◟ 🍰 、𝓢 𖹭yyu ◞ ✿

You start small at first—an overpriced jacket you don’t need (not when you always wear his, anyway). Then a pair of shoes. Then you decide your living room could use some remodeling, too—that couch could use a replacement. You get a sick thrill in it, imagining his screen lighting up with a message as you make one large, concerning purchase after another. 

FRAUD ALERT. A charge was made to your VISA credit card ending in 3467 Reply YES to confirm or NO to report fraud

You picture his eyebrow twitching. It makes you grin smugly at the idea. By the time you’re done, you’ve hit all three cards—and he seems to have let you, too. Not a single purchase gets canceled as a fraudulent transaction. You hit the limit on the third and hum in satisfaction to yourself.

Your phone buzzes immediately.

Kinji ♡: What the hell are you doing?

You stare at the message. Let it sit. Let him feel ignored the same way he ignored you. Your phone buzzes again.

Kinji ♡: Did you just max three cards in twenty minutes?

You ignore him yet again. And then, he actually calls you—and you stare at his contact photo with petty resolve as you let it ring until the call is missed. He doesn’t let that stop him, though, and sends another message.

Kinji ♡: Pick up my call woman

He calls again, and you don’t listen to his demand. The call rings out again before you type back: Wow. So you do know how to look at your phone huh?

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Kinji ♡: Don’t start

You scoff as you start anyway. Your thumbs type furiously before sending: I wouldn’t start anything if you didn’t fucking ignore me.

There’s a pause this time. A long one. You imagine him running a hand over his face in irritation, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that way they get when he’s trying not to snap. He’s good about not snapping at you, for as moody as he tends to be. He’s good about keeping himself patient when it’s you. Usually. 

But your phone rings. You decline it. It rings again. Decline. Rings one more time. Decline. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears, and you’re almost giddy by the image in your head. 

He calls yet again—this time, it’s a FaceTime. You answer at the last second just to be petty.

“What,” you say flatly as soon as his face pops up onto the screen.

“What,” he echoes, incredulous. “That’s it? S’all you got’ta say? Are you out of your mind?”

“You said don’t text you so many times,” you shrug. “So I found another way.”

His eyes narrow. “So you maxed out my cards?”

“You weren’t answering.”

“Was this s’posed to make me answer?”

“It made you call me, didn’t it?” you grin cheekily, giving him an annoyingly victorious look. 

His mouth opens. Closes. His gaze flickers, eyes narrowing at you. Annoyed—he’s thoroughly annoyed. Still, underneath it, something else. Something warmer. Something that looks…dare you say, a little too much like amusement.

“You think this shit is funny?” he asks.

“I think you finally responded. Just like I wanted.”

There’s a beat of silence. He’s studying you with a look that makes you shiver slightly, even if he’s only looking through a screen. Then he leans forward, closer to the camera. His voice drops.

“You need my attention that bad, huh?”

Your stomach flips despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your attention—you’re supposed to answer me when I talk to you. That’s the principle of things.”

“Yeah? So makin’ stupid purchases is the principle of shit, too? S’that it?”

“Yeah,” you say stubbornly, “it is, actually.”

He studies you. Over it—he’s so over you and your petty drama and the schemes you always seem to have pulled out of nowhere to give him a migraine. He’s over it. But he’s also not—because then he gives you a sharp snort. “You’re lucky I can afford your fuckin’ nonsense.”

“I know,” you snap in return. “That’s why I used your cards.”

For a second, you think he’s going to yell when his face twists in surprise at your audacity. But then, instead, he laughs. It’s loud, obnoxious. A cackle more than a laugh, and your eyes narrow at the fact that he is not taking you as seriously as he should. Not when you could do some serious damage to his credit score. 

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re a damn, spoiled brat. I ought’ta teach you some appreciation for hard-earned money.”

“You hardly earn anything,” you shoot back. “You gamble it. Like everything else—one of these days you’re not going to gamble wisely how long I’ll put up with your shit.”

That wipes the grin from his face. The line goes quiet.

“Don’t antagonize me, woman.”

“I can’t antagonize you when you’re ignoring me,” you reply smartly. He doesn’t seem to like that. 

“I’m not ignoring you,” he counters, “I’m out here makin’ money that you just tossed down the drain like a damn brat.”

“You’ll make it back.”

His eyes flash. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“The point,” he says, rolling his eyes, “is that you’re fucking spoiled.”

You shrug. Yeah, you’re a bit spoiled. You are. So what? He makes you spoiled. He gives you his cards, and he lets you spend on them as you like, and he pays good attention to you when you’re there. You’re spoiled because what else would you be? He makes you this way, and then he complains like it’s your fault. 

But it’s not. And you make sure to tell him. 

