#tabito karasu

ryusei shidou

he texts you from the pitch. while the game is still going. second half, 73rd minute, one goal up, and your phone buzzes with a message that just reads told u with three of those stupid cat-face emojis.

by the time the final whistle blows he's already abandoned his teammates mid-celebration to find you.

you're barely through the tunnel before his hand wraps around your wrist, that sneaky grin stretched across his face, slitted pink eyes lit up like something feral got fed. he smells like sweat and grass and he doesn't care even a little bit. neither do you, though you'd die before admitting it.

"locker room." not a suggestion.

"ryusei, the others are still—"

"don't care." he's already pulling you. "made a deal."

the locker room is half-empty, a few guys filtering out, and he walks you past all of them like they're furniture, like there's only one thing in his field of vision right now and it has your face. someone wolf-whistles. he flips them off without turning around.

he pushes you into the back corner, tiles cold against your front, and his body against your back is the opposite. hot. solid. built like he was designed to be difficult to escape from, which, honestly.

"scored twice, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, breath warm, voice dropped to something rougher than his usual sharp-edged energy. "so technically i get it twice."

"that's not how the deal—"

"shhh." his hands find your hips, grip them, fingers pressing in hard enough that you'll feel it tomorrow. "made the deal. scored the goals. now be good and let me collect."

he gets your pants down quick and efficient like he's done this a thousand times in his head already, which, he has (but thats not the point). he doesn't tease. teasing requires patience and patience is somewhere else's problem. he just lines himself up, kicks your feet a little wider apart, and pushes in.

"hah—" the sound comes out of you before you can swallow it, fingers scrambling against the tile. he's thick and he doesn't ease into it, just fills you in one slow drag that makes your legs want to buckle and then he laughs, quiet and delighted, at the sound you made.

"there it is." he presses his mouth to the back of your neck. "that's what i wanted."

he fucks you like he plays. instinctive, aggressive, no wasted movement. each thrust snaps your hips forward against the wall, the tile cold on your palms, his hands keeping you exactly where he wants you, one gripping your hip and the other sliding around your front to press flat against your stomach, keeping you pinned against him on the pull-back.

"feels good, yeah?" he's grinning, you can hear it. "say it feels good."

"you're so annoy— fuck—"

"that's not what i asked." he angles up, hits something that makes your knees genuinely try to give out, and catches you. holds you up. like he's done this before, like he knew exactly what was going to happen when he pushed there. "try again."

"it feels— god, it feels—"

"say my name," he murmurs against the back of your neck, grinding in deep, grinding the words into you. "ryusei. when i'm inside you."

you say it. you say it twice. his grip tightens like a reward.

he comes with his face pressed into your shoulder and both hands locked around your hips so hard the bruises will last a week, jerking into you through it, making this low rough sound that you'll be thinking about at the most inconvenient possible times for the foreseeable future. you follow him down not long after, shaking against the tile, completely wrung out.

he stays pressed against your back afterward, breathing hard, and then, very casually, says: "gonna score a hat trick next game."

you laugh despite yourself. he feels it and grins against your skin.

michael kaiser

he doesn't text you. he doesn't need to. you were in the box seats and you watched him score, watched him turn to the camera right after with those light blue eyes and that insufferable golden smirk like the goal was addressed personally to you.

and then he winked.

the man actually winked at a camera in a professional stadium because he knew you were watching.

by the time you reach him in the tunnel he's already separated from the post-match cluster, leaning against the wall with his arms loose at his sides, wet-haired from a quick rinse, rose tattoo dark against his skin. he looks like he was put together specifically to be impossible to look away from. he knows this. intimately.

"i scored," he says, simple, like he's remarking on the weather.

"i saw."

"so." he pushes off the wall, tips your chin up with two fingers. "you know what that means."

he takes you to the car. his car, which is obscene and he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh just above the knee the entire way, not moving it higher, just keeping it there. possessive and patient. the patience is the worst part because his patience has teeth.

the parking garage of his building is quiet. he turns the engine off and doesn't move, and neither do you, and then he says: "climb over."

you know what he means. you move to the back seat, he follows, and the confined space makes everything immediate, makes his height and the breadth of his shoulders suddenly pressing.

he takes your wrists in one hand, pins them behind your back, and uses the other to get you arranged exactly how he wants you. face down, knees on the leather, his chest against your spine.

"i want to hear you say i earned it," he says into your ear, voice smooth as cut glass, quiet in the way that's somehow louder than shouting.

"michael—"

"say it." the correction is patient. territorial.

"you…" you swallow. "you earned it."

"good girl." he rewards that with his hand sliding between your thighs and you stop thinking about much else.

he fingers you open slowly, deliberately, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing to prove, two fingers curled and working until you're trembling and he has extracted several sounds from you that you're choosing not to reflect on. then and only then does he pull his hand back, and you hear him, the breath, the shift of fabric.

when he pushes inside you it's a long, controlled slide that feels intentional in a way that none of your exes could manage. he means every inch of it. means the grip on your wrists and the tilt of his hips and the way he pulls back just far enough before driving back in, making each thrust land with enough force that your breath stutters.

"you feel that?" he asks, not rhetorically. he actually wants an answer.

