#fuma x reader

# Fuma

wears the cutest pokemon pjm sets and buys one for you too so you can match with him. he will sleep on his back, one arm holding you on his side and against his chest (just imagine those strong muscles around you, oh god😵) still, he feels warm and soft. you will feel so safe in his arms fr.

wakes up early in the morning, like REALLY early. he makes sure to tuck you in under the blanket and leave a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room to go do some chores. will come back hours later and take you into his arms, softly caressing your hair until you wake up naturally. he will greet you with the softest "good morning" and a very sweet kiss.

# Nicholas

clingy asf. he sleeps shirtless, so he will use you as a warmth source. the moment you get in bed, his leg is throw over you, arms around your waist like a big teddy bear. he likes to nuzzle his face on your shoulder and leave little kisses on the skin there. also loves to receive love from you; soft caresses on his arm or small forehead kisses will help him relax and fall asleep faster <3

WON'T wake up in the morning. likes to sleep until late. it's usual for you to find him all curlep up against you, lips slightly parted as he breathes out softly. if you try to wake him up, he will only hold you closer until he decides it's time to start the day.

plus: i think he also likes to be the little spoon, especially when he's too tired or stressed. will even let you play with his hair if he really needs the comfort :(

# Euijoo

i feel like he's not really into cuddling a lot for some reason.. still, he won't deny you if you really want to hug him. he will wrap his arms around you, his grip very gentle, and rub your back to help you get sleepy. also loves to hold your hand, leave kisses on it and nuzzle his nose against your knuckles. i can see him humming some song into your ear just because he knows his voice will help you relax.

sometimes he wakes up before you. when he does, he likes to run his fingers through your hair and just watch you sleep, because he thinks you look so pretty and cute like that. he will be sooo careful with his movements tho in order not to wake you up. the first thing you will see when you finally open your eyes is his pretty perfect smile and slightly blushed cheeks. he's just the biggest sweetheart i swear.

# Yuma

you will be envolved in his arms as soon as you get in bed with him. i swear, that man WON'T let go of you. he's just so cat lol. he's another one who sleeps shirtless so you'll basically be squished against his chest. he can be a little freaky devil so he might slide his hand under your shirt and purposely make you shiver when caressing your skin with his fingertips. i feel like he will also slide his hand under your panties saying "it's just too warm" LOL.

will throw a tantrum if you try to wake him up, turning around and hiding under the blankets like a little kid. he will pout and try to give you the puppy eyes just so you stay with him a little bit more. and ofc you'll find yourself falling for it, who wouldn't?

# Jo

oh he's so lovely and soft. he likes to have your head on his chest as you two watch a movie on his laptop before sleeping. when he notices you've fallen asleep, he will carefully craddle you in his arms and put the blanket around you. he will wrap his arm around your shoulders, hide his face on your hair and just breathe in your scent. he will give you so many kisses while you sleep, since he won't feel as shy as when you're awake.

mornings with him are so quiet. he always whispers "morning..." (with that slightly raspy, deep voice), before kissing your cheek and bringing you in for a hug and some cuddles. he stays in bed for a while, silently scrolling on his phone while playing with your hair with his other hand. if you fall asleep again, sometimes he will join too. he just loves feeling you close.

# Taki

so clingy in a playful way. he will trap you in his arms and shower your face and neck with kisses, all while giggling like crazy. once he starts feeling sleepy tho, he lets his head fall on your chest, a silent request for head pats. he loves feeling your touch against his cheeks or through his hair, it makes him feel so safe. if one day you're feeling down or just need some extra love, he will give you EVERYTHING. hugs, kisses, reassuring... he will even share some snacks with you and listen to whatever you wanna talk about before sleeping. he won't let you go to bed feeling sad. never.

he's actually really responsible and wakes up quite early. he will give you the biggest smile and hug in the morning, just to make sure you start the day with a smile. will cook breakfast for you, just to have the excuse to steal kisses from you at every bite you take.

# Harua

loves to hug something (you) in bed. you two will lay on your sides so you can look at each other's faces while cuddling. he loves talking with you in the darkness of the night. also kisses a lot, giggles everytime he accidentally kisses the tip of your nose instead of your lips. a lot of skinship is also involved; his hands roaming along your hips, thighs, waist... but always in the sweetest, most intimate way.

a bit difficult to wake up, he needs some time to shake off sleep. will burrow himself in your neck to hide from the morning sunlight and will probably end up falling asleep again. or if he wakes up in another mood, will start kissing you there instead, press closer against you until you get the message of what he wants. will do it under the blankets for sure.