“That’s on you,” you say flatly. “Not on me.”

And that, as you expected, is his final straw. “Stay there,” he hisses.

“What?” you flutter your lashes innocently, “what’s that mean?”

“It means. Stay. There.”

And then he hangs up, and you lean back in your bed with a ghost of a smug smile on your face. 

Twenty minutes later, your door is swung open, and an agitated Hakari is walking into your shared room with a look on his face that has you clenching your thighs together. He’s not happy. Unhappy Hakari means he’ll fuck you right—fuck you hard and good and proper until he’s no longer unhappy. 

“You need’ta learn to be patient,” he grits.

“You need to learn to answer your texts.”

He clicks his teeth in irritation. You always talk back—way more than you should. Way more than you used to before you learned he lets you get away with pushing his buttons like that. 

“Next time,” he says, crowding into your space as he leans down to hover over you, “if you want my attention—” his hand hooks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—you ask. Nicely. With manners.”

Your heart is pounding too loudly. Too filled with anticipation. There’s a distinct ache between your legs, and you’d be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so excited by it. 

“You didn’t answer when I asked,” you huff.

His thumb tilts your chin up. His gaze is piercing as he scoffs at your stubbornness. “So then you be patient. But it’s okay,” he adds, eyes glinting again, “you’re paying me back.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“In installments,” he says smoothly, giving you a hungry grin. “Starting now.”

And then he kisses you. Hard. 

It’s a rough kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and relentless in that way that steals the air straight from your lungs. You hardly have a moment to take a breath in between, and he doesn’t pause to let you have one, either. But your body wants him even if your lungs protest—your hands fist into his jacket automatically, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since he pissed you off to start with.

He makes a low sound against your mouth—satisfied. Hakari is satisfied when you melt into his touch. He’s satisfied when you can’t help but let whatever snarky sentence it is you’re about to say die off in your throat as he keeps that mouth of yours occupied. 

“Installment one,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away.

“You’re insufferable,” you breathe.

He slides a hand under your shirt, thoroughly pleased to find no bra there to serve as an obstacle in his wandering palm’s path. His hand squeezes around a tit, and you gasp against his lips as his thumb teases over your nipple. 

“Installment two,” he gives you a cocky look. “Installment three is a little pricier, you know.”

“I can afford anything,” you shrug easily. 

He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that why you use my card?”

“That’s exactly why I can afford anything,” you grin, and it’s a cheeky little thing that you flash him.

He gives you an irritated look at that—there’s no real heat behind it, though. You know you’re right. Hakari can afford it. That’s why he gave you his cards in the first place. But you like that look on his face when you talk a little too much and sound a little too smart for your own good. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just moves to hover between your legs as he slowly pulls your sweats and your panties off in one swift movement. You’re already dripping—that much gives him a bubbling sense of pride. It makes him scoff to himself a little, too. You’d go through any lengths just to get a little attention from him, wouldn’t you? he thinks to himself. And he likes it, a little. Likes that you need him and want him so passionately, so fervently. So desperately. 

“I’m taking my payment now,” he mumbles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. He grins as you shiver. Feels himself hardening between his own legs when you try to spread your legs wider and make more room for him in anticipation. 

“Your payment is to reward me?” you ask, giving him an amused look. 

He snorts, giving you a look in return that’s even more thoroughly entertained. “You keep hoping, baby.”

With that, he’s buried in your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue licks a stripe along your entrance, and you gasp at the sensation. He dips his tongue past your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibrations against your heat make your eyes flutter shut as you whine. You grind yourself down into him more, trying to feel the pressure against your clit and feel him press deeper past your folds, but his large hands keep a firm grip on your waist, holding you in place. 

“K-kin,” you moan, “s’not enough—”

“This is my payment, not yours,” he grunts, “keep quiet.”

That shuts you up because, well, you know, brattiness will do you no favors right now. You display a rare moment of restraint, and he takes what he wants with his tongue, tasting you slowly, deliberately. Maybe even a little cruelly, with how achingly long it takes for him to give you what you need. 

“Please,” you gasp, voice shaky, “p-please, Kin.”

“Say you’re sorry, then,” he says. 

You lift your head up and stare at him in disbelief. Sorry? He wants you to say sorry for being ignored? After he caused this petty argument and your petty show of defiance? You press your lips together in a firm line before letting out a huff that tells him all he needs to know. 

You’re not apologizing. And he doesn’t seem to be bothered. If anything, he seems excited—his pupils dilate as he watches your stubborn behavior. 

Maybe because you’re so stubborn is why Hakari likes you so much. Maybe because you’re firm and resolute and…passionate about what you want and how you’ll get it is why he’s so enamored by you. You don’t stop. Never know when to quit. Never know when a limit is a limit and when a boundary is a boundary. All you know is when to cross them. When to push them. When to be in a fever-induced state of your desires, and you don’t break the fever until they’re yours. 