"yes, god, yes—"

"good." satisfied. almost academic about it. "so do i."

he fucks you with a kind of deliberate precision that should be clinical but isn't, because underneath the control there's something genuinely hungry, something that surfaces in the way his grip tightens every time you make a sound, in the way his composure develops cracks around the edges the longer this goes on.

"mine," he says, near the end. not loud. just factual.

you come with your cheek against cold leather, his name dragged out of you and he follows with his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing hard for the first time all night, the composure finally, entirely, gone.

he keeps you close after. doesn't say anything. just keeps one hand curled around your hip like he's not ready to let the moment dissolve yet, fingers tracing absently over the jut of bone.

possessive even in the quiet. maybe especially in the quiet.

tabito karasu

karasu, predictably, acts like the deal was already a foregone conclusion.

he'd told you before the game, with the particular flat certainty he uses for things he considers obvious, that the opposing team's left defender had a weak right ankle and would be over-compensating by the 30th minute and that he'd exploit it for an assist by the second half. what he didn't tell you was that he'd also time the actual goal himself, sliding into the box at precisely the moment nobody was watching him.

tactical. infuriating. completely him.

he finds you after, still in his kit, gloves still on, and he has that look on his face that he gets when something goes exactly according to his calculations. not smug, exactly. more like… vindicated.

"i scored," he says.

"you assisted twice and then snuck in a tap-in."

"still counts."

you laugh before you can stop yourself. he watches you do it with something shifting in his expression, something quieter underneath the usual sharpness. you've learned to notice that thing. it doesn't come out often.

"car," he says. then, after a pause: "please." the word sounds like it costs him something. you take it anyway.

his car is less flashy than his personality suggests, which is very him. clean interior, no nonsense. he drives you back to his apartment without discussion, because there was never really any question.

he gets you upstairs, gets the door locked behind you and then doesn't rush. stands in the hallway for a moment just looking at you with those blue eyes doing that thing where they're taking inventory, cataloguing, noticing everything.

"you look pleased with yourself," you say.

"i am." he peels one glove off. then the other. sets them down carefully. "you look flustered."

"i'm not—"

"you are." he steps close, tilts his head slightly. "but i can work with flustered."

he gets you to the bedroom with minimal theatrics, which is also very him. no posturing, no extended performance. he just knows what he wants and moves toward it with the same economy he applies to everything. he turns you around, unhooks, unzips, works through each piece of clothing like a problem being solved. by the time you're face-down on the bed with a pillow pulled under your hips you feel like you've been systematically taken apart and laid out.

"you're going to tell me when it's good," he says and it's not bossiness, exactly. more like he's establishing terms. collecting data. even now.

"tabito—" and something about saying his name like that, easy and familiar, makes something in his jaw shift.

when he enters you it pulls a broken exhale out of both of you, his breath stuttering just once, barely audible, before he steadies. starts to move. his hands are precise and attentive, one on your hip and one flat between your shoulder blades, adjusting the angle by small degrees until you make a specific sound, and then he keeps it exactly there, relentless and measured.

"there," he says, mostly to himself. "that's the one."

he's quiet during, mostly, which makes the sounds he does make matter more. a rough exhale when you clench. a low, involuntary sound he immediately tries to suppress when you reach back and find his hand. he lets you hold it. threads his fingers through yours.

you come first, undone by the precision of him, the way he never stops paying attention, and he follows close behind with his face in your hair and that quiet, controlled exterior finally, briefly, completely unraveled.

afterward he lies beside you and doesn't speak for a long moment. then: "your reaction time for goal number two was better than i expected."

you turn your head to stare at him.

"the pun," he clarifies, and his mouth does that almost-smile thing.

you throw his pillow at his face.

he catches it. still almost-smiling.

bunny inglesias

he doesn't tell you before the game that he's going to score. he just does.

and afterward, in the slow drift of the post-match hour, he finds you in one of the corridor spaces outside the locker room and he's wearing that gentle closed-mouth smile and his cap with the rabbit face, hair loose and a little damp, and he says, very softly:

"i scored."

"i know."

"so." the smile stays exactly where it is. "you said."

"i know what i said."

"okay." he tilts his head. "are you going to make me ask, amor?"

the thing about him is that he's calm in a way that doesn't read as passive. there's something underneath it, something attentive and patient and quietly certain. he's not demanding. he's not performing. he's just… waiting, with the full confidence of someone who already knows the answer and is giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.

you take him back to the apartment. his. it has very little in it, which you've noticed before and never quite asked about. clean lines. practical. like someone who hasn't decided yet whether they're staying.

he takes off his cap, sets it on the table, and looks at you across the small space.

"how do you want me?" he asks.

which is not what you expected. you blink. he laughs, soft and brief, the most unguarded sound he makes.

"i'm asking," he says, stepping closer, "because i want to do it right."

he's gentle in a way that feels considered rather than careful, if that distinction makes sense. like gentleness is something he chooses rather than something that's just the absence of roughness. his hands move over you slowly, unhurried, taking stock, and when you finally get horizontal his body settles over yours like he was measuring the exact weight to apply.

he flips you over, easy and unhurried, your cheek finding the pillow, and he presses a single kiss to the back of your neck before he lines himself up.

when he pushes in he goes slow, slow enough that you feel every increment of the stretch, slow enough to hear his breath change, and you exhale the tension out of your spine all at once.

