn’t stop the way his cock twitched beneath the fabric.

You dragged your gaze down again. “Still hard?”

He clenched his jaw. His hand curled at his side.

“You should clean that,” you said softly, gesturing with your glass toward the faint stain on his shirt. “It’d be a shame if I had to point it out to someone else.”

His eyes snapped to yours. Alarmed. Needy. Angry. Embarrassed. You tilted your head, smiling even wider.

“I liked it,” you added, standing up slowly, walking past him on your way to your room, brushing too close—your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Next time, moan louder.”

And with that, you left him standing there, half-hard, humiliated, and trembling.

It was quiet again. Hours had passed. The apartment was still.

You’d showered. Put on a soft oversized t-shirt and slept without pants, sheets kicked half off in the summer heat. A dim lamp glowed on the far side of your room, humming gently in the silence. The buzz in your blood had dulled—but it hadn’t disappeared.

You’d been thinking about him. About the way he moaned. The way he whimpered. The way he’d looked at you, ruined and stunned, standing in the kitchen like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. Your eyes were closed now, half-asleep, legs tangled in the sheets.

Then— a knock. Soft. Hesitant. Three quiet taps.

You blinked. Rolled over slightly to glance at your door. Not loud enough to be urgent. But not casual either. Your heart lifted into your throat. You didn’t say anything at first. Just waited. The silence stretched—then:

“…It’s me,” came a voice. Low. Cautious. Raw.

You bit back a smile. “Come in,” you said, soft but clear.

The door opened. Just a sliver. Enough for the hallway light to slip in and for Teru to step through. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, framed in the doorway, backlit and hesitant. The same black pullover from earlier, now clean. Hair a little messier. Eyes darker. He didn’t look like himself.

He looked like someone trying to hold it together.

Your voice cut through the still air. “Can’t sleep?”

His eyes flicked down, then back up to you. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You sat up slowly. Let the sheet slip just enough to expose your bare thighs. “Yeah?” Your voice was velvet. Dangerous. “What exactly are you thinking about?”

He exhaled, shaky. You watched the way his jaw clenched. How his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to clench them into fists.

“I didn’t know you were home,” he said. Like a confession.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean for you to… hear that.”

You smirked faintly. “But I did.”

He looked away. But didn’t leave. And God, he looked good like that with guilt curling around his posture, his control unraveling thread by thread. You leaned back against the pillows, lazy, knowing. “I liked it, you know.”

He froze.

“I liked hearing what you sound like when you fall apart,” you added, voice low. “Didn’t expect all those pretty little sounds from someone so… obedient.” His mouth parted, breath catching. His shoulders were tense. Almost like he wanted to turn and bolt—but couldn’t.

“Teru.” He looked at you. Really looked this time.

Your smile faded into something slower. “Come here.”

He hesitated. One heartbeat. Two. And then he crossed the room. Every step was reluctant. Controlled. As if fighting instinct. But he stopped just in front of your bed, close enough for you to smell the faint, clean soap still clinging to him.

You looked up at him from under your lashes. “I want to hear you again,” you said. “But this time, for me.”

He swallowed. You could see it in his face—shame, arousal, need. A perfect, burning storm. He nodded. Just once.

You patted the bed. “Get on your knees.”

And he did. Right there, between your legs, as you sat up, leaned forward, reached out with gentle fingers and cupped his flushed cheek.

“You’re so much prettier like this,” you whispered. He whimpered—already breathless.

He knelt.

Between your legs.

Silent. Still. Only the sound of your quiet breath and the hum of your bedside lamp filled the room. He looked up at you with those dark, desperate eyes—hungry in a way you’d never seen on him before. His black pullover hung loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up slightly. No glasses. Hair a little wild from earlier, from frustration, from running his hands through it as he broke down in his room.

His boxers were the only thing he wore below. They clung to him, tight and damp in the front, a clear outline of everything he was trying not to beg with. Still half-hard, still aching.

You didn’t touch him yet. You just let your hand drift up, cupping his face on one side. He leaned into it like it was instinct. Like he couldn’t help it.

You ran your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone, slow, deliberate. Then down, hovering just above his jaw. His breath hitched.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t dare blink.

You let your finger drift, feather-light, over his skin. Tracing the slope of his nose. Brushing down between his brows, to the soft curve above his lips. His lips parted—but not to speak. Just to breathe you in.

To submit. You smirked, just a little. “Didn’t know you could be this pretty,” you murmured.

He exhaled shakily. Your finger slid down to trace his bottom lip. Soft. Pink. Slightly swollen from biting it all night. Then you let your hand drop to his chest. Palm flat over his sternum. You felt the hammering of his heart.

He was trembling. Just barely. Not from fear. From restraint.

From everything he hadn’t said. Everything he’d imagined when your name spilled into his pillow hours earlier.

You tilted your head. “Show me how much you want it.”

And he nodded eager, breathless, and silent. He stared at you like he was starving. Still on his knees. Still between your thighs. But something had shifted in him. The restraint in his shoulders had cracked. The quiet obedience that had radiated off him—gone.

You saw it in his eyes. Not hunger. Possession.

You opened your mouth, maybe to tease him again—but he moved. Fast.

A hand shot up, large, firm fingers wrapping around the side of your throat, tilting your head back just slightly, just enough. “You like playing games, don’t you?” he said, voice low, gravel and heat. His other hand gripped your bare thigh, pulling you forward until you were flush against his chest, knees spread over his.

His palm on your neck didn’t squeeze but it commanded. Your breath stuttered. Your heart slammed in your chest. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips barely touching.

“Sitting there looking at me like that,” he muttered, eyes burning, “like you weren’t wet the second you heard me fuck my fist for you.” Your eyes widened, a gasp catching on your tongue. And then he kissed you.

No. Devoured you.

Mouth crashing into yours—hot, wet, filthy. His tongue slid between your lips with zero hesitation, tasting you like he’d dreamed about it every night and hated himself for it. Teeth grazing your bottom lip, the sound he made when you whimpered into his mouth, low, deep, hungry.

It was the kind of kiss that ruined oxygen. The kind that made you throb between your legs without a single touch where it mattered. He didn’t let up. One hand still on your throat, the other gripping your thigh tighter, holding you open against him like you belonged there.

You did. You moaned into the kiss, helpless, stunned—and felt the way his cock twitched hard under his boxers against your core.

You pulled back just enough to whisper—“Fuck.”

And he just smirked, licking his lips, eyes half-lidded and dark.

“You gonna be a good girl now?” he rasped.

You couldn’t even speak. Your body answered for you pressing closer, hips rolling, needing more. And Teru? He just smiled like a man who finally had permission to take what was his. He kissed you like a man losing control with hands on your waist, chest heaving, lips hot and urgent.

And then, without a word, he shifted forward. He leaned in, deepened the kiss, and gently pressed you back onto the mattress. You let him. Let him hover over you, black pullover falling forward, the weight of him between your legs making your breath hitch. His lips dragged down your jaw, the side of your neck, as he caged you beneath him.

But just as he started to settle— Your hands slid up his chest and gave him a firm push. He blinked, startled—but you didn’t wait. You climbed into his lap like you owned it, straddling him, thighs spread over his hips.

He leaned back onto the headboard, barely breathing, letting you take over and then his hands found your ass. Full, bare, soft. He squeezed once—then froze. Fingers digging in.

He dragged one hand slowly along the curve of your skin, brows lifting as his touch dipped between your thighs, skin to skin. You didn’t stop him.

You were watching his face when he realized. “Ohhh… no panties?” His voice dropped, that sharp edge of mock-scandalized heat curling into a smirk.

Then, filthier: “Fucking nasty.”

You laughed. Bright, unbothered, cocky. Your hips rolled against his once—slow and shameless—making him groan under his breath. “You’re one to talk,” you teased, licking your lips as you rocked against the hard bulge in his boxers, “half-hard and leaking for hours. What would your precious god say about that?”