“Not gonna say it, huh?” he mumbles, “okay. Suit yourself, brat.”

Then his fingers sink into you—and your arch your back at the intrusion with a soft cry. His fingers are thick. Thicker than yours and longer, too—that’s why you always need him so badly. He can give you better attention than you can give yourself. He likes the idea of that, even if it does tend to make you even more demanding of his time. 

His tongue moves to lap at your clit, dragging back and forth along the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers work in and out of you, stretching you open and coating his digits in your arousal. Your head falls back against the pillow, and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure when his fingertips brush along your sweet spot. 

He knows you. Knows your body. Spent a good, long amount of love-filled labor to learn it so well. Burned himself hot and bothered getting to know it better than he knows himself. He paints quick circles along your clit with his tongue while his fingers work slow and deep into your folds, every thrust of his wrist taking its sweet time to fill you with the pressure of his touch. 

“M’close, Kin,” you breathe after a bit, voice strained as it comes alongside labored pants. 

He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. 

Sweet little thing you are. You look so pretty and fucked out just from this—he takes a moment to stare at it a little longer before he pulls away completely. 

Your body jerks at the sudden stop, and your head lifts as you stare at him in pure disbelief. It aches—right between your legs, at the apex of your thighs, there’s a sharp, uncomfortable pressure that makes itself painfully noticeable. You can feel the deliberate throb of dissatisfaction he leaves you with, and you’re not happy. 

“Hey!” you hiss, “I was…I was gonna—”

“Cum?” he interrupts, “is that it? You thought I was gonna let that happen so easily? No, baby—you gotta work for it. So you know it ain’t easy earning your payments.”

You’re about to argue, but he’s already stripping out of his own clothes, and that gets you relaxed instantly. He’s going to take you now—which means he’ll fuck you good. Fuck you right. You have enough reason to let his act of cruelty slide when you can look forward to that. His shirt comes off, and you can now stare at the hard planes of muscle along tanned skin, and if that view isn’t enough, the sight of his stiff, leaking cock is when he’s kicking off his boxers. 

He smears the pre cum dripping from his tip before his fist wraps around himself and he strokes once, twice, then a third time, and he groans low and deep at that. His eyes pinch shut, and his teeth press into his bottom lip as he curses under his breath before pulling away from his length. Instead, he takes to hovering over you, giving you an expectant look as he lines himself up with your pussy, but doesn’t quite give it to you, just yet. 

“Say you’re sorry,” he hums, tip nudging just past your folds, but not quite pressing into you just yet. You give him a defiant glare, but he only grins, “C’mon, baby. You know how to use your words—I taught you that much, at least.”

“M’not sorry for anything,” you huff. 

“Hm,” he chuckles, “that’s a shame.”

The thick head of his cock pulls out, tapping against your clit. It’s coated in you. Coated in a mix of your slick and the pre cum that spills from his slit—it’s filthy. Messy. You’re fucking aching to feel him fill you up and make things even messier. 

But Hakari is taking his sweet time. He has enough restraint for now that you’re positive you won’t get what you want until he makes a lesson out of this. A lesson you are unwilling to learn so easily. 

“Stop fucking teasing me, you asshole,” you hiss, angling your hips to try and press into him. He pulls away, chuckling as he gives you a cocky, amused look. 

“You have’ta say you’re sorry, baby,” he insists, “that’s the only way you’re gettin’ what you want. I can’t have you spoiled more than you already are—I’d be making more trouble for myself.”

You glare, and he seems to relish the feeling of pulling that look from you. The tip of his cock presses back into your folds, making you gasp as you buck into him desperately. He’s fast, though. Pulls his hips back just enough to make up for the little bit of distance you managed to bridge between the two of you as you attempt to sink down on him. He’s pulled away enough that he’s still just barely pressed into your cunt, just the tip teasing your entrance while he grabs your hips and keeps you still. 

“Kin,” you whine, “s’not fair!”

“Course it is, baby,” he snorts, “you did some serious damage to my bank. Got all the shit you wanted. You think I’m giving you what you want again?”

“You should,” you huff, “I deserve it.”

“You will once you say you’re sorry,” he corrects. “Now say you’re sorry like a good girl—you know you like being good for me.”

That much is very true. He’s right. You love being his good girl—the one who gets to slide next to him on the couch when he’s drinking at some shady club, the one who gets to curl up on his lap when he’s in a crappy mood, the one who gets to feel his rough hands turn oddly gentle when you need him close. 

You like being his good girl. His girl. You like being his. 

You huff through a pout as you ask, “I can still keep all my things, right?”