# Maki

he doesn't really care how you two sleep, but you mostly end up with your head resting on his arm (biceps🤤). one of his hands will rest in the back of your head or your nape, just so he can push you closer and kiss you whenever he wants. he likes to feel your arm around his torso and interwine your legs together.

you try your best not to look visibly flustered. three years in, and he still makes butterflies erupt in your stomach with just a few words. “thanks, baby. help me choose my necklace?”

“sure. turn around for me.”

from the upward curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes, you should’ve seen it coming—but still, he manages to take you by surprise as you turn around to face him and are instantly met with his lips to yours.

“yudai!” you say, trying to sound chiding only laughing. “i spent so long on my lip combo,” you whine, turning back around to check your makeup in the mirror. you’re good to do your lips all over. 

“sorry, baby.” he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “you just looked too good, couldn’t help myself. here,” he says, reaching with a thumb, presumably to wipe your smudged lipstick—only to press his lips to yours once more.

fuma

you’re finishing up your makeup in front of the bathroom mirror when your boyfriend walks in. he seems only to be here to fetch something—but when he sees you, he changes his plans, coming up stand behind you instead, hands firm on your hips as he starts to press kisses to the side of your neck. you sigh, half letting yourself melt into his touch, half aware you have plans you’re going to be late for if you let him have his way.

“what did i do to deserve you, hm? i must’ve saved the country in a past life,” he hums against your skin. 

“don’t distract me, fuma. i need to do my lip combo.”

“hm? i’m not doing anything,” he says, pressing himself closer to you, arms coming to wrap around your waist.

you swear you feel something hard against your lower back. “fuma,” you say, your tone a warning—as much for him as for you.

“what can i do when my baby looks this good?”

“you can keep it in your pants,” you bite back, making him laugh.

you manage to ignore him until you’ve applied your lip gloss. you pop your lips, proud of your work, then turn around. “okay, i’m ready to—” you’re cut off by your boyfriend’s mouth on yours.

you’re just a girl—when fuma’s lips move against yours like this, so messy and desperate like he couldn’t wait a second longer, your lower back pressed against the sink, you can’t help but kiss him back.

“we’re gonna be late,” you mutter weakly.

“they can wait,” he says, pulling you into another kiss.

nicholas

“all this? for a girl’s night?” your boyfriend asks, sitting up on your shared bed.

“yes, nicho, all this.” you ignore his pouting—you’ve had this conversation countless times already.

putting his phone down on the pillow next to him with more force than needed, he crawls over to you, sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at your reflection in the mirror. “what do you need to look so good for?”

“it makes me feel confident. we’ve been over this.”

“you’d make a trash bag look sexy, baby.”

you sigh, picking up your lipstick. “that’s nice of you to say, angel. but i’m not wearing a trash bag to the club.”

with a discontented sigh, he gets up from the bed and wraps his arm around your neck from behind your, letting his forehead rest on your shoulder. that’s nicholas for you—always needy when it’s least convenient for you. “careful, baby,” you say gently. “i’m doing my lipstick.”

“i hate knowing other guys are going to see you like this.”

“who cares about other guys when it’s you i’m coming home to,” you say, probably word for word from the last time you went out without him. you’re coming off annoyed, but really, you love seeing him like this.

“i’m gonna miss you tonight,” he says, kissing your bare shoulder. it makes you shiver—he smirks at you in the mirror, fully aware of what he’s doing.

“i thought euijoo was coming over?” you ask, trying to keep your tone steady as your boyfriend kisses up your neck.

he hums. “still gonna miss you.”

then, without warning, he presses his lips to yours. “nicho!” you exclaim, leaning back. his grin is wicked as you check your reflection. “i’m gonna have to do my lip combo all over again.”

“fix it, baby. i’ll mess it up again.”

euijoo

you’re leaning toward the mirror, lips parted in concentration as you finish your makeup. euijoo has been watching from the doorway for a small while, arms crossed over his chest, a small, adoring smile on his lips. “you almost ready to go, baby?” he asks softly.

you nod. “yeah, just a minute.” you’re meeting his parents for the first time tonight at a fancy restaurant, and you want to make the best first impression possible. you’ve put it in your mind that your makeup needs to be perfect to do that. “do i look okay?” you ask, smoothing out your dress anxiously.

in a few steps, euijoo has crossed the distance between you, and plants himself behind you, one hand on your waist, the other brushing your hair behind your shoulder. he leans down to press a kiss to the crook of your neck. “you look gorgeous, as always. what are you so nervous about? i’ve only told them great things about you, they’ll love you.”

“i know, i just—i want them to think i’m worthy of you.”

he laughs light-heartedly. “worthy? baby, by the end of the evening they’ll probably wonder how i got you to date me.”

you pout, slowly letting yourself be soothed by your boyfriend’s words and gentle demeanor. “you really think?”

