#sen writes

you’re nervous. 

you dont have any real reason to be nervous, but that doesn’t make the feeling any less tangible. 

it’s caleb’s birthday, and though everything else you’ve planned has gone swimmingly, you don’t know how to feel about this. how he’ll feel about it.

by the time the two of you make it back from dinner, you’re anxiously twiddling your thumbs. caleb—of course—is quick to notice. 

his expression softens immediately, his hand gently grasping yours as he looks into your eyes. 

“something wrong?”

“n-no, not exactly,” you answer, squirming further into the couch’s cushions. 

“then why’re you acting weird?”

“i’m not acting weird!” you huff defensively, something you’ve done a million times with him. “i just…”

“just what?”

“i shaved.”

“shaved?”

you look down at your lap, and caleb's face turns bright read once he realizes just what you're saying.

“but… i wasn’t really able to get all of it,” you squirm under his gaze. “might look a little weird.”

when you look back at him, you realize something shifted in the air. his edges soften, and he looks at you in a way that’s all too familiar. it’s the same the way he looks at you when he can tell you can’t reach a cup on a tall shelf, when you need help with a homework question that's giving you too much trouble.

“do you need gege to help you?”

you can hear the restraint in his chest as he asks you. the way his voice takes on the tone you know all too well of older brother rather than romantic partner. 

"mhm."

within a few minutes, you’re sitting in the on the edge of the bathtub, warm water trickling from the spout. caleb kneels in front of you, the way a knight would for its king, the way a guard dog bows for its owner. 

you can’t deny the sight makes your cheeks burn hot. 

“well?” he asks. 

“well, what?” you ask back. 

he chuckles. “you have to strip if you want me to help.”

“oh, right,” you mumble to yourself, as if you’ve totally forgotten what you signed up for. 

you stand for a moment to tug off your shorts, only to feel a rush of self-consciousness run through your body with the way caleb looks at you. there's a light in his eyes as he watches the hem of your shorts drop lower and lower, until they've fallen onto the floor. maybe you should've taken off everything in one go, because the way he stares at you in anticipation as you loop your thumb around the sides of your underwear makes you feel like a fawn staring down the barrel of a hunter's gun.

caleb's gaze is unfaltering, like he's burning a hole in your skin. you should rip off the bandaid, but you can't bring yourself to take it off any faster. so you do it achingly slow, watching his throat bob as he gulps, the way his eyes drag down your legs until the cloth falls to your feet.

you sit down on the edge of the bathtub, cold porcelain against your skin catching you by surprise.

“you’ll have to spread your legs a little bit more if you want me to help,”

“o-ok,” you stammer, doing your best to follow his instructions.

“why are you getting all shy on me now?”

“i don’t know,” you mumble under your breath, “just feels different like this. 

it shouldn’t be different. even before you made things official, seeing each other naked or close to it was the norm. by now, you've gone through all the motions of being a couple— seeing each other in carnal moments of desire, spouting every curled want you’ve kept deep in your heart, indulging in the soft embraces that comes after. you thought that was the pinnacle of intimacy. 

you couldn't have predicted the way this would make you feel. the way your heart beats faster with the slightest touch, the shakier your breath gets when your eyes meet for a split second. you can't bare to stare at him for too long, but he has no problem taking in the sight of you. his gaze is intense but not scrutinizing. if you had to choose a word to describe it, you would say it’s filled with adoration. 

with the way he touches you, you can’t tell if he’s taking advantage of the situation, especially when his fingers gently press down on your skin before spreading your lips open. 

you give him an accusatory glance, and he lets out a chuckle. 

“i’m just helping you out, pips,” he insists. 

he’s enjoying this too much for you to believe him. 

you don’t grace him with a response, so he continues getting you prepped up.

a chill runs down your spine when he rubs the shaving cream against your skin. he does it carefully and with intention. despite this, you swear you’re running hot under his touch. 

you can’t help yourself from shifting as he presses the blade against you. you weren’t this jumpy when you took care of it yourself, but you just can’t stop yourself around him, especially with him staring so intently at your bare pussy. 

“don’t move too much, ok? i don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly. 

“i’m doing my best,” you reply, giving him a little pout. 

“i know you are,” he reassures you. 

you give him your best, biting back the urge to flinch every time he rinses the blade and brings it back to another patch of hair. he makes it harder for you when his thumb presses against your clit, and you swear he’s doing it to mess with you; but when you look down he seems completely focused on the task at hand, carefully running the razor against another spot you missed. 

you start to doubt yourself when you feel his thumb move against the bundle of nerves, as if he's determined to ellicit some type of reaction out of you. it's easy to give him what he wants when you can't hold yourself back—a hushed groan makes it past your lips.

“why’re you doing that?” he asks with a snarky grin. 

“doing what?”

“makin’ those cute noises,” he coos.

if it weren't for the razor against your skin, you would playfully hit his back, the way you usually do when he says something cheesy. instead, you're barely able to glance his way when you respond.

“just feels nice, i guess."

"does it now?" he asks. you don't have to look at him to know he's smiling.

you nod shyly, the way you always do when he takes care of you.

it is both a blessing and a curse that caleb pays so much attention to detail, especially when it comes to you. at the very least, you're comforted by the fact that you know he'll do a perfect job. on the other hand, this is taking too long for your poor heart. it hasn't stopped racing since you've started.

“you’re really taking your time there,” you huff through gritted teeth. 

“can you blame me? want to make sure i get it right."

it's as if caleb really decides to take his time now. it doesn't help when he drags the razor across your mound even slower than before. every pass of the razor against your skin has you tightening your grip against the porcelain and holding your breath in anticipation. anticipation of what, you're not sure.

after what feels like a lifetime, caleb finally puts down the razor. he takes a look at you, pressing and rubbing against the now smooth skin to check his work. he did a great job, if you say so yourself.

"spread your legs a bit more for me," he demands, standing up for a moment to grab the handheld showerhead.

despite the embarrassing pose, you diligently obey, the way you would when he bandaged your wounds as a kid.

caleb pulls up the water diverter, testing the temperature of water on his hand before bringing it to your cunt. the sensation is fine, comforting even at first, until he spreads your lips apart, focusing the water against your poor clit. it catches you by surprise, making you grip the ledge of the bathtub as you bite back the urge to moan.

caleb doesn't seem pleased with this, pressing the showerhead closer until you cry out his name, grabbing on to his back for some semblance of stability.

"a-are we done now?" you whimper, hoping he'll finally take some pity on you.

"gimme a moment pips," he chuckles.

you think you finally have a moment of peace when he sets down the showerhead, only for his fingers to catch you off guard, parting your lips for him to have a full view of your cunt. his face is dangerously close, close enough for his breath to graze against your most sensitive parts. he plays with you again, his touch just a ghost along your clit before dragging down your lips.

it's just enough to make you squirm but nothing beyond that. part of you wishes he would just do something, instead of keeping you waiting on the edge like this. another part of you knows that you don't want to test him right now, because he'll easily make you eat your words while you're on the edge of overstimulation.

"just gotta make sure you're all cleaned up, you know?"

his fingers teasingly poke at your hole, pressing in gently without penetrating before pulling back out. you really aren't sure if this is any better then what he was doing before.

"i don't think you need to check that," you insist.

"i think i do, as your brother and all," he teases. "i'm just taking care of you, pips."

the moment you open your mouth to respond, his finger presses into your cunt. it's barely in, makes you wish he'd go deeper just for a bit of relief. but before you can ask, you're mourning the loss of the sensation when he pulls it back out.

“wonder what this is,” he comments, sliding his fingers up your slit before examining it further, “doesn’t look like shaving cream or anything.”

“it’s nothing,” you immediately huff back, even with the evidence of your arousal running down his fingers. 

"Let me take you out on a date."

Oliver's words catch you off guard. He doesn't flinch, stutter, or hesitate. He has all the confidence a professional athlete of his calibur is expected to have. Part of you wishes he didn't.

"Huh?" you ask, completely dumbfounded.

"Let me take you out on a date," he repeats again, making himself comfortable by leaning against the arm of the loveseat you're sitting on. "Somewhere nice. Not this whole takeout situation we do all the time."

You do your best to calm yourself down. What's that thing you're supposed to do when you're freaking out? Five things you can see? Well, you can see your food getting cold on the coffee table, the way the sunset spills through the windows and paints Oliver in a warm ethereal glow, his handsome smile that makes you want to melt into him, and, and, and—

This isn't helping.

It takes you a moment to get your head anything close to clear. But, despite everything, you like what you have going on with Oliver. You've never dreamed of being his girlfriend in any realistic sense. Didn't want to deal with the stress of either being a celebrity's secret partner or the harassment that comes with going public.

Frankly, you don't want to ruin what you have. This is good enough—or so you've convinced yourself.

"I'm… I'm not interested," you finally reply.

"Oh, really?" he asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head. Despite just being rejected, he keeps his cool. Even smiles a little, and you hate that you think he looks cute.

"Yeah, really," you insist.

"Can I get a reason at least?"

If you're being honest with yourself, you don't want to give him one. Part of you knows whatever shitty excuse you try to use with him, he'll see right through it. That doesn't stop you from making an effort.

"You're like a brother to me."

It's a shit excuse, you know it. But it's the only thing you were able to come up with in your scrambled mind.

"That's fine with me."