He rolls his eyes at your question. But you’re spoiled by his own doing, after all, and Hakari has a habit of giving to you just as often as you take. So, he grunts, “Course you can.”

You beam. His eyes soften just a fraction. “Fine,” you murmur, “I’m sorry, Kin-chan.”

Kin-chan. 

His pupils all but dilate when you call him that. They always do—it’s cute, you think. Cute that he cares what you call him. Cute that you mean enough to him that he wants it to be something laced with familiarity. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down as his hands move to grab yours. They lace with your fingers before he lifts them to pin each hand over your head. “You’re sorry, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nod, gasping as his cock pushes into you deeper, slowly, inch by inch. “Yeah, I am.”

“Sorry for what, hm?” 

He’s halfway pressed into you. He’s taking his sweet time. Pushing the thickness of his length little by little so you can really feel him stretch you out. Carve you to fit him. Mold you so only he can sink into your cunt and take you this way. 

“S-sorry that I—hah—used your money,” your voice shakes as the last of him sinks in with a deep thrust of his hips. He hums at the sound of your words, lips hot and searing against your jaw as he presses kisses along the angle of it. 

You shiver as you feel the vibrations of his voice along your skin, hands squeezing his as he murmurs, “No, you’re not,” he snorts, “but that’s okay, baby—you know I like it when you push my buttons.”

You do. When you push Kin-chan’s buttons, Kin-chan fucks you like he means it. When you give Kin-chan a reason to give it to you hard, he fucks you with passion. Burns hot with it as he snaps his hips into you and pulls you closer, pulls you flush against him. When you act spoiled rotten with Kin-chan, that’s when Kin-chan knows he’s loved you good. Loved you hard. Loved you hot with fever. 

“And I like it when you fuck me,” you whine, “so maybe you should get on tha—oh.” You break off with a soft moan.

“You’re always so fuckin’ spoiled,” he grunts as he makes you cut yourself off with that sharp, unpunishing thrust of his hips. You know what that means. He’s had enough of waiting.

He pulls his hips back so that his cock has almost slipped out completely before slamming into you again. You gasp, arching into him. You can feel the sweet reward of friction—every ridge and every vein dragging along your slick walls before the blunt head of his cock presses against a particular spot in the back that makes your eyes see white. 

You are spoiled. Because Kin-chan turned you spoiled. And a spoiled you makes Kin-chan excited, try as he might to act like it doesn’t. It’s just the way things happen. How you both just are. How that cycle always tends to just go. 

You burn hottest when you want something, and he burns hottest when he gets to give it to you. 

“Don’t you love me when I’m spoiled?” You give him a pouty look. It doesn’t last too long, though, because he rolls his hips and your face scrunches with pleasure. 

He gives you a throaty laugh, his hand grabbing the ankle hooked on his shoulder before he turns his head and gives your calf a soft kiss. “You know I do, you crazy fucking thing,” he mumbles. You clench around him at that, and he laughs again. “You know I love you.”

“Then don’t ignore me,” you warn. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes. 

He leans forward, all but bending you in half as he snaps his hips faster, bullying past your folds with a sloppier pace as he starts to get closer and closer to his own high. His lips find yours, pulling you into a hot, breathy kiss. Your hands wrap around him, clinging to him as your nails dig into his skin. He likes that. Gives you a low grunt of approval as the sting makes itself known. 

“C-close,” you whimper, “m’so close—fuck!”

“That’s it,” he hums in satisfaction, “cum for me, then.”

A few more punctuated thrusts of his hips and you do. You feel that familiar coil in the pit of your belly snap, and that build-up of pressure break free between your legs. He works you through it—makes sure to drag his cock along your sensitive walls hard and fast as they flutter around him and squeeze him in. 

“Kin!” you gasp through the height of your pleasure. Your ears are ringing, but you can just barely make out the satisfied sound he makes when you say his name, so you slur it a few more times just for him. 

He groans as you squeeze around him with every spasm of your walls, muttering, “S’so fuckin’ tight,” under his breath before he’s claiming your mouth again, kissing you so you can swallow his own sounds as he follows right after you. 

You feel him twitch before he’s filling you up—hot, thick ropes of his seed pumping into you while he stills for a moment and shivers. When you’ve both come down from your highs, he slumps down beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest, where you happily curl up. 

“Learn your lesson?” he grumbles. He follows it with a delicate kiss to your forehead because, of course, he does. 

“Yup,” you hum happily. 

“And what’d you learn?”

“Kin-chan loves me so much, he’ll let me buy whatever I want and fuck me for it,” you smile. Still so cheeky. Still so smug. 

It burns him with excitement just looking at that defiant little spark in your eyes. “Yeah?” he laughs, “well alright, then. Guess I just have to teach you a little harder.”

