#fuma

He knew that the moment you had asked him to accompany him to the mall to buy presents for your best friend’s baby shower, his dick twitching at the prospect of seeing you run your hands over baby clothes. Earlier that week he had already seen you fawn over your baby nephew, holding him close to your chest and bouncing him up and down, all wide smiles and laughter that sounded poetic to him.

Murata Fuma was a fucked man everytime he thought about having children with you, laying you down on your bed and drilling you with his cock all damn night, pumping you full of his cum and waking up the next morning to go to the gynaecologist.

“Not green enough.” He chuckled, leaning against the shelf as you scanned your eyes with laser precision through all the shades of green of baby clothes neatly folded in front of you.

“Well, can’t say I trust you, baby.” You laughed, reaching to the very back of the shelf, “If it was up to you, we’d be shopping for Pokemon baby toys.”

“Hey, gotta get them in young.” Fuma shrugged his shoulders, crossing his arms and feigning deep thought as you pulled out an olive green shirt the size of his biceps, “Perfectly green enough.”

“I know right?” You smiled at him, looking down at the cloth in your hand with shining, triumphant eyes, “God, I hope she likes this.” 

“Of course she will, darling.” Fuma stepped forward slowly, filling your senses with his cologne, “You picked it out didn't you?” His hands came up to your waist, eyes fixed on your lips as he ran a tongue over his. 

Fuma stepped closer until the shelf behind you pressed lightly against your back, the tiny green shirt still clutched in your hands. You barely had time to raise an eyebrow before he leaned in.

“Fuma—” you started. But his lips met yours first.

Warm, oh so warm and certain, like he already knew you were going to laugh about it a second later. His hand stayed at your waist, steadying you as he kissed you, gentle but lingering enough that your protest turned into a muffled giggle against his mouth.

You pushed lightly at his chest. “We’re in public,” You whispered, breathless and amused.

“And?” He pulled back just a fraction, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of his breath, “Can I not kiss my darling wife in public?” The playful look in his eyes made your resolve wobble.

You shook your head, trying to look annoyed, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. For a moment you simply looked at him and something about the closeness, the familiar comfort of it, pulled you right back.

Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward again. This time the kiss was yours, soft and unhurried, your lips brushing his as if you were testing the moment rather than stealing it. His hand tightened slightly at your waist in quiet surprise, and he leaned into it instinctively, deepening the warmth of the kiss. You tasted faintly like the honey he’d put on your pancakes earlier in the morning.

When you finally pulled away, your cheeks were warm and your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been for a quiet aisle full of baby clothes. The moment sparked a memory so vividly that it made you smile.

The first time you had ever kissed each other was on your third date, You could still see the scene in your mind—your apartment lit softly by the ikea lamps you got on sale, the city lights outside the window flickering against the glass. A half-finished glass of wine sat on the table between you while the two of you talked about everything and nothing and the newest pokemon cards.

He had been sitting beside you on the couch, turning the stem of his wine glass slowly in his fingers, pretending to be calm but clearly working up the courage to do something. You had noticed of course—call it a lover’s intuition.

And when he finally leaned in that night, the kiss had been messy as messy could be, teeth accidentally bumping into each other, you almost biting his lips off and a glass of spilled wine. 

But here you were, years later, wedding band on your finger and his wine stained shirt sitting somewhere at the back of your closet. 

How beautiful a thing love was, you thought, even after all these years, kissing him felt exactly the same.

“You wanna go checkout?” You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. Fuma laughed softly.

“Five minutes more.” 

___________________

Spring had arrived softly that year.

The air in the backyard carried the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass, sunlight filtering through the branches of a large maple tree that stretched comfortably across the yard. Someone had strung delicate pastel ribbons between the branches, and they fluttered lazily whenever the breeze passed through.

Tables were arranged across the lawn with soft cream tablecloths, each one decorated with small glass jars filled with pale pink roses and sprigs of baby’s breath. A long wooden table near the patio held the gifts—colorful boxes stacked in cheerful towers. Somewhere near the fence, a group of guests laughed over plastic cups of lemonade and iced tea.

It was the kind of afternoon that felt warm without being heavy, the perfect afternoon for a baby shower.

And the perfect afternoon for Fuma to internally combust whenever he saw you.

You had chosen a soft pastel summer dress for the occasion, the color somewhere between blush pink and pale peach, the fabric light enough to move gently whenever the wind touched it. The hem reached your lower thigh, brushing lightly against your legs as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

Your hair caught the sunlight every time you turned your head, strands glowing gold for just a second before settling again. You sat beside the mother to be—your best friend—talking excitedly with animated gestures, your hands moving as laughter erupted.

Even from across the yard, Fuma could hear the brightness in your voice. He leaned casually against the wooden railing of the deck, a plastic cup of lemonade in his hand that he had completely forgotten to drink. His attention was fixed entirely on you, watching the way you smiled when your friend showed you a tiny pair of baby socks.

Something about it made his chest feel tight.

“Man.” The voice beside him cut through his thoughts. Yudai appeared at his shoulder, arms folded as he followed Fuma’s line of sight across the yard. It took him about half a second to realize exactly what his friend had been staring at.

“You look ridiculous.” Yudai snorted, looking ridiculous with a flower crown on his head.

“What?” Fuma said absentmindedly, not moving his eyes away from you.

“You,” Yudai said, pointing directly at his face, “look like a wide eyed idiot.”

That earned him a small huff of laughter from Fuma. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Yudai continued, leaning his elbows on the railing. “You’ve been standing here staring at her for ten minutes like she’s the last person on earth.”

“That obvious?” Fuma finally looked at him. Yudai stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, it’s worse than I thought.”

Across the yard, you had crouched down beside the stroller someone had brought as a decoration display, picking up a tiny stuffed bear and holding it up with a delighted smile. Your friend said something excitedly, and the two of you dissolved into laughter.

Fuma turned his attention back to you without even realizing he had done it. The sight made something warm, like coffee steam, settle in his chest.

“Oh wow,” Yudai said slowly, noticing immediately, “How close is your heart to giving out right now?”

Fuma sighed heavily, “Extremely.” The admission slipped out more easily than he expected. Yudai tilted his head, studying him.

“You know,” He said thoughtfully, “I used to think you were exaggerating when you talked about her.”

“What do you mean?” Fuma frowned, turning his attention to his older friend now.

“I mean,” Yudai gestured toward the yard, “the way you talk about her sometimes? I figured it was just normal relationship stuff.” He paused to adjust his falling crown, “But that look on your face right now?” he added with a grin. “That’s like……the exact same expression every male lead in a romance anime makes.”

Fuma leaned back against the railing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He admitted quietly.

“You’re not even going to deny it?” Yudai blinked, the only time he’d ever seen his friend like this was at an eevee convention.

“What’s the point?” Fuma said, “I didn't marry her for nothing, you know.” His gaze drifted back to you again. You were still laughing with your friend, holding the tiny stuffed bear to your chest, the sunlight catching the soft folds of your dress, making the pastel fabric glow softly.

For a moment you looked angelic.

“I just….love her so much.” Fuma exhaled slowly.

“And?” Yudai’s brow arched.

Fuma watched as you stood up again, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear while listening to someone else talk.

“She’d be such a good mom,” He murmured, almost to himself. Yudai followed his gaze again.

“You’re thinking about that already?” He said, nudging his shoulder.

“It’s been two years already.” Fuma shrugged slightly, “Is that too fast?”

Yudai studied his friend carefully, watching the way his eyes went all droopy and drunk every time his gaze landed on you. 

“You’ve got it down bad, man.” A giggle came from Yudai. 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Fuma chuckled under his breath.

For a moment they stood there in silence, the sounds of the party drifting through the yard—laughter, soft music playing from a speaker near the patio, the clinking of glasses.

“You should tell her.” Yudai nudged him with his elbow.

“Tell her what?” Fuma blinked at him.

“That.” Yudai said simply.

“What do you mean, ‘that’?” Fuma frowned.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Yudai replied. “If you’re standing here thinking about having kids with her, maybe you should actually say something.”

Fuma hesitated. The idea made his stomach twist slightly. You two hadn't had a proper conversation about kids before getting married—he knew it was an immature thing to do, but love always seemed to make time seem like an ephemeral thing, passing by like the honest wind. And he would rather die than put that burden on you.

“She might think it’s weird.” He said, gaze flickering down to the grass.

“Why?”

“It’s a baby shower.”

“Exactly, you stupid man.”

Fuma blinked at him as Yudai sighed and gestured toward the yard again, clearly done with the lack of romantic tropes in his best friend’s life. 

“You’re literally surrounded by baby decorations, gifts, and people talking about parenting. If there’s ever a moment to say something about wanting a future together, this is probably it.”

Fuma glanced back toward you. You had moved closer to the gift table now, examining the olive green baby shirt you had picked out together. The sight made him smile automatically. You looked so proud of that tiny shirt.

And suddenly, without warning, the thought appeared again. A family with you. You laughing in a backyard like this again someday, except the baby everyone was celebrating would be yours. The idea sent a strange mix of excitement and nervousness rushing through him.

“Oooh you’re thinking about it.” Yudai teased, his voice a pitch higher as he giggled at the expression on Fuma’s face, “Go tell her, already!”