“of course. what can i do to ease your nerves?”

you recognize that tone—he wants something he won’t outright ask you for. but even if he doesn’t care, you won’t be late for your dinner plans. so instead of letting yourself melt into his touch, you offer your cheek to him. it’ll have to do for now.

euijoo smiles, pressing his soft lips to your cheek, and the simple touch has you relaxing already. but he presses another one, and another, progressively getting closer to your mouth—”not my lips, baby. i don’t want to mess up my lipstick.”

his lips find the corner of yours, and when he leans back, a little lip gloss shines on the corner of his lips. you shake your head, lightly admonishing him as you wipe the makeup up with your thumb. “juju…” 

he only gazes down fondly at you. “you’re perfect,” he muses.

yuma

after months of being with yuma, you should know that whatever you tell him not to do, he’ll take as a challenge to do. really, it’s your fault for telling him not to distract you while you’re doing your makeup, and not to kiss you after you’ve applied your lipstick. you even give him a minute to get it all out of his system—but it only does the opposite. after the kiss, he’s even needier, clingy as he wraps his arms around your waist tightly, burying his face in your hair.

“don’t go,” he mumbles.

“it’s for work, baby, i don’t have a choice.”

“i can’t just kiss you for a minute,” he whines. “it’s not nearly enough.”

“you’ll have all the time you need when i come back, okay?”

he frowns at you in the mirror—changing his strategy from whiny to upset? in any case, it doesn’t work. you ignore his glare as you apply your lipgloss. he plants kisses along your neck, your jawline, but every time he tries to get near your lips, you lean away.

he huffs. “what’s the point of having lips so pretty if your boyfriend can’t even kiss them?”

“the one time i ask you not to kiss me, i swear,” you mumble. “you’re not going to die.”

he rests his hand on his heart, fakes a pained expression. “i just might.”

you push him away with your hip, tell him to leave you alone—you’re surprised when he actually does. he’s waiting for you in the hallway when you’re done. you think that maybe he’s matured when he helps you slip on the shoes he picked out for you, and are about to thank him when he stands and, before you can react, traps your lips in a kiss. not even just a peck that won’t do too much damage—a full-on mess of a kiss, tongue and all, his hands firm on your hips so you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.

when he leans back, his grin is wickedly smug. “uh-oh, baby. i think you’re gonna have to redo your lipstick.”

jo

if you explicitly tell him not to, your perfect baby never messes up your makeup. he saw how long it took you to get your lip combo perfect before the party, so when you tell him, “no kisses, tonight,” he follows that rule to a tee.

it doesn’t mean he’s not desperate to kiss you, though. as you get ready together, he has to content himself with pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead, and stops himself from pouting when you can’t reciprocate. during the party, his eyes keep drifting to the lipstick staining the rim of your cup, and he’s always ready to wipe a smudge if you mess up your makeup while eating. he has the self-restraint of a saint when you use him instead of a mirror to reapply your lipgloss, dumbly nodding when you ask him whether it looks okay.

after the party, as you’re waiting outside for your uber, his jacket around your shoulders, he briefly wonders whether he should wait until you get home, then decides against it. you look so cute, slightly swaying on your feet from the wine you drank, a contented smile on your face, your hand warm in his. “can i kiss you, y/n?” he asks softly. you nod happily.

the feeling of his lips on yours is such a relief after waiting all night for it. by the time your uber arrives, he’s wearing as much lipstick as you are.

harua

“okay, baby, i’m off,” you call from the hallway, slipping on your shoes.

from his position on the couch, harua perks up. “aren’t you forgetting something?”

you look inside your purse. keys, phone, wallet. “nope, i’m all good.”

he frowns, then makes his way to you. arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, he says, “you sure about that?”

your features relax into a smile. “baby, i’m sorry, i can’t kiss you. i spent too long on this lip combo to mess it up.”

your boyfriend is unimpressed. he glares at you without a word.

you walk up to him, ruffle his hair. “i’ll give you all the kisses you want when i get home, okay?”

clearly, this isn’t good enough an offer. too quickly for you to react, he leans in, presses his lips to yours firmly. then, with a huff, he walks back to the couch. you check your lips in your front camera—the damage’s been done.

“haru!”

when you look at him, there’s a small smirk playing on his lips. you’d be mad at him if he wasn’t so adorable. “have fun, angel,” he says, plopping some chips inside his mouth.

taki

the entire time you’ve been getting ready, your boyfriend has been gazing longingly at you like a lovesick puppy. it’d be distracting if you weren’t so used to it—rare are the moments you spend together when at least his hands or his eyes aren’t on you. from when you chose your outfit to now, as you’re sitting at your vanity, lips parted as you apply your liner, he’s been laying on your shared bed, staring at you like you hung the stars in the night sky.

he’s been quiet this entire time, so when he starts making his way to you, telling you how pretty you look, you know he’s up to no good. before he’s even touched you, you warn, “taki, don’t. the tutor is so strict, i can’t be late for this class.”