You start small at first—an overpriced jacket you don’t need (not when you always wear his, anyway). Then a pair of shoes. Then you decide your living room could use some remodeling, too—that couch could use a replacement. You get a sick thrill in it, imagining his screen lighting up with a message as you make one large, concerning purchase after another. 

FRAUD ALERT. A charge was made to your VISA credit card ending in 3467 Reply YES to confirm or NO to report fraud

You picture his eyebrow twitching. It makes you grin smugly at the idea. By the time you’re done, you’ve hit all three cards—and he seems to have let you, too. Not a single purchase gets canceled as a fraudulent transaction. You hit the limit on the third and hum in satisfaction to yourself.

Your phone buzzes immediately.

Kinji ♡: What the hell are you doing?

You stare at the message. Let it sit. Let him feel ignored the same way he ignored you. Your phone buzzes again.

Kinji ♡: Did you just max three cards in twenty minutes?

You ignore him yet again. And then, he actually calls you—and you stare at his contact photo with petty resolve as you let it ring until the call is missed. He doesn’t let that stop him, though, and sends another message.

Kinji ♡: Pick up my call woman

He calls again, and you don’t listen to his demand. The call rings out again before you type back: Wow. So you do know how to look at your phone huh?

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Kinji ♡: Don’t start

You scoff as you start anyway. Your thumbs type furiously before sending: I wouldn’t start anything if you didn’t fucking ignore me.

There’s a pause this time. A long one. You imagine him running a hand over his face in irritation, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that way they get when he’s trying not to snap. He’s good about not snapping at you, for as moody as he tends to be. He’s good about keeping himself patient when it’s you. Usually. 

But your phone rings. You decline it. It rings again. Decline. Rings one more time. Decline. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears, and you’re almost giddy by the image in your head. 

He calls yet again—this time, it’s a FaceTime. You answer at the last second just to be petty.

“What,” you say flatly as soon as his face pops up onto the screen.

“What,” he echoes, incredulous. “That’s it? S’all you got’ta say? Are you out of your mind?”

“You said don’t text you so many times,” you shrug. “So I found another way.”

His eyes narrow. “So you maxed out my cards?”

“You weren’t answering.”

“Was this s’posed to make me answer?”

“It made you call me, didn’t it?” you grin cheekily, giving him an annoyingly victorious look. 

His mouth opens. Closes. His gaze flickers, eyes narrowing at you. Annoyed—he’s thoroughly annoyed. Still, underneath it, something else. Something warmer. Something that looks…dare you say, a little too much like amusement.

“You think this shit is funny?” he asks.

“I think you finally responded. Just like I wanted.”

There’s a beat of silence. He’s studying you with a look that makes you shiver slightly, even if he’s only looking through a screen. Then he leans forward, closer to the camera. His voice drops.

“You need my attention that bad, huh?”

Your stomach flips despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your attention—you’re supposed to answer me when I talk to you. That’s the principle of things.”

“Yeah? So makin’ stupid purchases is the principle of shit, too? S’that it?”

“Yeah,” you say stubbornly, “it is, actually.”

He studies you. Over it—he’s so over you and your petty drama and the schemes you always seem to have pulled out of nowhere to give him a migraine. He’s over it. But he’s also not—because then he gives you a sharp snort. “You’re lucky I can afford your fuckin’ nonsense.”

“I know,” you snap in return. “That’s why I used your cards.”

For a second, you think he’s going to yell when his face twists in surprise at your audacity. But then, instead, he laughs. It’s loud, obnoxious. A cackle more than a laugh, and your eyes narrow at the fact that he is not taking you as seriously as he should. Not when you could do some serious damage to his credit score. 

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re a damn, spoiled brat. I ought’ta teach you some appreciation for hard-earned money.”

“You hardly earn anything,” you shoot back. “You gamble it. Like everything else—one of these days you’re not going to gamble wisely how long I’ll put up with your shit.”

That wipes the grin from his face. The line goes quiet.

“Don’t antagonize me, woman.”

“I can’t antagonize you when you’re ignoring me,” you reply smartly. He doesn’t seem to like that. 

“I’m not ignoring you,” he counters, “I’m out here makin’ money that you just tossed down the drain like a damn brat.”

“You’ll make it back.”

His eyes flash. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“The point,” he says, rolling his eyes, “is that you’re fucking spoiled.”

You shrug. Yeah, you’re a bit spoiled. You are. So what? He makes you spoiled. He gives you his cards, and he lets you spend on them as you like, and he pays good attention to you when you’re there. You’re spoiled because what else would you be? He makes you this way, and then he complains like it’s your fault. 

But it’s not. And you make sure to tell him. 

“That’s on you,” you say flatly. “Not on me.”