Across the yard, you turned slightly, scanning the guests as if searching for someone. For a brief moment, your eyes met, your face lighting up instantly as you waved to him. Fuma felt his heart stumble in his chest as he raised his hand in return without thinking.

“She’s looking at you like you hung the moon,” Yudai said casually.

“You’re exaggerating.” Fuma laughed softly.

“I’m really not.” He nudged Fuma again. “Seriously. Go.”

Fuma looked at you one more time. You were still smiling at him, waiting for him to come over. And suddenly the world felt like the simplest thing ever—just you two in it, sitting atop clouds and drinking lemonade wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Alright,” He said, “But I’m doing it when we get home.” 

“That’s my guy.” Yudai grinned, triumphantly pushing up his crown.

Fuma pushed himself off the railing, setting his untouched drink down on the deck table. As he stepped onto the grass and began walking toward you, the sounds of the party seemed to fade slightly into the background. The only thing he could really focus on was the way your smile grew wider the closer he got.

Love was a simple thing really, or at least the definition of it was.

Every version of it always started with you.

_________________

You stepped through the front door of your home, the faint scent of baby powder and cake from the baby shower still clinging to your clothes. The afternoon had been sweet—eating cake and getting pumped with lemonade as you cooed over baby clothes with your friends. It was one of those rare moments when the world felt like something more than gray matter.

But now, exhaustion tugged at you, and you kicked off your shoes, heading straight for the bathroom. Fuma had left before you did, tugged away by a work call which he apologised at least fifteen times for before you placed your hand on his and told him gently that it was alright.

He was already home; you'd seen his car in the driveway, but the house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator.

The hot water cascaded over your skin in the shower, washing away the day's stickiness. You lathered up with your favorite lavender soap, letting the steam fill the small space. By the time you stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself, the sun was dipping lower outside the window.

You dried off and slipped into your lace camisole and matching panties—soft, sheer fabric that hugged your curves, the delicate patterns whispering against your skin, perfectly comfortable for a lazy evening, you thought, as you padded into the kitchen to make yourself a snack.

Chopping fruits at the counter, you absentmindedly hummed a tune, unaware of the absolute storm brewing behind you. You were completely absorbed in your task, blissfully unaware of his presence.

Fuma stood in the doorway of the kitchen, admiring you from behind. The soft glow of the setting sun cast a warm light across your silhouette, highlighting the curves of your hips. 

He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every detail. The way the soft lace of your camisole clung to your skin, the way the sheer fabric revealed tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath. He felt a surge of desire, a hunger that grew with each passing moment.

It had been like this ever since the afternoon, ever since the moment you leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arm around your waist to tug you closer whilst you both ate cake. The way you had teasingly sucked on his thumb when he reached to wipe cream off of your lips sent blood rushing everywhere in his body.

His footsteps were silent until they weren't. Suddenly, his presence loomed behind you, heat radiating from his body like a furnace. 

“Oh.” You made a soft noise as the smell of soft cotton filled your senses, “Hi baby. Want some strawberries?” You held up a piece to him.

Your husband didn't answer you, his lips finding your neck instead. He began to trail soft kisses along your skin, starting at your collarbone and working his way up. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to his touch instinctively.

“Alright then, more for me I guess.” You chuckled, used to being bombed with his love randomly at times like this. As he continued to explore your neck with his lips, his hands began to roam, slipping under the hem of your camisole to caress the smooth skin of your stomach. His touch was gentle at first, but as the heat between you grew, his kisses became more urgent, more demanding.

“Fuma, sweetheart, you alright?” You asked, tilting your head back. Before you could turn, his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him. His breath was hot against your neck, ragged and urgent. 

He nipped at your earlobe, sending another wave of pleasure through you. His hands moved higher, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened beneath his touch.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back against his shoulder, lost in the sensation of his touch. He took advantage of your position, his lips finding the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, and he began to suck and nibble at the skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake.

“You’re so beautiful.” Fuma sighed, lips brushing your ear, “Too damn beautiful." Fierce, open-mouthed pressed along the curve of your throat, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing down your spine.

Your body arched against him, your hips pressing back into his own. His hands continued to explore, one moving down to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, his fingers brushing against your most intimate area.

You gasped, the knife clattering to the cutting board as your hands braced against the counter. Fuma's worship was consuming; his mouth trailed lower, sucking at the sensitive spot below your jaw.

His arousal pressed hard against your ass through his jeans, unyielding and insistent. He nipped at your shoulder, pushing the strap of your top aside to expose more flesh, his tongue laving over the mark he'd made.

The intensity built like a wildfire, you tried to steady yourself, but Fuma spun you around, backing you against the kitchen wall with a thud that rattled a nearby cabinet. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, as he caged you in—forearms braced on either side of your head. 

“So beautiful, darling.” He repeated, crashing his lips to yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, devouring you, “Looked so perfect today.” His hands roamed, one sliding up to cup your breast through the lace, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked hard and aching. He broke the kiss only to drop to his knees, his gaze locked on yours, feral and reverent.

“Fuma…” You sighed as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, glancing up once to make sure you’re alright. When you gave him a small nod, he yanked them down your thighs in one swift motion.

You had no idea just what had gotten into your husband today—he was never one to initiate sex, always waiting for your approval and arousal and following through. A gentleman, in many ways.

There was nothing gentleman-ly in the way Fuma gripped your thighs now, his strength unyielding, and hoisted your legs over his broad shoulders, god his strength turned you on so much. 

The idea that this man could you probably crush you between his arms with one gentle squeeze, and yet here he was, worshiping your pussy like it was his only diety—werent you the luckiest woman on earth? Your back pressed flat against the wall, the rough texture scraping lightly as he buried his face between your legs.

His mouth was ravenous, sweet tongue flat and broad, he licked a long stripe up your slit, savoring your taste with a guttural moan that vibrated through you. “So sweet for me, darling.” Fuma praised, words muffled as he delved deeper. 

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, relentless in his assault, as you practically rode his face. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Fuma's grip tightened, holding you open, his nose bumping your mound with each eager thrust of his tongue inside you.

He ate you like a man starved, alternating between broad laps that coated his chin with your arousal and precise circles around your swollen nub. One hand slid up your inner thigh, fingers teasing your entrance before plunging two inside, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. It was his favourite spot, the way it made his pretty wife shake in his grasp always made his dick twitch.

“Fuma!” You cried out, hips bucking involuntarily, “Right there, right—ahh fuckkkk…” Fuma pinned you firmer, devouring every drop as your thighs trembled over his shoulders.

“Relax, baby.” He urged, “Let go for me, that’s a good girl.”

The pressure built until it snapped—your orgasm crashed over you, walls clenching around your husband’s fingers as you flooded his mouth, body arching off the wall. You cried out his name, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. He held you close as you rode out the waves of pleasure, his own breathing ragged as he watched you come undone in his arms.

When it was over, he pulled back slightly, looking up at you with his beautiful eyes. “Are you alright, darling?”

“That was….” You breathed, as he lowered your legs gently and rose, “What horny demon possessed you today, my dearest husband?”

“I’ve been asking the same question.” Fuma chuckled, claiming your mouth in a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, “It's just….” 

Fuma stopped in his tracks as he saw the way you looked at him, wide, loving eyes that held nothing but trust in them. God he felt so stupid, he could have just told you what he wanted. But—akin to a spoiled child—he had to go and fulfill his whims, and now he didn't know how to breach the subject.

“What happened baby?” You tilted your head, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. Fuma melted into your palm, closing his eyes for a brief second, letting himself get lost in the cotton of your touch. 

“You know how we were at the baby shower?”

“Uh huh.” You said, suppressing a giggle. 

“And you know how we went to shop for baby clothes the other day?” 

“Baby—”

“I want to do that again.” Fuma pressed a soft kiss to your palm, “I want to do that all over again, but—” His hold on your waist tightened, as if to ground himself, “—I want to do that for our family.”

When you married Fuma, a little voice in your head had told you that this would be the man you’d spent the rest of your life with, and it had asked you, are you sure? And you had answered back, yes. If life was three seconds, three days, three months or thirty years long, this man would be the person you’d spend the rest of it with. To run through dandelion fields, to talk about everything and nothing all at once under a starry sky, to celebrate the poetry of life with. 

“Our family?” You repeated softly. 

Fuma nodded once, though the movement was small. “Yeah.” His heart was beating fast now, faster than he would have liked, suddenly looking far less confident than he had a moment ago. “I mean—not right this second,” He added quickly. “I’m not trying to rush you or anything like that.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face at that. Your husband looked like a child in trouble.

“But…” He continued, searching for the right words. “Standing there today, watching you with your friend, seeing how excited you were about everything…” He glanced down briefly, then back at you again. “You’d be amazing.” He said quietly.

“Amazing?” Your expression softened.

“A mom.” The word seemed to surprise the both of you. Fuma laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“See, this is why I didn’t plan to say this out loud.” He muttered, the tips of his ears turning faintly red.

“You’re doing great so far.” You laughed softly. He looked at you carefully, trying to read your expression.