His hands gripped you tighter, jaw twitching. The tension in his hips nearly snapped.

“You keep talking like that,” he growled, “and I’ll fuck that blasphemy out of you so deep you’ll forget your own name.”

You laughed again, sweet and wicked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as your wet core ground down against him, bare skin on soft cotton—hot and soaking through.

You moved your hips again dragging yourself over him with a sigh so breathy and mockingly soft it made his entire jaw tighten. His head tipped back slightly against the headboard, his chest rising in sharp, heavy bursts under the black pullover. Hands locked on your hips like he couldn’t trust himself not to just snap and fuck you senseless.

You did it again—rolled your hips just right—and his cock twitched hard beneath you. “Ah—fuck,” he gasped, mouth falling open. “You’re… you’re so wet—shit.”

You smiled. Smug. Lazy. All over him like silk.

“Maybe I like teasing holy men,” you whispered, grinding again, right on the head of his cock, letting it press against your clit through the damp fabric until you let out a shaky little “ah—” of your own. His eyes flew to your face.

Open. Wild. Staring like he wanted to devour you, like he couldn’t decide whether to pray or sin harder.

His voice dropped lower filthy, breathless. “You wanna cum like this?” he murmured, his hips bucking up a little, “Dripping all over my cock without me even being inside you?”

You gasped. A soft, shocked inhale—mock surrender—as you bit your bottom lip and rolled against him again, slow and aching, grinding so close it had both of you trembling.

“Hah fuck—” The sound spilled out of you before you could stop it. Head tilted, chest flushed, lips parted. His hands tightened. “Fuck—keep doing that—just like that—ah—fuck, I can feel your pussy soaking through—”

You moaned again, dragging your hips in tight little circles over his cock, the friction too much and not enough, the fabric making it worse.

Your wet heat pulsed over him, and he could feel it all—every twitch, every gasp, every clench. His mouth stayed open, panting, eyes fixed on where you moved against him.

“You’re gonna make me cum in my fucking boxers,” he growled, voice shaking. “You like that? You like making me a mess?”

You leaned down, kissed him hard, whispered: “I do.”

And he moaned loud, wrecked, hungry. You didn’t rush.

You shifted back just a little, sliding down his thighs, your soaked core still hovering just above where he was straining beneath those boxers, the fabric damp with your slick. He looked up at you with glassy, wide eyes. Breath shallow. Lips parted. One hand still gripping your thigh like he couldn’t breathe without it.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. You just reached down slow—and dragged his boxers down his hips, over his cock. He groaned through his teeth as it sprang free, hard and heavy, flushed tip already leaking. You didn’t touch it. Didn’t stroke him. Just stared into his eyes as you lifted your hips.

And then you sank down. So. Fucking. Slowly.

The stretch made your breath catch, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. You kept your gaze locked on his—your thighs shaking slightly as inch after inch slid inside you.

Teru gasped. His hands flew to your waist, but he didn’t move you. Didn’t dare. He just stared up at you like you were the holiest thing he’d ever seen. You took him so well. Too well.

And you whispered—barely above a breath, while still lowering onto him— “Eyes on me.”

He obeyed. Couldn’t do anything but. By the time you were fully seated, deep, tight, completely wrapped around him—he was already trembling. You rolled your hips once, slow and shallow, just to hear the whimper that broke out of him.

But then you stopped again. No bouncing. No grinding. Just held him inside you. Warm. Pulsing. Throbbing. Your chest brushed his, your mouth close to his ear as you breathed—

“Look. So big, you don’t even slide out when I bend.”

His breath hitched—then he laughed. A ragged, bastardly sound full of wrecked pride. You fucking tease,” he muttered, hands still gripping you like he was fighting gravity. To prove your point, you pushed your hips down even more—deeper, tighter, clenching just slightly.

He let out a filthy, desperate curse. “Oh—fuck—don’t—shit—”

You kissed his jaw, hot and slow. Whispered against his ear. “You feel that?” You clenched again—just to feel him twitch. “Feel me around you? So warm. So fucking wet for you.”

And when you said it— He moaned like you’d just ripped the holiness out of him. You stayed there so full of him, sitting heavy in his lap, stretched around him so deep it made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you. Hard. Desperate. Straining against the grip of your heat like he couldn’t believe it was real.

You moved. Barely. A slow, slow grind of your hips. Not up, not off—just a drag. Tight. Controlled.

And he gasped. Loud. Sharp. Like he’d just been struck.

“Oh—God, fuck, don’t—” But you did it again.

Hips rolling in lazy circles, slow and soaking, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you. You didn’t ride him. You wrecked him—inch by inch, slow drag by slow drag. His hands were trembling where they held your hips, unsure if he should grip you tighter or just pray. You leaned forward, skin against his, lips at his ear. “You gonna cum like this?” you whispered, voice like silk on fire. “From me just grinding on your cock like it’s nothing?”

He groaned, deep, raw, completely overwhelmed. “Shit—shit—I can’t—” His voice cracked. You rolled your hips again. Slower. Your clit dragged along the base of his cock, and your gasp spilled right into his mouth.

He was watching you like a man who hadn’t blinked in minutes, so hungry, flushed, sweat building on his neck. You clenched around him again, and he twitched so hard you could feel it in your thighs.

“Ah—f-fuck—please,” he breathed, eyes fluttering. “You’re so—so wet, it’s too much—”

You kissed him. Open. Deep. Slow. Tongue sliding against his, swallowing his next whimper. Your hands braced on his chest. You started to ride him now—but not fast. Just enough to make him feel every single glide, every slow slide of your soaked cunt around his cock.

You broke the kiss, lips brushing his as you murmured: “That’s it. Let me feel how bad you want it.” He shuddered under you. A moan ripped straight from his throat.

“F-fuck—please don’t stop—please—” Your head tilted, teasing, breath warm against his jaw. “Beg me nicer, Mikami.”

He opened his mouth—eyes wide, desperate, almost wrecked And whispered: “Please—please, don’t stop, I’ll be good—I swear I’ll be good—please let me cum in you—”

And you smiled, slow and wicked, as your hips rolled again—deep, wet, perfect. Your hips rocked in slow, wet circles as he trembled beneath you, cock twitching so deep inside, breath hitched, lips parted.

He was close. Too close. You felt it in the way his hands flexed on your hips, the way his eyes started to glaze. His moans were turning ragged, messy, frantic. So you leaned in, mouth at his ear, voice soft and sweet like sin.

“You’re not allowed to cum yet.”

His whole body shuddered. A broken, wrecked groan tore out of him, head tipping back against the wall, chest rising in sharp bursts. His eyes found yours again—wide, pleading, flushed all the way to his ears, mouth hanging open like he’d just been slapped. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“Aw,” you cooed, hips grinding down deeper just to make him squirm, “you’re so cute when you’re flushed like this. Can’t even pretend to be dominant anymore, sweetheart.”

He cursed through his teeth. Bit hard into his lip to shut himself up. Then snarled, voice dark and low: “Stop teasing me or I’ll fuck your brain out.”

You just laughed. Mocking. Dripping with delight. Unbothered.

Until his voice dropped again—deeper. Dangerous.

“I’ve been hard for hours.” His tone turned sharp. Final. “I mean what I said.”

Your laugh faltered. Just for a moment.

And that’s all he needed.

His hands flew to your hips, slammed you down onto him, deeper than before, and before you could recover, one strong arm slid behind your neck, yanked you forward into a tight headlock. His other arm locked around your waist, holding you in place.

You gasped—“Teru—” And then he fucked up into you.

Hard. Deep. Relentless. Your body jolted with every thrust, your breath punched from your lungs, mouth falling open in a stunned moan.

He laughed. Dark. Filthy. Victorious. “Yeah?” he panted between gritted teeth. “Who’s whimpering now, huh?” You tried to laugh again—tried—but it was broken halfway by a loud, helpless moan. His cock slammed into you again, and again—dragging loud, messy sounds from your throat as he fucked up into your soaked cunt like he had no intention of stopping.