And that, as you expected, is his final straw. “Stay there,” he hisses.

“What?” you flutter your lashes innocently, “what’s that mean?”

“It means. Stay. There.”

And then he hangs up, and you lean back in your bed with a ghost of a smug smile on your face. 

Twenty minutes later, your door is swung open, and an agitated Hakari is walking into your shared room with a look on his face that has you clenching your thighs together. He’s not happy. Unhappy Hakari means he’ll fuck you right—fuck you hard and good and proper until he’s no longer unhappy. 

“You need’ta learn to be patient,” he grits.

“You need to learn to answer your texts.”

He clicks his teeth in irritation. You always talk back—way more than you should. Way more than you used to before you learned he lets you get away with pushing his buttons like that. 

“Next time,” he says, crowding into your space as he leans down to hover over you, “if you want my attention—” his hand hooks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—you ask. Nicely. With manners.”

Your heart is pounding too loudly. Too filled with anticipation. There’s a distinct ache between your legs, and you’d be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so excited by it. 

“You didn’t answer when I asked,” you huff.

His thumb tilts your chin up. His gaze is piercing as he scoffs at your stubbornness. “So then you be patient. But it’s okay,” he adds, eyes glinting again, “you’re paying me back.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“In installments,” he says smoothly, giving you a hungry grin. “Starting now.”

And then he kisses you. Hard. 

It’s a rough kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and relentless in that way that steals the air straight from your lungs. You hardly have a moment to take a breath in between, and he doesn’t pause to let you have one, either. But your body wants him even if your lungs protest—your hands fist into his jacket automatically, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since he pissed you off to start with.

He makes a low sound against your mouth—satisfied. Hakari is satisfied when you melt into his touch. He’s satisfied when you can’t help but let whatever snarky sentence it is you’re about to say die off in your throat as he keeps that mouth of yours occupied. 

“Installment one,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away.

“You’re insufferable,” you breathe.

He slides a hand under your shirt, thoroughly pleased to find no bra there to serve as an obstacle in his wandering palm’s path. His hand squeezes around a tit, and you gasp against his lips as his thumb teases over your nipple. 

“Installment two,” he gives you a cocky look. “Installment three is a little pricier, you know.”

“I can afford anything,” you shrug easily. 

He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that why you use my card?”

“That’s exactly why I can afford anything,” you grin, and it’s a cheeky little thing that you flash him.

He gives you an irritated look at that—there’s no real heat behind it, though. You know you’re right. Hakari can afford it. That’s why he gave you his cards in the first place. But you like that look on his face when you talk a little too much and sound a little too smart for your own good. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just moves to hover between your legs as he slowly pulls your sweats and your panties off in one swift movement. You’re already dripping—that much gives him a bubbling sense of pride. It makes him scoff to himself a little, too. You’d go through any lengths just to get a little attention from him, wouldn’t you? he thinks to himself. And he likes it, a little. Likes that you need him and want him so passionately, so fervently. So desperately. 

“I’m taking my payment now,” he mumbles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. He grins as you shiver. Feels himself hardening between his own legs when you try to spread your legs wider and make more room for him in anticipation. 

“Your payment is to reward me?” you ask, giving him an amused look. 

He snorts, giving you a look in return that’s even more thoroughly entertained. “You keep hoping, baby.”

With that, he’s buried in your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue licks a stripe along your entrance, and you gasp at the sensation. He dips his tongue past your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibrations against your heat make your eyes flutter shut as you whine. You grind yourself down into him more, trying to feel the pressure against your clit and feel him press deeper past your folds, but his large hands keep a firm grip on your waist, holding you in place. 

“K-kin,” you moan, “s’not enough—”

“This is my payment, not yours,” he grunts, “keep quiet.”

That shuts you up because, well, you know, brattiness will do you no favors right now. You display a rare moment of restraint, and he takes what he wants with his tongue, tasting you slowly, deliberately. Maybe even a little cruelly, with how achingly long it takes for him to give you what you need. 

“Please,” you gasp, voice shaky, “p-please, Kin.”

“Say you’re sorry, then,” he says. 

You lift your head up and stare at him in disbelief. Sorry? He wants you to say sorry for being ignored? After he caused this petty argument and your petty show of defiance? You press your lips together in a firm line before letting out a huff that tells him all he needs to know. 

You’re not apologizing. And he doesn’t seem to be bothered. If anything, he seems excited—his pupils dilate as he watches your stubborn behavior. 

Maybe because you’re so stubborn is why Hakari likes you so much. Maybe because you’re firm and resolute and…passionate about what you want and how you’ll get it is why he’s so enamored by you. You don’t stop. Never know when to quit. Never know when a limit is a limit and when a boundary is a boundary. All you know is when to cross them. When to push them. When to be in a fever-induced state of your desires, and you don’t break the fever until they’re yours. 