"okay?" he asks.

"yeah," you breathe. "yeah, it's—"

"good." he starts to move.

he rolls his hips with a rhythm that builds and doesn't rush, deep and patient, and he keeps his weight on one forearm beside your head with his other hand finding yours and pressing your palm to the mattress with his over it. not pinning. just covering. it's unbearably tender for something supposed to be a reward.

his mouth finds the curve of your neck, your shoulder, the soft place behind your ear. he doesn't say much, he rarely does, but once, quiet enough that you almost miss it: "you're so warm."

you don't know what to do with that. you hold it anyway.

he builds you up slowly, methodically, like he's reading something in your breathing and adjusting, and when you finally come it's with his name muffled into the pillow and his hand tightening over yours, lacing your fingers together. he follows with his face pressed to the back of your neck, a long shuddering breath, his whole body going still and then carefully, slowly, soft.

he doesn't move right away. stays draped over you, heavy and warm, and the room is very quiet.

then: "next game i'll score two."

you're so wrecked you barely process it. "bunny…"

"just letting you know," he says, and you can hear the smile in it, small and private and pointed entirely at you, "what you have to look forward to."

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo @chefcorvus

“thanks,” you smile.

he gets pulled into conversation with the others, but he doesn’t leave you alone. instead, he gradually brings you into it, and before you realize, you’re chatting with everyone as if you were a part of the team yourself. you owed most of that to the alcohol though; without it, you’d be much shyer. 

the conversation is comfortable, much to your surprise. none of the guys seem to fall into the stereotypical sleazy-player jock category. that’s a relief.

“i think i’ve seen your face at a few games, up in the bleachers,” the brunette man to your left states, now turning his attention towards you. “didn’t realize you’re close with chigiri.”

“we grew up together,” you smile, thinking fondly of your friendship. 

“boyfriend?” a second voice pipes in. he stands beside the brunette you were just speaking with, hair dyed silver with a striking green streak along the front of his bangs. it was a surprisingly attractive choice. 

you laugh and shake your head. “nah, just friends. he’s like a brother to me.”

“they always say that,” the first man teases, rolling his eyes. “i’m karasu,” he introduces himself a moment later, “defensive midfielder.”

“y/n,” you respond. “for the record, i do know what that means.” he laughs.

“eita, right wing.” the other chimes in, sending you a playful, dramatic bow. 

you snort. “what is this? didn’t make it as a prince so you settled for playing soccer instead?”

the two boys chuckle loudly enough that a few others around you give them the side-eye. what do they expect? you’re at a party, it’s supposed to be loud and fun.

“you’re funny,” karasu beams, “i dig it. chigiri should have introduced us sooner.”

“uh, yeah, no way,” chigiri’s now standing behind you, draping his arm over your shoulder playfully, yet protectively. “i don’t trust you two at all.”

“what? hey!” eita protests. “we’re nice guys–”

“especially you,” chigiri interrupts with emphasis, “you’ve probably flirted with the entire female student body on this damn campus by now.” 

he opens his mouth to defend himself, but quickly shuts it once he realizes it’s kind of true. not every one of them but… a decent amount. he won’t deny it.

“i’m not that desperate,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

karasu’s amused as he watches the three of you interact. of course, he was included in chigiri’s distrust– he mentioned the both of them. 

“and what’s your issue with me, then, huh?” he taunts, sly smirk plastered on his face.

“nothing, actually,” chigiri sighs, “you’re just hot and it scares me.”

karasu nearly topples over when he bursts out laughing at chigiri’s… confession? or, was it meant to be an insult? 

“what?” he howls. “so, you’re tellin’ me that you don’t trust me because you're worried my sexiness is gonna take your friend away from you?”

“precisely.”

karasu whistles. “you’re somethin' else, man.”

“yeah, yeah,” chigiri swats at him, “anyway,” then returns his attention to you, “wanna dance for a bit?”

“can we join?” eita asks.

chigiri shoots him daggers and karasu throws a palm over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“no.”

“chi, you’re not my fucking dad,” you groan, “let them join, they’re your teammates and they seem nice!”

chigiri exhales in defeat. “fine, they can come. but if they start fucking around, i’m kicking their ass out.”

“fine by me,” karasu’s smug as he sips at his solo cup. “don’t think that will be happenin’, though. i’m a respectable man.”

chigiri just groans as he drags you towards the dance floor, eita and karasu following suit. 

it’s dark and there’s hardly any space to move around. but, nonetheless, you make the most of it, bopping your little head as chigiri attempts to twirl you.

eita and karasu are speaking low with each other, eyes flickering across your frame each time their mouths move. you can’t hear what they’re saying nor make out the words on their lips. 

but, one thing’s for sure. the longer they stare, the tighter your thighs clench. they’re hot, no doubt, and that’s something you have no intention of ignoring if they are on the same page.

you understand where chigiri was coming from when he became protective over you earlier, though. he understands men well, being one himself, so naturally he’d be a bit wary of whom he allows close to you in that regard. 

yet, as much as you empathize, you’re your own person who can make their own decisions, and right now, you’re feeling a little flirty and sinful.

you turn to chigiri and smile. “mind if i hang with these two on my own for a bit?”

he looks horrified. “y/n…”

“i know you just want to keep me safe, chi, but i’m an adult with my own needs,” you continue, “i want to see where things go tonight with them.” you rub his arm reassuringly, “i’ll be fine.” 

he swallows, but nods. he swore he would never be a friend that keeps you caged. he trusted you wholeheartedly that you were making the best decision for yourself.