For the second time tonight, he's left you at a loss for words. Even though you knew he'd shoot down any excuse, this wasn't the response you were expecting. You sit there for a moment, trying to think of a response to push past your lips but all that comes out are choked sounds, short of being anything close to comprehendible words.

"W-what do you mean that's fine with you?" you spit back at him, incredulous. "What, should I call you nii-chan to get you to back off?"

"Only if you want me to get hard."

Unbelievable. At this point you can't even bring yourself to look him in the eye. Maybe lying to him was the best option. You could only imagine how cheeky he would get over you telling him the truth.

"You're a fucking freak," you scoff.

"I thought you said I was your brother," he says back, emphasizing the last word with a teasing lilt.

"You can be two things at once."

"And what does that make you?"

"What do you mean what does that make me?"

"Just look at you, getting all worked up by this. You can't even look me in the eye right now." As if to prove his point, he forces himself into your field of vision, only for you to turn away.

He doesn't let you get away with it though, his hands coming up to squish your cheeks and make you face him.

"Don't lie to me and give me this brother bullshit."

"I'm not lying," you strain through your teeth.

"Yeah? Then how about you let your nii-chan take the lead?" he asks, tilting his head before he comes around to whisper in your ear. "Fuck you all nice and sweet? Maybe it'll make ya more honest."

He doesn't really give you a chance to answer him, not that you think you'd be able to. How could you bring yourself to say anything when he kisses your ear so gently?

He pulls away for a second, bringing you to face him once again.

"Fuck, you're not gonna stop me?"

The last thing you want is for him to stop. You may have been too shy to take the leap but if Oliver's going to dive in head first, who are you to stop him? All you give him is a shy shake of your head, hoping it's enough to keep him going.

"Seriously?" he scoffs, "I wanted to be a gentleman for once and now we're going at this all out of order."

His hand traces up your thigh, inching up slowly. Each inch he drags along the skin makes you feel hotter, needier for his touch elsewhere. You can't help but get restless, squeezing your thighs together for something, anything to soothe the aching desire growing between your legs.

"For what's it worth," he says, voice deep and low into your ear,"I wouldn't ask you to call me nii-chan till our third date. Minimum."

Part of you thought he'd be more impatient, more insatiable. You're not sure how you feel about this side of Oliver, too good at keeping you on the edge for his own entertainment, but one thing is certain: the suspense is killing you.

"Come on, tell nii-chan what you want. You can do that much, can't you?" he coos, like a parent trying to get their spoiled child to share a toy. "Though I guess that's how we got into this mess in the first place, huh?"

"God, don't be weird about this," your voice wobbles unsteadily.

"I didn't make it weird," he sneers, "And even if I did, it looks like you're enjoying it."

His hand finally makes its way to the wet patch of your underwear, and you're hit with the sudden realization that this is actually happening. Oliver's just one thin layer of fabric away from touching you, from giving you something you were so close to denying. You can barely hold back your voice every time he runs his fingers over your clothed cunt, especially when he presses down on your clit.

"Don't hold back," he purrs, "how's nii-chan supposed to know you're feeling good?"

"You're such a perv," you attempt to spit back at him, only for your voice to waver as he starts tracing circles around your clit.

"Look who's talking."

His fingers finally make their way under your underwear and you let out a shaky moan in relief and anticipation. It's unlike you, getting so worked up over the simplest touches, but Oliver has that effect on you.

As his pace quickens, it's much harder to keep your voice held back, choked whimpers spilling from your lips as he gets you closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure.

The whole thing is embarassing, and Oliver is reveling in it; he hasn't had that stupid smirk wiped off his face since he started touching you. It doesn't help that you can't hide just how wet you are once his fingers drag between your lips before pressing shallowly against your hole.

"Didn't you think of me as a brother? Now look at you, getting all wet for him,"

"I'm not," you whine, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

"Yeah?"

You make a poor attempt to talk back, only to be interrupted by Oliver's fingers slipping inside you, achingly slow. He's messing with you again.

"Is this enough for my precious baby sister?" he asks, voice saccharine sweet before digging his fingers in deeper. "Or does she need more?"

His words light a fire in your core, causes heat to bleed from your cheeks. It shouldn't have such an effect on you. Still, you squirm more under his touch, attempting to close your legs shut, feeling much too vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't relent, his hand pressing against you to keep you splayed open for him.

So you bite through the embarassment, barely able to force out a meek,

"More—"

"Hm? I didn't hear that."

"More, nii-chan," you moan out in the sweetest tone you can muster. Anything to mess with his head just as much as he's been messing with yours.

Something snaps in him.

He's finally starting to act more like the Oliver you expected— greedy, and grabbing at any part of you he can get his hands on. His fingers are practically knuckles deep inside you, scissoring around to find your most sensitive spot.

Once he finds it, he doesn't let go. He doesn't even get close to letting go when tears well up in your eyes. It's all so overwhelming—his fingers are already enough to stretch you out so deliciously. How could you feel so full just from this?

It doesn't help to hear his breathing stagger as his fingers fuck you in earnest. All you can do is blabber incoherently in a poor effort to ask him to slow down, but of course Oliver doesn't honor that.

"Didn't know you could get like this," he casually remarks as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you. "I'm lucky to have such a cute sister."

It's not lost on you how his praise makes you all fuzzy and light-headed, makes your walls flutter around him, as if his words are touching you too. All you can do is hope he doesn't notice, but luck isn't on your side.

"Fuck, you really are just as perverted as me, you know? At least I'm honest about it," he's practically groaning into your ear, only adding to your arousal. "It's ok, at least your body's more honest than whatever comes out your mouth."

Oliver gets mean; meaner than before. He breaks out all the stops, massaging your clit in tight circles while bullying your cunt by hitting the spot that makes you scream for him. It's too much, all at once.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for nii-chan now?"

It's impossible to form a coherent response—you're too distracted by the impending high and the way your pussy threatens to clamp down on his fingers like a vice. It crashes into you just a few moments later, all broken moans and choked breaths as the waves of your orgasm wash over you.

"It's ok, nii-chan's got you," Oliver guides you through it, his fingers finally slowing down as you writhe under him.

Once you're able to catch your breath, Oliver takes his fingers out from you. Seeing your arousal painted so plainly on him is enough to make your cheeks burn hot all over again.

"And you said I was a freak," he scoffs, admiring the wet mess you left behind on his fingers.

It’s not Yuuta’s usual scene, but he felt bad when nobody responded to Yuuji’s invitation to spend a night out in Shinjuku. In Yuuta’s defense, he thought they would maybe go to an izakaya or two, get a meal and a few drinks before heading home. However, what Yuuta was unable to predict was Yuuji deciding to go to an idol show on the fly. Yuuji was practically begging him to go, making promises that it’ll be a lot of fun. And when words don’t work, Yuuji grabs Yuuta by the wrist and leads him to the venue despite his protests.

So that’s how Yuuta finds himself in a random basement venue crowded with sweaty guys on a Saturday night. Again, not necessarily his idea of a night out. But Yuuta’s a good sport, so he’ll do his best to enjoy the show anyways.

What starts as a murmur bursts into a boisterous cheer as soon as the stage lights flash on. It’s radiant, nearly blinding. It’s not the lights that sear a black hole into his vision. No, it’s you.

In that fluffy costume that makes you look like a slice of cake personified. The way your skirt bounces exemplifies the pep in your step as you make your way around the stage. Your eyes meet his as you wave into the crowd, and he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Good evening everyone! We really hope you enjoy the show we have in store for you tonight!” you speak into the mic, exuding a blissful aura like it's second nature. Yuuta swears he can feel it embrace him, the first warm ray of sunlight you feel after a barren winter.

The crowd roars in response before quieting down. The silence only serves to spur the anticipation drumming throughout his body, his heart beating loudly in his ears, catching in his throat.

The instrumental starts with a sweet chiptune lead, and all hell breaks loose. The rhythmic chants and clapping nearly blow out his ear drums, and he loses Yuuji in the chaos of fans rushing closer to the stage. It’s disorienting, trying to follow along while not losing his sights on you.

He moves along with the crowd, ebbs and flows like the ocean’s waves. No matter how much he’s pushed, he’s focused on you. Once he finds his footing, it gets a bit easier. It lets him focus on other things, like learning your name through the fan chants. It’s a cute one, one he savors on his tongue whenever he yells along with the crowd as you sing.

With every step, every graceful note that spills from your lips, he can only feel himself falling deeper. It’s like you’re a siren, and him, the unfortunate sailor who’s all too willing to walk to his demise. He yells and cheers even louder in his trance, just to see if you’ll grace him with another look.

And you do.

It’s brief but you look right at him again for the second time tonight, with a dazzling smile that puts the sun to shame.

How can he keep your attention? Maybe he should’ve stopped by and bought a lightstick or two before coming in.

Song after song after song, he roots for you with a frenzied energy he didn’t know he had in him. It’s a battle against his parched throat to force the words out and really make sure you can hear him. Every time you look his way, he feels electric. It’s like static, all his hair standing on edge like he’s rubbed a balloon and your gaze is the point of contact that zaps you both.

Before he knows it, the show’s over. It’s far too soon for his liking. Even though it was Yuuji’s idea, Yuuta’s really warmed up to the whole thing–far more enthusiastically than he thought he’d ever be, so much so he’s tallying the number of times you looked his way.