“I just—” He paused, then tried again. “When I think about the future, you’re always there, every version of it.” You didn’t interrupt him this time. “And today just made it… clearer, I guess,” He finished.

Fuma reached up to brush a strand of your hair back behind your ears, another shuddering breath from him as he saw how damn beautiful you were. Two years of marriage and he still couldn't help but feel like a stupid 20 year old boy everytime he looked at you.

“You really thought about this a lot, didn’t you?” You asked

“A little.”

“Fuma.” You raised a brow.

“Okay.” He admitted. “A lot.”

That made you laugh again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he heard it. Then you reached up again, your hand returning to his cheek.

“And what if I said—” You smiled sheepishly, “—I thought about it too?”

Fuma didn't know if it was relief or something else that washed over him at your words.

“Say sike right now.”

“Oh god Fuma.” You laughed, slapping his chest, “What has Maki been teaching you?” You laughed with him for a second before sighing and smiling softly, “If I’m being a hundred percent honest…the thought has come into my mind a few times, especially whenever you held a baby.” You ran a tongue over your lips, “You look exceptionally dashing when you do that.”

“Dashing?”  Fuma cocked a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, “Go on.” 

“Well,” You continued, “It’s been two years already.” Your hand reached down slowly, “And we’re both logical adults.” You palmed his cock, “And we’re both very horny right now.” He was already so hard beneath your touch, “And I don’t think I can sleep without another orgasm tonight." 

Whatever Fuma did in his past life to get you in this one, he was thankful he did it. He let out a soft groan as you palmed his cock straining through his pants. God you were such a perfect fucking wife.

“You’re sure darling?” Fuma asked, “It’s a really big decision you know.” 

“Good that I make really nice decisions then hm?” You squeezed his hard length through his pants, a playful smile on your lips, “Need you so bad Fuma.” You rocked your hips against his, fluttering your lashes. 

Fuma groaned at your words, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily into your touch. "You're going to be the death of me."

With that, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom with a determined stride. The mattress dipped under his weight as he laid you down, the lace camisole still clinging to your sweat-damp skin, his eyes roaming over your body with a hungry gaze. Two years of marriage and he was still putty beneath the power of your gorgeous face.

Fuma crawled onto the bed, covering your body with his own. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you—though you were already his. His hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Your husband took a moment to admire your chest, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples. You gasped at the contact, arching your back to press yourself further into his touch.

Fuma stripped quickly—shirt tossed aside, sweats kicked off—revealing his toned body, cock thick and straining, tip red hot and angry. He slowly (very very agonizingly slowly) settled between your thighs, propping himself on one elbow while his free hand traced lazy patterns over your hip. 

“You’re so beautiful, darling." He breathed, repeating the same praise for the fifteenth time that evening, eyes tracing every inch with worshipful intensity. His fingers dipped lower, gathering your lingering wetness before circling your entrance teasingly.

Slowly, so slowly, he pushed one thick finger inside you, watching your face as your pussy stretched around the intrusion. 

“So damn tight….gonna have to work her open first, yeah?” Fuma pumped it in and out, deliberate strokes that had you mewling, the earlier orgasm leaving you hypersensitive. He added a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching your walls with patient precision. 

Fuma leaned down, kissing your collarbone, then your breasts, sucking a nipple through the lace until it was soaked and translucent. “I love you, my darling.” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of ferocity and adoration, “My everything, sweetheart.” 

“Fuma—feel so good…..fuck!” His fingers curled inside you, stroking that inner ridge over and over, building the heat anew.

You writhed beneath him, hands clutching the sheets, as he worked you open—three fingers now, thrusting deep, preparing you for what was to come. The room filled with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you, your moans echoing off the walls.

He kept the pace languid, draaawing out every sensation, his free hand pinning your wrist above your head in a gentle hold. 

“Taking me so good, my darling.” Fuma’s eyes never left yours, passionate and intense, as another climax built, slower this time, like the coming of a spring, “Let go for me, go on.”

When it hit, it washed through you in waves, your pussy fluttering around his fingers, pulling him deeper. Your husband groaned, withdrawing at last, his cock twitching against your thigh. 

“Alright, baby?” Fuma asked, gentle faze tracing over your twitching body. Cute, he thought, she’s shaking from just my fingers.

“Fumaaa…” You whined, bringing your hand up to stroke his jaw, looking at him though half lidded eyes, “Want your cock, please?” 

Your husband was a….large man. Compared to others atleast, fucking hell was he built like a truck—one of the many reasons you married him. He was big in every aspect, broad shoulders and chest, thick fucking fingers (the fluid dripping down your thighs was proof it only took one deep plunge to make you cum), and perhaps the fattest cock you had ever seen in your life. 

And by god did it fill his ego to the brim to see you struggle to take him. 

His pretty little wife.

“Ready darling?” Your husband asked, all formal, as if anything was formal about that dick, positioning himself. 

“Just put it in already.” You huffed, wrapping your legs round his waist to bring him closer. You needed him right now. 

“So impatient baby.” He chuckled, tilting his head, “And if it doesn't fit? You know it never fits in the first try.” 

Technically speaking, your husband was correct. Two damn years and you could never take him all in the first go. He had to make you cum at least three times to get you wet enough. But speaking from your horny brain, you did not give a fuck.

“I’ll make it fit.” You said, voice breathy, “Please, Fuma? I’ll be your good girl, I swear.” He groaned at your words, his hips twitching forward slightly as if seeking more of your touch. 

“Well, who am I to deny such a pretty girl?” He purred, hovering above you, his cock heavy and throbbing against your slick folds, the broad head nudging your entrance.  You moaned at the contact, your hips bucking up as if it were a conditioned reflex. 

You could feel the stretch already, just from that initial press, your pussy still fluttering from the slow fingering that had left you open and aching for more. Fuma gripped the base of his cock, guiding it with deliberate slowness, but as he pushed forward, only the tip breached you before resistance met him—your walls clenching tight around the intrusion, too snug even after all his preparation.

Fuma let out a cocky laugh as he took his time, savoring the feeling of your right heat as he slooowly pushed inside. He groaned, low and frustrated, his hips twitching as he tried to sink deeper.

“So fucking small.” Fuma rasped, eyes locking onto yours with a mix of lust and amusement, “Pussy’s so damn small—pretty thing can’t even take half of me, yeah?” 

“F-Fuma slow down!” You gasped, your hands reaching for him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life, “Fuck—hah oh god Fuma too much!” 

“Tch tch.” Your husband clicked his tongue, “I don’t think I’m the problem here darling.” He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, “You’re just—” thrust, “too” thrust, “small.” Your body shook like a dandelion in the wind as he forced his fat fucking cock into you, “Fuck she’s gripping me—ahh—like she wants to keep me out.” He rocked forward again, forcing another inch inside, but your body rebelled, muscles fluttering and squeezing in protest, “Does she want me out, my darling?”

You whimpered, hands fisting the sheets, the burn of the stretch mingling with sharp pleasure. Fuma chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to let you breathe before thrusting shallowly, teasing your entrance with the thick ridge of his cockhead.

“Look at you, all worked up and still too tight for your husband.” His free hand trailed up your thigh, thumb pressing into the soft flesh as he watched your face contort—lips parted, brows furrowed in that exquisite mix of pain and need. “What am I supposed to do with a wife who milks me like this? Can't even fit all the way in without—fuck—a fight.” Fuma loved this part, the way your body yielded inch by inch, proving how perfectly you were made for him, even if it took effort.

You arched your back, trying to ease him in, but he held your hips steady, controlling the pace. “Calm down sweetheart.” His voice was gravelly, “You said you’ll make it fit, so we’re going to make it fit.”

He pumped in and out of that shallow depth, the wet slide of your arousal coating him, but he couldn't bury himself fully—not yet. Frustration edged his teasing, his breaths coming harsher as he ground against you, clit catching the friction of his pubic bone on each nudge.

Finally, the playfulness snapped. With a feral growl, Fuma's hands clamped onto your thighs, fingers digging into the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

He pulled your legs up roughly, folding them back against your chest in one swift motion—the mating press that pinned you open and vulnerable beneath him. Your knees nearly touched your shoulders, pussy splayed wide and exposed, the angle forcing your walls to part just enough. 

“Theeere we go.” Fuma grunted, satisfaction lacing his tone as he aligned himself again. “Now you'll take it all, like the good girl you are.”

Surging forward, his cock speared into you in a single, brutal thrust, bottoming out with a slap of skin on skin. You cried out, the fullness overwhelming—his girth splitting you wide, the head of his dick kissing your cervix in a deep, unyielding press. 

It burned, god did it fucking burn, the stretch bordering on too much, but the pleasure crashed in right after, your pussy clenching greedily around his length. Fuma didn't give you time to adjust; he pulled back almost to the tip and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked your body against the mattress.

“Fuck, yes—feel that? How deep I am now?” He panted, hips snapping forward relentlessly, each thrust driving him balls deep into your core. 

The position kept you locked in place, unable to escape the onslaught, your thighs quivering from the strain as he folded you tighter. His weight bore down, chest pressing your legs further, turning you into a pliant vessel for his cock. He fucked you hard, the bed creaking under the force, your pussy squelching around him with every plunge—wet, obscene sounds filling the room alongside your moans and his grunts.