“okay,” he says, “but if you feel uncomfortable at all, even the slightest, call me right away and i’ll come rescue you, okay?”

you laugh, but you’re grateful. “always.”

he hugs you, then shifts back through the crowd, presumably towards the kitchen again where a number of his friends were still hanging out.

eita and karasu look shocked from witnessing chigiri, the man who was just clocking their asses for seeming untrustworthy, leaves you alone with them. 

“damn,” karasu huffs out a low chuckle, “how did you convince him to walk away?”

your laugh is flirty and bright, and it feels like a punch straight into his fucking chest.

“i put my foot down, basically,” you reply, “told him i wanted to get to know you two better without his hovering.”

eita bites his lip as he slides closer to you and reaches out his hand. “care to dance, then?”

you blush as you oblige, allowing your steps to lessen the gap between you two. his hand is warm, and you swear you can feel his fingertips tremble when they finally settle on your hips. 

karasu steps behind you, dropping his mouth over your ear. “is it okay if i hold your waist?” he asks.

you shudder from the heat of his breath trickling down the side of your neck. “absolutely,” you exhale.

you can’t tell if its the tiny ounce of alcohol pumping through your veins or the simple fact that you’re sandwiched between the two guys, but your body is heating up, and you can practically feel yourself soaking through your panties. you might as well be dripping all over the damn floor. 

the three of you are lost in the rhythm now, karasu grinding into you slowly from behind whilst eita does the same in the front. his lips hover over your bare collarbone, then he flickers his eyes up to yours, searching for permission to touch you further.

you smile at him, head falling back against karasu’s shoulder as eita plants his mouth on your searing hot skin. you let out a soft whimper, one that can only be felt and not heard due to the blaring volume of the speakers. his fingers curl into the curve of your hips as his tongue dips into the divots. 

when he finallly reaches your ear, he says, “you’re the most beautiful fucking woman i have ever seen in my life.”

you weren’t sure if you believed him, given his reputation, but it didn’t matter. tonight, you were that to him, if not more. 

karasu’s palms slip under the hem of your shirt, massaging the warm, plush skin of your tummy. you can feel his hums of pleasure against your spine, and you melt further into him.

“can i touch you more?” he asks, teasing your ribcage. 

you’re feeling frisky and a bit reckless, so you say yes. it was too dark and deafening on the dance floor for others to notice, anyway. 

his rough fingertips slide beneath the wiring of your bra and you gasp, biting down on your lip hard to silence your growing moans. you feel his clothed cock twitch against your ass and it sends a rush of heat to your core. 

eita’s sucking gentle bruises into your skin, tongue sliding across each one when he’s finished like he’s gluing it in place. your hand finds his jaw and you tilt it upwards so you can be eye to eye, closing in on his lips slowly and deliberately. he tastes like cherry coke and your new favourite vice as you slip your tongue into his mouth. he groans against your lips, nails digging further into your hips as he deepens the kiss.

karasu pinches your nipples and you whimper down eita’s throat. he rolls the perky nubs between his thumb and pointer as his lips finally drop to land on your exposed shoulder. he sinks his teeth into you, just slightly, enough to make your body jolt in the boys’ hold.

“why don’t we take this somewhere more private, hm?” karasu’s whisper is making you soaked. 

soon, he’s closing the door of the empty bedroom with a gentle slam of your back against it, a small yelp entangling into his mouth as he kisses you hard, fingers tugging at your hair and his knee pressed between your thighs. he pulls away from you with a string of spit still connect your mouths, your lips involuntarily chasing his as the distance grows. eita’s replacing him now, taking his shirt off before helping you with your own, kissing you slowly and massaging your breasts with each slide of his tongue across your puffy, red lips. karasu takes this as an opportunity to completely rid his clothing, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard as he just watches, dick twitching from the sounds of your sweet whines as eita switches between tasting your mouth and tits. he begins to slowly palm himself whilst resting one hand behind his head as breathy huffs of bliss spill from his lips.

your eyes open just as eita begins to tease your inner thighs with his tepid fingers, making direct eye contact with a completely bare karasu a few feet away. you gasp at his build, muscles chiseled and flexing so deliciously with each pump of his broad hand. and his size? fuck, he was huge. 

you were getting excited.

you and eita finish undressing, and just as you two lean in to kiss each other once more, karasu clears his throat obnoxiously loud on purpose.

“you two gonna stay glued to the damn door all night or are you gonna come join me?” he tsks from the mattress, sliding his thumb over his white, beaded slit. he groans and your walls squeeze around nothing.

“shit,” eita laughs, backing away from you, “i nearly forgot you were here.”

karasu scoffs, but he’s smiling. “wow, some friend you are.”

“can you blame me?” eita hums. “i mean, you’ve seen y/n, right?”

your stomach ties into knots and karasu notices. his eyes are dark and enticing, starving for you.