Six. Six times he’s felt that electricity run through him, six times you’ve made him catch his breath and nearly choke on it. Did you feel it too? There’s no way you didn’t. He could see it in the way your eyes sparkled, in the smile that was hand-delivered to him. It’s too many times to be a coincidence.

Yuuta only manages to snap out of his trance when all the lights turn back on and Yuuji slings his arm around him.

“Sorry I lost ya earlier,” Yuuji apologizes, out of breath, presumably from dancing and chanting with the wotas, “how was it?”

“It was,” he pauses for a moment, “fun.”

“See, I told you it’d be fun!” Yuuji beams at the confession. “You wanna get chekis?”

“Chekis?”

“Yeah, like a picture with one of the girls. I already know who I’m choosing tonight!” Yuuji pats Yuuta on the back, a friendly gesture Yuuta returns in kind. “But since you don’t know the members, you can just choose a color. Doesn’t really matter.”

It doesn’t really matter, he said, but it really does. Because if Yuuta chose differently he never would have been able to meet you.

So once he gets to the front of the line, he points at the laminated picture of you.

It shouldn’t be this overwhelming. Idols are normal people too. It’s a lot more obvious with underground idols, in the dingy live venues they book, in the way they stumble over their words on stage or occasionally forget a dance move or lyric. There’s appeal in the imperfect, a diamond in the rough.

But that’s the thing, you still shine bright, blindingly so.

As Yuuta walks up to you, his nerves only get worse. His senses are running on overdrive taking you in, in all your ruffly glory. Something sweet and floral hits his nostrils as he breathes in. He didn’t consider you’d be wearing perfume. It’s the right amount – just enough to whet the palate and bite his tongue in fear of saying something wrong.

He thinks he’s seeing things when he’s barely an arms width away from you, and everything about you seems to sparkle.

You look giddy when he gets up to you, a large smile plastered on your face with open arms as if you’re reuniting with an old friend.

Is he supposed to hug you?

While he hesitates, you’re quick to close the distance, wrapping your arms around his waist. Yuuta carefully does the same to you, doing his best to not implode on the spot. When you let go, he’s flushed in the face and has to think about something else to calm himself down.

“Ah! I haven’t seen you around,” you ask with your hands behind your back and eyes wandering like you’re examining him, “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, you could say that,” he says. The room feels ten degrees hotter.

“What’s your name?”

“Yuuta.”

“Yuuta…” you repeat carefully, as if you’re tasting it on your lips, “Cute name for a cute guy. Is it ok if I call you Yuu-tan?” You look at him with this doe-eyed expression that makes his chest taut.

When you say it like that, with your eyes glimmering under the stage lights, how could he say no? Yuuta’s stumbling over his words, babbling like an idiot before he’s finally able to get out a meek, “sure.”

You seem to like that, your face lighting up with pure glee.

“Alright Yuu-tan, what kind of pose did you have in mind?”

He absolutely did not think this far ahead. He has to tell himself to calm down, breathe in, breathe out, before asking, “what kind of poses do you usually do?”

“Mmm… Hearts are pretty common I’d say.” You gently grab his hand and the softness of your skin triggers alarm bells in his head. He’s in danger. “But since it’s your first time, how about we do something special?”

You say it in a way that has him blushing harder – first times.

“S-special?” he repeats.

Carefully, you wrap your arms around his waist. Softer than when you first grabbed him. Like there’s a gentle affection weaved within your embrace.

Your face is pressed against his chest. It’s enough for his breathing to shorten, to be far too aware of the pressure you place on him.

With an innocent pout you look at him, softly reassuring him, “Just pretend I’m like your girlfriend or something.”

You’re close–too close. And this whole situation is just too much for him. There’s no escape from you–your smell, your warmth, the softness of your skin.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?” you ask, leaning into him more.

Did he hear you right? Every time you talk it feels like you do so with the express purpose of stealing the air from his lungs. But still, there’s no way that’s what you asked him. Right?

“Huh?”

“I said,” you purr into his ear before repeating your question, “do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?”

So, he did hear you right. Now he’s scrambling again for an answer, blood pumping so hard he can hear it steadily pulsing in his ears.

“N-No.”

“Then you can think of me as yours!” you exclaim, far too easily. It echoes like a clocktower’s bell at noon. If he listens close enough, he swears he can hear the notes of a wedding march.

The only anchor that can bring him back down to Earth is a tug on his shirt, a whisper of your touch against his chest. When his eyes meet yours, he’s starstruck. The glitter around your eyes only serves to make his heart beat faster, how it sparkles and makes you look even sweeter.

“Alright, look at the camera for me, okay?”

So he does. You get in position too, soft lips pressing against his flushed cheek. It happens too quickly for him to react, and with a countdown from three and a flash, the picture’s taken.

You’re quick to sign the polaroid, and Yuuta can barely get a look at what you’re writing before you finish.

“Hold it carefully, ok? The ink can smudge,” you instruct him, gently passing over the picture. “And don’t shake it! The whole shake it like a polaroid thing is a myth.”

He silently takes the picture in his hand, carefully taking it in. You’re able to fit a decent amount on the picture. In the top left corner, “To my beloved Yuu-tan,” and in the bottom right, “Thank you for coming!”

“I hope you’ll come back again,” you say sheepishly, a bit like a girl who just confessed to their crush on the school rooftop.

“O-Of course!” Yuuta’s practically forcing the words out of his words, doing his best not to choke.

“Pinky promise?” You lay out your pinky for him, waiting expectantly. Yuuta, on the other hand, is struggling to recollect himself.

“Mmhm.” He brings his pinky over to yours, and you wrap around each other’s fingers. Yuuta thinks it’s just that until you bring your hand back to kiss your thumb.

“Seal it with a kiss?” you ask with an innocent smile.

“Huh?”

You don’t repeat yourself, simply look at him in a way that makes his cheeks red. After a moment, Yuuta repeats the motion, nearly shaking as he brings both of your hands closer to his lips before kissing his thumb.

By the time he finds the courage to look you in the eyes, he’s sure there’s steam coming out of his ears. His gaze shifts down, but darts back up as soon as he hears you giggle.

“You promised! No take-backsies. I don’t like broken promises.” You pout before breaking back into that picture perfect smile of yours. “Thanks for coming by, Yuu-tan!”

– The post concert dress down is the same as usual. Struggling to get out of polyester costumes clinging to your skin from sweat, doing your best to fold your ruffled layered skirt into a manageable mass and failing the first couple of times. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to.

What you’re not used to, is receiving a warning from one of your groupmates.

“Hey.” Your group leader stands over you as you attempt to continue packing your costume away. “You've gotta be a bit more careful.”

You look up at her with a raised brow, taking in her disappointed expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she relents, her tone becoming more annoyed than disappointed.

So this is what you think it’s about. But it really isn’t any of her concern. You haven’t had any problems until now, so what’s the harm in continuing? If anything, she should be grateful. If you were to crunch the numbers, you’re sure you bring in a decent amount of fans by playing up the girlfriend experience schtick. And not just any type of fans – devoted ones. Those that return to night after night to spend a minute of their time with you. Those that would empty out their wallets at a snap of your fingers.

If you were to be honest with yourself, you like the power you hold. There’s a thrill that rushes to your head when your fans are stumbling over their words, stringing along a response for the sole purpose of pleasing you. But there’s no way you’d ever admit that to her. She just wouldn’t get it.

You let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine! This type of crowd is harmless. I’m just trying to do my job, you know.”

“You’re going to attract some crazies if you keep going down this path.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shrug her off as you finally fit your costume into your luggage, swiftly zipping it close before it has the chance to recoil.

“Hey.” She grasps your shoulder to grab your attention. “Listen, I’m being serious,” she says, and there’s a genuine tinge of concern in her voice.

“Me too. I’m making us money. Good money. And if it means I have to bat my lashes and put on an act, then that’s what it is.”

She sighs, defeated. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

–

In the days after the concert, Yuuta falls into a rabbit hole. It’s just too easy – your group is pretty active on social media, trying and promoting just about anything that’ll stick. It starts simple enough with a livestream here and there. Just listening to you talk makes his heart all warm and fuzzy.

The longer he lurks and follows, the more he realizes just how many opportunities there are to take you in. You being an underground idol works in his favor. Desperation’s the name of the game, with you selling just about anything you can get your likeness on – signed polaroids, acrylic standees, can buttons, the list goes on.

Eventually, he’ll put in orders for those as well, but none of them replace the sensation of holding your hand in person, of your soft lips against his face.

At the end of the day, there’s no way you can’t see his devotion towards you. At this point he knows everything there is to know about you–through the selfies you post online, the memes you retweet, even the daily blog post where you write about your day.

There’s more than that as well. There’s an inherent intimacy he feels in the single shot chekis he orders as soon as the shop link drops on Twitter, in the comments he leaves on your livestreams, with the username you unknowingly gave him.

And in the short weeks he’s been following your account, he’s greeted with a rare chance encounter. A custom video, made by you, just for him. And though the price is probably hefty for what it is, he’s quick to seize the opportunity.

Sure, he’s burning a hole in his wallet. But how can he complain? When he can hear your sweet voice again, talking to him like he’s the only one in the room. It’s the closest thing he can get to seeing you for now. Things have just been so busy these days. He wonders how other sorcerers play the balancing act between dating and work.

But just a couple weeks later he gets an e-mail. He nearly jumps in his seat in his room when he sees the e-mail notification with the subject line “to my beloved yuu-tan~”.