Sweat slicked his skin, dripping onto your chest as he rutted into you like an animal, chasing that primal need that had been resting in his chest ever since he saw you with a baby in your arms.

“Gonna fill you up.” He mumbled into your ear, lips brushing the shell as he nipped at your lobe, “Pump you so full—hah you’re so tight baby. You want that sweetheart? Wanna have our kids?”

“Fuma!” His words sent heat flooding your veins, your walls fluttering around his pistoning cock, pulling him deeper as if your body agreed, “Fuma fuck! Yes yes yes!” All your senses were gone at this point. 

He shifted his angle slightly, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you with each thrust, the friction on your clit from his body adding layers of sensation. You were lost in it, head thrown back, nails raking down his back as pleasure built relentlessly. Fuma's pace never faltered—rough, demanding, fucking you into oblivion as promised. 

“Take it darling.” His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles, pushing you toward the edge, “Take every fucking drop—ahhh god you’re squeezing me so tight.” 

The first orgasm hit you like a freight train, ripping through your core as your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him in tight pulses. You screamed his name, vision blurring, body convulsing in the tight fold of the mating press. 

Fuma groaned, feeling you clamp down, but he didn't stop—thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were sobbing from the intensity. “One more, darling, just one more, I promise.” 

He kept pounding, the overstimulation making every slide of his cock electric, your sensitivity heightening the drag of his veins against your walls. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he chased his own release, but he focused on you—thumb pressing harder on your clit, hips rolling to hit that spot over and over.

“Fuck baby, go on—milk me dry. Show me how much you want our kids.” The words, combined with the relentless fucking, coiled the tension anew, faster this time, your body already primed.

You shattered a second time, orgasm crashing harder, your pussy gushing around him, soaking his balls as you clenched and released in rhythmic waves. Fuma cursed, the vice of your walls tipping him over. 

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he came—hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your womb white. He ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed inside, his growl vibrating through your joined bodies. 

“Full…….so fucking full for me.”  Fuma had no idea what he was saying, dick and mind already milked to the brim, collapsing forward slightly, still folded over you as aftershocks rippled through both of you.

He stayed like that for long minutes, cock softening inside your bred pussy, plugging his cum deep. Only when your breaths evened did he ease your legs down, kissing your forehead softly as he pulled out.

“Shit.” You sighed as you felt him ease out, leaving you empty. Fuma cupped your cheek in his palm, tilting your face to look at you properly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Emotionally or physically?” You chuckled, fighting the urge to fall asleep right there and then, “Because emotionally, I won’t accept anything else other than all that for sex after this.”

“All that?” Fuma chuckled, sliding down next to you, warmth radiating off his body, “You sure we’ll even be able to have sex after all that?” 

“Oh shut up.” You laughed, tossing one leg over his to tangle yourself in his grasp, “It takes people at least three attempts to get pregnant.”

“We can be an exception darling.” Fuma laughed, melting into your touch as the lady of the night pulled you both into her arms. 

The two faint lines two weeks later proved you to be the exception, indeed. 

fin. 

fuma: he doesn’t pull back; instead, he drives himself deeper, each thrust deliberate and heavy, cockhead brushing that sensitive spot inside you like he’s memorizing every shudder and twitch. one hand locks firmly on your waist, keeping you steady, while the other trails up your side, fingers trailing along your jaw and down your neck. his lips part, voice low and rough, a growl barely contained as he murmurs, “damn… you feel too good. can’t get enough of this.” his hips snap harder and faster, pounding into you with an urgency that matches the heat pooling in his eyes. the wet slickness coating both of you doesn’t slow him down. it only drives him wilder. fuma’s too lost in the moment, chasing the way your muscles squeeze and release around him, the way your breath hitches and your nails dig into his back. every desperate cry, every needy moan, it’s fuel for the fire burning in his chest. he’s relentless, refusing to let you come down from the edge, fucking you through every tremor and spasm until you’re a shaking, gasping mess in his arms. then he leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he rasps, “you’re mine. don’t forget that.” and with that, he buries himself even deeper, claiming you fully while your slickness coats him, marking you like the greedy, possessive man he is.

nicho: slick and wild, coating his cock deep inside you. he doesn’t even hesitate or pull out. instead, he grips your hips tight, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin possessively as he starts moving slower at first, savoring every shudder and twitch your body gives him. his eyes darken, pupils blown wide with hunger and satisfaction, watching every inch of you tremble beneath him. his hips start snapping harder, powerful and relentless, pounding into you with a mix of patience and fierce urgency like he’s marking you as his own. every wet, desperate moan you let out feels like an invitation to go deeper, to push harder and nicholas never says no to that. his hands roam your curves possessively, sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts, and tracing the line of your jaw before locking back on your hips to hold you steady. he leans forward, lips brushing your neck and whispering low and rough, “you’re mine, soaked all over me like this. don’t forget who’s got you.” he grins darkly, thrusting deep and hard, chasing every pulse and twitch your muscles give him, driving you further and further past the edge. the slick heat between you makes every thrust slick and effortless, but nicholas’s grip is firm, his control absolute. he won’t stop until your legs shake and your breath’s ragged, leaving you trembling and completely wrecked beneath him, dripping with need and satisfaction.

euijoo: ej’s breath hitches hard when he feels your walls clamp around him, hot liquid flooding his cock deep inside. but instead of pulling out, he grips your waist like he’s never letting go, cock sinking deeper with every merciless thrust. his hands roam possessively down your body, fingers pressing into your hips and thighs as he holds you flush against him. his voice drops low, thick with raw need as he rasps, “fuck, you’re too good. can’t get enough of this.” his hips snap fast and hard, relentless, slamming into you like he’s marking you, claiming every inch. the slick heat between you makes every movement slick and wild, but ej’s grip is ironclad, his control fierce. he drags you closer with every thrust, biting into your shoulder as you shudder and cry out. he’s ruthless, chasing every pulse and twitch your body throws at him, driving you higher and higher without pause. you can feel the tension building in his chest, hear the low growls rumbling in his throat as he pushes you to the edge again and again. then he pulls back just enough to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, voice rough as he murmurs, “come on, baby. scream for me.” and with that, he buries himself deeper, fucking you through your orgasms until you’re trembling beneath him,.

yuma: yuma’s playful smirk fades the moment he feels your muscles clamp tightly around him, followed by the warm, wet gush that coats his cock deep inside you. he doesn’t pull out. instead, he yanks you flush against him, pressing chest to chest as his hips slam into yours with brutal force. his hands grip your hips possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he starts grinding hard, slow at first, then faster, matching every shudder you throw his way. his thumb slides down, brushing your clit in rhythm with his pounding, teasing you mercilessly. “so messy already… and i’m nowhere near done, baby.” his voice is low, husky, dripping with need as he buries himself deeper inside you, chasing every pulse, every desperate gasp. you can feel the tension building between you, the heat in his eyes blazing as he tightens his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. he loves how you tremble beneath him, how your moans turn frantic and pleading with every thrust, and he makes sure to push you to the edge. again and again, without mercy. “don’t even think about stopping now.” he growls, fucking you through every quiver until you’re a shivering, soaked mess tangled up in his arms, completely his and dripping with need.

jojo: jo’s breath hitches the moment he feels you clamp down and flood him with warmth, slick and hot around his cock. but he doesn’t pull out. no, he holds you tight, hips snapping deep and hard inside you like he’s marking you as his own. his hands grip your waist possessively, fingers digging into your skin as he leans close, lips brushing your ear with a low, rough whisper, “fuck, you’re drowning me but i don’t give a damn.” he grits his teeth, thrusting relentlessly, each slam sending you closer to the edge. your moans and cries are like a fire to him, and he rides every pulse and tremor your body throws at him, refusing to let up. his hips move faster, more urgent, pounding into you with a fierce hunger, as if the world could end and he’d still be inside you, claiming you fully. his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he murmurs, “you’re mine.” he bites down gently before pushing you back against him, voice thick with need as he drives you through wave after wave of pleasure. your slickness coats him fully, but it only makes him grip you tighter, deeper, fucking you until you’re gasping and trembling beneath him. wrecked.

harua: harua’s breath catches deep the moment he feels your body clench around him and then flood him with warmth, slick and sticky coating his cock. he doesn’t pull out. no, instead he buries himself deeper, slow and steady, savoring every tremble and pulse your body gives him. his hands grip your waist firmly, holding you steady as he starts pumping in and out with measured, punishing thrusts. the low hum vibrating in his throat mixes with your moans, sending shivers down your spine. his eyes close briefly, savoring the way you shudder and cry out beneath him, completely lost to the pleasure he’s giving. “you’re so fucking perfect like this.” his voice is rough and thick with need as he leans down to kiss the nape of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. every movement is deliberate, possessive. his hips pressing harder into yours as he chases your spasms, riding you through every orgasm without pause. he loves the way your slick heat coats him, the way your muscles clamp around him desperately, and he doesn’t want it to end. with every thrust, he pulls you impossibly closer, claiming you like the only thing that matters. your breath comes fast, ragged, and harua keeps going. unyielding, dominant, worshipping every inch of you until you’re a trembling, soaked mess tangled up in his arms, utterly wrecked.