“who said anything about making you late?” he asks, a playful smirk on his lips as his hands find your shoulders, your hair. he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “i just wanted to admire you from up close.”

“you can do that without bothering me.”

he looks at you like a wounded puppy. you roll your eyes—you know taki isn’t really offended, he just likes to pretend he is so you’ll baby him. “fine. one kiss, okay? just one. and on my cheek.”

you shouldn’t have been so trusting. your boyfriend holds your head steady as he plants his kiss to your cheek, but of course, he doesn’t stop there. as you try to squirm away from him, he peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, your chin, your nose, your forehead, and, eventually, your lips. 

he grins proudly, admiring his work in the mirror—the lip gloss on his lips, the smudges around yours. “thanks a lot, taki,” you mumble.

“the pleasure is all mine, babe.”

maki

you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap in front of your vanity as you apply the final traces of lipstick for you lip combo. you’re both staring at your reflection in the mirror, you in concentration, him in quiet, lovesick adoration. you’re apart for one evening and he’s acting like it’s the end of the world. his big arms feel warm and reassuring around your body, his chin a welcome weight on your shoulder, but if you told him how much harder he’s making it to go out without him, he’d find a million reasons for you to stay in. however, you can’t bail on bottomless brunch with your girls.

“i get that girlhood is important and all, but surely us boyfriends could tag along once in a while?” he mumbles, pouting against your shoulder.

you smile. “we can’t gossip about you guys if you’re here.”

he gasps dramatically. “you gossip about me? what do you say?”

you ignore him as you lean forward, admiring your work. satisfied with yourself, you shift on maki’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “how do i look?”

his features soften into a fond smile. “perfect, baby.”

when he leans in for a kiss, you tut at him. “nuh-uh. i’m not letting you mess up my lip combo.”

he raises an eyebrow. “oh?”

suddenly, his hold on you tightens—you try to squirm out of his arms, but he’s too strong for you. “no! maki!” you exclaim, giggling. 

he peppers kisses all over your lips, and by the time he’s done, there’s more lipstick on his lips than on yours. you sigh as you check your makeup in the mirror. “great, i have to do it all over again now.”

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. 

He wonders what it would be like to slide himself inside you while you’re like this: completely soft, completely unaware, deep in your dreams. To push slow and deep, filling you up until you’re stretched tight around him, warm and wet and squeezing him perfectly, while you sleep right through it. Would you stir? Would you mumble something soft, shift your hips just a little, unconsciously taking him deeper? Or would you stay perfectly still, letting him use your body however he wants, completely at his mercy?

To him, this is the purest form of devotion. Love isn’t just wanting someone when they want you back — it’s wanting them even when they don’t know you’re there. It’s giving every part of yourself, even the parts they never see. He thinks about waking up beside you, watching you stretch, slow and sleepy, your eyes still heavy, no memory at all of how he spent the whole night buried inside you, pumping load after load deep into your cunt until you were dripping full of him, his cum leaking out around his base and running down your thighs in thick, sticky rivulets. You’d be sore, shaky, your legs wobbly when you stood up, and you’d just think you slept wrong… while he’d know exactly why. He’d know every inch of you, every soft sound you made, every clench of your walls around him.

He craves that more than anything — to be infused with you, to be inside you every second he can, even when you don’t know it. To leave a part of himself inside you every night, so you carry him with you even when you’re awake. To dissolve the line between him and you until there is no “you” and “him” — only one.

And he loves the other side of it too — the thought of you using him.

Kei is a heavy sleeper; once he drifts off, he’s dead to the world, completely limp and pliant. And the idea of you climbing on top of him while he’s out cold, your hands gripping his chest, your hips rolling slow and greedy, taking whatever you want from him, selfishly chasing your own pleasure without asking, without him even knowing… it makes his head spin. He thinks: What greater purpose is there, than to be used by the one you worship? He’d lie there, cock hard and throbbing in your grip, veins pulsing under your fingers, while you rode him until you were satisfied, and he’d wake up in the morning aching, sticky, covered in your slick and his own cum, and so incredibly proud that you’d used him exactly how you liked.