His phone comes alive with you in frame, sitting in something different from your usual stage costume. Something cute, something that sends butterflies to his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. A comfy sweater that seems just a little bit too big for you, along with a matching skirt. The hem dangerously brushes against your upper thighs, and he has to make a considerable effort to draw his gaze back to your eyes.

The background is a simple white backdrop, and judging from the lighting situation, it’s probably something you filmed in your room. You’re filming this. In your room. Just for him. The thought is enough to make his heart race.

“Is this on?” Your finger taps on to the camera, face getting closer to the lens before moving back. Even when you’re clueless, you’re adorable. “Ah, it is.”

“Yuu-tan! Thanks for supporting me so much as you always have!~” Your voice is bright as always. The way your nickname for him dances on your tongue feels like a salve for even the most mortal of wounds.

“Your support is number one in my heart, you know. But Yuu-tan…”You drag out his name in a way that’s too much for him, and the way you pout up at the camera? This has to be attempted murder, he thinks. But he continues listening attentively. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I miss you, I really do.” Your voice pulls on his heartstrings and makes him ridden with guilt. It genuinely pains him to hear you like this, his chest tightening at the sound. But then your voice lightens up, your expression brightens with the next words that slip past your lips, “you’ll come to the next show, won’t you?”

Yuuta finds himself nodding at his phone, as if you’ll be able to see his response if he’s enthusiastic enough. Yet, it’s as if you knew exactly how he’d reply.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise.” You lift your pinky up to the camera before pulling it back. “Oh wait, I don’t think I can do this through the camera, haha. Guess you’ll just have to finish it in person! Bye bye!” you sign off, and the video ends there, paused on your angelic smile.

Yuuta nearly breaks his phone replaying the video over and over again. It’s surprising the image of you hasn’t been burned onto his screen. But there’s one part in particular that’s his favorite.

It’s when you pout and disarmingly look up at the camera. Bat your eyelashes in just the right way to make him pitch a tent in his pants. That combined with the way you say his name, it’s no surprise the next thing he does is frantically search for the bottle of lube in one of his drawers.

What happens next, there’s no way you can fault him for it. All he can think about is how cute you are as he dispenses lube on to his right hand and unzips his pants with his left. Once his cock’s free, he groans as he palms himself, daydreaming about how you’d hold him. His other hand finds his phone, repeatedly going back to the same timestamp where you’re practically moaning for him.

He finds a rhythm, fast. Not just for jerking off, but looping your voice in a way that makes him light-headed. It just adds another layer to the image of you playing in his head. If he times it just right, he can pretend that slick wet sound of him fucking his hand is your sweet pussy instead. His pace gets faster, thinking about the other kinds of sounds he could wring from you.

You would moan so sweetly for him. He’d do everything in his power to make sure of it. He’s far from a selfish lover. He’d be sure to prep you beforehand, his hands tracing the curve of your body before delving into your underwear. Start a bit slow, teasing you into asking for more as he plays with your clit. He wonders what kind of expression you’d wear.

Maybe you’d be a bit shy. Maybe you’d be needy, desperate to ask him for more. Whatever’s the case it doesn’t matter, as long as he gets to hear your sweet voice.

Once he’s tested the waters he’d go faster, and he thinks about the heave of your chest, the short breaths you’d give him as you’re getting closer. Would you call him by his real name, or the nickname you’ve given him? He doesn’t really mind either way, but part of him hopes for the former. Regardless, the mental image of you cumming on his fingers along with your voice played on loop is enough to send him over the edge with a choked moan, hot ropes of his seed spilling from his slit. Yuuta’s body nearly gives out as he relaxes back into his chair, exhausted and out of breath.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise!” Your voice plays again through his phone as he finally comes down from his high.

So he steels himself. Tells himself that it doesn’t matter what the occasion is, he’ll make sure to go to the next live show, the one after, and the one after that. It’s a promise, after all.

—

The next time Yuuta goes to see you, he’s a bit more prepared. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself.

In reality, he’s still just as nervous as the first time. While the video was nice, it just doesn’t hold a light to seeing you in person. Getting a waft of that sweet, floral perfume of yours as he approaches you, relishing at how the smell of the live venue just seems to disappear in your presence. Then there’s the ball that forms in his throat that he can’t swallow as he gets closer.

You light up as soon as you see him, star-bright.

“Yuu-tan!” you shuffle up to him with your arms outstretched for a hug, “I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he says, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He brings you in closer, but feels a bit self conscious when he realizes just how tight you’re holding on to him. Tight enough that he can feel the curve of your tits pressed against him. Then he finds himself panicking and letting go.

“Did you have a good time at the show?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his internal plight.

”I did, I did,” he replies, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

“I’m so happy you remembered our promise.”

”O-Of course.”

“What kind of pose did you want today?” Your expression softens as you put your hands behind your back and bend slightly, look up at him doe-eyed and curious.

After all he put into coming to the show, he’s stunned into silence. He had one in mind, but the idea simply melted as soon as he saw you. He can’t help it, it’s just what you do to him. He’s sure he’s making a fool out of himself again, and can feel it in the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

”Could you choose again?” he asks meekly.

“Hmm…” you muse, pouting dramatically and placing your chin in between your thumb and index finger. Yuuta waits with bated breath.

“Could you make a circle with your arms?” you say with a snap of your fingers.

”H-Huh? Sure.” He awkwardly follows your instructions, his fingertips meeting one another, miming the act of holding a large box against his chest.

You bend down and disappear from his vision, only to reappear between his arms.

“Boo!” you exclaim, palms faced outward with your fingers spread apart.

Yuuta’s startled. It isn’t that the act itself is scary, but the way you press against his chest and grin at him awakens a gnawing desire in his head. The lengths he would go to see you smile like this for him–just for him. By the time he’s shaking out the thoughts out his mind, he realizes you’ve been waiting for a response.

“Ah, you really scared me,” Yuuta jokes, feigning a scared expression to soothe his nerves.

“Hm? You think I’m scary, Yuu-tan?” you quip back, but then you’re pouting your lips, and the way the glitter glimmers under the stage lights makes it look like you’re going to cry.

It’s like you’ve pierced his heart, he swears he can feel it. Maybe with Cupid’s arrow. It seems like a side effect of this is becoming a blubbering mess every time he tries to speak.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t worry,” you giggle with a bright smile that soothes his heart, “I’m just messing with you.”

Gently, you adjust his position until his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

But when you press up against him, Yuuta thinks you’re approaching dangerous territory. Even with all the layers in your skirt, he swears he can make out the shape of your ass. It doesn’t help that you keep adjusting your position, brushing against his clothed cock multiple times over. All he can do is bite his tongue and hope that nothing comes to light.

“Yuu-tan, is this ok?” You look back at him with that innocent glimmer in your eyes.

”Y-Yeah, it’s perfect,” he replies, nearly biting his lip as he does so.

You give the cameraman the okay to take the picture, and with a countdown that feels longer than last time, the picture’s taken.

“You’ll come to the next show, right, Yuu-tan?”

“Of course.”

“Pinky promise?” You outstretch your pinky again, and this time, Yuuta’s swift on the uptake, wrapping his pinky around yours with more enthusiasm than last time. It’s such a simple gesture, but Yuuta is fond of promises and all they represent. Love intertwined in a simple hook of pinkies. The gentleness of your thumbs pressing against each other, the giggle that leaves your lips as you make a heart with your hands.

“Pinky promise,” he repeats with a gentle smile.

—

In the days that follow, Yuuta’s come to a realization.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing you perform is great and all, but his favorite moments with you are the intimate ones. The one on ones, the short and sweet conversations where he can tune out the rest of the world. And when he does the math, they’re too few and far between.

Simply put, he can’t wait for the next show. So, he forges his own opportunities. It’s just too easy to do when you post selfies of where you’re handing out flyers for the night. Part of him thinks your agency should be a little more conscious of internet safety, but then again he wouldn’t have been able to find out where you were if that were the case.

Thanks to your social media posts, it doesn’t take that long to find you. It’s busy in Shinjuku but it’s pretty easy to follow the endless trail of girls hanging out flyers. Even though you’re lined up with all the other idols, hostesses, and maids dressed to the nines to promote themselves, he could easily pick you out of the crowd. They just don’t hold a candle to you.

“Please come to our show!” you exclaim with a smile, waving the flyer and hoping the random man in front of you will take it. And for once, he does. So you look up. “Oh! Yuu-tan! What’re you doing here?”

Yuuta feels all warm and fuzzy at the mention of the pet name.

“Ah, I was just running some errands,” he says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask back in a hushed whisper before breaking into a smile, “what a coincidence!”

Before you can comment any further, a man sneaks into your field of vision and interrupts the conversation, shyly waving his hand at you and asking for a flyer. Your eyes light up for a second before you turn to give him your attention.

“Please come to our show!” you casually hand over the flyer to the stranger with a smile.

Yuuta doesn’t like that.

For a split second, he thinks you should quit being an idol. But then the thought boomerangs back, sits and marinates as he considers it further.

Yeah. That might be a good idea.

“It was nice chatting with you Yuu-tan, but I really gotta get back to work.” You pout at him. It hits him differently this time. He almost mistakes it for guilt, but it’s not quite that. It’s not as surface level, gets deep under his skin like poison and spreads unease throughout his body.