taki: taki’s breath catches when he feels your walls clamp around him, hot liquid flooding his cock deep inside.he grips your hips tight, holding you close like he never wants to let go. every thrust is deep and powerful, slamming into you with a fierce hunger that makes your head spin. his voice drops low and rough, dripping with need as he growls, “you’re too good to stop now.” his hands grip your hips like iron, lifting you slightly, pressing you down with every slam of his hips. the slick mess between you only fuels his fire, making every movement wetter and more urgent. his cock throbs inside you, pulsing with every desperate cry and quiver you give him. he’s relentless, chasing your orgasms like a predator hunting its prey, pushing you higher and higher without mercy. the way you tremble and gasp beneath him only makes him want to own you more fully, claim every inch of you with his relentless thrusts. then he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he rasps, “come on, baby. don’t stop now.” and with that, he buries himself deeper, fucking you through wave after wave of pleasure until you’re a soaked, shaking mess completely his.

maki: maki doesn’t slow down when he feels you squirt. in fact, he fucking loses it. your walls clench around him and soak his cock mid-thrust, and instead of pulling out, he grabs you by the throat and growls, “you think that means i’m done?” he shoves you flat on your stomach, pinning you down with one hand while the other fists in your hair. his pace goes brutal. no rhythm, no mercy, just raw, punishing thrusts that have you screaming into the sheets. the wet squelch of your release fills the room, but maki doesn’t care. he’s not stopping until you’re ruined. his voice drips with mockery, “made a fuckin’ mess, and now you’re gonna lie there and take it.” he presses in deeper, balls slapping against your soaked cunt as he fucks you through every twitch and tremble. you’re crying, legs shaking, body overstimulated. but maki doesn’t let up. if anything, he fucks you harder. you squirt again, and this time he laughs. not soft, but dark and cocky. “yeah, that’s it. cry on my dick. you’re not going anywhere till i say so.” and he means it. he’ll keep your legs open, body trembling, until he’s sure you can’t even remember how it felt to not have him inside you.

your holy grail, the gym - the place you spent countless hours in, headphones blasting your playlist. you went so many times a week it was practically your second home. 

working out had become a habit of yours at the start of the year, it was the only new year’s resolution you had managed to follow through with. minding your business, headphones blasting a random playlist, it felt like the months flew by.

your schedule was steady, you went regularly, and your body was fit - and that’s how you liked it.

---

somewhere along the way, you started to notice a certain someone that worked out near your usual spot. the guy was handsome, and also ripped as hell, his triceps buff and his biceps even bigger. he kept to himself most of the time, only offering a small, brief smile on the occasion you made eye contact in the large mirror.

after the first sighting, you started to find him every time you went unintentionally - near the machines, outside the locker rooms, standing in the reception when you walked in. it was practically impossible to not see him. anytime you went, he was there, that same focused look on his face as he curled the heavy dumbbells. 

it was strange. you had never noticed him before, yet you knew he wasn’t a new member because he was friendly with the staff, familiar with the equipment. maybe fate had caused you to notice him. or maybe the guy’s insane muscles. either way, you weren’t complaining. he was a sight for sore eyes. yours, more specifically.

---

you were struggling to put the weights back on the bench press bar, your arms exhausted and weak.

“need some help?” a deep voice called, warm hands sliding over your wrists and guiding them to the bar. lifting your gaze to the person, you realise who it is - the guy you’ve been seeing everywhere.

“oh, um… thanks.” you mumbled, sitting up and wiping the sweat from your forehead. the guy chuckles, offering his hand to you. it was much larger than yours, with calloused knuckles and veins that ran down his forearm.

“i’m fuma. murata fuma. nice to meet you.”

you introduced yourself in return, taking his hand. his grip was strong, as you expected, his hand enveloping yours. a quick shake, and that tight squeeze was gone.

“are you a regular here? i feel like i haven’t seen you around before.” fuma asked, his gaze soft as he stared down at you. he hadn’t seen you before? but you’d sworn he had made eye contact with you in the past…

“yeah, i am. i haven’t seen you around here before either.” you replied, a small laugh escaping. what a liar you are. anything to not sound like a creep, you thought. it would be weird to admit that you had actually seen him around hundreds of times already, and were able to recognise him from the back of his head.

fuma hummed at your response, a hint of a grin visible on his lips.

“i see. well, hopefully i’ll see you around.” he began to back off, brushing a hand through his hair. “be careful with those weights, alright?”

“i will. see ya.”

you waved and he left, your eyes lingering on his buff figure as he walks away.

---

you started to talk with fuma more and more over the following weeks, growing more comfortable with each other. the two of you had started working out alongside each other, spewing words of encouragement at one another, sharing water bottles when the other’s had ran out.

fuma would offer you advice and support where he could, especially when it came to pull-up form and exercising your back muscles.

“here, let me help you.” he had offered, his large hands gripping your waist, pushing under your loose workout shirt as he gave you a boost to reach the bar. 

he’d count your reps, giving you tips on endurance and form, his hands sliding over your back, feeling how your muscles tightened for each rep. the touch made your skin burn.

when you reached 12 pull ups, your new record, fuma squeezed your shoulder, eyes trained on the trail of sweat dripping down your neck. 

“knew you could do it.” he said with a smirk, voice deep, his dark gaze lingering on your red face. “attagirl.”

everything about him drove you crazy, from his charming looks, his insane build, his endless support. you were screwed.

little did you know, fuma was in way deeper.

---

that same night, fuma was unable to sleep despite how exhausted he felt.

he was tossing and turning, all because he couldn’t get you out of his head. anytime his eyes closed, he’d see your face, your perfect body and how it moved. he could practically still feel how warm your skin felt in his hands, how your muscles moved under his grip.

fuma groaned, his body tense with desire for you - strong and relentless. it was hopeless.

all he wanted was you.

---

it was a hot friday evening, your workout had taken a toll on you. fresh out of the shower, you quickly put on your spare change of clothes in the locker room. much better, you thought.

you were brushing your hair when you heard the door hinges creak open, heavy footsteps echoed through the room. facing your locker, you couldn’t tell who it was, not until a wide shadow appeared above you, his breathless panting hitting the back of your bare shoulder.

“fuma?” you called, putting the brush in your bag and turning around. 

fuma looked… different, to say the least. his hair was dishevelled, his stance tense, and his eyes were dark, piercing. staring right at you.

before you had a chance to ask him what was wrong, his hands grabbed your shoulders, manhandling you roughly,  pushing you up against the wall. you let out a gasp of shock, quickly swallowed as fuma crashed his lips against yours. his large body completely towered over you, pinning you in place.

his lips moved over yours with nothing but desire encouraging him, his tongue pushing into your mouth. you kissed him back, your hands finding the thick trunks that were his arms. you could feel him smirking into the kiss, hands squeezing your ass before exploring over your body.

“fuck… ‘wanted this so fucking bad,” fuma groaned, breaking the kiss. his mouth was quick to find your jaw, the sensation of his hot, wet tongue dragging across your skin leaving goosebumps on your flesh. “wanted you so bad.”

“mmh, i wanted it t-too, fuma…” you whispered, the tone of your voice making fuma moan.

the two of you stay there, indulging in your desire for one another, completely unbothered by the risk of being caught by the staff.

all that mattered in the moment was you and fuma.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ taglist: @tobiobread @nichozzystuffs @kwnnies @seanidas @preachersdaughterx @stxrrymarsz @ssosstrange @7yataki @makizdoll @minhosimthings @starshuas @leewayout @xionvlog @deerhuntings @smidare @fumaid

ꫂ᭪݁ if you want to be tagged in my future works, send an ask or comment under this post ་༘࿐

Ever since you could remember, being best friends with Yudai, Nicholas, and Fuma had always been a breeze. 

Your families were practically one, big one at this point, all of your parents having been college friends that stayed close-knit even after graduating and moving into adulthood. When the four of you were born, it was only natural you’d be bound to grow up with each other. You couldn’t remember a time in your life when you weren’t all together– it didn’t exist.

Now, it was as if the four of you were continuing the legacy, being college students yourselves. Just like your own parents, you hoped the four of you would still be friends beyond the final years of school.

There was one key difference, though, between them and the four of you– there weren't any complicated feelings involved.

Truth be told, each of your parents only had eyes for each other– shockingly, there wasn’t any mixture of hurt feelings and attraction to the others inside the group as they became more fond of one another.

But for you… Well, you didn’t know the burning fire within Yudai, Nicholas, and Fuma that was searing hot, almost melting away their sense of reason.

You had always found the three of them attractive. Who wouldn’t? But, to avoid complicating the friendship, you always dated other people. It never lasted, though, and part of the reason was the fact your three best friends were men. Unfortunately, a lot of people passed judgement with that fact, thinking you were hiding some weird fantasy and were only using them as a second choice.

Honestly, they weren’t completely wrong. Yeah, you’d thought about them passing you around like a fucktoy for years, but your lips were sealed. At some point, you just learned to live with that desire and suppress it as much as possible.

But, eventually hidden feelings reveal themselves, don’t they?