“Not gonna say it, huh?” he mumbles, “okay. Suit yourself, brat.”

Then his fingers sink into you—and your arch your back at the intrusion with a soft cry. His fingers are thick. Thicker than yours and longer, too—that’s why you always need him so badly. He can give you better attention than you can give yourself. He likes the idea of that, even if it does tend to make you even more demanding of his time. 

His tongue moves to lap at your clit, dragging back and forth along the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers work in and out of you, stretching you open and coating his digits in your arousal. Your head falls back against the pillow, and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure when his fingertips brush along your sweet spot. 

He knows you. Knows your body. Spent a good, long amount of love-filled labor to learn it so well. Burned himself hot and bothered getting to know it better than he knows himself. He paints quick circles along your clit with his tongue while his fingers work slow and deep into your folds, every thrust of his wrist taking its sweet time to fill you with the pressure of his touch. 

“M’close, Kin,” you breathe after a bit, voice strained as it comes alongside labored pants. 

He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. 

Sweet little thing you are. You look so pretty and fucked out just from this—he takes a moment to stare at it a little longer before he pulls away completely. 

Your body jerks at the sudden stop, and your head lifts as you stare at him in pure disbelief. It aches—right between your legs, at the apex of your thighs, there’s a sharp, uncomfortable pressure that makes itself painfully noticeable. You can feel the deliberate throb of dissatisfaction he leaves you with, and you’re not happy. 

“Hey!” you hiss, “I was…I was gonna—”

“Cum?” he interrupts, “is that it? You thought I was gonna let that happen so easily? No, baby—you gotta work for it. So you know it ain’t easy earning your payments.”

You’re about to argue, but he’s already stripping out of his own clothes, and that gets you relaxed instantly. He’s going to take you now—which means he’ll fuck you good. Fuck you right. You have enough reason to let his act of cruelty slide when you can look forward to that. His shirt comes off, and you can now stare at the hard planes of muscle along tanned skin, and if that view isn’t enough, the sight of his stiff, leaking cock is when he’s kicking off his boxers. 

He smears the pre cum dripping from his tip before his fist wraps around himself and he strokes once, twice, then a third time, and he groans low and deep at that. His eyes pinch shut, and his teeth press into his bottom lip as he curses under his breath before pulling away from his length. Instead, he takes to hovering over you, giving you an expectant look as he lines himself up with your pussy, but doesn’t quite give it to you, just yet. 

“Say you’re sorry,” he hums, tip nudging just past your folds, but not quite pressing into you just yet. You give him a defiant glare, but he only grins, “C’mon, baby. You know how to use your words—I taught you that much, at least.”

“M’not sorry for anything,” you huff. 

“Hm,” he chuckles, “that’s a shame.”

The thick head of his cock pulls out, tapping against your clit. It’s coated in you. Coated in a mix of your slick and the pre cum that spills from his slit—it’s filthy. Messy. You’re fucking aching to feel him fill you up and make things even messier. 

But Hakari is taking his sweet time. He has enough restraint for now that you’re positive you won’t get what you want until he makes a lesson out of this. A lesson you are unwilling to learn so easily. 

“Stop fucking teasing me, you asshole,” you hiss, angling your hips to try and press into him. He pulls away, chuckling as he gives you a cocky, amused look. 

“You have’ta say you’re sorry, baby,” he insists, “that’s the only way you’re gettin’ what you want. I can’t have you spoiled more than you already are—I’d be making more trouble for myself.”

You glare, and he seems to relish the feeling of pulling that look from you. The tip of his cock presses back into your folds, making you gasp as you buck into him desperately. He’s fast, though. Pulls his hips back just enough to make up for the little bit of distance you managed to bridge between the two of you as you attempt to sink down on him. He’s pulled away enough that he’s still just barely pressed into your cunt, just the tip teasing your entrance while he grabs your hips and keeps you still. 

“Kin,” you whine, “s’not fair!”

“Course it is, baby,” he snorts, “you did some serious damage to my bank. Got all the shit you wanted. You think I’m giving you what you want again?”

“You should,” you huff, “I deserve it.”

“You will once you say you’re sorry,” he corrects. “Now say you’re sorry like a good girl—you know you like being good for me.”

That much is very true. He’s right. You love being his good girl—the one who gets to slide next to him on the couch when he’s drinking at some shady club, the one who gets to curl up on his lap when he’s in a crappy mood, the one who gets to feel his rough hands turn oddly gentle when you need him close. 

You like being his good girl. His girl. You like being his. 

You huff through a pout as you ask, “I can still keep all my things, right?”