“I’ll see you at the next show, Yuu-tan!” you send him off with a wave and a smile, one he thinks is too soon.

Yuuta waits for you to brand your pinky for him, but it never comes.

Disappointment. It’s disappointment.

He’s been a fool. You’re distracted by all these so-called fans that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Worse of all, your agency is putting you up to it. He really thinks it’s time for you to quit.

So Yuuta waits.

For an idol, you lack a crucial sense of self-awareness. You don’t even notice when Yuuta follows behind you once you finish your shift. Even as the bustle of the city crowd quiets down as you make your way to your agency building on a random side street, you don’t notice he’s trailing behind. Imagine how much danger you’d be in if some crazy fan were to follow you. You’re lucky to have Yuuta there for you, he just needs to make you see it too.

He almost loses you when you leave the agency building in much more normal and muted. He nearly has to stop himself from drooling at the sight of it. He can see it so clearly, the image of you wearing it on a date with him. Maybe it’d be at a cafe, somewhere he can see you laugh and smile with him as he feeds you an intricate, overpriced slice of cake. But before he gets too lost in his imagination, Yuuta shakes it off and resolves himself to continue following you.

The longer he follows you, the more Yuuta starts to feel invisible. You don’t notice him when he’s right behind you at the turnstill. When he follows you through all the twists and turns of the station, hell, even when he’s three spots behind you in line for the train. The lack of self-preservation is stunning, he thinks. More than that, how could you not notice your number one fan, your boyfriend, putting in all this effort to make sure nobody hurt you? But it doesn’t matter–soon enough you won’t have to worry about that.

You step off the train after a few stops, and Yuuta’s always behind you, not that you’re aware. The rush of people leaving the train is enough to help him blend in, but once you leave the station he adds some slack to the distance.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and he’s there, watching from a distance as you unlock your apartment and go inside.

Yuuta waits a minute before approaching the unit you just walked into. The lock to your apartment isn’t anything he can’t break through, and with a pointed blast of cursed energy, the lock breaks with a quiet snap. He makes a note to himself to tell you to get a better place.

Then again, it’d be best if you just lived with him anyways. He’d take care of anything, everything, as long as it’s for you.

The door creaks just a little as he opens it slowly, careful not to disturb you.

The apartment is cramped, narrow halls made even smaller by the coats you have hanging on wall hooks, but just down the corridor he can see your living room. Calmly, he takes off his shoes and places them down neatly next to yours before quietly walking over. You aren’t there.

He backtracks to where the hallway splits, approaching the bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, tantalizing like a bow on top of a present. It’s as if you were expecting him.

When he pushes the door open with a slight tap, Yuuta’s greeted by a half naked figure. You were probably in the middle of undressing. He takes a moment to mentally thank whatever higher up there gave him the blessing of perfect timing.

“Get out of my apartment!” you yell, throwing whatever you can at him, but it doesn’t seem to do any damage. He walks casually towards you, even as you tremble. He doesn’t understand why you’re shaking, but he knows he can fix it. You have nothing to worry about, everything will be better now that he’s here.

His expression softens as soon as you look him in the eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Yuuta coos.

“Y-Yuu-tan?” you ask, voice out of breath from thrashing around, “what are you doing here?” your voice drops in a way that he hasn’t heard before. It’s intimate, he thinks.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says, a tenderness wrapped in his words.

“Worried?” you ask in the softest tone he’s ever heard. It endears him.

“Yeah. You didn’t pinky promise me today.”

“Huh?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You usually pinky promise me before you say bye. But you were so distracted today.”

There’s a brief pause, but it feels like it lasts a lifetime. Yuuta studies your expression, one he doesn’t recognize. When your eyes meet his, he takes it as a sign to explain himself further.

“And it’s not just that. During your lives, I see you looking at other guys and it really hurts me,” his voice softens, his chest tightening at the confession. He notices the tears falling down your face, and scrambles to make it better. “But you don’t need to do any of this anymore. You have me,” he says with a hand against his heart.

It doesn’t seem to help as your barely contained cries become louder.

“Yuu-tan, you’re scaring me,” you confess.

He tilts his head.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything scary?”

Another pause. He waits for an answer but isn’t given one he wants as you run for the door. It’s a losing game to run from him, his body quick to shield you from the door, his hand tightly wrapping around your wrist.

“Why are you running?” he asks, genuine hurt in his voice.

“Because you’re scaring me, Yuu-tan,” you reply, voice trembling.

“I’m not trying to be scary, I just want to be a good boyfriend for you,” he whispers softly against your ear, and to prove his point, his hand grazes your thigh, traveling further until his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. “Make you feel good like you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly.

“N-No, I don’t want this, please,” you beg.

Your words are rearranged by the time they hit his ears. For all intents and purposes, all he hears is “I want this, please” and that’s all he needs to kiss you. It’s soft for a moment, but then it’s as if something snapped inside him.

There’s no patience behind it; he’s waited so long after all. He kisses like his time with you is sand trickling down an hourglass and he’s on his last grains. All groans and grasping at your cheeks to keep you with him, hot and heavy.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you plead shakily.

There’s something at the end of your words he doesn’t catch, but he’s all too willing to give you what you want, especially when you’re asking so nicely.

Your breathing quickens as his hand presses down on your legs so you can’t escape. Yuuta’s hand gingerly traces up your thigh until he gets to your underwear. The soft breath you let out when he brushes over your clit sends blood rushing straight down to his cock.

His tongue brushes against the cotton fabric of your underwear, a cute moan leaving your lips, just for him. It’s what he’s been craving to hear, the subject of all his sweetest dreams and basest fantasies, and it’s better than he could have ever imagined. Now that he has it, he needs more.

There’s no warning, no tact to his movements, he can’t hold himself back any longer. There's only pure, unadulterated desperation with every stroke of his tongue against your underwear until he finally pulls the fabric to the side.

When your hand grasps his hair, he’s taken by surprise but he doesn’t dislike it. He indulges you and even lets out a throaty moan when you tighten your grip. He didn’t take you for the rowdy type, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

It enables him further to dive into you and lap around your clit to hear those short gasps that sound like music to his ears. His arms wrap around your thighs to bring you in further, his nose pressing into you as he starts to build a steady tempo.

It seems to be too much for you with the way your body keeps shifting, but Yuuta is nothing if not determined. Maybe you’re testing the depths of his dedication, but there’s no universe where he’d ever fail you. No matter how much you move, he’s stuck to you like a leech, sucking at your clit with fervor. There’s intention with every motion, in the way he huffs and inhales deeply through his nostrils, in the messy way he sucks and slurps at your slick.

Even though he’s working so hard to please you, something’s not quite right. You’re so… quiet. It makes Yuuta think you’re holding yourself back. There’s no need for that, especially between lovers. Soulmates, even.

“Let me hear how good you feel,” he pants between breaths, “it’s okay.”

His movements become more pointed, determination lighting a fire in his stomach just to hear how sweet you get when you cum. The anticipation is killing him, but he thinks there’s been a breakthrough when your thighs tighten around his head, your breaths getting shorter by the second.

When you finally cum, it’s nothing short of heavenly. Sweeter than any note he’s heard you sing on stage, better than what he’s heard in his dreams. It’s not just that, but the full body reaction as well. The trembling, the taut muscles, the rise and fall of your chest– it’s all so erotic.

So your love language is words of affirmation. He makes note of that.

The only complaint Yuuta has is that the moment was far too short lived for his tastes. He has to hear more. See more. Have more. His fingers press gently against your wet hole, one small push from penetrating.

“W-Wait, it’s sensitive–”

Yuuta cuts you off by slipping it in with ease, quickly followed by another. Hungrily looks at the point where he’s connected to you. He starts slowly, fingers carefully pressing and curling until he finds a spot that gives him the reaction he’s looking for.

“Too-too much, stop-”

He doesn’t. Why would he ever deprive you of pleasure? He presses in further, bullies the spot that makes you scream louder. It’s not long until he sends you tumbling into another climax. It’s far more drawn out than the first. He can feel it in the way your walls convulse around his fingers.

Even though it might be too much, Yuuta still fingers you through it. He can’t help it. You just look so cute like this, reduced to a sputtering mess. And knowing that he’s the only one who has the privilege of seeing this side of you? He’s on cloud nine.

He knows he’s being a bit mean right now. But there’s so much lost time to make up for. He might also be letting his jealousy of seeing you with another man get the better of him right now, but it’s ok. At the end of the day, he’s making you feel good.

Yuuta watches with wonder and amusement as you cum again. He almost feels bad for pushing you this far, seeing the way you squeeze your eyes shut and thrash around through your orgasm. While he’s not a fan of your pain, he loves being your source of comfort, the one to clean up your tears. It’s a necessary evil, he tells himself.

Yuuta plants a trail of kisses down your neck to help shoulder the burden, and it seems to help as you come down from your high.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he sighs, adoration laced in his voice as he kisses your forehead.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you pant, “you’ve already made me feel so good. D-Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Of course not,” he responds with a soft gasp as if he’s incredulous at the idea, “I have so much more I want to give you.”

“More?” you ask shakily.

“Mhm,” he purrs with a soft smile, unphased by the tremor in your voice. His fingers slide in and out of you with ease, drawing another soft lewd sound out of you.