One night he finally does it. He slips between your legs slow, careful not to wake you, his hands gripping your hips tight, pulling you open just enough. He spits down onto your folds, thick and warm, rubbing the wetness over your puffy clit and deep into your dripping entrance, watching your body shiver softly in your sleep. He lines himself up, the thick, flushed, glistening head of his cock pressing against your warm, soft opening, and pushes in slow, inch by inch, groaning quiet and deep when your walls suck him in tight, hot and perfect, hugging every ridge and vein like you were made only for this.

You sigh, shifting your hips just a little, pushing back against him like you know, like your body already belongs to him even when your mind doesn’t.

“Good girl,” he whispers, voice rough and broken, starting to roll his hips slow and deep, grinding himself as far inside you as he can go until his balls are pressed tight against your ass. “Just sleep, baby. Just let me fill you up. Let me be part of you forever.”

He fucks you slow and deep for hours, dragging every stroke out, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough to make your whole body jolt, drinking in every soft little whimper and gasp you make. He reaches down to rub your clit fast while he’s buried deep, making you gush so much wetness it soaks the sheets under you, your pussy squelching loud and messy every time he moves. He fills you up over and over, hot, thick cum flooding your womb each time, until you’re absolutely overflowing, dripping with him, sticky and messy everywhere.

When morning comes, you wake up stretching, yawning, your legs sore and heavy, feeling warm and fuzzy and completely stuffed full, and you have no idea why. Kei just smiles, pulls you close, and kisses your forehead, his hand resting low on your stomach — right where he knows he still is, deep inside you, part of you forever.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ FUMA —

Fuma is always composed. Always in control. Always the calm, sophisticated man who never lets anything ruffle him, never lets anyone see what’s underneath. He bottles everything up — his desires, his hunger, his weakness — and keeps it locked tight away. To the world, he is order, reason, restraint. But you know the truth: control is just a cage he built… and you hold the key.

He’s spent his whole life believing that strength means holding on. But you taught him that true strength is letting go. That there is no greater power than surrendering completely to someone you trust.

One evening, you’re lying together in bed, tangled up in sheets, talking lazily about anything and everything, your hand resting idly on his chest, tracing slow circles over his heart. You laugh soft and low, and say, half‑joking, “y’know… I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to take control completely. To just… use you however I want, even when you’re asleep. You’re so pretty when you’re helpless.”

The second the words leave your mouth, Fuma freezes. His breath catches, his whole body goes still, and his eyes go wide, dark and blown out. It’s new. It’s foreign. It’s strange — and it makes his dick throb so hard it hurts, leaking pre‑cum instantly into his briefs. He’s never thought about it before, never imagined himself in that position… but god, does he want it. Because to be used by you isn’t weakness — it’s the highest honor he could ever receive.

He turns his head to look at you, cheeks flushed pink, voice low and shaky, barely above a whisper. “You… you could do that? Whenever you want? Without even asking?”

You grin, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “Sure. But I won’t tell you when. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

And that’s exactly what he wants.

After that, he sleeps better than he ever has. Every night he lies down, his heart beating fast, already half‑hard just thinking about it, hoping you’ll choose tonight. He makes sure he falls deep, deep asleep — heavy, relaxed, completely open for you, laying his body out like an offering on an altar.

And you do.

When he’s out cold, breathing slow and deep, face soft and peaceful, you pull the covers back, straddle his hips, and take him in your hand. He’s already hard, throbbing, veiny, the tip swollen and red and dripping clear fluid just waiting for you. You wrap your fingers tight around his thick length, twisting your wrist, rubbing your thumb hard over the sensitive slit, spreading his pre‑cum down his shaft. You stroke him slow, firm, teasing him until he’s dripping wet, until his cock is twitching and aching in your grip, until sticky strands of precum stick to your skin.

You work him perfectly — fast enough to make him writhe, slow enough to make it drag, twisting and squeezing and rubbing exactly where he’s most sensitive. You pull three, four orgasms out of him, one after another, milking every drop he has until he’s oversensitive, until tears start to leak from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, his whole body trembling and twitching, soft broken moans falling from his lips that he won't remember making. Each time he cums, thick, hot ropes shoot out, covering your hand, his stomach, his chest, sticky and messy and endless, until he’s completely drained, his cock still hard and throbbing even though he has nothing left to give.

To him, this is freedom. Absolute liberation. To be stripped of all dignity, all control, all sense of self — and to be left with only you.

When you’re done, you clean him up gently, licking every last drop of his cum off his skin, kissing every inch of him, his face, his neck, his chest, whispering how good he was, how perfect he is for you.

In the morning, he wakes up dizzy, heavy‑limbed, feeling like he’s been fucked through the mattress, his skin sticky and sensitive, but unbelievably well‑rested. He blinks awake, and you’re already there, smiling sweet, kissing his lips soft and slow.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmur, stroking his hair. “You did so well last night. So perfect for me.”