But you still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You let your head fall against his shoulder, moaning louder, messier, deliberately letting your voice cry out right into his ear.

“Ahhh—fuck—right there—yes, yes—”

He growled, hips snapping up faster, brutal now. You felt him grin against your skin. “Keep talking. Go on. Moan louder,” he hissed. “Let everyone hear it.” You just moaned louder. He fucked you harder. You could barely breathe.

His arm stayed tight around your waist, the other still locked behind your neck, keeping you pressed chest to chest with him, no space, no mercy, no escape.

And he was still fucking into you. Hard. Deep. Slow now—too slow. You were shaking on top of him, lips parted, gasping into his skin, because the rhythm had changed. It wasn’t frantic anymore.

It was calculated. Cruel. Every time your body started to stutter—every time your walls began to clench around him in that perfect, desperate way—he changed the angle. Switched the depth. Pulled back just enough to stop you from falling over that edge. Over. And over. And over again.

“You wanna cum so bad, don’t you?” he whispered into your ear, voice low, smug, dangerous.

“I can feel it. Every time you squeeze around me like that—fuck, you’re trying to milk me, aren’t you?”

You whined completely ruined, head falling forward onto his shoulder. He chuckled darkly. “Too bad.”

You cried out, whole body twitching as he thrust in harder again but not deep enough. Not where you needed. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

He kissed the edge of your jaw, biting it gently as your hips jerked, as your moans turned panicked and high. His cock dragged through your soaked, fluttering walls with devastating precision and fucking you with purpose, like he knew exactly where to aim and exactly how to pull back before it became too much.

You were clenching so hard, helpless, soaking him, so close you were shaking.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered into your neck, panting through his teeth. “Fucking soaking me, and I’m still not cumming. You know why?”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. He slammed up into you once—brutal—and you gasped. “Because I’m going to make you lose your fucking mind first.”

He pulled you tighter, burying himself deeper, so deep it stole the air from your lungs. Your nails dug into his arms. Your body jerked with every thrust. But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight it. His voice was in your ear again, rougher now.

“Gonna keep fucking you like this until you break. Until you cum so hard on my cock you forget your own fucking name.”

You sobbed out a moan, head spinning, and he felt it—felt your body seize up— And again, he shifted. Changed the angle. Slowed down.

“Nope.”

A broken cry tore from your throat.

“Nuh-uh,” he rasped, mocking now, still smiling against your flushed cheek. “You don’t get to cum yet. You wanted to tease me? Laugh at me? Now it’s your turn, sweetheart.”

His grip tightened. You were locked against him. And he started grinding instead, hard, deep circles, dragging the tip of his cock right up against your most sensitive spot, not letting you move, not letting you cum, just making you feel everything.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you can’t take it.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t say anything. You just moaned, high and desperate, trembling in his arms, completely at his mercy.

And he groaned through his teeth “Perfect.”

You twisted in his grip, hips jerking, thighs trembling, so close you couldn’t think. But the moment you tried to move, tried to pull back just enough to breathe or regain some kind of control, he tightened his hold.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

His cock slammed up into you harder than before, the shift so sudden it knocked a gasp from your chest. You clawed at his shoulder instinctively, but he was already rutting up into you, fast, rougher, deliberate. You moaned out his name, cracked and high, and that only made him growl—

“Fuck, that’s it—sound so fucking good for me—so tight, so wet—”

He wasn’t letting up. And the way he started to praise you, filthy and low between his gasps, made your body quake. “Such a good girl. Taking me so deep. You feel how soaked you are for me?” His voice was worship and sin, every word breaking you further. You clenched hard around him, thighs locking down on his hips, overwhelmed by the friction—raw, real, unbearable.

And then you felt it. The stagger in his rhythm. The hitch in his breath. He was losing it. Close. So close.

Your lips curled into a smug, breathless grin and you gasped—

“Try again—if you cum first, it’s all mouth.”

And that did it. His whole body tensed. He exhaled a shaky, broken sound—“Fuck—”—and immediately adjusted.

His grip on your waist loosened, only to let his other hand slide up, over your throat, palm flat, fingers curling gently, possessive and controlled. He pulled you in.

Your lips crashed together all rough, messy, teeth clashing—but beneath it all, there was something soft in it. The way his thumb stroked under your jaw, the way his mouth lingered just a little longer than needed.

He didn’t stop praising. “So perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “Feel you clenching. You love this, don’t you? Fuck—you’re dripping.”

And you were. You were soaking him. Every thrust made it worse—slick and deep, his cock grinding against every spot inside you like he was carving it into memory. And when he felt your body tense again—so close to breaking—he laughed under his breath, dark and satisfied. “Yeah,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “That’s what I fucking thought.” And then—

He sat up. Pushed you upright. Still buried inside.

One hand still tight around your throat, holding you there, steady. His other hand slipped low, dragging between your legs—finding your clit. You choked on a moan.

Legs jolting. Back arching. You widened your stance, tilting your legs out, spreading wider so he could see it all: the way your slick dripped down his cock, the way your cunt fluttered around him like you were begging to be ruined. And when his fingers circled your clit—fast, precise, merciless—

You broke. “Oh—fuck—Teru—!”

He groaned at the sound of his name, the way you cried it out like a prayer, like a curse. You clenched down hard, walls spasming, and he didn’t stop—kept fucking up into you with ruthless rhythm as your orgasm ripped through you.

And all he did was watch. Eyes dark. Hand around your throat. Breath shaking with restraint.

“Good girl,” he whispered, reverent and wrecked

Your body was shaking. Chest heaving. Legs twitching. Sweat slicking every inch of your skin. You were still gasping for air when you finally let your hips lift—his cock slipping out of you, wet and still fucking hard, twitching against his stomach.

You whined from the loss of him. And he groaned, low and guttural, chest rising with restraint, fists clenching at his sides like he was still holding himself back.

You slid back—settling back between his open thighs, your cunt still pulsing from the orgasm he’d forced out of you. He looked wrecked. Flushed. Hair stuck to his forehead, lips parted, staring at you like you were both dream and nightmare.

And then— His eyes flicked down to his hand. The one that had been on your clit just moments ago. His thumb still glistened with your slick. And he brought it to his mouth. Licked it.

Slow. Shameless. “Dirty,” he muttered. His voice was rough, like it had been torn from his throat. Then, again—lower. “Fuck.”

You moaned at the sight of it—his open mouth, the way he sucked his own finger, how ruined and raw he looked. Your breath was still ragged, your thighs trembling but you weren’t done. Not even close. You leaned forward, eyes locked on his.

Then let a thick string of spit fall from your lips. It landed right on his cock—messy, hot, adding to the slick sheen already coating him. He gasped loud, head falling back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut. You wrapped your hand around him—slow, deliberate—and started to stroke him.

Long, tight pulls. The pace he’d tortured you with. Every time you felt him twitch—you slowed down.

“Y-You—” He couldn’t even speak. His voice cracked into a moan. Loud. Raw. So fucking real.

You bit your lip, stroking him again, thumb gliding over the head, smearing your spit with his precum. He was leaking so much it was dripping over your knuckles, down your wrist.

“Feels good, baby?” you whispered, teasing. He nodded frantically, throat working, chest heaving like he was about to explode. Your hand twisted at the tip and his entire body arched, another broken moan tearing from him as his abs tightened. You leaned in close to his ear, still jerking him slow, cruel. “I’m gonna make you cum just like this.”

“Gonna watch your pretty face when you fall apart.”

And he moaned so loud you could feel it vibrate through your chest. Your hand kept stroking him tight and slow, slick with spit and his precum, the sounds of it obscene in the silence between his ragged, helpless moans.

He was a mess.

Legs spread. Cock twitching in your fist. Head tipped back against the headboard as his chest heaved, his mouth wide open, breath coming in shattered gasps.