He rolls his eyes at your question. But you’re spoiled by his own doing, after all, and Hakari has a habit of giving to you just as often as you take. So, he grunts, “Course you can.”

You beam. His eyes soften just a fraction. “Fine,” you murmur, “I’m sorry, Kin-chan.”

Kin-chan. 

His pupils all but dilate when you call him that. They always do—it’s cute, you think. Cute that he cares what you call him. Cute that you mean enough to him that he wants it to be something laced with familiarity. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down as his hands move to grab yours. They lace with your fingers before he lifts them to pin each hand over your head. “You’re sorry, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nod, gasping as his cock pushes into you deeper, slowly, inch by inch. “Yeah, I am.”

“Sorry for what, hm?” 

He’s halfway pressed into you. He’s taking his sweet time. Pushing the thickness of his length little by little so you can really feel him stretch you out. Carve you to fit him. Mold you so only he can sink into your cunt and take you this way. 

“S-sorry that I—hah—used your money,” your voice shakes as the last of him sinks in with a deep thrust of his hips. He hums at the sound of your words, lips hot and searing against your jaw as he presses kisses along the angle of it. 

You shiver as you feel the vibrations of his voice along your skin, hands squeezing his as he murmurs, “No, you’re not,” he snorts, “but that’s okay, baby—you know I like it when you push my buttons.”

You do. When you push Kin-chan’s buttons, Kin-chan fucks you like he means it. When you give Kin-chan a reason to give it to you hard, he fucks you with passion. Burns hot with it as he snaps his hips into you and pulls you closer, pulls you flush against him. When you act spoiled rotten with Kin-chan, that’s when Kin-chan knows he’s loved you good. Loved you hard. Loved you hot with fever. 

“And I like it when you fuck me,” you whine, “so maybe you should get on tha—oh.” You break off with a soft moan.

“You’re always so fuckin’ spoiled,” he grunts as he makes you cut yourself off with that sharp, unpunishing thrust of his hips. You know what that means. He’s had enough of waiting.

He pulls his hips back so that his cock has almost slipped out completely before slamming into you again. You gasp, arching into him. You can feel the sweet reward of friction—every ridge and every vein dragging along your slick walls before the blunt head of his cock presses against a particular spot in the back that makes your eyes see white. 

You are spoiled. Because Kin-chan turned you spoiled. And a spoiled you makes Kin-chan excited, try as he might to act like it doesn’t. It’s just the way things happen. How you both just are. How that cycle always tends to just go. 

You burn hottest when you want something, and he burns hottest when he gets to give it to you. 

“Don’t you love me when I’m spoiled?” You give him a pouty look. It doesn’t last too long, though, because he rolls his hips and your face scrunches with pleasure. 

He gives you a throaty laugh, his hand grabbing the ankle hooked on his shoulder before he turns his head and gives your calf a soft kiss. “You know I do, you crazy fucking thing,” he mumbles. You clench around him at that, and he laughs again. “You know I love you.”

“Then don’t ignore me,” you warn. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes. 

He leans forward, all but bending you in half as he snaps his hips faster, bullying past your folds with a sloppier pace as he starts to get closer and closer to his own high. His lips find yours, pulling you into a hot, breathy kiss. Your hands wrap around him, clinging to him as your nails dig into his skin. He likes that. Gives you a low grunt of approval as the sting makes itself known. 

“C-close,” you whimper, “m’so close—fuck!”

“That’s it,” he hums in satisfaction, “cum for me, then.”

A few more punctuated thrusts of his hips and you do. You feel that familiar coil in the pit of your belly snap, and that build-up of pressure break free between your legs. He works you through it—makes sure to drag his cock along your sensitive walls hard and fast as they flutter around him and squeeze him in. 

“Kin!” you gasp through the height of your pleasure. Your ears are ringing, but you can just barely make out the satisfied sound he makes when you say his name, so you slur it a few more times just for him. 

He groans as you squeeze around him with every spasm of your walls, muttering, “S’so fuckin’ tight,” under his breath before he’s claiming your mouth again, kissing you so you can swallow his own sounds as he follows right after you. 

You feel him twitch before he’s filling you up—hot, thick ropes of his seed pumping into you while he stills for a moment and shivers. When you’ve both come down from your highs, he slumps down beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest, where you happily curl up. 

“Learn your lesson?” he grumbles. He follows it with a delicate kiss to your forehead because, of course, he does. 

“Yup,” you hum happily. 

“And what’d you learn?”

“Kin-chan loves me so much, he’ll let me buy whatever I want and fuck me for it,” you smile. Still so cheeky. Still so smug. 

It burns him with excitement just looking at that defiant little spark in your eyes. “Yeah?” he laughs, “well alright, then. Guess I just have to teach you a little harder.”