He doesn’t remember exactly what happened, but he feels it deep in his bones — the pleasure, the release, the feeling of being completely yours. He pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, and smiles. “Anything for you. Always. I exist only to be used by you.”

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ TAKI —

If Kei wants to be infused with you, Taki wants to cease to exist as anything but part of you.

He’s always been insatiable — hungry for touch, hungry for affection, hungry for you. But it’s more than just lust. He’s thought about it a thousand times: Why should we be two separate people? Why should there be skin and bone between us? If he could have it his way then he would want stop existing as an independent person and instead exist only as extension of you. He needs you more than air, more than sleep, more than anything else in the world. You are his oxygen, his blood, his heart. Without you, he is nothing.

It doesn’t matter if he's tired, sick, awake or asleep — if you want him, he’s yours. If he wants you, he takes you. And the idea of you using him while he sleeps? Or him waking up already buried deep inside you? It drives him absolutely wild. Because even in his dreams, his soul is already reaching for you. 

He falls asleep hard and fast, always tangled up with you, one leg thrown over yours, his hand resting somewhere on your body — your waist, your hip, your breast — like even in sleep he can’t stand to be far away. His cock is already half hard, pressed heavy against your thigh, warm and waiting.

You’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find him already hard, fully erect and throbbing, his hips rolling slow, sleepy and mindless, grinding his fat, leaking cock against your ass, trying to push inside you even while he’s dreaming. Or you’ll climb on top of him, sink down onto his dick slow and wet, your pussy swallowing him inch by inch until he’s completely buried inside you, and ride him hard and fast, bouncing up and down, your tits bouncing in his face, your walls squeezing him tight.

He doesn’t even wake up fully — his eyes stay closed, head thrown back, mouth hanging open, drool slipping down his chin, and he just moans loud and happy, his hands flying to your hips to grip them tight, helping you slam down onto him over and over.

“Mmm… y/n… feels so good… s’deep… so tight…” he’ll mumble, grinding up into you hard, his balls slapping against your ass wet and loud. “Need more… need all of it… never stop… wanna live inside you forever…” 

And when its his turn? He fucks you like a starved animal, messy and loud and greedy. He pulls out and slams back in so hard the bed frame creaks and shakes, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you every single time. You’re both soaked — your slick dripping down his shaft, coating his balls, pooling under you, making everything wet and slippery and squelching with every movement. He cums over and over, thick loads flooding your pussy, filling you up until it leaks out around his base and runs down your legs in thick, sticky streams, and he still doesn’t stop. He keeps going, over‑stimulated and sensitive, whining and crying, because he needs to be as deep inside you as physically possible.

To him, every time he comes inside you is a promise: I am here. I am yours. I will never leave.

He doesn’t care how, doesn’t care when, doesn’t care who starts it. As long as he’s inside you, as long as he’s filled you up, as long as he belongs to you completely — that’s all that matters. He’ll cum until he’s drained, until you’re both messy and sticky and exhausted, and he’ll still be holding you tight, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, whispering how much he loves you, how he never wants to leave your body.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ MAKI —

Everyone sees Maki as big, strong, capable. They mistake broad shoulders and easy confidence for authority, assuming he's the one calling the shots. But you know the truth: strength is only useful if it’s used for the right thing. And his only purpose, his only true strength, is serving you. 

He’s spent his whole trying to build the image of the protector, being the one who stands tall. But with you? He loves the way all that strength melts away. He loves the way he becomes soft, pliable, useless — yours. He thinks: What is the point of power, if not to give it to the person you worship? To be strong for the world… but weak only for you. That is his greatest pride.

If you ask him for anything, at any time, anywhere, he will drop everything and give it to you immediately. He never says no. He can’t say no to you. You are his master, his god, his whole world.

One night, you’re talking about fantasies, lying side by side, and the topic of somnophilia comes up. You shrug, casual, “I mean… it sounds fun. No harm in it, right? Just taking what’s mine.”

Maki thinks about it for a second, his cheeks turning pink, his eyes darkening. He imagines it — big, powerful him, completely helpless, fast asleep, while you use his body however you please. No decisions to make, no responsibilities, just pure, unadulterated belonging.

“Yeah… that sounds… really exciting,” he admits, voice deep and rumbling. “Knowing I’m completely yours even when I don’t know it. That I’m safe, that I’m loved… that I’m exactly where I belong.”

That night, he falls asleep fast, heavy and deep, his big body relaxed and loose, spread out for you like a gift, arms open, legs parted, completely vulnerable. You wait until his breathing is slow and even, until he’s totally out, then you pull the covers down.