“of course i have,” he grins wickedly, words striking you right where you need him the most. he’s keeping his attention on you, though he’s speaking directly to eita. “i hope she’s ready for us to play with her,” he purrs, “bet she’s got a filthy fuckin’ cunt.”

“k–karasu,” you squeak as eita cautiously grabs your wrists and pulls you with him towards the bed.

“tabito,” he corrects, “call me by my first name.” you’re close enough to him now that he reaches and grabs your waist, pulling you onto his lap. your slick cunt brushes against his tip and he hisses. “fuck, ‘m not even inside you yet and i’m already close,” he jokes, though half serious, “you’re on the pill, right?” you nod and he sighs in relief. “thank god, because i reaaally need to fuckin’ feel this sweet pussy of yours.” his fingertips pad into your plush sides and you shiver. “but first,” he continues as he’s slowly lifting your cunt up to his face, “need to taste you.”

he pulls you down against his mouth with force, tongue plunging into your wet hole as you cry out, palms slamming to grip the wall and headrest behind his head as he devours your cunt. 

“j–jesus!” you moan, “slow d–down–” but you’re lying about what you want, because you’re the one riding his face desperately, sliding your puffy, sticky folds all over his tongue with resolve. “fuck, tabito!” you cry his name, nearly about to come already. just how skilled was he? 

eita’s sitting on his knees at your side now, gripping your hair to turn your head and face him. he kisses you messily, spit spilling out of your mouth and down the dip between your breasts like it’s simulating your arousal drenching karasu’s face. eita fists his cock slowly as he swallows your sounds, twitching in sync with the filthy squelching plaps of karasu’s tongue sucking at your folds. 

“mmmm’fuck,” karasu groans against you, “so fuckin’ sweet, christ, baby– yeah, keep ridin’ my face like this, want you to squirt aaaall over me.”

eita drops his mouth to your breasts, pulling and sucking at your sensitive nubs with precision. he feels his own peak fast approaching.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” you yell, body beginning to shake from the overwhelming pleasure coming from all angles. karasu’s still a moaning mess, sending a slap to your ass to push you over the edge.

“c’mon, sweet thing,” he taunts, “give it to me.”

the coil in your stomach snaps, and you spill all over his beautiful face, eita lifting his cock up to your chest just in time to spurt his hot cum onto your pretty tits. “s–shit,” he stutters, eyes rolling violently as his release coats your glistening skin. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he gasps, “especially wearing my cum like that.”

“oh, god!” your throat breaks, shuddering as karasu helps you ride out your high with slowing, brutal suctions on your sweet cunt. “shit,” you whimper, coming down, “just how many girls have you fucked to gain a skill like that?”

karasu slides you down his body and plants you on his lap, upright and leaky cock resting just shy of your syrupy folds. he leans into you with a smirk to tease, “what girls?” tongue darting out to lick up eita’s cum from your chest. “the only one i see is you.” you whine, watching him so filthily as he cleans you up.

“h–holy shit,” eita huffs, eyes wide from karasu’s action, “didn’t know you were a freak like that, kara.”

“well, this is our first time sharin' someone, isn't it?” he hums, “you’ll be seein' a lot of unexpected things tonight.”

your pussy throbs at the image of the two of them pleasuring each other right in front of your fucking face.

“what was that?” karasu asks, head tilted at you curiously. then, he’s sly again, “you want us to touch each other for you?"

you blush. “i–i didn’t realize i said that out loud,” you chuckle.

“don’t be embarrassed,” eita thrums, placing a delicate kiss against your shoulder blade before sitting down beside karasu, “i’m sure kara here would love to touch me.”

karasu doesn’t say anything, instead he just turns his head and grabs eita’s face, shoving his tongue down his throat as he kisses him so sloppy and loud. 

“oh, fuck,” you bite your lip, beginning to slide your slick pussy along karasu’s fat base as you watch them make out, “keep doing that.”

it doesn’t stop there. eita reaches out his hand, palming karasu’s engorged tip to help you out. karasu growls into eita’s mouth, lifting his hips up to chase his orgasm as his hands tighten around eita’s jaw.

“mmm’fuck,” he hums, sucking on eita’s tongue, “k–keep goin’, mmm’gonna come soon.” you're riding his cockbase so pathetically, unbridled whines escaping your mouth as you listen to his build up louder and louder with each sinful slip against him. he chokes, lips breaking apart from eita’s as he throws his head back violently, an ungodly groan rising from deep within his chest. “fuck!” his voice is ragged as he spills out all over your pussy lips and eita’s hand, body shivering in ecstasy. “good fuckin’ god,” he exhales after a few moments, trying to pull himself together. “didn’t know you had it in you, eita,” he teases his friend.

eita just laughs, lifting his ruined hand up to swallow his release. he keeps his eyes steady on karasu, and it almost feels like you’re third wheeling for a second. “you’re not the only one exposing themselves today,” he smirks. 

“am i interrupting something?” you ask smugly, arms crossed as you witness their interaction.

karasu snorts, then flips you underneath of him swiftly and you yelp. “maybe,” he coos, tongue sliding from your navel up to your neck before landing on your lips softly. “but we’ve got plenty of time for you, baby.”

he throws your legs over his shoulders, your arms automatically reaching to grab his biceps for leverage. “trying to ruin me?” you taunt, licking your lips hungrily.

his eyes grow dark and wicked. “if that’s what you want,” his thick cockhead teases your entrance and you whimper, “then i will.”