“Fuck—fuck—oh my god—please—”

You smiled, wicked and calm, watching him completely unravel in front of you. He’d been so composed earlier. So cocky. Controlled. But now?

Now he was loud. Wrecked. His knuckles white from gripping the sheets, his whole body shaking as you worked him slowly toward the edge without letting him fall.

“That’s it,” you cooed. “Let me hear you. Louder.”

And he did. “FUCK—ah—s-shit, don’t stop—don’t stop—please!”

You leaned in, your other hand bracing on his stomach as your grip around his cock got tighter, faster. You twisted just a little on the upstroke, and he cried out, loud enough you swore it echoed down the damn hallway.

“Look at you,” you breathed against his ear. “Moaning like that for me. So loud, baby. Bet the neighbors know now how filthy you are.”

He whimpered—genuinely whimpered—and then his voice broke: “I—I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, I can’t—please, please—”

You sped up, stroking harder, faster, hand soaked and warm and messy as you pushed him right to the edge. He was gasping, jerking into your hand, hips twitching like he didn’t even know how to move anymore.

Then his mouth dropped open. His head snapped forward and he shouted your name, loud, desperate, broken.

And he came. Hard. Hot spurts of cum spilled over your hand, his stomach, his thighs, his whole body jolting as he moaned so loud you could feel it in your bones.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t come down easy. He kept moaning, long, dragged-out sounds, breath hitching, hips twitching, completely gone. You stroked him through it—slow now, coaxing every last drop as he shuddered and gasped, whimpering through clenched teeth.

He finally slumped back, fucked out, flushed to his chest, still twitching under your touch. And you just smiled, sticky hand resting lightly on his stomach.

“Loudest man I’ve ever ruined.”

He didn’t even deny it. Just nodded weakly. Eyes glassy. Breath ruined. Voice barely a whisper— “…fuck.”

The air was thick. Your thighs were shaking.

You were kneeling on the bed, chest rising and falling, still catching your breath between his spread legs, your hands resting on his hips, still dripping with his cum.

Teru lay there, sprawled and flushed, chest bare, his cock twitching with the aftershocks, red and glistening, lying flat against his abdomen. His cheeks were pink, lips parted, still catching short little gasps like his body didn’t know how to settle.

And then, with his head tipped back against the pillow, voice raw and cocky and completely breathless— “Sorry,” he rasped. “You’re full of my cum.”

You blinked. Laughed through your exhale. “Yeah,” you said with a crooked grin, glancing down at your soaked fingers, “never saw a man cum so much.”

He moaned softly at that, biting his lip as his eyes dragged over you—kneeling there, wrecked, glistening with him. You brought your hand up, slowly licking a streak of him from your wrist up to your knuckle—just to watch the way his eyes fluttered shut and his cock twitched again, even post-orgasm.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. You sat back on your heels, grinning, watching him come apart even after the high had crashed.

And then, voice lower, playful and smug: “So…You staying in my bed now, baby? Or crawling back to yours full of shame and cum?”

He cracked a lazy, half-ruined smile and covered his face with one arm. “If I move, I might die.”

You laughed, leaning forward to kiss his hip. “Good. Stay right there.”

You curled up next to him, hands still sticky, both of you too warm, too spent, too far gone to care. And when you finally did move, it was only because he reached out, pulled you against his chest, and whispered: “You’re gonna wreck me, you know that?”

You just smiled against his skin. “That’s the plan.”

The room was dim, quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only follows complete exhaustion. You both lay tangled in the sheets, half-naked and sticky, your legs draped loosely around his under the mess of blankets.

His chest rose slowly. Calm. Deep. He was asleep. Mostly.

He’d turned during the night—his back now to your chest, long body curled slightly inward, spine bare beneath the soft hem of the crumpled black pullover he’d never taken off. You hovered just behind him, the heat between you buzzing all over again.

You shifted closer. Close enough to breathe him in. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips when you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand trail from his ribs to his hipbone.

He stirred at the touch. A low, sleepy hum rumbled in his chest.

You smiled. Your hand moved lower. Fingertips dragged just above his waistband, then dipped under, grazing warm skin and the faint trail of hair there.

And then you did it again. Slower this time. Dirtier. Your palm settled against the front of his boxers, warm, soft pressure—right over the bulge already forming in his sleep.

His hips jerked slightly. A quiet, desperate sound slipped from his throat. Then—half-asleep, raspy and ruined—he whispered:

“Don’t tease me, not unless you’re ready to wake up with my cock inside you.”

You froze. Eyes wide, breath caught. And then—he grabbed your wrist. Not hard. Not fast. Just sure. Possessive. Warm fingers curling around your wrist, guiding it down.

And without looking at you, still barely awake, he pressed your hand over the hard length of his cock. Still through the fabric. Still so fucking hard.

You felt it twitch. He groaned. Deep. Low. Throaty. “Touch it properly,” he murmured. “Or I’ll fuck your hand until you beg to be filled.”

Your thighs clenched. You squeezed him once, and his hips shifted back into you, slow and greedy like he needed your heat all over again. He laughed—breathless. Sinful. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I thought.”

He was still half-asleep, your hand wrapped around his cock through his boxers, his body lax and warm against yours—until you chuckled behind him, voice soft and dangerous: “Then do it.”

There was a pause. He tensed slightly.

“…Huh?”

Your grin curled slow against his bare shoulder.

“Fuck my hand until I start to beg.”

And before he could even process that , you flattened your palm, cupped around the bulge in his boxers, and gave it a light slap. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to taunt.

That did it. His body snapped to life like something primal had been lit up from the inside.

He grabbed your wrist again but tighter this time, no hesitation—his grip rough and possessive, and you felt your body jerk forward, torso pressing against his back with a breathless laugh. His other hand slid down, tugging his boxers low, and then he dragged your hand underneath, until your fingers curled around the length of his bare cock.

And he was hard as hell. Your palm squeezed without mercy so tight, just to hear him moan. His head tipped back to yours, his breath catching in your ear like he was already close.

“Now that’s something I like to hear,” you whispered, your grip not relenting.

He groaned, low and wrecked. “Ahh—shut up—fuck—stop gripping me so tight—” he gasped, hips starting to rut into your hand like he couldn’t help it.

But you didn’t ease up. Didn’t stop teasing.

You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice syrup-slow and filthy: “You feel so fucking good. So thick in my hand. Is this how you get every morning, baby? Hm? All that discipline and you’re still this desperate?”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. You licked the curve of his ear and kept going. “Keep fucking my hand like that—go on. Maybe I’ll let you cum on my stomach. Or maybe I’ll ride you while you’re whining. So full of me, you won’t even remember what it’s like to be empty.”

His moan was broken, wrecked, breathless cry, and his cock twitched hard in your palm as he kept rutting, faster now, chasing it like he’d been waiting all night to lose control.

He was grinding into your fist like his life depended on it—hips jerking, cock twitching in your hand, leaking, your grip just tight enough to make him curse every few seconds.

“Fuck—fuck—‘m gonna cum—please—”

You leaned in, voice dripping with filth and finality: “Then give it to me.”

He moaned loud, body seizing as he slammed his hips forward one last time—his orgasm tearing through him, cock twitching violently as thick streams of cum spilled over your hand, his abs, dripping down your fingers and soaking his boxers halfway down his thighs. “Oh my—fuck—” he groaned, head falling back into your shoulder, completely lost.

And you? You just smiled. Breathing heavy.

You lifted your hand—covered in him—and slid your fingers up to his lips from behind.

“Taste it.”

No hesitation. Not even a pause. He opened his mouth, took your cum-coated fingers in greedily, lips closing around them as his tongue dragged slow across your knuckles.

You moaned. Visibly shaken. The sight of him, moaning around your fingers, lashes fluttering, his own cum on his tongue, licking it like it belonged there—was too fucking much.