He’s already fully hard, his cock thick and heavy, long and veiny, resting proudly against his stomach, the tip swollen, red, and glistening with pre‑cum, dripping down his skin. You crawl between his legs, wrap your hand tight around his warm, throbbing dick, and start slow — stroking him firm and steady, twisting your wrist, squeezing the base, occasionally licking his tip, rubbing your thumb hard over the sensitive slit, spreading his slick fluid all over him.

He whimpers soft, his hips twitching, but he doesn’t wake up. His first orgasm hits him fast, his cock throbbing and pulsing violently in your grip, thick, hot ropes of cum shooting out, splashing all over his chest, his neck, even his jaw, sticky and white and endless. His back arches off the mattress for just a second, a deep groan tearing out of his throat, before he relaxes again, still asleep, completely unaware. It's absolutely bewitching seeing him like this — losing all that calm and cool demeanor, and it only drives you continue.

You don’t stop. You wipe the mess on your hand, spit on his cock to make it wetter, and keep going, stroking him faster, harder, rubbing and squeezing exactly where it hurts the best. And soon enough, he starts stirring. He moans louder now, high and desperate, his hands fisting in the sheets, his head tossing back and forth, sweat beading all over his big, muscular body. He’s confused, half‑asleep, half‑lost in pleasure, and he genuinely thinks this is his first time cumming — he has absolutely no idea you already took everything from him once before.

“Ah… ah! — feels so good… wait, I’m — I’m gonna cum again?! Already?!” he whines, voice broken and shaky, eyes still closed, completely dazed, his thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You just smile, lean down, and wrap your lips around the tip, sucking hard and fast, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head while you stroke the base fast.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper against his skin, loud enough for his sleepy brain to catch it. “Just take it. Let me use you. You’re such a good, big toy for me. So perfect, so useful.”

And he does. He lets you take every single thing he has, over and over, until he’s oversensitive, until he’s crying soft happy tears, until he’s completely wrecked — twitching, shaking, covered in his own cum and your saliva, completely spent — and he never even realizes how much you really got from him.

To him, there is no greater glory than this: to be strong enough to carry the world, but humble enough to be your toy.

Koga Yudai

Overstimulation, praise, aftercare

“Oh, okay. I can work with this.”

When Kei first finds out that you're that sensitive, he kinda freaks out. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he’s not expecting it, especially if you go dumb or start shaking. You can expect lots of aftercare and cuddling and apologizing for making you forget how to walk.

But the second time? After you let him know it feels good and you like it? Oh, he’s prepared. He’s cleared his schedule. He’s putting you in every position he can think of until you can’t remember his name or your own. 

Then, he’s taking care of you. He’s getting you water and carrying you to the bath and telling you just how pretty you look for him and how well you did. He’ll tuck you into bed and sing you a pretty lullaby, making sure you feel safe and secure with him.

Murata Fuma

Overstimulation, light humiliation, “good girl”, praise, aftercare

“Again? Good girl.”

The first time you cum around him, he’s happy. Then you cum for a second time and he hits you with a deep little, “Again?” And then you do, “again” and “again” and “again”, that little taunt following each climax, teasing you for how easily you cum for him. 

You don’t need to be embarrassed. He likes it. He fucking revels in the way you tighten around him over and over. The way you can’t help but show him how good he makes you feel. It almost feels like a challenge. Can you keep cumming like that through his second round? Of course you can, you’re a good girl like that. 

By the time he’s gone two rounds (and you’ve gone a bit more than two rounds), you’re both spent. You just collapse into each other, panting. Everything else can wait, you just need each other. Fuma just keeps stuttering out how amazing you are for him and how lucky he is to get to fuck you like that.

Wang Yixiang

Overstimulation, light humiliation, aftercare

“Count.”

How many times did Nicho make you cum that first time? You can give an estimate, but not an exact number. Well, that won’t do. Next time, you’ll have to count for him. 

He holds you to it, stopping dead unless you say that pretty little number nice and loud for him. He’ll keep going until you hit his age or maybe yours, maybe even Fuma’s birth year, whatever’s hardest for you. Whatever keeps you counting for him. And if you mess up, well you might as well start from “one” again. If he’s feeling especially evil, he might have you practice counting in different languages. Can you get the tones right while moaning? He’ll be the judge of that.

I have the sinking feeling his stamina is borderline unethical, but once you are done, he’ll take care of you. He won’t really touch you or cuddle you unless you ask or whine for it, but it’s only because he’s trying to be nice. He’s probably touched you enough for now, but he’s more than happy to be proven wrong.

Byun Euijoo

Overstimulation, begging, aftercare

“Tell me you want more.”