Saturday night was designated game night in your shared dorm– the four of you applied for student housing together, and luckily, were approved to live in the same apartment.

Yeah, an explosive cocktail of sexual feelings was bound to erupt with that arrangement. 

“What the fuck?” Yudai scoffed, crossing his arms, “you’re clearly cheating.”

“How dare you,” Fuma shot back, mockingly placing his hand over his heart, “I’m hurt you’d think that.”

Nicholas snorted, spinning the wheel for his turn. You gasped as he landed on the next space, ending the game in one, clean sweep.

He smirked, leaning back onto his palms pridefully. “See what happens when you two argue? You miss your opportunity.” He dropped his character piece onto the board with a victorious thud, then stood up from the floor. “I win.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Fuma groaned, throwing his head into his hands, “son of a bitch.”

Nicholas laughed, dragging his feet over towards the kitchen counter to fix himself a drink. “Celebratory shots?”

Yudai raised his brow. “Why would I want to celebrate the fact I lost?”

“Because you love me and are so happy about my success.”

He sighed, “Yeah, no,” then rolled his eyes with a playful grin, “but I’ll take a shot, anyway.”

Nicholas poured the vodka into four shot glasses, then carefully carried them back over to the game set up in the living room. “To me,” he said smugly, lifting his glass up into the air, “for once again, being the best at everything.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, Yudai and Fuma joining you soon after.

Nicholas just smiled wider. “Laugh all you want, peasants, you know I’m right.”

He was always so charming, Nicholas. He wasn’t actually that arrogant of a person, but he enjoyed acting that way on purpose to rile everyone up, specifically during game night– it didn’t do much for you, but it was entertaining to see how pissed off it made Fuma and Yudai. 

One thing that did do something for you, though, was blurting out in tipsy boldness that the four of you should play a round of strip poker. Your skin was hot, thoughts going haywire as your freudian slip escaped your mouth. 

Yudai let out a shaky breath. Nicholas’ eyes flickered from yours down to your cherry lips. 

Fuma blinked at you in surprise. “Did… Did I hear that right?”

You covered your face in embarrassment, but your stomach was on fire. “Yeah,” you gulped, refusing to look at them. “Yeah, I said we should play strip poker.”

Yudai licked his lips, then crossed his legs. “Well,” he cooed, “I’m game.”

“Me too,” Nicholas chimed in. Fuck, his pants were tight as hell.

The two of them looked at Fuma while you slowly peaked your eyes out from under your palms. “And you?” You asked him, voice low and nearly inaudible.

Yudai and Nicholas were waiting for his response, smug smiles resting on their faces. 

Fuma glanced between the three of you. His heart felt like it was about to explode. “Yeah, sure,” he nodded slowly, “let’s do it.”

And, well, that purposeful accident of yours is what got you four into this beautiful, sexy mess.

“Jesus Christ," Yudai exhaled, unable to remove his gaze from your exposed chest. 

All of you were left in nothing but underwear.

You smirked, intentionally leaning back in such a way that it teased them and garnered their attention. “What was that, Yudai?” You purred, biting your lip.

He swallowed, cock twitching in his boxers. You noticed.

“I knew you were hot, but damn,” Nicholas whistled from beside you, licking his lips as he lowered his lids with darkness, “you were hiding that from us this whole time?”

“Oh, c’mon,” you rolled your eyes and giggled, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me in a bikini every time we go to the beach.”

He smirked. “So, why not say anything?”

Your cheeks ran hot, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. “I– um, I didn’t want to fuck up the friendship.”

Fuma laughed loudly, surprised by your assumption. “Ruin? You think openly admitting we wanted each other would ruin us? Man, is our friendship that weak in your eyes?” He was smiling lightheartedly with the last statement, but it did hold a question for you to consider.

You shrugged. “It seems to be that way for most people.”

“Yeah, well,” Yudai, who sat across from you, had now lifted himself onto his knees and slowly leaned his body across the floor closer to you. He stopped his face merely inches away from yours. “We’re not most people, are we?”

You inhaled sharply. “What are you saying?” You asked, voice shaky.

“We’re saying,” Nicholas had shifted closer to you, brushing your hair behind your ears with an endeavor, “that whatever happens next here won’t ruin anything.”

You looked at Fuma, who’s back was leaning against the front of the couch with his hands resting behind his head, just observing. He gave you a simple nod of the head and smile, letting you know he was also in on it.

Your heart couldn’t slow down, and if it weren’t for the way you were sitting, the big, fat wet stain on your panties would be undeniably visible. You took a deep breath, gaze flickering back to Yudai and Nicholas who stayed perched closely to you.

“Alright, then,” you said, breaking out into a sultry expression, “as long as you only ruin me tonight.”

You truly never expected to find yourself under your three best friends, getting wrecked and fucked into next year– you thought you’d take those fantasies with you to the grave.

“Fuck, fuck,” Nicholas grunted, fisting your hair as he fucked your mouth slow and deep, “thatta girl, take all of my cock.”

You moaned against him, vibrations along his length sending pulses of ecstasy through his veins. He shivered, grunting with each thrust down your throat.

Your legs were on fire, shaking uncontrollably as Yudai pistoned into you without remorse, gripping your hips as if his life depended on it with each slam of his pelvis against your ass.

“You’re so tight, y/n, shit,” he gasped, hips stuttering each time his tip kissed your cervix, “can’t believe we waited so long to do this.”

Fuma was filthily sucking your clit, the sweet sounds of his sloppy tongue on your bundle of nerves mixing effortlessly with yours around Nicholas.

You choked as Nicholas hit the back of your throat hard and deep just as Yudai brushed against your pleasure point and Fuma flattened his tongue against your cunt. Your hands didn’t know where to go, alternating between flailing desperately along the sheets and grabbing any parts of the three guys you could reach.

“Shit, you gonna come for me?” Yudai growled, sensing your arousal increasing around his length with each flick of the hips, “you’re so fucking wet, oh my god.”

“Be a good girl and squirt on Yudai’s cock and my face, hm?” Fuma muttered, eyes rolling as his teeth gently grazed your clit. You screamed, nearly forcing Nicholas out of your mouth.

Nicholas' head fell backwards, cock pulsing against your tongue as he pushed into your mouth one final time, dripping his hot seed down your throat. He looked at you again, watching in awe as you swallowed all of him. “God, look at you, so desperate," he hissed, sending shallow thrusts until you milked him completely, “you love my cum, baby, don’t you?”

You nodded profusely, letting out an ungodly moan once Nicholas removed himself from your mouth. Your back arched, legs shaking violently as Yudai and Fuma sent you over the edge with the magical, synchronized workings of their cock and mouth.

“Fuck!” You screamed, one hand flying up to grab Fuma’s hair and push him harder against your cunt, the other digging their nails into Yudai’s shoulder, “I’m gonna fucking come–”

Your throat cracked, juices spilling out of you down the sides of Yudai’s cock and your inner thighs. Fuma wasted no time licking up the splashes that landed on his face, moaning in ecstasy at your taste.

“So sweet,” he muttered, smirking down at you as he slowly lifted his head away from your core. 

You were panting, pussy throbbing as Yudai reached his peak, pulling out at the last possible second to shoot hot ropes of cum onto your exposed tummy.

“Shit!” He cried, fisting himself as he stared at your beautiful, fucked-out face, “you’re so perfect, fuck.”

He collapsed beside you with a loud exhale, still blissful from the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him just moments before.

“Unreal,” Nicholas cooed, leaning over and placing a delicate kiss to your cheek.

Fuma kneeled over and kissed your thighs sweetly, a soft hum falling from your lips. “I hope you know the only thing ruined here for us tonight is the fact this definitely won’t be the last time we do this.”

You’re used to doing everything alone – from the smallest thing, like running an errand when your groceries run out, to the biggest thing, like assembling an IKEA wardrobe which is two times bigger than your size. Which, you’re doing right now.

“Love?”

You turned your head when you heard someone – Fuma – calling for you, and you almost laughed at the terrified look written all over his face. Almost. Because suddenly you become aware of the ring adorning your fourth finger, and realize that you’re no longer dealing with everything alone – you’re married to him, and you were supposed to let him know about your plans in assembling an IKEA wardrobe in the living room.

“Hi?”

You awkwardly greet him before giving your best innocent smile, and Fuma heaved out a sigh while shaking his head. He then put away his briefcase before loosening up his tie.

“Let me take over this,”

He said as he put his blazer and tie on the couch, before he rolled up his sleeves up to his elbow. As much as you want to drool over your husband’s veins and his majestic forearm, you hold your thoughts back and shake your head, not wanting him to get involved in your projects.

“Love,”

“You just got back, you should take a rest. I can do this by myself, I swear. You should take a shower and I’ll heat up the dinner for you,”

“I know you can do this by yourself. But let me do this for you. This is… a safety hazard. This whole thing is twice your size, lovely. A slight mistake, and you’ll get hurt. I can’t afford to let that happen,”

You press your lips into a thin line as you ponder on his words. Fuma tries to take the cordless screw driver away from you, but you tighten your grip on it.