“Good boy,” you whispered hoarsely against his neck, grinding your hips just once against him in praise.

But he wasn’t done. Suddenly—he turned. Quick. Smooth. Hungry. He twisted, flipping you onto your back, mouth wet, breath rough, his cock still half-hard and twitching, glistening against his abs.

His palm wrapped around your throat. Not hard—just to hold you steady. Then he hovered above you, wild-eyed and flushed, grabbed your jaw again and shoved two of his fingers into your mouth. You moaned around them instinctively, and he groaned with it.

And then he spit into your mouth. You swallowed it around his fingers, whining, and just when your hips started to shift up in need, he slid his other hand down.

Two fingers plunged into your soaked cunt. You cried out, arching instantly—your body already soaked, twitching from the overstimulation of watching him lick cum off your fingers. “That get you wet?” he muttered, voice ragged, fingers curling inside you just right.

“Yeah? You like making me your toy and watching me swallow it?”

You moaned again, nodding helplessly as he thrust his fingers harder—relentless, hitting that spot over and over.

“Filthy girl. Should’ve known you’d love that.” You clenched around him, gasping, your thighs shaking under his weight.

He laughed hoarse and breathless. “You’re gonna cum on my fingers, and then I’m gonna fucking clean you up with my mouth.”

Your head tipped back. You were so close. And he just kept going, praising and ruining you at the same time, fingers slick, deep, fast, exactly how you needed it.

And this time? You were the one moaning loud.

Your thighs were still shaking, cunt fluttering around his fingers when he finally pulled back, his breath warm, lips swollen, eyes dark. “Now be still,” he said quietly, voice wrecked and reverent. “I said I’d clean you up.”

You didn’t have time to respond. He dropped between your legs without ceremony, spreading you open, tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked, overstimulated folds.

Your whole body jolted. “Ah—fuck, Teru—”

He moaned into your pussy, and it vibrated deep, sending shockwaves right through your spine. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you down, tongue licking messily, hungrily, not just your slick but his own cum, too, where it had dripped down from earlier.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, lips smearing cum and spit over your clit, tongue flattening against it again and again.

But you noticed something else. The way his hips started moving. Automatically. You tilted your head and glanced down.

He was humping the edge of the mattress. Not even touching himself. Just mindlessly grinding his still-hard cock against the sheets, fucking the edge of your bed like he couldn’t stop, like your taste alone was too much.

His rhythm started to stutter. His breath came faster, tongue still lapping through your folds, desperate to clean you while his hips twitched against the bed.

“Teru?” you gasped, breathless. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer. He just groaned deep into your cunt, shaky, helpless—and then you saw it: He jerked back from the bed, chest rising, muscles tensing as he grabbed at his own cock—just in time— “Shit—fuck—fuck, I—”

He moaned loud, head tipped back, as his cum spilled again, hot and sudden into his hand, his hips still twitching from the force of it. His face twisted in overstimulated pleasure, lips parted, completely flushed.

“Oh my—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

You were wide-eyed. Dripping. Still trembling. And then you burst out laughing. Half-moan, half-teasing.

“Did you just cum again from eating me out?”

He slumped onto the bed between your legs, breathing hard, cum on his fingers, mouth still glistening with your slick.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at you, dazed and wrecked.

“I’m never gonna survive living with you.”

You leaned forward, cupping his flushed face, licking your lips.

“Good.”

We both enjoyed that more than we should have.

If this found the wrong place in your head, the Masterlist has more. If you want me to make it personal, Requests are open.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ © ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ

Dirty talk too? You’re basically breaking this man!

“You like that baby? Like it when I stroke your dick while eating you out mh?”

“I wonder what the other detective will see when they find the fact that you—the great L likes getting jerked off and cums like a virgin boy.”

“Look at your hole! It basically wants my tongue at this point! Such a desperate slut you are mhh♡? Nothing but a cheap dumb whore.”

“I bet you’ll strip yourself naked in front of the others if I tell you. Want them to see how you such my cock? Or want them to see how you easily orgasm by the lick of a tongue? Answer me, baby♡.”

And all L can do is moan and nod his head whenever you talk to him.

Whenever he wants to have sex with you to remove the stress from his work, he’d immediately be in sub space. Caress your sweet boy’s body as you take off his clothes, all he can do is whine and nod as you finish up lubing his hole.

You’ll be 100% correct in saying that WE (yes, me and you) CANNOT see him as a dom. That is a sexually repressed SUBMISSIVE MAN. He likes being pampered! He liked being called “pretty boy”! He secretly wants someone to fuck him so good that he can’t think straight!

Same Morning - Bonten HQ

The elevator dings, and you walk in, sunglasses on, hair in a claw clip, holding a giant iced coffee like it’s a lifeline. There’s something extra about you today. Still yourself, but with a little more gloss. A little more glow.

Sanzu’s the first to notice, because of course he is. He’s leaned against a wall like he’s been waiting all morning for drama to strike.

‘Look who made it home in one piece,’ he drawls with a crooked grin, ‘And not a single mugshot in sight. Disappointed.’

You lift your coffee in salute, ‘Give it time.’

Ran, nearby and smug, doesn’t even look up from his phone, ‘Told you I returned her in mint condition.’

You shoot him a look over your sunglasses, a mix of gratitude and please never repeat anything I said in that car again. He just smirks.

Koko, watching from across the room, taps away at his keyboard but says without looking up, ‘Glad to see you’re alive. My inbox had bets going both ways.’

‘Wait, there were bets?’ you ask, blinking.

‘Only friendly ones,’ Koko replies smoothly, ‘Though Rindou owes me lunch now.’

Rindou groans from his desk, spinning lazily in his chair, ‘You didn’t answer your phone for like an hour. I assumed the worst. Or karaoke.’

‘It was almost karaoke,’ Ran says under his breath, sipping his drink.

You point at him, ‘You said that was between us.’

Kakucho walks by holding a tablet, pausing just long enough to say softly, ‘Glad you're okay.’ His words are sincere — the quiet kind that land and linger.

Mochi grunts as he walks in from a side room, reading over a report. He pauses, eyes scanning you quickly, like he's checking for damage. Satisfied, he just nods, ‘Next time you go out, tell someone. Or bring backup.’

Takeomi trails in after him, sipping something strong and caffeinated, ‘Preferably backup who isn't Ran.’

You snort and hold up your hand like a Girl Scout, ‘Noted.’

You settle at your desk and the office slips back into its usual controlled chaos, but there’s something warmer in the air now. Ran occasionally glances your way and you catch him once, raising a brow. He just shrugs like, what?

Around mid morning you’re in the breakroom alone when Ran steps in, casually leaning against the counter like he’s not here on purpose, ‘You good?’ he asks, keeping it light.

You nod, then tilt your head, ‘Weirdly, yeah. I expected to feel worse. But...thanks for the rescue.’

Ran watches you for a beat, then reaches into his coat and pulls out something ridiculous: a tiny novelty first-aid kit shaped like a heart, ‘For future emotional emergencies,’ he says, deadpan.

You burst out laughing, ‘What—what is this?’

‘You’d be surprised how often people cry in my car. You’ve got good stats, though. Just jokes and weird confessions.’

You smile, warm and genuine, ‘Seriously though...I’m happy you had that meeting or drinks nearby otherwise I would have been lost.’

He shrugs, ‘You’re one of us now. Even if you don’t do crime.’

‘Only Minecraft crime,’ you remind him.

He taps the counter next to you, ‘Next time, I’m teaching you karaoke. Just in case.’

That a threat?’ you question.

‘It’s a promise,’ he states firmly.

You both laugh, and it’s easy. Simple. For once, Bonten doesn’t feel like crime lords and blood on their hands. Just...coworkers. Maybe friends. Definitely trouble.

You’re definitely feeling the effects of the night before. Your head is definitely floating a little too high above your shoulders. Every sip of your iced coffee is like a lifeline, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much more than keeping you from slumping face-first into your desk.