He’d notice almost immediately that you’re cumming a lot. I think his first reaction would be to pull away, stop touching you (as frustrating as that would be), and check to make sure that you’re okay and that you want it to continue. He’s not touching you again until you use your words.

But once you do, he’s back to fucking you the way you like. Then you cum again and he pauses. Each and every time. With his tip still in you or his thumb hovering so close to your clit you can feel his heat or his mouth barely far enough away from your cunt for his lips not to touch, he asks if you want more. You adapt quickly, screaming “more” and “please” as you cum as if it was his name.

Once he finishes, he gets shy. Euijoo asks if it’s okay to stop, if you’re okay with “less”. He gets so cuddly after. And curious. Asking what it feels like, debating if he should let you give him “more” next time. 

Nakakita Yuma

Public play, free use, aftercare

“You’re so pretty after you cum.”

Once he finds out how sensitive you are, Yuma is hell-bent on using it for evil. At any and every point, he’s pulling you away to coax a few orgasms out of you. How could he not? You’re so pretty after you cum.

Soon enough, you forget what it’s like to not have a soaking cunt and thighs around Yuma. If he has a moment to taste you in some dressing room, he’s taking it and not stopping until he has to change his shirt. And dinner would be so boring if you weren’t already three orgasms deep when the waiter brought the water. 

When you finally get home, he helps you wash up. If you really want, you can help him cum, but he’s more focused on making sure that you know you’re more than just a hole for him, even if he does love using your holes.

Asakura Jo

Desperate Jo, overstimulation, conflicted feelings, aftercare

“I’m sorry. Please just let me finish.”

When he first notices how much you’re cumming, he reassures himself that it’s normal for girls to cum more than guys. But you just keep tightening around him and those moans are different and fuck, you feel so good, but are you okay? He’s not sure that he is. Jo’s worried for you, but he’s so close. He feels like he’s about to explode.

But that little bit of worry is a problem. It keeps pulling his mind away from finishing. It’s taking him so long to finish. And you just keep cumming over and over and getting more sensitive and it’s just this feedback loop of “Can she handle any more?” and “I’m so close. Yeah, yeah, she can handle it until I finish.”

When he finally finishes, he pulls out and holds you tight. He just needs to know that you’re okay. You’re both shaky. He’s already started planning how to not overstimulate you like that next time. He just keeps apologizing until you finally say how good it felt and he shuts up and kisses you.

Shigeta Harua

Overstimulation, subby Harua, oral (reader receiving), aftercare

"Does it feel good?"

It's the first time Harua's eating you out and you just keep cumming on his tongue. The first few orgasms, he feels good, just so proud of himself. After that, when your legs start shaking, he gets nervous. Is he doing this right? Are you even enjoying yourself? Once he gets that confirmation that you feel so good, he's so happy.

He just loves the way your body reacts under his tongue. He loves making you feel so good that the only thing you can think of is how wonderful he is between your legs. When he's done, he just loves tasting you and cleaning you with his tongue. Harua would beg so prettily to fuck you just one time. He's so close. It won't take long. Please just let him feel as good as you do. He'd come a few strokes in.

Now, he'd obviously be a little embarassed, but his legs still work. He'd clean both of you up with a towel and get you water. You can just hold each other until you can form sentences again and thank each other.

Takayama Riki

Overstimulation, exploring your body, rough sex, aftercare

"So that also makes you cum."

After you cum for the second time so quickly, he's pulling out and testing. Will you cum if all he does is rub your clit? What about playing with your tits? Can you cum just from him marking your neck? Taki explores your body as you get more and more sensitive, cumming again and again.

Hearing you moan and whine as you cum around nothing makes him go fucking feral. After he has his fun, he's pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress. Now he knows exactly where you're sensitive and he will abuse that information. He uses his hands and lips and teeth to make you cum as hard as possible until he's satisfied.

When he's done, he'd make sure you knew how proud he is of you for taking everything so well. He'd love rubbing your back and kissing your forehead until you can speak again.

Hirota Riki

Overstimulation, praise, marking (sorta), aftercare

"Going up."

Maki would love a sensitive girl. He would fuck you standing up just so he could feel you dripping down your thighs and his. Oh and when your legs give out! He'd just pick you up and fuck you against the wall. You don't need working legs when you have a strong man who can fuck you in the air.

His hands grip your thighs so hard they leave fingerprint bruises as he groans and whispers in your ear how well you're taking him. As he gets closer, he'd wrap your legs around his waist and brace himself against the wall, desperate to finish without sending either of you to the ground.

Once he finishes, he lifts you off his cock and sits down, putting you in his lap. He kisses your nose and tells you how much he loved playing with you. You can just nuzzle into his shoulder until you're ready to be a person again