“My love, Y/N,”

“You had a long day at work,”

“I did,”

“So you have to rest,”

“How can I be at rest when I know that the love of my life is trying to build a heavy, big wardrobe alone. I know IKEA is all about Do-It-Yourself, but you have me, love. Sweetheart, please?”

You heaved out a deep sigh before your lips form a pout – you understand that Fuma is worried that you’re trying to do things by yourself, but you simply can’t allow him to help, considering that he just got off work.

“Love?”

“Fine. But you have to shower first. And let’s have dinner before we do this,”

“We?”

“Yes. I’m not letting my husband who just got off work doing this alone. And my husband is also not going to let me do this alone. So, we, will do this,”

Fuma smiles at your words and nods – he gathers his things and walks to the bedroom, before you can hear the shower being turned on. You, on the other hand, head to the kitchen to reheat the dinner that you made earlier, before serving it on the table.

“Thank you for the dinner,”

Fuma wraps his arm around your waist and drops a kiss on your temple before he sits down next to you, causing your lips to curl into a soft smile. The dinner begins with your usual conversation – asking how his day went, and if the lunch that you made was good.

“It was delicious, love. I bragged about it. Maki was annoyed because he forgot to bring his lunch, and also because I kept telling him that my wife packed my lunch,”

You laughed at his words – you can picture Maki’s facial expression in your mind: he was definitely furrowing his brows, frowning, and rolling his eyes as he listened to Fuma. That poor boy was probably done with Fuma too. 

After a few small talks, both Fuma and you finished the dinner. You were about to get up when Fuma pulled your wrist, making you turn to look at him with eyes full of questions.

“I have something to say,”

You slowly sit down, and Fuma turns his body to fully facing you.

“Love,”

Fuma holds your hand while looking into your eyes, and you can’t help but feel nervous over what he’s about to say.

“I know you’re used to doing things alone. But you have me now. I’m your husband, Y/N. Can you promise me that you will leave all the heavy things to me? You don’t have to worry about troubling me, and you don’t have to be independent anymore, love. You just have to sit down and be pretty for me, okay? I’ll do everything for you. Just name it and I’ll do it, for you.”

The nervousness that has been building up in your chest dissipates, and is replaced with warmth. He must have been really worried, you think to yourself, as your mind recalls the terrified look on his face earlier. 

“I'm sorry. I still can’t get used to it, I think. I don’t know, I just feel weird if I don’t do anything,”

“I understand. We can find… alternatives? Maybe you can do light gardening instead? Or baking? Anything, just not… trying to assemble a wardrobe by yourself,”

A pout appears on your lips, causing a small sigh to escape from Fuma’s lips. It seems that his ideas don't interest you, at least for now. Well, he can’t force you to change instantly – it’s a part of you, so he has to come up with something to compromise, until you learn to leave everything in his hand.

“How about, doing things together? Just like you said earlier. We will assemble the wardrobe together. We run errands together. Does that sound great to you?”

You press your lips into a thin line, before slowly nodding – together sounds better to you. It’ll make you feel less guilty for troubling him (despite him saying that you’re not, you can’t help but feel so). 

“Okay.”

You verbally agree to his words, and a smile etches on Fuma’s lips – happy that you’re willing to do things together. 

“Since you’ve cooked, I’ll wash the dishes. Okay?”

“But,”

“Together. We’re doing things together,”

You heaved out a deep sigh before nodding, reluctantly letting Fuma wash the dishes. After he finished, both of you head together to the living room to assemble the wardrobe. Fuma lets you be in charge of screws and hooks, while he holds the pieces together – the pieces are quite heavy, and it makes him wonder how you did it alone. You must have struggled. But even then… you’re still insisting on doing it alone. Fuma sighs and shakes his head, before making a mental note to keep assuring you to not do things alone anymore.

It takes about an hour for both of you to finally finish assembling the wardrobe, and Fuma slowly carries it into the room that you have turned into a walk-in closet.

“Okay, here is good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Here is great.”

Fuma pushes the wardrobe against the wall to properly secure its place. He then heaves a relieved sigh as everything goes smoothly – and most importantly, you didn’t get hurt.

“Are you okay? It must be tiring,”

You ask as you spot beads of sweat on his forehead. The guilt began to bloom in your chest again, feeling sorry for making your husband involved in this after a long day at work. And he’s working again tomorrow… you think to yourself and a pout forms on your lips again. 

“It’s not, love. Hey, do you think my muscles are only for display? I bulked up so that I can do these things with ease, and also…”

You yelp in surprise as Fuma picks you up by your waist – your legs now dangle in the air.

“I can pick you up.”

“That’s great! Can you put me down now, please?”

You smile at him, and Fuma shakes his head as he smiles at you – he then throws you over his shoulder, causing another yelp to escape your lips.

“Only God knows what you’ll do if I put you down and leave you alone. We’re leaving together, and we’re going to bed together.”

You huff at his words, feeling a bit defeated as Fuma somehow is able to see through you. You were going to shoo him away and assure him that you would be fine handling the rest (a.k.a. storing all the summer clothes away).

He gently puts you down on the bed, and an idea suddenly pops up in your mind. You watch as Fuma pulls the curtain down, and make sure he’s far enough from you before you attempt to run – Fuma is quick, of course. He grabs you by your waist once again, and brings you together with him to switch off the lights. You feel like you are his plushie, or something – he brings you around like you weigh nothing.

“No more running away.”

“Okay…”

You responded with a very defeated tone, and settled down on the bed, making yourself comfortable. Fuma too, lies down on the bed and wraps his arm around your waist while pulling you closer.

“Thank you for assembling the wardrobe together with me,”

You brush your nose against his, causing Fuma to giggle. 

“Thank you for willing to do things together, love.”

Fuma gently tucks your hair away from your face, before he drops a kiss on your lips.

“You’re not alone anymore. You have me. We’ll do things together. Or I’ll do it, for you. Okay?”

“Okay,”

“Good. Goodnight, love. I love you,”

“Goodnight, my husband. I love you more,”

additional notes: thank you for reading till the end <3

but there’s one complication. fuma.

the first time you met him, it was casual — nicholas introducing you with that grin of his, “she’s our friend, she’s one of us, so be nice.” you laughed it off, bowing politely, thinking nothing of it. but then fuma looked up at you, and there was something in the way his eyes softened, the way his smile curved, that lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest.

and now, every time you’re over, it’s the same cycle. you’ll be sprawled on the couch next to euijoo, pretending to care about whatever show he’s got on, but your gaze always drifts. you catch yourself staring — fuma’s hair falling into his face while he laughs at something nicholas says, his hands moving gracefully when he gestures, the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

you think you’re subtle, but your heart doesn’t seem to agree. it pounds every time his shoulder brushes yours in the kitchen, every time he glances your way in the middle of a conversation.

you never talk much when he’s around. it’s not that you don’t want to — it’s that the words dry up in your throat, your shyness wrapping tight around you like a net. you’ll answer if he asks you something, always polite, but never daring to add more. and then you scold yourself later, lying awake in bed, thinking about all the things you could’ve said.

nicholas teases you sometimes. you’ll catch him giving you that knowing look when your eyes inevitably follow fuma across the room. you’ll hiss at him under your breath, “shut up,” cheeks blazing, but he just laughs, nudging you like an annoying older brother. euijoo isn’t much better, though he’s more subtle about it — the sly smile, the raised eyebrow when fuma happens to walk in and you immediately stiffen.

and fuma? god, you’re convinced he doesn’t notice. how could he? he’s older, more confident, carrying himself with that calm presence that makes everyone around him feel at ease. he’s always kind to you — offering you snacks when he’s cooking, making sure you have a blanket when the dorm gets cold — but you tell yourself that’s just who he is: kind, thoughtful, a natural caretaker, just like he acts with the rest of the group.

still, sometimes you wonder.

like the night you were all playing cards on the floor. you lost spectacularly, and nicholas was making a whole show of it, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. you were hiding your face in your hands, mortified, when fuma’s voice came, low and warm: “don’t tease her too much.” you peeked through your fingers to find him smiling at you, gentle, like he was on your side.

your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might actually throw up.

or the time you were scrolling through your phone on the couch and realized he was sitting across from you, watching something on his laptop. you kept stealing glances, thinking you were safe, when suddenly his eyes flicked up and locked on yours. you froze, deer-in-headlights, and he just… smiled. you looked away so fast your neck hurt, heart hammering against your ribs.

you tell yourself you’re just imagining it. that he probably smiles at everyone that way. but still, it lingers. the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he sees you too.

the crush eats at you in quiet moments. brushing your teeth, you’ll think about what it would feel like if he leaned down to kiss you. cooking ramen with euijoo, you’ll picture fuma wandering in, sliding his arms around your waist, murmuring something low in your ear. you know it’s hopeless, but the daydreams won’t stop.

and the worst part? the longing has started to bleed into everything. when he’s not around, you find yourself scrolling through clips of him, searching his face in group photos, listening too closely when nicholas casually mentions him. when you’re with him, you can barely breathe, trapped between wanting to disappear and wanting to stay forever.

you don’t say a word, it’s safer this way — to keep the crush tucked away in your chest. you’d rather suffer in silence than risk ruining the easy comfort you have with nicholas, euijoo, and the whole group.

still, every time fuma laughs, every time his eyes meet yours across the room, it feels less like a secret and more like a fire that won’t stop burning.

and deep down, a part of you wonders how much longer you’ll be able to keep it hidden.

it happens on one of those nights where the dorm feels too full — laughter spilling from every corner, euijoo and nicholas arguing over some game, music humming in the background. you’re curled up on the arm of the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but really you’re doing what you always do: sneaking glances at fuma.

he’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, shoulders broad even in the loose hoodie he’s wearing. his hair falls forward as he focuses on whatever’s happening in front of him, but he pushes it back with those strong, veined hands, and your chest squeezes tight.

you think you’re being subtle. you always think you are.

but this time, when you look up, his eyes are already on you.

you freeze. caught.

he doesn’t look away. his gaze lingers, soft but steady, like he’s been waiting for you to finally notice. the noise of the room dulls in your ears, every sound swallowed by the sharp, fast pounding of your heart.

you tear your eyes back to your phone, cheeks blazing, hoping maybe he’ll just forget it happened. but then you hear it — your name, spoken in his voice. low. uncertain.

you glance up again, and he’s shifting closer, his large frame moving carefully, like he doesn’t want to startle you. he settles beside the couch, tilting his head up to catch your gaze, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees.