Koko eyes her from across the room as you silently struggle to open a new email. He leans back in his chair, clicking his pen a few times, ‘You still alive over there?’

You give him a thumbs up without looking up, ‘Just...fine. Living the dream. Sipping coffee that has enough caffeine to fuel a rocket. It’s great. I’m thriving.’

He snorts, clearly entertained by your half-hearted attempt at a joke, ‘We’re having a staff meeting in twenty. I’m sure you’ll be thriving by then.’

‘Perfect. I love pretending I’m not hungover while everyone else knows I am,’ you mutter, swiping your mouse across the desk.

Sanzu, who has been keeping an eye on you all morning, suddenly decides to test your ability to function while a little hungover. He casually strolls over to your desk, holding a small pen in one hand.

‘Hey,”’he says, dropping it just near your desk with deliberate slowness.

Without missing a beat, you reach out, fingers quick as lightning, and catch it mid-air. You hold it up, unphased, and give him a half-amused glance, ‘Seriously? That all you got?’ you quip, your reflexes still sharp despite the lingering effects of alcohol.

Sanzu grins, clearly impressed, ‘You make it look easy. I was expecting some flailing.’

You raise your eyebrows, shaking your head slightly, ‘If I flail, who’s going to do your paperwork when you mess something up?’

As the day drags on, you find yourself sinking into the rhythm of the office — small talk here, quick decisions there, and endless typing. The caffeine’s doing its job, but the exhaustion still lingers. By lunchtime, you’re already planning how to spend your evening: early bed, maybe watch a comfort show, and let your body fully recover.

But the Bonten members aren’t letting her slip away quietly.

Koko drops off a sandwich at your desk with a knowing look, ‘Eat something before you actually die.’

You look up at him, trying to seem grateful despite feeling like a zombie, ‘I’m fine. Really.’ But you can’t resist, ‘Thanks, Koko.’

He just gives you a pointed look, ‘Sure. But don’t expect me to save you from paperwork if you pass out in it.’

‘Noted,’ you mutter, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite.

As the afternoon wears on, you’re doing the best you can — taking care of the little tasks, answering phone calls, shuffling paperwork. Your usual upbeat demeanor is a little more muted today, but there’s still a spark of the old you underneath.

Finally, as the day winds down, Ran walks by your desk, pausing to look at you. His voice is low and steady, ‘You hanging in there? Don’t make me send you home early.’

You force a smile, ‘I’m fine. I’ll get through the rest of the day. Don’t worry.’

He watches you for a moment longer, then nods, ‘Alright. Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?’

You meet his gaze, your smile softening, ‘Thanks, Ran. I’ll be okay. I appreciate it...and everything else.’

Ran gives a small, subtle smile, ‘Anytime.’

As the office empties out for the night and you finally pack up your things, you feel the weight of the day lifting, but also the sense of quiet appreciation that’s settled in your chest. This strange, bizarre family you’ve become a part of, they’ve got your back, and you’re finally realizing just how much that means.

─ SANZU HARUCHIYO

sanzu keeps finding himself thinking about you during meetings, during jobs, during long nights. at first, he tells himself it's curiosity - then obsession. by the time he realizes it's love, it's already far too late. you're living in his head rent-free, and every attempt he makes to ignore it only makes it worse.

the age gap bothers him more than it bothers you. because he genuinely believes you're too good for him. he's spent years surrounded by violence, crime. meanwhile, you have a normal life, normal friends, normal worries. when he looks at you, it's like looking through a window into a life he never got to have.

despite his reputation, he's surprisingly soft around you. not in a weak way - just different. there are sides of him that nobody else gets to see. he lets you see his exhaustion. lets you see those rare moments when the weight of everything catches up to him. on nights when he comes home tired, he'll rest his head in your lap and close his eyes while you play with his hair.

he acts annoyed when you worry about him, but secretly he loves it. every text asking if he got home safely. every reminder to eat. every time you tell him to get more sleep. nobody has taken care of him like that in years.

sometimes he'll read your messages while sitting in a room full of dangerous men and feel something painfully warm settle in his chest. he won't answer right away - he likes pretending he's cooler than he is but everyone around him notices how much softer his expression gets whenever your name appears on his phone.

sanzu becomes ridiculously protective, though he tries very hard not to be controlling. there's a difference, and he knows it. he understands that you're your own person. he respects your independence. but that doesn't stop him from worrying constantly.

every time you mention going somewhere alone at night, he immediately starts asking questions. every time you take too long to answer a text, he has to physically stop himself from checking whether something happened to you. he trusts you completely.

one of his favorite things is listening to you talk. genuinely listening. you could spend twenty minutes explaining workplace drama, a movie you watched, a random fact you learned online, and he'd sit there absorbing every word. half the time he has no idea why he's so interested. logically, none of it should matter.

compared to the things he deals with daily, your stories are insignificant. but because they're yours, he hangs onto every detail. weeks later he'll casually bring up something you mentioned once and you'll stare at him in surprise because you forgot all about it. meanwhile, he remembered every word.

he develops a habit of buying you things whenever he sees something that reminds him of you. sometimes it's expensive jewelry. sometimes it's a snack from a convenience store. the price doesn't matter. what matters is that he saw it and immediately thought of you.

his apartment slowly fills with evidence of this habit. little trinkets, books, flowers. random gifts with no special occasion attached. when you ask why he keeps bringing you things, he shrugs and mumbles something about having money to waste. the truth is much simpler: he likes seeing you smile.

jealousy is one of sanzu's worst traits, and unlike some people, he doesn't hide it well at all. in fact, sometimes it feels like he doesn't even try. the second he notices someone getting a little too comfortable with you, his entire demeanor changes, his smile disappears, his patience vanishes. suddenly every little thing irritates him. he doesn't sit quietly and pretend everything is fine because everything is not fine.

he'll insert himself into the situation immediately, draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side, interrupting conversations, making it painfully obvious that he's unhappy. the problem isn't that he doesn't trust you. he does. it's other people he doesn't trust. unfortunately, when his temper gets involved, that distinction isn't always obvious.

it causes arguments more often than either of you would like. sanzu can be surprisingly sensitive when it comes to you, and jealousy has a habit of dragging every insecurity he has straight to the surface. he'll get irritated over things you consider harmless.

he loves domestic moments more than he'd ever admit. grocery shopping together, cooking dinner, arguing over what movie to watch. falling asleep on opposite sides of the couch because neither of you intended to nap. these moments mean more to him than expensive dates or grand gestures. his entire life is built around danger and unpredictability. with you, things are simple.

there are moments when he looks at you and feels almost overwhelmed by how much he loves you. moments when you're laughing at something stupid, moments when you're half-asleep and mumbling nonsense. his chest actually aches because the feeling is too big, too much. he spent years believing he wasn't capable of loving someone normally. then you came along and proved him wrong.

if anyone ever asked him what his favorite thing about you is, he'd probably scoff and refuse to answer. but privately, the answer would be easy. it's the fact that you see him as a person first. not a monster - just him. and for someone who has spent most of his life being viewed through the lens of violence and chaos, that kind of love feels almost miraculous. even after years together, there are still moments when he catches himself looking at you and thinking the exact same thing:

I can't believe you're real.

sanzu's addiction is probably the thing that scares him most once he falls in love with you. before you, he could ignore the damage he was doing to himself. he didn't care enough to stop. if he woke up miserable, if his body paid the price, if he spiraled, that was his problem. but then you happen.

suddenly there is someone whose face he wants to see tomorrow, someone he wants to come home to, someone whose hands he wants to hold ten years from now. he doesn't magically recover because of love. that's not how addiction works. there are setbacks, bad days, moments where he pushes you away because he's ashamed of himself.

but you're one of the few people who sees the difference between the ruthless bonten executive and the exhausted man underneath. you never treat him like a project to fix, you don't lecture him, you don't try to save him single-handedly - you just stay.

moving to his intimate side, sanzu is the type of man who worships you during sex. the first time he sees you undressed, he can't take his eyes off of you. because of his life, he is more on experienced so he knows what he's doing. once sanzu finds out that you haven't been with anyone before - he makes sure to take care of you more delicately.

he enjoys giving more than receiving for sure and can stay between your legs for hours until you physically can't take it anymore. sanzu hates to admit how much he loves when you're desperate for him. that's why he denies your orgasm quite often to see you fall apart under him.