“No, no, no, I can’t, I can’t-” you plead, before you’re cut off by a kiss. Yuuta notices you have this habit of denying yourself anything good for you, but you don’t need to do that. What are boyfriends for? He doesn’t stop, even when you scratch and leave blossoming trails of rose on his skin. It only makes him intensify his movements, picking a fast rhythmic pace to hit that spot that makes you moan so sweetly.

When you cum with a wail, Yuuta’s there to swallow every cry you give him, tongue swirling against yours to help you through it. There’s a tenderness to it, as if he’s telling you it’ll all be okay. In between labored breaths he huffs in your ear with a neediness in his tone, “let it all out for me.”

He didn’t mean it literally, but he’s not displeased with the results either. That being said, it does catch him by surprise when you clench and gush all over him and the sheets. The warmth of you soaking his pants makes him feel dizzy with lust. Next thing he knows he’s nose deep into your folds, lapping up at everything you have to give. Not a drop goes to waste, not when he lifts your legs and traces the trail of juices from the fat of your ass to your inner thigh.

It’s just too much for him. When he comes up for air, he’s hastily picking at his pants.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” he asks as he unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants.

You shake your head furiously in embarrassment. It’s cute. Part of him wishes he could record a video of it and save it for later. But there’s more pressing matters at hand.

Yuuta’s hard cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed. His hand barely breaks through the elastic when it springs free, slapping his stomach from the recoil. Seeing your hole slick with arousal for him is almost enough to make him cum right there. He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

Yuuta strokes his cock before pressing it between your folds, collecting all your arousal along the way. Even this is enough to make him shiver, feel it deep in his core. He bites his lip and lines himself up with your entrance. The sight of your hole quivering as he taps his tip against it makes him lightheaded.

So he starts slow, presses against your cunt steadily until he gets past that first ring of muscle that makes you gasp. From there, it’s just a matter of patience and self control, pushing further and further until he finally bottoms out with a groan. It goes in so easily, it’s like you were made for this–for him. Yuuta feels like he’s floating.

While Yuuta’s never been one to think about his size, he still sees you squeezing your eyes shut. His hand caresses your cheek before he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives your fingers a chaste kiss, from one lover trying to comfort another.

“Hey, it’s in. It wasn’t that bad, right?” he asks softly, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

You give him a shy nod, and he smiles at that.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. Even in the afterglow of your tears, you look beautiful. Then again, he’d find beauty in anything you give him. It doesn’t matter what kind of expression you wear, as long as it’s just for him.

“I’ll start slow, ok?” Yuuta brandishes his pinky.

There’s a moment of pause, a shake to your hand as you wrap your pinky around his. He’s already one step ahead of you and swiftly seals it with a kiss and a giggle.

Yuuta keeps his promise, as he languidly rolls his hips into yours. It takes every ounce of self control to keep a slower pace, but he has to savor his first time with you. You feel perfect around him–your warmth enveloping him like a blanket, almost suffocating with its embrace. It’s too much for him, he can’t keep biting his lip and holding back his moans. Then again, he’d be a hypocrite holding himself back, wouldn’t he?

So he lets whatever sounds caught in his throat escape through his lips, lets you hear just how much you’re messing him up. All broken groans and whimpers of your name. And maybe it’s a bit too much for you, seeing you grab the pillow to cover your face. But Yuuta isn’t embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either, so he’s quick to toss the pillow off the side of the bed.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you ask.

It sounds like there’s something else you were going to say, but the noise thins out into a hushed whine. But Yuuta can read between the lines. His hands spread your legs apart further for leverage, his lips pressing against yours until he builds it up to a slew of open mouthed kisses. Tongue against tongue, choked gasps and moans escaping into each other’s mouths. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, breathes in so intensely like you’re the air he needs in his lungs.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. He can’t help himself from rutting his hips into yours a little harder, losing himself in the soft plush of your walls squeezing him tighter with every passing moment. Even the wet sounds of his cock fucking into you is melodic to him, along with your staccatoed gasps, it’s an earworm he wouldn’t mind keeping.

He can’t let himself all the fun though, his fingers making their way to your throbbing clit. It seems to catch you by surprise, earning a yelp from you that soon melts into a moan.

“Yuuta-”

The world stops moving. It’s as if he’s frozen in place as soon as he hears his name from your lips. No nickname, no extra letter. Just Yuuta. It’s enough to make his head spin, his nerves go haywire as he snaps his hips into yours faster, desperate to hear it again.

“Say it again,” he groans breathlessly, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming right then and there.

“Yuuta, Yuuta-” you whine in that tone he’s dreamt of, stroked himself to on lonely nights and he’s so close. All self control goes out the window as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He feels delirious feverish with an ailment that can only be cured through you. He can’t let you go; not now, not ever.

An idea hits him like a strike of lightning, reverberates throughout his entire being. His pace slows for a second. There’s a look of confusion on your face.

“If we have a baby, you’ll have to quit, right?” he asks, his finger gently tracing a heart around your stomach.

Your pupils dilate. Yuuta recalls that it’s a sign of love. Affection. His heart skips a beat.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you mumble, a tremor in your voice, “what are you saying?”

“You’ll have to stay if we have a baby,” he whispers into your ear before his hips snap into yours, “right?”

You make some unintelligible noise in response, but he knows it’s just because you’re overwhelmed with joy at the idea. Knowing you’re happy makes him happy too.

There’s no time to waste, an urgency to Yuuta’s movements as he pushes against your legs until you’re folded into a mating press. His hips pick up a steady rhythm, the loud slap of skin echoing throughout the room.

Yuuta fucks you like he means to make good his proposal–his body pressed flush against yours, his hands wrapping around the back of your head to bring you into his embrace. He throws caution to the wind, lets lust take over.

Everything about you is overwhelming. How you scratch at his back, how you bite down on his neck hard enough to draw blood, how your legs tremble with each stroke. It’s like you want it just as bad as he does.

And who is he to deny you? His hand slips between your sweat covered bodies, trails down to your throbbing clit to show it some love. He wants you to feel as good as he does, or better. Preferably the latter.

He knows he’s doing a good job when he hears that tell-tale sign of your breaths quickening, along with your heart beating faster against his chest.

But something’s off.

You won’t stop throwing your body around, as if you’re trying to loosen his grip around you.

If this is your way of testing his love, then he’s passing with flying colors. It only lights a fire in him, determination ablaze in his fingertips as he draws tighter circles around your clit, the roll of his hips morphing to something slower, but deeper. It’s only a matter of seconds before your body gives in to his love and affection, cries sputtering from your mouth as your muscles tense up around him.

Yuuta can’t control himself any longer with your pussy convulsing around him, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing heavier. His voice breaks, a shaky whine catches in his throat before he goes over the edge.

“Love you, love you so much,” he cries before cumming, burying himself deep inside and making sure to give you everything he has. Every twitch of his cock leads to the undeniable warmth of his seed painting your insides white.

He takes a moment to collect himself and catch his breath, but he doesn’t take himself out of you. It’s like the intensity catches up with him all at once as he collapses onto you. Even in his state of exhaustion, he finds the energy to gingerly kiss your forehead.

Nothing lasts forever. This, you know.

Still, that doesn’t make it any less bittersweet.

It’s an excellent turnout for your graduation concert. For one, it sold out. The sea of penlights glowing the dark and dim venue with pink is a sight to behold. It’s enough to bring you to tears during your last song, voice trembling as you tried to push the lyrics you’ve sung so easily before.

There’s no time to waste, you only have a brief moment to pull yourself together as the performance ends. Your time on the stage might be over, but there’s still a long line of fans forming to say their final goodbyes.

It all goes by faster than you’d like it to. Flipping through the pages of memories, each fan holds a place in your heart, no matter how small. Even if remembering all the names can be a herculean task at times, you remember the stories. A college student who told you about how your music has helped him through exam season. An older woman who makes the trek from Fukuoka once a season to watch you perform; she’s mentioned that you remind her of her younger self, full of light and wonder. The salaryman who comes to the show with a briefcase in one hand and penlight in another; you thought of him as cold and intimidating until he asked for a cheki with the enthusiasm of a child in a candy shop.

There’s plenty of tears shed through the fleeting moments. Even still, your heart swells with gratitude.

The night is coming to an end, and so is this chapter of your life. Though it’s had its ups and downs, you’re ultimately satisfied with what you were able to achieve. There’s not much keeping you tied down to the life of an entertainer.

If there was one thing you had to choose to take with you post-graduation, it would have to be–

“Toru!” You’re almost tempted to bring him in for a hug, just to stop yourself short. He’s been one of your most passionate supporters, and he’s stuck out for you to the end. Through the nearly empty venues, the disastrous singles, and the occasional controversy, his voice and presence has become comforting throughout the years, one you seek out at every performance.

It’s an awkward line to tread. One one hand, you’re an idol and he’s just a fan. On the other, you’ve spent so many hours together, spread across the length of your career in little moments like this.

“Aw, it’s your graduation and I can’t even get a hug?” he whines with a pout before pretending to bend over in pain while grabbing his chest. “You wound me.”

“Sorry ‘Toru, you know how it is.”

“Fine, fine,” he replies, nonchalantly swatting his hand like he’s swiping away your answer, “but can I give you a graduation present?”

“Aw, what is it?” You can’t stop your eyes from wandering, his hand clearly hidden behind his back.

“Drumroll please,” he requests, and you give it to him, rapidly slapping your thighs to represent one.