“can i… ask you something?” his words are hesitant, but his eyes are steady, searching yours.

you swallow hard. “y-yeah?”

he looks down for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s working up the courage. when he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost shy. “why do you… always look at me like that?”

your breath catches.

he must see the panic in your face, because he immediately waves his hands, stumbling over his own words. “ah, sorry, that sounded—i didn’t mean it in a bad way. i just… i notice. sometimes. a lot, actually.”

his ears are red. bright red, glowing against his pale skin. for someone built like him — tall, broad-shouldered, strong — he suddenly looks impossibly gentle, like he’s terrified of pushing you away.

you want to deny it. to laugh it off, to tell him he’s imagining things. but the way he’s looking at you — cautious, hopeful, like he already knows the truth — makes the words stick in your throat.

“i…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “i guess… i can’t help it.”

his eyes widen. for a moment, he just stares, lips parted, like the words short-circuited his brain. then, slowly, his expression shifts. his shoulders relax, his mouth curves, and the smallest, shyest smile spreads across his face.

“you… like me?” he asks, voice breaking a little on the last word.

you bury your face in your hands, mortified, but he laughs — soft, breathless, not mocking at all. “ah, don’t hide. please.” he gently tugs at your wrist, coaxing your hands away. “i just… i didn’t think… you’d ever feel that way about me.”

your heart stutters. “why not?”

his smile turns sheepish, his gaze dropping to his lap. “because you’re… you. and i’m… me. i’m not really good at this stuff.” he rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered, but his words are honest. “i thought if i tried to talk to you more, i’d just mess it up.”

you blink at him, stunned. all this time you thought you were the only one tripping over your feelings.

“fuma…” you say softly, leaning down just a little, “you couldn’t mess it up.”

his head snaps up, eyes wide and shining, and for a moment he just stares, like he’s trying to commit the sight of you to memory. then, very carefully, he lifts one of those big hands and rests it near yours on the couch cushion. not touching, not yet — just close, an unspoken question.

you slide your fingers over his before you can second-guess yourself.

he exhales shakily, shoulders slumping in relief, his hand curling gently around yours.

the noise of nicholas and euijoo carries on in the background, oblivious, but in this little corner of the room, it feels like it’s only the two of you. fuma’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, tentative but tender, and he looks at you with that shy, boyish smile that makes your stomach flip all over again.

“so… you’ll keep looking at me,” he murmurs, voice almost teasing now, though still soft. “but maybe, this time, i can look back?”

your laugh is quiet, nervous, full of warmth. “yeah. i’d like that.”

and when his grip tightens just slightly, anchoring you there beside him, you realize you’re not the only one who’s been quietly longing all this time.

fuma

having murata fuma as your bodyguard is torture because he takes his job seriously. like, wayyy too seriously. he won't let you go anywhere without him. won't let anyone get too close. and he maintains perfect, professional distance even when you're very obviously flirting. you're a young actress who rose to fame pretty quick — used to getting what you want, and what you want is him. so, sure, maybe you're a little spoilt. but, you genuinely admire fuma as a person and you've been chasing him since your agency assigned him six months ago. it finally reaches a breaking point in your hotel room after a premiere, adrenaline still high from cameras and crowds. you're done playing games. "i need you, fuma," you tell him bluntly. he's standing by the door like always, arms crossed and expression unreadable. "that's inappropriate," he answers robotically. "i'm employed to protect you, nothing more—" you cross the room and kiss him in an instant, cutting off whatever speech he was about to make and, for a second, he's frozen. then he's kissing you back like a fucking dam broke, walking you backward until you hit the wall. "this is a bad idea," he whispers as he's lifting you up urgently, your legs wrapping around his waist. "we could get caught. mffnghh, y-you could lose your reputation." you've gone over the same thing in your head several times. you just don't care. you've been craving this for too long to give a shit about consequences. as soon as you're done breathlessly conveying all of this to your precious bodyguard, he fucks you against that wall still fully clothed, your underwear pushed aside and his pants shoved down enough. it's rough and desperate and everything you've been fantasising about. "been thinking about this," he admits through gritted teeth, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your thigh. "every time you'd smile at me. every time you'd touch my arm. god... you knew exactly what you were doing to me." hearing him confess has your eyes rolling back and your pussy clenching around him. you bite his shoulder when you come, and he follows with a groan that vibrates through both your bodies. after, he sets you down carefully and steps back. you think he's going to say it was a mistake. instead, he surprises you, "tomorrow we're establishing some ground rules because this is happening again."

nicholas

the problem with wanting nicholas is that he's completely aware of it and uses it against you mercilessly. he's your best friend's older brother, objectively gorgeous and he's been off-limits since you were teenagers. now, you're all adults and he's started doing this thing where he stands too close, says things with a double entendre and looks at you like he's thinking extremely inappropriate thoughts. it drives you insane. especially because your best friend has explicitly forbidden it approximately eight hundred times. everything changes at her housewarming party when nicholas corners you in the bathroom. there's no pretense this time. no playing around. he just locks the door and groans—"been wanting to do this for years"—before dropping to his knees and pushing your dress up. he eats you out with your back against the door, your hand over your mouth because your best friend is literally outside mingling with guests. when you coat his tongue with your juices, he doesn't stop. in fact, he makes you come twice more before he even unbuckles his belt and, by the time he's pushing inside you, you're so oversensitive every thrust feels like heaven and hell combined. "this what you wanted, right?" he mutters against your ear, fucking into you with deep, measured strokes. "wanted me to ruin you, baby? make it so you can't even look at my sister without thinking about this?" he's not wrong. you'll never be able to attend another family dinner without remembering this... without aching for it again. once you both finish, he helps you clean up with gentle hands that contrast sharply with how rough he was only a few minutes ago. the moment you rejoin the party, your best friend immediately knows something happened. "what did he do?" she demands, glaring at nicholas across the room, naively assuming that he was bothering you. not that he gave you the best dicking down of your life. "nothing," you lie, trying not to notice the way nicholas smirks at you like he's already planning round two.

ej

the thing about taking professor euijoo's seminar on contemporary literature is that he makes everything sound vaguely sexual. or maybe that's just you projecting because you've had the world's most inappropriate crush on him since the semester started. he's young for a professor—literally only five years older than you—which somehow makes it worse. you're a senior, about to graduate, and you've spent sixteen weeks watching him lecture, staying after class and pretending you need help with concepts you definitely understand. it comes to a head during your final office hours before graduation. you're supposed to be discussing your thesis, but the conversation shifts. "something's bothering you," he observes, leaning back in his chair. "are you facing some trouble with the conclusion we drafted? because i understand some concerns you may have—" you could lie. you probably should lie. but, you've never been the rational type, “after this, i have no excuse to see you anymore." euijoo's rambling stops abruptly. his expression shifts, something heated and dangerous replacing the usual formal distance. "that's... you shouldn't say things like that." however, he's already standing up, moving around the desk to where you're sitting. "like what? the truth?" you stand too, close enough now to see his pupils dilate, “that i've wanted you all semester? that i've thought about you in extremely unprofessional ways? that i've noticed you pay more attention to me because i'm the best in your class?" his control visibly cracks. he shoves his tongue down your throat like he's been holding back for months (which he has, by the way), and before you can process it, you're bent over his desk with your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair. "this isn't right," he's already pushing inside you with a pathetic whine, both of you gasping at the stretch. "i-i'm your professor. i could lose everything." regardless, he doesn't stop. he fucks you harder, one hand covering your mouth because the department head's office is across the hall. when you’re done climaxing the first time, he makes you squirt as you ride him while he watches before he lets himself finish. the whole time he's muttering about how wrong this is, how good you feel, how your pussy is multitudes better than he'd imagined. when you're both fixing yourselves up with shaking hands, he awkwardly clears his throat, "you're graduating in three weeks..." he trails off, but you get it. of course you do. once you graduate, you're not his student anymore. once you graduate, there are no rules. you smile and wink at him, the promise of this happening again lingering in the air.