"haru- please, too much." tears are falling apart from the corner of your eyes as you beg for him to let you cum. sanzu keeps pushing all the right buttons - he's circling your clit, hitting that one spot with his long fingers and licking your cunt nonstop. but then he suddenly stops to look up at you - you're a babbling mess, chanting his name like a prayer and begging for release.

you expect him to be mean about it - but he's not. he would rather die than degrade you during your most vulnerable state.

"you're doin' so good, baby, jus' one more f'me." he praises, his voice vibrating throughout your whole body.

sanzu has a staring problem generally - and it shows during sex as well. sometimes he gets distracted when he sees you, hair messy, face flushed, lips red and bruised and he gets so hard. when you also look back at him and hold eye-contact - sanzu takes it as a challenge and will not look away until he makes you lose.

when he's in a good mood - he likes to tease and make you shy. for example, when your legs are on his shoulders as he pounds into you, you're completely open for him. your eyes are rolling back from the pleasure, your tits are moving up and down and you feel like a mess.

"you look so perfect, baby- fuck, so tight f'me, yeah?"

your face gets even more red at his words and you try to hide your face in your hands but sanzu doesn't let you - he will spread your legs apart and get closer to your face - pinning both of your hands on top of your head and keeps thrusting in and out.

"don' hide from me, sweetheart- wanna look at you."

however, sanzu also loves when you're the one making him flustered especially when he doesn't expect it. he could be working on some documents and you suddenly appear out of nowhere, dressed in his clothes, sitting on top of his lap. at first, he smiles at the sight - his favorite girl showing affection. but when you start making out with him, trailing kisses on his neck and softly grinding on his bulge - sanzu's in heaven.

the papers are long forgotten as he wraps his hands around your waist and helps you move better - his cheeks turn pink like his hair and he gets all whiny and loud. "fuck- baby, you feel so good!" sanzu praises as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him to shut him up.

his favorite position is whatever lets him be as close to you as possible. yes, he enjoys everything you two do together but sanzu is desperate to hold, kiss and bite you. he loves hiding his face in the crook of your neck the most as he pounds into you, leaving marks all over your throat as he smells your scent, hears your moans, taste your skin.

─ RAN HAITANI

the age gap becomes a source of endless teasing. not because he's trying to make you uncomfortable, but because he finds your reactions adorable. every time you call him old, he gasps dramatically like you've mortally wounded him. every birthday becomes an opportunity for you to make a joke about his age and for him to spend the rest of the day pretending he's the victim.

meanwhile, he's secretly very fond of the difference in life experience between you. not in a controlling way - he actually loves hearing your perspective on things. sometimes you'll say something simple, something obvious, and he'll find himself staring because you've managed to make him look at a situation differently.

because he owns multiple clubs and nightlife businesses through bonten's operations, his schedule is unusual. he's often awake when everyone else is asleep and asleep when everyone else is working. yet somehow, he always makes time for you. if that means leaving a club early, he'll leave early. if that means canceling plans, he'll cancel them.

you're more important to him. soon you realize this man, who has entire businesses depending on him, keeps abandoning meetings because you asked if he wanted to get lunch. physical affection comes naturally to him. he's not shy - if he wants to hold your hand, he'll hold your hand. he doesn't think twice about it, doesn't matter if you're in public or not.

his hand is always resting on your knee while you're sitting together, his fingers brushing against yours while walking. his arm draped over the back of your chair. that's just how he is. he likes being close to you.

despite all the teasing, he's actually very attentive. ran notices everything. people often underestimate how observant he is because he acts so relaxed, but he's constantly paying attention. he notices when you're tired before you mention it. notices when you're stressed. notices when your smile seems forced. notices when something is bothering you.

the difference is that he doesn't always address it directly. instead, he'll find little ways to make things easier. maybe he brings your favorite food home. maybe he cancels plans so the two of you can spend the evening together. maybe he distracts you until you're laughing despite yourself. he understands that not every problem can be solved, but he likes making your bad days a little better.

bonten members are used to seeing ran flirt with everyone. they're used to his jokes and his charm. what they're not used to seeing is genuine affection because the version of ran they know is always performing a little bit. then you come along and suddenly he's smiling differently - more soft and warm.

rindou acts annoyed by his brother's antics, but secretly enjoys watching him be happy. the teasing goes both ways. if ran is spending too much time texting you, rindou points it out. if ran cancels plans because you're free that evening, rindou points it out. if ran starts smiling at his phone during a meeting, rindou definitely points it out.

"she texted you, didn't she?"

"mind your business."

despite all the teasing, rindou genuinely likes you. mostly because you're one of the few people capable of getting ran to slow down occasionally. he's spent years watching his brother throw himself into dangerous situations and seeing someone become important enough for ran to think about consequences is reassuring.

one thing about ran is that he absolutely loves sleep. this man can nap anywhere and once you're together, he becomes shameless about using you as a pillow. you'll be sitting on a couch watching television and suddenly there's a head in your lap. you'll be reading a book and feel him leaning against your shoulder. you'll wake up from a nap and discover he's somehow taken up most of the available space despite claiming he wasn't tired twenty minutes ago.

beneath all the jokes and teasing, though, there is a side of ran very few people ever see. despite his confidence, despite how relaxed he appears, he's not immune to fear. he knows exactly what kind of life he lives. he knows how dangerous bonten is. that's why he is always worried about your safety and it's a number one priority for him.

there are moments where you'll catch glimpses of the side of him very few people ever see. usually late at night when you're both lying awake in bed and neither of you feels like sleeping yet. those are the moments where the jokes fade away - where his voice gets quieter, he talks about things he normally keeps buried: childhood memories, regrets, fears. despite how confident he appears, ran carries loneliness too. years of it. and when he trusts you enough to show those parts of himself.

years into the relationship, he'll still look at you the same way he did in the beginning. still reach for your hand automatically. still pull you into his lap during movie nights, still bury his face in your shoulder when he's exhausted, still abandon important plans just because spending time with you sounds more appealing.

ran haitani in bed is something else. he already makes you feel special enough everyday but during sex - he makes you feel heavenly. oh, he knoooows what he's doing. ran is the type that talks you through it for sure. he talks, he teases, he does not shut up. no matter how many times you've gotten intimate - he doesn't fail to make you flustered and shy every single time.

ran is a tall, big man. he's also very strong and can manhandle you however he wishes. he does everything in his power to make you moan louder than before. he feeds off of it.

"like how I fuck you, baby?" he whispers in your ear from behind while pressing his chest down at your back. he's thrusting slow but hard - he goes so deep, you feel him in your tummy. ran slides down a hand to feel himself moving in and out of you. if you don't respond - he stops, cups your face and demands an answer.

"ran, please- don't stop!" you feel frustrated at the loss of an orgasm but once you do as he says - ran continues, pounding even deeper than before, stretching you out so much that your eyes roll back. his hand starts circling your clit and you start to see stars, release taking over you as he fucks you through it. ran haitani likes to take his time during sex. just like sanzu, he also edges you to your limit until you fall apart but he always leaves you satisfied in the end and it makes everything worth it.

most of the time you have sex with ran, you end up in cloud state. if you were shy and hesitant before, now you're babbling nonsense, begging for more - and he never disappoints. he loves to hear you beg for more, moan his name and be desperate as you leave scratches all over his back and arms. he is a masochist more than a sadist - you can slap him, hurt him, scratch whatever you want and it'll only turn him on more.

every time you do try to be dominant, you end up disappointed. ran takes it as a challenge whenever you get on top of him. he lets you have your control but as soon as you start riding him, you fall apart. he starts teasing you, whispering soft praises, playing with your clit and tits, pushing himself up to go in deeper and you lose all your composure. ran ends up rolling you over, getting on top of you and finishing everything on his terms.