“Ta-da!” Satoru brandishes a garish gift bag decorated with an intricate array of ruffles and bows, clearly inspired from one of your first costumes. The display is enough to make your cheeks swell with heat and your heart skip a beat. It’s always been hard to stay professional with him. Still, you try.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” you say, tone high and sweet. Carefully, you take the bag from his hands, fingers slipping between the layers of tissue paper to see if you can make out the present, though there’s far too much fluff to make anything of it.

“Anything for my oshi,” Satoru says, beaming with a smile that exudes pride. “You can open it now if you want. I have the time and the tickets.”

“Don’t you always,” you reply with a sigh. You almost feel bad taking out the tissue paper, especially with how neat it is. But you do anyway, anticipation slowly building up with each piece you take out. You’re surrounded in a pile of pinks and reds once you finally get to the bottom, a lone stamen surrounded by rose petals. A small red box lays in the nest of confetti, neatly wrapped with a bow.

With the box in hand, you give him another curious glance, and he urges you to open it up with a nod. So you pull on the bow, gently lifting the lid to reveal an arrangement of chocolates.

“I know you usually don’t take food as gifts, but I made them myself,” he explains with a bright grin. He gets a little closer to whisper the next part, his hand next to his lips, “And I got the okay from mane-san.”

Just to confirm, you look over at your manager, who gives you a thumbs up. Even still, you’re a bit hesitant, staring down at the petite balls of chocolate. They’re cute and decorated with various toppings–heart sprinkles, edible pink glitter, gold drizzled on top. Tempting, to say the least.

Satoru must sense your uncertainty as he attempts to convince you further, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll eat one with you!”

In his defense, the crowd is nearly gone–just a few stragglers here and there. They’re even starting to put away the celebratory standing sprays. Even if anyone were to see this, it’s your last day on the job, and you don’t have any plans on returning.

So you take your pick of chocolate, one with a little heart sprinkle on top.

“Let me feed you,” Satoru attempts to take the candy from your fingers, only for you to pull your hand back on instinct.

“Hm?” You give him a rehearsed look, one of feigned innocence.

“C’mon, it’s your graduation. Just this once,” he pleads, eyes sparkling with determination.

You give one more glance at your manager, who gives you a nonchalant nod and an ok with his fingers.

You figure you’ll give him this, just this once.

“I guess,” you relent, and Satoru is over the moon.

“To your graduation!”

“Thanks for always supporting me, ’Toru.”

You let him feed you, his fingers barely grazing against your lips as you take the candy into your mouth. As soon as you bite down to break down the shell, a creamy rich filling dances on your tongue–vanilla, you think. You try to savor the taste, though the more you chew, the more you’d rather get it over with. It’s not bad per se, but it’s more bitter than you were expecting.

“Is it good?” he asks with his mouth still slightly full.

“It’s great!” you exclaim, covering your mouth with your hand, just in case the chocolate has made its mark anywhere. You’ve spent a lot of time with Satoru, but you think you’d still be embarrassed if you were caught with a brown streak on your teeth.

“I’m really glad you like it,” he hums with a hint of glee, a soft blush rising to his cheeks.

“I’d like anything you get for me, ‘Toru,” you reply, attempting to recede into yourself like a turtle into its shell, just a little. Something about the moment makes you feel shy, even though you’ve spent so many meet and greet portions with him before. Maybe because it’s the first time he’s fed you. Maybe because it’s the last time you’ll see him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says gently, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You’re sure he’s grateful, but there’s something else behind his voice you don’t recognize. Something you can’t quite decipher. Maybe it’s sadness; it’s not like you’ve heard it on him before.

“Well, what kinda special pose do you have for me today?” you ask, attempting to move the topic forward and cheer him up.

“Actually, I brought this,” he confesses, scrambling around in his pockets until he reveals a long satin red ribbon.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s this for?”

“It’s a promise,” he says, wrapping the ribbon around his pinky and finishing it with a bow, “that we’ll find each other in the next life.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think so,” he sighs affectionately, “and I think the word you’re looking for is romantic.” Satoru extends his hand out towards yours, his fingertips a mere inch away from yours. “May I?”

Satoru wasn't always this suave. It still catches you off guard sometimes, especially considering his first meeting with you, where he was stumbling over his words, closed his eyes during the photo and asked for a retake, and dropped the polaroid. He’s come a long way, you think.

You know he’s a handsome man, you have eyes. But you’ve never really considered him in this light, never allowed yourself to. There’s always something else you have to prioritize: the next single, your fans’ feelings, whatever project your manager dumps onto your lap. Being selfish is a privilege you seldom indulge in, but it’s one you finally have the chance to entertain.

“You may.”

Gently, his fingers caress yours, draping the ribbon over your pinky before gingerly tying a knot around it. It’s not what you’re used to. It’s unlike all the nervous handshakes, or rehearsed fanservice poses you’ve done before.

You think it’s one of the most intimate touches you’ve ever felt.

It makes your cheeks run hot, like the silver spun threads of your professionalism are held over an open flame; they’ll melt and fray if you’re not careful. This wouldn’t be a problem on a normal day, but when he looks at you with reverence, as if you’ve built the world with your own hands, you feel like the roles are reversing.

It’s not fair how his eyes sparkle–crystalline and reflective like the sea at night, a body of water you’re all too tempted to drown in.

“I was thinking of something like this,” he explains, his pinky crossing over yours. The contact is electrifying for you both; you can see it in the way he perks up when your finger brushes against yours, feel it in the way your breath hitches for a brief moment. “Is this okay?”

You give him an uncharacteristically shy nod, barely making the motion for him to make out.

Satoru’s on fire now, practically leading the meet and greet and signaling to the cameraperson to take the picture already.

He steadies himself once the cameraman starts counting down, while you start panicking about being presentable. Your eyes meet his and stay there for what feels like too long. It’s just for the photo, you tell yourself, but it’s hard to deny that it feels like more than that.

It’s the lack of distance. The familiarity and yet the lack thereof. The temptation of closing the distance, a hands length away.

It’s becoming harder and harder to keep your composure. The longer you stare into his eyes, the more you feel your heart sink at the realization that it’s almost over – this is it.

You’re not crying, but your vision starts to blur. A woozy feeling stirs in your head, and you’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion catching up to your body. Maybe it’s the swell of emotions raising a storm.

“Sorry ‘Toru, I’ll be right back.”

“Huh? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just need to get some water.”

As you make your way over to the green room, everything gets fuzzy, your head a swirling wreck. You do your best to keep you balance, holding onto the walls to guide you but it doesn't do much to help when everything goes to black.

–

The room is spinning.

Or it feels like it is.

Or maybe it’s your head.

You can barely bring your head to stand on its own weight as it simply drops to the side with each attempt.

It’s definitely your head.

You’re still in your graduation costume. Tulle and organza scratches against your thighs, grazes it much more incessantly than you’re used to. Polyester fabric sticks to your clammy skin. It’s suffocating. Nothing would feel better than ripping it off but your arms are too weak to do much of anything.

It’s not just that. Every part of your body feels heavy, like dead weight. As if it should’ve broken the bed you’re laying on—which you’re now noticing—isn’t your own.

The blinds are down. Even though you can’t make out much through the darkness, you can tell that whoever lives here is obsessed with you. There isn’t so much as a speck of blank space on the wall, plastered with posters of you. Shelves upon shelves filled with memorabilia–can badges, acrylic stands, and various polaroids. If only your eyes would work properly, you’d be able to make out the second person in the pictures.

The door opens with a creak.

Panic strikes you like a bullet, sharp and sudden. Even though every neuron in your body is screaming at you to run, you can barely keep your head up, much less move a single limb.

“Looks like little miss sleepyhead’s awake!” A hand pets your head, carelessly making a mess out of your hair.

You attempt to fight gravity and put your head properly on your shoulders, squinting through your blurry vision to put a face to the voice, a name to a face.

As he finally comes into focus, it hits you–you recognize him. This realization doesn’t do anything to soothe the fear bubbling in your stomach.

“‘Toru?”

You don’t remember how you got here. The last thing you remember is the graduation concert, saying your last goodbyes to your fans, to Satoru, and sharing a chocolate–

Oh.

That’s where your memories end. The more you try to thread events together, the more your head starts to throb.

“W-Where am I? What happened?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately, opting to offer you a glass of water first. You don’t even hesitate to take it, downing the glass to soothe your parched throat and hoping it’ll help the dull throbbing in your head. The moment the glass is empty, the realization hits you that you probably shouldn’t be so trusting of what he offers you.

“We’re celebrating your graduation,” he sits down on the bed, the weight of his body sinking into the mattress.

“We already did that, didn’t we?” you ask carefully. You’re sure that was real. The sea of penlights, the tears during your final performance, the bitter taste of chocolate coating your tongue.

“Then you can think of this as a surprise afterparty,” he replies casually.

The situation is too much for you to handle or process. With every passing moment, it’s starting to kick in just a hint more that this is real.

“‘Toru, I’m not a big fan of surprises,” you whisper softly, cautiously gauging his reaction.

He pouts at that. “I thought you said you’d like anything I got you?”

His response catches you off guard. It’s annoying having your own words being used against you. “Not like this,” you mumble, deliberating what to say next.

“Then I’ll just have to make it up to you,” he coos, body shifting closer to yours on the bed.

He’s close, too close. Much closer than he would be at a concert or during a meet and greet. The warmth of his breath grazes against your neck as your own quickens in a panic.