“okay,” your smile is intentional as you dig crescents into his arms, looking him dead in the eyes. “fucking ruin me, tabito karasu.”

karasu’s instantly wrecked by your words, slamming into your honeyed cunt with a grit of the teeth as he stuffs you to the hilt. his breathing is uneven and raspy as he begins to move, eyes flickering to watch your pretty face twitch from his size. 

“s–shit,” he groans, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart,” his hips falter for a moment, “anybody ever fucked this pussy right?”

“n–no,” you shake your head, “they never made me come,” head pushing back further into the pillows, “i’m hoping you two can be the first.”

karasu snaps in the moment, driving is fat cock into your sweet cunt unforgiving, the slam of the headboard against the wall surely drawing attention to the bedroom from other party guests standing just mere feet away on the other side of the closed door. 

“d–don’t say shit like that,” he chokes, hands digging into your meaty thighs as his bulbous, leaky tip kisses your cervix repeatedly, “it’s gonna fuck me up.”

“maybe that’s my g–goal,” you whine, back arching as his prominent vein brushes against your sweet spot.

eita is losing his mind beside you two, hand pumping vigorously at his creamy cock whilst he thrust up into it. “s–shit, you’re so hot, y–y/n,” he moans, palming himself eagerly as he watches your perfect cunt suck all of karasu in. “making the prettiest sounds and shit– fuck, can’t wait to be inside of you later.”

karasu’s close, the intense heat from your walls clenching around him trickling up through each nerve ending, dirty, ragged groans rhythmically matching the slaps of his pelvis against your ass.

“fuck, i’m– ah– close,” he shudders, one hand moving to circle your puffy clit whilst the other grips the curve of your waist like he’d die without it. “feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he huffs, “‘m’gonna fill you up until you’re screamin’ for more.”

your whines are loud as ecstasy flows through your body, coil on the verge of snapping as his thick cock sends you to paradise. 

eita’s kissing you roughly, biting your lips and tongue as he groans down your throat, pumping his chubby cock with vigor. “wanna decorate your pretty face with my cum,” he mutters against you, “would you like that?”

“p–please," you whimper, pink muscle diving deep into his throat, “need it, eita.”

he growls at your response, sitting up to ready himself as he watches the way karasu fucks you intently and drowns in the sweet sounds of your moans. 

“ah– shit, shit!” he chokes, spurting his creamy seed onto your face. 

you laugh elated, tongue moving to lick up what you could reach, gasping for air as you near your own release. “fuck!” you scream, back arching off the bed as karasu hits your sweet spot, sending you over the edge. “i’m c–coming!”

karasu is losing it, teeth and jaw clenching as you spill all over his greedy cock, thrusts only speeding up as your juices splash onto the sheets and reaching as far as your lower tummy. 

“god– fuck,” his throat cracks with something of strain and wreckage. “filthy fuckin’ cunt,” he slams into you, “juuust like i fuckin’ said.” his hips stutter, grabbing yours firmly and digging his nails into your plush skin as his eyes roll violently, hot ropes of white filling your sensitive cunt to the brim. “fuck, thaaaat’s it,” he thrums, watching as a creamy ring forms at his base, cum smearing all over his big dick, “look at yourself suckin’ me in, baby.”

he leans over to kiss you sweetly as he comes to still, sliding his thumbs delicately over you cheeks. you melt into him, hands reaching to run through his hair. 

then, he pulls away with a playfuly nibble to the tip of your tongue and wears a smirk. “think you can handle eita here? can you take more?”

you nod profusely. “god, please.”

karasu backs away satisfied, kneeling on the mattress off to the side as his thick cock rests heavy in his palm. his plan was to simply observe and decorate himself with his seed again.

eita’s lips are on your mouth instantly, kissing you with so much passion and need as his tongue soon slides down your chin until he reaches your navel. 

“so fucking gorgeous,” he moans his praise, “could touch this body aaall day.” his fingers caress your hips, “wanna stare at you forever.”

his tongue is warm and soft on your throbbing cunt as he tastes you so messily, drinking up the residue of your bittersweet releases before he aligns his wet mushroom tip with your entrance. he can see your walls and clit pulsing pathetically for him to fill you up.

he slides into you with an elongated moan, hands caressing your jaw with so much caution as he bottoms you out, already shuddering from your fluttering walls. 

“fuuuck,” he gasps, “i– holy shit, you feel incredible.”

you tilt your chin so your mouth can reach his thumb resting on it, tongue pulling the digit in as you suck on it gently, whining blissfully as you stare into his enlarged pupils with your big, beautiful glassy eyes.

he moans at the sigh. “f–fuck, when you look at me like that,” his thick vein drags across your sensitve edges and you cry out, “makes me go insane.”

he’s moving faster now, one leg thrown over his hip as soft, raspy huffs escape his throat. 