"you did good, sweetheart, lemme take over now." he whispers in your ear seductively as he kisses and hits all the right spots.

ran's sex drive is high. he's freaked out almost everyday and can keep going over and over until you pass out from sleep. he tries something new every time you have sex, testing your limits.

one thing he does quite often is wrapping his big, large hands on your throat and staring at your expression while your eyes are rolled back, mouth open from pleasure. the sight of you makes him lose it every time and he has to fight his own body to not cum right on the spot.

ran loves, loves, loves eating you out too much. it always ends up with you pulling on his hair, forcing him stop because it's your third time cumming in a row and you're overstimulated. he frowns but praises you after for doing so good.

ran's big on praise but there are times he's too lost in pleasure and can't control what he says. "such a good slut f'me, fuck, fuck-"

another thing he does is pulling your hair. because of this, one if his favorite position is doggy because he gets to pull your hair and expose your soft neck to him. he leaves marks all over your shoulder and throat as he fucks you from behind. he also gets to whisper sweet praises in your ear and pull you on the edge.

─ RINDOU HAITANI

the age gap is something he thinks about more seriously than he admits. he wants to make sure you're comfortable. he wants to make sure you're making your own decisions. he never wants you to feel pressured by his age, his status, or his position within bonten. once he realizes the relationship is serious, though, he stops overthinking it and simply focuses on making you happy.

out of all the bonten executives, rindou is probably one of the least interested in public displays of affection. not because he's embarrassed of you. quite the opposite, actually. he values the relationship so much that it almost feels private to him - something special. something that belongs to the two of you rather than the rest of the world.

when you're attending events related to the clubs he helps manage and oversee, he stays relatively composed. maybe a hand on the small of your back while guiding you through a crowd. maybe his fingers briefly finding yours. maybe a protective hand on your shoulder.

the moment the two of you are home, he's suddenly attached to your side. he's especially fond of small, quiet touches. if you're cooking dinner, he's leaning against the counter nearby pretending he's not specifically there. but soon enough you feel him wrap his arms around you from behind and place soft kisses on your neck.

rindou often pretends not to care while obviously caring a lot. you'll mention being cold and suddenly a jacket appears over your shoulders. you'll mention being hungry and somehow food arrives. you'll say you're tired and he'll quietly suggest heading home earlier. then when you thank him, he shrugs and acts like it was nothing.

the sweetest thing about him is that he genuinely listens. every little detail you mention gets filed away somewhere in his memory. your favorite drink. the movie you've been wanting to watch. the book you've mentioned three separate times. you'll casually talk about something once and forget about it entirely. then weeks later he'll show up with tickets, reservations, or some small gift connected to that conversation.

late at night is when his softer side appears most often. the city is quiet. the clubs are closed or running without him. bonten feels far away. and suddenly it's just the two of you curled up together in bed. those are the moments where he'll actually talk about things. his worries. his thoughts. memories from years ago. things he would never tell most people.

jealousy is one of the few things capable of bringing that temper out almost instantly. unlike ran, who might tease his way through jealousy, rindou gets noticeably annoyed. if someone is flirting with you, he isn't going to sit there smiling through it. his entire mood drops.

conversations become shorter. his expression gets harder. and if the person continues despite the obvious signs, that's when the irritation starts becoming visible. he'll move closer to you without thinking about it. his hand finds yours. his arm settles around your shoulders. suddenly he's involved in the conversation whether anyone invited him or not - and he will be mean about it!

the worst arguments in your relationship usually happen because rindou has a habit of bottling things up. he's not naturally expressive. if something bothers him, he'll often sit with it for hours before saying anything. unfortunately, by the time he finally speaks up, he's already irritated.

you'll ask what's wrong. he'll say "nothing." you'll ask again. same answer. then three hours later he's suddenly admitting that something from earlier bothered him and now you're both trying to untangle a problem that could've been solved immediately. it's frustrating for both of you. he knows it's frustrating. he just struggles with vulnerability sometimes.

however, one thing about rindou is that he hates staying angry with you. genuinely hates it. arguments make him miserable. even when he's convinced he's right, even when he's still annoyed, he hates the distance that comes afterward. he'll sit alone replaying the conversation in his head, picking apart every sentence, wondering if he handled things poorly. sometimes his pride gets in the way for a little while, but eventually the need to fix things wins every single time.

rindou is also quite experienced when it comes to sex. he knows what buttons to push - he's quiet but focused. at first he won't initiate anything, afraid to make you uncomfortable. he's so hesitant during the first time but once he notices you're nervous, he becomes gentle and guides you through it.

rindou is much softer with you and it takes him a long time for him to get the hang of the relationship. before you, his sex life was pretty much one-night-stands. with you, he doesn't want to mess up so he does everything in his power to make you feel secure and safe. he asks you occasionally if you're okay.

unlike the other two, rindou is much thicker in size and the way he stretches you out feels heavenly every time. he's not much of a talker - all you hear from him are occasional grunts and groans. although, your moans are his favorite thing to hear.

rindou doesn't usually like to shut you up but there are moments when he gets the urge to push his fingers down your throat. it's not that you're being too loud- no, he could listen to you all day if he wanted to. it's just the sight of you sucking on his fingers pulls him to the edge.

rindou works out almost everyday so he is pretty built and strong. when you point out how amazing his biceps look, he gets flustered. later that day, he makes sure to show you how strong he really is. just like his brother, rin's also into choking - but he chokes you with his biceps instead.

your on your knees and elbows when he thrusts into you from behind. he forces you up by pulling your hair and headlocks your neck in his big, strong arms. your back arches and you feel him hit spots you didn't even know existed.

unexpectedly, you and rindou get so lost in the pleasure, you have to discuss having a safe word. he could be eating you out, fucking you into oblivion and then making you sit on his face and all of a sudden, you're too overwhelmed, your body aching from both pain and pleasure.

speaking of face-sitting, rin is into every position where you're on top of him. oh, how much he loooves having you ride him on the couch after a long, tiring day. he still makes sure to help you move better if you get tired. if you complain too much, he gets a little "mean" and tells you to take it because "you're a good girl for me, yeah?". will praise you endlessly after you're done, though.

rin is a very touch-starved man. he likes to feel you close. 99% of the time he's sweet but angry sex with rindou is something entirely different. it usually happens when he gets jealous. when he noticed someone hitting you up at his club and he got genuinely irritated.

he obviously doesn't mention why his mood changed until you ask and that's when he loses all his composure - tying you up the to the bed and taking out all his anger on you. that's when he first realizes he enjoys overstimulating you a bit too much. he can't help himself the way he licks all over your cunt while pushing fingers deep inside you. your hands are tied up so you can't hold on to anything and you feel helpless and vulnerable under him but he's making you feel so good.

if you couldn't tell already, rindou would rather give than receive. but there are times, you want to do something for him too. rin's a bit hesitant when you first go down on him. he's the one that feels overwhelmed this time - the way your mouth feels so warm and amazing around him, the way your tongue moves around his tip.

rindou loves to manhandle and use his strength on you. your legs could be on his shoulders, you're so close to cumming and he suddenly decides to flip you on your stomach and push his dick deeper from behind. he also enjoys fucking into you on the shower wall, hands under your thighs while he's holding you up. he groans at how your walls squeeze him tight and bites your neck out of frustration.

his head rolls backwards from the pleasure as he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you down deeper, reaching your throat. that's the first time you hear him moan out of pleasure. "fuck- jus' like that, don't stop-" he's completely lost in pleasure as you bob your head up and down nonstop. looking at you on your knees as you suck him off becomes his favorite sight of you.