You attempt to lean away from him, but your body’s still too dull to be in your control. “‘T-Toru, what are you doing?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to do all this time,” he whispers before his lips crash onto yours.

You think he’s telling the truth when he kisses you, somehow rehearsed yet soft and filled with longing. Every attempt to fight back is only met with another kiss, his broad hand gripping your chin and pulling you in further as if he wants to swallow you whole.

“Toru, wait,” you’re barely able to make out between kisses.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he gasps, breathless when you pull away from him. “I’ve waited so long and I finally have you here. I won’t let you go.”

He goes right back where he left off, soft lips nibbling at yours with a hunger that’s too much for you to handle. It doesn’t help that he places his legs on either side of your body, clothed bulge pressed against your pulsing heat. His hips languidly roll into yours, pressing into the fluff of your skirt. It isn’t long until he tires of that, lifting up the layers to push into your cunt.

The sensation makes you jolt. His eyes light up, star bright.

“Did that feel good?” he asks breathlessly before pushing harder into you. “Do you like that?”

All you can let out is a high pitched whine, squeezing your eyes shut as he mimics fucking you. With each stroke, a wet patch forms and grows on your panties. Whether it’s from him or yourself, you can’t ascertain. You’re not sure you want to.

Satoru builds up to a faster pace, his breathing labored as he practically tries to bury himself into you. Everything about it feels hot and sticky, his lithe thighs pressing against yours, the sweat building up between your bodies, but especially the mix of slick and precum on your underwear. It doesn’t help that his arms close in on you as he finds his rhythm.

You don’t want to give in, but your body’s already winding itself up to cum. Each breath gives way a little more, a pathetic huff of a moan escaping you with every pass of his cock against your clit.

Satoru isn’t any better. You’re not sure if it helps that his moans muffle yours. Every lewd sound he lets out rings heavy in your ears. Oddly enough, it’s an earworm of its own. Despite everything, you recognize the reverence tangled in his voice as he chants your name, begging you to cum. The encouragement makes your cheeks and ears hot with embarrassment, yet it makes that coil in your core closer to snapping.

“‘Toru, please, I’m-” you plead, though you’re not sure what for. At first you thought you’d beg him to stop, but the more your breaths quicken, your temperature rises, you find yourself at the precipice of pleasure, all too willing to throw caution to the wind.

“Fuck-“ he barely chokes out, and it dawns on you that you’ve never heard him curse, not that you would ever dream of it happening like this. The way he spits it out makes your skin run hot. It adds to the heat in your core, you're so close with each drag of his cock against your clit.

"Toru, wait," you cry out.

Satoru cums with a high pitched whine and a hot sticky mess seeping through his pants onto your underwear. You didn't expect it to happen so soon, and from the expression on his face, he wasn't expecting it either.

"S-Shit," he barely gasps out, looking at the slick mess pooling between your bodies. As soon as he comes down from his high, regret fills his face, almost panicked. Over what? You're not sure.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he apologizes and somehow, you feel the urge to comfort him. It's a bad habit you can't help but fall into. It's all you really know, turning on that persona everyone knows and loves. He's no exception. He might even be the rule.

"T-Toru, I'm fine, it's okay I swear-"

"No it isn't," he interrupts, his hands gripping your thighs, iron clad. His strength is terrifying, practically bolting your legs to the bed, giving you no chance to escape. His lips graze the wet fabric he's sullied moments before. "How can I be your number one fan if I can't even do this?"

He doesn't give you the answer to ponder his rhetorical question before diving into your clothed cunt, lapping and licking up the mess he's made.

"You're the only one for me, you know?" he pauses to look up at you, sapphire eyes sparkling with adoration. "And I want to be the only one for you."

It's too much, all at once. The electrifying way he rolls his tongue over your clit, his hot breath grazing against your skin, the sweat gathering on your thighs under his grasp. You want to run, buck your hips and push him off, but he won't let you. Just pulls you in closer on his tongue—hotter, wetter, wilder.

He builds you back up again, at a frenzying pace. A rollercoaster approaching its peak far too quickly for its rider's comfort; heart threatening to beat out of your chest, holding your breath waiting for that inevitable drop.

His hand traces into your thighs, pulling your underwear to the sigh. The sensation catches you off guard, a squeal slipping past your lips.

"Keep making those cute noises for me, okay?"

You want to shake your head and bite your tongue, but your body burns under his touch, a trail of flames following his fingers as they massage your lower lips. It barely takes any pressure for his finger to push into your cunt, push another choked sound out from your throat.

You can practically feel his lips curving into a smile as he eats you out, his fingers press against you probingly, looking for the answer of what spot will make you keen into him. It doesn't take him long to find it and swiftly use it against you.

It's as if you have your body back, at the cost of being under his whim. With each pass of his fingers in your cunt, you feel it much more intensely than you want to. As if electricity runs through the pads of his fingers, playfully shocks your nerves with each push. Before you know it he has you on that precipice again, all ready to come apart just for him.

"Stop, Toru, I'm scared," you beg in between hushed breaths, the muscles in your core tightening with each syllable.

"You know there's nothing to be scared of with me," he mumbles into your cunt, barely dignifying you with an answer, as if his task at hand is of greater importance.

"C'mon, let it all out," he purrs, and it's like something in your body snaps.

A rush of pleasure. Feeble attempts to fight against it but it's too late. You're reduced to nothing but a mess of breathy huffs and high pitched whines. Taut muscles and blurry vision.

Satoru doesn't seem to be calling it quits anytime soon, his fingers and tongue continuing to guide you through your climax. Past it, actually.

"'Toru, no, no more," you beg, tears lined in your eyes.

"You only deserve the best," he coos, syrupy and sweet.

You know it's meant to comfort you, make you anticipate what he has in store, but it only does the opposite when he doesn't stop. Doesn't stop his tongue lolling over your aching clit, his fingers pressing against your pulsing walls.

A dizzying mix of fear and anticipation runs through your veins when you realize he's determined to get you to cum again. Despite the ache and soreness in your muscles, you want to push him off. And despite your efforts, Satoru holds on. Intensifies his movements, as if he's punishing this act of insolence.

"I can't," you squeal.

"You can," he insists, "I know you can."

It's as if his words begets the truth, and with tensed muscles and frayed nerves, you cum again. It hits you like a freight train, its impact robbing you of your ability to control yourself.

You can barely utter his name. Despite the effect of the drugs wearing off, your body still feels heavy, with the added effect of your muscles being sore from the back to back orgasms. When Satoru adjusts your limbs, you let him, too exhausted to fight back. What's the point when your body is so enthusiastic to deny your command, and listen to his every whim?

Yet, you still jolt when you feel something hard rubbing against your folds. Something unfamiliar— larger than his fingers, warmer than his tongue.

The realization hits you before you make a poor attempt to shake your head, utter anything more than a soft, "P-Please."

"Of course," he croons, "I shouldn't keep my princess waiting."

Though he says he shouldn't keep you waiting, he takes the process achingly slow, dragging his cock in between your slick folds and hissing through his teeth as he aligns himself with your entrance. You're both holding your breath with some type of nervous anticipation as he starts to push himself in.

It's hard not to bite back a moan as he makes his way in, inch by inch.

When Satoru finally makes it into you, he seems like he’s fighting for his life not to cum then and there. His breathing tightens, his hands shake from white knuckling the sheets. And though his movements start slow, he's hitting you so deep inside you're seeing stars, a flurry of stage lights. You can't help but sing out in pleasure.

"You're so cute like this," he purrs, "I know you can be even cuter."

You don't have a moment to question what he means before he picks up the pace. It's as if the dam holding back his inhibition breaks, and all hell breaks loose. His hands are everywhere, touching anything he can get a grip on as if you're seconds from turning to sand under him. You swear his thrusts hit you even deeper once he pushes your legs up to your shoulders.

Satoru fucks you like he wants something from you. A reaction, a moan, a cry of affection. Unfortunately, your body is all too willing to give him what he wants.

"'Toru, 'Toru, too much, too much-" you cry, your poor nerves frayed and muscles sore and taut from squeezing around his cock. Even as your walls flutter around him, he's unrelenting. Satoru continues, goes further with adoration in the palms of his hands, exploring every curve of your body. His hands go lower, until he finds your throbbing clit, rolling it in his fingers with a frenzied determination.

"I know, I know," he whispers softly, as if to placate you, "feels too good, huh?" He presses his forehead against yours, your eyes less than an inch apart. Everything gets mixed together when you're this close; sweat, breaths, and nerves.

"Feels good for me too," he gasps, "better than anything I could've dreamed of."

Satoru adjusts and presses into you even further, his hips becoming erratic as he tries to bury himself into you. You thought you've experienced all he has to give but he somehow manages to exceed your expectations, as always. You have nothing to give; just choked moans and cries of his name, but Satoru is grateful nonetheless.

"I love you," he cries, "I love you so much, love you, loveyouloveyo-"

With one last thrust, Satoru cums inside with a drawn out shaky moan, hot spurts of his seed painting your walls. Even after all he's spilled into you, he refuses to pull out, his gaze stuck on where you're connected together.

You're a mess. All sweat and tears and aching muscles. On the other hand, Satoru's beaming, even with the mussed hair and beads of sweat gliding down his temple. You swear his eyes sparkle when he smiles and tells you,