“e–eita,” you mutter around his slick finger, "gonna make me come– p–please, keep going like t–that.”

he listens to your pleas, head dropping into your shoulder as he fucks into you deep and raw, alternating between slow and fast thrusts. he moves a hand to play with your puffy clit; he needs to feel you fall apart on him. 

karasu’s chest heaves as he watches you take his friend so obediently, sticky blobs of precum oozing out of his angry tip with each meeting of your hips. “f–fuck,” his whisper is low and nearly inaudible.

eita’s nearly about to burst, kissing your mouth desperately as he begins to sputter into your hole, whimpering against your tongue. “need to come,” he murmers, “fuck, take it, beautiful.” he rubs you faster, groaning as he senses your wetness increasing around him. “yeah– fuck– let me feel you.”

you throw your hips up to meet him halfway and your juices trickle out of your hole with a sharp cry whilst his stomach twists, hot white pouring into your sensitive pussy with slow, intentional thrusts. he’s holding onto your body for dear life, eyes rolling violently as he feels you squeeze his creamy dick to pull every fucking drop of cum out of him. the diabolical plaps of his cock driving into your honeyed cunt sound like music to his ears. 

“oh my god,” he stutters, steadily coming to a still, “fucking hell, you’re perfect.”

he collapses onto your chest, just relishing in the teasing pulses on your cunt still clenching around him as he stays tucked and warm inside of you just a little longer, fingers brushing through your sweaty strands.

“feel alright?” he asks.

you smile, so big and blissed out. “never better.” you turn your head to the side to look at karasu, stretching out a hand towards him and brushing his thigh. “come here, tabito,” you coo. he looks so huge and delicious hovering over you like that, heat filling your tummy when you see his fist so filthily coated in sticky white from his quiet orgasm just moments ago. “lay with us.”

the three of you settle on the mattress, the two boys curled up to your sides as you all breathe slowly, trying to catch your breaths and fully return to reality. 

and then, you realize you just ruined whomever's bed you’re lying in. “oh, shit,” you laugh, “who’s bed is this?”

karasu chuckles. “mine, actually. this is my frat, didn’t chigiri tell you?”

⛧ — sae: 10 days

you know damn well he didn't give two shits about this challenge. you had to practically beg him to even acknowledge it, teasing him with, "oh, what, the sae itoshi can't even last a month without cumming? is your ego that fragile?" and that's what got him. he just grunted, "fine. don't touch me." for ten days, he was just… sae. annoyingly aloof, maybe a little more irritable than usual, but you could tell the deprivation was building, a simmering tension beneath that cool exterior. you'd catch him staring, his eyes a little darker, a little more predatory. by day 10? forget it. you were just reading a book, minding your own business, when he suddenly just loomed over you, stripping off his shirt with a feral look in his eyes. before you could even blink, he was on top of you, hips grinding, his dick already throbbing against your thigh. "i'm done with this," he growled, his voice a low rumble against your neck, and then he was taking you with a primal hunger, not an ounce of guilt in his magnificent, self-centered body. (you loved every fucking second of it).

⛧ — kunigami: 29 days!

kunigami is built different, baby. NNN for him wasn't a challenge, it was a whole training arc. you know he had a fucking calendar marked, probably did extra reps in the gym just to burn off the sexual frustration. he was stoic, focused, a man on a mission. and you tried everything. waking him up with soft kisses, letting your fingers trail just so down his back, even "accidentally" dropping your towel in front of him. he'd just clench his jaw, grunt, and walk away, a vein throbbing in his neck, muttering, "stay strong, kunigami." you almost thought he'd actually make it the full month. but the second that clock ticked over to the eve of november 30th? he folded like a cheap suit, and it was glorious. he stalked into the room, a beast unleashed, and didn't even say a word. just grabbed you, lifted you, and had you against the nearest wall, his mouth devouring yours. "29 days is more than enough to prove my point," he'd pant against your lips, already so deep inside you, proving a very different point with every powerful thrust. he was a winner (come on, be nice), and you were his prize.

⛧ — mikage: winner! (30 whole days damn)

if anyone could win this absurd challenge, it's him. especially if nagi was teasing him for failing instantly, you know reo would dig his heels in with that stubborn, goal-oriented personality of his. he had an entire strategy for NNN, complete with contingency plans for arousal. but by day 30, darling, he was a wreck. you could practically see the steam coming off him, his eyes a little wilder, his hands clenching and unclenching. he'd been having cold sweats and vivid, dirty dreams about you for a week straight. the moment that clock hit midnight on december 1st, you just knew. he didn't even wait for you to say anything. he'd just grab you, his voice hoarse, "i won. and now, doll… now you're my prize." he wouldn't just ruin you, he'd claim you. he'd fuck you like he was proving his dominance, like he was making up for a month of pure, unadulterated torture, whispering all the filthy things he'd been fantasizing about, leaving you breathless and completely undone. he won NNN, but you won the absolute carnage that followed.

⛧ — ness: half a week (barely)

alexis tried, he really did! you know he researched "no nut november coping mechanisms" with the same intensity he researches kaiser's opponents. but let's be real, he's way too soft, way too touchy-feely, way too dependent on your constant affection to last a month. he made it 3-4 days, clinging to you, trying to just cuddle without anything else. then on day four, you just woke up, snuggled into his chest, and whispered, "missed you," your voice soft and sleepy. that was it. that was his breaking point. he'd just let out a desperate little groan, his arms tightening around you, his already-hard dick pressing into your thigh. "baby, i can't… i can't do this anymore. please. just… please." he'd be begging, tears of frustration and longing welling in his eyes as he just had to have you. he might feel a little ashamed, but the pure relief of finally being able to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you, would quickly override any guilt. he's just too much of a clingy, horny little puppy for NNN, and you wouldn't have him any other way!

⛧ — karasu: 7 days

that smug, cocky bastard walked into NNN like he was about to conquer the world. "this is gonna be easy," he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips, thinking he was soooo above such trivial human desires. you just knew you had to take him down a peg. for a whole week, he maintained that infuriatingly cool demeanor, maybe even gave you a little pat on the head when you tried to flirt, as if to say, "nice try, kitten, but i'm stronger than that." but you're smarter, baby. you waited for the opportune moment, when he was just starting to feel too confident. maybe you "accidentally" brushed your ass against his groin while walking past, lingered a little too long when you hugged him, or just let your eyes trace his body with a knowing, hungry look. you whispered something utterly filthy in his ear, something only you know gets him absolutely raging. his eyes would darken, that smug smirk would falter, and then you'd see it: the barely contained tremor in his hands. he'd try to play it off, of course, "tch, you think that affects me?" but the next thing you know, he's got you pinned against the nearest surface, his mouth bruising yours, his hips already grinding against yours with desperate urgency. he'd lose, and he'd pretend he didn't care, but the way he'd absolutely ravage you, as if to punish you for making him break, would tell a very different story. he cared, oh honey, he cared alright.

WELCOME, DECEMBER! my favorite month of the year because i love the holliday season and cuz it has soooo many birthdays (including mine!) andddd because i love this month so much, i'm planning something really, really special for u all, stay tuned! <3

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© 2025 hrrcanne (do not copy, repost, translate, or feed my work to AI without permission)

“psssst.” bachira peeks into your room, hanging upside down from the top bunk. “you mad at me or something? ‘cause you didn’t text me baaack~”

you squint at him, phone on 3% and still charging under your pillow. “no, i was—”

“ahh! i knew it!!” he drops down dramatically, spreading his arms wide. “i was gonna spiral into emo mode and send you a sad playlist. i even picked the crybaby songs.”

you stifle a laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “please don’t.”

bachira beams— literally— already moving into your space like a needy cat. “okay~ you’re not mad. good. i forgive you.”

“you forgive me?”

“yep. but i still get cuddle tax.”

“did you block me or something?”

that’s the first thing rin says when he sees you, arms crossed, cold stare glued to your face. you raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“...what?”

“you didn’t answer. not once.” his voice tightens, jaw visibly clenched. “for hours.”

you’re about to tell him you were asleep, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. he’d been genuinely worried, even if he didn’t want to show it.

“i was knocked out. took a long nap.”

“...oh.” he looks away. “you could’ve said something.”

“i was unconscious, rin.”

he goes silent, then mutters under his breath, “still.”

you chuckle and take his hand. “i’m here now.”

he doesn’t let go.

“too lazy to reply?” nagi asks, flopped face down on your bed.

you side-eye him and sigh. “my phone was dead.”

“...mm.” he doesn’t even sound mad. just mumbly. maybe 10% sad.

“i thought you ghosted me.” he adds after a long pause, voice muffled against your blanket.

you sit beside him, fingers brushing gently through his snowy hair. “were you worried?”

“...maybe.” he lifts his head up slightly, leaning into your touch unconsciously. “it’s a hassle not knowing where you were.”

you nod, brushing hair out of his eyes. nagi hums in satisfaction. “next time, tell me telepathically or something.”

you chuckle. “i’ll work on it.”

“okay, not to be dramatic, but i was two seconds from calling the police.”

reo storms in—clothes a little ruffled, hair a little messy, clearly trying not to panic even though he already has.

“you didn’t answer anything. not a text, not a call—”

you hold up your dead phone with an apologetic look.

reo sighs hard, dragging a hand down his face in relief. “you gave me an anxiety attack in 4k.”

“sorry.” you reach out, and he immediately pulls you into a hug.

“i’m filing a missing persons report next time.”

“reo.”

“dead serious.”

“wow. no text? no emoji? not even a lil ghost emoji to let me know you died?”

karasu leans back, arms crossed, lips curled into that signature smug half-smile of his. but there’s a tightness in the corner of his eyes.

“rude, honestly. and after i said i missed you in, like three languages.”

“i didn’t even see it. my phone was dead.” you say with a shrug, trying not to laugh.

“tragic. my jokes went to waste.”

karasu walks over, dropping the teasing tone just a little.

“you good, though?”

you nod, and he reaches out to flick your forehead— gentle, barely a tap.

“warn me next time, yeah?”

“oi. you tryna ghost me?”

otoya leans in, lips quirking up into a smile, but there’s a twitch to his brow that says he’s not fully joking.

“you didn’t answer. not like you.”

you grin at that. “relax. my phone died.”

“mm. weak excuse,” he murmurs, leaning closer, voice dropping. “y’know how worried i was?”

you lean back slightly to dodge his gaze, making him huff and refocus on your eyes.

“...did you miss me that much?” you ask, half-joking.

he clicks his tongue. “shut up.”

but then, more quiet:

“yeah.”